The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture 9780300146592

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface to the Paperback Edition
Preface
Acknowledgments
Introduction
List of Abbreviations
Part I. The Historical Setting
1. Defining the Geonic Period
2. The Primary Sources
3. The Geonic Academies: Continuity and Change
4. The Multifaceted Role of the Gaon
5. The Exilarchate
6. The Struggle against Heresy
7. Competition with the Palestinian Center
8. Ties with the Diaspora
Part II. The Classical Geonic Period
9. The Intellectual World of the Geonim
10. The Talmudic Sources
11. Extra-Talmudic Oral Traditions
12. The Responsa Literature
13. The She’iltot
14. The Earliest Legal Codes
Part III. Se‘adyah Gaon and After
15. Se‘adyah Gaon, Revolutionary Champion of Tradition
16. The Halakhic Monographs
17. Talmudic Exegesis and Methodology
18. Theology
19. Biblical Exegesis
20. Linguistics and Poetry
Epilogue
Appendix A: Did the Geonim Enjoy Governmental Recognition?
Appendix B: Chronology of the Geonim
Glossary
Bibliography
Supplemental Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture

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ROBERT BRODY

The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture WITH A NEW PREFACE AND AN UPDATED BIBLIOGRAPHY

New Haven & London

Copyright ∫ 1998 by Yale University. Preface to the Paperback Edition copyright ∫ 2013 by Yale University. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, including illustrations, in any form (beyond that copying permitted by Sections 107 and 108 of the U.S. Copyright Law and except by reviewers for the public press), without written permission from the publishers. Yale University Press books may be purchased in quantity for educational, business, or promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected] (U.S. office) or [email protected] (U.K. office). Printed in the United States of America. Library of Congress Control Number: 2012945660 ISBN 978-0-300-18932-2 (pbk.)

For my mother Heed, my son, the correction of your father, and forsake not the instruction of your mother (Proverbs 1:18)

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Contents

Preface to the Paperback Edition xi Preface xv Acknowledgments xxi Introduction xxiii List of Abbreviations xxvii Part I The Historical Setting 1

Defining the Geonic Period 3 Savora’im and Geonim, 4; The End of the Geonic Era, 11

2

The Primary Sources 19 The Epistle of Sherira Gaon, 20; The Account of Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian, 26; The Importance of the Genizah, 30

3

The Geonic Academies: Continuity and Change 35 Related Institutions, 40; The Operation of the Academies, 43; Positions and Power in the Academy, 48

4

The Multifaceted Role of the Gaon 54 Head of the Academy, 54; Judge, 56; Administrator, 58; Author of Responsa, 60; Legal Innovator, 62; Additional Roles, 65 vii

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Contents

5

The Exilarchate 67 Sources of Authority, 68; Rights and Responsibilities, 71; Exilarchs and Geonim, 75; The Decline of the Exilarchate, 80

6

The Struggle against Heresy 83 ‘Anan and the Origins of Karaism, 85; Issues of Contention between Karaites and Rabbanites, 91; Rabbanite Reactions, 96

7

Competition with the Palestinian Center 100 The Palestinian Center and Its Academy, 101; Intellectual and Spiritual Life, 105; Legal Tradition and Literature, 109; The Babylonian Offensive, 113; The Palestinian Riposte, 121

8

Ties with the Diaspora 123 The Sphere of Babylonian Hegemony, 123; Palestine and Egypt, 126; The Maghreb, 129; Europe, 132

Part II The Classical Geonic Period 9

The Intellectual World of the Geonim 137 Knowledge of Languages, 138; Areas of Interest, 140; The Supernatural, 142; Attitudes towards Authority, 147

10

The Talmudic Sources 155 Oral versus Written Talmud, 156; Interpretation and Application of the Talmud, 161; Other Sources, 166

11

Extra-Talmudic Oral Traditions 171 Formulaic Traditions, 172; Other Halakhic Traditions, 178; Aggadic and Historical Traditions, 182

12

The Responsa Literature 185 Technical and Stylistic Aspects, 186; The Fate of the Responsa, 193; Problems of Identification and Attribution, 197

13

The She’iltot 202 The Genre: Form and Structure, 202; The She’iltot of R. Ahai, ≠ 207; The Sources of the She’iltot, 210; The Influence of the She’iltot, 213

14

The Earliest Legal Codes 216 Halakhot Pesuqot, 217; Halakhot Gedolot, 223; The Impact of the Codes, 230

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Part III Se‘adyah Gaon and After 15

Se‘adyah Gaon, Revolutionary Champion of Tradition 235 Se‘adyah’s Career, 235; Se‘adyah as Revolutionary, 239; Se‘adyah as the Champion of Tradition, 244

16

The Halakhic Monographs 249 General Characteristics of the Monographs, 249; The Monographic Writings of Se‘adyah Gaon, 255; Monographs of Later Geonim, 260

17

Talmudic Exegesis and Methodology 267 Commentaries on the Mishnah, 267; Commentaries on the Talmud, 270; Early Works on Talmudic Methodology, 274; Sherira, Hayya, and A Samuel b. Hofni, 278

18

Theology 283 The Background to Geonic Theology, 284; Se‘adyah Gaon as A Theologian, 289; Samuel b. Hofni and Other Geonim, 294

19

Biblical Exegesis 300 The Scope of Geonic Exegesis, 301; Exegetical Principles, 304; Theological and Polemical Dimensions, 308; The Relationship between Talmudic and Geonic Exegesis, 312

20

Linguistics and Poetry 316 Se‘adyah Gaon as Linguist, 317; Se‘adyah as Poet, 323; Hayya Gaon as Linguist and Poet, 329 Epilogue 333 Appendix A: Did the Geonim Enjoy Governmental Recognition? 337 Appendix B: Chronology of the Geonim 341 Glossary 347 Bibliography 351 Supplemental Bibliography 377 Index 383

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Preface to the Paperback Edition

The disciplines and subjects treated in this book have seen considerable activity since its original publication in 1998, and I welcome the opportunity provided by the publication of this paperback edition to take note of some of the most important developments in these fields, in addition to correcting a few oversights in the first edition. The paperback edition also includes a supplemental bibliography listing some of the most important publications of the past fourteen years; as in the original bibliography I have concentrated on the Talmudic-halakhic literature of the Geonic period but have also included select publications in other areas with which this book overlaps substantially. I will refer to some of the publications listed in the main bibliography and the supplementary bibliography, by author’s name and in some cases by abbreviated title, in the course of this preface. With regard to the primary sources discussed in chapter 2, I would refer the reader to Brody, ‘‘Epistle of Sherira Gaon,’’ and Brody, ‘‘‘Al ha-Meqorot laKhronologiyah shel Tequfat ha-Talmud’’; in the latter essay I believe I have succeeded in demonstrating that the historical surveys contained in both Sherira’s Epistle and Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im depend on a common chronological source, probably a sort of annalistic record which was compiled in an ongoing fashion during the period in question. As for the Genizah materials which I discussed briefly at the end of this chapter, the Friedberg Genizah

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Project has revolutionized the field by providing Internet access to a vast quantity of information concerning these manuscripts and to digital images of most of them, along with an impressive array of specialized software, at www .genizah.org. In chapter 3 (‘‘The Geonic Academies: Continuity and Change’’) I should have mentioned a responsum (Assaf, ‘‘Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim,’’ no. 59, p. 77) in connection with the system of stipends which supported both scholars and Tanna’im associated with the Geonic academies. I would also point to the more recent articles by Emanuel on the role of the Tanna’im and by Breuer on the nature of the Aramaic dialect which characterizes the ‘‘special tractates’’ of the Babylonian Talmud. With regard to chapter 6 (‘‘The Struggle against Heresy’’) I would like to mention Meira Polliack’s publications on the Karaites, especially the collection which she edited and which provides an overview of the state of research on a vast array of topics. I would also correct the assertion (pp. 96–97) that Se‘adyah was the first Geonic author to engage in sustained polemics on behalf of rabbinic Judaism and against its sectarian adversaries: I now believe (see Brody, Pirqoy ben Baboy) that we possess parts of a polemical work of this sort dating to the eighth century, although its author cannot be identified. With regard to recent publications concerning the Palestinian center during the Geonic period (chapter 7), I can only touch on a few highlights. Elizur, ‘‘Le-Qorot ha-Ge’onut’’ has provided evidence for the existence of a central academy located in Tiberias no later than the mid-eighth century. In the area of liturgical poetry generally, and with regard to Babylonia specifically, I refer the reader to the publications by Beeri and Elizur listed in the supplemental bibliography; with regard to Sefer ha-Ma‘asim, to Newman’s new edition and my review; and with regard to Pirqoy b. Baboy, to the publications by Brody and Danzig. On p. 168 I should have mentioned a second reference to the Palestinian Talmud in what appears, despite its considerable difficulties, to be at its base a Geonic responsum of the ninth century; see M. Schloessinger, ed., The Ritual of Eldad ha-Dani, Leipzig and New York, 1908, pp. 107–126, esp. 116. Since the publication of the first edition there have been some important developments with regard to the responsa literature (chapter 12). My collaborators and I have been engaged for several years in a project designed to complete the anthology Ofsar ha-Ge’onim begun by B. M. Lewin in the 1920s and cut short by his death in 1942. The first fruits of this endeavor, a volume on tractate Bava Me≠si‘a, appeared in 2012 (see Brody, Cohen, and Stampfer), and work on subsequent volumes is under way. Ultimately we hope to issue corrected and updated versions of the volumes published by Lewin as well. Alongside the printed volumes we are engaged in preparing a database of Geonic

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responsa, a preliminary version of which should be accessible shortly via the website of the Israel Science Foundation (www.isf.org.il). The new volume on Bava Me≠si‘a also includes a small number of previously unpublished responsa, as do the articles by Danzig, Emanuel, Friedman, and Gottesman listed in the supplemental bibliography. For details of customs with regard to the Gaon’s A signature see Emanuel, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim ha-Hadashot, pp. 160–161. Contrary to my inclination in the first edition (p. 204) I have become convinced by the publications of Breuer and Morgenstern that Geonic Aramaic was essentially an artificial dialect. Shweka’s dissertation represents a major advance in clarifying the textual traditions and original form of Halakhot Gedolot (chapter 14), although there is still work to be done, especially in assessing the significance of MS Paris. Reiner’s article on the dissemination of this work is also an important contribution. With regard to chapter 15 and succeeding chapters, I would refer readers to my (mostly intellectual) biography of Se‘adyah Gaon, which is to appear very shortly in an English translation. Another area in which there has been considerable progress in the years since the first publication of this book is that of the Geonic monographs (chapter 16). I will be publishing most of the surviving portions of Se‘adyah’s monographs in A a book which is to appear shortly. Some works of Samuel ben Hofni have been published by Meacham and Stampfer, and editions of several other works by this author are in preparation. An important edition by Abramson of Hayya Gaon’s Mishpeftey Shevu‘ot has been published posthumously. With regard to Talmudic exegesis and methodology (chapter 17) I would refer the reader to my essay mentioned above on the chronological source emA ployed by Seder Tanna’im we-Amora‘im and to Samuel ben Hofni’s references to an anonymous Talmudic commentary which he calls ‘‘the perush’’ (see Stampfer, Sefer ha-Gerushin, pp. 18–19). On p. 277 I overlooked Zucker’s observation (see Zucker, ‘‘Qeta‘im mi-Kitab Tah≠ ≠ sil,’’ p. 374 and n. 12) that Se‘adyah’s commentary on the thirteen principles of Biblical exegesis is actually an extract from his commentary on Leviticus. For theology (chapter 18) I would refer the reader to Stroumsa’s essays; for Biblical exegesis (chapter 19) to the publications of Ben-Shammai and Ratzaby; and for linguistics and poetry (chapter 20) to Elizur’s article on Essa Meshali and Maman’s articles on Kitab A al-Hawi. Finally, I would like to express my appreciation to all those who encouraged and facilitated the publication of this new edition, especially Ivan Marcus, and my hope that Geonic literature and related areas will continue to attract the attention of devoted and gifted scholars who will expand the boundaries of our knowledge and understanding of this crucial period in Jewish history.

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Preface

This book focuses on the period known in Jewish history as the Geonic era, which corresponds roughly to the second half of the first millennium c.e.. The emphasis will be on Jewish cultural and intellectual history, and more particularly on the intellectual and literary activity associated with the Babylonian Jewish center, which in many respects achieved a position of preeminence in the course of these centuries. This activity was intimately associated with the great academies of Sura and Pumbedita, whose heads were known as Geonim. The Geonic period has, of course, been treated in a number of histories of the Jewish people or of rabbinic literature, most of which were written in the late nineteenth or early twentieth centuries, but only two comprehensive surveys devoted specifically to this period and its literature have appeared to date: the first volume of L. Ginzberg’s Geonica, published in 1909, and S. Assaf’s Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, published posthumously in 1955. Ginzberg’s was a bold, pioneering effort, especially in the author’s use of material from the Cairo Genizah, which was just becoming available at about this time; in fact, many of the Genizah texts which underlie Ginzberg’s analysis were first published in the second volume of his book. The reader of Ginzberg’s introduction is sometimes hard put to see the forest for the trees, and quite a few of the author’s theories seem rather far-fetched, even if we restrict

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ourselves to the evidence available when he wrote. Perhaps even more important, the state of our knowledge of Geonic literature and a vast array of related fields has changed almost beyond recognition since Ginzberg’s time, largely as a result of the ongoing scholarly exploitation of the Genizah material, which is still far from complete. Assaf’s treatment is more readable and balanced, but suffers from other shortcomings. It was not prepared by the author for publication, but represents the lecture notes he had used over a period of more than twenty years for an introductory course given at Hebrew University; in most respects, despite its publication date, it represents the state of knowledge in the 1930s. Furthermore, it is largely a summary of previous scholarship rather than the fruit of Assaf’s independent attempts to grapple with the many puzzles presented by this complex literature. Great progress has been made in the intervening years—largely, once again, through the publication and analysis of sources from the Genizah. In the field of Geonic literature proper, this progress has been spearheaded by Sh. Abramson and his students; in neighboring fields important contributions have been made by many scholars, whose works are referred to in the notes and bibliography to the present volume. By the most generous interpretation, then, the latest available introduction is over forty years old, while the most recent treatment available in any European language is nearly ninety years old. The time is thus more than ripe for a fresh survey of the Geonic period and especially of its literary and intellectual heritage. A great deal remains to be done in this field, both in the publication of new texts and in the interpretation of published texts, let alone the broader interpretation of cultural and historical phenomena. The present work, therefore, can in no sense aspire to be the definitive treatment of its topic; but sufficient progress has been made since the existing summaries were written to justify a new stocktaking. An additional caveat is in order: a work of this sort, covering a period of half a millennium and a large and variegated literature, obviously cannot treat every aspect of its subject in detail; in some cases an entire field of research is touched upon in a single footnote. My aim has been to present a coherent perspective on the field as a whole, to highlight central phenomena, and to guide the interested reader to more detailed treatments of the topics discussed. In many cases I have explicitly mentioned gaps in our knowledge and questions which require further investigation; in other cases, the astute reader will have no difficulty in discovering these between the lines. I have not attempted to write a social or economic history of the Jews in this period; to the extent that the sources permit this, such a history will be written by others better qualified than I. (See, for example, the works of M. BenSasson and M. Gil listed in the bibliography.) I have, however, tried to describe enough of the historical background to enable the reader to understand some-

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thing of the world within which the Geonim operated and to better appreciate their achievements and historical role. Part One is dedicated to providing this historical perspective. The first chapter deals with periodization and with the factors which led to the rise and fall of the Geonate. The second chapter briefly describes the most important sources available for the study of this period. The next three chapters deal with the leading institutions of Babylonian Jewry at the time, namely the Geonic academies and the Exilarchate, while chapters 6 and 7 treat two major foci with which these institutions were in competition: the Palestinian center and a variety of freethinkers and sectarian movements. The last chapter of this section recapitulates information concerning ties between the Babylonian center and the Jewish diaspora. Part Two deals with the classical Geonic period, before the accession of Se‘adyah Gaon in 928. The first three chapters of this section treat the intellectual milieu, while the last three deal with literary genres cultivated in this period. Part Three is devoted to the final century of the Geonic era, which exhibits many far-reaching changes, most of them pioneered by Se‘adyah. It should be borne in mind, however, that new interests and pursuits generally developed alongside existing ones, rather than supplanting them; thus, chapters 9–12 are, to a large extent, applicable to the post-Se‘adyah period as well. Chapter 15 sketches Se‘adyah’s career and his unique achievements in the public sphere; the remaining chapters deal with the intellectual and literary activities of Se‘adyah and his successors. Of these, chapters 16 and 17 concern new literary undertakings within traditional areas of interest, while the last three chapters are devoted to the newly developing fields of theology, biblical exegesis, linguistics, and poetry. This arrangement of the material, admittedly, is not ideal, but I hope that the reader will find it satisfactory. All the primary literature upon which this book is based, and much of the secondary literature, is written in non-European languages, specifically Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic. In some of these publications, the numbers of pages or sections of the text are given in the form of Hebrew or Arabic characters; these have been replaced with the equivalent Arabic (or, where appropriate, Roman) numerals. All the translations given in the text are mine, unless otherwise indicated; where existing translations are used, I have checked them for accuracy against the original texts. When works cited are available in a Semitic original and one or more European translations (or, in one case, vice versa), I have given references to both original and translation. Finally, I have adopted a system of transliteration which represents a compromise between the demands of scrupulous accuracy and those of readability and convenience. In the case of words with familiar transliterations and in a few other instances (such as the bibliographical listings of titles which use other systems of

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transliteration) I have departed from my preferred system. Vowel length is not indicated, and aleph or alif is indicated only in medial position. Both segol and shewa mobile are transcribed as e; ai or ay represents the uncontracted diphthong pronounced as in high, while e or (in final position) ey represents the contracted diphthong pronounced as in they.

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Hebrew and Aramaic p f s≠ q r sh s t

p P X K R ¡ ¿ O, o

t≠ y k kh l m n s ‘

T Y c C L M N S E

’ b v g d h w z h≠

A b B G, g D, d H W Z J

’ b t th j h≠ kh d dh r

Z [ X ] V a b d e f

Arabic q k l m n h w y

r u t w x y z U

z s sh s≠ d≠ t≠ z≠ ‘ gh f

g i j k l m n o p q

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Acknowledgments

I have been fortunate enough to benefit, over the past two decades, from formal and informal contacts with many scholars, who have helped shape my vision of the Geonic period and its literature and have thus contributed indirectly to the present volume. Of these, I mention only the late Shraga Abramson, the doyen of Geonic studies, under whose tutelage I first explored this field and who served as mentor for my doctoral dissertation. With regard to the publication of this book, I would like to express my gratitude to David B. Ruderman, who conveyed my proposal to Yale University Press, and to Charles Grench and the staff of the Press—especially Susan Abel, Otto Bohlmann, and Richard Miller—for their helpfulness and cooperation. I owe a special debt of gratitude to David Halivni, who suggested that I write this book. On behalf of myself and my readers, I would like to thank those who read the original typescript and offered helpful suggestions: my wife, Ziporah, and my friends and colleagues Menahem Ben-Sasson and Daniel R. Schwartz of Hebrew University and Bernard Septimus of Harvard. My thanks also to friends and colleagues who read selected chapters in their fields of expertise and offered useful comments: Sarah Stroumsa (chapter 18), Haggai BenShammai (chapter 19), Aron Dotan and Shulamit Elizur (parts of chapter 20). This book has benefited from the advice graciously proffered by all of these

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readers and would probably have been improved even further had I accepted their advice more often. I am very grateful to Haggai Ben-Shammai, Aron Dotan, Moshe Gil, and David Sklare, who have allowed me to consult and refer to some of their latest studies in advance of their publication. I would also like to express my appreciation to the American Academy for Jewish Research for permission to include in this volume (chapter 13) a revised version of the foreword to my book Le-Toledot Nusahf ha-She’iltot, and to Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht for permission to include (chapter 19) a revised version of an essay which I contributed to Hebrew Bible/Old Testament: The History of Its Interpretation, edited by M. Saebø.

Introduction

Strictly speaking, the Geonic period began somewhere in the second half of the sixth century c.e., thus antedating by at least half a century the great wave of Arab conquests which began near the middle of the seventh century, in the wake of Muhammad’s mission. Furthermore, the Muslim conquest of Babylonia appears to have been neither a traumatic event for the Babylonian Jewish community nor the occasion for the establishment of new leadership institutions. Nevertheless, knowledge of events in that portion of the Geonic period which preceded the Muslim conquest is virtually nil, so that the history of the Geonic period might be said to begin at this point. Furthermore, sources for the first Muslim century are very limited, so that direct knowledge of the Geonate and related institutions is essentially restricted to the period following the rise of the Abbasid dynasty in 750—although, both for lack of choice and because of the fundamentally conservative nature of the period and its institutions, extrapolation to the earlier period appears to represent a reasonable risk. Here, therefore, I shall attempt to delineate some of the outstanding features of that portion of the Geonic era which falls within the Muslim, and especially the Abbasid, period. By the time the Abbasids came to power, the domain of Islam extended from Spain (the last bastion of Umayyad rule) and North Africa in the west almost to the Indian subcontinent in the east. Under the unifying umbrella of Islam,

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international trade flourished as never before, and a form of international banking developed as well. Jews played a leading role in both of these areas. Although no statistics are available, the vast majority of the Jewish people were now, for the first time in many centuries, living in a single cultural and political sphere; the commonly accepted estimate is that over 90 percent of the world’s Jews were located within the Islamic world (dar Al-Islam) at this time. Furthermore, the center of this vast empire was transferred from Syria, where the Umayyads had had their capital at Damascus, to Babylonia, where the Abbasids made their capital at Baghdad. The leaders of Babylonian Jewry were thus admirably positioned to influence their coreligionists worldwide, and they made the most of their opportunities. The world Jewish community during this period was composed of two competing centers, in Palestine and Babylonia, and a widespread diaspora which was dependent on these centers to an extent unequaled until the establishment of the modern state of Israel. Large parts of the diaspora were formally subject to these centers, and the authority of their leaders over the Jewish populations of these areas was recognized by the Muslim authorities. The Jews of other territories were officially independent but were subject to the moral and intellectual authority of the Babylonian and Palestinian leaders. The competition between these two centers for influence over various parts of the diaspora is one of the central motifs of the period. The official leadership of Babylonian Jewry during this period was organized around three institutions: the Exilarchate and the Geonic academies of Sura and Pumbedita. While the Exilarch was primarily a temporal leader, and the Geonim intellectual and religious leaders, the differences between these types of leadership were not as clear-cut as might be imagined. To begin with, each of these institutions enjoyed sweeping authority over the Jews of particular territories which comprised its reshut. In addition, Exilarchs sometimes entertained aspirations for their own academies, while Geonim might trespass on the Exilarchs’ traditional turf and offer to intercede with the Muslim authorities on behalf of their coreligionists. Another feature shared by these institutions was the importance of family lineage. While the Exilarchate was basically a hereditary office, restricted to the members of a single family which claimed descent from King David, the Geonate was dominated by a small number of families, although the office did not (with a single exception) pass from father to son. Unofficial authority depended on governmental contacts; a number of families of court bankers were especially important in this regard, exercising great influence on the course of events in tenth-century Baghdad, particularly in cases of conflict between Exilarchs and Geonim. In Palestine there was only one institution of leadership, the Geonate, which combined

Introduction

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political authority with academic leadership, albeit on a lower level than in Babylonia; this institution is documented with certainty only for the last two centuries of the Geonic period. In the Palestinian sphere, too, a great deal of influence was exerted by prosperous merchants and others who established good connections with the Muslim authorities, especially after the rise of the Fatimid dynasty and the relocation of its capital to Egypt in the course of the tenth century. The situation of the Jews living under Islam in this period was quite comfortable on the whole, although there were occasional exceptions. Christianity and Judaism were accorded the status of licit religions under Islam, and the authorities granted recognition to representative leaders of these communities. We have no way of knowing how many Jews availed themselves of the opportunities offered by conversion to Islam, although there were certainly enough such cases to leave their mark in both Jewish and Muslim sources. For the most part, though, the Jewish community maintained its integrity; although it suffered from various restrictions and discriminatory taxes, freedom of religion was seldom infringed. There was a good deal of cultural openness and exchange during this period, both at a broad popular level and within intellectual circles. Acculturation proceeded apace, at least in some parts of the Islamic world, and Arabic quickly became the spoken language of many Jews and Christians, as well as Muslims. This shared language also served as the vehicle for wide-ranging cultural influences in many areas, which by the end of the period had not only affected a large part of the Jewish populace but had also successfully penetrated the central institutions of Jewish leadership, especially the Geonate. Not all of these trends originated in Islam; many of them had their roots in earlier intellectual traditions, especially those of Greek philosophy and patristics, which had a profound impact on the Arabic literature of this period, whether by way of translations or of more subtle influences. Perhaps the most important such areas were those of rationalistic theology and scriptural exegesis (along with such ancillary disciplines as linguistics), which were to shape the course of much Jewish and Christian religious and intellectual activity in this and succeeding eras. Another important feature of Jewish culture in this era is the increasing interpenetration of the Palestinian and Babylonian traditions, which, despite the competition between them, exerted considerable mutual influence. The ultimate result of their competition was not a clear-cut victory for one or the other cultural tradition but the creation of a new blend, which was passed on to later generations and significantly influenced the later course of Jewish civilization.

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Abbreviations

AS b. b.c.e. BT c.e. HUCA JQR KS MGWJ PAAJR R. REJ Sel. SI

Alei Sefer ben or bar (‘‘son of’’) before the common era Babylonian Talmud common era Hebrew Union College Annual Jewish Quarterly Review Kiryat Sefer Monatsschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judenthums Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research Rabbi or Rav Revues des Etudes Juives Seleucid era Studia Islamica

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P A R T

The Historical Setting

I

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1

Defining the Geonic Period

During the Geonic era of Jewish history, the central academies of Babylonia and Palestine were well-established, hierarchical institutions, whose heads, the Geonim,∞ fulfilled a good many roles and exerted an enormous influence over the entire Jewish world. Certain territories were officially subject to their administrative jurisdiction, while their moral authority extended to the furthest reaches of the diaspora. The origins and development of these aspects of the Geonate are, however, difficult to date. Scattered pointers may be found in the seventh and eighth centuries,≤ but more comprehensive documentation is available only for the ninth and especially the tenth and eleventh centuries. Thus, some aspects of the Geonic era which we will treat synchronically may actually go back to talmudic times, while others may have developed gradually, over a period of centuries, in circumstances beyond our ken.≥ We can, however, say rather more about the turning point in the selfperception of the academicians themselves and about the circumstances which 1. For the derivation and history of this title, see chapter 3, ‘‘Positions and Power in the Academy.’’ 2. See, for example, chap. 4, ‘‘Legal Innovator,’’ and the beginning of chap. 12. 3. See Appendix A for further detail and a discussion of other theories.

3

4

The Historical Setting

led them to see themselves as belonging to a new and distinct era. To do so, we must turn to the history of rabbinic literature. In the classical periodization of this history, each era is known by the designation given to the leading rabbinic figures of the time, beginning with the Tanna’im (‘‘Reciters,’’ first through third centuries c.e.) and Amora’im (‘‘Sayers,’’ third through fifth centuries), who produced the classic works of rabbinic literature, including the Mishnah and the two Talmuds, the Palestinian and the Babylonian. These were followed by the Savora’im (‘‘Opiners’’), Geonim (‘‘Eminences’’), Rishonim (‘‘ ‘Earlier’ Authorities’’), and Aharonim ≠ (‘‘Later’’ Authorities).∂ From this perspective, the first task is to clarify the lines of demarcation between Savora’im, Geonim, and Rishonim. This undertaking is not as simple or straightforward as might be imagined, although the difficulties involved in pinpointing the transition from Savora’im to Geonim are of a different nature from those which confront us when we attempt to define the transition from Geonim to Rishonim.

Savora’im and Geonim The Savora’im and Geonim represent successive groups of leading Babylonian rabbis, and almost all our information concerning the Savora’im derives from the writings of the Geonim and their contemporaries, who clearly saw themselves as distinct from and later than the Savora’im. Thus, it ought to be a relatively simple matter to draw a line between the two groups, both chronologically and qualitatively. In fact, controversy surrounds both these distinctions. Because of the dearth of available information, the period of the Savora’im, together with the earlier portion of the Geonic period, comprises the Dark Ages of rabbinic literature. Our sources concerning the leading figures of both periods are so scanty that the dividing line between the Savora’im and the Geonim is almost totally obscured. Our most important source for the time in question, and one of the most important sources for the Geonic period as a whole, is the famous Epistle of Sherira Gaon (Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, written in 986/7).∑ The Savora’im are discussed twice in this work: once in the context of literary history, with regard to their role in the formation of the Babylonian Talmud, and once 4. For the transition between the last two periods, see Yuval, ‘‘Rishonim weAharonim,’’ ≠ who shows that the watershed was the Black Death of the mid-fourteenth century; cf. n. 25 below. 5. For the nature and significance of this text, see chap. 2, ‘‘The Epistle of Sherira Gaon.’’

Defining the Geonic Period

5

(along with the early Geonim) in the context of institutional history. In the literary context, Sherira has the following to say:∏ In this manner hora’ah (lit. instruction) was added, generation after generation, until Rabina, when it was discontinued, as Samuel Yarhina’ah ≠ saw in the Book of Primordial Adam: ‘‘Ashi and Rabina—the end of hora’ah.’’ And after this, certainly, although there was no hora’ah, there were explanations and opinions approximating to hora’ah, and those masters were called rabbanan savora’ey (opining rabbis); and whatever had been left hanging, (these) rabbis made explicit (citing two examples from the Talmud). . . . And they— and also succeeding rabbis, such as Rav ‘Ena and Rav Simuna—incorporated several (of their) opinions in the gemara (learning, i.e., Talmud). And we have (a tradition) from earlier (authorities) that the gemara at the beginning of (the chapter) Ha-Ishah Niqnet, until ‘‘With money—how do we know this?’’ (BT Qiddushin 2a-3b) was redacted and incorporated by the later rabbanan savora’ey—and otherπ (passages) as well.

The Savora’im are characterized purely in terms of their contribution to the Talmud, and this characterization is primarily negative: their teachings lacked the authoritative status of hora’ah enjoyed by the dicta of the Amora’im. Nevertheless, their contributions are described as approximating to that status. They are credited with two accomplishments in particular: (1) resolving ‘‘all’’ the outstanding questions which remained from the earlier period∫ and (2) formulating a number (unspecified) of talmudic passages ab initio. There is one striking difference between the two types of material described here: in both passages belonging to the first category, the statements in question are attributed to specific, named authorities,Ω whom Sherira assigns to this period, while the entire long passage at the beginning of tractate Qiddushin is strictly anonymous. It is this fact which opens a Pandora’s box of speculation: although statements attributed to named Savora’im represent a minuscule

6. Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 69–71 (Rabinowich, pp. 82–83; Schlüter, pp. 189–193). The talmudic source referred to in this passage, with regard to the Book of Adam, is located in BT Bava Me≠si‘a 85b–86a. 7. For the Persian loan word zud see Lewin, ed., Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 10, Gi≠t≠tin, Responsa, no. 448 (end). 8. In view of the vast number of unresolved questions contained in the Talmud, this statement can hardly have been intended literally, unless we assume that Sherira considered notations such as tequ (‘‘Let it stand’’) or qashya (‘‘It is difficult’’) to qualify as resolutions of a sort. 9. At least in Sherira’s text: our editions of the Talmud lack the name of R. Revai of Rov in Sanhedrin 43a (cf. Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 70, n. 4).

