While the genre of Midrash is homogeneous in respect of the fact that it is, 100% of the time, a commentary upon the biblical literature (unlike the Talmud, for example, which comprises a commentary upon the Mishna), it is also held together by its utilisation of a particular methodology. According to one source, this methodology was first adumbrated by Hillel, who ostensibly determined seven rules of exegesis. According to another source, it was Rabbi Ishmael who created the concept of Midrash, and who defined it with a total of thirteen rules. A third source has Rabbi Eliezer propounding thirty-two rules of midrashic exegesis, and a fourth (attributed to Samuel ben Hofni) places the total number at forty-nine.

For those of us who are not accustomed to actually spelling out the methodological principles that underscore our immediate comprehension of a text, the very existence of such rules is enough to inspire a headache. And for those of us who subscribe to the various hermeneutical principles of the modern era (that a text must be understood in its immediate context, in relation to other similar texts, and in light of the society that produced it), the nature of the midrashic methodology that underscores this particular genre is abstruse to the point of appearing ridiculous.

To read a collection like Midrash Rabba (perhaps, more than any other, the collection to which people unintentionally refer when they say that “the Midrash says…”), none of this is particularly problematic. Like several other examples of midrashim and collections of midrashim, Midrash Rabba is homiletic in its import. The rabbis, concerned with making sense of the anomalies of the text, together with the various silences of the text, used the intellectual tools at their disposal in order to provide the stories with a more profound meaning. The overwhelming majority of them could not be taken literally even if one were so inclined, and it is reasonable to suggest that none of them were meant to be taken literally in the first place. By removing verses from their immediate context, and by understanding them on the basis of verses elsewhere within the Tanakh, the rabbis turned the Hebrew Bible into a single, comprehensive rabbinic text.

But what happens if one is to derive messages from this text? What occurs when, instead of dealing with the narratives of Genesis or the poetry of Psalms, the text is dealing with the pronouncements of Numbers, or the stipulations of Deuteronomy? What happens, in other words, when the text, rather than being homiletic in nature, is halakhic instead? Is halakhic midrash any different to narrative midrash? And does this difference have any impact upon Judaism today?

The means by which academic midrash becomes practical law was a bone of contention between two second century rabbis: Akiva and Ishmael. While Ishmael is traditionally credited with a halakhic midrash to Exodus (“The Mekhilta of Rabbi Ishmael”), Akiva’s students are credited with the halakhic midrashim to Leviticus (“Sifra”; also called “Torat Kohanim”), Numbers and Deuteronomy (“Sifrei”), as well as the anonymous sections in both the Tosefta (that which was, purportedly, left over after the crystallisation of the Mishna), and even the Mishna itself.

Rabbi Ishmael, whose approach to text is best exemplified by a statement of his that “the Torah speaks in human language” (Sifra, Num §112), was a strict applicator of midrashic methodology. Rabbi Akiva, whose approach appears to have had a more mystical bent, was apparently inclined to derive laws from obscure features of the text (such as an additional letter), and with less regard for the conventional midrashic tools. A discussion that the two have in a Talmudic passage (bSan 51b) is particularly illustrative.

There, the debate concerns the fate of a priest’s daughter who has committed adultery. The discussion concerns a passage in the Torah (Lev 21:9), which stipulates that she should be burned, but which fails to make clear whether it is adultery of which she is guilty, or whether it is premarital sex. Based on a comparison with two other biblical verses (Lev 20:10 and Deut 22:21), and utilising at least two different midrashic principles, Rabbi Ishmael determines that the young girl in our verse is only betrothed to be married, and that if she were actually married already, her punishment would be stoning instead. Rabbi Akiva disagrees.

According to Rabbi Akiva, the daughters of priests merit burning both for premarital intercourse as well as adultery. Despite the fact that the Torah does not make this clear, and despite the fact that Akiva is unable (or unwilling) to answer the objections of Ishmael, or even to provide an alternative rationalisation, this is his final word. His reason is that the word “daughter” in the particular verse under discussion has a vav attached to it, and he explains this extra letter – for reasons that are unclear – as alluding to the fact that she is burned despite her marital status at the time of her crime. Famously, Rabbi Ishmael cries out, “And because this word has a vav attached to it, you would take her out to be burned??”

Sadly, the Talmud furnishes us with very little that can really indicate the relationship of these two scholars. As with Hillel and Shammai, the tradition is predominantly recorded by those who favoured one over the other, and in this instance the majority of the literature venerates Rabbi Akiva. It is worth noting, however, that the texts that do so tend to lionise him in mystical terms. To give but two examples, Moses is granted a vision of Akiva, expounding halakha from the “crowns” appended to the Torah’s letters (bMen 29b); and Rabbi Akiva, alone of four venerable sages of his day, succeeds in both ascending to the supernal realms and descending from them in peace (tHag 2:2). Rabbi Ishmael, on the other hand, is depicted in far more mundane and logical terms than his contemporary.

In the field of halakhic studies, a major question concerns the relationship between the Mishna and the halakhic midrash. Alone of all of the halakhic texts, the Mishna presents the law without any justification for the law. Rather than referencing its opinions in other texts (as the Talmud does), or even with an appeal to logic, the Mishna presents the law, which is the law because the Mishna presents it. This is in sharp contradistinction to the halakhic midrash, which presents law as the results of a methodological analysis of the literature of the Torah.

This gives us two possible options. Either we can suggest that the Mishna holds primacy, and that the halakhic midrash developed as a means of demonstrating to those Jews who rejected the Mishna that its laws were all contained within the Torah itself, or we can argue that the midrash held primacy and that the Mishna is simply a codification of the results of such hermeneutical exegesis. In the event of the former option, halakhic midrash remains speculative and the difference of opinion between Akiva and Ishmael is thoroughly academic. Irrespective of the means by which one reaches his conclusion, the conclusion is already established by the Mishna and is not the subject of debate.

In the event, however, of the latter possibility, the difference of opinion between Akiva and Ishmael is most profound. If the Mishna constitutes the crystallisation of halakhic midrash, then the methodology employed by the midrash has a tremendous bearing upon the practical realia of law. Approximately three centuries after the completion of the Babylonian Talmud, Rav Sherira – the head of a prestigious academy in Babylon – wrote a letter, in which he clearly explained the origins of the Mishna, the Tosefta, the two Talmuds and the halakha. In this letter, he makes it very clear that the anonymous sections of the Mishna were composed by Rabbi Meir, whose teacher – Rabbi Akiva – was the source of his every opinion.

