Moshe on High (1)

 

Introduction

 

Although our next two shiurim relate to Matan Torah and would therefore seem most relevant to the time period of Shavuot, this discussion is actually quite timely, as the second part of the aggada that we will discuss relates to the period of mourning that is about to commence.

 

This aggada appears in Tractate Menachot and is quite well-known and recognizable, but it has received a reappraisal in the past few years.[1] By integrating a number of ideas, I hope that we may arrive at some innovative approaches in this forum as well.

 

First, let us consider the narrative itself.

 

 

When we consider this narrative in the light of others, it becomes clear that it is a composite narrative that can be presented in one of two ways. The first is relatively simple, splitting the narrative according to its content:

This division is justified by a very prominent distinction between the two parts, as seen in God’s reaction to Moshe’s question and the corresponding way Moshe experiences the situation. In the first part, God responds to Moshe affably and at length, and He answers with every detail. Thus, this section ends with Moshe being comforted (line 6). Ostensibly, the narrative could conclude here and there would be nothing missing. If indeed this were to happen, this would become a classic narrative of aggada in which a difficulty is raised and then resolved. Tension is created by Moshe’s perplexed reaction to the crowns on the letters, which is compounded later when Moshe cannot understand R. Akiva’s teaching about the Torah that the former received at Sinai. There is then a resolution of the question and release of the tension, so that Moshe is soon comforted.

 

However, the aggada does not conclude here, but rather goes on to tell of a debate between Moshe and God, in opposition to the first section. The response of God to Moshe’s question is brief, blunt, and dismissive: “Be silent, for this is My design.” The story abruptly ends without telling us of Moshe’s reaction, but it is abundantly clear to the reader that he cannot be experiencing any sense of relief. Why, then, does the gemara cite the second half of the story, introducing a foreign element into a cohesive narrative?

 

The truth is that the situation is even more complex than that. We may divide the narrative in another way, creating a different structure. This is a tripartite structure based on the form of the narrative, the structure created by the terminology used in it:

The two latter parts may be presented in the following table, which illustrates the parallel between them and the reason for the division. The words in bold are those that appear in both parts.

 

 

 

The two structures presented do not complement each other; on the contrary, they contradict each other. The first structure splits the narrative into two, with the second half starting with line 7 and continuing until the end of the narrative. In contrast, the second division breaks the first, moving lines 7 and 8 to the second segment, with line 9 opening a new segment. In other words, the structure created by the formal design of the narrative, the repeated phrases, shatters the initial structure that the reader observes based on the content of the narrative. The second segment of the second structure invades the first segment of the content-based divisions, and it does not stop at the end of the first segment but invades the second segment. Then it is cut off, and the third segment begins. Below, as we consider the meaning of the narrative, we will try to understand the significance of this phenomenon. However, before this, we will deal with the first part of the story.

 

 

Moshe finds God “affixing crowns to the letters.” The consensus among the commentators is that these are the crowns that adorn certain letters as they are written in the Torah scroll. Moshe asks God why He feels compelled to add these to the letters. God’s answer is lengthy and complex, and it raises a number of points worth considering.

 

A) Content of the Answer: R. Akiva is destined to “expound upon each stroke (kotz) mounds and mounds of laws.” Some Talmudic manuscripts (perhaps more reliable than our printed version) have kotzin instead of kotz. What does this refer to? As we mentioned, some explain this as referring to the crowns on top of the letters, as kotz, which literally means “thorn,” is as good a description as any. There is only one problem with this approach: There is not a single instance recorded in which R. Akiva expounds the crowns on a letter! Moreover, the gemara uses the term crown (keter) in line 1, so it is not clear why the term kotz should be employed in line 3. Thus, it makes sense to argue that the kotzin actually refer either to the words or to the letters of the Torah,[2] which R. Akiva does indeed expound intensively.

Indeed, R. Akiva is famous for expounding every letter and every word in the Torah. This distinguishes him from his contemporary, R. Yishmael, who reads the Torah in a more moderate and rational way, as he maintains that the Torah speaks in the way that people do. R. Akiva does not accept this view concerning the Torah, expounding every letter (such as vav) and every word (such as et) in the biblical text.

 

Why are kotz or kotzin used in this story? It appears that this is more than coincidence, as the phrase “upon each stroke mounds and mounds of laws” (al kol kotz ve-kotz, tillin tillin shel halakhot) recalls a verse from Shir Ha-Shirim:

 

 

It is not difficult to see the connection between “kevutzotav taltallim” and “kotz ve-kotz, tillin tillin,” as another derasha makes explicit:

 

 

It is reasonable that this tradition stands behind the story in Menachot.