6

The Historical Setting

proportion of the attributed statements in the Talmud,∞≠ the vast majority of talmudic discussion is anonymous; it would thus be possible to attribute a large proportion of this material, and a central role in the formation of the Talmud, to the Savora’im. How shall we estimate the scope of the Savoraic contribution? Taking a relatively cautious approach, we may attempt to characterize the initial passage in BT Qiddushin—the only one attributed by a comparatively early and authoritative source to the Savora’im—and to identify others which resemble it as closely as possible and are thus likely to be among the ‘‘other (unspecified) passages’’ which Sherira’s predecessors attributed to these scholars. Among the features which have been suggested are the exclusive concern with linguistic or stylistic features of no legal import and the placement of this passage at the beginning of a tractate, where it functions as a sort of introduction.∞∞ Taking a far more radical approach, one could assert that virtually all the anonymous material in the Babylonian Talmud (most of which is interwoven with sources assigned to Amora’im or their predecessors) is a product of the Savoraic period. Such an approach can hardly derive support from the testimony of Sherira which we have cited, or indeed from any other early source, and its popularity in scholarly discourse would appear to be on the wane.∞≤ Another theory which has won many adherents but appears difficult to reconcile with the evidence would assign the Savora’im a central role in editing the Talmud by bringing order into an amorphous mass of preexisting talmudic material. There is certainly nothing of this in Sherira’s testimony, although such a conception may be reflected in an even earlier source.∞≥

10. In addition to the two examples mentioned, there are a number of statements attributed in the Talmud to authorities whom Sherira places among the Savora’im; see Kaplan, Redaction of the Talmud, pp. 309–311 (with references to earlier discussions). 11. See Weiss, Ha-Yefsirah shel ha-Savora’im, pp. 8–15, with references to earlier discussions (especially by N. Brüll). 12. See Friedman, ‘‘Pereq ha-’Ishah Rabbah,’’ pp. 283–301, with references to earlier literature; the phases of D. Halivni’s thinking on this question may be traced by comparing the introductions to the various volumes of his Meqorot u-Mesorot [Sources and Traditions]. In my opinion a relatively large number of anonymous statements may be shown to belong to the Amoraic period, on the basis of named Amora’im whose dicta presuppose them, but caution is required (as shown, e.g., by Halivni’s critique of Albeck), and this is not the place to develop the argument. As for glosses and summaries which are attributed by some medieval and modern authors to the Savora’im, see below, pp. 31–32. 13. See Kahan, ed. and trans., Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, Hebrew section, p. 9, lines 2–3 (cf. ibid., German section, pp. 4, 34; Ephrathi, Tequfat ha-Savora’im weSifrutah, pp. 63–67). Among modern scholars see, e.g., Kaplan, Redaction of the Tal-

Defining the Geonic Period

7

In any event, the authors of various historical sketches written in the Geonic period seem to agree in viewing the Savora’im as closer to the Amora’im than to Geonic authors, not only in time but also in the nature of their activities.∞∂ These are described, albeit largely negatively, according to their impact on the text of the Babylonian Talmud; however limited their contribution may have been, and however obscure its contours, the Talmud as it left the hands of the Savora’im was clearly not identical with the Talmud which they had inherited from their predecessors, the Amora’im of Babylonia. It is this, so far as we can tell, which sets them apart from the later Geonim,∞∑ who saw the Talmud (in principle) as a closed literary corpus no longer open to revision. Their role was confined to its promulgation, interpretation, and application.∞∏ The chronological limits of the Savoraic period are no less controversial than the nature of its contribution to the formation of the Talmud. Our earliest sources agree in giving the date of Rabina’s death, which marked the end of hora’ah (in other words, of the Amoraic period) as 811 of the Seleucid era (499/500 c.e.).∞π The problem is to date the end of the Savoraic period and the transition to the period of the Geonim. Here, as elsewhere, Sherira is our best source, although he expresses his position on this question somewhat less unequivocally than we might like.∞∫ The following represents his historical sketch of the period:∞Ω mud, esp. pp. 301–308; for evidence to the contrary cf. ibid., pp. 242–254, and see Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 267–269, 279–280, and n. 176. 14. Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im and Seder ‘Olam Zuta do not treat of the Geonim at all but append brief treatments of the Savora’im to their accounts of the Amoraic period, while Sherira makes a rather clear break between the Savoraic and Geonic periods. 15. Note that Sherira applies the term Gaon to the Savoraic period as well, apparently with the meaning ‘‘head of a central academy’’ (Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 71; p. 99 and n. 7). 16. See chap. 10. 17. Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 95; Kahan, ed. and trans., Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, p. 6. The Seleucid era, beginning in the fall of 312 b.c.e., was the favored standard of chronology in Babylonia; see Friedman, Jewish Marriage in Palestine, 1:104–106. 18. For a survey of attempts to clarify Sherira’s stand on this issue see Ephrathi, Tequfat ha-Savora’im we-Sifrutah, pp. 33–44; our understanding is close to that advanced already by Graetz. The far-fetched date of 689 offered by Abraham Ibn Daud is clearly but another interpretation or manipulation of Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on; see ibid., pp. 34– 35; Cohen, Book of Tradition, pp. 177–188. 19. Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 97–100 (Rabinowich, pp. 118–124; Schlüter, pp. 240–243). The preceding sentence places the end of hora’ah and the ‘‘sealing of the Talmud’’ in the lifetime of Rav Asi, the date of whose death is not given.

8

The Historical Setting And there were (then) the Savoraic rabbis (rabbanan savora’ey), and most of them died within a few years. For the earlier (authorities) stated thus in the books of remembrance of events:≤≠ In Siwan of the year 815 (Sel., 504 CE) Rav Sama son of Rabbana Judah died—and they say that he was Av Bet Din.≤∞ And on Sunday the fourth of Adar of the year 816, Rav Ahai ≠ son of Rav Huna died. And in Nisan of that year Rav Rehumi ≠ died—according to others, Rav Rehumai. ≠ And Rav Samuel bar Rabbahu of Pumbedita died in Kislew of the year 818. And Rabina of Ima≠sia died in Adar (of that year). And the Exilarch Rav Huna died in the year 819. And in the year 822, on the Day of Atonement, there was a storm and Rav Aha ≠ the son of Avi died. And Rav Tehina, ≠ and Mar A A Zutra and Rav Hana, the sons of Rav Hanina, died in the year 826. And Rav Joseph remained Gaon in our academy for a number of years. And after that: Rav ‘Ena in Sura and Rav Simuna in Pumbedita. And after that Rav Revai of Rov, from our academy, and they say that he was Gaon.≤≤ And there were years of persecution and troubles at the end of the Persian (i.e., Sasanian) monarchy, and they were unable to establish pirqey≤≥ and convene the academies and conduct the customs of the Geonate until a number of years had elapsed, and the rabbis of our academy came from Pumbedita to the neighborhood of Nehardea, to the city of Piruz Shabur. And these are the names of the Geonim who were in our city of Pumbedita after these events, at the end of the Persian monarchy, from the year 900 (588/9 CE): A Mar Rav Hanan of Ashiqiyya (and so on).

The first paragraph describes the brief reign of the Savora’im, ‘‘most’’ of whom had died by 826 Sel. (514/5 c.e.). The last Savora’im known to Sherira are the same three mentioned at the end of his earlier, literary-historical sketch, although Rav Revai appears to have changed places with Rav ‘Ena and Rav Simuna.≤∂ No dates are given for any of these scholars, but they probably take us approximately to the middle of the sixth century. After this there is a clearly defined break, occasioned by ‘‘persecutions and troubles’’ and marked by the temporary removal of Pumbedita’s scholars to Nehardea. Sherira resumes his systematic account of Pumbedita’s leaders with the round number 900, and from here on it is uninterrupted (although full information on the 20. See Lewin’s n. 1 ad loc. and below, pp. 22–23. 21. For this title see below, chap. 3, ‘‘Positions and Power in the Academy’’; Sherira is apparently relying here on oral tradition (cf. Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 99, n. 7). 22. See above, notes 15, 21. 23. A type of public lecture; see below, chap. 4, at the end of the section ‘‘Head of the Academy.’’ 24. For some attempts to resolve this discrepancy see Kaplan, Redaction of the Talmud, pp. 335–338; Ephrathi, Tequfat ha-Savora’im we-Sifrutah, pp. 41–43.

Defining the Geonic Period

9

heads of the sister academy of Sura begins only a century later, as does the dating of most of the Pumbeditan scholars mentioned). It is almost impossible to escape the conclusion that as far as Sherira is concerned, the Geonic period had begun by the year 900 Sel. (588/9) at the latest, and the Savoraic period had ended some time earlier, the two being separated by a time of persecutions and troubles which were externally imposed. Whatever may have been the precise nature of these troubles, the scholars who reopened the academy of Pumbedita apparently saw themselves as belonging to a different era from that of their predecessors, the Savora’im.≤∑ Sherira gives us no information on the fate of the Suran academy during this time, but the period of extended turmoil would presumably have marked a watershed in the consciousness of Suran scholars as well. We should, however, take note of an alternative hypothesis, which could a priori be correlated with Sherira’s failure to provide a specific account of the fortunes of Sura at this time. It has been suggested≤∏ that Sherira presents the Pumbeditan conception of Babylonian Jewish history, while according to Suran notions the transition from Savora’im to Geonim was to be dated a century or more later, after the rise of Islam. The main piece of evidence adduced in support of this theory is that Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, which was thought to be of Suran origin, contains the following statement at the end of a list of Savora’im: ‘‘And in their days Muhammad emerged, in the year 828 (Sel. = 516/7 c.e.).’’≤π To this one might add that the Suran Gaon Na≠tronai b. Hilai describes as ‘‘Savoraic’’ the famous enactment concerning the rebellious wife, which we know from other sources should be dated to 650/1, immediately after the Muslim conquest of Babylonia.≤∫ However, in addition to the inherent unlikeliness of the two academies’ having developed competing 25. As probably was the case throughout the course of rabbinic history, we may assume that the Savora’im did not refer to themselves in this fashion; rather, it was their successors who coined this term in order to express their sense of belonging to a later period. A severe crisis affecting the entire surrounding society could have produced this sort of consciousness; cf. n. 4. For the persecution of Christians and the temporary closure of a leading Christian academy about the year 540, see Vööbus, School of Nisibis, pp. 156– 158; for the likelihood that natural disasters of the late 530s also contributed to the ‘‘troubles’’ of the mid-sixth century, see Baillie, ‘‘Dendrochronology.’’ 26. By Epstein, Mi-Qadmoniyyot ha-Yehudim, pp. 410–412; for a summary and critique of his arguments see Cohen, Book of Tradition, pp. 180–186. 27. Kahan, ed. and trans., Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, Hebrew section, p. 7 (the list begins on p. 6). 28. See chapter 4, ‘‘Legal Innovator’’; also, Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 456.

10

The Historical Setting

conceptions of history,≤Ω and the failure to suggest an alternative watershed which might explain the transition (the Muslim conquest can hardly serve this purpose),≥≠ the evidence offered is extremely weak. There are no good grounds for assigning Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im to Sura, and the statement concerning Muhammad is impossible as it stands, since it places him a century too early. Rather than reflecting an alternative historical conception, it most likely derives from a mistaken gloss, whether attributable to the compiler of the text or to a later scribe.≥∞ As for Na≠tronai, who was not engaged in writing history, his responsum probably reflects a looser usage of the term Savoraic, to refer to early post-talmudic times; it may be possible to document such usage in Pumbeditan sources as well.≥≤ In summary, there appears to be no adequate reason to question the accuracy of Sherira’s account of the events of the sixth century, or to doubt that these events explain the altered self-consciousness which led the Geonim to see themselves as belonging to an era distinct from that of their predecessors, whom they call Savora’im. Be that as it may, our knowledge of the earlier Geonim and their doings is extremely limited. The situation changes little with the Muslim conquest of Babylonia; it may be that the truly significant events in this regard are the founding of the Abbasid dynasty and the transfer 29. Cf. chapter 9, ‘‘Attitudes towards Authority,’’ for the scholarly tendency to invent disputes between the academies; in any event, historiosophy was hardly a major concern of these circles. 30. The ‘‘Suran’’ sources, if interpreted as suggested, would seem to place this event within the Savoraic period. Furthermore, it would seem that the Jews of Babylonia greeted the change in government with relief, rather than seeing it as a traumatic event (cf. Gil, BeMalkhut Yishma‘’el bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, vol. 1, n. 46, where earlier literature is listed, and §§53–63, where this accepted opinion is questioned), and it is difficult to see why this would have led to a sense of inferiority to their predecessors. See also Appendix A. 31. On the provenance of this work see chapter 17, n. 37, and the corresponding text. Cf. the variae lectionis in Kahan, ed. and trans., Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, Hebrew section, p. 7, n. 25, and the editor’s discussion in the German section, p. 29, note f. The lists of Savora’im are very close to those of Sherira, and the individuals mentioned should clearly be dated more than one hundred years before Muhammad; the mistaken date is almost exactly that given by Sherira for the demise of the last Savora’im mentioned. 32. As we have seen, Sherira, citing oral tradition, attributes the first passage in BT Qiddushin to ‘‘the later Savora’im,’’ while another source (see Lewin, ed., Ofsar haGe’onim, vol. 9, Qiddushin, Responsa, no. 5) assigns it to Rav Huna, who was instrumental in promulgating the enactment concerning the rebellious wife; this may, however, represent an alternate tradition (and cf. ibid., no. 6, which assigns this passage to Yehudai Gaon!).

Defining the Geonic Period

11

of the seat of the caliphate from Damascus to Baghdad in the mid-eighth century.≥≥

The End of the Geonic Era When we attempt to pinpoint and describe the end of the Geonic period, we are confronted by difficulties of a different nature. True, few sources detail the fate of Babylonian Jewry in the eleventh century; but the crucial point is that the ‘‘end’’ of the Geonic period was a relatively protracted historical process rather than an isolated event. In contrast to the transition from the Savoraic to the Geonic era, which took place within the single milieu of Babylonia, the most obvious manifestation of the inception of the medieval period of rabbinic culture (the period of the Rishonim, or ‘‘Earlier’’ Authorities) was a dramatic shift in the center of Jewish cultural and intellectual life. For the first time since the exodus from Egypt, the center of gravity migrated westwards, from Palestine and Babylonia to North Africa and Europe. But in actuality, this move was accompanied by a far-reaching decentralization: No individual or institution of this period could lay claim to the same sort of worldwide recognition and influence which had been enjoyed by the leading academies of the ancient Jewish heartland.≥∂ Such developments can hardly be explained as the result of a specific historical event, however dramatic; their roots lie much deeper. The crucial account contained in Sherira’s Epistle was composed in the year 986/7; evidence concerning later events in Babylonia remains extremely fragmentary. For hundreds of years, historians of the period depended almost exclusively on Abraham Ibn Daud’s Book of Tradition (Sefer Ha-Qabbalah), written in Toledo in 1161. His portrayal of the end of the Geonic period has dominated the scholarly as well as the popular consciousness. In this version the landmark event is the death of R. Hayya≥∑ Gaon in 1038:≥∏ 33. For the rise of the Abbasids and the designation of Baghdad as capital see Hitti, History of the Arabs, pp. 288–292; for the impact on the Geonate see below, at the beginning of chap. 12, and compare the beginning of chap. 3. 34. For some other aspects of this transition see chapter 10, ‘‘Oral versus Written Talmud.’’ 35. His name is more commonly written and pronounced Hai, but this is either an A abbreviated or a corrupt form. See Morag, ‘‘Hayyey = Hayyim,’’ who clearly demonstrates that the Gaon’s name was disyllabic, and prefers the pronunciation Hayyey. 36. The translation is taken (with slight modifications) from Cohen, Book of Tradition, pp. 58–62 ; for the original text see ibid., Hebrew section, pp. 43–45.

12

The Historical Setting He (R. Nehemiah) was succeeded by R. Sherira . . . he stepped down in favor of his son. The latter was R. Hai Gaon bar R. Sherira Gaon. He spread Torah abroad throughout Jewry more than all of the other Geonim, and by his light walked those who sought the Torah from east and west. After living for ninety-nine years, he passed away on the eve of the last day of Passover in the year 1349 of the Seleucid era, which is equivalent to 4798 (Anno Mundi). Of the Geonim before him there was none like him, and he was the last of the Geonim. In his days the head of the academy in Mata Mehasia ≠ was his fatherA in-law, R. Samuel ha-Kohen b. Hofni. . . . He passed away during R. Hai’s term, four years before the death of R. Hai. However, the members of R. Hai’s academy appointed Hezekiah the Exilarch, the grandson of David b. Zakkai, to the see of R. Hai, of blessed memory. He served for two years. . . . After Hezekiah the Exilarch and head of the academy, there were no more academies or Geonim.

This account leaves us with the impression that the academy of Mata A Mehasia ≠ (i.e., Sura)≥π closed upon the death of Samuel ben Hofni, who predeceased R. Hayya by four years; Hayya’s academy struggled on for another two years under the leadership of the Exilarch—who, however, was not dignified with the title Gaon≥∫ —and after he was removed from office in 1040, the Babylonian academies ceased to exist. From manuscript discoveries in the Cairo Genizah, however, we now know that this report is no less error-ridden than Ibn Daud’s account of the Geonic period as a whole.≥Ω And it is no less tendentious: Ibn Daud’s primary concern is to set the scene for an unambiguous transfer of the leadership of world Jewry from Babylonia to Andalusia. This goal is achieved through a two-pronged strategy: the Geonic era is pictured as having come to a definitive (and somewhat inglorious) end, through no fault of anyone outside Babylonia; and Andalusian Jewry is provided with a foundation myth—independent of Babylonia!—in the famous ‘‘Story of the Four Captives.’’∂≠ 37. For the synonymity of these designations see below, at the beginning of chap. 3. 38. This contention finds striking support in a contemporary source; see Cohen, Book of Tradition, pp. 131–133. 39. See Cohen’s notes ad loc. and his comments on pages 133, 177–188. Cf. Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ pp. 61–64, with regard to Hezekiah’s career. 40. For the text see Cohen, Book of Tradition, pp. 63–65 (English), 46–47 (Hebrew); for its analysis see G. D. Cohen, ‘‘The Story of the 4 Captives,’’ PAAJR 29 (1960–61), pp. 55–131. Cf. R. Bonfil, ‘‘Mitos, Retoriqah, Historiyah: ‘Iyyun bi-Megillat Ahima‘a≠ ≠ s’’ A [Myth, Rhetoric, History: A Study in the Scroll of Ahima‘a≠ ≠ s], in Tarbut we-Hevrah ... [Culture and Society in Medieval Jewry], ed. R. Bonfil et al., Jerusalem, 1989, pp. 99– 135; S. Zfatman, Ben Ashkenaz li-Sefarad . . . [The Jewish Tale in the Middle Ages: Between Ashkenaz and Sepharad], Jerusalem, 1993.

Defining the Geonic Period

13

Correspondingly, on the sole occasion when Ibn Daud mentions a functioning Babylonian academy after Hezekiah’s deposition, its head—now designated Gaon—is said to be a rather second-rate scholar of Andalusian origin, R. Isaac b. R. Moses Ben Sakri (or Sukri); and Ibn Daud draws the conclusion that ‘‘all of Iraq had been left without a remnant of native talmudic scholarship.’’∂∞ Presumably, we are to understand that the academies of Babylonia had been closed for some time after Hezekiah and could no longer assert any valid claim to historical continuity with the academies of the Geonic era, even though their heads continued to be called Geonim; these later institutions were virtually nothing but Spanish colonies. The paucity of source material is keenly felt at this point: although we know quite a bit about the fortunes of the academy of Baghdad and its leaders in the twelfth and even thirteenth centuries, we are unable to prove or disprove the claim that the Geonic academies ceased to exist after the removal of the Exilarch Hezekiah and academic life in Baghdad revived only with the advent of the Andalusian R. Isaac. We know at any rate that the academy of Sura continued to function after R. Hayya’s death.∂≤ Ibn Daud was certainly not alone in his perception of R. Hayya as ‘‘the last of the Geonim,’’ and this perception may even have been shared by R. Hayya’s contemporaries.∂≥ But his death only hastened or finalized what had long been inevitable: a declaration of independence by major sectors of the Jewish diaspora, which had previously seen themselves as subject to Babylonian hegemony. In fact, Ibn Daud himself acknowledges this. The ‘‘Story of the Four Captives’’ is presented as a ‘‘flashback’’ after his account of the Geonic period, to set the scene for the period of European ascendancy: ‘‘Prior to that, it was brought about by the Lord that the income of the academies which used to come from Spain, the land of the Maghreb, Ifriqiya, Egypt, and the Holy Land was discontinued. The following were the circumstances that brought this about.’’∂∂ According to Ibn Daud, support from these territories, which had previously had very close ties with the Babylonian academies, was cut off in 41. Cohen, Book of Tradition, pp. 82–83; for the original text see ibid., Hebrew section, p. 61. 42. See Mann, ‘‘Last Geonim of Sura’’; idem, Texts and Studies, 1:202–248 (and cf. 263–305); Poznanski, Babylonische Geonim im nachgaonäischen Zeitalter; Assaf, ‘‘Iggerot Shemu’el ben ‘Eli.’’ 43. See n. 38 above, and compare the elegies composed by contemporary poets (see Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 198–199). 44. Cohen, Book of Tradition, p. 63 (for the original see ibid., Hebrew section, p. 46). This theme is taken up again at the end of the story: ibid., pp. 70–71 (ibid., Hebrew section, p. 53).

14

The Historical Setting

the mid-tenth century∂∑ and never resumed. Outstanding individuals such as R. Sherira and R. Hayya continued to attract disciples from the Jewish diaspora, but the sense of allegiance to the institutions which they headed had waned. And although the emphasis here is on the discontinuation of financial support, this was only one aspect of the matter—contributions were normally sent along with questions addressed to the Geonim and the scholars of their academies.∂∏ Ibn Daud’s account is actually designed to explain why the communities of Spain and North Africa no longer needed to forward such queries to Babylonia: those regions had now (by virtue of divine intervention) been granted local leaders capable of resolving whatever difficulties arose. Although the specifics of Ibn Daud’s historical account are highly suspect, our sources confirm that ties between the Babylonian academies and Jewish communities to the West were seriously weakened throughout most of the tenth century. Our most important source in this regard is a series of letters from the Geonim, and other leading members of their academies, to outlying Jewish communities. Furthermore, as we know from Sherira’s Epistle, the internal situation of the academies was one of continuing or recurring crisis throughout much of this period, and this was hardly unconnected with the decline in moral and financial support from the diaspora. One of the most detailed and interesting letters of this era was written in the spring of 953 by a disaffected member of the academy of Pumbedita. Sherira informs us that at the time, when the academy of Sura was on the verge of closure if not already closed, the Geonate of Pumbedita was occupied by the upstart Aaron b. Joseph, who had succeeded in intimidating the rightful heir to A this position, ‘Amram b. Mishoi.∂π Nehemiah b. Kohen Sedeq, after initially acknowledging Aaron’s supremacy, led a breakaway faction, but it achieved little success during Aaron’s lifetime. This lack of success is reflected in the bitter tone of Nehemiah’s letters, of which several have survived. The following passage is from a letter written in 953 by a contemporary of his—possibly an ally, whose name has been lost. The writer recounts the history of Spain’s correspondence with the academies of Sura and Pumbedita in the ninth century, provides a good many interesting and important details, and then complains:∂∫

45. For the approximate date which Ibn Daud had in mind, see Cohen, ‘‘4 Captives,’’ pp. 56–57, 72, 106–111. 46. See chapter 3, n. 20, with the corresponding text. 47. Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 118, 120–121 (Rabinowich, pp. 151, 158–159; Schlüter, pp. 274–275, 278–280). See below, at the end of chap. 3, for a discussion of the factors which determined the selection of Geonim. 48. See Lewin, op. cit., Appendix, pp. xxiii–xxiv; Gil, Be-Malkhut Yishma‘’el bi-

Defining the Geonic Period

15

A A But after our master Semah (b. Pal≠toy Gaon, died 890/1) and our master Tov were gathered to the Garden of Eden, no questions came from you, . . . and A later questions came from your locale before our master Kohen Sedeq of blessed memory, . . . and you achieved a reputation like that of the great men in the land, and of continuing your fathers’ practices and having regard for the disgrace of the academies. And two years ago your contribution to the academies arrived, but we were robbed and received only a small amount . . . And in this dispute within the academy we have been oppressed and bowed to the ground. . . . Also our lands were destroyed during those evil years which we experienced; our money and lands have disappeared. We have been spilled like sacred stones in all the streets and have given our precious things in exchange for food to restore our souls;∂Ω only our fathers’ writings are left to us.

Nor did the situation improve immediately after the demise of Aaron and Nehemiah, when Sherira acceded to the leadership of a united but greatly weakened institution. He wrote numerous letters to various communities, as part of a campaign to restore Pumbedita’s strength and prestige. In one he writes:∑≠ How much more so you, our precious ones, whose fathers were accustomed to receive their instructions and (answers to) their questions from the academy . . . But you are destroying this place by your silence and abandonment, for ever since your fathers fell silent, the academy began to decline, and it continues to do so . . . Now should you say in your hearts that you will remain intact, and your houses of study will not be destroyed, while the academy is destroyed—lo, they are your heads . . . and how can the head be destroyed and the body survive? . . . Walk in the ways of your fathers . . . and inform us of your doubts, in order to see their answers and study them. Also the hearts of the scholars of the academy will be strengthened when they see that you turn to them.

The letter goes on to describe the efforts invested by the Gaon and his son Hayya in maintaining some semblance of the academy’s usual activities, despite enormous difficulties. This letter already hints at an explanation for the indifference of the diaspora to the Babylonian academy’s plight: the feeling that they are no longer dependent on the academies for intellectual and Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, Document No. 13. Ben-Sasson (‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ pp. 173–179) argues for the attribution of this letter to Hezekiah b. Samuel and attempts to reconstruct the author’s family ties and career. 49. The language is based on Lamentations 4:1 and 1:11. 50. See Schechter, Saadyana, pp. 118–121; Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, Appendix, pp. xxvii–xxviii; Gil, Be-Malkhut Yishma‘’el bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, Document No. 23.

16

The Historical Setting

spiritual guidance and that the local houses of study (midrashim) suffice for their needs, should the ancient academy cease to function. The other side of this coin is presented, with further detail, in another of Sherira’s letters:∑∞ We said: Why have you forgotten us? Our elders sit desolate, our youths groan, our tanna’im are bereaved and we are embittered.∑≤ . . . If you say that we have declined and our wisdom is reduced—it is true, our glory is dimmed and our knowledge reduced and our houses of study are desolate . . . It used to be that every bright-eyed∑≥ lad was brought to the house of study of the Mishnah and now no one brings his son, and we employ stratagems to bring them one by one, so that the Mishnah not be forgotten. Even the amora’im of the Talmud∑∂ —many of their sons leave for other employment . . . and all this was caused by the indolence of Israel, who have cut off their stipends and food . . . and if the people are remiss, what shall their sages do? Can they hunger and thirst?

Even at the beginning of the eleventh century, when the situation of the Pumbedita academy had improved, we find Hayya Gaon complaining about scholars who failed to consult their Babylonian colleagues:∑∑ ‘‘And we are amazed at Mar Rav Bahlul . . . how has he refrained all these years from writing (us concerning) his doubts and inquiries . . . and we have been informed that there is in your locale (i.e., Qayrawan) a man great in wisdom, a A mountain of Torah, Mar Rav Hushi’el b. Mar Rav Elhanan ≠ by name . . . and we were amazed that he had refrained from sending his queries to the gate of the academy, to participate in its deliberations as the earlier ones had done.’’ The sources reflect three related factors: a decline in the stature of the Babylonian academies (which is blamed primarily on their straitened material circumstances and secondarily on the decline in intellectual stimulation and moral support); a corresponding rise in the self-confidence of scholars and 51. See Mann, ‘‘Responsa of the Babylonian Geonim,’’ 9:146–147; Gil, op. cit., Document No. 25. Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ p. 200, has shown that this letter was also addressed to Qayrawan. 52. The language is modeled on Lamentations 1:4. For the tanna’im see chap. 3, ‘‘Positions and Power in the Academy.’’ 53. This is probably a metaphor for ‘‘promising’’ or the like, but it has been suggested that it might be a euphemism for ‘‘blind’’ (since the canonical texts were transmitted orally, this could represent appropriate employment); see Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 19 and notes 11–12; Makdisi, Rise of Colleges, p. 180. 54. For the nature of this position see below, near the end of chap. 3. 55. Mann, Texts and Studies, 1:120–121; Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, p. 97. M. Ben-Sasson (personal communication) points out that Hayya, unlike his father, would also have had to contend with competition from the renascent academy of Sura.

Defining the Geonic Period

17

academies located elsewhere; and a weakening of the links between center and periphery, which found expression in the reduced flow of queries and contributions. This reduction in appeals to the authority of the Babylonian academies is certainly not a figment of Geonic imagination. It is confirmed by the evidence of the surviving responsa and undoubtedly resulted largely from the growing self-confidence of scholars in diaspora communities and from their perception of the Babylonian academies as having declined in stature. This perception was validated, as we have seen, by Sherira himself, and probably derived in part from the internal strife in Pumbedita in the years preceding his accession. On the other hand, the weakening of ties with the diaspora clearly produced a further deterioration in the condition of the Babylonian academies, while it is reasonable to suppose that the tendency to greater self-reliance contributed to the further development and maturation of competing intellectual centers.∑∏ This process, once begun, was in large measure self-sustaining. But what were its origins? On general grounds one might argue that no particular institution could be expected to maintain its supremacy indefinitely, and that local communities would inevitably have reached a point in their development at which they would assert their independence from the parent institutions. In addition, the personalities of individuals both in the center and at the periphery doubtless played a role in these developments, although our sources allow us only occasional glimpses into the character of these individuals. We can, however, offer a more specific, if necessarily partial, explanation. The marked decline in the flow of queries addressed to the Babylonian academies, as well as the growing crisis in those academies, at least in Sura, can be traced back to the first two decades of the tenth century and intensifies toward the middle of the century.∑π This trend can be correlated with the unsettled political situation in North Africa, culminating in the rise of the Fatimid dynasty in 909, a development which also weakened the ties between this crucial region and Abbasid Iraq. The battles which took place in North Africa had a severe impact on international trade. Even in Iraq the Abbasid empire was crumbling, although its facade was preserved; from 945 on, the true rulers were not 56. As argued by Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, p. 283. 57. For the decline in the number of responsa, see Müller, Mafteahf li-Teshuvot haGe’onim, pp. 157–168, 174–178; Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 282, 445–447. Elsewhere (‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ p. 171 and n. 1) Ben-Sasson refers specifically to the middle third of the tenth century, but if we exclude a limited resurgence under Se‘adyah Gaon, this decline may be traced back to the second decade of the century, at the latest. As for the internal weakness of the Suran academy at this time, see Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 116–118 (Rabinowich, pp. 149–151; Schlüter, pp. 271–275).