Had the methodology of Rabbi Ishmael so captivated the hearts and minds of his disciples that he instead had been venerated over the charismatic Rabbi Akiva, and had the Mishna been composed in accordance with his views, what might the halakha look like today? In a world in which competing rabbis debate each other in relation to halakhic criteria that derive in essence from Akiva, perhaps the simplest solution for those who wish to read the passages more literally is to simply say, “I have it on tradition from the school of Ishmael.”

I love my job.

אתהלך לפני יהוה בארצות החיים
I shall walk before the LORD in the lands of the living.

The psalm is one of thanksgiving, in which the poet praises God for having spared him ignominy and death. Despite having been brought low and having been suffering greatly, the poet was proven incorrect in his estimation of others as being full of deceit, was subsequently reinstated to his former position, and now thanks God for all of his kindness. The verb that opens this particular exclamation, אתהלך, means “I will walk”. It is a 1st singular Hithpa’el imperfective, which most likely denotes frequentative movement, rather than movement towards a particular place. In that sense, the word opens itself up to a figurative reading. Consider its attestation in the Syriac Peshitta (recorded as 115:9; here transliterated for convenience):

דאשפר קדמיך אלהא בארעא דחיא
That I may be pleasing to you (lit. “before you”) in the land of the living.

The verb here (דאשפר) is a 1st singular Pa’el imperfective (with an attached relative pronoun), which likewise denotes frequentative action. In this sense, the translation “I will be righteous” is most likely the correct one. So too the Septuagint (in which, confusingly, the passage has become 114:9):

ευ͗αρεστησω ε͗ναντιον κυριον ε͗ν χωρᾳ ζωντων
I will be pleasing (lit. “well-taken”) before the LORD in the land of the living.

In this instance, the verb is a 1st singular future indicative of αι͑ρεω, with the prefix ευ͗-. If it has any subtlety of meaning beyond what is also communicated in the Syriac, that Hellenistic flourish is lost on my Semitic brain. If anything, it appears to me as though the translator of the verse in the Peshitta is of a mind with the translator of the verse in the Septuagint, and perhaps indebted to the same. So too in the Latin Vulgate (Ps 114:9), which appears to be a fairly straightforward translation of the Greek:

placebo Domino in regione vivorum
I will please the LORD in the land of the living.

Unlike the MT, but like the Septuagint and the Peshitta, the Vulgate renders בארצות (“in the lands of”) as a singular noun. My BHS – a friend to all those who seek to rewrite the corpus one verse at a time – notes this variation, as well as the fact that this particular genitive construction appears nowhere else within the biblical literature (although several constructions in the singular are attested). More important, however, is the fact that the Vulgate renders the verb as “placebo”: the 1st singular future indicative that we mentioned at the beginning of this post. How did “I will please” become a noun that denotes a medicinal substance with no medicinal properties beyond the psychological?

According to Prof. Pullum, and several of his resourceful correspondents, the Vulgate Psalm 114 (116 in the MT; 115 in the Peshitta) constitutes the first reading in the Catholic “Office of the Dead” ritual. According to an entry on Wikipedia, the congregation then recites verse 9 as the antiphon. This usage of the verse apparantly led to the word “placebo” coming to denote the attendant of a funeral, the singers at a funeral, those who apparantly mimed their grief in order to be fed, those who pretended to something in the hope of any gain at all, and eventually an object that pretended to medical significance without actually containing any medicinal properties. I find this all very difficult to fully accept, but note the cognate formation of “nocebo” (“a psychological or psychosomatic factor that engenders or exacerbates an illness”, acc. to the Oxford American Dictionary), which is apparantly sometimes used to refer to the adverse affects of taking a placebo. Perhaps because the patient was genuinely ill.

In any case, the present (Israeli) Hebrew word is אינבו (“einbo“), which shares its final syllable with the English word but which means, quite literally, “there’s nothing in it”.

I spent the afternoon at the home of my good friends Aaron and Rivka, and their two beautiful children. As mentioned in a previous post, in which I celebrated carrying off four beautiful kabbalistic, Hassidic and technical texts, Aaron’s grandfather was in possession of a large number of sefarim, and I am in possession of a lot of shelf space. (An out-and-out lie, incidentally: I almost broke my neck just a moment ago, trying to step over all of them, piled as they are in my room.) Allow me to adumbrate:

• Zohar (full set: al haTorah, together with Zohar Chadash and Tikkunei HaZohar): 22 volumes, incl. Matok MiDvash. Seeing as I also own a 3-vol. Zohar al haTorah and a 12-vol. complete Zohar with Hebrew translation, I think I can stop collecting Zoharim now;
• Zohar Ramchal (commentary of Moses Chaim Luzzato on Zohar al haTorah);
• Two kabbalistic siddurim (1964, 1975), both printed in “Ktav Ashurit“;
• Another copy of Raziel HaMal’akh;
• A Pesach Haggada, in the Spinka Hassidic tradition, with commentary;
• Another Sefer Yetzirah, with commentaries by the Raavad, the Ramban, Rav Saadiah Gaon and the Vilna Gaon, amongst others;
• Yet another kabbalistic siddur, in the tradition of Shalom Sharabi: 3 volumes;
• Tikvat HaGeulah and Derekh Emunah (one volume each). The latter is a collection of discourses on the nature of faith by rabbis of the Rishonim and Acharonim, with a focus on the Baal Shem Tov and his disciples, while the former is more explicitly an adumbration of the philosophy of Shomer Emunim;
• Sefer HaChinukh: 2 volumes;
• Sefer Shomer Emunim, by Reb Aharon Roth (1964): 2 volumes.

What I need is a nigleh room and a nistar room, just to fit all of these. Knowing my luck, I’d only lose the key to the nistar room and forget how to get there.

To underscore his point that we are living in a unique age, Mr Pfeffer asserts that ours is the first time in history to witness a majority of Jews abstaining from participation in a Jewish state. This is a fatuous assertion, considering the fact that history has not furnished us with any examples of Jewish states in “the Land of Israel” since the Hasmonean dynasty, and I doubt that the author of this article is capable of producing demographic evidence that the majority of Jews were in Judea and Samaria at that time.

