SIX

Sabbath, Festivals, and Holidays

Not all days on the rabbinic calendar are created equal. Some are invested with more significance than others. Alongside this symbolic significance are holiday-specific rules. In this chapter, we explore what rabbinic texts about beverages teach us about the celebration of Jewish holidays.

Before proceeding, a quick note on terminology. Throughout, I distinguish between holidays and Festival Days. Holidays are days marked as particularly special. Daily liturgy changes on holidays, and other practices may—or may not—be allowed. For example (for reasons explained shortly), if you are a bartender, you cannot go to work on the Sabbath, but you may report for duty on Purim. Festival Days, on the other hand, have a series of regulations that prohibit many normal daily activities. When I mention a Festival Day, the reader should note that certain regulations apply (for example, the bartender needs to take the day off of work). In short, all Festival Days are holidays, but not all holidays are Festival Days.

“THE WINE OF THE REGION”: BEER AND SABBATH LITURGY

The Rabbis believe that all acts of eating and drinking require the recitation of ritual blessings. On holidays, these blessings vary to include mention of the specific day. For example, in modern rabbinic liturgy, the Friday evening Sabbath meal begins with a blessing over wine (Hebrew qiddush; literally, “declare holy” or “sanctification”), which quotes a relevant biblical passage:

The sixth day—The heaven and earth were finished, and all of their array. And on the seventh day God finished His work that He had been doing, and on the seventh day He rested (Hebrew va-yishbot) from all His work that He had been doing. And God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy (Hebrew va-yiqadesh), because on it He rested (Hebrew shavat) from all His work that God in creating had done. (Genesis 1:31–2:3)

The Sabbath qiddush therefore contains the origin story of the Sabbath itself: on the seventh day, God rested (Hebrew shavat; the noun is shabbat) and, in an act of imitation of God (Latin imitatio dei), Jews commemorate this event by resting every seventh day. Since the biblical account lists night and then day (e.g., Genesis 1:31: “And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day”), the rabbinic day begins at sunset. Thus, the seventh day begins on Friday at sunset and ends at sunset on Saturday.

Though the Hebrew Bible commands observance of the Sabbath (e.g., Exodus 20:8–11; Deuteronomy 5:12–15), many of the details are not fully spelled out. The Rabbis work out these particulars, with an aim to sanctifying time rather than space (see Heschel 1997). One area of focus concerns beverages. Indeed, while the Rabbis might quibble about the procedure, they presume “that the Sabbath must be sanctified with blessings at a Friday night meal that includes wine. You will look in vain throughout the Torah of Moses [i.e., the Written Torah] for any such requirement. But it is assumed as a firm and noncontroversial fulfillment of a divine commandment to sanctify the Sabbath” (Jaffee 2006, 77). The connection between wine and the Sabbath is so strong that it is found in the background of many accounts. For example, a discussion of law concerning the Sabbath day states that, due to festive drinking, “intoxication is common on [the Sabbath]” (b. Eruvin 61a). Despite rabbinic concerns for intoxication, it would seem that when there is drinking, there is sometimes too much drinking. Further, even ancient non-Jews, such as the Roman authors Persius and Plutarch, are aware that wine plays a prominent role in Sabbath celebration (see Rosenblum 2010, 174–75).

Given the strong association between the Sabbath and wine, it is not surprising to find Sabbath laws about this beverage. Sabbath and Festival laws often intersect, and the Rabbis assume that wine is used for the ritual celebration of the Sabbath. However—especially pertinent in a Babylonian context—can one perhaps substitute beer?

This query arises in a discussion about regulations concerning the blessing over wine at the beginning of Sabbath on Friday night (Hebrew qiddush) and the liturgy for the conclusion of the Sabbath on Saturday night (Hebrew havdalah; literally, “separation” or “division”). Both ceremonies feature wine.

We begin, as rabbinic conversation so often does, with an anecdote:

Mar Yenuqa and Mar Qeshisha, the sons of Rav Hisda, said to Rav Ashi: One time, Ameimar visited our place [on a Sabbath afternoon], and we did not have wine [with which to recite havdalah]. We brought him beer, but he did not recite havdalah [using the beer], “and spent the night fasting” [Daniel 6:19]. The next day, we took the trouble and brought him wine, and he recited havdalah [using the wine] and ate something. The following year, he again visited our place. [Once again,] we did not have wine. We brought beer [again to him]. He said: If so, [beer] is the wine of the region. [Therefore,] he recited havdalah [using the beer] and ate something. (b. Pesahim 107a)

Since there is so much to discuss, I pause the talmudic passage (Aramaic sugya’) here. The story begins with a pair of sons recounting a story. The son’s names are interesting, as they literally mean “Young Master” (Aramaic Mar Yenuqa) and “Old Master” (Aramaic Mar Qeshisha). Commentators speculate whether these: (1) are their actual names; (2) are nicknames for Rav Hisda’s younger and elder sons; (3) are nicknames for the son born when Rav Hisda was young and the son born when he was old; (4) they both had the same name and these nicknames distinguish them; or (5) they had the same name, which is Mar (“Master”), and these nicknames distinguish them. I note this debate because it reminds us how much we can read into even such a small detail as the names of the Rabbis reporting an event. Too often, readers skim right past this detail and ignore that this too is open for discussion and potentially useful for interpretation and analysis. For example, on b. Avodah Zarah 17a, the narrative of one who sins and then repents is foreshadowed in his very name: Elazar ben Durdya. In Hebrew, Elazar means “God Will Help”; in Aramaic, Durdya are the lees, or sediment, that settle at the bottom of a fermented beverage. Therefore, his very name summarizes his entire tale: God will help the one who “represents the dregs of society, the bottom of the barrel” (Wasserman 2017, 61).

After learning their names, we discover that Ameimar once came to visit Rav Hisda’s sons on a Sabbath afternoon. As evening approached, they prepared to recite havdalah, a ritual that separates, in the words of the ritual itself,

. . . between holy and profane, between light and darkness, between Israel and the nations, between the seventh day and the six days of labor. (b. Pesahim 103b)

At this moment, a problem arose: the brothers had no wine. Ameimar refused to recite havdalah using beer. In addition, he did not eat, since the conversation earlier in this section of the Talmud related to whether one may eat prior to reciting havdalah (see b. Pesahim 106b–107a). Therefore, he went to bed hungry, having been unable to recite havdalah. When he woke up on Sunday morning, the brothers (apparently having recited havdalah using their beer) scrambled and found wine so that their buddy could recite havdalah (and eat). The next year, perhaps forgetting his previous experience, he visits his wine-less friends and the situation repeats itself. But now Ameimar realizes that the brothers must live in a region like Wisconsin, the state in which I wrote these very words, where beer is the preferred beverage; it is “the wine of the region.” In that case, he concludes that it is acceptable to recite havdalah using beer, which is precisely what he does.