 

This interpretative approach is quite significant. The verse in Shir Ha-Shirim speaking of curly locks refers to the Beloved, while the derasha of Mar Ukva applies this to the Torah. The connection between the verse and the derasha upon it links it to a very fundamental point of R. Akiva’s worldview that we have already raised.

 

R. Akiva’s disputant, R. Yishmael, maintains that the Torah speaks in the way that people do. God gives the Torah to human beings; the Torah descends to earth, and this means that, to a certain extent, that it is distanced from its Creator. It is human beings who must read it and fulfill it, and it is therefore written not in the divine lexicon, but in the human vernacular. The Torah consists of divine ideas translated into the human tongue, for the human reality. Accordingly, R. Yishmael expounds the Torah in more relatively rationalistic ways, such as through a fortiori.

 

However, Rabbi Akiva has a different view: The Torah is still a divine creation. The fact that it was given to human beings does not imply any greater distance from its Author; it still is revealed in divine speech. Since the speech is divine, the tools to dissect it are not the implements of rationalism, but rather the instruments of extreme exegesis, expounding every letter and every word. In every letter, God reveals Himself. The Torah that was crafted is Godly, and it maintains its identification with its Creator after it has been given to man.

 

This dispute appears to be expressed in two famous arguments between these sages about the Giving of the Torah:

 

 

 

 

In the first dispute, R. Yishmael gives an explanation that maintains the boundaries of rationalism: “They saw the visible and heard the audible.” In other words, “And when all the people saw the sounds and the lights and the sound of the shofar and the smoking mountain” is a concise way of saying that they saw the light and smoke and heard the sounds and the shofar. R. Akiva takes a different approach: The Israelites actually saw the sounds, as these sounds are expressed as fiery writing upon the Tablets. This underscores R. Akiva’s conceptualization of the Torah: The voice of God is itself etched into the Tablets, so that there is no gap between the Torah and its Creator.

 

In the second passage, R. Yishmael expands on his distinction. God stays in the heavens, and it is only His fire that descends to earth. In contrast, R. Akiva rejects this, conceiving of a bendable heaven stretched to the mountaintops. Thus, God Himself descends on the mountain, without leaving the sky.[3]

 

There is another midrash that also opens with “when Moshe ascended on high,” but it leans in the direction of R. Yishmael:

 

 

The claim put in Moshe’s mouth as a response to the angels is that the natural place of the Torah is on earth, as it addresses human beings on the earth — human begins who have desires, who are influenced by other peoples, who engage in physical work and need Shabbat, who at times need to be redeemed from slavery, etc.

 

These arguments appear to emanate from R. Yishmael’s view of the Torah as somewhat disconnected from its divine source and given to human beings, for them and in their vernacular, in response to problems that they encounter in their lives.

 

B) Shifts in Tense: God says, “There will arise a man, at the end of many generations.” As Jeffrey Rubenstein points out, the Hebrew phrasing is somewhat contradictory: “yesh she-atid.” “Yesh” is present, while “she-atid” is naturally “atid,” future. The contradiction between expressions of time reflects the fact that God is speaking; God Who is above time, as past, present and future are simultaneous from His vantage point. This point is important to understand the solution for the gap between the Oral Torah of Chazal and the Written Torah. From God’s point of view, since all time is the same, R. Akiva and Moshe are contemporaries. This is not a chronological development; rather, R. Akiva shapes the form of the Torah itself (staying God’s hand) even at the moment of its Giving.

Many have already discussed the experience of Moshe in R. Akiva’s study hall. Moshe is only comforted when R. Akiva identifies him personally as the source of a given idea. What stands behind the narrative is something that clearly troubled the sages who wrote it: the gap between the Torah and the innovative laws that they develop from it. Here, there is a sufficient answer: Although R. Akiva’s derashot are innovative, they have been taken into account from the start. When the Torah was given, its form was designed to support this activity, so that there is a direct line from Moshe to R. Akiva.

 

C) God’s Attitude to Moshe: There is another midrash that echoes the introduction of our narrative:

 

 

It appears that the first part of our narrative in Menachot is based on this section. Moshe feels like a servant before his master, but God wants him to feel otherwise – as a partner. God sees Moshe in particular, and humanity in general, which receives the Torah, as a partner. The relationship and the atmosphere are appropriate; there is openness and generosity on God’s part in the dialogue and status that he offers to Moshe.

 

All of these change in the second half of the narrative, which we will deal with next week.

 

 

Translated by Yoseif Bloch