Whether or not we are living in a novel age, antipathy towards Jews who do not live in Israel is of great antiquity. The Babylonian Talmud is peppered with anecdotes that relate both to this antipathy, as well as to the contempt in which Palestinian rabbis were held by their Babylonian counterparts. Mr Pfeffer, who thinks he is terribly clever and new, is condemned by virtue of his own ignorance to repeating many of the things that have been said by so many before him.

Personally, I won’t fast on Tisha B’Av either, but not because I think that “the exile” has come to an end. I won’t fast because I am not of the opinion that there was even an exile in the first place. The traditional belief that such a phenomenon occurred is one that derives from a selective reading of early Jewish and Christian literature, and one which – like many beliefs – cannot be substantiated with empirical evidence. I have no problem with people who choose to adopt it (whether they think that it is continuing or whether they think that it is now over), but to adopt this faith and to then criticise all manifestations of it that are contrary to your own is the sort of disingenuous drivel that has become such a hallmark of polemic discourse. The irony here is that the author of the article in Haaretz, despite his acute awareness of the faults of other people’s faiths, seems immune to an appreciation of the nature of his own.

Allow me to burst his inflated bubble. “Secular Zionism” is an oxymoron. If religious people are calling themselves “secular”, it is because they think that “religiosity” means living like the people from Eda Haredit. On the contrary, anybody who imagines that history possesses a cultural narrative, brought full circle by the development of a new movement and the concomitant establishment of a state, ending a two-thousand year exile and ushering in an era of liberation, is anything but secular. In centuries to come, scholars will see Zionism in a way that “secular” Zionists today cannot: a new form of religious Judaism, predicated not on Talmudic halakha but on Enlightenment conceptions of nationalism instead.

To the general collection, I have also added the Sheiltot of Rav Ahai Gaon (the only other example of Gaonic literature that I own being the Iggeret of Rav Sherira Gaon), a three volume Zohar al-haTorah, a twenty-two volume Zohar with Hebrew translation (including Tikkunei HaZohar and Zohar Chadash), Isaiah Tishby’s marvellous three volume commentary on the Zohar (one friend jokes that I am becoming a Hassid), and the Kuzari. I have also accumulated a smattering of academic literature, mostly on the Talmud, the history of Sephardi and Mizrahi Judaism, and the “Brisker Method” of Reb Hayyim Soloveitchik. A student gifted me with a 19th century book of Judah Leib Gordon’s Hebrew poetry, and a friend invited me over to ransack her husband’s grandfather’s books. From those I acquired a comprehensive verse-by-verse index of the Hebrew Bible, with references to all of the early rabbinic literature, an old copy of Sefer Raziel HaMalakh (a 13th century work of pre-Zoharic Kabbala), a Kabbalistic siddur, and the Noam Elimelekh: the scriptural observations of Rabbi Elimelekh of Lizhensk, disciple of the Maggid of Mezeritch.

While it might not bear mentioning in this context, I am roughly three-quarters of my way into Audrey Niffeneger’s The Time-Traveller’s Wife, and the following books on my fiction list are Christos Tsiolkas’ Dead Europe and Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Unrelated non-fiction that demands my intention includes a recently-purchased introduction to Logic, which will logically remain unopened for a while, and some books on Structural Linguistics, Reader/Response Theory and Semiotics. I am, however, halfway through Joseph Blenkinsopp’s very relevant The First Phase: The Place of Ezra and Nehemiah in the Origins of Judaism and I still don’t have much of a social life. But I’m working on it.

In the meantime, I have (for the first time since 2007) a very clear idea about the direction of my research and am actually excited about it for a change. I am particularly interested in the origins of Judaism, as the title of Blenkinsopp’s book reveals. I have been feeding my brain with Theophile James Meek’s Hebrew Origins, Shlomo Sand’s controversial The Invention of the Jewish People, and Shaye Cohen’s not-at-all-controversial The Beginnings of Jewishness. I have also been arguing (enjoyably, although completely in vain) with all manner of moronic historical revisionists whom I have found online. That, of course, is more of a hobby.

2. And bye the border of Dan, fromme the east side to the west side, a portion for Afher.
3. And bye the border of Afhter, fromme the east side even untoe the west side, a portion for Naphtali.
4. And bye the border of Naphtali, from the east side untoe the west side, a portion for Manaffeh.
5. Buggre all this for a Larke. I amme sick to mye Hart of typefettinge. Master Biltonn if no Gentelmann, and Master Scagges noe more than a tighte fisted Southwarke Knobbefticke. I telle you, onne a daye laike thif Ennywone half an oz. of Sense should bee oute in the Sunneshain, ane nott Stucke here alle the liuelong daie inn thif mowldey olde By-Our-Lady Workefhoppe. @*Ӯ@;!*
6 And bye the border of Ephraim, from the east fide even untoe the west fide, a portion for Reuben.

Having read this book some fifteen years ago at least, this hilarious passage was my introduction to the world of Bible errata. While fictitious, it is not considerably stranger than some of the errata that do actually exist, and interested readers can look at the Wikipedia entry for a reasonably comprehensive list of them. One in particular is worth noting, as it is presently up for sale.

Printed in 1631, the KJV “Wicked Bible” lacks the negative adverb in the seventh commandment. Enjoining its readers to commit adultery, the Bible was promptly made illegal, and its two printers fined an exorbitant fee and stripped of their printing licenses. All one thousand copies were ordered destroyed by the crown, though collectors will be interested to note that eleven survived the flames. Until now, those copies have either been on display in museums or locked away by collectors, though a copy is presently up for sale at GreatSite.com. Those who have $89,500 to spare on a priceless investment can view the listing on this page. Personally, I would be inclined to save myself $4,500 and buy a first-edition Geneva Bible instead (listed on the same page), but that’s just me.

I came frighteningly close to mortgaging my house in order to get this, though luckily remembered at the last minute that I don’t have one. If I ever do, I think it’s safe to say that it won’t be for long.

Traditionally published in seven volumes, the first five volumes of the Zohar contain a midrashic homily on most of the parashot of the Torah, while the subsequent two volumes (Tiqqunei HaZohar and Zohar Chadash) contain meditations on the first word of Genesis and quotations of early Kabbalists, respectively. Of the former five volumes, a total of twenty two sources can be delineated, including the largest source, which is that of the main text – considered by Scholem and Tishby as the section most certainly composed by Moses of Léon. Those sources are discussed in this article.

