This article proposes an analysis of two homiletic units in the Palestinian Midrash Leviticus Rabbah, which revolve around biblical chapters pertaining to sacrifices. A theme that pervades these units is that of eating as an animalistic activity that often entails moral depravity. In contrast, the act of sacrificing is constructed in these units as one in which one is willing to give up one's own nourishment, and in a sense one's own “soul,” in order to offer it to God. Many of the motifs used to vilify eating in the Midrash can be traced in moralistic Greek, Roman, and early Christian diatribes preaching for moderation in eating or for asceticism; the homilists in Leviticus Rabbah, however, utilize these popular motifs in order to present sacrifice as the spiritual contrary of eating, and thus to give the obsolete practice of sacrifice cultural cachet and compelling meanings.

The Bavli's story of Herod's rise to power, murder of the Hasmonean family and of the rabbis, encounter with Bava b. Buta, and construction of the temple, found at Bava Batra 3b-4a, has long puzzled scholars. Many aspects of this story diverge from Josephus's account, our main source for historical knowledge of Herod's life and deeds. This paper argues that the storyteller has been influenced by Persian sources from the Sasanian period. Important elements of the Bavli story were modeled on the account of the rise of Ardashir, founder of the Sasanian dynasty, as recounted in a Sasanian text known as the Karnamag i Ardashir i Pabagan, “The Book of the Deeds of Ardashir son of Pabag.” The rabbis understood the transition from the Hasmonean to Herodian dynasties through the prism of the transition from the Parthian to Sasanian dynasties. They identified Herod with Ardashir, and constructed a story of Herod's usurpation and rise to power on the basis of Ardashir's usurpation and rise to power as recounted in Sasanian sources.

Ascetic systems commonly exhibit some sort of conflict between spiritual pursuits and mundane needs. This article contextualizes the particular rabbinic dilemma of study versus sustenance within the broader context of the Zoroastrian tradition and its critique of the Manichaean Elect. The rabbis shared with their Zoroastrian contemporaries not only the perception of a religious tension between agriculture and the pursuit of religious studies, but also a multifaceted array of possible solutions that attempt to harmonize, mitigate, or otherwise resolve this theological and practical tension. While the basic conflict between study and sustenance is already formulated in tannaitic works, it is argued that the unique perspective offered by the Babylonian Talmud engages, and perhaps reacts to, the Iranian tradition.

The formulation and application of rabbinic Halakhah often depends on the determination of facts that belong, to one degree or another, to the province of professional experts. The resulting structural tension is analogous to that posed by the prominence of the expert witness in the modern American court, or the active role of private industry in administrative law. This article examines the relationship in the classical rabbinic corpus from Palestine between rabbis and farmers, or between rabbinic and agricultural expertise. It considers whether agriculture would have been conceived of in this context as a specialized or technical body of knowledge, and, if so, whether and how agricultural Halakhah accommodates itself to this fact.

The Babylonian Talmud (BT) attributes the idea of committing a transgression for the sake of God to R. Naḥman b. Isaac (RNBI). RNBI's statement appears in two parallel sugyot in the BT (Nazir 23a; Horayot 10a). Each sugya has four textual witnesses. By comparing these textual witnesses, this paper will attempt to reconstruct the sugya's earlier (or, what some might term, original) dialectical form, from which the two familiar versions of the text in Nazir and Horayot evolved. This article reveals the specific ways in which, value-laden conceptualizations have a major impact on the Talmud's formulation, as we know it today.

The author revisits texts and arguments from his 2007 article in AJS Review 31 no. 1 in response to a “response” by Azzan Yadin-Israel in the April 2014 issue (38, no. 1). The central question is whether the widespread rabbinic textual practices of interpretive polysemy and legal multivocality are the product of the post-amoraic (“stammaitic”) editorial layer of the Babylonian Talmud (Yadin-Israel) or are already evidenced and theologically thematized in the earlier “tannaitic” rabbinic collections from the Land of Israel (Fraade).

In his Epistle to Yemen, Moses Maimonides answers an anonymous Jewish apostate's polemical claims about the truth of Islam. This apostate challenged the Yemenite Jews by presenting quotes from the Torah that Muslims considered proof of the future advent of Islam and Muḥammad (dalā'il). The identity of the apostate, however, has been disputed by researchers. This article proposes that the apostate Maimonides had in mind was Samaw'al al-Maghribī, the Jewish convert who authored Ifḥām al-Yahūd. The reasoning is based on unique characteristics of Samaw'al's tract that distinguish it from other polemical works. Samaw'al discussed the dalā'il with much greater sophistication than any earlier polemicist and used an advanced manner of presentation, in response to which Maimonides provided well-conceived refutations. This combination of Samaw'al's sophisticated polemical arguments and Maimonides's replies demonstrates that the two appear to be matched.