But is Ameimar’s havdalah practice a general Sabbath ritual principle for all to follow? After briefly discussing other related laws learned from Ameimar’s actions (for example, “it is forbidden for a person to eat before reciting havdalah”), the text continues:

Rav Hisda inquired of Rav Huna: What is [the law] regarding reciting qiddush [using] beer? He said: Now [if this is the case in regard to] beer made from figs, dates, or Dilmun dates—which I inquired of Rav [whether they are suitable for reciting qiddush] and Rav [inquired] of Rabbi Hiyya and Rabbi Hiyya [inquired] of Rabbi and he could not resolve [the legal problem] for him—can there even be a question [in regard to barley] beer?!

It was understood from this: it is specifically qiddush that we cannot recite [using] beer, but we can indeed recite havdalah [using beer].

Rav Hisda said to them: Thus said Rav: Just as one does not recite qiddush over it, so too one does not recite havdalah over it. It was also stated: Rav Tahlifa bar Avimi said that Shmuel said: Just as one does not recite qiddush over it, so too one does not recite havdalah over it. (b. Pesahim 107a)

I begin again by noting the name of the Rabbis initiating the conversation. First of all, Rav Hisda appeared above, as the father of Ameimar’s non-wine drinking friends. Second, I have emended the text to reverse the order of the Rabbis cited in the first line, as many commentators prefer. Elsewhere we learn that Rav Hisda was the disciple of Rav Huna (and, from b. Bava Metzi’a 33a, that they eventually had a big falling out), and we expect questions in rabbinic literature to be asked by students to their teachers, and not vice versa. While I do not usually note instances where I slightly alter the text, I bring this to our attention to again remind us that the names of the authorities quoted should not be ignored (though we should also not presume everything attributed to a sage to be either consistent or historically reliable).

The question arises: can one recite qiddush using beer? The answer is no. But rather than just say that, the text needs to explain the reasoning. Several authorities investigated whether one could recite qiddush using beer brewed from superior ingredients (the translations of which are debated; I follow Sokoloff 2002, 891), and they could not resolve the debate in the affirmative: in short, they could not conclude that one may, indeed, use these beers for reciting qiddush. And if they could not do so for these higher-quality beers, a lesser-quality beer made from barley could hardly be used for this ritual purpose. So beer is off the table with regard to the recitation of qiddush. But the text at first concludes that “we can indeed recite havdalah [using beer].” Two different traditions (one cited by our old friend Rav Hisda) are introduced that state the same ruling verbatim: beer is unsuitable for the recitation of either qiddush or havdalah.

But the text does not leave things where they stand. Why? Because there is still support for using beer for havdalah (further support can be found in y. Berakhot 8:1, 11d; and y. Pesahim 10:2, 37c). So a series of anecdotes are related in b. Pesahim 107a that seek to denigrate the position of beer in regard to Sabbath ritual. One Rabbi who praises a particular beer, declaring it “fit to recite qiddush over it,” walks back that claim after said beer causes him intestinal trouble. In another tale, Rav Huna accuses Rav of reciting qiddush over beer solely because Rav has begun to profit from the sale of beer (and hence, using it instead of wine for ritual purposes would be to his own financial advantage). Furthermore, two traditions are cited that claim that qiddush can only be recited using wine, and not beer. However, note that the traditions continue to take issue with beer used for the recitation of qiddush but not havdalah.

It would seem clear that the Sabbath must begin by reciting qiddush over wine, but could possibly conclude with the recitation of havdalah using either wine or beer. But even if wine must be used for both rituals, the fact remains that a beverage is once again at the center of rabbinic practice and debate. Like the hole at the center of the donut, the Sabbath is an absence that defines the dough/weekdays that surround it. But what do beverages teach us about the things that one may or may not do on the Sabbath itself? It is to this question that we now turn.

DRINKING, ENDANGERING LIFE, AND WORKING ON THE SABBATH

As a weekly day of rest, the Sabbath is the commonest Jewish holiday. But just because it is the most common does not mean that it is common. Indeed, the Sabbath is understood as holy, not mundane. Remember that: “God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy” (Genesis 2:3). And its frequency is part of this sanctity. Requiring weekly practice establishes a rhythm that regularly reorients one’s routine.

These lofty theological claims aside, rabbinic conversation about the holy Sabbath often focuses on the mundane: what daily tasks may or may not be performed on the Sabbath? For example, m. Shabbat 2:1–7 details the rules associated with kindling lamps and candles on Friday afternoon in order to provide light on the Sabbath—a day on which no flames may be lit (see Exodus 35:3). In many modern synagogues, this chapter—referred to by its first two Hebrew words ba-meh madliqin (“With what may one light . . .”)—is included in the Friday evening liturgy. For the Rabbis, discussion of the mundane signals the holiness presumed to saturate this entire day.

While the Hebrew Bible commands that the Sabbath be celebrated, it provides a bare (and sometimes contradictory) outline of what may or may not be done on this day. For example, Sabbath observance is the fourth of the Ten Commandments. According to Exodus 20:8, this commandment requires that one “Remember (Hebrew zakhor) the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” But in the version of the Ten Commandments that appears in Deuteronomy 5:11, the commandment is to “Observe (Hebrew shamor) the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” Which one is it—“remember” or “observe”? And what exactly does it mean to “remember” or “observe”?

In order to address these issues, the Rabbis embark on an ambitious exegetical journey, which involves clarifying contradictions, filling in missing data, updating rules, creating new regulations, and extending (or limiting) the scope of some existing legislation. At the center of this legal enterprise is the rabbinic creation of thirty-nine categories of labor prohibited on the Sabbath (Hebrew mela’khot; see m. Shabbat 7:2; Cohen 2007, 134–38]). For example, the activities related to hunting a deer are separated into seven different categories of prohibited labor, including regulations against: (1) hunting the deer; (2) slaughtering it; (3) flaying and (4) salting the carcass; and (5) curing, (6) scraping, and (7) slicing its hide. Each of these are primary prohibited labors, with multiple levels of related activities falling under the general rubric. Therefore, these thirty-nine categories of labor result in an almost infinite amount of sub-sets of prohibitions.