18

The Historical Setting

the caliphs but the Buyid condottieri. The Zirids, who came to power in North Africa in 969, reintroduced an orientation toward the East; but the damage to the Babylonian Jewish center had already been done by then, and could be undone only to a limited extent.∑∫ The appointment of the outsider Se‘adyah to the Geonate of Sura in 928 already represents an attempt to come to grips with the growing crisis. Se‘adyah himself undertook numerous unconventional initiatives—some of them at the expense of the Exilarch who had appointed him—which contributed to a temporary revival of the institution’s prestige.∑Ω Still, his protracted struggle against that same Exilarch and his allies certainly did nothing to strengthen the academy, and he left no worthy successor, so that the academy was forced to close shortly after his death in 942. The Geonim of Pumbedita, beginning in the second half of the century, carried on the same sort of struggle and were later joined by the heads of the reopened academy of Sura, most A notably Samuel b. Hofni. We have cited several examples of their propagandistic broadsides; other techniques included distributing honorary titles, creating alliances with powerful Jews in Babylonia and elsewhere (which also involved taking part in the internal power struggles of various communities), and writing (à la Se‘adyah) systematic works on legal and talmudic topics.∏≠ But the Geonim were fighting a rearguard action, and the tide of history could not be held back forever by a handful of outstanding individuals. The center of gravity of the Jewish world had shifted to the West, and with the death of Hayya Gaon, the once-proud Babylonian center was reduced to the status of a backwater, which retained only traces of its former glory. 58. See Hitti, History of the Arabs, pp. 469–473; Hodgson, Venture of Islam, 1:491– 495; Mottahedeh, Loyalty and Leadership, passim; Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 9–16. 59. See chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah’s Career.’’ 60. See esp. Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 283–289; idem, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot’’; Sklare, A Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 5–9, 85–96; and below, chap. 4, ‘‘Additional Roles,’’ chap. 8, ‘‘The Maghreb,’’ and chaps. 16 and 17.

2

The Primary Sources

A good deal of the background for the study of the Jewish world in the Geonic period is presented most clearly in non-Jewish sources, but the detailed picture must be drawn almost exclusively on the basis of internal Jewish sources. The writings of contemporary Muslim authors—historians and others—enable us to appreciate the political, economic, and social frameworks within which the Jewish community functioned; but these sources concern themselves with Jewish affairs to a very limited extent. When Jewish institutions and individuals are mentioned, they are usually, and not surprisingly, those which operated largely in the interface with non-Jewish society; these include ‘‘political’’ institutions, such as the Exilarchate in Babylonia and the central academy in Palestine, and individuals who played leading roles in the economy, such as the prominent Jewish bankers of tenth-century Baghdad.∞ Only an extraordinary Gaon like Se‘adyah, who figured prominently in contemporary intellectual discourse, would be mentioned from time to time by Muslim authors.≤ The internal workings and intellectual concerns of institutions such 1. See chap. 5, chap. 7 (esp. ‘‘The Palestinian Center and Its Academy’’), and the end of chap. 4 (on the bankers of Baghdad). 2. See, e.g., Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 32–33, and below, chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah’s Career.’’

19

20

The Historical Setting

as the academies of Sura and Pumbedita can hardly be expected to have interested them to any great extent. When we turn to works of Jewish provenance, two (or three) stand out immediately. These are the Epistle of Sherira Gaon and the account attributed to a Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian, which has been transmitted together with a brief notice describing the special prerogatives of the Suran academy. These sources are unique for their relatively large scope and avowedly historiographical character. Moreover, the sources were preserved and transmitted by medieval copyists and so were available to medieval and later authors, who made use of them in various ways. The works were also the mainstay—and practically the only trustworthy sources—of Jewish scholars of the nineteenth century, who attempted for the first time to describe the history of the Geonic period in accordance with modern historical methods and standards.

The Epistle of Sherira Gaon Sherira’s Epistle belongs, formally speaking, to the most characteristic of all genres of Geonic literature, the responsum, but it stretches the limits of this genre.≥ Sherira wrote his Epistle in the year 1298 of the Seleucid era (that is, in 986/7), in response to a series of questions addressed to him by Jacob b. Nissim Ibn Shahin ‘‘in the name of the holy community of Qayrawan.’’∂ These are concerned mostly with the evolution of talmudic literature (especially the Mishnah and other Tannaitic collections) and the relation between this literature and earlier rabbinic tradition; but the last question in the list reads: ‘‘And the Savoraic rabbis—how were they ordered after Rabina, and which heads of academies reigned after them, and how many years did they reign, from that time until now?’’∑ Sherira responded with a substantial essay (nearly fifteen thousand words); in addition to answering the questions addressed to him, he included on his own initiative information concerning the history of the Amoraic period, with the explanation that misinformation was circulating 3. See chap. 12, at the end of the section ‘‘Technical and Stylistic Aspects.’’ 4. This information is contained in the heading of the Epistle in various manuscripts (one gives the date 1299); see Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 2–4 (and n. 5 on p. 4), and above, chap. 1, n. 17. The questions which occasioned the Epistle are to be found in Lewin, pp. 5–6. 5. A number of scholars have suggested that these questions were motivated by a need to defend the integrity of rabbinic tradition against Karaite criticism, but it now appears that they are representative of some of the sorts of questions which occupied the Rabbanite intellectuals of Qayrawan in this period. See Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 41–46.

The Primary Sources

21

about the period.∏ Although Sherira does not say so, he may also have seen this as an excellent opportunity to stress the great antiquity and glorious heritage of the Babylonian academies, and particularly of his own academy of Pumbedita. The Epistle has been transmitted in two recensions, each of which is represented by a number of manuscripts and printed editions. Although they are clearly versions of the same work and show no sign of authorial revision, the two recensions display a very large number of differences, ranging from fine points of grammar, wording, and style to matters of content. The most obvious of these differences concerns oral versus written redaction of the Mishnah and Talmud. The questioners appear to have taken it for granted that these and other works of talmudic literature were composed (and, presumably, transmitted) in writing. They ask: ‘‘How was the Mishnah written? . . . A And the Tosefta, which we have heard that R. Hiyya wrote . . . Similarly, how were the baraitot written? And how was the Talmud written?’’ This understanding is reflected in one recension of Sherira’s answer, while the other speaks consistently of the ‘‘redaction’’ or ‘‘formulation,’’ rather than the writing, of the talmudic corpora. Correlating this difference with the opinions of medieval authors, nineteenth-century scholars decided that the recension which speaks of written texts was Spanish and the recension which emphasizes orality was French.π The editor of the only critical edition of the Epistle, B. M. Lewin, went a step further: although he printed the texts of both recensions, in parallel columns, he argued strenuously that the Spanish recension was almost always to be preferred, because the French recension had been drastically revised in accordance with opinions and customs prevailing in the Franco-German sphere. His contention is based in large part on the assumption that Spanish scholars, who were in closer touch with the Babylonian academies and were considered more reliable transmitters of Babylonian texts, preserved authentic Geonic opinions on the question of oral versus written redaction; while a Franco-German redactor was likely to have revised the Epistle, given the penchant for emendation which characterized this milieu. Supporting arguments are adduced from an analysis of grammatical and linguistic features, and of specific variants.∫ 6. It may be that the questioners believed they had adequate sources concerning the Amoraic period in the Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im and that Sherira was obliquely attacking the accuracy of this work. Cf. Goodblatt, Rabbinic Instruction in Sasanian Babylonia, pp. 36–37; Gafni, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat ha-Talmud, pp. 245–246. 7. The relevant literature is listed and briefly summarized by Epstein, Mevo’ot leSifrut ha-Amora’im, p. 610. 8. See Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. xlvii–lxxi.

22

The Historical Setting

More recent scholarship has completely reversed this picture. To begin with, the rationale for designating the two redactions ‘‘Spanish’’ and ‘‘French’’ is inadequate. The labels were assigned on the basis of an unspoken assumption that the opinions held by medieval scholars in a given milieu must have been identical with the opinions they understood to have been held by the Babylonian Geonim, rather than on any concrete evidence concerning the text of the Epistle which was current in one or another locale in the Middle Ages. In fact, the provenance of the various manuscripts ill accords with this assumption; particularly striking and significant is the fact that all the fragments of the Epistle found in the Cairo Genizah belong to the so-called French recension!Ω A closer analysis reveals that the French recension is more faithful to Geonic Aramaic and to Sherira’s presumed sources; in numerous cases this recension preserves a lectio difficilior, which the Spanish recension has attempted (often unsuccessfully) to clarify. Furthermore, the assumption of a written redaction has clearly been superimposed on a basic text which spoke of oral redaction.∞≠ Nor has this project been carried out consistently. Both recensions agree, in all essentials, with regard to a central passage, in which Sherira is at pains to correct what he views as a fundamental misapprehension on the part of his questioners: ‘‘And as for what you wrote: How were the Mishnah and Talmud written? The Talmud and Mishnah were not written, but redacted, and the rabbis are careful to recite them orally and not from (written) copies.’’∞∞ Today it is universally accepted that the so-called French recension is very much closer to what Sherira actually wrote, although in a few instances it appears that the Spanish version has preserved the original reading and the French version is in error.∞≤ Sherira’s essay is based on a large number of sources, only some of which are mentioned explicitly. Sherira refers frequently to talmudic sources (including, once, the Palestinian Talmud), to written records of the academies (‘‘books of remembrances’’), and to oral traditions which were current in his circles. Some of these were probably family traditions, while others may have had wider cur9. See ibid., pp. xx–xlv; Schlüter, Auf welche Weise, pp. 16–20; note, for example, that the Aleppo manuscript which Lewin used as the basis of his ‘‘French recension’’ is written in a Spanish hand! The ‘‘French’’ nature of the Genizah fragments was noted already by Lewin; see pp. xliv–xlv; Schlüter, op. cit., p. 27. 10. See Epstein, Mevo’ot le-Sifrut ha-Amora’im, pp. 610–615; Beer, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim,’’ pp. 184–187, 189–190, 194–195. 11. Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 71 (Rabinowich, p. 84; Schlüter, p. 193); cf. below, pp. 156–158, and Abramson, ‘‘Ketivat ha-Mishnah.’’ 12. See, for example, Epstein, Mevo’ot le-Sifrut ha-Amora’im, pp. 614–615; Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 11, n. 15 to left column.

The Primary Sources

23

rency in academic circles.∞≥ But he probably used additional sources, such as Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, which antedates his Epistle by about a hundred years and covers some of the same ground.∞∂ Furthermore, the scope and nature of the academies’ records and of the oral traditions available to Sherira remain obscure. In particular, it is difficult to assess the likelihood that Sherira had access to reliable non-talmudic sources (whether oral or written) concerning the talmudic period. It seems hardly credible, on the one hand, that the dates which he gives for various events in this period (including the deaths of leading Babylonian Amora’im) are figments of late-Geonic imagination.∞∑ On the other hand, most of his other information concerning the history of the Amoraic era, as well as the evolution of talmudic literature, could prima facie have been derived from his knowledge and interpretation of talmudic sources. Furthermore, Sherira cites them constantly, whereas he hardly mentions any other source for this period.∞∏ Does he do so because his only or most important sources are talmudic, or because those are the only sources to which his readers can refer for corroboration? And if he had access to other sources for the talmudic period, how accurate were they? Controversy continues to rage over these questions.∞π Fortunately, such questions do not arise—at least not in the same form— with regard to the post-talmudic era, which is our primary concern. Sherira’s account of this period is clearly independent of any other source in our 13. The Palestinian Talmud is quoted on pp. 76–77 of Lewin’s edition (Rabinowich, p. 91; Schlüter, pp. 203–204; cf. Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, pp. 176–177, no. 349), and the ‘‘books of remembrances’’ on pp. 96–98 (Rabinowich, pp. 117, 119; Schlüter, pp. 237, 240). Academic traditions are mentioned explicitly on pp. 71, 83–84, 86, 99–101 (Rabinowich, pp. 83, 99, 102, 120, 125; Schlüter, pp. 192, 216, 220, 242, 244–245), and probably underlie many additional passages, such as those on pp. 106, 109–111 (Rabinowich, pp. 131, 136–140; Schlüter, pp. 253–254, 258–262). Genealogical observations, which probably derive from family tradition, are to be found on pp. 60, 92–93, 104, 112, 114, 117 (Rabinowich, pp. 71, 113–114, 129, 141, 143, 150; Schlüter, pp. 172, 232, 250, 263, 266, 272). 14. See chap. 17, ‘‘Early Works on Talmudic Methodology’’; Beer, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim’’ (but cf. n. 6 above; this question requires further investigation). 15. See Gafni, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat ha-Talmud, esp. pp. 242–250. 16. For exceptions see Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 35 (possibly), 71, 83– 84, 86 (Rabinowich, pp. 35, 83, 99, 102; Schlüter, pp. 113–114, 192, 216, 220). 17. See Beer, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim,’’ esp. pp. 183–184, who quotes Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, p. 107. Gafni, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat ha-Talmud, Appendix A (pp. 239– 265), is devoted to the refutation of a radically skeptical position regarding the reliability of Geonic traditions concerning the talmudic period; several authors who adopt such an approach (most clearly Goodblatt, Rabbinic Instruction in Sasanian Babylonia, p. 38) are listed in Gafni’s n. 10; we may now add Schlüter, Auf welche Weise, pp. 368–372.

24

The Historical Setting

possession.∞∫ We would like to know more than we do about the records to which Sherira had access. The core of his account of the Geonic period comprises a list of Geonim with (in most cases) the lengths of their terms and (for most Pumbeditan Geonim) the dates of their accession; other events are noted, often very briefly, at appropriate points within this framework. Were these events included in the records of the academies, or has Sherira inserted events of which he knows from other sources into a sparer list restricted to the succession of the Geonim? It would appear that Suran records gave only the duration of service of the various Geonim, whereas those of Pumbedita often gave their dates also. Were there other differences as well? What is clear is that Sherira’s knowledge of events in Pumbedita was more detailed, and probably more accurate, than his knowledge of events in Sura; and that his knowledge of events improves as we come closer to his own time. In principle, Sherira divides the period he describes into centuries (according to the Seleucid era) and alternates his accounts of the two leading academies. His sources for the tenth Seleucid century (589–689) were, however, so fragmentary that he inserted occasional notices on Sura into the running account of events in Pumbedita and forwent any attempt to provide a separate treatment of events in Sura. At the end of the period, the twelfth and thirteenth Seleucid centuries in Sura are treated as a single unit. One of the reasons for this is probably that because the Sura academy was closed during most of the second half of the thirteenth century, Sherira could conclude his account with a portrayal of his own academy as the sole surviving representative of the Babylonian cultural and intellectual center. Another likely reason is Sherira’s inability to resolve a contradiction which had entered his sources concerning Sura.∞Ω Toward the end of this period, though, Sherira provides a number of details which are hardly likely to derive from an official Suran source.≤≠ With regard to Pumbedita, Sherira gives an uninterrupted account covering almost four hundred years (900–1298 of the Seleucid era), but this too becomes increasingly detailed as the events narrated approach the author’s own time.≤∞ On the whole, the historical portion of the Epistle is a sober document, obviously based to a large extent—at least for the post-talmudic period—on 18. No parallel sources with regard to the Geonic period have survived; as for the Savoraic period, see chap. 1, ‘‘Savora’im and Geonim.’’ 19. See Brody, ‘‘Rav ‘Amram bar Sheshna,’’ esp. pp. 328–333, 338–340 and nn. 62–63. 20. See Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 115–118 (Rabinowich, pp. 146– 151; Schlüter, pp. 269–275). 21. See ibid., pp. 100–105 (Rabinowich, pp. 124–129; Schlüter, pp. 243–251), covering the years 900–1100 Seleucid; pp. 109–114 (Rabinowich, pp. 136–143; Schlüter, pp. 257–267), for the years 1100–1208; pp. 119–122 (Rabinowich, pp. 156–160; Schlüter, pp. 275–282), for the years 1208–1298.

The Primary Sources

25

the records of the central Babylonian academies to whose history it is devoted. On a large number of points its testimony is corroborated by independent documentary evidence. With the exception of a single internal contradiction, mentioned above, there appears to be no reason to doubt the accuracy of Sherira’s data, which provide us inter alia with our chronological framework for the entire Geonic period up to his day. This is not to say that Sherira was a completely disinterested historian (if such a creature exists); but his interests were generally well served by providing as accurate and detailed a history as possible. Beyond his obligation to respond to questions addressed to his academy, Sherira was obviously anxious first and foremost to exploit the opportunity to increase the institution’s prestige, both by demonstrating the superior knowledge of its scholars on a variety of topics, buttressed by access to sources unavailable elsewhere, and by presenting the Pumbedita academy as the sole surviving link with the glorious heritage of Babylonian Jewry. (In fact, Sherira attempts to demonstrate that the Babylonian intellectual center substantially antedates the redaction of the Mishnah, and the migration of Rav from Palestine to Babylonia, in the early third century.)≤≤ Sherira’s bias in favor of Pumbedita seems to find expression in his comments concerning the Pumbeditan origin of a number of Suran Geonim and in the tone of his remarks on the decline and closure of Sura in the first half of the tenth century. Nonetheless, there are no grounds to suspect him of fabricating data, although he may have chosen to suppress some facts which would have redounded to the greater glory of the rival academy, even though it was defunct at the time of Sherira’s writing.≤≥ With regard to disputes within Pumbedita, too, Sherira does not always maintain a scrupulous neutrality, but the reader generally has little difficulty in distinguishing between ‘‘objective’’ data and ‘‘subjective’’ assessments.≤∂ We need not agree with all of Sherira’s evaluations and preferences, but the data he provides are invaluable. 22. See ibid., pp. 40–41, 72–74 (Rabinowich, pp. 41–42, 84–85; Schlüter, pp. 126– 128, 195–198), and cf. ibid., pp. 78–79 (Rabinowich, pp. 92–94; Schlüter, pp. 206–208). 23. For example, if there were any Pumbeditan Geonim of Suran origin, Sherira does not see fit to mention their background (despite the ingenious attempt by Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:39–41, to demonstrate that the Suran origin of several Geonim of Pumbedita is indicated indirectly). The institutional prerogatives of Sura are discussed only in Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 90–93 (Rabinowich, pp. 110–114; Schlüter, pp. 228– 233), where they are said to belong to the remote past. But note that Sherira provides numerous data which present Pumbedita in a less than glorious light; see esp. ibid., pp. 102–103, 120–121 (Rabinowich, pp. 126–127, 158–159; Schlüter, pp. 247, 278–280). 24. See especially Sherira’s comments on the relative merits of contenders for the Geonate and their supporters: ibid., pp. 109, 113, 119–121 (Rabinowich, pp. 136–137, 142, 157–159; Schlüter, pp. 258, 265, 276–280).

26

The Historical Setting

The Account of Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian The account attributed to an otherwise unknown Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian≤∑ presents us with data and problems of an entirely different order. This brief work (approximately four thousand words) was originally written in Judeo-Arabic about the middle of the tenth century.≤∏ The anonymous and undated Hebrew translation was transmitted in a single manuscript written in the early sixteenth century, was published shortly afterward, and was reprinted in 1895; a few fragments of the original were identified and published during the twentieth century.≤π The fragmentary heading of the original describes it as being ‘‘from the history (or tales, akhbar) of Baghdad,’’ while the Hebrew source is introduced as follows: ‘‘What R. Nathan Ha-Kohen b. Isaac the Babylonian said, of what he (partly) saw (and partly heard) in Babylonia, concerning the Exilarch ‘Uqba of the seed of David, who came to Ifriqiya . . .’’≤∫ It seems that the curiosity of North African Jews concerning the antecedents of this ‘Uqba provided the stimulus for another Jew of Babylonian extraction, resident or visiting in Ifriqiya, to spin his tale.≤Ω Rabbi Nathan’s history is composed of two distinct portions, of which the first contains the promised account of ‘Uqba’s doings, while the second is devoted to a synchronic description of various features of the central institutions of Babylonian Jewry: the Exilarchate and the academy. The second block is preceded by a separate introduction: ‘‘And what R. Nathan Ha-Kohen said further, concerning the Exilarch . . .’’≥≠ Ben-Sasson has argued that what unites the two sections is the author’s desire to portray the world of Babylonian Jewry in the best possible light, and to convince his readers that despite ‘Uqba’s ignominious exile and 25. Unconvincing attempts have been made to identify the author with one or another individual who appears in other sources; see Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:29–33. 26. The arguments in favor of the primacy of the Arabic text are both linguistic and substantive; see Friedlaender, ‘‘Arabic Original’’; Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:23–28; BenA Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ esp. pp. 162–179. For the date see Ginzberg, pp. 60–61; Ben-Sasson, pp. 158–159. 27. The Hebrew text was published by Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:78– 88. Judeo-Arabic fragments were published in Friedlaender, ‘‘Arabic Original’’; BenA Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli.’’ On the manuscript, and the possibility that the translation dates to the same period, see Ben-Sasson, pp. 162–165. 28. Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:78; the words in parentheses were added by Neubauer on the basis of the first edition, where they may have been inserted A conjecturally; cf. Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ pp. 162–163 and n. 58. 29. This was first proposed by Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:30; for the most recent summary, A with references to earlier literature, see Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ pp. 158–159. 30. Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:83.

The Primary Sources

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any other indications to the contrary, the situation in Babylonia had returned to normal and its leadership deserved their continued allegiance. Furthermore, given his probable lack of access to documentary sources, his apologetic aims, and the canons of historical writing in tenth-century Arabic literature, we should not be surprised to discover that accuracy of detail is not Rabbi Nathan’s primary concern.≥∞ The first section of Rabbi Nathan’s report, which focuses on conflict within the Babylonian leadership in the early tenth century, certainly does not inspire confidence. The apparent occasion for the report is the conflict between A ‘Uqba, the Gaon Kohen Sedeq b. Joseph of Pumbedita, and a group of prominent Baghdadi laymen identified as Penot Ha-Dor, ‘‘the countenances of the generation.’’≥≤ The chief actors in the second conflict are ‘Uqba’s successor as Exilarch, David b. Zakkai, and David’s appointee to the Geonate of Sura, Se‘adyah b. Joseph. The first conflict is said to have arisen from ‘Uqba’s attempt to divert to his own purposes the income from the territory of Khurasan which belonged by right to the academy of Pumbedita, while the second conflict is portrayed as a predictable result of the clash between two forceful and unbending personalities, triggered by a disputed civil case, in which Se‘adyah refused to endorse David’s judgment. Both accounts are embellished with folkloristic elements. But while the conflict between Se‘adyah and David b. Zakkai is plausibly recounted and agrees with what is known from other sources, the account of ‘Uqba’s doings, although it accurately reflects the prevailing political and economic context, is replete with chronographical and prosopographical errors.≥≥ It appears that the author had only a vague idea about these events and confused the names and dates of several Geonim who figure in the story, whereas his acquaintance with later events concerning Se‘adyah and David b. Zakkai may well have been firsthand. At any rate, recollection of the later events was fresher and more accurate. The second, synchronic portion of Rabbi Nathan’s narrative is again divided into two major sections, of which the first centers on the Exilarch and the second on the academies. This portion of the text opens and closes with A 31. See Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ esp. pp. 141–162. 32. I prefer this vocalization and interpretation to the generally accepted pinnot ha-dor (‘‘corner[stone]s of the generation’’), on the assumption that penot is a calque of the word A wujuh found in the Arabic original (see Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ p. 182, line 11). Cf. below, chap. 19, n. 41, and the corresponding text; but verses such as Judges 20:2 and 1 Samuel 14:38 might be cited in favor of the accepted reading. 33. A determined attempt to vindicate Nathan was made by Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:55– 69; the most detailed critique of his account (and of Ginzberg’s theories), together with a plausible attempt to reconstruct the historical background, is in Mann, ‘‘ ‘Inyanim Shonim,’’ 5:148–179, esp. pp. 149–153.

28

The Historical Setting

elaborate descriptions, which give the impression of being eyewitness accounts. The first depicts the ‘‘coronation,’’ so to speak, of an Exilarch; the second describes the routine of a Geonic academy during the kallah month of Adar.≥∂ The intervening sections focus on the Exilarch’s lifestyle and on his rights and responsibilities with regard to certain territories which constitute his reshut and provide most of his financial support; the transition to the academies is achieved by observing that they enjoy similar relationships with their own spheres of hegemony. The detailed information provided by this portion of the narrative agrees in general with that provided by other sources≥∑ and allows us to fill in the otherwise sketchy picture of the routine functioning of the Exilarchate and the academies. Two pitfalls, however, should be noted. First, the author presents a picture of the normal situation, in which two Geonic academies function alongside the Exilarchate, even though the academy of Sura had in all probability been closed by the time he wrote his account.≥∏ Second, Rabbi Nathan displays a rather clear tendency to extrapolate from particular events of which he has firsthand knowledge and to describe what may have been incidental features as if they represent established practice.≥π A particularly striking instance of this misleading tendency concerns the issuing of Geonic responsa. It seems clear that Rabbi Nathan was not a regular visitor to the Geonic academies,≥∫ but did attend a kallah session one Adar, at which responsa were formulated and dispatched on a daily basis. He seems to have believed that this was a peculiarity of the Adar convocation, an assumption we know to be false.≥Ω In the Hebrew sources, the reports attributed to Rabbi Nathan are preceded by two paragraphs bearing almost identical headings: ‘‘These are the preroga-

34. For the investiture ceremony see chap. 5, near the beginning of the section ‘‘Exilarchs and Geonim.’’ The month of Adar corresponds approximately to February– March; for the kallah months see chap. 3, ‘‘The Operation of the Academies.’’ A 35. For some examples see Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ p. 179, n. 102. A 36. See Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ pp. 170–171. I am less certain of this than Ben-Sasson, since we have no precise date for the closure of the Sura academy, and it would appear at any rate to have come after the accession of Aaron Sarjado to the Geonate of Pumbedita; see Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 118 (Rabinowich, p. 151; Schlüter, p. 275), and n. 26 above. A 37. See Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, p. 45, n. 7; Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ pp. 141–142, 178–179 and n. 101. 38. One wonders whether ‘‘Rabbi’’ is any more than a courtesy title, perhaps added by A the translator of his account. Cf. Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ pp. 153, 181. 39. See chap. 3, ‘‘The Operation of the Academies’’; and cf. Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, p. 45, n. 7.

The Primary Sources

29

tives by which the academy of Sura was elevated above the academy of Pumbedita.’’ The first paragraph is actually a thumbnail sketch of the history of the Babylonian academies in the talmudic period (with a single sentence concerning the Savora’im) and need not concern us; that it was probably added from another source may explain the repetition of the heading. The second paragraph is in fact, as announced, a list of prerogatives of the Suran academy. A slightly different version of this list—apparently a different translation of a lost Arabic original—was published in the sixteenth century by Abraham Zacuto, who took it from a medieval introduction to the Talmud. Several authors have either assumed or argued that this too was part of Rabbi Nathan’s account, but a number of factors militate against this assumption; it seems more likely that the two Judeo-Arabic sources were joined at some point and perhaps translated simultaneously into Hebrew.∂≠ The list as currently formulated apparently dates to the second quarter of the tenth century,∂∞ but it preserves the memory of earlier customs as well.∂≤ Most notably, it ends with the assertion that Sura had traditionally received two-thirds of contributions sent to ‘‘the academies’’ without further specification, but that this arrangement had been changed after the accession of Kohen A Sedeq to the Geonate of Pumbedita.∂≥ It is clear that these privileges date from 40. For arguments in favor of attributing this list to Rabbi Nathan, see Ginzberg, A Geonica, 1:34–36; for arguments against, see Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan haBavli,’’ pp. 139–141, 164–167, 170. A 41. See Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ p. 171 (discussing Rabbi Nathan’s report, but the same considerations apply here). Our source presupposes a functioning academy at Sura, but this was closed shortly after 942 (cf. n. 36); on the other hand, it A refers to an innovation which occurred during the reign of Kohen Sedeq Gaon; according to Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 119–120 (Rabinowich, pp. 157–158; Schlüter, pp. 276–277), he was the Exilarch’s candidate for Gaon after the death of Judah Gaon in 917, but was not universally accepted until the death of R. Mevasser at the end of 925. Ginzberg (Geonica, 1:37) assumes that this change dates to 926, but it might belong to the earlier period and could even reflect the Exilarch’s intervention in favor of ‘‘his’’ Gaon. 42. The customs followed by the Geonim in correspondence between their academies are described in the past tense, probably because at the time of writing both academies were located in the same city, Baghdad, and there was no occasion for formal correspondence. The description of gatherings in honor of the Exilarch also appears to reflect the Baghdadi milieu (contra Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:44–45). 43. Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:78. This arrangement is here recorded somewhat ambiguously and was misunderstood by the second translator of this source; see Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:35, n. 1. Rabbi Nathan’s account confirms the correct interpretaA tion; see Neubauer, p. 87; Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ pp. 170–171, 191.

30

The Historical Setting

an earlier period in which the academy of Sura enjoyed a markedly superior status, although we have no grounds for proposing any precise date for the formal recognition of Sura’s ascendancy.∂∂ By the time our source was composed—at least in its present form—the balance of power had shifted considerably in favor of Pumbedita,∂∑ and it was soon to shift even further, with the protracted closure of the Suran academy.

The Importance of the Genizah The sources we have discussed remain the only examples of relatively ambitious historiographical writing in the Geonic period, but for hundreds of years their significance for the history of the period was even greater: they were almost the only contemporary sources available to the early modern historian which could be used to reconstruct the history of the Geonic era. The other surviving sources from the period were predominantly from rabbinic literature, and their value for historical research was severely limited. Of these, by far the richest lode of historical information is the thousands of Geonic responsa, which deal with questions raised by Jews who corresponded with the Geonic academies and reflect their concerns, including those which arose as a result of various historical events and processes of the Geonic period.∂∏ Furthermore, the responsa sometimes contain more or less incidental references to events and institutions within the world of the respondents which are of considerable value in fleshing out our picture of the Babylonian Jewish scene. For a number of reasons, however, only limited use could be made of these sources. The responsa transmitted through European channels had frequently suffered drastic abridgement, including the elimination of details which, although they were of historical interest, were irrelevant for purposes of legal analysis. A great many (perhaps the majority) had also been transmitted anonymously and could generally not be dated with any accuracy. In addition, much of this material was not contained in separate collections devoted to Geonic responsa but was scattered throughout the vast corpus of medieval rabbinic literature, significant portions of which remained in manuscript. Even published material of historical import was likely to be overlooked when it was ‘‘hidden’’ in this literature. A particularly striking and significant exam44. Pace Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:52–55; see below, Appendix A. 45. See Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 116–118 (Rabinowich, pp. 149– 151; Schlüter, pp. 271–275). Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:53, suggests that Sura was probably without a Gaon at the time. 46. See esp. Mann, ‘‘Responsa of the Babylonian Geonim.’’