From the mid-thirteenth century onwards, the rabbinic courts of southern France (Provence and Languedoc) found themselves dealing with an increasing number of cases in which plaintiffs were using the court as leverage in a struggle that was taking place outside the court. This period also saw the first legal advocates appearing in Jewish courts. These two related phenomena point to a shift in Jewish legal culture, part of a move throughout thirteenth-century Mediterranean Europe towards what Daniel Lord Smail has called “consumption of justice.”

Approaching A Guest for the Night from the point of view of the Book of Jeremiah––from which this novel draws its title––leads us to revisit two central components of Agnon's theology and stylized identity. First, his majestic evocation of a deity (Jeremiah's “guest”) who abandoned his “wife” (the people of Israel); and concomitantly, Agnon's lifelong preoccupation with the “‘agunah problem” as a metaphor for national rupture, in ways that for Agnon were linked to his vocational identity as a modern writer dedicated to the project of national repair. Through his conversation with the Book of Jeremiah and the Book of Lamentations traditionally attributed to this prophet, Agnon adjusts and reduces the diasporic weight assigned to the ‘agunah metaphor. In his midlife masterpiece, he enlists the midrashic concept of ‘aginut to explore, among other things, his own composite identity as a traditional Jew and modern Jerusalemite, lover of texts and absent-minded husband.

Unlike the works of the “old masters” in the fine arts, often seen as the apotheosis of the creative spirit of their and all time, works of historiography have a much briefer shelf life. It is in the nature of scholarship to subject forebears to critical scrutiny; few works hold up beyond a generation or so. We are charged in this forum with reconsidering one of the “old masters” of Jewish historiography, Salo Wittmayer Baron, whose formidable mastery of languages and sources and his prolific output position him as one of the preeminent twentieth-century historians of the Jewish people. Has Baron's three-volume The Jewish Community, a masterpiece of historical synthesis first published in 1942, still retained its scholarly relevance? What is striking about this work is how much ahead of his time it was in certain respects, and how, in this work on a subject so central to understanding pre-modern Jewish life, Baron's construction was ahistorical in crucial dimensions. Baron's Jewish Community has fallen into disuse, so much so that in the Hebrew collection, Kehal Yisrael (2004), intended to portray specific Jewries and their communal lives, the latter two volumes, comprising dozens of essays and over 800 pages, written by leading Israeli scholars, contain only two references to Baron, in the notes. This blatant example of ignoring Baron's treasure trove is true not only of Israeli scholarship: most recent studies of Jewish communities make scarcely any use of it. Is the neglect deserved?

Throughout his career Salo Baron wrote about emancipation. In his scholarship on the modern period, it was perhaps the subject that concerned him most and, not surprisingly, he offered the most geographically comprehensive and conceptually inclusive understanding of emancipation of all his contemporaries. Baron freed himself from the parti pris positions of both emancipationist and nationalist historians, as well as other ideologically constrained, often mono-causal explanations.

In a paper entitled, “Newer Emphases in Jewish History,” published in 1963, Salo Baron wrote: “All my life I have been struggling against the hitherto dominant “lachrymose conception of Jewish history” … because I have felt that an overemphasis on Jewish sufferings distorted the total picture of the Jewish historic evolution….” Indeed, if one was to choose a single idea that encapsulated the legacy of Baron, perhaps the pre-eminent Jewish historian of the twentieth century, it would probably be this: Jewish history is not to be seen simply as a series of persecutions, which determined its nature and its course, but rather as a process of ongoing engagement between the Jews and their surroundings.

The three papers by Elisheva Carlebach, David Sorkin, and Adam Teller refreshingly do not merely invoke the name of Salo Baron as a sacred authority but actually reflect critically upon significant pieces of his scholarly corpus. As Adam Teller has pointed out correctly, academic historians of the Jews have sought for decades to align themselves with what they have taken to be the fundamental thrust of Baron's approach to his subject and have warned their students against too great a deviation from it. In the discourse of the field, to claim Baron's mantel is altogether bon ton, while “lachrymose” has long served as a term of severe reproach. Yet, many more people appear to have claimed to be Baron's acolytes in abjuring lachrymosity than have actually read a significant portion of Baron's corpus, much less seriously engaged with what he had to say in those writings. The three contributors are, happily, not among them: in their papers they all have entered into a genuine conversation with certain key propositions in Baron's work, with a mind to refining his insights and building upon them. Baron has served them not as an icon but as an interlocutor in the continuing discussion of significant problems to which he devoted much thought and study. That is a salutary development. Baron's contribution to the study of Jewish history was hardly exhausted by his articulation of a particular conceptual approach to it. As anyone who takes the multiple volumes of A Social and Religious History of the Jews or The Jewish Community in hand becomes aware immediately, Baron was a prodigious researcher whose painstaking mining (and in some cases even discovery) of a vast array of source materials laid the empirical foundations for future scholarship on a broad range of Jewish historical subjects. On that level, as well, reading his work returns significant rewards.