One of the most discussed Sabbath prohibitions is number thirty-nine on the list of thirty-nine categories of prohibited labor: “taking out from one domain to another” (m. Shabbat 7:2). In order to allow for carrying objects between domains on the Sabbath, the Rabbis develop a legal fiction known as ‘eruv (“mixture”), in which multiple domains are “mixed” into a single domain; and therefore, one is not taking an object (e.g., a bottle of wine) from one domain into another, but is understood rather to be carrying it within the domain itself, which is permitted on the Sabbath. The topic of the ‘eruv has attracted attention in both the ancient world—where it is the subject of an entire talmudic tractate, Eruvin—and in modernity—where it is the subject of popular novels, such as The Yiddish Policemen’s Union by Michael Chabon (2007), and an episode of The Daily Show (2011).

Of the many discussions concerning moving beverages on the Sabbath, there is one that raises several fascinating related issues:

One may move a shofar [on the Sabbath] in order to give drink from it to an infant. (t. Shabbat 13:16)

In order to feed a hungry infant on the Sabbath, one may transport a ram’s horn (Hebrew shofar) into which breast milk has been expressed. As we shall see below, this is part of a larger concern for infants who depend on breast milk for their survival (and about endangering life in general). Therefore, this text allows for the movement of a shofar on the Sabbath.

The specific vessel being moved raises additional Sabbath-related questions. Formed from a ram’s horn, a shofar is a musical instrument, a trumpet (see fig. 3). In the world of the Rabbis, as is the case today, the shofar is commonly associated with the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah) and the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur). Throughout the month of Elul in the rabbinic calendar (usually occurring in August or September), which leads up to these holidays, and during the holidays themselves, the shofar is an integral part of the liturgy. The Rabbis develop a detailed ritual for blowing the shofar, inspired by biblical references to Rosh Hashanah as “a memorial of blowing” (Leviticus 23:24) and “a day of blowing” (Numbers 29:1). When either of these holidays falls on the Sabbath, however, the shofar is not blown. While the Rabbis believe that prior to the destruction of the Second Temple, the shofar was blown when one of these holidays coincided with the Sabbath, they assert that this is no longer the case. Thus, a shofar is a ritual object that should not be used on the Sabbath; and since, according to another rabbinic principle, objects that cannot be used on the Sabbath should not be carried on that day, a shofar should not be moved on the Sabbath. (For discussion of these various concerns, see b. Rosh Hashanah 29b.)

Figure 3. Shofar made in Israel in the 1960s. Photo: Ralph Grunewald.

Finally, the shofar is not a standard drinking vessel, which is precisely the point. The normal is boring, however, and the odd is fascinating. To illustrate the matter, the Rabbis have chosen an odd example—as we should by now expect of them. A modern discussion of barware is likely to be about beer mugs and champagne flutes, not trumpets and concert flutes, and the same applies here. As a hollowed-out ram’s horn, a shofar could indeed hold a beverage (or something else; as an interesting aside, the shofar pictured in figure 3 belonged to my grandfather, and a relative of mine briefly used it as a hash pipe in the 1970s). Therefore, this example offers the perfect balance between farfetched and plausible.

In addition to the drinking vessel, we should take note of the beverage in the shofar. As we explore in several other chapters in this book, breast milk provides a curious test case, given its vital importance to an infant’s life. In the present instance, we learn about breast milk in a shofar, but what about the related question: may a woman actually express breast milk into a vessel on the Sabbath? For the answer, we turn to a text found earlier in this same tractate:

A woman may not squeeze her breasts and lactate into a cup or into a dish, and then nurse her child. One may nurse neither from a non-Jewish woman nor from an impure beast. But if it was a matter of danger, absolutely nothing stands in the way of preservation of life. (t. Shabbat 9:22)

In general, expressing breast milk into a cup or dish—and also into a shofar—on the Sabbath is forbidden (on what Sabbath restrictions this violates, see b. Shabbat 95a; b. Ketubbot 60a; Hayes 2002, 208); directly nursing a child is not. And since the Rabbis are considering questions related to prohibited breastfeeding practices on the Sabbath, they then add two others: nursing from a non-Jewish woman and from an impure beast (for discussion of these two issues, see Hayes 2002, 207–12; Rosenblum 2016, 163–67).

Although t. Shabbat does not explain why a woman would need to express milk into a vessel prior to nursing her infant on the Sabbath, medieval rabbinic sources perhaps provide insight:

Some medieval Jewish sources discuss a problem that occurred on Sabbath. In some cases, Jewish women suffered from a surplus of milk on Sabbath. The ruling in such a case was to allow this woman to nurse as much as possible until the pain subsided. On weekdays, these women often expressed the excess milk. But on the Sabbath, expressing milk was forbidden. The halakhic ruling was that Jewish women could nurse Christian children if such a necessity arose, in order to ease their pain. (Baumgarten 2004, 143–44)

Since medieval Jewish women’s bodies did not know that it was the Sabbath, and due to pain to the one nursing and risk to the infant’s life if the source of milk decreased production (note here my intentional use of utilitarian language, which should be read to reflect their concerns and not necessarily my own), medieval Rabbis relaxed a prohibition—discussed in chapter 3—against Jewish women nursing non-Jewish infants. But they did not relax the prohibition against expressing milk on the Sabbath.

This latter decision is curious because of the final sentence of t. Shabbat 9:22: “But if it was a matter of danger, absolutely nothing stands in the way of preservation of life”—which clearly allows for the relaxation of such Sabbath prohibitions when life is in danger. Indeed, the very phrase “preservation of life” (Hebrew piquaḥ nefesh) is an important rabbinic concept, wherein the preservation of life supersedes any commandment, with only three exceptions: idolatry, forbidden sexual relations, and murder. This is because humans “shall live” by performing commandments, and not die by doing so (quoting and interpreting Leviticus 18:5; see b. Yoma 85b; b. Sanhedrin 74a). Thus, to cite a relevant example, if a person experiences severe chest pains on a Friday night, and relief could be found in drinking milk directly from an animal’s udder, then it would be allowed, even though this act of drinking violates rabbinic Sabbath regulations (see b. Ketubbot 60a). A Jew may violate any Sabbath prohibition in order to save that person’s life. The only exception to this general principle is if, for example, saving a life required committing an act of idolatry. (As farfetched as that might sound, the Rabbis consider a roughly analogous case; see Schäfer 2007, 52–62.) Of course, although one not only may—but must—violate all but three Sabbath prohibitions in order to save a life, many discussions of such situations detail the optimal way to do so in order to minimize (or even eliminate) the transgression (e.g., y. Eruvin 10:12, 26d describes how to draw water on the Sabbath for a sick person).

The theme of danger to life and its effect on Sabbath regulations is not only encountered in rabbinic conversations about breast milk. For example, what happens if a person swallows a leech on the Sabbath and hot water is required for the remedy? In chapter 5, I promised to answer this very question. We learn:

For Rabbi Hanina said: If one swallows a water leech, it is permitted to heat water for him on the Sabbath.