The Primary Sources

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ple is provided by the migration of the Geonic academies to Baghdad: a source published in 1861 describes R. Hayya b. David, Gaon of Pumbedita in the last decade of the ninth century, as ‘‘the first of the Geonim to dwell in Baghdad.’’ But this notice was overlooked for sixty years by historians of the Geonic period, who took it for granted that the academies remained in their hometowns of Sura and Pumbedita. A good many scholarly discussions of the early twentieth century are vitiated by ignorance of this one fact.∂π The historical value of writings by medieval European authors for reconstructing the history of the Geonic period was severely limited for other reasons. Very few of the authors concerned themselves with historiography. The only major exception with regard to the Geonic period was Abraham Ibn Daud, who served perforce as the primary source for the interval between the composition of Sherira’s Epistle and the death of Hayya Gaon; but we have already seen that his information on this period (and not on this period alone) is replete with errors and tendentious manipulations of data.∂∫ Other medieval rabbis had no interest in Geonic history per se, and their occasional references to the period (aside from the Geonic sources they cite) are of almost no historical value. One gains the impression that the Geonic era was perceived chiefly as a murky past, out of which rose a small number of famous individuals. Customs or practices which were considered ancient but deviated from talmudic law were frequently assumed to represent Geonic enactments.∂Ω Works belonging to this period were assigned almost arbitrarily to prominent Geonim, especially Yehudai Gaon∑≠ —not to mention later works which were mistakenly attributed to the Geonim, whether pseudepigraphically or as a result of error.∑∞ Talmudic passages which were believed to be interpolated might be assigned 47. The responsum in question is quoted in Isaac ibn Ghayyat, Sha‘arey Simhah, f vol. 1 (ed. I. D. Bamberger, Fürth, 1861), pp. 63–64; reprinted in Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 6, Yoma, Responsa, no. 121. Cf. Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:44–46, 2:86–87 (although he refers to this responsum in 1:40!); Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 133, n. 290. Mann, ‘‘Responsa of the Babylonian Geonim,’’ 7:467–469, had an inkling of the true situation and adduced additional sources which reflect the Geonic presence in Baghdad, but it was only in a later addition to this article (Mann, ‘‘Addenda,’’ pp. 434–438) that the confusion surrounding this question was definitively resolved (but see below, chap. 3, n. 8). 48. See chap. 1, ‘‘The End of the Geonic Era,’’ with nn. 39–40. 49. See Brody, ‘‘Kelum Hayu ha-Ge’onim Mehoqeqim?’’ ≠ p. 286 and n. 33. 50. See chap. 15, n. 25; Margaliot, Halakhot Qefsuvot, pp. 11–14; Danzig, Mavo leSefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 261–269. 51. See, e.g., Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 322–326, 403–405; Groner, Reshimat Teshuvot Rav Hai Ga’on, pp. 119–120; Danzig, ‘‘Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim Sha‘arey Teshuvah,’’ esp. pp. 41–48.

32

The Historical Setting

indifferently to the Savora’im or to Yehudai Gaon; neither attribution is supported by any evidence, and both are highly implausible.∑≤ The historiography of the Geonic period entered a new era, as did many other areas of Jewish studies, with the ‘‘discovery’’ of the Cairo Genizah at the end of the nineteenth century. Cairo, by virtue of its central role in the Jewish world during the Geonic period and after, the uninterrupted and undisturbed Jewish presence there up to the present, and the extremely dry climate, was uniquely situated to preserve significant remnants of medieval Jewish writings, whether literary or documentary, as well as medieval copies of earlier writings. It seems there were a number of such repositories in Fustat (Old Cairo), of which by far the largest and most important was in the attic of the Ben Ezra synagogue, rebuilt in 1025 after having been destroyed at the instigation of ∑≥ A Caliph al-Hakim. Material from the Genizah began finding its way into the hands of dealers, collectors, and institutions about the middle of the nineteenth century, but the source of these manuscripts remained obscure until Schechter’s voyage of discovery in 1897, which resulted in the transferal of the remaining Genizah material to the Cambridge University Library. This collection comprises approximately two-thirds of the surviving fragments; the remainder are divided between a fair number of collections, of which the most significant are located in New York, Oxford, London, St. Petersburg, and Paris.∑∂ In all, perhaps half a million manuscript leaves survive. Although the Genizah was in use up to the time of Schechter’s visit, most of the contents belong to the tenth through thirteenth centuries. Approximately two-thirds of them are literary in nature; they reflect the gamut of cultural and intellectual concerns of the period and include a preponderance of biblical and related works (including translations and commentaries), liturgical material (both in prose and in verse), and rabbinic literature, and smaller quantities of material in such areas as science, linguistics, philosophy, and magic. Because of the considerable expense of copying manuscripts, they were normally not discarded until they were in an advanced state of disintegration; most of the manuscript fragments 52. Compare Lewin, ‘‘Rabbanan Savora’ey we-Talmudam,’’ pp. 170–177; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 451–453; Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 267–269, 279–280 and n. 175. 53. See Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 1:18. For the assertion that not all ‘‘Genizah’’ material comes from this synagogue, see n. 55 below, and the letter quoted in Catalogue de la collection Jack Mosseri, Jerusalem, 1990, p. xxiii, which refers to searches conducted in the Basatin cemetery. 54. For more detailed introductions see P. E. Kahle, The Cairo Geniza≤, Oxford, 1959, pp. 3–48; Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 1:1–28; and my essay in B. Richler, Hebrew Manuscripts: A Treasured Legacy, Cleveland and Jerusalem, 1990, pp. 112–133.

The Primary Sources

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consist at most of a single bifolium (containing four pages of writing surface), and it is extremely unusual for more than a few bifolia to have survived as a unit.∑∑ It is frequently possible, however, to locate scattered fragments deriving from a single manuscript, or fragments of several manuscript copies of a single work, and thus to reconstruct substantial literary texts. Some of these are completely unknown except for the Genizah finds, while in other cases the Genizah material contributes to the textual criticism of works transmitted through other channels as well. Documentary material is frequently, though not always, found in a better state of preservation; such material generally outlived its usefulness much more quickly than did literary works and might find its way into the Genizah while still completely or relatively intact. The exploitation of the Genizah manuscripts, though still far from completed, has produced a revolution in several fields, among which the study of the Geonic period and its literature figures prominently. Both the literary and the documentary remains of this period are well represented. Most prominent among the historical documents directly related to the Babylonian academies are the letters written by Geonim and other prominent members of their academies and addressed to individuals or communities in the Jewish diaspora. These letters constitute a major source for our knowledge of the political, social, and economic frameworks within which the Geonim and their academies operated, their ties with communities outside Babylonia, and the internal workings and tensions of the academies themselves. Other types of documentary material important for our purposes include lists memorializing prominent individuals, which provide accurate information concerning the chronology of the late Geonic period, after the composition of Sherira’s Epistle.∑∏ Our knowledge of other institutions of the period, such as the Exilarchate and the Palestinian academy, are dependent to an even larger extent on Genizah finds, because the mainstream of medieval Jewish culture, which did not see itself as the successor of those two institutions, had much less interest in institutions such as these. The responsa of the Geonim, as we have already suggested, occupy a unique place on the border between literary and documentary sources. The answers are propounded primarily on the basis of the interpretation and application of talmudic sources, but the questions (and to a lesser extent the answers) reflect 55. The exception to this rule is the second Firkowich collection, which probably derives from one or more Karaite synagogues; see Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Li-She’elat Meqor ha’Osef.’’ 56. See Mann, ‘‘Last Geonim of Sura’’ (updated in Mann, ‘‘Gaonic Studies’’); and cf. Mann, ‘‘Fihrist’’; Brody, ‘‘Rav ‘Amram bar Sheshna,’’ esp. pp. 342–344.

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The Historical Setting

contemporary concerns. Some of these are essentially timeless, within the framework of rabbinic Judaism, and might equally well have arisen in earlier times or continued to arise in later periods; but others reflect specific historical developments of one sort or another. Many Geonic responsa were transmitted through other, essentially European, channels; but as we have seen, this sort of transmission reduced their value as historical sources to a minimum. The Genizah manuscripts include large numbers of Geonic responsa, many of which were previously altogether unknown and others of which had been transmitted in abridged or paraphrased form only or had been transmitted anonymously and may now be attributed to specific authors.∑π These responsa, transmitted in forms relatively close to the original, provide us with numerous glimpses into the workings of the Geonic academies, as well as scattered historical data concerning events in Babylonia and elsewhere. They also provide important evidence, which complements that of the more strictly documentary material, on topics such as family and economic life or relations between Jews and non-Jews (primarily Muslims).∑∫ With regard to the more strictly literary productions of the Geonic period, the contribution of the Genizah is perhaps even more significant. Relatively few books written in this period have reached us through channels other than the Genizah, and in almost all such cases the Genizah fragments contribute substantially to their reconstruction or textual criticism.∑Ω A great many other books, written by Se‘adyah Gaon and some of his successors in Judeo-Arabic, have survived only in the Genizah; these include legal, exegetical, philosophical, linguistic, and polemical writings. Quite a number of these were not even known to exist or were incorrectly attributed, on the basis of other sources. In addition to copies of the Geonic writings themselves, the Genizah has provided us with important ancillary evidence, such as book lists and ‘‘bibliographies.’’∏≠ Our appreciation and understanding of the Geonic era as a whole owes a great deal to the fragmentary manuscripts of the Genizah, and although the main outlines appear to have been firmly established, future publications can be expected to help fill in the picture. 57. Cf. chap. 12, ‘‘Problems of Identification and Attribution.’’ 58. Goitein, Mediterranean Society, although dealing with a slightly later period, for which documentary material is much more abundant, makes some use of Geonic responsa; these figure more prominently in works such as Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan. 59. See chaps. 13, 14, 16, 17. The major exception is Seder Rav ‘Amram; see chap. 12, n. 35. A 60. See, e.g., Mann, ‘‘Fihrist’’; Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 11–30.

3

The Geonic Academies Continuity and Change

The leading academies of the Geonic period, those of Sura and Pumbedita, presented themselves as the successors of corresponding institutions of the Amoraic period, which had functioned with only minor interruptions since the third century c.e.. The last third of Sherira’s Epistle is devoted to tracing the history of these academies, each of which was actually associated with two towns.∞ According to Sherira, the academy of ‘‘Sura, which is called Mata Mehasia,’’ ≠ was founded by Rav, who left Palestine for Babylonia in 218/9 and died in 246/7.≤ His great contemporary Samuel had an academy in Nehardea. Following the death of Samuel in 253/4 and the destruction of Nehardea in 258/9, the majority of Samuel’s students established themselves in Pumbedita, which had already been a major Jewish center in the time of the Second Temple; 1. For a programmatic statement see Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 72 (Rabinowich, pp. 84–85; Schlüter, pp. 194–195); the account of Rav’s arrival in Babylonia and decision to settle in Sura is in ibid., pp. 78–80 (Rabinowich, pp. 92–95; Schlüter, pp. 206–210), while the academies first appear on p. 81 (Rabinowich, p. 95; Schlüter, p. 210). 2. See Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on,, pp. 78–81 (Rabinowich, pp. 92–95; Schlüter, pp. 206–211); on the equation of Sura and Mata Mehasia ≠ see Abramson, Peraqim min Sefer Mevo ha-Talmud, pp. 118–121.

35

36

The Historical Setting

Rav Huna was the first head of the relocated academy.≥ (See Map 1.) The work of the academies was seriously disrupted only in the sixth century, at which time the rabbis of Pumbedita found refuge ‘‘in the vicinity of Nehardea, in the city of Piruz Shabur’’; the academy of Pumbedita, at least, had resumed its normal activities by the end of the century.∂ Each of the academies was therefore associated with two geographical designations, which could be used interchangeably: the academy of Sura was frequently referred to in Geonic times as Mata Mehasia, ≠ and that of Pumbedita as Nehardea.∑ The memory of the Pumbedita academy’s Nehardean roots was preserved in the designation of a particular row of scholars as ‘‘the row of Nehardea.’’∏ By the end of the Geonic period, although they retained their traditional names, both leading academies had actually relocated in Baghdad, the capital of the Abbasid empire. We have explicit testimony concerning the time and background of the Pumbedita academy’s move. Hayya b. Sherira Gaon informs us in one of his responsa that Hayya b. David, who acceded to the Geonate of Pumbedita in 889/90, ‘‘had been a judge in Baghdad for many years prior to his Geonate . . . and he was the first of the Geonim who dwelt in Baghdad,’’ a precedent which was followed by ‘‘the Geonim who dwelt in Baghdad after him.’’π We do not know precisely when the academy of Sura (which had farther to move) followed suit, but it had certainly done so by the time Se‘adyah was appointed Gaon in 928.∫ It is difficult to assess the implications of this relocation for the Geonic academies. Clearly the move to the political and intellectual center of the empire increased exposure to current 3. See Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 79–83 (Rabinowich, pp. 93–99; Schlüter, pp. 208–214); Gafni, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat ha-Talmud, pp. 263–264. 4. See Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 99–105 (Rabinowich, pp. 124–130; Schlüter, pp. 242–252), and above, pp. 8–9. 5. For examples see Abramson, Peraqim min Sefer Mevo ha-Talmud, pp. 119–121. Sura was also known as yeshivah shel yamin (‘‘the academy of the right’’), because its A head was seated to the right of the Exilarch on state occasions (see Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ p. 172 and n. 84), while Pumbedita was often, and Sura occasionally (see Gil, Be-Malkhut Yishma‘’el bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, §89) called yeshivah shel golah (‘‘the academy of the diaspora,’’ see BT Rosh ha-Shanah 23b). In one exceptional case Pumbedita and Nehardea are said to have had concurrently functioning academies; see Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 100–101 (Rabinowich, p. 125; Schlüter, p. 244). 6. See Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, p. 44. 7. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 6, Yoma, no. 121; cf. chap. 2, with n. 47. 8. See Lewin, Ginzey Qedem, 2:33–35 (cf. Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 133, n. 290, and above, chap. 2 with n. 47). Contra Mann, Texts and Studies, 1:67–70, who thought that only the academy of Pumbedita moved to Baghdad.

Map 1: Geonic Babylonia and Environs

38

The Historical Setting

intellectual trends, which were to have a profound impact on the Geonate from Se‘adyah’s time onward; it also facilitated access to high-ranking Muslim authorities, and thus enabled those Geonim who were so inclined to play a larger role in temporal affairs.Ω Hayya b. Sherira, in the responsum already quoted, describes the grudging accommodation of Hayya b. David and his successors to a Baghdadi custom, and it may be possible to detect local influence on some additional customs, but the sources at our disposal do not allow us to say much on this point.∞≠ Sherira’s account of the functioning of Babylonian academies in Amoraic times has been treated with profound skepticism by some scholars, despite the supporting evidence—direct and indirect—of various talmudic sources.∞∞ According to the skeptics, those sources which portray academies like those of the Geonic period functioning in Amoraic Babylonia represent anachronistic retrojections; instead, Babylonian masters in the talmudic period actually trained small numbers of disciples in informal ‘‘circles.’’ The issue cannot be discussed here, but the very existence of the controversy serves to emphasize two cardinal points concerning the academies of the Geonic period: the documentation for their existence and functioning, incomplete as it is, is incomparably better than for any corresponding Babylonian institutions of the earlier period, and their structure would seem to have been much more formalized. One major aspect of the transition from the Amoraic to the Geonic period—assuming one grants the existence of Amoraic academies—is the increasing institutionalization of the academies, which finds expression in several areas.∞≤ The academies of Sura and Pumbedita dominated the intellectual landscape of Babylonia in the Geonic period to such an extent that we know almost nothing of other academies or of individuals who functioned outside the academic framework. Furthermore, a rather elaborate hierarchy had developed within the academies, and each academy was normally represented vis-à-vis the outside world by its head, the Gaon; other scholars are mentioned by name only on rare occasion.∞≥ The central academies had achieved considerable 9. See chap. 4, ‘‘Additional Roles.’’ 10. The custom to which Hayya refers concerns the recitation of certain liturgical poems more frequently than was really called for, because of the Baghdadi Jews’ excessive A partiality for them; cf. Be’eri, ‘‘Le-Toledot Mishpahat ≠ Hazanim be-Bavel.’’ See also Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 1, Berakhot, Responsa, no. 54 and n. 5; vol. 5, Ta‘anit, No. 52; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 434, n. 5. 11. For a skeptical view see D. Goodblatt, Rabbinic Instruction in Sasanian Babylonia; for an impressive defense of the traditional position see Gafni, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat ha-Talmud, pp. 177–236, 274–279. 12. The outstanding points were summarized already by Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:6–14. 13. See chap. 4, ‘‘Author of Responsa.’’

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secular power within specific geographical areas, as well as international recognition and moral authority throughout most of the Jewish world. This power found expression primarily in the custom of applying to these academies for the resolution of controversies and doubts, whether academic or of practical application, which had arisen in distant communities.∞∂ At the same time, the intellectual or spiritual freedom of the academies and their scholars was more circumscribed than that of their predecessors: they were bound by a corpus, virtually closed, of canonical texts, foremost among them the Mishnah and the Babylonian Talmud,∞∑ which it was their responsibility to interpret and apply. Their ability (or willingness) to innovate in legal matters was severely limited,∞∏ although they enjoyed greater freedom with regard to matters of belief.∞π The Geonic academy also differed markedly from any institution of the talmudic period with regard to finances. As we will see, the academies of the Geonic period provided stipends for numerous scholars and students and probably employed salaried assistants as well. All of this must have cost a good deal, although we have no precise information concerning the academies’ budgets. Their income derived, so far as we can tell, from three sources: (1) taxes of various sorts imposed on the Jewish communities of certain regions, known as reshuyot, which were officially under the authority of the academies;∞∫ (2) voluntary contributions from throughout the Jewish world; (3) investments in real estate, which presumably represented a sort of endowment fund. The system of reshuyot is reflected in a fair number of sources; Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian, in particular, describes the operation of the system and gives an estimate of the total income which the academy of Sura received from its reshut in a given year: 1,500 gold coins (dinars).∞Ω Contributions were also an important source of income. They customarily accompanied questions addressed to the scholars of the academies—a practice re14. See chap. 4, ‘‘Administrator,’’ and chap. 12; cf. Groner, ‘‘Ha-Ge’onim,’’ and below, chap. 8, n. 25. 15. See chap. 10. 16. See chap. 4, ‘‘Legal Innovator,’’ and cf. chap. 10, ‘‘Interpretation and Application of the Talmud.’’ 17. See chap. 10, at the end of the section ‘‘Interpretation and Application of the Talmud,’’ and chap. 18. 18. See chap. 4, ‘‘Administrator.’’ 19. See Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:86–87. The purchasing power of a dinar was roughly equivalent to $1,000; in a slightly later period, a lower-middle-class family needed about two dinars for its monthly expenses (see Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 1:359). Assuming costs in the tenth century were equal to or lower than these, 1,500 dinars should have sufficed to support more than sixty families.

40

The Historical Setting

ferred to in numerous sources and reflected in Geonic appeals to diaspora communities urging them to send both questions and contributions.≤≠ The division of donations which were not assigned by the donors to a particular academy occasioned repeated disagreements, and the prevailing arrangements reflect the relative status of the two academies. At first Sura received twothirds of such funds; an equal division was established in the early tenth century; and later, after the academy of Sura had closed and reopened, Pumbedita received the lion’s share. Even after a new agreement on the equal A division of such funds was reached between Samuel b. Hofni of Sura and Sherira Gaon of Pumbedita and cemented by a dynastic marriage between Sherira’s son Hayya and Samuel’s daughter, the Suran academy seems to have found reason to complain.≤∞ Income from property owned by the academy is mentioned only occasionally.≤≤

Related Institutions As already remarked, we know very little indeed of academic activity in Geonic Babylonia, outside the two central academies. Two exceptions, however, must be noted. From time to time the scholars of Sura or Pumbedita were unable to agree on the choice of a Gaon (or to cooperate with a Gaon who had been chosen) and splinter academies were set up, each presumably claiming to represent the ‘‘true’’ Sura or Pumbedita. We know of a number of such episodes from Sherira’s Epistle; some are also reflected in contemporary responsa or correspondence.≤≥ None of the splits appears to have lasted for more than a decade or two; eventually, generally after one of the leading figures in the controversy had died, the various groupings of scholars would reunite. Perhaps the most important such division occurred in the academy of Sura in the middle of the ninth century: ‘Amram b. Sheshna set himself up as Gaon in competition with the ‘‘official’’ Gaon or Geonim of Sura and issued numerous 20. See, for example, Goldschmidt, Seder Rav ‘Amram Ga’on, p. 1; Abramson, BaMerkazim uva-Tefufsot, pp. 15–16, 18–19; and the letters quoted above, chap. 1, ‘‘The End of the Geonic Era.’’ 21. See Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ pp. 184–186 and nn. 40–41 (for the re-opening of Sura see Mann, ‘‘Last Geonim of Sura’’; idem, ‘‘Gaonic Studies’’). For Samuel b. A Hofni’s report of his reconciliation with Sherira see Lewin, Ginzey Qedem, 2:20; Mann, Texts and Studies, 1:148–149, 158. 22. See above, p. 15. Cf. Makdisi, Rise of Colleges, pp. 28–29, 61–71, 185. 23. See Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 110–115 (Rabinowich, pp. 138– 148; Schlüter, pp. 260–269), 119–121 (Rabinowich, pp. 157–159; Schlüter, pp. 276– 280).

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responsa, including his famous prayer book. It is highly doubtful whether he ever achieved unanimous recognition as Gaon of Sura, as Sherira believed.≤∂ The second exception concerns the academy which functioned under the aegis of the Exilarch during at least part of the Geonic period. Although the role of the Exilarchs was basically political, they were involved in various ways with the operation of the Geonic academies.≤∑ Furthermore, at least some of the Exilarchs served as nominal heads of an additional academy, although we have no reason to believe that any of them were distinguished Talmudists or that the extent of their rabbinical training played any role in their selection. It appears that when a given Exilarch was anxious to win substantial recognition for ‘‘his’’ academy, he would appoint as his vice-principal (Av Bet Din) a prominent scholar, who would serve as the head of the academy for all practical purposes. We have no way of knowing how widespread this practice may have been. Our knowledge of it is essentially restricted to a single A instance—that of R. Sema h≠ b. Solomon, who served as Av Bet Din under the A Exilarch Hisdai in the second half of the ninth century. Several of his responsa have been preserved.≤∏ As a rule it would seem that the Exilarchs were content to maintain a lowprofile academy operating in the shadow of the academy of Sura, with which the Exilarchate had particularly close ties.≤π One striking instance of this relationship is the close cooperation of the two institutions in promulgating one of the few pieces of official legislation known from the Geonic period—an innovation which only gradually won acceptance in Pumbedita.≤∫ This subordinate status probably explains why the Exilarch’s academy is very rarely mentioned separately in the literature of the period. Still, it is referred to much more frequently than had been realized until recently, under the rubric of ‘‘the two academies’’ (Hebrew shetey ha-yeshivot, Aramaic tarte[n] metivata). This had commonly been assumed to refer to the academies of Sura and Pumbedita, but 24. See Brody, ‘‘Rav ‘Amram bar Sheshna.’’ For ‘Amram’s prayer book see below, pp. 191–193. 25. See chap. 5, ‘‘Sources of Authority,’’ ‘‘Rights and Responsibilities,’’ ‘‘Exilarchs and Geonim.’’ 26. See Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:569–588, esp. 583–584, and below, chap. 4, ‘‘Author of Responsa’’; it is likely that other responsa by this author are included among those A A attributed simply to R. Sema h≠ (or even, mistakenly, to Sema h≠ Gaon) but cannot be A identified because the name Sema h≠ was borne by a number of Geonim as well. For a A refutation of Epstein’s further theories concerning Sema h≠ b. Solomon, see Brody, ‘‘ ‘Arikhato shel Seder Rav ‘Amram.’’ 27. See chap. 5, near the beginning of the section ‘‘Exilarchs and Geonim.’’ 28. See p. 63.

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The Historical Setting

there are several good reasons to suppose that it actually refers to the Suran academy and the Exilarch’s academy, among them the fact that (until the second half of the tenth century, when the Suran academy closed its doors)≤Ω only Suran Geonim allude to ‘‘the two academies.’’≥≠ This insight also obviates the need for forced interpretation of the numerous cases in which opinions attributed to ‘‘the two academies’’ are contradicted by responsa which are either anonymous or attributed to Geonim of Pumbedita. And we find almost explicit confirmation of the identity of the academies in a responsum which contrasts the opinion prevailing in ‘‘the two academies’’ with that of the scholars of ‘‘Pum.’’≥∞ Another important institution closely connected with the academy of Sura and frequently referred to in responsa originating at that academy was Bet Rabbenu shebbe-Bavel (‘‘The House of Our Master in Babylonia/Babylon’’), a synagogue which was apparently identified with one founded by Rav (‘‘Our Master’’) in the early third century.≥≤ The Geonim of Sura (but never those of Pumbedita) refer to this institution dozens of times, primarily with regard to its liturgical customs, which are generally identical with those the same Geonim report to be part of the praxis of their own academy.≥≥ Bet Rabbenu shebe-Bavel apparently also served as a sort of annex to the academy, where the tanna’im engaged in the study of Tannaitic literature.≥∂ It is noteworthy that Se‘adyah Gaon, in the letter he sent from Baghdad shortly after his appointment as Gaon, includes among the customary greetings from members of the academy those of ‘‘the reciters who are established in Bet Rabbenu.’’≥∑ This phrase seems to suggest that this institution too was transferred to Baghdad but retained its ancient name.

29. See chap. 2, n. 36; Mann, ‘‘Last Geonim of Sura.’’ 30. This observation and its interpretation are due to Prof. Sh. Abramson, who mentioned it frequently in lectures but never in print. 31. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 8, Ketubbot, Responsa, no. 534; see below, p. 63. A See also Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ p. 169 and n. 74. The abbreviated form ‘‘Pum’’ is common in Geonic responsa. 32. The most comprehensive discussion of this institution is in a prodigious footnote: Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:41–43, n. 2. 33. See, for example, Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 115, 183–184, 197, 204, 312, 331. For a possible exception see ibid., p. 145, n. 5. 34. See ibid., p. 147; cf. below, p. 50, and chap. 10, at the beginning of the section ‘‘Other Sources.’’ 35. See Lewin, Ginzey Qedem, 2:34; Se‘adyah uses the purer Hebrew form mashnim, but they are undoubtedly to be identified with the tanna’im mentioned in other sources. (This designation derives from an Aramaic verb cognate to the Hebrew root of mashnim.)

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The Operation of the Academies Our knowledge of the routine of the academies is quite circumscribed. Our primary source is the report of Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian, who appears to have visited the academy of Sura in the early tenth century but not to have had any profound acquaintance with its workings. Additional information is found in sources of considerably more restricted scope, including incidental remarks contained in Geonic responsa. One crucial point concerns the so-called kallah months of Adar (February/ March) and Elul (August/September). It was only during these months that the academies functioned at full strength qua academies, in the sense that many students were in attendance. During the rest of the year they were occupied only by a nucleus of senior scholars and (probably) professional staff, while the majority of the students returned to their homes and studied on their own.≥∏ This system, which in all probability dates back to the Amoraic period, allowed the students to earn their living while pursuing their studies; these particular months were probably chosen because there was no urgent agricultural work to be performed then.≥π Rabbi Nathan’s visit apparently took place during the month of Adar, and so he was able to describe the routine of the kallah month in some detail, but he treats the remainder of the year in very cursory (and misleading) fashion. His account of the intervening months is contained in two brief passages which enclose the relatively detailed description of the academic sessions conducted during the month of Adar:≥∫ And this was their custom with regard to the distribution of all the pledges and contributions which they receive throughout the year: they leave it all with a trustworthy man for the expenses of the students who come from all over . . . in the kallah month, which is Elul in the summer and Adar in the winter, and each of the students in his place recites≥Ω and studies during those 36. Of course it is possible that some of them studied in groups, or with local scholars, during these months (cf. chap. 10, n. 12). According to the Talmud (BT Ketubbot 106a), a similar situation prevailed already in the talmudic period. A 37. Cf. M. Beer, Amora’ey Bavel: Peraqim be-Hayyey ha-Kalkalah [The Babylonian Amoraim: Aspects of Economic Life], Ramat-Gan, 1974, pp. 69–82. If this explanation is correct, it would appear to support the claim that the system dates to the Amoraic period, as the importance of agriculture in the Babylonian Jewish economy had already declined drastically in the early Geonic period (see below, p. 63). For the most recent discussion of the problem of dating the beginnings of this institution, see Gafni, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat ha-Talmud, pp. 213–226 (earlier treatments are listed ibid., p. 198, n. 86). 38. See Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:87–88. 39. Gores; see below, chap. 10, ‘‘Oral versus Written Talmud.’’

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The Historical Setting (intervening) five months the tractate which the head of the academy announced to them when they left him. In Adar he says: ‘‘We will study tractate so-and-so in Elul,’’ and similarly in Elul he says: ‘‘We will study tractate soand-so in Adar.’’ And all the rows do not leave him until he announces the tractate with which each of them should busy himself at his home. But he does not need to notify the other students; rather, each of them studies whichever tractate he pleases.

There are thus two types of ‘‘student’’: one pursues a set curriculum, while the other is allowed to choose his own course of study. From a comparison of the passages cited it would appear that only the members of the ‘‘rows’’ who were required to study the designated tractate were entitled to stipends; but another passage seems to indicate that all (deserving) students received stipends. We will revert to this question later; meanwhile, the beginning of the intermediate passage describing the kallah sessions will serve to clarify the nature of the distinction between the two groups. Here we are told that when the academy is in session, the Gaon sits at its head, facing seven rows of ten scholars each, or a total of seventy; these are said to correspond to the Sanhedrin during the time of the Second Temple, and each member of the group has a designated place, which is strictly guarded. Outside this charmed circle congregate ‘‘the other students,’’ numbering approximately four hundred, who have no fixed places (just as they have no obligatory curriculum). A number of incidental references in Geonic responsa reflect the sort of system described by Rabbi Nathan, but with some differences. The responsa refer to the simultaneous study of specific chapters from two talmudic tractates. One of these is said to be ‘‘studied,’’ while the other is ‘‘exposed’’; the distinction seems to be between the intensive study of the tractate selected for a given semester and a preliminary exposition of the tractate scheduled for more intensive study in the coming semester.∂≠ If this understanding is correct, the members of the academy would hardly have needed to wait for a formal announcement at the closing session of the kallah month to discover which tractate they were to prepare during the next five months.∂∞ This may be another instance of misunderstanding on Nathan’s part—perhaps the preliminary exposition of a second tractate was conducted in less formal sessions, 40. The verbs used to refer to these distinct types of study are GRS and GLY; see Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim mi-tokh ha-Genizah, p. 70 and n. 6; the distinction is clearest in Sherira’s letter, cited by Assaf (Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, Appendix, p. xxviii; Gil, Be-Malkhut Yishma‘’el bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, Document No. 23). 41. See also Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 34 (Rabinowich, p. 31; Schlüter, p. 109), which speaks of a customary order in which the tractates are to be studied, although individuals may depart from it at will. This probably refers, though, to individual study rather than to the academic curriculum.

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which he did not attend. A further difficulty arises with regard to Rabbi Nathan’s description, because of the great differences in the size of talmudic tractates: the time devoted to an enormous tractate like Bava Batra must have been considerably more than the time required for a tractate like Megillah, which is approximately one-eighth its size. We must assume, although on little direct evidence, that the portion of the Talmud assigned in a given semester was not always a single tractate in its entirety but could include a number of smaller tractates or part of an unusually long one.∂≤ Furthermore, we know that not all tractates of the Babylonian Talmud were included in the curriculum of the academies. Our best source for this matter is a unique Genizah fragment which lists the tractates studied and the number of chapters in each.∂≥ Partial confirmation of the information contained in this list is to be found in several other sources, particularly in responsa which attest that the tractate Nedarim was not regularly studied in the academy and that this situation already prevailed in the time of Yehudai Gaon (mid-eighth century).∂∂ The factors governing the choice of tractates included in the curriculum are obscure, but the tractates which were excluded have peculiar dialectical and terminological features which differentiate them from the bulk of the Talmud. It seems clear that this correlation is significant, but it is difficult to establish a clear cause-and-effect relationship. A possible explanation is that certain tractates were omitted from the curriculum because of their esoteric subject matter,∂∑ and their linguistic peculiarities reflect the fact that they were transmitted by other circles rather than through the mainstream channels responsible for the transmission of most tractates.∂∏

42. As noted by Assaf (Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim mi-tokh ha-Genizah, p. 70, n. 6), our sources indicate that the seventh chapter of Yoma was being studied in Adar 1169 Sel. (spring of 858 c.e.) and the fourth chapter at Hanukkah 1170 Sel. (winter of the same year). Probably the likeliest explanation is that the tractate was being studied in preliminary fashion in the spring and in greater depth nine months later. It seems that any tractate studied was covered in full; cf. Marmorstein, ‘‘Mitteilungen,’’ pp. 134–135. 43. See Marmorstein, ‘‘Mitteilungen,’’ pp. 134–135. 44. This fact was (apparently) adduced by Yehudai in support of his refusal to annul vows; see Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 311 and notes 3–4; pp. 389–390 and n. 5 (and cf. below, chap. 4, ‘‘Legal Innovator’’). Cf. also Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 151–153, 189, 193–197; Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ p. 149. 45. All the tractates in question, with the exception of Nedarim, were essentially inapplicable after the destruction of the Temple. However, the inclusion in the curriculum of such tractates as Zevahim ≠ and Menahot, ≠ which deal primarily with Temple procedures, would then require further explanation. 46. For further discussion see Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 283–284.