I wanted to comment upon one of those twenty-two sources, which is sometimes labelled “Discourse of the Old Man”. It runs from 2:94b-114a, and constitutes a discourse on the human soul, based upon some passages in Exodus that concern the laws of the Hebrew slave. I have only recently encountered this text and am therefore not at liberty to properly discuss it, but I wanted to share the text’s beginning. I have included it below in my translation. For those who are interested, I include the Aramaic at the end of this post:

Rabbi Hiyya and Rabbi Yosi met one evening in Migdal Tsor. They walked together and were pleased with one another.
Rabbi Yosi said, “How pleased I am to see the countenance of the Shekhinah! Right now, this whole way, I’ve been struggling with an old merchant, who was questioning me the whole way:

Which is the serpent who flies in the air and walks alone? And despite all this, there is comfort for the single ant, lying between his teeth? It commences with companionship and concludes with isolation? And which is the eagle who establishes his nest in the tree that does not exist, whose young are stolen, but not by creatures, and who was created in an uncreated location? When they ascend, they descend, and when they descend, they ascend. There are two which are one, and there is one which is three. Who is the beautiful girl who has no eyes, whose body is both hidden and revealed, who goes out in the morning but is covered by day, and who adorns herself with non-existent jewellery?

He was asking me all this on the road, and I was struggling. But now I have peace, for had we travelled together we would have laboured with words of Torah, rather than these other haphazard matters.”
Rabbi Hiyya asked, “Did you know this old merchant?”
He told him, “I knew that there was no substance to his speech. Had he known anything, he would have commenced with words of Torah and the journey would not have been in empty chatter.”
Rabbi Hiyya said, “Where is this merchant now? It sometimes happens that a man might find a golden bell in such empty discourse.”
He told him, “Here, he’s fixing food for his donkey.”
They called out to him, and then came before him. He said to them, “Now the two have become three, and the three are as one.”

- Zohar 2:94b-95a

Of this section, the most telling linguistic anachronism (in my opinion) is found in Rabbi Yosi’s response to Rabbi Hiyya’s question, “Did you know this old merchant?” Rabbi Yosi answers him by suggesting that he didn’t, but that he knew at least that there was no substance to his speech. The Aramaic word here for “substance” is a back-formation from the Hebrew ממשות. This Hebrew word didn’t exist at the time of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, although the author of this passage was evidently unaware of that fact. It was invented by Samuel ibn Tibbon at the end of the 12th century, itself a back-formation from the Hebrew ממש, in order to translate Maimonides’ Guide of the Perplexed from Arabic into Hebrew.

Linguistic issues aside, for which one can consult the voluminous writings of Gershom Scholem and Isaiah Tishby, or (more conveniently, albeit briefly) the article to which I linked earlier, there is the question of content. I am led to believe that encountering an old man, apparantly untrained in the strictures of rabbinic exegesis, who gives off all of the signs of being poor and uneducated but who subsequently dazzles his rabbinic companions by divulging a homily upon the secrets of the Torah, is something of a trope in the mystical literature. The provocative, possibly nonsensical, introduction serves to get the reader’s attention, and the means by which one of its more enigmatic pronouncements (“There are two which are one, and there is one which is three”) is spontaneously fulfilled brings promise of the ensuing exegesis being of an enlightening nature.

I was disappointed to discover that the ensuing narrative, while being of interest in its own right, only served to elucidate the final part of the introduction (“Who is the beautiful girl who has no eyes…”), but I wonder if anybody else also thought that the opening line of the old man’s speech was suggestive of a connection between the serpent in the Garden of Eden (Gen 3) and Satan (chiefly, Job 1:7, 2:2)?

•

For those who are interested, the Aramaic reads as follows:

רבי חיא ורבי יוסי אערעו חד ליליא במגדלא דצור אתארחו תמן וחדו דא בדא אמר רבי יוסי כמה חדינא דחמינא אנפי שכינתא דהשתא בכל ארחא דא אצטערנא בחדא סבא טיעא דהוה שאיל לי כל ארחא

מאן הוא נחשא דפרח באוירא ואזיל בפירודא ובין כך ובין כך אית ניחא לחד נמלה דשכיב בין שנוי שרי בחבורא וסים בפירודא ומאי איהו נשרא דקא מקננא באילן דלא הוה בנוי דאתגזלו ולאו מן ברין דאתבריאו באתר דלא אתבריאו כד סלקין נחתין כד נחתין סלקין תרין דאנון חד וחד דאנון תלתא מהו עולימתא שפירתא ולית לה ענין וגופא טמירתא ואתגליא איהי נפקת בצפרא ואתכסיאת ביממא אתקשטא בקשוטין דלא הוו

כל דא שאיל בארחא ואצטערנא והשתא אית לי ניחא דאלו הוינא כחדא אתעסקנא במלי דאוריתא מה דהוינן במלין אחרינן דתהו אמר רבי חיא וההוא סבא טיעא ידעת בה כלום אמר לה ידענה דלית ממשו במלוי דאלו הוה ידע יפתח באוריתא ולא הוה ארחא בריקניא אמר רבי חיא וההוא טיעא אית הכא דהא לזמנין באנון ריקנין ישכח גבר זגין דדהבא אמר לה הא הכא איהו ואתקין חמרה במיכלא קרו לה ואתא לקימיהו אמר לון השתא תרין אנון תלת ותלת אנון כחד

Now I’m gonna’ love you
’til the heavens stop the rain
I’m gonna’ love you
’til the stars fall from the sky
… for you and I

I imagine that Morrison selected the nominative pronoun in that final line so that it could rhyme with “sky”, but I am bugged beyond measure by the fact that he did. And something dies within me if I try to change it to the accusative “me”, for this is music that shouldn’t be tampered with. Instead, I think I’ve found an avenue of reinterpretation. Consider the previous verse:

Touch me, baby
Can’t you see that I am not afraid?
What was that promise that you made?
Why won’t you tell me what she said?
What was that promise that you made?

Suddenly, this whole thing makes sense. The song is about a jilted lover who is trying to recall the promise made to him by the woman who has left. The chorus is a direct quote, promising to love him until the heavens stop the rain. Unfortunately, the singer genuinely cannot recall how the promise continued. It would seem to have contained a explicatory clause, but he no longer recalls the reason:

I’m gonna’ love you
’til the stars fall from the sky,
for [ie: since] you and I…

What was the added stipulation? For you and I truly know one another? For you and I were made to be? For you and I could never be apart? He has forgotten and, sadly, so has she.

Why is he called “the first of the speakers on all occasions“?