And once upon a time there was a certain person who swallowed a water leech and Rabbi Nehemiah permitted heating water for him on the Sabbath. In the meantime, said Rav Huna son of Rav Yehoshua, let him swallow vinegar. (b. Avodah Zarah 12b)

Swallowing a leech was considered to be potentially life-threating. So if one swallows a leech on a Saturday morning, then Sabbath rules are relaxed in order to prepare a remedy immediately. “You shall not kindle a fire throughout your settlements on the Sabbath day,” Exodus 35:3 declares, but when life is at stake, you may kindle a fire and boil water to treat a leech swallower. While the water is coming to a boil, the victim may take a swig of vinegar to temporarily relieve the symptoms. But vinegar is a palliative, not a substitute for hot water—hence the need to violate Sabbath law in the effort to save a life.

While these examples do not provide an exhaustive list of Sabbath restrictions, regulations, or the categories of prohibited labor, they offer insight into how rabbinic conversation about Sabbath law seeks to understand the limits of what actions can and cannot be performed on this weekly holiday. In particular, we learn about how concern for the preservation of life allows for the violation of almost any law (Sabbath-related or otherwise).

“WINE GLADDENS THE HEART OF MAN”: DRINKING ON FESTIVAL DAYS

Sabbath occurs every week, but it is not the only event on the rabbinic calendar. Throughout the year, there are several Festival Days. These “Good Days” (Hebrew yom tov) are governed by many of the same rules and regulations as the Sabbath, though they also have more flexibility and allowances. They are therefore often discussed in relation to the Sabbath. One important area of difference between Sabbath- and Festival-law relates to food and drink. The Festival kitchen is allowed to be a busier place, as noted in m. Betzah 5:2:

The only difference between a Festival and the Sabbath is in the preparation of food alone. (cf. m. Megillah 1:5)

The Rabbis developed an elaborate series of regulations governing Festival Days, but the holidays themselves, and many of their basic conceptions, originate in the Hebrew Bible. In order of their appearance in the rabbinic calendar, these Festival Days are Rosh Hashanah (New Year); Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement); Sukkot (Tabernacles, connected to harvest traditions and commemorating the Israelites’ post-Exodus wandering in the desert); Passover (commemorating the Exodus from Egypt); and Shavuot (Pentecost, which is important for unclear reasons in the Hebrew Bible, though eventually understood as commemorating the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai). Three of these Festivals—Sukkot, Passover, and Shavuot—are deemed Pilgrimage Festivals, on which pilgrimage to Jerusalem (or a suitable alternative practice) is required. I shall not discuss these holidays and their evolution in detail (for a brief overview, see Satlow 2006, 86–89, 175–79), but it is important to know that the Rabbis elaborate on the observance of and legislation governing these days.

Festivals are times to be festive. And how does one go about being festive?

It is a commandment for a man to make his children and his dependents happy on the Festival.

How does he make them happy? With wine, as it is written: “and wine gladdens the heart of man” [Psalm 104:15].

Rabbi Judah says: Women with what is appropriate for them, and children with what is appropriate for them. (t. Pisha 10:4)

Though this text refers to one particular Festival—Passover—the sentiment applies equally to all others: one should be happy on a Festival, and wine makes one happy, so drink wine on Festivals! The need to provide wine on a Festival is understood as a commandment (Hebrew mitzvah). This understanding is heavily gendered, as this commandment is incumbent upon men, who must make their children and dependents (likely referring to their wives) happy. Furthermore, Rabbi Judah suggests that wine might not be appropriate for all. As later commentators note, Rabbis commonly presume that, in lieu of wine, women prefer colorful garments and children prefer treats like roasted grains and nuts (see Lieberman 2002, 196). It is for this reason that I used an antiquated translation of Psalm 104:15: “wine gladdens the heart of man”—“man” and not the more gender-inclusive “humanity,” because though wine brings Festival joy, the one imagined as holding that wine cup is, more often than not, imagined as a man (e.g., b. Berakhot 35a, which extrapolates about the songs of male Temple officials based on Judges 9:13: “. . . wine, which gladdens God and men”).

The gendering of wine consumption is discussed in other chapters of this book, and the presumption that men drink on Festivals is encountered in many texts. For example, in the midst of a conversation about priests getting drunk in the Temple, we learn:

[Rav Aha] came before Rav Ashi [for help resolving a legal matter]. [Rav Ashi] said to him: Go today and come back tomorrow, for Rav did not appoint an ’amora by his side from [when he began to enjoy] the Festival meal until the next day, because of drunkenness. (b. Keritot 13b)

The precise legal matter requiring resolution is unimportant. I can make this assertion because this same tradition appears in at least two other passages. On b. Zevahim 18a, it arises in a similar context (priests drinking), but on b. Betzah 4a–b the halakhic (meaning “legal”) issue concerns cooking on a Festival Day eggs that were laid on the Sabbath. What is important is that, when intoxicated on a Festival Day, one should not appoint an ’amora – a speaker who, as part of rabbinic classroom instruction, would repeat the words of the instructor loud enough for all in the audience to hear (for references to this practice, see Sokoloff 2002, 139). And just to clarify why one should not teach on this day and under these conditions, b. Betzah 4a–b notes that, were the Rabbi to have taught then, in his state of inebriation he might have cited the wrong legal opinion!

I note these other two variant texts for another reason: the Rabbis who were drinking are not the same in each case (for example, in the case of b. Betzah 4a–b, it is our favorite beer baron, Rav Pappa). However, they all cite Rav’s precedent of not teaching on holidays “because of drunkenness.” Drinking in earnest begins at the Festival meal, which in Aramaic is yoma’ tava’ (“The Good Day”; the equivalent of the Hebrew yom tov)—meaning both the Festival itself and the main Festival meal. Therefore, it would seem that Rabbis festively drinking on Festival Days is fairly common. This point is reinforced in another text, in which a Rabbi makes accommodations in the order of ritual practice when the timing of a Festival and the Sabbath coincide; he allows extra time between certain ritual actions, “in order that they do not enter into the mitzvah [commandment] drunk” (y. Pesahim 5:1, 31d). L’chaim!