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The Historical Setting

A large section of Rabbi Nathan’s account is devoted to the actual study sessions conducted during the kallah month:∂π And when the head of the academy wants to examine them concerning their study texts ( girsa), they gather around him in the four Sabbaths (i.e., weeks) of the month of Adar, and he sits and the first row recites before him, and the other rows sit silently. And when they reach a point which is obscure to them, they discuss it between themselves and the head of the academy listens to them and understands their words. Then he reads(?)∂∫ and they are silent, and they know that he has understood their dispute. And when he finishes his reading, he recites and expounds the tractate which each of them recited at home during the winter and explains in the course of his exposition the point which the students have debated. And sometimes he asks them the explanation of laws∂Ω . . . and expatiates to them on the meaning of each law, until all are clear to them. . . . Thus they did all the days of the month. And in the fourth Sabbath, they call all the Sanhedrin and all the students, and the head of the academy examines each of them and investigates them until he sees which one is of quicker intelligence than his fellow. And when he sees one of them whose Talmud is not well ordered in his mouth, he deals harshly with him and reduces his stipend and rebukes and reprimands him, and informs him of the places where he has been lazy and negligent and warns him that if he does so again and fails to pay attention to his Talmud, he will be given nothing. And this was their custom regarding responsa to questions: on each day of Adar he brings out to them all the questions which have arrived and gives them permission to respond. . . . Then each one speaks according to his understanding and wisdom, and they raise difficulties and resolve them and discuss each matter and analyze it thoroughly. And the head of the academy hears their words . . . and analyzes their words until the truth is clear to him and immediately orders the scribe to write in response. . . . And at the end of the month they read the responsa and questions in the presence of the entire fellowship and the head of the academy signs them, and then they are sent to their addressees. And then he divides the money among them.

There are then three major types of activity which, in Rabbi Nathan’s view, characterize the kallah assemblies: (1) study of the assigned tractate, in which the scholars of the first row play a leading role, while the Gaon resolves 47. See Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:87–88. 48. The word used is qore, which generally refers to reading from a text, but it would be very surprising if this is what the Gaon did (see chap. 10, ‘‘Oral versus Written Talmud’’). However, qore does not always have this connotation; note also that the Hebrew translation of Rabbi Nathan’s account is not always scrupulously accurate. 49. Halakhot; but this word may be used in a wider sense than ‘‘laws’’; cf. p. 146, and chap. 10, n. 49.

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difficulties and summarizes discussions, calling on other scholars for explanations from time to time; (2) individual examinations, which enable the Gaon to assess each student’s prowess and dedication and which serve to determine the amount of the stipend to which each is entitled; and (3) discussion of questions addressed to the academy. Here too the floor is opened first to other scholars, but the final decisions are taken and formulated by the Gaon, who dictates the responsa to the scribe of the academy. It would seem that these discussions served the dual purpose of providing the best possible answers to correspondents’ questions and contributing to the further education of the leading scholars.∑≠ Of these three types of activity, only one is likely to have been restricted to the kallah months: the examinations and accompanying allocation of funds. Contrary to the impression which might be gained from some of Rabbi Nathan’s more general statements, it seems clear from the more detailed account just quoted that ‘‘all the Sanhedrin and all the students’’ were examined, and all stood to gain or lose financially as a result of these examinations.∑∞ Such examinations could only be held in the kallah months, because the students, at least, were absent from the academy at other times, as we have seen. It is also noteworthy that if Nathan’s account and our interpretation are accurate, the students were all examined by the Gaon even though they were not bound to study a given tractate; in other words, the Gaon had to be prepared to conduct examinations on a large number of different tractates during a single kallah session, which would attest to quite a comprehensive grasp of the Talmud, or at least of those portions of it which were commonly studied. The other two types of activity, namely, group study or teaching and the writing of responsa, were clearly carried on throughout the year, with the exception of vacations, which were probably restricted to the holiday seasons. This is conclusively demonstrated by responsa written at other times of the year,∑≤ at least one of which is accompanied by a note giving the names of talmudic chapters being studied in the academy at the time.∑≥ It is, however, very difficult to say how many scholars took part in these year-round ac50. This may be compared with students’ participation in court cases in talmudic times; see Gafni, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat ha-Talmud, pp. 226–232. Cf. Makdisi, Rise of Colleges, pp. 91–93, 249–253 (and 172, on the adjustment of students’ stipends according to their scholarly attainments). 51. Perhaps ‘‘all the students’’ is an exaggeration. It would have been difficult, though not impossible, for the Gaon to personally examine more than four hundred scholars and students in the course of a single week. 52. See Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 256–260; Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, p. 45, n. 7. 53. This is the responsum referred to in n. 40 above, which was written at Hanukkah.

48

The Historical Setting

tivities, as the few sources at our disposal do not seem to present a consistent picture. On the one hand, Mattatyah Gaon writes (in 863) of having recalled the scholars of the academy from their homes immediately after Passover, to participate in the preparation of responsa to questions which had arrived on Passover Eve, after they had departed for home.∑∂ This could be taken to mean that if not for the unseasonable arrival of these questions, the scholars would have stayed home until the next kallah convocation—or simply that their vacation was cut short to deal with the questions as expeditiously as possible. We are informed of talmudic texts which were being studied in the academy at Hanukkah, halfway between two kallah months, a circumstance which would certainly suggest that substantial numbers of scholars were in regular attendance at this time of year.∑∑ By contrast, Sherira Gaon writes in one of his letters that he is barely able to gather the leading scholars of the academy during the kallah months, but this difficulty may simply be an illustration of the dire straits in which the academy of Pumbedita found itself at the beginning of his Geonate.∑∏ It would seem to be a plausible hypothesis that, in normal circumstances, many if not all members of the ‘‘Sanhedrin’’ were in attendance throughout the year. It is also likely that supporting staff such as the tanna’im would have been available to assist them in their studies. Indirect support for these assumptions may be found in certain passages in the correspondence of the Geonim, which imply that these groups could normally expect to receive support from the academy’s budget and were not expected to undertake any outside work.∑π

Positions and Power in the Academy Our knowledge of the structure of the Geonic academies is based on a good many sources, of which the most detailed is once again the account of Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian. Other sources include Geonic correspondence and the greeting formulae which frequently appear as prefaces to groups of responsa.∑∫ Our sources show that those who occupied leading academic posi54. See Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim mi-tokh ha-Genizah, p. 144. 55. See n. 42 above. 56. See chap. 1, ‘‘The End of the Geonic Era.’’ Sherira’s statement is contained in the continuation of the passage cited in chap. 1, n. 50. 57. See the letter quoted above, p. 16, and Epstein, Mavo le-Nusahf ha-Mishnah, p. 689. Cf. n. 19, above, with the corresponding text. 58. This was probably standard practice, but later copyists frequently chose to abbreviate or omit these greetings, as their interest was primarily in the content of the responsa themselves.

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tions enjoyed considerable prestige, both within the academy and in Jewish society in general; the social standing of the Geonim was comparable with that of the Exilarch.∑Ω Appointments to high-ranking positions were marked by ceremonies of investiture, and it was apparently usual for the Exilarch himself to install a new Gaon.∏≠ At the pinnacle of this structure stood the Gaon, also known as ‘‘the head of the academy’’ (Hebrew rosh ha-yeshivah, Aramaic resh metivta). In fact, the title Gaon is probably derived from a longer version of this title, Rosh Yeshivat Ge’on Ya‘aqov, ‘‘the head of the academy which is the pride of Jacob.’’∏∞ The vice-principal of the academy was known in Hebrew as Av Bet Din (‘‘father of the court,’’ often abbreviated Av), and in Aramaic as Dayyana de-Bava (‘‘judge of the gate’’). The Hebrew title goes back at least to Tannaitic times and probably to the time of the Sanhedrin,∏≤ and appears to have been chosen with a view to emphasizing the antiquity and centrality of the academy and to borrowing for it some of the glory associated with leadership institutions of an earlier period. Both the Hebrew and Aramaic titles imply that one of their bearer’s major responsibilities was to preside over a court. Below these two were the seventy scholars who are sometimes said to constitute, and sometimes to correspond to, the Sanhedrin. This is the clearest instance of the borrowing of ancient terminology and its accompanying prestige. The scholars were organized into rows, within which each member had a fixed place. Rabbi Nathan’s description of seven rows of ten scholars each may apply only to Sura, while in Pumbedita the ‘‘Sanhedrin’’ was organized in three longer rows.∏≥ Each row was officially headed by a resh (or rosh) kallah (‘‘head

59. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 13, Bava Me≠si‘a, Responsa, no. 49 (and cf. ibid., vol. 1, Berakhot, Responsa, no. 229); Taubes, Ofsar ha’Ge’onim le-Massekhet Sanhedrin, no. 1196. 60. See Taubes, op. cit., no. 248, and below, chap. 5, ‘‘Exilarchs and Geonim’’; cf. Makdisi, Rise of Colleges, p. 155. 61. See H. Graetz, translated by S. P. Rabinowitz, Divrey Yemey Yisra’el, vol. 3 (Warsaw, 1908), p. 128, n. 19 (by Harkavy). For examples of the full formula see Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, nos. 198, 200; Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim mi-Kitvey-Yad, pp. 102, 130. 62. See H. Mantel, Studies in the History of the Sanhedrin, Cambridge, 1961, pp. 102– 129. 63. According to this hypothesis, Pumbedita would have followed Palestinian precedent, while Sura’s custom would be specifically Babylonian. See Epstein, Mehqarim, f A 1:130, n. 197 (originally published in JQR, n.s., 12, p. 372, n. 73); Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ pp. 172–173; Gafni, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat ha-Talmud, pp. 192–196.

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The Historical Setting

of a row’’); the corresponding Hebrew title was alluf (‘‘chief’’).∏∂ These men were all seated in the first row (dara qamma);∏∑ we do not know what their duties may have been, nor what responsibility they had for ‘‘their’’ rows. The honorary titles of resh kallah/alluf had a further application: they were granted to leading figures of the Jewish diaspora in recognition of their attainments and their services to the Jewish community in general and to the Babylonian academies in particular.∏∏ A number of positions associated with the academy, however, were not necessarily filled by members of the ‘‘Sanhedrin.’’ One group mentioned fairly often is the Tanna’im, who specialized in the study of Tannaitic literature.∏π This specialization seems to be a continuation of the practice widespread in Amoraic times, according to which scholars could avail themselves of the services of individuals who, though not normally scholars themselves, specialized in the memorization and accurate recitation of Tannaitic texts.∏∫ In the Geonic literature too we find occasional references to the tradition of the Tanna’im when textual questions arise.∏Ω The role of the amora’im, who are mentioned less frequently, should be interpreted by analogy: these were presumably expert reciters of the Talmud.π≠ Finally, we must mention the scribe of the academy (sofer ha-yeshivah), who took dictation from the Gaon and was responsible for the actual writing of responsa and other correspondence. This post, sometimes occupied by promising scholars, could serve as a stepping stone to higher office.π∞ How were these positions filled? It would appear that appointments below 64. See Poznanski, ‘Inyanim Shonim, pp. 45–67; for the meaning of the word kallah see Epstein, Mehqarim, f 1:128–130 (original publication: JQR, n.s., 12, pp. 369–373). 65. See Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:87. 66. See Poznanski, ‘Inyanim Shonim, pp. 50–67; Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uvaTefufsot, passim; Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 414–415; and cf. below, pp. 128–129. 67. See most recently Sussmann, ‘‘Kitvey-Yad u-Mesorot-Nusah≠ shel ha-Mishnah,’’ pp. 238–239, n. 92, with references to earlier literature. Most of these texts were apparently not included in the regular curriculum of the academies, which concentrated on talmudic tractates. 68. See Epstein, Mavo le-Nusahf ha-Mishnah, pp. 673–688. 69. See ibid., p. 690. 70. See above, p. 16; Mann, ‘‘Addenda,’’ p. 450; idem, Texts and Studies, 1:69 and n. 15. For the oral recitation of the Talmud and associated phenomena see below, chap. 10, ‘‘Oral versus Written Talmud.’’ 71. See Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ pp. 189–194; as he notes, this may be connected with the high standing of the katib in medieval Muslim society. See also Makdisi, Rise of Colleges, p. 187.

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the rank of Av Bet Din were made at the discretion of the Gaon. Rabbi Nathan tells us this explicitly, and he describes the criteria which guided his selection, with respect to the members of the Sanhedrin:π≤ And the seven are called heads of rows. And it sometimes happens that others are greater than they in wisdom but are not appointed over them as heads of rows—not because of their intellect, but because they have inherited their fathers’ rank. For if one of the heads of rows has died and left a son capable of filling his place, he is appointed to his father’s place and occupies it. And if one of the fellows is slightly greater in wisdom than the child, he is neither promoted (over him) nor placed below his child (automatically), and it is the prerogative of the head of the academy to appoint as head of the row whom he pleases. . . . And the father’s place goes to the son unless he is seriously lacking in knowledge, in which case he is displaced; yet if there is something in him and he is worthy of sitting in one of the seven rows, he is placed there. And if he is not worthy of one of the rows, he is placed with the other members of the academy, the students. . . . And if one of the members of the seven rows is greater than another in wisdom, he is not seated in his place because he did not inherit it from his father, but he is given an increased allocation on account of his wisdom.

At these ranks, then, the role of inheritance is very significant but not conclusive; it is up to the Gaon to weigh the claims of the heir against his abilities in comparison with those of other scholars. Furthermore, the Gaon is able to offer financial compensation to scholars whose official rank does not adequately reflect their true abilities. It is unclear whether similar considerations prevailed in the selection of the Av Bet Din.π≥ What is clear is that different procedures applied to the selection of a new Gaon: the only occasion on which 72. The Hebrew version of this passage, given in Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:87, is not completely accurate. We follow, where extant, the Arabic original pubA lished by Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ pp. 194–195 (cf. the editor’s brief discussion, ibid., p. 168, and his notes to the text). Ben-Sasson thinks the expression memalle meqom avotaw means ‘‘designated successor’’ rather than ‘‘capable of filling his father’s place,’’ but seems to have misinterpreted the talmudic sources which he cites in support of this interpretation (ibid., p. 177). For the Gaon’s authority to make appointments see also Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 120–121 (Rabinowich, pp. 158–160; Schlüter, pp. 278–281), and cf. Vööbus, School of Nisibis, pp. 64–65, 96–97. 73. Rabbi Nathan reports that they applied to the honor of sitting at the Gaon’s right hand, but Ben-Sasson argues that this is distinct from the office of vice-principal (ibid., p. 172). Note also that Sherira certainly did not inherit this office from his father, who had died twenty-five years earlier, when he was appointed Av Bet Din in 967/8; but of course it is possible that the previous incumbent did not leave a suitable heir.

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The Historical Setting

a son directly succeeded his father was that of Hayya, in whose favor Sherira abdicated in the early eleventh century—certainly a special case.π∂ This is not to say that lineage was unimportant in the selection of a Gaon. On the contrary, fathers were often succeeded in this office by their sons, but generally after several decades—in one case as much as seventy-one years!π∑ Often, too, brothers or other relatives of a Gaon achieved this high office; in fact, a small number of families dominated the office to a large extent.π∏ The nucleus of the academies appears to have functioned as an oligarchy,ππ in which it was assumed that capable sons would follow in their fathers’ footsteps, and the appointment of an outsider to high office was a remarkable exception, attended by serious misgivings.π∫ The procedure by which a Gaon was selected, on the demise or incapacity of the incumbent, remains obscure. Our chief source for this matter is Sherira’s Epistle, from which it appears that the crucial factor was the consensus of the scholars who made up the core of the academy; if they were unable to agree on any candidate, as we have seen, the academy was sometimes split for years.πΩ In some cases we are told that the Exilarch was instrumental in the appointment of a Gaon. This seems to have been the case especially when the scholars of the academy were unable to agree, or when there was no suitable candidate from within the ranks of the 74. For Hayya’s appointment as Av Bet Din, which in itself was presumably extraordinary, see Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 121 (Rabinowich, p. 160; Schlüter, p. 281). For Sherira’s abdication see Mann, Texts and Studies, p. 109 and n. 2. Conjectures according to which there were other sons who directly succeeded their fathers in the Geonate (Mann, ‘‘Last Geonim of Sura,’’ pp. 418–419; Gil, Be-Malkhut Yishma‘’el biTequfat ha-Ge’onim, §185) have little to recommend them. 75. Se‘adyah Ga’on, as we know from several sources, died in 942, while his son Dosa acceded to the Geonate only in 1013 (see Mann, ‘‘Last Geonim of Sura,’’ pp. 410–413). 76. See Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:9–11. Ginzberg points out that the actual degree of inbreeding may well have been even greater than appears from our sources, which give little genealogical information. On the quasi-hereditary nature of this office see also Grossman, ‘‘Yerushat Avot,’’ where the role of inheritance is overstated (in part because this article was written before crucial fragments of the Arabic original of Rabbi Nathan’s report were published by Ben-Sasson). 77. For some instances of marriages within these families see above, p. 40; Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 106–107, 114, 120 (Rabinowich, pp. 131, 143, 159; Schlüter, pp. 254, 266, 279); Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ pp. 174–177. 78. See Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 117 (Rabinowich, p. 150; Schlüter, pp. 272–273; cf. below, chap. 15, n. 16), 120–121 (Rabinowich, pp. 158–159; Schlüter, pp. 278–279). 79. For consensual appointments cf. Vööbus, The School of Nisibis, pp. 62, 96–97, 129–130.

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academy and it was necessary to import one. On rare occasions the Exilarch might even attempt to depose a serving Gaon, with doubtful success.∫≠ On the whole, though, it was up to the scholars of the academy to agree on one of their number. The choice would presumably have been based in principle on intellectual distinction and leadership, but considerations of seniority and family alliances may well have played a part.∫∞ According to Sherira, there was (at least at times) an ‘‘heir apparent,’’ but his succession to the title of Gaon was by no means guaranteed; it is unclear whether the heir apparent was invariably the Av Bet Din.∫≤ 80. See below, chap. 5, ‘‘Exilarchs and Geonim,’’ with n. 43. 81. See esp. Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ p. 190 and n. 58; but none of the evidence offered is unambiguous. 82. See Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 109, 120–121 (Rabinowich, pp. 136–137, 159; Schlüter, pp. 258, 279); and cf. ibid., p. 112 (Rabinowich, p. 141; Schlüter, pp. 263–264); Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:11–12, n. 4; Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uvaTefufsot, p. 23; Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ p. 190.

4

The Multifaceted Role of the Gaon

Our discussion of the role of the Gaon will proceed in a series of expanding circles, beginning with the Gaon’s role as educator.

Head of the Academy The role of head of the academy is at the heart of the office of Gaon. In this capacity the Gaon may be said to continue the work of predecessors in the Amoraic and Savoraic periods who headed academies or, at the very least, trained groups of disciples.∞ Furthermore, as we have seen, the title Gaon itself reflects this role. We have at our disposal only one relatively detailed account of the Gaon’s responsibilities as principal of the academy, namely that contained in the report of Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian, discussed at some length in the last chapter. This account focuses exclusively on the activities during the kallah months, especially public review sessions over which the Gaon pre1. See above, at the beginning of chap. 3. Note too that in his Epistle Sherira uses the term Gaon even with reference to earlier periods (see Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 89–90, 99 and n. 7 [Rabinowich, pp. 105, 110, 119–120, and p. 123, n. 71; Schlüter, pp. 226, 228, 242]) and applies the verb ‘‘reigned’’ equally to Amora’im and Geonim.

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The Multifaceted Role of the Gaon

55

sided, individual examinations he conducted, and the distribution of stipends allocated at his discretion. Rabbi Nathan conveys the impression that the academy was essentially dormant during the remaining ten months of the year, coming alive only during the two kallah months of Adar and Elul, but we have already seen that this was not the case. Although it is reasonably clear that instruction took place in the academies —at least in normal circumstances—more or less year round, we have no similarly detailed description of the ways in which this instruction was carried out. Only a few brief references, in the responsa and correspondence of the Geonim, shed some light on this question. For instance, Sar Shalom Gaon (head of the Sura academy in the mid-ninth century) gives the following encomium of personalized instruction, which hardly seems to fit the mass sessions of the kallah:≤ ‘‘If . . . you were before us, it would be possible to explain them very well, and distinguish very well between one and another, like ‘a word fitly spoken’ (Proverbs 25:11). For when a student sits before his master and discusses a matter of law, his master perceives the trend of his thoughts, and what he has overlooked and what is clear to him and what stubbornly eludes him, and explains to him until his eyes light up . . . but in writing, how much is possible?’’ Similar motifs are to be found, inter alia, in Sherira’s Epistle.≥ Another passage of considerable importance is contained in a letter written by Sherira shortly after his accession to the Geonate, in which he laments the dire financial situation of the academy and describes the heroic efforts he and his son are making to ensure that its basic functions are nonetheless maintained: ‘‘And we bring the students before us from time to time∂ to see what they have recited and learned. . . . Also our young man Hayya is diligent in teaching them and putting (the texts) in their mouths; and whoever does not know how to ask, he teaches him the method of objection (qushya) and endears this method to him.’’∑ It would seem that Hayya was engaged at this time in rather elementary 2. Cassel, Teshuvot Ge’onim Qadmonim, No. 46 = Schneursohn and Wolfensohn, A Hemdah Genuzah, No. 113 [Weinberg, Teshuvot Rav Sar Shalom Ga’on, pp. 100–101]. Regarding the attribution of this responsum see Weinberg, op. cit., pp. 38–39; Brody, ‘‘ ‘Arikhato shel Seder Rav ‘Amram,’’ pp. 33–34. 3. See Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 18–22, 58, 62–64 (Rabinowich, pp. 14–18, 70, 73–74; Schlüter, pp. 68–79, 168–169, 174–179); Assaf, Teshuvot haGe’onim mi-tokh ha-Genizah, p. 46. 4. Both from the wording and from the context, it seems clear that this refers to shorter intervals than the semiannual kallah gatherings. 5. For references see chap. 1, n. 50.

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The Historical Setting

instruction,∏ but this may have been an atypical situation and represent further evidence of the crisis of the Pumbedita academy at this time. If our knowledge of the modes of instruction within the academy proper is less detailed than we might wish, it is incomparably better than our knowledge of the ways in which the academy reached out to the broader community. The most important instrument of this aspect of academic activity was probably a type of public lecture, the pirqa (‘‘chapter’’). This seems to have been considered one of the regular features of a functioning Geonic (or Savoraic) academy and a prerogative of the Gaon or another scholar designated by him,π but the nature of these lectures is barely hinted at in Geonic sources.∫ A clearer picture emerges from the numerous references to this institution in the Babylonian Talmud:Ω it was a lecture aimed at a broad public, combining legal and homiletical motifs, which were chosen with an eye to the nature of the audience. Scholars sometimes considered attendance at the lectures to be beneath their dignity, but their absence was likely to lead to recriminations. It is reasonable to assume, even though detailed evidence is lacking, that this institution was preserved without profound changes throughout the Geonic period.

Judge Another role of the Gaon and his academy, which must have been very important to their contemporaries but has left relatively little trace in the available sources, was judicial. Whatever archives may have been maintained by the Babylonian academies reflecting this aspect of Geonic activity are irretrievably lost. Our most important quasi-archival source for the period is the Cairo Genizah,∞≠ which contains vast quantities of documents associated with the Egyptian Jewish courts of a slightly later period, but the activities of Babylonian Jewish courts are known to us only to the very limited extent that the authors of 6. Note especially the mention of students who ‘‘do not know how to ask’’; this is probably an echo of the famous passage concerning the four sons in the Passover Haggadah, in which the son who is unable to formulate a question ranks below the simpleton. On the other hand, it suggests the central role of dialectical training in the educational process; cf. Makdisi, Rise of Colleges, pp. 91–93, 249–253, and below, p. 61. 7. See Gafni, ‘‘Ha-Pirqa,’’ p. 128. 8. Cf. ibid., p. 124, n. 18, and p. 125, and below, chap. 13, ‘‘The Genre: Form and Structure.’’ 9. See most recently Gafni, ‘‘Ha-Pirqa,’’ and cf. idem, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat haTalmud, pp. 204–213. Both of these discussions are accompanied by references to earlier literature. 10. See chap. 2, ‘‘The Importance of the Genizah.’’

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our literary sources saw fit to mention them. In contrast to the Amoraic period, for which hundreds of judicial decisions are preserved in the Talmud, the literature of the Geonic period refers to specific decisions of this sort only rarely.∞∞ There can nevertheless be no doubt concerning the existence of Geonic courts.∞≤ The headings of groups of Geonic responsa frequently state that the correspondents’ questions have been brought before the Bet Din Ha-Gadol (‘‘Great Court’’) of Gaon So-and-So, while the titles of the vice-principal of the academy designate him as the president of a court.∞≥ It is conceivable that these are mere metaphorical usages or rhetorical flourishes designed to enhance the prestige of the academies,∞∂ but this explanation can hardly be maintained. On the one hand, we do have occasional references to specific decisions of Geonic courts which were especially noteworthy for one reason or another; examples A are the decision of Sadoq Gaon which created an important precedent in the law of battery and the Exilarch David b. Zakkai’s practice of referring his judicial decisions to Se‘adyah Gaon for confirmation, which led to the fateful rupture between them.∞∑ On the other hand, we have sources which refer to the routine functioning of such courts, as well as model documents to be issued by or addressed to them.∞∏ In fact, the Gaon’s court might be said to represent the pinnacle of an entire system of courts over which the Gaon had jurisdiction.∞π 11. This is probably because the law in Amoraic times was much more fluid, so that specific decisions were likelier to function as precedents. In the Geonic period, most judicial decisions would probably have represented relatively straightforward applications of talmudic law and there would thus be little occasion to refer to them in literary discussions. 12. In the Amoraic period, prominent sages were also frequently consulted in person on questions of ritual law (see, for example, Neusner, History of the Jews in Babylonia, 5:320–342), and this practice no doubt continued in Geonic times, but it has left even less trace in the sources. See Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, p. 19; for a possible concrete example, see n. 40 below. 13. See, for example, Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, nos. 198, 200 (and cf. no. 347); Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim mi-Kitvey-Yad, pp. 93, 102, 130. 14. Compare the references to the ‘‘Sanhedrin’’ discussed above, pp. 49–51. 15. See below, chap. 15, near the end of the section ‘‘Se‘adyah’s Career.’’ An example of a decision taken by David b. Zakkai’s court and confirmed by Se‘adyah is in Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 555. 16. Aptowitzer, ‘‘Formularies from a Gaonic Court’’ (and cf. Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Seridim miSefer ha-‘Edut weha-She≠tarot,’’ pp. 194, 278). 17. Cf. Aptowitzer, ‘‘Formularies from a Gaonic Court,’’ pp. 25, 31–40. It should, however, be noted that Jewish law does not provide for a system of appeals, which we are accustomed to associate with the notion of a judicial hierarchy (although a judgment shown to be in error is invalid).

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The Historical Setting

A more controversial question is whether the Gaon’s court was the only one to operate within the framework of the academy, or whether the Av Bet Din stood at the head of a second court.∞∫ The best evidence for the existence of such a court is found in a responsum of Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon, who states that he has never seen the procedures for lashings enjoined by biblical law followed ‘‘in any one of the four courts in the two academies.’’∞Ω This observation would certainly seem to indicate that the academy normally (at least in Na≠tronai’s time, the middle of the ninth century) included two functioning courts, but we have no information concerning the division of labor between these courts. Perhaps the work load was simply too great for the Gaon to handle all the cases brought before the academy, in addition to all his other responsibilities.

Administrator The Gaon’s roles as educator and judge represent the earliest and perhaps the most essential aspects of the complex entity known as the Geonate. In these capacities, however, the Gaon’s direct influence was restricted to a fairly small circle of individuals who made their way, at least from time to time, to the Babylonian academies.≤≠ A larger population would have thought of the Gaon primarily in a different capacity. This is one of the crucial innovations of the period: the Gaon came to be the head of a reshut, a large swathe of territory, the Jewish population of which was considered, for a variety of purposes, to be under his jurisdiction.≤∞ We have very scanty information concerning the extent and precise location of the territory assigned to each of 18. See ibid., pp. 35–38, responding to earlier discussions by Ginzberg and Eppenstein. 19. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 557; the context clearly bears out the correctness of this reading (pace Aptowitzer, ‘‘Formularies from a Gaonic Court,’’ p. 37; the alternative reading is clearly generated by the subject of the responsum, cf. Brody, ibid., textual note 22). On ‘‘the two academies’’ see above, chap. 3, ‘‘Related Institutions.’’ For further evidence of the existence of parallel courts, see Assaf, Teshuvot haGe’onim mi-Kitvey-Yad, p. 102. 20. The indirect influence of the academies’ instruction was certainly much greater, as students from far-flung communities studied in Babylonia for various periods and then returned home to assume leadership roles in their communities. Cf. below, p. 128; Mann, Texts and Studies, 1:89–90, 103–104, 199. 21. This arrangement was part of a framework which covered large parts of the Jewish diaspora within the Islamic world; other reshuyot belonged to the Exilarch and the Palestinian academy. While the Exilarch and the Palestinian Gaon certainly enjoyed governmental recognition and support, we cannot say for certain whether the same is true of the Babylonian Geonim; see Appendix A, below.

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the academies≤≤ but a better idea of the sort of relationship which prevailed between the Gaon (and his academy) and his ‘‘subjects.’’ This relationship comprised two main elements. We have already seen that the Jewish population of the reshut was subject to various taxes and impositions, which constituted one of the primary sources of income for the Geonic academies and probably the most important of them during most of the period.≤≥ The second major aspect of Geonic hegemony was the right (and obligation) to provide judges for the local Jewish communities.≤∂ The Gaon was expected to send each community (of, presumably, a certain size) a single judge, who would on his arrival select two local scholars to fill out, together with himself, a court of three.≤∑ This judge too was supported by exactions on the local community and employed assistants who were responsible for ensuring that the local population did not evade its financial responsibilities. Such misbehavior could be punished by lashes or by placing the perpetrator under a ban.≤∏ The judge served at the pleasure of the Gaon, who was empowered to depose him in the case either of justified complaints from the local population or of his failure to discharge his obligations to the Gaon’s satisfaction.≤π Our sources preserve a number of references to the writs of appointment and deposition appropriate to such occasions.≤∫ This system enabled the Gaon to exercise great control over the courts operating in his reshut and presumably over the religious life of the Jewish population as well.≤Ω 22. See below, chap. 8, ‘‘The Sphere of Babylonian Hegemony.’’ 23. Rabbi Nathan (Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:86, end) estimates the annual revenue of Sura from this source as 1,500 gold pieces (see above, chap. 3, n. 19, for an estimate of the purchasing power of this sum). For some additional details of the sorts of taxes involved, see below, p. 73. 24. This recalls the prerogatives of the Patriarch in Palestine in an earlier period; see Levine, Rabbinic Class, passim. 25. See Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:85–86. In Jewish law a properly constituted court has a minimum of three members, although some authorities hold that the decision of a court of two is nonetheless valid. 26. See ibid.; the division of this income between the local judge and the central academy is unclear (cf. below, chap. 9, n. 51). The sanctions available to the courts included the imposition of fines, corporal punishment, and the use of the ban; see Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 93–94, and the studies listed ibid., n. 2. 27. For the first possibility see Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:85; for the A second see below, p. 63, and Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 81–84, 97. 28. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Mashqin, nos. 53–55, and cf. Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Seridim mi-Sefer ha-‘Edut weha-She≠tarot,’’ p. 278. 29. See below, ‘‘Legal Innovator’’; for the scope of the judge’s supervisory responsibilities, see esp. Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 180 (end of p. 80).