Rabbi Yehuda, Rabbi Yosi and Rabbi Shim’on were sitting, and Yehuda ben Gerim ["the son of converts", acc. to Rashi] was sitting by them. Rabbi Yehuda spoke up and said, “How glorious are the deeds of this nation! They built marketplaces, they built bathhouses, they built bridges…”

Rabbi Yosi said nothing, but Rabbi Shim’on bar Yochai stirred and said, “Everything that they built, they built for their own gratification. They built marketplaces in order to place prostitutes in them, bathhouses in order to pleasure themselves, and bridges in order to exact tolls.”

Yehuda ben Gerim went and repeated their discussion, and the Romans ["the kingdom"] heard. They said, “Yehuda, who exalted, shall be exalted. Yosi, who was silent, shall be exiled to Sepphoris. Shim’on, who censured, shall be killed.”

He and his son went and hid in the academy. Every day, their wives [lit. "those of their house"] brought them bread and a pitcher of water, and they ate. When the decree was strengthened, he said to his son, “The minds of women are weak. Perhaps, by torturing her, she will give [us] away?“

They went and hid in a cave. A miracle occurred for them: a carob tree and a spring of water were created. They sat up to their necks in sand. During the day, they sat and learned, and would cast off [their clothes]. At the time of prayer, they got up and dressed, and covered themselves, and left, and prayed. Then they cast off [their clothes] again, lest they wear them out. They dwelt in the cave for thirteen years.

Elijah came to the entrance to the cave. He said, “Who will tell Bar Yochai that the Caesar is dead and his decree annulled?”

They went out and saw people reaping and sowing. He said, “They discard eternal life and labour in the life of the moment!” Everywhere they cast their eyes immediately burned.

A heavenly voice came out and said to them, “Is it to destroy my world that you came out? Return to your cave!“

They dwelt there twelve months, saying “The judgment of the wicked in Gehennom is twelve months.“

A heavenly voice came out and said, “Leave your cave.“

They went out. Every place that Rabbi Elazar struck, Rabbi Shim’on cured. He said to him, “My son, you and I are enough for the world.”

They saw an old man who was holding two bundles of myrtle, and who was running at twilight. They said to him, “What are these for?“

He said to them, “To honour Shabbat.“

They said to him, “Is not one enough for you?”

He said to them, “One corresponds to “Remember [Shabbat]” (Exodus 20:8) and one corresponds to “Observe [Shabbat]” (Deuteronomy 5:12).”

He said to him, “Look at how the [divine] commandment is precious to Israel!” They were appeased.

Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair, his son-in-law, heard and went out to greet him. He took him to the bathhouse. He was massaging his flesh. He saw that there were creases in his flesh and was crying, and as the tears fell they were hurting him. He said, “Woe to me that I should see you like this!“

He replied, “Blessed are you that you should see me like this! Were you not to see me like this, I would not find such within me!” (Previously, Rabbi Shim’on ben Yochai would ask a single question and Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair would solve it with twelve solutions. After [his experience in the cave,] Rabbi Pinchas would ask one question and Rabbi Shim’on ben Yochai would solve it with twenty-four solutions.)

He said, “Since a miracle occured, I shall fix (אתקין) something! For it says, “Jacob came whole to the city of Shechem (Genesis 33:18a). (Rav said, “Whole in his body, whole in his wealth, whole in his Torah.) “And he encamped before the city” (Genesis 33:18b; understood here as “And he looked favourably upon the city). (Rav said, “He established [ie: "minted"; תקן] coins for them.” Shmuel said, “He established (תקן) marketplaces for them.” Rabbi Yochanan said, “He established (תקן) bathhouses for them.”).”

He said, “Is there something I can fix (דלתקוני)?”

They said to him, “There is a place of doubtful impurity and it is difficult for priests to go around it.”

He said, “Is there somebody who knows whether there was a presumption of purity here?”

An old man said, “Here and there, Ben Azzai cut down lupines [acc. to Jastrow] for ritual use.”

He did likewise: everywhere that was solid was clean; everywhere that was soft, he marked.

The old man said, “Ben Yochai has purified a cemetary!”

He said to him, “Had you not been with us, or had you been with us and not voted with us, you would have spoken well. Now, since you were with us, should people say ‘Prostitutes paint each other [ie: make each other look favourable in public]; should not the disciples of sages even moreso?’” He looked upon him, and his soul departed.

He went out to the marketplace and saw Yehuda ben Gerim. “Is someone like this still in the world!?” He looked upon him and turned him into a heap of bones.

To recount:

The Talmud is, initially, concerned with the reason behind Rabbi Yehuda being labelled “the first of the speakers on all occasions”. It would appear, on the basis of this story’s introduction, that this is not only because he spoke first on one particular occasion, but that he was subsequently extolled by the Romans, and possibly promoted to a position of influence that necessitated his opinion being heard before the opinions of other people. This conclusion is based solely upon the passage under consideration.

In any case, the Talmud goes on to relate the after-effects of this discussion having reached the ears of the Romans. The three opinions given (it is reasonable, I think, to construe Rabbi Yosi’s silence as representing an opinion midway between those of his colleagues) are mirrored by the three decrees that the Romans enact. Yehuda ben Gerim’s role is ambiguous here. Rather than display an opinion of his own, his function within the narrative is to expedite the events leading to Rabbi Shim’on bar Yochai (henceforth, RSBY) living in isolation from society. He is not a villain, although he may be viewed as the unwary catalyst of dire events.

Once the Roman decree against RSBY is given, we are told that he has a son (Rabbi Elazar) and that the two go into hiding together. It becomes apparant later in the story that he also has a daughter (Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair is introduced as his son-in-law), and we shortly discover that both he and his son have wives. Their wives provide them with food but, when the decree intensifies, RSBY fears the fickleness of women and flees again. It would appear that he suspects the Romans of being prepared to torture his wife, and she is not mentioned in the ensuing narrative. The possibility of her being tortured is only troublesome to RSBY insofar as it may lead to his discovery, and he settles instead in a cave.

While RSBY and his son were previously dependant upon their wives for food, a miracle occurs in the cave and both a carob tree and a spring of water are called into existence. So as not to wear out their clothes, RSBY and his son learn naked – covered only with sand. In Tractate Berachot (bBer 25b), a discussion ensues as regards the permissability of reciting the “Shema” in a situation when one can see (or when one’s heel is touching) one’s penis. It may be that RSBY and Rabbi Elazar covered themselves with sand in order that they might pronounce the name of God in their studies without actually wearing clothes. Nonetheless, when it is time to pray, they both “get up, get dressed, cover themselves, go out and pray”.