Note, however, that the Rabbis also discuss drinking other, non-intoxicating, beverages on Festival Days. Thus, we learn:

Once upon a time, the people of Tiberias put a cold water pipe into a channel of hot water. The sages said to them: If [one wants to use such water] on the Sabbath, it is like water heated on the Sabbath—forbidden for washing and for drinking; [if one wants to use such water] on a Festival Day, it is like water heated on a Festival Day—forbidden for washing, but permitted for drinking. (m. Shabbat 3:4; on this text, see Simon-Shoshan 2012, 47–48, 111–16)

Using ancient technology, the people of Tiberias (a city in the north of Palestine, along the western coast of the Sea of Galilee) embark on an ambitious civic project: they pipe cold water through natural hot springs, which heats the cold water, providing the citizens with a renewable source of hot water for washing and drinking. On your average day, this solution presents no problems, only solutions to how to heat water without modern plumbing. But on Sabbath and Festival Days, this presents a potential problem (as does drawing water from a water channel in general; see m. Eruvin 8:7; and y. Eruvin 8:8, 24d). We have already learned that kindling a fire and rabbinically related heating issues are prohibited on the Sabbath. However, regulations for Festival Days are slightly different, and certain acts of heating are allowed, such as heating water for drinking (see m. Betzah 2:5). Therefore, the sages inform the people of Tiberias that hot water sourced from their civic infrastructure is forbidden for use on the Sabbath, and permitted only in regard to hot water for drinking on a Festival Day.

In many rabbinic texts, the anonymous voice of “the sages” depicts their ruling as a unified and authoritative voice. As Moshe Simon-Shoshan notes:

The water-pipe story further emphasizes this ideal of centralized rabbinic authority by not naming any individual rabbi or group of rabbis. Rather, it was simply “the sages” who issued their ruling to the people of Tiberias. Who is included in “the sages”? By deploying such a vague term, the Mishnah suggests that a ruling cited by “the sages” represents the uncontested opinion of the entire rabbinic class. It is as if “the sages” were a corporate entity speaking with one voice. (2012, 114)

When views are attributed to “the sages,” therefore, we should always remember that this designation creates a centralized authority and unified viewpoint that may—or may not—reflect ancient reality. Some of these instances may indeed reflect majority opinion, but many occurrences likely reflect an attempt to present the Rabbis as communal authorities for communities that may—or may not—have embraced, agreed with, or even known about their opinions. So once again, I caution the reader against reading these texts necessarily as descriptive of actual, ancient events and practices, rather than as prescriptive of how a particular ancient Jewish group desired events and practices to unfold.

STRAINING WINE AND BREWING BEER ON INTERMEDIATE FESTIVAL DAYS

Beverages have already taught us about Sabbath and Festival regulations. But what about days sandwiched between Festival Days? These “Intermediate Festival Days” (Hebrew ḥol ha-mo‘ed; literally: “non-sacral days of the Festival”) occur when Festival Days bookend non-Festival days. For example, on both Sukkot and Passover, the beginning and the end days are Festival Days, but the days in between are non-Festival days. These non-Festival days are invested with some significance, making them like Festival Days, but also, at the same time, they are like other, non-sacral days. They are semi-sacred, quasi-Festival Days. Given the hybrid status of these days, as readers of this volume should by now expect, the Rabbis devote significant attention to spelling out which Festival rules and regulations do—and do not—apply to Intermediate Festival Days. In fact, this is the subject of an entire tractate (Mo‘ed Qatan; literally: “Little Festival”), which covers a variety of topics, including practical issues such as whether it is permissible to clip fingernails and toenails on Intermediate Festival Days (indeed, it is; see b. Mo‘ed Qatan 18a).

To what extent do rules related to Festival Days also apply to the Intermediate Days of a Festival? This is especially important because if a person begins to do something on these days, they need to know whether they can continue doing it during the Festival Day that is right around the corner. One area in which this very concern arises is in regard to brewing beer on Intermediate Festival Days. But to understand this question, we first need to examine Sabbath- and Festival-related rules for the straining of wine.

According to m. Shabbat 20:1:

Rabbi Eliezer says: One may suspend a strainer on a Festival Day [but not on the Sabbath], and one may put [wine] through a strainer on the Sabbath [and, thus, also on a Festival Day].

But the sages say: One may neither suspend a strainer on a Festival Day nor put [wine] through a strainer on the Sabbath, but one may put [wine] through a strainer on a Festival Day.

As discussed earlier in this chapter, there are a series of elaborate Sabbath prohibitions, which the Rabbis group into thirty-nine categories of prohibited labor (see m. Shabbat 7:2; Cohen 2007, 134–38). Some of these extend to Festival Days, and others do not. And some of those that extend to Festival Days also extend to Intermediate Festival Days, and others do not. In m. Shabbat 20:1, these questions come up in regard to straining wine. In the ancient world, as today (though to a much lesser extent due to modern technology), stored wine contains sediment. One way to separate wine from sediment is to pour the wine through a strainer. Such a pre-drink routine becomes potentially problematic if doing so is classified as a category of prohibited labor. Is suspending a strainer over a drinking cup an act of “building”? Does the physical act of putting wine in a strainer—of pouring it through the sieve—constitute “selecting”? If so, both are categories of prohibited labor according to m. Shabbat 7:2.

Rabbi Eliezer considers these questions and concludes that both placing and using a wine strainer is allowed on a Festival Day. However, only the latter is permitted on the Sabbath. The anonymous sages, representing the plurality of rabbinic opinion, disagree: both are prohibited on the Sabbath, and only the latter is permitted on a Festival Day. It would seem that wine poured on the Sabbath and on the Festival Day will have sediment in it—that is, unless you remember to set up your strainer prior to the beginning of a Festival Day.

In its commentary on this mishnah, the Babylonian Talmud adds three interesting elements. First, it introduces the concept of subterfuge, that is, of using a permitted action as a pretext to allow for another action that would have been prohibited on its own. Second, it considers the impact on beer, as well—which makes sense, since Babylonians were beer drinkers. Third, it considers how this legislation affects drinking habits during the Intermediate Festival Days. Therefore, we discover:

Rabbah bar Rav Huna said: One may employ a subterfuge (Hebrew ma‘arim) with regard to [suspending] a strainer on a Festival Day [by using it] to hold pomegranates in it, and [then, once it is already set up, pour wine through it and] hold sediment in it.

Rav Ashi says: Provided that he holds pomegranates in it [first]. (b. Shabbat 139b)

I pause the text here in order to fully appreciate Rabbah bar Rav Huna’s brilliant artifice. Setting up a strainer through which to pour wine on a Festival Day is still forbidden. However, remember that m. Shabbat 20:1 allows the physical act of straining wine on a Festival Day; it merely prohibits setting up an apparatus to do so. This is where pomegranates prove useful. A popular fruit, pomegranates ripen around August, making them ideal for eating on Rosh Hashanah and Sukkot (which usually occur in either September or October; on pomegranates, see Marks 2010, 479–80). Therefore, if I were to set up a strainer in order to hold pomegranates—a permitted action—on a Festival Day, and then, once it was set up, were to use it to filter my wine—another permitted action—then I would have managed to achieve my intended goal without violating rabbinic law (Hebrew halakhah). I would have sediment-free wine and have effectively worked around the prohibited action.