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Author of Responsa For most of the Jewish world of their time, as well as for succeeding generations of rabbinic scholars, the Geonim made their mark primarily through the medium of responsa, the characteristic literary genre of the Geonic period.≥≠ In the Babylonian world of this period, the Geonim enjoyed a virtual monopoly on the writing of responsa,≥∞ as is fairly clear from inspection of the surviving responsa, which were either transmitted anonymously or attributed to Geonim. Further confirmation may be found in a responsum of Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon, in which he contends that a certain position of Jacob b. Moses A Gaon was rejected by all his contemporaries: ‘‘And Mar Rav Haninai has already stated explicitly . . . and Mar Rav Simunai agreed with him, and the reason that he did not write to you is that he was not a head (of an academy— a Gaon) but (merely) the head of a row (resh kallah).’’≥≤ In other words, A R. Haninai had had occasion to write responsa on this topic as Gaon after R. Jacob; R. Simunai, on the other hand, never achieved this rank and therefore had no opportunity to issue responsa. A There appear to be only two exceptions to this rule.≥≥ One is R. Sema h≠ b. Solomon, who wrote responsa during his tenure as Av Bet Din in the academy of which the Exilarch was the official head. The other is Hayya b. Sherira, who wrote responsa even before his official accession to the position of Gaon, while A he was serving as Av Bet Din under his father.≥∂ Sema h≠ was virtually the head 30. For more detailed discussion of this genre see chap. 12. 31. Outside Babylonia, however, there were other respondents (aside from the Palestinian Geonim); see, for example, Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:31–32; Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, pp. 163–171; idem, Rav Nissim Ga’on, p. 185 and passim. Furthermore, it seems that the Geonim looked favorably on their activities; see below, pp. 151–153. 32. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 353. The significance of this passage in our context was pointed out by Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:8 (although his summation, pp. 8–9, is misleading). 33. Another apparent exception is that of El‘azar Rosh Kallah (or Alluf), whose name appears at the head of a number of responsa. It is virtually certain, however, that Ginzberg (Geonica, 1:7–8, n. 1) was right in asserting that these are Geonic responsa addressed to El‘azar; cf. Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 62, n. 18. For Hezekiah b. Samuel see Ginzberg, ibid.; Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ p. 176 and n. 19; for ‘Amram b. Sheshna see above, pp. 40–41. 34. Responsa written during this period (985–1004?) are sometimes attributed jointly to Sherira and Hayya, sometimes to one or the other. The actual author of some of these responsa was certainly Sherira (e.g., Sherira’s Epistle, as emerges from its last paragraphs), and of others Hayya (see, e.g., Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 386); in other cases it is impossible to be sure of the extent to which each was actually responsi-

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of a third academy, which in his time—atypically—emerged from the shadow of the Sura academy, to which it was normally subordinate. The very fact that Hayya succeeded his father was extraordinary and doubtless reflects the crisis in the Pumbedita academy at this time.≥∑ On the other hand, we should bear in mind that the Gaon responded not only in his own name but in the name of the scholars of his academy. This finds expression in one of the most striking formal features of the Geonic responsa: the invariable use of the first-person plural, even when reference is made to the ‘‘author’’ as an individual.≥∏ I have already had occasion to mention a case in which the Gaon apologizes for the delay in issuing a responsum, explaining that it was necessary to recall the scholars of the academy from their vacation. Furthermore, we may recollect the procedure described by Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian:≥π And this was their custom regarding responsa to questions: on each day of Adar≥∫ he brings out to them all the questions which have arrived and gives them permission to respond. . . . Then each one speaks according to his understanding and wisdom, and they raise difficulties and resolve them and discuss each matter and analyze it thoroughly. And the head of the academy hears their words . . . and analyzes their words until the truth is clear to him and immediately orders the scribe to write in response. . . . And at the end of the month they read the responsa and questions in the presence of the entire fellowship and the head of the academy signs them, and then they are sent to their addressees. ble for the content of a given responsum. (Assuming that Sherira handed over this responsibility to Hayya at a definite date, we might place it in the year 991/2; see ibid., pp. 176– 177 [cf. Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 76–77; Rabinowich, p. 91; Schlüter, pp. 203–204], 179, 188, 201–202; but this is by no means certain, and most responsa are undated in any event.) Cf. Groner, Legal Methodology of Hai Gaon, pp. 118–119. 35. See above, chap. 3, n. 74, and the corresponding text. 36. See, for example, Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, nos. 80, 381, 386; Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 11, Nedarim, Responsa, no. 120; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 29. 37. Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:88 (quoted above, chap. 3, ‘‘The Operation of the Academies’’). Note also that the questions are said to have been read out ‘‘before us’’ in the opening formulae of many batches of responsa (e.g., Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, pp. 32, 76, 88, 91, 96, 149, 187, 215, 275), and there would have been no need for this if only the Gaon was involved in answering them (although he might still have dictated his answers). 38. Rabbi Nathan seems to have believed, mistakenly, that responsa were written only during this month. See above, chap. 2, n. 39, and chap. 3, ‘‘The Operation of the Academies.’’

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It is impossible for us to estimate the degree to which the scholars of the academy contributed to the contents of the responsa which the Gaon signed in their name; very likely it varied according to the personalities and scholarly attainments of those involved. There is no suggestion in our sources that disputed questions were decided by majority vote, as the Talmudic sources state with respect to earlier periods;≥Ω but it would seem that the scholars of the academy fulfilled at least a consultative role, and the Gaon’s habit of speaking in the plural was not an empty gesture.∂≠

Legal Innovator The discussion of the Gaon’s roles as judge, administrator, and respondent facilitates our appreciation of another facet of the Geonate. Although— contrary to some perceptions—legislation in the strict sense was extremely rare during this period, the Geonim had at their disposal a number of means to propagate legal innovations.∂∞ In fact, we know of only two pieces of formal legislation, both dictated by profound changes in the circumstances affecting Jewish life in the Muslim world, and more particularly in Babylonia, which necessitated a departure from Talmudic law.∂≤ The first concerned the status of the ‘‘rebellious wife’’ who requested a divorce. According to the Talmud, the divorce was to be granted only after a year’s delay; but immediately after the Muslim conquest of Babylonia, in the middle of the seventh century, the leading authorities of Sura and Pumbedita promulgated a decree which called for the divorce to be granted without delay (in return for which the wife’s property rights were slightly curtailed). This ordinance was apparently motivated by the fear that Jewish women, frustrated by the cooling-off period imposed 39. See, for example, Mishnah Sanhedrin 1:6, 4:1. 40. One instance which might appear to contradict this is the report concerning Jacob b. Moses Gaon, who was accused by leading members of his own academy of permitting the consumption of meat in certain cases, and his denial that he had done so (see Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 351–352). I would argue that this applies to decisions which the Gaon had issued to questioners who approached him in person; cf. n. 12 above. 41. The discussion in this section is based primarily on Brody, ‘‘Kelum Hayu haGe’onim Mehoqeqim?’’; ≠ the most important earlier treatment is Tykocinski, Die Gaonäischen Verordnungen (updated Hebrew translation: Havazelet, Taqqanot haGe’onim). 42. See Brody, op. cit., pp. 279–290; for the imprecise use of expressions which prima A facie imply legislation, see also Sha‘arey Sedeq, 4:3:37.

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by talmudic law, might seek the assistance of Islamic authorities and possibly even convert to Islam in order to dissolve their marriages without delay.∂≥ The second instance of Geonic legislation concerned the collection of debts from the heirs of a deceased debtor (including a widow’s right to collect the money promised in her marriage contract).∂∂ According to talmudic law, such debts could be collected only from real property left by the deceased; but the shift from an agrarian to an urbanized, commercial society led to a situation in which few Jews owned real estate, and many creditors (and widows) would have been unable to collect the monies due them.∂∑ To deal with this situation, an ordinance was enacted in 786/7 according to which such debts could be collected from movable property inherited from the debtor. This enactment was promulgated by the twin academies of Sura and the Exilarch (‘‘under the signet of the Exilarch and the four seals of the heads’’) and only gradually won acceptance in Pumbeditan circles. Even in the Suran sphere of hegemony, its smooth acceptance was not to be taken for granted; the authorities who issued the enactment simultaneously threatened to discharge any judge who failed to implement it.∂∏ This raises an important point: many of the legal innovations of the Geonic period concern court procedure.∂π Not all of them, so far as we can tell, were initiated by the Geonim,∂∫ but in any event their dissemination must have been greatly facilitated by the subordination of judges throughout a given reshut to the central authority of the Gaon or Exilarch. When it came to communities outside his sphere of hegemony, the Gaon might cajole or persuade, but he had

43. For a detailed discussion of the background and details of this ordinance, with references to earlier literature, see Brody, op. cit., pp. 290–304. 44. For a detailed discussion, with references to earlier literature, see ibid., pp. 304–314. 45. See Tykocinski, Die Gaonäischen Verordnungen, pp. 34–35 (Havazelet, p. 30); Brody, ‘‘Kelum Hayu ha-Ge’onim Mehoqeqim?’’ ≠ p. 305 and n. 126. 46. See Brody, op. cit., pp. 304–308; the most detailed account of the promulgation of this edict is in Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 8, Ketubbot, Responsa, no. 535 (cf. Brody, ‘‘Rav ‘Amram bar Sheshna,’’ pp. 341–342). The ‘‘four seals’’ are presumably those of the two leading officials in each of the two academies. 47. See Tykocinski, Die Gaonäischen Verordnungen, pp. 67–145, 153–168 (Havazelet, pp. 51–98, 104–115). Some of these sources refer, strictly speaking, not to procedural matters but to legal techniques which the courts could undertake or refuse to enforce. 48. For example, the replacement of the form of oath laid down by talmudic law by the later gezerta appears to have originated ‘‘from below’’; see Brody, ‘‘Kelum Hayu haGe’onim Mehoqeqim?’’ ≠ pp. 287–288. Cf. chap. 12, n. 29.

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no means of enforcing any innovation of which he approved, whatever its precise legal status.∂Ω The Gaon might also create or adopt legal innovations in his own capacity as A judge. The best-known instance concerns Sadoq b. Moses, Gaon of Sura in the early ninth century. A number of responsa describe his decision in the case of a man who had knocked out another’s tooth. According to talmudic law, rabbinic courts outside Palestine were powerless to deal with cases of personal A injury. Sadoq, however, found a way of dealing with the situation which was soon adopted by other judges: the offender was placed under the ban until he succeeded, by whatever means, in placating the injured party.∑≠ The desire to expand the sphere of judicial competence and come to grips with cases for which talmudic law provided no effective remedy underlies numerous innovations of the Geonic period about whose origins we lack detailed information.∑∞ Most of the deliberate innovations of the Geonic period,∑≤ outside the spheres of civil law and judicial procedure, concern increased stringency in certain aspects of ritual law. The Gaon’s attitude varies from case to case and from individual to individual. Sometimes he expresses reservations toward a practice that has won a measure of public acceptance, while at other times he is inclined to adopt such customs; at still other times he appears as the initiator of a stringent practice, especially in areas where private individuals would be expected to apply for guidance to rabbinical authorities.∑≥ Innovations of this type are much less dependent on the sort of centralized authority which characterized the Geonic period, and parallel developments in Jewish law have taken place throughout the ages, in greatly disparate settings. 49. See, for example, the responsum of Pal≠toy Gaon cited in Brody, ‘‘Kelum Hayu haGe’onim Mehoqeqim?’’ ≠ pp. 287–288 (with bibliographical references in n. 40). Cf. below, at the end of chap. 9, with regard to the Geonic attitude concerning local customs. 50. See BT Bava Qamma 27b, 84a–b. The reception of this technique, and subsequent A complications, are discussed in my article ‘‘Diney Habbalot Be-Bavel.’’ 51. An expanded use of the ban (in various forms) played an important role in this endeavor; see Tykocinski, Die Gaonäischen Verordnungen, pp. 131–145 (Havazelet, pp. 90–98); Libson, ‘‘Ha-Gezerta bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim.’’ See also Tykocinski, op. cit., pp. 153–159 (Havazelet, pp. 104–108); Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 93–94. 52. As distinct from interpretations of earlier sources which may deviate from their original intention; these are outside the scope of this work. As for customs and the Geonic attitude towards them, see below, at the end of chap. 9. 53. See, for example, Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 88, 125–126 and n. 7, p. 246 and n. 2, p. 247 and n. 3, pp. 251–252 and n. 5, pp. 368–369 and n. 6. A notorious example is the refusal of Yehudai Gaon to annul oaths (and perhaps vows), in which he was followed by many succeeding Geonim; see ibid., pp. 389–390 and n. 2; Brody, ‘‘Kelum Hayu ha-Ge’onim Mehoqeqim?’’ ≠ pp. 282–283.

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Additional Roles Some of the Geonim undertook two additional roles, which augmented their traditional functions. The first was the authorship of proper literary works, as distinct from responsa. Such works, in a variety of fields, were written by many of the later Geonim, beginning with Se‘adyah, who was instrumental—in this respect as in others—in changing the agenda of the intellectual elite associated with the Geonic academies. The second departure from the traditional nature of the Geonate (also associated with Se‘adyah Gaon) was less clearly demarcated. It might be characterized as involvement in political affairs beyond the confines of the Jewish community—in particular, relations with the Muslim government. Although our sources on this point are not as detailed as we might wish, there is reason to believe that the Exilarch was traditionally perceived as the representative of the Jewish minority vis-à-vis the central government. This was the essential nature of his position hundreds of years before the Muslim conquest, and it is reasonable to assume that the role persisted throughout the Geonic period.∑∂ We hear of direct contact between leading scholars and the Muslim authorities only on one exceptional occasion: a certain Mar Rav Isaac went out to greet A Ali ibn Abu Talib following his ‘‘capture’’ of Piruz Shabur.∑∑ In the tenth century, however, some Geonim gained a degree of indirect influence with the authorities through the mediation of Jewish bankers, who played a crucial role in the economic life of the Abbasid caliphate.∑∏ In one instance, we are told of a Gaon resorting to intervention of this sort to prevent the Exilarch ‘Uqba from usurping revenues which rightfully belonged to his academy; he was assisted in this undertaking by ‘‘Joseph b. Phineas and his son-in-law . . . Na≠tira, father of Sahl and Isaac.’’∑π But the only Gaon who seems to have looked upon such mediation as a regular part of his responsibilities, so far as we know, was Se‘adyah, who made the following offer to his 54. See M. Beer, Rashut ha-Golah, pp. 44–56; Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, esp. pp. 45–48, 105–107; and below, chap. 5, ‘‘Rights and Responsibilities.’’ 55. See Lewin, ed., Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 101 (Rabinowich, p. 125; Schlüter, p. 245); cf. Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 105, 111 (and n. 4), and below, Appendix A. 56. See esp. Fischel, Jews in the Life of Islam, pp. 1–44. 57. See Friedlaender, ‘‘Arabic Original,’’ pp. 753–754; Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:78–79. These dignitaries are referred to in Arabic as wujuh al-balad (prominent personalities, lit. ‘‘countenances,’’ of the land) and in Hebrew as penot or pinnot hador (see above, chap. 2, n. 32). The identity of the Gaon is unclear; see the discussion in A Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ p. 150, and the literature cited in n. 32, ibid.

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Egyptian correspondents immediately after his appointment to the post of Gaon:∑∫ ‘‘And whatever desire or request you may have with respect to the government (literally ‘kingdom’), tell us of it. For we will then order the prominent householders of Baghdad, amongst whom we live, the sons of Mar R. Na≠tira and the sons of Mar R. Aaron, . . . and they will respond to you on behalf of the caliph (literally ‘from before the king’).’’ It seems likely that Se‘adyah, in attempting to establish himself in power and overcome the disadvantages of his unconventional background, was willing to trespass on the Exilarch’s traditional turf, and the impingement may well have been a contributing factor in the disastrous conflict which eventually broke out between them.∑Ω There is no evidence that such an attempt was repeated during the Geonic period.∏≠ 58. This letter has been published or excerpted several times; see most recently Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, pp. 36–40 (the passage quoted here appears on p. 39); Gil, Be-Malkhut Yishma‘’el bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, document no. 8. 59. See Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 105–107, and below, chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah’s Career.’’ 60. Samuel b. Eli, however, went even farther in the twelfth century and attempted to abolish the institution of the Exilarchate. I see less continuity here than does Grossman (ibid., pp. 105–109; Samuel’s attempt is described on p. 109).

5

The Exilarchate

The Geonic academies shared the leadership of Babylonian Jewry with another institution of ancient vintage: the Exilarchate. The roots of this office go back hundreds of years before the Muslim conquest, probably to the Parthian period and certainly to Sasanian times. For the earlier periods we are dependent almost exclusively on Talmudic sources; for the Geonic period (and later) we have at our disposal, in addition to the Jewish sources, the evidence of a number of Islamic authors.∞ The essence of the system developed by the Iranian monarchs and adopted by the Muslim caliphs was the designation of an official representative to mediate between the members of an important religious minority and the central government. The Nestorian Christian minority was represented by the Catholicos, the Jewish minority by the Exilarch.≤ The recognized religious 1. The most recent and thorough study of the institution in its earlier phases is Beer, Rashut ha-Golah; for the Geonic period see Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat haGe’onim, and Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate.’’ For the post-Geonic period see Poznanski, Babylonische Geonim im nachgaonäischen Zeitalter, pp. 111–134. 2. For a historical survey with an extensive bibliography, see Fiey, Chrétiens syriaques sous les Abbassides; for the early roots of this institution, see Christensen, L’Iran sous les

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The Historical Setting

communities enjoyed a large measure of autonomy. As long as they accepted the sovereignty of the central government and satisfactorily discharged their obligations as citizens (primarily payment of taxes), kings and caliphs had little interest in their internal affairs.≥

Sources of Authority As might be expected, the authority of officials such as the Exilarch or Catholicos depended on their recognition, both by the communities they represented and by the Muslim authorities. It seems clear that they were chosen by the members of their own religious communities and that the appointment required the official confirmation of the caliph. Although no writ of appointment of an Exilarch has been preserved, we do have the text of three writs of appointment to the office of Catholicos from the century after the end of the Geonic period, and we can assume that these closely resemble the corresponding document issued to an Exilarch on his appointment. In the earliest of these, the events leading up to the appointment are described as follows:∂ When the Commander of the Faithful was informed of your distinction among your peers . . . the need of (the members of) your faith for a Catholicos who would take responsibility for their affairs, (who would be) capable of leading their populace, who would bear whatever is required for their sustenance . . . and that . . . those of them who are consulted in order to examine the condition of the heads of their religion . . . agreed . . . that they can find no one who is worthier and more appropriate to be their head . . . than you and made you Sassanides, pp. 270–271, 388, 426. The Nestorian patriarch was granted precedence over the heads of other Christian denominations in the early tenth century (see Fiey, pp. 129–130), and later writs of appointment grant him authority over the members of those denominations as well. 3. In Islam, as is well known, the Jews and Christians, as adherents of revealed religions (ahl al-kitab, ‘‘the people of the book’’), were granted the status of protected minorities (dhimmi, ahl al-dhimma), whose rights and obligations were laid down in the so-called Treaty of Omar. There is a vast literature on the subject; see Tritton, Caliphs and non-Muslim Subjects; Fattal, Le statut légal; Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 2:273–407. 4. The latest of these documents (mid-twelfth century) has been published and translated several times, most recently by Conrad, ‘‘Nestorian Diploma.’’ (The date given by Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, p. 45, is erroneous.) The two earlier documents, from the late eleventh century, were published by Gismondi, De Patriarchis Commentaria, pp. 133–137, 147–150 (cf. Fiey, Chrétiens syriaques sous les Abbassides, pp. 208–210). The passage translated here is taken from the earliest of these writs (Gismondi, pp. 134–135); similar descriptions are found in the others. See also Appendix A.

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their shepherd . . . and sought endorsement of their appointment of you, and a proclamation summarizing the matter, . . . the Commander of the Faithful saw fit to grant (the request) which (his) subjects had addressed to him.

In other words, the appointment of a Catholicos is presented as the caliph’s graciously acceding to the urgent request of his Christian subjects and confirming the appointment of the individual whom they had previously chosen to lead them. A similar picture emerges from the account given by Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian, who confines himself exclusively to the internal Jewish dynamics of the Exilarch’s appointment: ‘‘And what Rabbi Nathan HaKohen said further concerning the Exilarch, how he is appointed and how the entire nation enters into a covenant with him, it is thus: if communal opinion is agreed on his appointment, the two heads of academies assemble with the members of their academies and all the leaders of the community and the elders. . . .’’ Rabbi Nathan then provides a detailed description of an elaborate ‘‘coronation’’ ceremony conducted at the synagogue on the following Sabbath, after which a lavish reception was held at the Exilarch’s home.∑ Rabbi Nathan makes no mention of any role played by the Muslim authorities in appointing the Exilarch, although his appointment would obviously have required at least their tacit approval if he was to enjoy the sort of relationship with the caliph which was at the heart of his office. In a later passage the author lays considerable emphasis on the Exilarch’s close ties with the caliph, and in particular on the cordial welcome he receives whenever he decides to visit the caliph and on the confidence with which he can present his requests.∏ More explicit statements to this effect may be found elsewhere—for instance, in Sherira Gaon’s assertion that at the beginning of the Muslim period the office of Exilarch was purchased for large sums ‘‘from the Ishmaelite kings.’’π In contrast to their Christian contemporaries, however, the leading members of the Jewish community had quite limited scope when it came to choosing an Exilarch, for it was essentially a hereditary position. A large part of the prestige attached to this office within the Jewish world depended on its holders’ claims to represent a continuation of the ancient monarchic dynasty founded by King David, through his descendant King Jehoiachin, who was exiled to Babylonia at the beginning of the sixth century b.c.e..∫ The claim of 5. Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:83–84. Selections from this description are translated later in this chapter. 6. Ibid., p. 85. 7. See Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 92 (Rabinowich, p. 113; Schlüter, pp. 231–232). For the talmudic period, cf. Beer, Rashut ha-Golah, pp. 29–43. 8. See, e.g., Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:73–77. On the psychological

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Davidic descent probably accompanied the Exilarchate from very early times, and paralleled the similar claim advanced in favor of the Patriarch in Palestine; in the Geonic period it was well known to Muslim authors as well as Jews.Ω This perception of the nature of the office also explains in large measure some of the royal trappings of the Exilarch’s lifestyle,∞≠ as well as the title by which he is frequently referred to in the Geonic period: Nasi, or Prince.∞∞ Nevertheless, as Rabbi Nathan’s account would suggest, the transmission of the office of Exilarch cannot have been strictly hereditary, because we are informed of several instances in which there was more than one contender for the position; it appears that communal leaders were entitled to select the most suitable candidate from among the members of the Exilarchic family and that the Geonim played a prominent part not only in the ceremonies marking the accession of the new Exilarch but also in the selection process.∞≤ In this context one episode which had a profound effect on the history of the Exilarchate illustrates, among other things, the partial dependence of this office on the religious authority represented by the Geonim. Bustanai, the Exilarch at the time of the Muslim conquest of Babylonia, was presented by the caliph Omar with the gift of a Sasanian princess (possibly named Izdadwar), who bore him three sons. After his death, his sons by another wife, of Jewish extraction, contended that the princess had refused to convert to Judaism, and as a result her children should be considered slaves, who now belonged to their father’s legitimate heirs. It was eventually decided that one might assume that Bustanai had freed the children’s mother and converted her to Judaism, so that they were granted equal status with their half-brothers from their father’s wife of Jewish extraction; many of the descendants of these children became Exilarchs during the course of the Geonic period. Nonetheless, the legal basis for the decision continued to be disputed throughout this importance of the Exilarchate as a remnant of sovereignty see Grossman, Rashut haGolah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, p. 78. 9. For the talmudic period see Beer, Rashut ha-Golah, pp. 33–41; Gafni, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat ha-Talmud, pp. 94–96; and cf. Levine, The Rabbinic Class, p. 135 and n. 7. For Muslim authors who mention this claim, see Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah biTequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 90, 92, 95; Pines, ‘‘Notice sur les Rech Galuta,’’ pp. 71–72; Fischel, ‘‘Resh Galuta ba-Sifrut ha-‘Aravit,’’ p. 183; Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ pp. 39–42. 10. See the end of the section ‘‘Rights and Responsibilities.’’ 11. This term is common inter alia in Sherira’s Epistle. Cf. the descriptions of the Exilarch’s status given by Muslim authors, one of whom considers the Exilarch ‘‘the master [fsahib] f of every Jew in the world’’; see Fischel, ‘‘Resh Galuta ba-Sifrut ha-‘Aravit,’’ esp. p. 182; Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ pp. 38–42 (esp. 39). 12. See below, ‘‘Exilarchs and Geonim,’’ and cf. p. 85–86.

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period, and reservations about the pedigree of Bustanai’s descendants in this line continued to be expressed.∞≥

Rights and Responsibilities Although the Exilarch may be seen as an intermediary between the Jewish community and the central government, our sources provide remarkably little information concerning the nature of the Exilarch’s duties and privileges vis-à-vis the non-Jewish authorities and concentrate primarily on his role within the Jewish community. This is true both of the Talmudic period, when that government was Sasanian, and of the Geonic period, during most of which it was Muslim, and more specifically Abbasid; furthermore, internal Jewish sources shed no more light on the matter than the writings of nonJewish authors. Presumably, the Exilarch was the chief formal conduit for communication between the central government and its Jewish subjects, although at certain times, as we have seen, the importance of alternative channels of communication might impinge on this prerogative. Almost the only source which describes the Exilarch as presenting requests to the caliph—and that in the vaguest possible terms, which nevertheless imply that this was a common occurrence and an important aspect of the Exilarchate—is the report of Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian.∞∂ Strikingly enough, the writs of appointment to the office of Catholicos which we have already mentioned contain no explicit reference to such a capacity, perhaps because this would have appeared to limit the caliph’s freedom in dealing with his Christian subjects.∞∑ The caliph’s expectations of the minority communities are hardly better documented. The most important demand made by the caliph—except, of course, that they recognize his authority (essentially, that they not engage in rebellion)—was undoubtedly the payment of taxes. It is generally assumed that as early as the talmudic period the Exilarch was responsible for the collection of taxes from the Jewish community, but there is no direct evidence for this. Perhaps the strongest piece of evidence, as distinct from plausible suggestions, is the testimony of at least one source that the head of the Christian community was liable for his coreligionists’ taxes; but the circumstances in this case were 13. For the historical sources and their analysis see most recently Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 15–44 (earlier discussions are listed ibid., p. 15, n. 3). For the legal debate see Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 397–398, esp. n. 6. 14. Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:85. 15. Cf. Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, p. 46; Beer, Rashut haGolah, pp. 44–55 (esp. 54–55 and n. 43).

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clearly extraordinary.∞∏ With regard to the Muslim period, some scholars have interpreted the writs of appointment mentioned earlier to mean that the Catholicos is held responsible for ensuring that Christian men pay the poll tax ( jizya), but this reading is highly problematic.∞π Furthermore, in view of the religious dimension of the jizya in Islam, it seems clear that the Catholicos was not actually to collect the tax monies; at most he might have been required to see to it that those under his authority did not attempt to evade payment. The same applies, mutatis mutandis, to the Exilarch and the caliph’s Jewish subjects, or those of them resident in his reshut. We have already touched on the system of reshuyot in Chapter Four. Our most detailed source for this subject, as for so many structural aspects of the Geonic period, is Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian, who describes the workings of the system in some detail with regard to the Exilarch, and then remarks that the status of the Geonim with respect to their reshuyot was similar to that of the Exilarch with respect to his. The core of the system was a division of considerable parts of the Jewish world, extending for some distance from the centers in Babylonia, into three spheres of influence: one for the Exilarch and one for each of the Geonim (or the academies) of Sura and Pumbedita. The relationship between the Exilarch or Gaon and his ‘‘subjects’’ was expressed primarily in two ways: through the appointment of judges and through the collection of internal Jewish taxes, to be distinguished from the taxes discussed earlier, which were paid to the Muslim government. To quote Rabbi Nathan:∞∫ And these are the dues of the Exilarch, and their annual collection: from a place called Nahrawan . . . and he sends them a judge by his authority and by the authority of the heads of the academies∞Ω . . . and he receives from there approximately sixty or seventy gold coins. And when he (the judge) arrives there, he chooses two of the local notables to be counted with him in all the 16. See Beer, Rashut ha-Golah, pp. 118–123. 17. See Conrad, ‘‘Nestorian Diploma,’’ pp. 94, 98, and Gismondi, De Patriarchis Commentaria, pp. 136, 149; contra Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 47–48; Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ p. 46. (My thanks to H. Ben-Shammai, with whom I discussed the interpretation of these texts.) On the significance of the jizya see Fattal, Le statut légal, pp. 264–291 (where the emphasis is on legal theory); Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 2:380–394 (emphasizing economic and social realities). 18. Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:85. Nahrawan is located about a dozen miles east-northeast of Baghdad. 19. This dependence of the Exilarch on the Geonim for confirmation of his appointments doubtless reflects the strengthening of the Geonate at the expense of the Exilarchate towards the end of the Geonic period.

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judicial decisions which he issues. And if that appointed judge is straight in his ways and impeccable in his judgments, the heads and notables of the community write to the Exilarch and recite his praises before him. But if—Heaven forfend—there is something wrong with him or they find any fault in him, they write to the Exilarch and the heads of the academies, . . . and they remove him and appoint another in his place.

Rabbi Nathan goes on to describe the taxes which the appointed judge is entitled to collect from those under his jurisdiction: a poll tax (two dirhems a year, one paid at Passover and one at Tabernacles), a fee imposed on anyone who requires certain legal documents (whether or not he requires the judge’s assistance; in fact, even if the judge is absent at the time), and a weekly tax on the butchers. Part of the income from these sources serves to support the judge, while the remainder is sent to the Exilarch, but the manner in which the funds are divided between the central authority and its local representative is not specified; the Exilarch’s annual income from his reshut is estimated at 700 gold coins (dinars).≤≠ The Muslim author al-Qasim ibn Ibrahim, writing about a century earlier, gives a list which only partially overlaps with Rabbi Nathan’s. The most striking difference is that al-Qasim speaks of a 20 percent tax on property (presumably an income tax) rather than of a modest poll tax; if his report is accurate, it probably reflects conditions of an earlier period, before the Exilarch’s authority was substantially weakened by the caliph al-Ma’mun.≤∞ We have seen that the Exilarch was the nominal head of an academy, which usually operated in the shadow of the academy of Sura. Furthermore, the Exilarch, like the Geonim, also headed his own court; in fact, there may well have been two separate courts associated with his academy.≤≤ The ultimate sanctions available to the Exilarch and his judges seem to have been those which commonly figure in Geonic responsa as well, namely lashes and the ban; Rabbi Nathan also speaks of monetary fines imposed on tax evaders.≤≥ Aside 20. For the approximate value of this sum, see chap. 3, n. 19. 21. According to al-Qasim, the meat tax was paid on each head slaughtered rather than on a weekly basis; he also adds a tax on the building of houses, and some further payments which should properly have been priestly dues. See Pines, ‘‘Notice sur les Rech Galuta,’’ pp. 71–72; Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:14, n. 2; Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah biTequfat ha-Ge’onim, p. 99; Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ p. 45. 22. The titles of the Exilarch’s second-in-command were virtually the same as those of the vice-principal of the Geonic academies. 23. A ninth-century Muslim author speaks in general terms of fines but denies the Exilarch’s ability to inflict corporal punishment. See Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:81–82, 86; Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 51–52, 68– 69; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 93–94.