In my translation of this clause, I have conveyed נפקו variously as “got up” and “went out”. It would appear to me that the first instance of the verb refers to themselves leaving the sand in which they had been sitting, while the second instance refers to them leaving the cave. I do not know which manuscripts were employed in the publication of my personal version of the Talmud (Jerusalem: Torah LaAm, 1957), but it lacks the second instance of this verb, which makes more sense to me. The implication that they might have left their hiding place daily in order to do something so visible as pray strikes me as bizarre, given their previous reticence to remain within the academy.

After thirteen years (twelve years, in my version), Elijah the prophet appears at the entrance to the cave and declares, in a roundabout fashion, that the Caesar is dead and that the decree is void. More likely, the word “Caesar” here is a reference to the local governor, rather than to the emperor in Rome, who (we would assume) was not particularly interested in the fate of an individual rabbi, responsible for privately criticising his administration. The appearance of Elijah is a familiar trope, found throughout the rabbinic literature, and serves as a means of providing protagonists with information otherwise unobtainable by them. Elijah’s single line of dialogue is, until this point, the first line of dialogue spoken in Aramaic.

RSBY and his son leave their cave and immediately see people engaged in agriculture. After twelve/thirteen years devoted solely to learning, this infuriates them. Presumably, RSBY is under the impression that all Israel can behave likewise and expect, in return for their piety and devotion, miraculous sustenance of the nature that he and his son received. Their tilling of the earth, in the expectation that such activity is the sole means of obtaining food, may be an implied dimension to RSBY’s ire. Whatever the case, he makes the presumption that they are not suitably engaged in Torah study and, with the powers gained during his sojourn in the cave, his son and he set fire to every place they look.

The ability of RSBY and his son to burn the world with their eyes must be, in context, the result of their having achieved a higher stature through asceticism, learning and prayer. While the rabbinic literature often strongly disparages separation from the community, it nonetheless appears to be treating RSBY and his son with favour. What is more, the post-Talmudic tradition came to adopt the notion that, while in the cave, RSBY (though not his son) was revealed the mystical elements of Torah, which he wrote down in the form of several manuscripts, later collected together as the Zohar. While there is much academic debate concerning the origins of this work (the entirety of which appears on linguistic, stylistic and theological grounds to be medieval), there is uniformity in at least one issue: none of it dates to the Tannaitic period (c.1 BCE/CE to c.200 CE; cf: H.L. Strack & G. Stemberger, Introduction to the Talmud and Midrash (trans. M. Bockmuehl; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1996), 76; see also G. Scholem, Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism (New York: Schocken Books, 1995), 163-168 for a linguistic analysis, 168-172 for a literary analysis).

Elsewhere in the Talmud (bBBat 134a), a baraitha (a text of Tannaitic provenance, not included in the Mishna) is produced, which lauds the disciples of Hillel the Elder. One of his disciples (the greatest of those who are described as being “of intermediate stature”), named Yonatan ben Uzziel, is said to have set fire to the birds that flew over his head, simply by sitting and engaging with Torah. The fire motif appears also in the Palestinian Talmud’s account of Elisha ben Abuya’s apostasy (pHag 77b; likewise in the Mishna to Ruth: RutR 6:4). In that instance, it is after being impressed by the manner in which two rabbis were consumed with fire while studying that Elisha’s father sought to dedicate his infant son to the academy. In both places, the notion of calling down fire is directly related to one’s lofty learning, but the situation in our passage is a little more nuanced. Here, while RSBY and his son are both able to immolate on command, the true elevation of RSBY’s status comes about through his learning to control the new skill, and this is only achieved through an additional year of isolation.

We are told at this point in the story that twelve months is the allotted time for sinners in Gehennom, and it is possible that the cave is here serving as a representation of death/rebirth. Such might accord with the decree against RSBY’s life at the start of the narrative, and certainly accords with his reference to Gehennom at this stage in the story. His statement, to the effect that his punishment is akin to the postmortem torment that the rabbis envisaged for those who sinned, is the starkest example in this text of language shift from Aramaic to Hebrew. The preceding clause, which narrates RSBY’s subsequent seclusion as being twelve months, uses the Aramaic ירחי (“months”), while the following clause uses the Hebrew חדש (“month”). In addition to the lexical shift, there is the concomitant morphological shift: Aramaic numeral + plural noun vs. Hebrew numeral + singular noun. The emphasis thus far (to the exclusion of Elijah) on characters specifically speaking Hebrew is shortly lost, when RSBY addresses his second question to an old man in Aramaic.

Prior to this occurring, RSBY and his son are again addressed by a heavenly voice and they again leave their cave. This time, while Rabbi Elazar appears to still be on the same spiritual level as before, RSBY is now capable of healing all that his son destroys. His enigmatic statement (“My son, you and I are enough for the world”) most probably refers to the fact that their Torah learning is now sufficient for all of humanity, and RSBY is no longer disturbed by the fact that it is apparantly neglected by others. No sooner are we told this, then we are also informed of their witnessing an elderly man, rushing to get home before the onset of Shabbat (“running at twilight”), but with two bundles of myrtle in his hands. He informs them that they are supposed to correspond to the two different injunctions that concern the observation of Shabbat, as recorded in the two different versions of the decalogue (Exodus 20:8 and Deuteronomy 5:12). While RSBY is presumably still contemptuous of the ignorance of his fellow Jews, the manner in which the old man goes beyond the letter of the law in order to beautify its observance is impressive for him and, even though we had previously been told that he was at peace with their ignorance, he is now thoroughly appeased.

It would appear that this line concludes the second division of the story. The first division concerned the elevation of Rabbi Yehuda and the decree against the life of RSBY, while the second concerned RSBY’s subsequent attainment of a status loftier than all of his peers. A key word that surfaces throughout the first two sections is the Aramaic verb יתב, which means “sit” (the rabbis in the beginning, RSBY and his son in sand), “dwell” (RSBY and his son in the cave) and “appeased” (the minds of both RSBY and his son, on hearing the old man’s answer). It characterises the first two sections as being more or less sedentary: while RSBY undergoes a change of some description, there is not much activity to characterise it. On the contrary, the first two sections of this story are more focused on inner developments, speech and study. Even the violence of RSBY’s anger is characterised by speech, the movement of his eyes (and the consequences that brings) and his passive return to the cave. The only person who exhibits haste within the story is the old man, whose running to perform a commandment marks the conclusion of the second section.