This is why Rav Ashi’s provision is important. For this subterfuge to be licit, one needs to actually place pomegranates in the strainer first. Failure to do so would mean that the strainer was explicitly set up for the purpose of straining wine. That would be forbidden. But if I were to set up a strainer, and then were to place pomegranates in it, I would have effectively “proven” that my explicit purpose in setting up the strainer was to hold pomegranates. And once I have proven that, if I were to remove all of the pomegranates and then use that same strainer to catch sediment from wine that I pour through it, then that would be permissible on an Intermediate Festival Day. Note however that the text explicitly acknowledges that this is all a subterfuge. (For other examples of legal subterfuges, see t. Yom Tov 3:2; y. Shabbat 2:6, 5b–c; and b. Shabbat 65b.) In the equivalent of an ancient wink, it admits that this pomegranate trick is just that—a trick, a subtext to work around a prohibited action in order to achieve a desired, and now permissible, goal. Where there is a will, there is a way—especially when wine is involved!

Now we turn to beer. Remember, the Babylonian Talmud was composed in a cultural context in which beer is the beverage of choice, not wine. Therefore, much as we might expect a text compiled in Italy to discuss coffee and wine, while one edited in England might focus on tea and ale, we should expect conversations about wine in the Babylonian Talmud to quickly pivot towards beer. And that is precisely what happens in the continuation of our text:

How is this [case in regard to straining wine] different from that which is taught in a baraita’: One may brew beer on [the Intermediate Days of] the Festival, when it is necessary [for drinking] on the Festival; but if it is not necessary [for drinking] on the Festival, [then brewing] it is forbidden. [This ruling applies to brewing] both date beer and barley beer. Even though one has old [beer available for Festival drinking], one may employ a subterfuge and drink from the new [freshly brewed beer].

There, [in regard to the beer subterfuge,] the matter is not apparent; here, [in regard to the wine subterfuge,] the matter is apparent. (b. Shabbat 139b; cf. b. Mo‘ed Qatan 12b)

We begin with a question: how is the case of straining wine on an Intermediate Festival Day different from a case involving brewing beer on such a day? To establish the similarities and differences between these two case studies, the Talmud cites a baraita’, a tradition reputed to be of tannaitic origin that is cited in an amoraic text. In citing what the text claims to be an earlier tradition, a case study of beer is introduced. The baraita’ presumes that brewing beer on a Festival day itself is prohibited. But what about brewing beer on an Intermediate Festival Day? As usual, the answer is: it depends. If the beer is being brewed specifically for celebration of the fast-approaching Festival Day, then go ahead and brew it. But, if the beer is being brewed for use on a regular day sometime after the Festival itself has concluded, then that act of brewing is prohibited. In this way, the connection between the Intermediate Festival Day and the Festival Day itself is made explicit: actions on these semi-sacred days should be weighed in relevance to the surrounding Festival Days. So beer brewed for use on a Festival is allowed, but an act of brewing that constitutes preparation for time beyond Festival time detracts from the holiness of this time and therefore is forbidden.

This ruling applies to two different kinds of beer: beer brewed from dates and beer brewed from barley. This is important because of their relevance to the two Festivals on which Intermediate Festival Days occur: Passover and Sukkot. On Passover, barley is one of the Five Species that fall under the category of “leaven” (Hebrew ḥametz), and thus cannot be combined with water and consumed on this Festival (see b. Berakhot 36b–37a). Barley beer would therefore be impermissible throughout the entirety of Passover—whether on a Festival Day or an Intermediate Festival Day (as noted in b. Pesahim 42b). But date beer would be kosher for Passover. (Fun fact: in recent years, given the obvious Jewish ritual benefits on Passover, plus the added benefit of being gluten-free, some modern craft brewers have begun producing date beer.)

On Sukkot, when leaven is not prohibited, barley beer would not be a concern. And neither would date beer. But date beer actually has an added benefit for the celebration of Sukkot: the date palm is one of the Four Species that play a key role in the ritual celebration of Sukkot (see Leviticus 23:40; m. Sukkot 3:8–4:7; Rubenstein 1995). The date-palm frond (Hebrew lulav), along with branches of the other members of the Four Species [myrtle, willow, and citron; Hebrew hadas, ‘aravah, and ’etrog], is used in an elaborate performative ritual practice in the rabbinic Sukkot liturgy. This might not have been at the forefront of their minds, but drinking date beer on Sukkot certainly accords with the general spirit of this particular Festival.

Next, we return to the concept of subterfuge. In this case, even though one has old beer on hand, one may brew new beer on an Intermediate Festival Day and then imbibe that fresh beer on the Festival Day itself. So what do we learn from this new evidence? Well, if beer is an important part of my Festival celebration, and I have either none or an insufficient supply, I may brew more on the Intermediate Days of the Festival. But what if I have an ample supply of beer? According to this baraita’, I may still brew new beer and consume that beer on the Festival Day; and my supply of old beer then can be used for drinking on non-Festival days that follow. Therefore, regardless of actual necessity for Festival celebration, I may claim the need for beer as a legal fiction for brewing beer on an Intermediate Festival Day.

However, in the last line of this passage, the anonymous voice of the Talmud correctly asserts that the beer subterfuge is not quite the same as the previous one employed for straining wine. In the case of the beer subterfuge, brewing beer on an Intermediate Festival Day for consumption on a Festival Day is allowed. Furthermore, not only is the actual act itself permitted, but there is no way for the casual observer to know how much beer any given brewer has stored away for use on or after the Festival. In the case of the wine subterfuge, straining wine on an Intermediate Festival Day is allowed, but setting up the strainer itself is not. Therefore, if the casual observer witnessed a person suspending a strainer without putting pomegranates in it, the presumption would be that the person set up the strainer for the explicit purpose of straining wine and consequently, in doing so, violated rabbinic law. The matter would be apparent and a visible subterfuge must be employed—hence, the need for pomegranates. As such, these cases are roughly comparable, but with an important caveat: in the case of brewing beer, there is no visible action needed to make the matter of subterfuge apparent.