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from the functions we have described, which are identical with those exercised by the Geonim within their spheres of hegemony, we know almost nothing of the Exilarch’s specific rights and responsibilities within the Jewish community. According to al-Qasim, he was responsible for raising the children of Jewish prostitutes and other Jewish children of unknown paternity; upon reaching maturity they were to be treated as his servants. This may be only one aspect of a broader responsibility for the social welfare of the Jewish community, whether in the Exilarch’s reshut or in a broader territory, but no real evidence supports such a hypothesis.≤∂ Some Muslim authors report that the Exilarch was required to present the case for Judaism at religious disputations between representatives of the various faiths, including the Catholicos; if these reports are accurate, they would seem to indicate that the Exilarch was perceived, at least by the Muslim authorities, as the ‘‘head of the Jews’’ not only in a political sense, but also—to some extent at least—in matters of religion.≤∑ We do know—once again, mostly on the authority of Rabbi Nathan—that the Exilarch conducted himself with considerable pomp and circumstance; although the Geonim may have been his social equals, there is little indication of similar conduct on their part.≤∏ Rabbi Nathan concludes his description of the Exilarch’s ‘‘coronation’’ with the following passage:≤π And from then on, he does not leave his house (to attend the synagogue), and the people congregate and pray with him at all times—whether on weekdays, Sabbaths, or festivals. And if he wants to go out and pursue his needs, he rides in a viceregal carriage≤∫ like the carriage of the king’s ministers, in splendid clothes, with up to fifteen people walking after him . . . and when he passes a Jew they run up to him and seize him by the hand and implore him, . . . until 24. See Pines, ‘‘Notice sur les Rech Galuta,’’ pp. 71–72 (it is hard to imagine a legal basis for the right to treat these children as slaves, and even sell them, which al-Qasim attributes to the Exilarch); Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 50– 51; Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ p. 45. 25. See Fischel, ‘‘Resh Galuta ba-Sifrut ha-‘Aravit,’’ pp. 186–187; Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 49–50; Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ p. 42. These reports would appear to strengthen the presumption that the Geonate was, in contrast, not an office recognized or regulated by the government; see Appendix A. 26. See the sources cited in chap. 3, n. 59 (for the social standing of the Geonim); Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:83; Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 92– 93 (Rabinowich, pp. 113–114; Schlüter, p. 232), on the circumstances in which Sherira’s forefathers left the milieu of the Exilarchate in favor of the academy; Neubauer, ibid., 2:86 (a partial exception, concerning the Gaon’s investiture ceremony). For the post-Geonic period see Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 108–109. 27. Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:84–85. 28. The expression is borrowed from Genesis 41:43.

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there are fifty or sixty gathered about him, until (he reaches) his destination. . . . And he never goes out until he is followed by his entire cohort, and his progress resembles that of one of the king’s ministers.

Rabbi Nathan then proceeds to describe the warmth (encouraged by bribes and elegant flattery) with which the Exilarch is received by the caliph and his servants whenever he chooses to visit the ‘‘royal’’ court. Two themes clearly emerge: the Exilarchs’ imitation of the style affected by leading Muslim dignitaries, and the pride the Jewish community took in having a leader who could hold his own with the elite of the dominant majority. In the eyes of Babylonian Jews, the Exilarch was the last remnant of the ancient Davidic monarchy; as such he was a source of tremendous pride to a tolerated minority and deserved, in their view, to be treated in the manner befitting a king—certainly no less than the Muslim ‘‘king’’ and his chief ministers.≤Ω

Exilarchs and Geonim The relationship between Exilarchs and scholars was a complex and varied one already in the talmudic period, and continued to be so throughout the Geonic period (and even later).≥≠ Nor was the situation static: on the whole, the balance of power shifted in the course of the Geonic period in favor of the scholars, now represented by their own well-defined institution, the Geonate; but there were ups and downs in the relationship, depending both on external factors and on the personalities involved. As a general rule, the Exilarchs and Geonim seem to have been able to cooperate quite successfully in conducting the affairs of the Jewish community. Their coexistence was probably facilitated by the double division of authority which prevailed during this period: on the one hand, the geographical division between spheres of hegemony (the reshuyot); and on the other, the expectation that the Exilarch would concentrate on temporal matters whereas the Geonim would provide intellectual and spiritual leadership. It is noteworthy that we hear nothing of disagreements between these two types of leaders on questions of principle or ideology. So far as we can tell, conflicts between the official leaders of Babylonian Jewry—whether between the two Geonim or between the Exilarch and one or both Geonim—arose primarily when the boundaries between their various roles became blurred. Conflicts between the academies of Sura and Pumbedita, 29. See Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 75–96 (esp. 78–80). 30. See Beer, Rashut ha-Golah, pp. 160–184; Poznanski, Babylonische Geonim im nachgaonäischen Zeitalter.

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which shared the religious leadership, came about as a result of disagreements over the division of funds not clearly designated for one academy or the other; divisions within a single academy were also connected, in some instances at least, with arguments over the internal allocation of funds. In the case of conflicts between the Geonate and the Exilarchate, a blurring of either geographical or jurisdictional boundaries could be at fault, and the two most prominent instances of such conflict in fact illustrate both of these possibilities: in the first case, the Exilarch ‘Uqba was deposed and exiled after attempting to usurp the revenues of Khurasan, which traditionally belonged to the reshut of Pumbedita; in the second, the open break between the Exilarch David b. Zakkai and Se‘adyah Gaon appears to have arisen from a series of conflicts over the boundaries between spiritual and temporal authority.≥∞ The investiture ceremonies marking the accession of a new Gaon or Exilarch provided the occasion for a public, ceremonial expression of the cooperation between these two types of leaders. Some brief selections from the detailed description provided by Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian of the investiture of an Exilarch, which took place in the synagogue on a Sabbath, will serve to illustrate:≥≤ When the entire congregation is seated, the Exilarch emerges; . . . the Gaon of Sura emerges after him and sits on the dais, after he makes him a low obeisance, which he (the Exilarch) returns. After him the Gaon of Pumbedita emerges and likewise bows to him and sits on his left, . . . the Exilarch in the middle, the Gaon of Sura sitting on his right and the Gaon of Pumbedita on his left. . . . Then the Exilarch delivers a sermon on the Torah portion of the day, or permits the Gaon of Sura to deliver the sermon. And the Gaon of Sura offers permission to the Gaon of Pumbedita (to speak in his stead), and they honor each other, until the Gaon of Sura speaks.

The precedence granted the Gaon of Sura in this setting is perhaps not surprising. We have seen that the Exilarch traditionally maintained a particularly close relationship with the academy of Sura, to which his own academy was normally subordinate and to which he lent his support in a controversial legislative enactment.≥≥ That the Gaon of Sura would sit at the Exilarch’s 31. See pp. 27, 238. Cf. Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 105– 106, who seems to me to exaggerate both the frequency and the mercenary nature of such conflicts. 32. See Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:83–84. 33. See above, chap. 3, ‘‘Related Institutions,’’ and p. 63. For other privileges of Sura see above, pp. 28–30.

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right hand on state occasions even gave rise to one of its titles, ‘‘the academy of the right.’’≥∂ Nevertheless, this traditional alliance did not prevent the Exilarch from taking the part of Pumbedita in conflicts between the academies when he considered it to be justified.≥∑ The interlocking relationships between the Geonate and the Exilarchate are perhaps nowhere more evident than in the role played by each institution in selecting or deposing the head of the other—what might be described as a primitive version of the system of checks and balances. Unfortunately, as already noted, our sources concerning the means by which Geonim and Exilarchs were selected are far from adequate, but certain features nevertheless emerge fairly clearly. Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian informs us, in general terms, that the Geonim played a leading role in the process of selecting a new Exilarch; he also describes in some detail how the Geonim (with the assistance of allies among the Jewish bankers of Baghdad) were able to arrange for the Exilarch ‘Uqba to be deposed and even exiled from Abbasid territory and how their approval of his successor, David b. Zakkai, was considered to be necessary.≥∏ Sherira in his Epistle records two additional cases in which Geonim attempted, albeit unsuccessfully, to have reigning Exilarchs deposed. In the A 770s R. Malkah, Gaon of Pumbedita, attempted to install Na≠tronai b. Havivai as Exilarch in place of the incumbent, Zakkai b. Ahunai; ≠ it seems that the attempt failed because it was opposed by the scholars of ‘‘the two academies’’ but that the issue was definitively resolved only on the death of R. Malkah, when Na≠tronai, deprived of his chief supporter, was obliged to leave Babylonia and migrate to Spain.≥π The second episode occurred in the course of Se‘adyah’s notorious feud with David b. Zakkai, when each contestant denied 34. See above, chap. 3, n. 5. 35. See the letter published by Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, pp. 16–20, and his discussion, ibid., pp. 9–16. Note that if we accept Graetz’s emendation and interpretation of the report contained in two Christian sources to be discussed, and Abramson’s attribution of this letter, the author would have owed a debt of gratitude to the Pumbeditans for having supported his father in the contest for the Exilarchate. 36. For the story of ‘Uqba (Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:78–80) see p. 27 and n. 33. 37. See Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 104 and n. 7 (Rabinowich, p. 128; Schlüter, pp. 249–250); and cf. Ginzberg, Geonica 1:17–18, n. 2. On the whole I follow the interpretation proposed by Ginzberg, ibid., pp. 16–20, in preference to the reading adopted inter alia by Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ p. 53, and by the translators of Sherira’s Epistle (cf. Schlüter, ibid., n. 2). ‘‘The two academies’’ may well refer, here as elsewhere, to the academies of Sura and of the Exilarch, which repulsed a Pumbeditan offensive.

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the legitimacy of his opponent’s authority and appointed a pretender to replace him.≥∫ We are almost entirely dependent on Sherira’s Epistle for our knowledge of the role played by the Exilarchs in the selection or deposition of Geonim. Although this is nowhere stated explicitly, the impression is conveyed that the Gaon was normally chosen by consensus of the scholars of his academy; when the members of the academy were unable to agree on a candidate, the academy was liable to split, with some scholars recognizing one Gaon and some following another.≥Ω In a number of cases, however, the Exilarch is portrayed as having been instrumental in the appointment process. In most of these cases it is unclear how the scholars of the academy in question felt about the Exilarch’s actions. In two instances the Exilarch is reported to have imported a leading Pumbeditan scholar to head the academy of Sura because of a dearth of appropriate candidates within that institution; one of the Geonim appointed in this ∂≠ There is no adequate reason to way was the illustrious Yehudai b. Nahman. ≠ assume that the scholars of Sura were opposed to these appointments, although it is not unlikely that some felt slighted. The appointment of Se‘adyah as Gaon of Sura in the year 928 may be described in similar fashion.∂∞ Sherira appears to have looked less kindly on interference by various Exilarchs in the affairs of his own academy of Pumbedita. On one occasion in the early eighth century, the Gaon Na≠tronai b. Nehemiah is said to have been emboldened by his ties of marriage to the Exilarchal family to act the tyrant within his academy, leading some of its scholars to move temporarily to Sura.∂≤ On another occasion, about a century later, the Exilarch is said to have ‘‘ordained’’ as Gaon R. Isaac b. Hunai rather than the Av Bet Din and heir presumptive Joseph b. Rabbi, but it seems likely that this was only a formal confirmation of a decision taken by the scholars of the academy.∂≥ The most extreme case is 38. Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 117–118 (Rabinowich, pp. 150–151; Schlüter, pp. 273–274). 39. Lewin, op. cit., pp. 102–121 (Rabinowich, pp. 126–159; Schlüter, pp. 247–280), esp. 113, 115, 119–121 (and cf. pp. 102–103). For the situation in the Amoraic period see Beer, Rashut ha-Golah, pp. 94–106. 40. Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 106–107 (Rabinowich, pp. 131–132; Schlüter, pp. 253–255); cf. above, p. 25. 41. See p. 238. Se‘adyah labored under the additional disability of Egyptian extraction. Cf. Lewin, ibid., pp. 118 (Rabinowich, p. 151; Schlüter, pp. 273–274) concerning the appointment of Se‘adyah’s undistinguished predecessor by the same Exilarch. 42. See Lewin, ibid., pp. 102–103 (Rabinowich, pp. 126–127; Schlüter, p. 247); for the talmudic period cf. Beer, Rashut ha-Golah, pp. 95–97, 115–116, 231. 43. See Lewin, op. cit., p. 112 (Rabinowich, pp. 140–141; Schlüter, pp. 263–264);

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that of David b. Zakkai, who attempted to install as Gaon his ally, Kohen A Sedeq b. Joseph, in preference to the choice of the scholars, Mevasser b. Qimoi; even here it would appear that the Exilarch’s choice was supported by a substantial faction within the academy, although Sherira’s sympathies are clearly with Mevasser and his supporters.∂∂ On rare occasions the Exilarch might depose an incumbent Gaon or at least attempt to do so. Sherira mentions, without explanation, the deposition of a Gaon of Pumbedita in the late eighth century, and implies, as a partial explanation of his failure to provide a coherent account of the Geonim of Sura before the year 688/9, that at this time it was common practice for the Exilarchs to depose and reinstate Suran Geonim.∂∑ In the early ninth century we encounter a case of intertwined disputes: in the course of a dispute over the A office of Exilarch, the Av Bet Din Joseph b. Hiyya was granted—apparently by Daniel, the unsuccessful contender for that office—the title of Gaon, which he later relinquished voluntarily. This incident may indicate more about the influence of the Geonim on the Exilarchate than vice versa. It would seem that each of the candidates for the office of Exilarch sought support among the leading scholars of the academy and dignified the most distinguished among his supporters with the title of Gaon.∂∏ Once again, the clearest and most extreme attempt by an Exilarch to impose his will on the academies is associated with David b. Zakkai, who, shortly after appointing Se‘adyah as Gaon of Sura, attempted to depose him and appointed a pretender in his place. In spite of a variety of circumstances favoring the Exilarch, including the vastly weakened state of the Suran academy and Se‘adyah’s ‘‘outsider’’ status, this attempt too was ultimately unsuccessful. Se‘adyah’s outstanding stature, combative personality, and powerful supporters ultimately forced a reconciliation upon his erstwhile enemy.∂π Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:22 and n. 1. Cf. also Lewin, ibid., p. 103 (Rabinowich, p. 127; Schlüter, p. 248); in this case, however, Sherira does not imply that anyone other than R. Aha ≠ expected him to be appointed Gaon (pace Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:16 and n. 2, who attempts to impose Ibn Daud’s interpretation of this event on Sherira). This passage was misunderstood by Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ pp. 54–55; the emendations suggested there are unnecessary. 44. See Lewin, op. cit., pp. 119–120 (Rabinowich, pp. 157–158; Schlüter, pp. 276– 277); Mann, ‘‘ ‘Inyanim Shonim,’’ 5:148–156. 45. See Lewin, op. cit., p. 105 (Rabinowich, pp. 129–130; Schlüter, pp. 250–252). The explanations of these passages offered by Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:21, 37–54 (esp. 53–54), are far-fetched; cf. Appendix A. 46. See Lewin, op. cit., pp. 110–111 (Rabinowich, pp. 138–140; Schlüter, pp. 261–262). 47. See chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah’s Career.’’

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The Decline of the Exilarchate Although the balance of power between Exilarchs and Geonim depended on a variety of factors, and a particular Exilarch such as David b. Zakkai might attempt, under favorable circumstances, to increase his power at the expense of the academies, the overall trend in the course of the Geonic period clearly favored the Geonim, whose power and prestige grew at the expense of the Exilarchate. Given that the Exilarchate was a powerful and well-established institution hundreds of years before the beginning of the Geonic period, while whatever academies existed in Amoraic Babylonia had few of the institutional features of the later Geonic academies, it is not surprising that the earlier Geonim were at a considerable disadvantage in any conflicts which might arise between them and the Exilarchs—especially if we are right in supposing that only the Exilarchate enjoyed governmental recognition and support.∂∫ Sherira describes the situation as follows:∂Ω ‘‘The Exilarchs had strict authority and sovereignty in the days of the Persians. And in the early days of the Ishmaelites also, they used to buy the Exilarchate from the Ishmaelite kings for money, and some of them greatly distressed the rabbis and oppressed them.’’ In keeping with this general characterization, documented instances of aggressive interference by the Exilarchs in the activities of the academies are concentrated, as we have seen, in this early period. A dramatic turning point occurred in the year 825, with the decision of the caliph al-Ma’mun that any ten or more members of a religious minority would be allowed to establish themselves as a separate group and elect their own head. Whatever may have been the caliph’s true motives, his new policy without a doubt seriously weakened the authority of the recognized leaders of religious minorities within the caliphate, including the Jewish Exilarch and the Christian Catholicos; for this reason the event is documented in the literary sources of both religious traditions. The Christian sources describe the contest between two candidates for the Exilarchate, David and Daniel (possibly a grandson of ‘Anan), which led to al-Ma’mun’s decision, which they appear to view as a dangerous precedent:∑≠ ‘‘At that time an order was issued by Ma’mun, that if ten men of any 48. For the question of the academies’ standing see Appendix A. 49. For references see n. 7 above. 50. This passage is from the chronicle of Michael the Syrian (twelfth century); a closely related account is given, about a century later, by Bar Hebraeus (for bibliographical details and translations see Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ pp. 56–57 and n. 78; Grossman, Rashut haGolah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 63–65). I understand ‘‘we went down to him,’’ as does

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religion gather and seek to appoint a head, no one may prevent them . . . and because of this we went down to him, to annul this law, for it spread to all the religions on account of a disagreement among the Jews concerning the Exilarch; . . . and when their case came before Ma’mun, he decreed that each faction might elect as its head whomever it chose.’’ Concerning this event, however, the Jewish sources reflect the viewpoint of the Geonim, who stood to gain from the weakening of Exilarchic authority.∑∞ Sherira describes this turning point as follows, beginning his sketch with a description of events in the time (early fifth century) of Rav Ashi, whose preeminence led the Exilarchs of his time to conduct their annual rigla assemblies in Sura, contrary to earlier practice:∑≤ The rigley of the Exilarchs were established in Mata Mehasia, ≠ and the heads of Pumbedita had to go there on the Sabbath of Lekh Lekha, which is the rigla of the Exilarchs . . . And the matter continued thus until two hundred years ago∑≥ . . . And in the middle of the years of the Ishmaelites, in the days of David b. Judah the Exilarch, they were reduced from the sovereignty of the kingdom, and the heads of Pumbedita did not go after them (any longer). But if the Exilarchs want to have a rigla in Pumbedita, they go there and convene (one).

Samuel b. Eli, writing in the late twelfth century, goes even further, asserting that at this time the Exilarchs were removed from ‘‘the king’s service’’ and had to join the scholars of the academies, who were able to demand (unspecified) Grossman, to refer to Christian objections to this precedent (cf. Gil, ibid., p. 57 and n. 79). In the lines omitted from this translation, David is said to have been supported by the Tiberians, while the Babylonians supported Daniel, a member of the ‘Ananite sect who profane the Sabbath and sanctify Wednesdays instead. At least some of these details are certainly corrupt; see Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, pp. 13–14 and n. 4 (following Graetz); Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ pp. 58–59; and cf. chap. 7, nn. 5, 7, 63. 51. See Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 53–56 (and, in greater detail, the article mentioned in n. 33 there); Gil, ‘‘The Exilarchate,’’ pp. 55–60. 52. Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 90–93 (Rabinowich, pp. 110–114; Schlüter, pp. 228–233; the passage translated here begins on p. 91). Despite some minor difficulties (especially what seems to have been a change of a few weeks in its date), I am much more inclined to accept Sherira’s assertion of the continuity of the rigla from Amoraic into Geonic times than is Beer, Rashut ha-Golah, pp. 129–136. In any event, very little is known concerning the nature of these gatherings; see Beer, ibid. 53. As Grossman (Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 54–55 and n. 30) notes, the number is not exact, but that Sherira, writing at the end of the tenth century, treats in such detail an event of the early ninth century clearly indicates its extraordinary importance.

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concessions in return.∑∂ Although the details are obscure and the context clearly polemical, this assertion provides further confirmation of the epochal nature of the event in question. While the office of Exilarch retained much of its old mystique, its actual power was greatly reduced. An Exilarchal pedigree, however, retained something of its old cachet, and from the ninth century onwards we find scions of this family occupying prominent positions outside Babylonia, at first in Karaite and later also in Rabbanite circles.∑∑ Within Babylonia, the trend in favor of the Geonim would appear to be reflected in a number of sources referring to the early tenth century. These include Rabbi Nathan’s accounts of the deposition and exile of ‘Uqba in the wake of his attempt to usurp Geonic privileges and of the requirement that the Exilarch obtain Geonic confirmation of his appointments of judges within his own reshut.∑∏ Further reflections of this situation may perhaps be seen in the practice of seeking Geonic endorsement of the Exilarch’s legal decisions, which led to David b. Zakkai’s break with Se‘adyah, and in Se‘adyah’s offer to approach the Muslim authorities on behalf of his correspondents.∑π We have no direct testimony about the balance of power in the last century of the Geonic era; the fact that the Exilarch Hezekiah was placed at the head of the Pumbedita academy after Hayya’s death but not dignified with the title of Gaon may perhaps be significant in this regard. In the post-Geonic period, the Exilarchate flourished during the middle of the twelfth century and appears to have gained power at the expense of the Geonate, but if so, this situation was short-lived. At the end of the twelfth and beginning of the thirteenth centuries, the earlier trend continued in even more extreme form. The ‘‘Geonim’’ questioned the need even for a continuation of the Exilarchate and usurped (with government sanction) many of its traditional privileges.∑∫ 54. See Assaf, ‘‘Qovefs Iggerot R. Shemu’el ben ‘Eli,’’ ii:67; Grossman, Rashut haGolah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 54–55, 66. 55. See chap. 6, with notes, and chap. 7, ‘‘The Palestinian Center and Its Academy.’’ A 56. See also Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Hibbur Rav Natan ha-Bavli,’’ p. 157, who points out that Rabbi Nathan does not mention even a single respect in which the Exilarch’s position was superior to that of the Geonim. 57. See above, p. 57 (although there is no evidence that this sort of confirmation was required), and chap. 4, ‘‘Additional Roles.’’ 58. See Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, pp. 56–57, 73 (references to additional literature), 95, 126–127.

6

The Struggle against Heresy

The leaders of Babylonian Jewry had to contend not only with internal tensions and conflicts, but also with challenges to their authority emanating from diverse sources within the Jewish world of their time. Ideologically, if perhaps not in practical terms, the most profound challenge they faced was from sectarian groups that denied not only the specific claims of the Babylonian leaders, especially the Geonim, but the deepest foundations on which their claims to authority rested: the notion of an authoritative Oral Law preserved in rabbinic tradition and constituting the necessary complement to the Written Law embodied in Scripture. The controversy over the role of ancestral tradition—whether or not designated as Oral Law—alongside Scripture can of course be traced back at least to the time of the Second Temple. With the discovery and publication of texts from Qumran in recent decades, it has become clear that this was a burning issue by the Hasmonean period (second century b.c.e.) at the latest, although many details remain obscure and are still subject to debate. According to a wide array of sources, the Pharisees claimed authority for a body of ancestral traditions. After the destruction of the Temple, the rabbis, who saw themselves as the Pharisees’ successors, elaborated the theory and ideology of an Oral Law, given to Moses along with the Pentateuch on Mount Sinai and transmitted from that time on by an unbroken chain of tradition; it was this

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tradition, in principle, which underlay the literature of the Tanna’im and Amora’im.∞ The Pharisaic claims were denied by the Sadducees and the Qumran sect (identified by most scholars with the Essenes), but these groups seemingly disappeared after the destruction of the Temple.≤ Talmudic literature and archeological evidence strongly suggest that many Jews in the first centuries after the destruction, in Palestine and Babylonia as well as in the Hellenistic diaspora, behaved in ways unacceptable to the rabbis;≥ but there is no suggestion of an organized opposition to rabbinic ideology. In the Geonic period, on the other hand, we hear of several organized movements which arose in opposition to the rabbinic mainstream. Our sources describe—albeit in very little detail—several such movements which arose in the first half of the eighth century; some of them continued to exist, if not flourish, for two hundred years or more. These groups had a number of things in common, including charismatic leaders with Messianic pretensions, which in some cases were restricted to the claim of a new religious dispensation and were without political overtones. So far as we know, all of them developed on the periphery of the Jewish world rather than in the centers of Palestine or Babylonia; Persia played a prominent role as the home of two Messianic pretenders, Abu ‘Isa of Isfahan and Yudghan of Hamadan, who may have been a disciple of Abu ‘Isa.∂ Some of these groups are said to have abolished many of the biblical commandments, but most apparently contented themselves with a denial of rabbinic authority. A striking reflection of this situation, and of the profusion of heresies, is to be found in a Geonic responsum, probably to be attributed to Na≠tronai b. Nehemiah, head of the Pumbedita academy in the early eighth century:∑

1. See the recent publication (with references to earlier literature) by A. I. Baumgarten, ‘‘The Pharisaic Paradosis,’’ Harvard Theological Review 80 (1987), pp. 63–77. 2. But see p. 89 below, and the revisionist claims of M. Goodman, ‘‘Sadducees and Essenes after 70 c.e.,’’ in Crossing the Boundaries: Essays in Biblical Interpretation in Honour of Michael D. Goulder, ed. S. E. Porter, P. Joyce, and D. E. Orton (Leiden, the Netherlands, 1994), pp. 347–356. (I am indebted to D. R. Schwartz for this reference.) 3. See Levine, The Rabbinic Class, pp. 112–128, with references to earlier literature. 4. See Aescoly, Ha-Tenu‘ot ha-Meshihiyyot f be-Yisra’el, pp. 115–155; Paul, Qumran et sectes juives, pp. 49–52; Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, pp. 12–13, 51–53 (Nemoy, pp. 328, 382–383; Lockwood, pp. 102–103, 144–145); Gil, Be-Malkhut Yishma‘’el biTequfat ha-Ge’onim, I, §§148–158. 5. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 2, Shabbat, Responsa, no. 396; vol. 7, Yevamot, no. 262; Taubes, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim le-Massekhet Sanhedrin, no. 185. On the question of the authorship of this responsum, which has been frequently discussed, see, most recently, Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 31, n. 18, and cf. Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Karaite

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You asked: there is among us a place populated by heretical Israelites, who have abandoned the ways of Israel and observe neither the commandments nor the Sabbath . . . and some of their children want to return to Israelitism and practice the laws of Israel. In our view, these heretics are different from all the heretics in the world— for all heretics scoff at the words of the Sages, such as tf erefot∏ and the second day of festivals, (which is) of rabbinic origin . . . but as for the words of Torah and Scripture, they keep and observe them like genuine Israelites, whereas these you describe have scoffed at the essence of the Torah and married prohibited relatives and . . . profaned the Sabbath.

‘Anan and the Origins of Karaism An important turning point was apparently reached shortly after the middle of the eighth century, with the founding of yet another sectarian movement by ‘Anan b. David. Despite his prominence in his own time and his significance for later generations, the biographical sources relating to ‘Anan are disappointingly meager. Furthermore, none of the available sources is even roughly contemporary, and most of them provide hostile testimony, deriving as they do from the Geonim and their successors. The most detailed and least credible is an anonymous account (attributed by some scholars to Se‘adyah Gaon) quoted by a twelfth-century Karaite author; opinions differ as to whether any reliable information may be extracted from this account, despite its obvious bias.π What seems clear is that ‘Anan came from somewhere very near the center of Babylonian Jewry and left the rabbinic fold in about the seventh decade of the eighth century. According to a variety of sources, it would seem that he belonged to the Exilarchic family and was persecuted by mainstream Jewish leaders and imprisoned, perhaps at their instigation, by the Muslim authorities.∫ According to the anonymous account just mentioned, Controversy,’’ p. 19 and n. 31. This responsum refers to an earlier one by the same author (Lewin, op. cit., vol. 7, no. 261; Taubes, op. cit.), which provides additional details on the sectarian background. 6. Animals which are determined, upon inspection after their slaughter, to have suffered from mortal illnesses, so that consumption of their meat is prohibited. See Mishnah A Hullin 3:1. 7. For detailed discussion of the sources see Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 3–8 (in slightly greater detail: idem, ‘‘David, a Re-appraisal of the Historical Data,’’ Semitic Studies in Memory of Immanuel Löw [Budapest 1947], pp. 239–248); Paul, Qumran et sectes juives, pp. 13–25; cf. also Cohen, ‘‘ ‘Anan ben David.’’ 8. Nemoy goes too far in rejecting these elements of the ‘‘Se‘adyan’’ account, which have parallels in the Karaite sources (and to some extent in other sources as well). See

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‘Anan was the leading contender for the post of Exilarch but was rejected because of his profligacy and impiety; he founded a heretical sect out of spite and was condemned to death as a rebel by the Muslim authorities, but managed to extricate himself by means of a rhetorical stratagem suggested to him by a Muslim fellow prisoner. Some of this is obviously implausible; the remainder is unsupported by other sources but may nevertheless contain a kernel of historical truth.Ω We are, however, fortunate enough to possess, in addition to the scanty biographical notices already summarized, considerable parts of ‘Anan’s own literary legacy. So far as we know, he wrote only one work, the Sefer Mifswot (Book of Commandments), of which substantial portions have been recovered, primarily from the Cairo Genizah, and published by various scholars.∞≠ This work is written in an Aramaic which closely resembles that of the Geonim∞∞ and clearly demonstrates the author’s thorough acquaintance with both the substance and the method of talmudic literature, although these are honored in the breach rather than in the observance. Great efforts seem to be made to avoid agreeing with talmudic law, which is never referred to explicitly.∞≤ The general trend is towards greater stringency than required by rabbinic law, and ascetic inclinations are clearly perceptible.∞≥ The tone is rather dogmatic, in striking contrast with the dialectical nature of talmudic literature; all law is derived more or less directly from the biblical text, and no room is left for differences of opinion or for interpretation of traditional sources. Much of the argumentation is strongly reminiscent of rabbinic literature, but exegetical techniques,

Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 3–5 (and n. 12), 7 (and n. 21), 51–52 (cf. Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, p.13 [Nemoy, pp. 328–329; Chiesa and Lockwood, p. 103]); Paul, Qumran et sectes juives, pp. 14, 18–23; Cohen, ‘‘ ‘Anan ben David,’’ pp. 229–232. 9. See esp. Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 7–8; Paul, Qumran et sectes juives, pp. 16– 17, 22–24; Cohen, ‘‘ ‘Anan ben David,’’ pp. 230–231. 10. For details of these publications see Nemoy, op. cit., p. 395 (selections are translated ibid., pp. 11–20); Paul, op. cit., pp. 27–28. For the question of additional works attributed to ‘Anan see Nemoy, pp. 10–11; Paul, pp. 28–29. 11. See Epstein, Mehqarim, f 1:71–84 (for the English original of this study see JQR, n.s., 5 [1914–1915], pp. 233–251). 12. See Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, p. 9; Cohen, ‘‘ ‘Anan ben David,’’ pp. 141–142; for a different view of ‘Anan’s role see Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Karaite Controversy.’’ Qirqisani makes the impossible claims that everything contained in ‘Anan’s book is in accordance with rabbinic sources and that a Gaon by the name of Hayya translated the work into Hebrew; see, most recently, ibid., p. 18 and n. 29. 13. See, for example, Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 9–10; Cohen, ‘‘ ‘Anan ben David,’’ p. 142.