The third section of the story is characterised by action. RSBY has his skin massaged by his son-in-law, we receive exposition on a biblical verse related to the construction and establishment of various civic realia, and RSBY performs active services for the local population. It is more ambiguous than the previous two sections – an ambiguity that is indicated straight away by RSBY visiting a place that he had previously disparaged for its debauchery. The recording of this activity is indicative of the fact that the narrative has taken a turn and that RSBY is not the same person that he had been at the story’s beginning. It is doubtful that he has come to perceive the Romans in a more positive light, but it is entirely possible that he has now come to view their institutions from a utilitarian perspective. That is, while Rabbi Yehuda praised Roman institutions (presumably on the basis of their function), RSBY censured them on the basis of their abuse. Incapable of appreciating the world for what it could be, and mired in the perception of things as they are, RSBY dismissed the advances of the Roman empire absolutely. After his experience in isolation and his second encounter with the outside world, RSBY now has an appreciation for the good in things. While bathhouses might be places of debauchery for many, they serve a utilitarian purpose that he is happy to exploit.

It is in the bathhouse, while having his sandworn skin massaged by his son-in-law, that we are given another indication of the extent to which he had been transformed. Previously none too bright (if we are to presume that being corrected at length by one’s youngers is an indicator of this), RSBY has actually increased his knowledge despite having been away from the academy. There is a connection between his intellectual status and the frailty of his physical body: Rabbi Pinchas laments the latter, but RSBY corrects him by suggesting that, were it not for him being in so poor a state, he would not be possessed of the inner achievements that he has gained. While previously Rabbi Pinchas could provide twelve different answers for each of RSBY’s questions, RSBY can now provide twenty-four different answers for each of the questions of his son-in-law.

So great is this “miracle”, as it is phrased, that RSBY now feels that he should give something back to the world. RSBY’s desire to do something practical – through activity, rather than the passivity that earlier characterised him – is relayed to us by means of a scriptural analysis. The passage, taken from Genesis 33, describes the situation after Jacob’s encounter with his estranged brother. While originally fearful for his life, Jacob is relieved at the manner in which events turn out, and arrives at Shechem “whole”. RSBY was likewise in fear of his life, so the passage is an apt one. What follows is an analysis on the word “whole”, which is given by Rav. The section is an interpolation, brought for its concluding sentiment, which concerns what Jacob did after arriving. The verse states that he “encamped towards the city”, but the lexical similarity between the verb חנה (“encamp”) and חננ (“show mercy”) allows the rabbis to conceive of Jacob as having shown mercy to the residents of Shechem. His mercy was precipitated by his life being saved and, according to Rav, Shmuel and Rabbi Yochanan, was characterised by his having established various things.

RSBY, therefore, his life having been spared, is also keen to “establish” something, although the usage of the verb תקן in this context has the implication of “fixing”. Given his new mental strength and his new spiritual transformation, RSBY wishes to repair something, the reparation of which is presumably beyond his contemporaries. Again, it is an old man that brings about the import of this task – in this instance, one who appears after RSBY is informed of a place that is suspected of having dead bodies beneath the soil. On being asked whether or not there was a precedent for suspecting any of it as being pure, the old man informs RSBY that another rabbi of the Tannaitic era, Ben Azzai, once gathered lupines that grew from the soil and consecrated them for ritual use. The story is problematic, given the possibility of bodies being interred subsequent to Ben Azzai’s horticultural activity, but RSBY takes it on face value and, on the presupposition that solid ground indicates the absence of a corpse and soft ground (perhaps by virtue of it having been moved and repacked) indicates the presence of a corpse, RSBY signposts the impure areas and renders a valuable service to the local priests, prohibited from entering a cemetary by Levitical law.

Had the story concluded here, we would have a clear development of RSBY’s character and a conclusion that demonstrates an application of his new abilities. On the contrary, the story now provides us with a troubling indictment of his fiery temper. The same old man who previously assisted him by indicating the fact that some of the ground might be pure, now slights him by declaring that he has permitted a cemetary. RSBY, who views this as a disparagement of his ruling, accuses the old man of having been present when the sages voted on RSBY’s decision and of therefore lacking the right to voice any complaint. The expression used is a striking one: lowly prostitutes take the time to beautify one another; how much moreso should disciples of the sages make one another look pleasing to the public eye? By having insulted RSBY, the old man has apparantly brought the edifice of Torah learning into disrepute and must be punished. His punishment? RSBY looks upon him and the old man dies.

Our story has now been brought full circle. In addition to featuring a bathhouse and making reference to prostitutes (who, as RSBY stated at the outset, were put in marketplaces by the Romans), the story now concludes with RSBY’s visit to a marketplace as well. The fact that he encounters Yehuda ben Gerim there only serves to indicate that we are now back to the beginning and, in an effort to redress the wrong that was originally done to him, RSBY incinerates him on the spot. How one is supposed to understand this action – especially given the fact that Yehuda ben Gerim’s “crime” was one of thoughtlessness only – is unclear. All that seems certain is that RSBY’s transformation is not one that has affected his inmost character after all, but merely his attitude towards the world around him. As we noted earlier, RSBY commenced by disparaging civic institutions and proceeded, even after a lengthy process of meditation and prayer, to disparage active, worldly behaviour. Then, in addition to having a newfound respect for bathhouses and, one presumes, marketplaces, RSBY feels compelled to do something active and productive for the community.

Jeffrey Rubenstein (Talmudic Stories: Narrative Art, Composition, and Culture (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1999), 120) presumes that, after exiting his cave for the first time, RSBY was responsible for murdering a farmer with his gaze. Although the text does not specify a human casualty, Rubenstein’s subsequent observation is acute: if his first victim was somebody engaging in temporal life, his second victim is somebody who objects to RSBY’s engagement in the same. This, if nothing else, indicates the transformation taken place, although it is worth noting that a fundamental transformation (eg: from somebody who kills to somebody who does not) is lacking. If anything, perhaps, the final murder serves to reinforce that point. As Rubenstein observes, the tension between Torah and the outside world remains, even at the conclusion of the narrative.