Like the hole in a donut, Intermediate Festival Days are an absence in the middle of a substance; and yet what might seem like blank space both defines and is defined by that which surrounds it. Beverage-related rabbinic law therefore can be used to exemplify the various issues raised by the semi-sacred Intermediate Festival Days. And it not just the Intermediate Days themselves, but the fact that they are surrounded by Festival Days, which make these days such fascinating case studies in complex halakhah. Along the way, we encounter the concept of subterfuge. Here we see the Rabbis at their tricky best, trying to figure out a legal loophole that allows for licit drinking without violating rabbinic law. Were these texts to be created today, they almost certainly would employ our present language of communication: namely, emoticons. The wine and beer subterfuges would therefore be accompanied by winking faces, to hint at the witty playfulness of these claims. And perhaps the text would end with the comment ROTFL—Rabbi On the Floor Laughing.

FOUR CUPS OF WINE: ALCOHOL AND THE PASSOVER SEDER

Commemorating the Exodus from Egypt recounted in the Hebrew Bible, Passover is a holiday that ties together much of what we have learned in this chapter already. In addition to being composed of both Festival and Intermediate Festival Days, Passover is the Festival Day most associated with alcohol. Why? Because the central rabbinic Passover rite is the Seder (“Order” in Hebrew), a meal that requires the consumption of four cups of wine, accompanied by the Haggadah (“Telling” in Hebrew), the ritual recitation of the Passover story.

The liturgical and culinary history of the Passover Seder is fascinating (see, e.g., Bokser 2002; Kulp 2005; Rosenblum 2010, 63–68, 162–70). Throughout m. Pesahim 10, the details of the Seder are explained; indeed, much of the modern Haggadah draws on this chapter of the Mishnah.

Using Proverbs 23:31 as a proof text, y. Pesahim 10:1, 37c (cf. y. Shabbat 8:1, 11a) states that the commandment (Hebrew mitzvah) specifically requires drinking four cups of red wine. The importance of drinking wine at the Passover is presumed from the very start of m. Pesahim 10:

On the eve of Passover, close to [the time of] minḥah, a person should not eat until it becomes dark. And even the poorest person in Israel should not eat until he reclines. And they should not give him fewer than four cups of wine, even if [the wine comes] from the soup kitchen. (m. Pesahim 10:1)

Around the time of minḥah—the daily afternoon sacrifice during the time of the Temple that the Rabbis translate into a daily afternoon prayer service—consumption of food should cease. This rule applies even to the poorest Jew, for whom hunger is a daily occurrence.

But on Passover, there is a light at the end of the hungry tunnel for the poorest Jew: the Seder. As m. Pesahim 10:1 notes: “And even the poorest person in Israel should not eat until he reclines.” One of the many ancient Mediterranean dining practices that the Rabbis incorporate into the Passover Seder, reclining is a dining posture reserved for the wealthy (in general, see Roller 2006). Reclining requires that the diner lie down and support his body by leaning on his left arm and eating with his right. (I use male pronouns here, because the Rabbis likely understood reclining to be a male practice; see Rosenblum 2012; contrast Hauptman 2014, 45–49.) Reclining diners must be served food. Therefore, this act of eating divides the world into those who can afford to eat like this, and those who cannot (some of the latter are involved in serving food to the former). On Passover, acting as though they were wealthy, even the poor recline.

As a commemoration of the Israelites’ liberation from slavery, this reversal of fortune is of symbolic importance for this Festival; and it is for this reason that accommodations are made so that even the poorest Jew can enjoy freedom—if only for one meal, on one evening per year. This symbolism results in a special allowance: on Passover, the communal soup kitchen (Hebrew tamḥui; see Gardner 2015, 84–110, esp. 95–97) provides four cups of wine—much as many modern soup kitchens in the United States of America provide turkeys and fixings on Thanksgiving.

On Passover, a poor Jew not only eats while reclining, like the wealthy, but drinks wine too. And not just a little, four cups of wine. Reading through m. Pesahim 10, we learn that four cups of wine punctuate the Seder: cup one in the beginning (10:2); cup two after the consumption of symbolic foods (10:4); cup three for the recitation of the Grace after Meals (10:7; for more on this “cup of blessing,” see chapter 5); and cup four for an additional post-meal liturgy (10:7). For a few hours at least, therefore, the poor are entitled to eat and drink as though they were free and wealthy at public expense.

Wine not only marks this day as special, it also can serve a role in preparing for the special day itself. Thus, we learn:

Rava would drink wine all [throughout the day] on the eve of Passover, so that he would whet his appetite in order to eat more matzah in the evening. Rava said: On what basis do I say that wine whets the appetite? For it is taught: “Between these cups, if one wants to drink, he may drink; between the third [cup] and the fourth, one may not drink” [m. Pesahim 10:7]. If you say that wine satiates, why may one drink [additional wine between these cups]? Indeed, eating matzah [under such conditions would then be] gorging! Rather, learn from this [that wine] whets the appetite. (b. Pesahim 107b–108a)

In the hours leading up to the eve of Passover, food is not consumed. Rava would not eat, but he would drink wine. However, he did so for the same reason that one should refrain from eating: in order to be hungry to eat matzah—the unleavened bread that is a central food on Passover (see m. Pesahim 10:5; Marks 2010, 393–97).

Rava cites a portion of m. Pesahim 10:7 stipulating that one is allowed to drink wine “between these cups”—meaning between either the first and second, or second and third of the four cups of wine at the Seder. The first cup of wine is consumed at the very beginning and the second cup in the course of the meal. Both cups are consumed before or during the actual Seder meal. In fact, matzah makes its appearance in the Seder in between these two cups (m. Pesahim 10:3). The third cup, however, is consumed as part of the Grace after Meals, which means that the eating portion of the evening has concluded. Wine is not needed to whet the appetite anymore, which—Rava argues—is why wine can be consumed between either the first and second or second and third cup, but not thereafter. After that, it would just be extra drinking and might muddle the ritual role played by those two final cups of wine.

This point is accented in the Jerusalem Talmud’s commentary on m. Pesahim 10:7:

Why [is it prohibited to drink between the third and fourth cups?]

So that one does not become intoxicated.

[But] is not one already intoxicated?!

What is the difference between wine [drunk] during the meal and wine [drunk] after the meal? Wine [drunk] after the meal causes intoxication, [whereas wine drunk] during the meal does not cause intoxication. (y. Pesahim 10:8, 37d)

Drinking wine with food tempers its intoxicating effects. Hence, the first two cups of wine are balanced out by various ritual and festive foods. Once the meal ends, however, alcohol is the only item left on the menu. For this reason, one should only drink the required final two cups. Anything else would cause intoxication, and y. Pesahim 10:1, 37c (cf. y. Shabbat 8:1, 11a) describes some Rabbis’ epic post-Passover drinking headaches.

Returning to b. Pesahim 107b–108a, the text then brings up a theoretical argument: “If you say that wine satiates,” that is, if you believe that wine offers sustenance as food does, then how can you be allowed to drink additional wine? As is often the case in rabbinic literature, this is an instance of one text presupposing that you have read another text. On b. Berakhot 35b, Rava’s pre-Passover drinking routine appears in the context of regulations governing food and wine blessings. In that text, the issue revolves around whether wine is sustenance enough to be counted as food for the purposes of making certain blessings. Therefore, if one believes that wine satiates like food does, then drinking extra wine would fill you up, since you would be gorging yourself on both matzah and wine. This view is rejected. Wine does not satiate like food; rather it whets the appetite. So drink four cups of wine on Passover. And several cups prior to Passover. And maybe even a few extra during the Seder—that is, at least until the third cup is poured. After that, you can only have two more cups.

While there are many more rules associated with Passover, regulations concerning the four cups of wine give us insight into important elements of the rabbinic celebration of this Festival Day. And while Passover is the Festival Day most associated with alcohol, it is not the Jewish holiday most associated with drinking. For that, we need to turn to Purim, which is a day for ritual celebration, but also, as a non-Festival holiday, is a day on which normal business and activities are allowed.

MANSLAUGHTER, MIRACLES, AND THE MEGILLAH: INTOXICATION AND THE LIMITS OF CELEBRATION

The Jewish holiday of Purim commemorates the events described in the biblical book of Esther, which recounts a supposed incident in which the wicked Haman hatches an evil plot to have all of the Jews of Susa, Persia, murdered. His plot is discovered and eventually foiled. As a result, Haman and his co-conspirators experience the violent fate that they had planned for all Persian Jews.

People today usually think of Purim more as some combination of a Jewish Halloween and a Jewish Mardi Gras. These associations spring from the way that Purim is commonly celebrated. First, marking this celebration as different from all other Jewish holidays, many Jews arrive at synagogue in outfits that range from those of characters in the biblical story (often Esther or Mordecai, her uncle) to the kinds of costumes common at any modern Halloween party (though, for adults, perhaps a little less risqué), imparting a sense of joviality and levity to the event. Second, the central liturgical practice of Purim is the recitation of the book of Esther, known as the Megillah (meaning “scroll”). The importance of this particular megillah can be found as early as the Mishnah: while there are five biblical books referred to as “scrolls” (Hebrew plural megillot), all of which are read as part of the liturgy of different Jewish holidays, the mishnaic tractate Megillah focuses almost entirely on rules associated with the megillah of Esther. Over time, the custom developed of a raucous reading of the Megillah that resembles a sporting event in which the opposing team (or, in this case, the wicked Haman) is booed every time he is mentioned, and the home team (Esther and friends) is cheered. Third, drinking to excess is common. Rabbinic literature usually mandates moderation in alcohol consumption, but Purim is the exception. On this day, intoxication—usually frowned upon—is seen as positive and even, according to some sources, obligatory!

The combination of apparel, amusement, and alcohol make Purim a popular holiday for children, for undergraduates on college campuses, and yes, even for adults. And while the central role that alcohol and intoxication plays in Purim was recognized even in antiquity, so too was the dangerous potential of this loss of control. Go to a synagogue in March (when the holiday usually falls on the modern Jewish calendar) and ask anyone celebrating the holiday about drinking on Purim and they will probably say something about the Talmudic obligation to drink until one does not know the difference between Haman and Mordecai. But ask them about the potential dangers of said drinking also detailed in the Talmud and most will stare at you blankly. Yet both the injunction to become intoxicated and the warning of potential dangers are on the same page of the Babylonian Talmud, the one immediately following the other:

Rava said: A person is obligated to become intoxicated on Purim until he cannot distinguish between “Cursed is Haman” and “Blessed is Mordecai.”

Rabbah and Rabbi Zeira prepared a Purim meal together. They became intoxicated. Rabbah slit the throat of Rabbi Zeira. The next day, [Rabbah] prayed and revived him. The following year, [Rabbah] said to [Rabbi Zeira]: Shall Master come and we will prepare a Purim meal together? [Rabbi Zeira] said to [Rabbah]: Not every time does a miracle occur! (b. Megillah 7b)

Rava insists that becoming intoxicated is a Purim obligation, but this injunction does not exist in isolation. While it has been taken out of context and recited amid Purim revelry, in the Talmud it is very much in context (see Wimpfheimer 2011, 24–30). It has been placed immediately preceding an anecdote that suggests a tempering (if not a Temperance) of Rava’s words. After we read Rava’s view on obligatory Purim drinking, we learn of Rabbah (or, in some manuscripts, Rava) and Rabbi Zeira sharing a drunken Purim meal. In the midst of their celebration, Rabbah gets carried away and slits the throat of his friend, Rabbi Zeira. The verb for slitting the throat is that used of standard ritual animal slaughter. Therefore, he is described as slitting Rabbi Zeira’s throat like an animal. However, Rabbah seems to have no knowledge of what he has done, and he passes out in a drunken stupor. When he awakes in the morning, he realizes what he has done and prays to God to revive his dead friend. Thankfully, his prayers are answered, and Rabbi Zeira returns to life. A year passes, and Rabbah once again invites his friend to party together on Purim. Though we have no sense of how their relationship has evolved since the bloody Purim incident, there might be a hint of sheepish acknowledgement of his previous act in the fact that, in his invitation this year, Rabbah addresses Rabbi Zeira with deferential respect—as “Master.” Sensibly, however, Rabbi Zeira declines.

Rabbi Zeira’s response suggests that we should read this entire anecdote as placed in this order by the editors of this tractate in order to serve as a caution and tempering of Rava’s earlier assertion. Even at times of celebration—indeed, even at this moment when intoxication might be deemed obligatory—self-restraint should not completely go out the window. Read together, the Rabbah and Rabbi Zeira narrative serves to moderate Rava’s assertion. (While Rabbah was Rava’s teacher, we should not expect that he shared with his students a personal story in which he drunkenly kills his friend!) Moderation in alcohol consumption remains a rabbinic ideal. Even at this moment, when the rules are relaxed, one should not go too far. There is a fine line between drinking until you forget, and drinking until you do something you regret.

CONCLUSION

Texts concerning the consumption of beverages on Sabbath, Festivals, and holidays have taught us much about rabbinic conceptions of these sacred times. Debates about the use of beer in ritual introduced us to Sabbath liturgy and practice, and exploration of breastfeeding and liquid remedies for leech-swallowing instructed us about Sabbath work restrictions. We then learned how ancient methods of heating water and straining beer and wine explicate the complex halakhah of Festival Days. Finally, two case studies of excessive drinking taught us about the important Festival of Passover and the holiday of Purim.

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