There is much within RSBY’s character that contemporary readers may find objectionable. In addition to those elements that may have been so viewed by the text’s intended audience, we might also add RSBY’s attitude towards women and his willingness to leave his wife behind, despite already having suggested that the Romans were liable to torture her. The extent to which such opinions reflect on the authors and the extent to which they are employed in order to develop a character remains impossible to determine with certainty. Likewise difficult to determine is what the text is actually trying to tell us, although it seems certain that the issues with which the passage is concerned involve the relationship between Torah study and worldly existence, and the elevation of one’s intellect as a result of diligence. It is perhaps unsurprising that the tradition should have developed that RSBY was a mystic, as the relationship between study and action has been fraught for mystics throughout the ages.

On Lag BaOmer, thousands of Jews visit RSBY’s tomb on Mount Meron. Considered the anniversary of his death, and based on the tradition that his life brought the mystical secrets of Torah into the world, it offsets the preceding period of mourning – itself in commemoration of the thousands slain after the failed Bar Kochba revolt (c.132 CE). But that’s another story.

[It needs to be noted that the foregoing analysis is based solely upon the passage under consideration, and has not taken into view other information about RSBY, gleaned from elsewhere in the rabbinic literature. Those who are interested in reading more material that relates to him might consider A. Kolatch, Masters of the Talmud: Their Lives and Views (New York: Jonathan David Publishers, 2003), 347-349; G. Bader, The Encyclopedia of Talmudic Sages (trans. S. Katz; New Jersey: Jason Aronson, 1993), 352-361. Both texts provide an overview, although the second is without enumerated sources.]

*
The following is the text in its original language, acc. to manuscript Munich 95, and as reproduced in Jeffrey L. Rubenstein, Talmudic Stories: Narrative Art, Composition, and Culture (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1999), 289-290. Some differences exist between this and my printed copy of the Talmud (Jerusalem: Torah LaAm, 1957), although I have relied solely upon the manuscript version as reproduced here:

ואמאי קרו ליה ראש המדברים בכל מקום

הוה יתיב רבי יהודה ורבי יוסי ורבי שמעון הוה יתיב יהודה בן גרים גבייהו פתח ר’ יהודה ואמר כמה נאים מעשיהם של אומה זו תקנו שווקים תקנו מרחצאות תקנו גשרים ר’ יוסי שתק נענה ר’ שמעון ואמ’ כל מה שתקנו לצרכם תקנו תקנו שווקים להושיב בהן זונות מרחצאות לעדן בהן גשרים ליטול מהם מכס הלך יהודה בן גרים וספר דבריהם ונשמעו למלכות אמרו יהודה שעלה יעלה יוסי ששתק יגלה לצפורי שמעון שגינה יהרג

אזל איהו ובריה טשו בי מדרשא כל יומא הוה מייתי להו דביתייהו רפתא וכוזא דמיא וכרכי כי תקיף גזירתא א”ל לבריה נשים דעתן קלות עליהן קמצערי לה ומגליא אזל טשו במערתא אתרחיש להו ניסא ואיברו להו חרובא ועינא דמיא הוו יתבי עד צוורא בחליה ביומא יתבי וגרסי והוו משלחין מנייהו לעידן צלויי נפקי ולבשי ומכסי ונפקי ומצלו והדר שלוחי מנייהו כי היכי דלא ליבלו אותיבי במערתא תליסר שני אתא אליהו אפיתחא דמערתא אמ’ מאן מודעיה לבר יוחי דאמית קיסר ובטל גזירתא

נפקו חזו אינשי דקא כרבי זרעי אמרין מניחין חיי עולם ועוסקין בחיי שעה כל מקום שנתנו עיניהם מיד נשרף יצתה בת קול ואמרה להחריב עולמי יצאתם חזרו למערתכם אותיביה תריסר ירחי שתא אמרו משפט רשעים בגהינם שנים עשר חדש יצתה בת קול צאו ממערתכם

נפקו כל היכא דהוה מחי ר’ אלעזר הוה מסי ר’ שמעון אמ’ לו בני דיי לעולם אני ואתה חזו ההוא סבא דהוה נקיט תרי מדני דאס’ וקרהיט ואזיל לבין השמשות אמרו ליה הני למה לך אמ’ ליה לכבוד שבת א”ל ותיסגי ליה בחד א”ל חד כנגד זכור וחד כנגד שמור א”ל חזי כמה מצוה חביבה עליהם דישראל יתיב דעתייהו

שמע ר’ פנחס בן יאיר חתני’ נפיק לאפיה עיילי לבי בני הוו קא אריך ליה לבשריה חזיא דהוה ליה פילי בבישריה והוה קא בכי וקא נתרו דמעיה ומצערו ליה א”ל אוי לי שראיתיך בכך אמ’ לו אשריך שראיתני בכך שאלמלא לא ראיתני בכך לא מצאתי בי כך דמעיקרא כי הוה מקשי רבי שמעון בן יוחי חד קושיא הוה מפרק ליה ר’ פנחס בן יאיר תריסר פירוקי ולבסוף כי הוה מקשי ר’ פנחס קושיא הוה מפרק ליה ר’ שמעון בן יוחי עשרים וארבעה פירוקי

אמ’ הואיל ואיתרחיש ניסא אתקין מילתא דכתי’ ויבא יעקב שלם עיר שכם ואמ’ רב שלם בגופו שלם בממונו שלם בתורתו ויחן את פני העיר ואמ’ רב מטבע תקן להם ושמואל אמ’ שווקים תקן להם ר’ יוחנן אמר מרחצאות תקן להם אמ’ איכא מילתא דלתקוני אמרו ליה איכא דוכתא דאית ביה ספק טומאה ואיכא לכהני צערה לאקופי אמ’ איכ’ דידע דאיתחזיק טהרה הכא א”ל ההוא סבא כאן וכאן קצץ בן עזאי תרמוסי תרומה עבד איהו נמי כל היכא דהוה קשי טהריה כל היכא דהוה רפי צייניה אמ’ ההוא סבא טהר בן יוחי בית הקברות א”ל אלמלי לא הייתה עמנו ואי נמי הייתה עמנו ולא נמנית עמנו יפה אתה או’ עכשיו שהייתה עמנו יאמרו זונות מפרכסות זו את זו תלמידי חכמים לא כל שכן יהב ביה עינא נח נפשיה נפק לשוקא חזייה ליהודה בן גרים עדיין ישנו לזה בעולם נתן עיניו בו ועשאו גל של עצמות