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which in the absence of an authoritative tradition are made to bear the full weight of the legal system, are sometimes stretched to absurd lengths.∞∂ In partial compensation for the unavailability of extrabiblical tradition, the Prophets and Hagiographa are placed on an equal footing with the Pentateuch as legal sources.∞∑ Several of these characteristics may be illustrated by the following passage, which interprets Deuteronomy 23:13–14. These verses prescribe that a military encampment is to set aside space for latrines, and that each soldier is to carry a peg (yated) with which to dig them. ‘Anan applies these prescriptions to civilian life and derives additional regulations:∞∏ ‘‘And you shall have a place (literally, hand),’’ and so on—it says . . . that you shall have a place, and calls the place ‘‘hand’’ (to imply) that this place shall be your property, under your hand, as is written (1 Samuel 21:4): ‘‘under your hand.’’ And it says, ‘‘And you shall have a place . . . And you shall have a peg . . .’’—just as the peg is your property and yours alone, so this place must be your property and yours alone. . . . And it says, ‘‘And you shall have a peg,’’ ‘‘And you shall have a place’’—the two are worded in the same way, to teach you that just as the place is prepared for you outside, so this peg should be held on the place which obligates you to go outside, which is the place of the genitals. And we make the peg of iron, because ‘‘peg’’ is written here, and there (Judges 4:21) is written ‘‘And Jael the wife of Heber took the tent-peg,’’ and so on—it says, ‘‘et the peg,’’ ‘‘et the hammer,’’ adding to them et, et (the direct object marker), hinting to you that the hammer and the peg are of the same material. And the hammer is of iron, as it is written (1 Kings 6:7), ‘‘and hammers and ax, all iron utensils’’—just as that peg is of iron, so too this peg is of iron.

One of the central questions regarding ‘Anan concerns his attitude towards his own authority. The style of his work would seem to indicate that he believed his legal interpretations to be objectively correct and therefore universally binding; this impression also finds some support in the admittedly hostile testimony of Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon, who describes ‘Anan as having said to his followers, ‘‘Forsake the words of the Mishnah and Talmud, and I will 14. See Harkavy, Liqquftey Qadmoniyyot, pp. xi–xii (examples are scattered throughout the body of the text); Cohen, ‘‘ ‘Anan ben David,’’ pp. 140–141 and n. 18; BenSasson, Toledot Yisra’el bi-Yemey ha-Benayyim, p. 64 (H. H. Ben-Sasson, ed., A History of the Jewish People, Cambridge, 1976, pp. 441–442). 15. See Wieder, Judean Scrolls and Karaism, pp. 73–79. On the question of the legal standing accorded the Prophets and Hagiographa in talmudic tradition, see E. E. Urbach, ‘‘Halakhah u-Nevu’ah’’ [Halakhah and prophecy], Tarbiz, h 18 (1946), pp. 1–27 (esp. 13–19). 16. Harkavy, Liqquftey Qadmoniyyot, pp. 28–31.

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compose for you a Talmud of my own.’’∞π At the same time, those who followed strictly in ‘Anan’s footsteps were apparently never numerous and were not prominent intellectuals. His followers were absorbed into the later Karaite movement, whose ideologues treated ‘Anan (on the whole) with great respect, but certainly not as an absolute authority.∞∫ Furthermore, Karaite authors attribute to ‘Anan himself the motto, ‘‘Search diligently in the Torah, and do not rely on my opinion.’’ Serious doubts have been raised as to the veracity of this attribution; it is quite likely that later Karaites put these words into ‘Anan’s mouth to establish their continuity with his doctrines and simultaneously legitimize their frequent departures from his specific positions.∞Ω Be that as it may, the leaders of the emerging Karaite movement certainly adopted a critical stance toward ‘Anan as early as the ninth century and followed his lead quite selectively.≤≠ In fact, it would probably be more accurate to say that these sectarians did not see themselves as ‘Anan’s followers and that the Karaite movement, which in retrospect claimed ‘Anan as its founder, coalesced only about the end of the ninth or beginning of the tenth century.≤∞ The crucial tenet which these groups shared was denial of the authority of rabbinic tradition and its contemporary representatives, the Geonim. (The term Karaite, which is first documented in the ninth century, probably means something like ‘‘biblicist’’ and is thus synonymous with the designation ba‘aley miqra, ‘‘masters of Scripture,’’ for the members of this sect or group of sects.)≤≤ The most important sectarian leader of the early ninth century was Benjamin al-Nihawandi (that is, of Nihawand in Persia), who wrote legal works and biblical commentaries in Hebrew. Benjamin borrowed a great deal from tal-

17. Hardly intended as an actual quotation (cf. Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, p. 8). See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 258, and the longer passage translated later in this chapter. 18. See Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, p. xviii; Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:3–4, 13–14, 53–64 (Nemoy, pp. 320–321, 328–330, 383–396; Chiesa and Lockwood (hereafter cited as Lockwood), pp. 93–94, 103–104, 145–156). 19. See Paul, Qumran et sectes juives, pp. 31–33, with references to earlier literature; Wieder, Judean Scrolls and Karaism, pp. 88–89; Cohen, ‘‘ ‘Anan ben David,’’ p. 142; BenShammai, ‘‘Karaite Controversy,’’ pp. 15–16. 20. Compare Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. xviii, 21, 30, and the passages from Qirqisani cited in n. 18. 21. See Nemoy, op. cit., pp. xviii–xxi; Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Karaite Controversy,’’ esp. pp. 23–24; Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 1:631–632 (Broido, pp. 782–784). 22. See Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, p. xvii; Cohen, ‘‘ ‘Anan ben David,’’ p. 130 and n. 3; contra Gil, op. cit., p. 632 (Broido, pp. 783–784).

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mudic law, explicitly informing his readers, ‘‘For every rule I have indicated (the pertinent) verse of Scripture. As for other rules, which are observed (or: discussed) and recorded by the Rabbanites and for which I could indicate no biblical verse, I have written them down also, so that you might observe them if you so desire.’’≤≥ The leading sectarian figure of the late ninth century was Daniel al-Qumisi, also of Persian extraction. Like Benjamin, Daniel wrote in Hebrew both legal works and biblical commentaries. He originally regarded ‘Anan with great respect and referred to him as ‘‘chief of the enlightened’’ (rosh ha-maskilim) but later went to the opposite extreme and, by a neat play on words, called him ‘‘chief of the fools’’ (rosh ha-kesilim); his extreme hostility towards ‘Anan and his followers became notorious and cost him the sympathy of many sectarians.≤∂ Near the end of the ninth century he moved to Jerusalem, and he can be regarded as the founder of the Karaite center there, which was to dominate Karaite literary and intellectual activity worldwide and spearhead the attack on Rabbanite tradition until the time of the Crusades.≤∑ This center developed a dual leadership reminiscent of the leadership of the Rabbanite Jews in Babylonia: a political leadership provided by ‘‘princes’’ (nesi’im) descended from ‘Anan and an intellectual and spiritual leadership provided by scholars, some of whom were even designated, like the Geonim, ‘‘heads of the academy.’’≤∏ The new center probably also came under the influence of sectarian literature of the time of the Second Temple, which was closely related to the Qumran texts discovered in the twentieth century; this acquaintance may have come about through contact with surviving remnants of these sects or, perhaps more likely, as a result of chance discoveries of ancient manuscripts, like that reported by the patriarch Timotheus in the early ninth century.≤π 23. This is a modified version of the translation given by Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, p. 29; ample evidence for his assertion is to be found in the samples translated ibid., pp. 23– 29. Basic biographical and bibliographical information is given ibid., pp. 21–22. 24. See Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:5 (Nemoy, p. 321; Lockwood, pp. 94–95), and cf. ibid., pp. 58–59 (Nemoy, pp. 390–391; Lockwood, pp. 151–152); Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 30–31. 25. See Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Seridey Perush Dani’el’’; idem, ‘‘Ha-Qara’im’’; Gil, ErefsYisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 1:632–640, 655–660 (Broido, pp. 784–794, 814– 820). 26. See Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Ha-Qara’im,’’ pp. 168–172; Gil, op. cit., pp. 632–640 (Broido, pp. 784–794). 27. See Revel, Karaite Halakah; Paul, Qumran et sectes juives; Wieder, Judean Scrolls and Karaism; and the debate between Erder and Ben-Shammai published in Cathedra 42 (1987), pp. 54–86. Timotheus reports that the Jews of Jerusalem obtained biblical and

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Lacking any agreed authority—whether in the form of a body of tradition, an individual author, or an institution empowered to issue binding rulings— the early Karaites were extremely individualistic in their approach to legal questions. Jacob al-Qirqisani, who was active in the first half of the tenth century, wrote two major works, in Arabic: a legal code entitled The Book of Lights and Watchtowers, and a commentary on the nonlegal portions of the Pentateuch entitled The Book of Gardens and Parks. The first book of his code is our most important source for the history of the early Karaites and their forerunners.≤∫ Qirqisani took a very dim view both of the Karaites’ inability in his time to agree among themselves and of the motives he imputed to many of the disputants.≤Ω In addition to remarking that ‘‘of those present-day Karaites who are not members of the schools we have mentioned, you will hardly find two of them who agree on everything,’’≥≠ he concludes his sectarian history with a chapter listing dozens of disagreements, many of them on important principles, among contemporary Karaites and concludes by noting:≥∞ This is what I am inclined to mention, from what I can remember of their differences; the matter is daily growing worse. It may be that some of our coreligionists will censure (me for) having mentioned them, since some of the Rabbanites may use them to impugn us. . . . Trouble yourselves not over this and pay it no attention. . . . We arrive at knowledge by means of our intellects, and where this is the case, it is undeniable that disagreement will arise. We will mention later the argument adduced by those who dispute the necessity of speculation in this way, together with the answer to it.

The Karaites, feeling a need to place limits on such radical individualism, only gradually developed a theoretical justification (apparently adapted from the Muslim doctrine of ijma‘, or consensus)≥≤ for treating certain nonbiblical traditions as binding. An explicit formulation of this approach is found in other Hebrew works from a shepherd who had found them by chance near Jericho; see O. Braun, ‘‘Ein Brief des Katholikos Timotheos I über biblische Studien des 9. Jahrhunderts,’’ Oriens Christianus 1 (1901), pp. 304–305. 28. See Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 44–45. The text of the entire work (except for lacunae) was edited by Nemoy (Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar); there are two English translations of Book 1, by Nemoy and by Lockwood (see the bibliography for details). 29. See esp. Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:5 (Nemoy, p. 321; Lockwood, p. 95). 30. Ibid., 1:14 (cf. the translations of Nemoy, p. 330, and Lockwood, p. 104); the context favors Nemoy’s translation of kul shay as ‘‘everything,’’ rather than Lockwood’s ‘‘anything.’’ 31. Ibid., pp. 59–64 (Nemoy, pp. 392–396; Lockwood, pp. 152–156). 32. See Schacht, Origins of Muhammadan Jurisprudence, pp. 58–95 (esp. 82–95); Coulson, History of Islamic Law, pp. 75–80, 84–86.

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Elijah Bashyatchi’s Aderet Eliyahu (Mantle of Elijah), the latest widely accepted codification of Karaite law, written mostly in the fifteenth century and published in the sixteenth:≥≥ There are, however, other ordinances in the observance of which we have been raised since the days of our fathers, and their fathers before them, and which are a matter of custom with us, which are not recorded in the Torah but have become as second nature; . . . Such ordinances are called by scholars ‘‘the burden of inheritance’’ or ‘‘tradition’’; . . . (Karaite) tradition, however, is not like the tradition in which the Rabbanites believe, since they add to and subtract from Scripture and say that tradition overcomes (the biblical text). . . . (Karaite) tradition, on the other hand, is what is acknowledged by all Israel, and it does not go against that which is recorded in the Writ of divine truth;≥∂ and our scholars have said that every tradition which does not go against Scripture, does not add to what is stated in Scripture, is acknowledged by all Israel, and has (indirect) support in Scripture, is to be called (genuine) tradition, and we must accept it.

Issues of Contention between Karaites and Rabbanites In marked contrast to the situation which prevailed in the Second Temple period, the cardinal doctrines of Jewish theology were no longer at the center of sectarian controversy, although there were still substantial disagreements, in both Karaite and Rabbanite circles, on some important theological questions.≥∑ The main theological critique advanced by the Karaites against 33. This passage is found in the middle of the author’s introduction. The translation given here is a slightly modified version of that found in Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 248–250; a bio-bibliographical introduction is to be found ibid., pp. 236–237. The notion of custom as ‘‘the burden of inheritance’’ (sevel ha-yerushah) is to be found considerably earlier; see, e.g., Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Karaite Controversy,’’ pp. 22–23 and n. 40; Judah Hadassi, Eshkol Ha-Kofer, Gozlow, 1836, Alphabet 9, letter samekh, and Alphabet 14, letter nun. 34. Contrary to the impression often conveyed by modern authors, Karaite exegesis is hardly more literal or closer to the plain sense of Scripture than that found in rabbinic literature (at least in legal contexts). The Karaites generally prohibit levirate marriage, for example, despite the literal meaning of Deuteronomy 25:5–6, which is upheld by Rabbanite tradition (see Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. xxiv, 86, 94, 346, 379); see also ibid., p. xxv, with regard to the Karaite rejection of the Rabbanite precepts of phylacteries and mezuzot, which reflects an allegorical interpretation of verses such as Deuteronomy 6:8– 9. See also Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Karaite Controversy,’’ p. 23. 35. See in general Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. xxiii, 21, 30–31; Wieder, Judean Scrolls and Karaism, pp. 253–256; Paul, Qumran et sectes juives, esp. pp. 115–130;

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their Rabbanite adversaries was the accusation of crude anthropomorphism, which was based primarily on citations from earlier literature, at least some of which (such as the Babylonian Talmud) was revered by Rabbanite Jews. The accusation of anthropomorphism may have been valid with respect to the authors of some of these sources, and to the masses of contemporary Rabbanite Jews, but certainly did not apply to Rabbanite philosophers, who were equally concerned to ‘‘purify’’ Jewish belief in this regard.≥∏ The central source of contention, as we have seen, was the relationship between biblical law and extrabiblical tradition; the nature of this relationship was repeatedly debated, both as a matter of principle and in terms of its practical application to specific legal questions. The notion of an Oral Law, of equal antiquity and authority with Scripture, was central to talmudic Judaism. In arguing against the Karaites, who denied the authority of talmudic literature, the Rabbanites were obviously unable to rest their case on the version of history preserved in that literature; they were forced to pitch their argument on ground common to them and their opponents, namely, the Hebrew Bible. The central thrust of Rabbanite argumentation in this area was the attempt to demonstrate that the Bible itself presupposed an external referent, without which it would necessarily be inapplicable as a code of law. We may illustrate this argument from the introduction to Se‘adyah’s commentary on Genesis:≥π Altogether we find seven essential things in the revealed commandments which force us to rely on tradition, each more important than the last: First, because Scripture contains commandments, the nature of which is not explained—for instance, it is not explained how one should make the fringes (Numbers 15:38) or the tabernacle (Leviticus 23:40) and the like. . . . Second, because there are commandments of which the quantity is not specified. . . . Third, because there are commandments concerning which it is not explained how they are to be recognized, because there is no tangible sign for the Sabbath, which day it is, and . . . the New Moon. . . . Fourth, because there are commandments the very essence of which is not explained, as . . . the nature of the labors which are prohibited on the Sabbath. . . . To this should be added the Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:54–55, 58, 62 (Nemoy, pp. 386, 390–391, 395; Lockwood, pp. 147–148, 151, 155). For similarities between Karaite and Rabbanite theological writings and some controversies within the Rabbanite camp see chap. 18. 36. See esp. Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:14–17, 31–40 (Nemoy, pp. 330–333, 350– 361; Lockwood, pp. 105–107, 124–132), and chap. 18; cf. Harkavy’s summary dismissal of these accusations (Lockwood, pp. 55–56). 37. Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 13–14 (Arabic original), 181–184 (Hebrew translation).

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(civil) laws which are not mentioned at all in the Torah, and it is necessary to seek out knowledge of them.

The Karaites, for their part, taking as their slogan Psalms 19:8, ‘‘The Torah of the Lord is perfect,’’ maintained that the Torah, that is, Scripture, was completely self-sufficient and could be understood without reference to any outside authority; for instance, if the quantity required for the performance of a given commandment is not specified, by implication there is no statutory minimum.≥∫ The need to find intrabiblical answers to all questions drove the Karaites (beginning with ‘Anan) to treat the entire Bible as legal source material and to stretch their hermeneutical ingenuity to the utmost. In particular, the use of arguments by analogy (Hebrew heqqesh, Arabic qiyas), often extremely far-fetched,≥Ω was a central element of Karaite exegesis, and Karaite scholars codified the ramifications of this method in considerable detail, while Se‘adyah devoted a special work to demonstrating its inapplicability to the interpretation of the revealed laws.∂≠ When it came to attacking their Rabbanite opponents, Karaite authors attempted to show that the Oral Law could not possibly have been transmitted from Moses’ time. To this end, they laid great stress on the frequent disagreements between various rabbis (both in talmudic sources and later ) and between the customs of different Rabbanite communities (especially between the Babylonian and Palestinian traditions). In addition, they emphasized the evidence preserved by the talmudic tradition itself concerning the historical development of rabbinic law, and the fact that when laws cited in talmudic literature are attributed to specific rabbis, these are almost invariably individuals who lived at the end of the time of the Second Temple or later.∂∞ Turning to specific laws, we will restrict ourselves to a very brief look at issues on which there was widespread (but not always universal) agreement 38. See Wieder, Judean Scrolls and Karaism, esp. pp. 53–79. A systematic refutation of Se‘adyah’s seven categories was undertaken by Salmon b. Yeruham, ≠ in his Book of the Wars of the Lord (translated in Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 80–82), who (perhaps intentionally) conflated the first two categories and so avoided responding to the more difficult question raised by the first category. 39. For some examples, see the passage from ‘Anan’s Book of Commandments translated earlier and another translated in Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 17–18; Zucker, ‘‘Kitab Tah≠ ≠ sil al-Shara’i‘ al-Sam‘iyya,’’ pp. 399–402. 40. See Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 16 (Arabic original), 188 and n. 118 (Hebrew translation); idem, ‘‘Kitab Tah≠ ≠ sil al-Shara’i‘’’; and cf. Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 382, 400–401. 41. See for example Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:48–51 (Nemoy, pp. 377–382; Lockwood, pp. 140–144); and Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 76, 79.

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among the Karaites and their forerunners and which figure more or less prominently in Karaite-Rabbanite polemics.∂≤ Among the most essential differences are those which concern the calendar. The Karaites opposed the regularization of the calendar instituted by the Patriarch Hillel II in the fourth century and insisted that the New Moon must be determined by the testimony of witnesses who had actually observed the appearance of the moon and that the intercalation necessary to correlate the lunar and solar cycles must be decided ad hoc rather than according to a fixed pattern. In both these respects the Karaites sought to maintain ancient practices attested in rabbinic literature, although their biblical mandate was hardly obvious.∂≥ At the same time, the Karaites found ample support for their contention (common to many Jewish sects throughout the ages) that Pentecost must always be observed on a Sunday, in a literal rendering of Leviticus 23:15–16.∂∂ The crucial significance of differences over the calendar is well illustrated by a famous passage in Qirqisani’s Book of Lights and Watchtowers:∂∑ ‘‘I once asked Jacob ibn Ephraim,∂∏ . . . ‘Why do you associate with the ‘Isuniyya and intermarry with them, in spite of the fact that, as you know, they falsely attribute prophecy to those who have nothing to do with it?’ He replied: ‘Because they do not disagree with us over the festivals.’ His words show that (these) men regard manifest apostasy as preferable to a display of disagreement over a festival of their own invention.’’ ‘Anan and early Karaites agreed that only the psalter should be used as a prayer book and attacked the Rabbanites for their use of postbiblical prayers; this is one area in which later Karaism parted ways with earlier authorities and 42. The study of Karaite law has been badly neglected in modern scholarship; the most thorough treatment is still to be found in Revel, Karaite Halakah. In recent years Y. Erder has written a number of studies in this area; in my opinion, these focus too heavily on conjectures concerning the derivation of Karaite law from sectarian law of the Second Temple period. 43. See Poznanski, ‘‘Anti-Karaite Writings,’’ pp. 272–273; Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Karaite Controversy,’’ p. 23. For the enactment attributed to Hillel, see Bornstein, Mahloqet, f pp. 15–17. 44. See Revel, Karaite Halakah, pp. 42–44; Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Karaite Controversy,’’ p. 20 and n. 34. 45. See Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:52 (Nemoy, pp. 382–383; Lockwood, pp. 144– 145). The role played by calendar disputes in Jewish sectarianism throughout the ages has been emphasized in a number of studies by Sh. Talmon; see, for example, ‘‘The Calendar Reckoning of the Sect from the Judaean Desert,’’ Scripta Hierosolymitana 4 (1958), pp. 162–199. 46. For bibliography on this individual, probably a student of Se‘adyah Gaon, see B. Chiesa, The Emergence of Hebrew Biblical Pointing (Judentum und Umwelt, Band 1), Frankfurt am Main, 1979, pp. 71–72, n. 76.

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moved much closer to rabbinic tradition, with regard both to specific prayers and to general approach.∂π In the sphere of ritual law, the Karaite tendency towards stringency found expression in several areas.∂∫ They extended the prohibition of kindling fire on the Sabbath (Exodus 35:3) to include fires which had been lit beforehand and continued to burn on the Sabbath. In particular, they forbade the ancient Jewish tradition of kindling lights shortly before sunset on Friday, which was obligatory according to rabbinic law; similarly, they prohibited the use of various techniques for keeping food warm on the Sabbath, which were permitted according to talmudic law. Sexual intercourse was also forbidden on the Sabbath.∂Ω The biblical prohibition on incest was extended very much further than in rabbinic law, on the basis of a series of analogies; this quickly created an untenable situation and led to a substantial modification of earlier Karaite law, in the direction of greater leniency.∑≠ The fat of the sheep’s tail was forbidden, on the basis of the analogy suggested in the Bible between the types of fat which were offered as sacrifice and those forbidden for human consumption.∑∞ Ritual uncleanness, including that associated with menstruation, was treated more stringently than in rabbinic law.∑≤ Mourning for the destroyed Temple and the dispersion of the Jewish people also occupied a much more prominent place in Karaite than in Rabbanite practice: some authorities prohibited the consumption of meat as a token of mourning; the Karaite center in Jerusalem was largely engaged in mourning practices, and its A members were accordingly known as Aveley Siyyon (the Mourners of Zion).∑≥ 47. See, for example, Mann, ‘‘ ‘Anan’s Liturgy’’; Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:15–16 (Nemoy, p. 332; Lockwood, p. 106); and Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 271–273). For later developments see Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 273–274; Cohen, ‘‘ ‘Anan ben David,’’ p. 233 and n. 50. 48. Yet they rejected the rabbinic prohibition of tf erefot; see, e.g., Qirqisani, Kitab alAnwar, 1:22 (Nemoy, pp. 340; Lockwood, p. 113). 49. See Harkavy, Liqquftey Qadmoniyyot, pp. 69–71; Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:17–18 (Nemoy, pp. 333–335; Lockwood, pp. 107–109); Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 399–400; Poznanski, Karaite Literary Opponents, p. 24 and passim. 50. For a survey of these developments see Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 124–132. 51. See for example Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:21 (Nemoy, p. 339; Lockwood, p. 112); Poznanski, Karaite Literary Opponents, passim. The question arises because it is unclear whether the sheep’s tail is included in the Biblical prohibition of helev; f see esp. Leviticus 3:9, 17; 7:3, 25; 8:25, 9:19. 52. See Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:18–21 (Nemoy, pp. 336–339; Lockwood, pp. 109–111); Poznanski, Karaite Literary Opponents, p. 25 and passim. 53. See Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 9–10, 34–36, 107–108, 377; Wieder, Judean Scrolls and Karaism, pp. 118–120 and passim; Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Ha-Qara’im,’’ esp. pp. 172–174. The name is derived from Isaiah 61:3.

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Rabbanite Reactions The attitude of rabbinic Judaism and its leaders to the various sectarian movements, of which Karaism was by far the most successful (and hence the most threatening), was, as might be expected, quite hostile. Nevertheless, the Geonim of the eighth and ninth centuries referred to these movements only rarely. To understand this situation, we should bear in mind a number of facts. These Geonim restricted themselves to writing responsa and so responded only to those issues about which they were asked. Loyal Rabbanite Jews at this time did not feel challenged by sectarian movements, which apparently did not proselytize vigorously or polemicize effectively against Rabbanite beliefs, and had little reason to inquire about them, except when former sectarians wanted to rejoin the mainstream.∑∂ Nor do the Geonim seem to have had any direct contact with Jewish sectarians, who apparently made little impression in the Babylonian Jewish circles within which the Geonim were raised and with which they were familiar; nevertheless, even vague reports of sectarian activity could arouse concern and hostility. A striking illustration is provided by a well-known responsum of Na≠tronai b. Hilai, Gaon of Sura in the middle of the ninth century. The Gaon was asked about a version of the Passover Haggadah which differed dramatically from that approved by Babylonian tradition. In fact, it seems clear that this was a Palestinian text, but the Gaon, whose acquaintance both with Palestinian tradition and with sectarian movements was obviously very limited, took it to be a sectarian Haggadah and had the following to say:∑∑ These are sectarians and scoffers who mock the words of the sages, and the disciples of ‘Anan—may his name rot— . . . who said to all those who strayed and went a-whoring after him, ‘‘Forsake the words of the Mishnah and Talmud, and I will compose for you a Talmud of my own.’’ And they still maintain their error and have become a separate nation, and he composed a Talmud of wickedness and injustice for himself, and Mar R. El‘azar Alluf of Spain∑∏ saw his book of abominations which they call a Book of Commandments, how many (devious) stratagems it contains.

In this, as in so many other matters, it was Se‘adyah who broke with Geonic precedent and devoted a considerable part of his vast energies to combating a 54. See, for example, Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 7, Yevamot, nos. 258–262 (part of no. 262 is translated near the beginning of this chapter). 55. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 257–259 (a number of earlier discussions are listed ibid., p. 257, n. 1). The expression ‘‘may his name rot’’ is based on Proverbs 10:7. For the theory that the benediction over the Sabbath lights was polemically motivated, and arguments against it, see ibid., pp. 173–175 and n. 5. 56. For this individual see ibid., p. 62 (and the literature cited in n. 18, ibid.).

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variety of heresies, most prominently Karaism. In addition to the growth and crystallization of sectarian movements and their increasing sophistication, which presented more of a challenge to mainstream Judaism, this new departure is doubtless to be explained partly as the result of Se‘adyah’s biography and partly as the result of his personality. Having grown up in Egypt and spent a substantial amount of time in Palestine and elsewhere before coming to Babylonia, he had certainly had much more exposure to Jewish sectarians, and to Karaites in particular, than had his predecessors in the Geonate. Furthermore, he did not see himself as restricted by Geonic precedent to the writing of responsa; in fact, he produced independent literary works of various sorts well before his appointment as Gaon. He never shrank from confrontation, and he engaged in literary polemics not only against sectarians and heretics but also against opponents within the Rabbanite establishment. In addition, he saw himself as the bearer of a divinely inspired mission and the designated guide of the Jewish people in his generation; an important component of this mission, as Se‘adyah understood it, was to combat the pernicious influence of heretics and sectarians.∑π None of Se‘adyah’s specifically polemical works have survived intact, but substantial parts of several of them have been identified and published.∑∫ One of Se‘adyah’s earliest published works was a refutation of ‘Anan, which he apparently wrote at the age of twenty-three.∑Ω His most comprehensive antiKaraite work, the Book of Distinction (Kitab al-Tamyiz), was written about twenty years later and included discussions of most of the standard topics of Karaite-Rabbanite debate.∏≠ Special mention should be made of Se‘adyah’s refutation of Haywayhi of Balkh, a freethinker of the ninth century who, not content with rejecting rabbinic authority, attacked numerous biblical passages, on philosophical and other grounds.∏∞ These attacks were contained in a work containing two hundred questions, which according to some sources —although this hardly seems plausible—achieved such popularity that it was used as a school text. Se‘adyah devoted a long poem, a substantial portion of 57. For the contents of this paragraph see below, chap. 15. 58. For earlier surveys see Poznanski, ‘‘Anti-Karaite Writings’’; Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 260–271, 380–394. The most important polemical text to be discovered since these scholars wrote is the poem Essa Meshali, fragments of which were first collected by Lewin, ‘‘Essa Meshali le-RaSaG’’; additional publications are listed in Fleischer, ‘‘Meqomo shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on,’’ p. 11, n. 28. An updated survey of Se‘adyah’s polemical writings is to appear in Ben-Sasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Ga’on. 59. See Poznanski, ‘‘Anti-Karaite Writings,’’ pp. 239–244. 60. See ibid., pp. 244–252; Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 263–265, 380–382. 61. For a full-scale treatment see Gil, Hiwi ha-Balkhi; for the various forms of the name see Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 384–385.

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which has survived, to a systematic refutation of this author’s criticisms of the Bible.∏≤ In addition to separate polemical works, Se‘adyah introduced numerous polemical motifs, explicit or implicit, into many of his other works. They include not only such obvious settings as his philosophical and exegetical writings,∏≥ but also compositions which, on the surface, have nothing whatsoever to do with polemics. For instance, the introduction to his prayer book contains an argument against the use of biblical texts as prayers and for the extreme antiquity of the Rabbanite prayers. It is obviously directed against the position of ‘Anan and the early Karaites.∏∂ Even a seemingly innocent lexicographical work may fulfill a polemical function. One of Se‘adyah’s smaller works is devoted to the explication of ninety biblical hapax legomena on the basis of Rabbinic Hebrew; this may be seen as an attempt to refute, even on the linguistic level, the Karaite claim that the Bible should be seen as a selfcontained corpus, which could be interpreted entirely on its own terms, without reference to extrabiblical tradition.∏∑ We should note, finally, that because Se‘adyah was willing to go to extreme lengths in his attempts to demonstrate the antiquity and unity of rabbinic tradition, he assigned to various rabbinic institutions a much earlier date than that claimed or suggested by talmudic sources. An outstanding instance of this is his notorious claim that Moses had received explicit divine instructions concerning the additional day of festivals that was to be observed outside of Palestine—a claim which Hayya Gaon characterized, no doubt correctly, as ‘‘a reed to ward off the heretic.’’∏∏ Later Geonim placed much less emphasis on polemics than had Se‘adyah, but more than had the Geonim who preceded him. The biblical commentary

62. The major publication, including a detailed commentary, is Davidson, Saadia’s Polemic against Hiwi Al-Balkhi; additional fragments were published by J. Schirmann, A Shirim Hadashim min ha-Genizah [New Hebrew poems from the Genizah], Jerusalem, 1966, pp. 35–41. 63. See chap. 18, esp. the section ‘‘Se‘adyah Gaon as Theologian,’’ and chap. 19, ‘‘Theological and Polemical Dimensions.’’ 64. See Assaf et al., Siddur Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, p. 10. The same theme is addressed, from a different angle, in the introduction to Se‘adyah’s commentary on Psalms; see Qafih, Tehillim, esp. pp. 24–37 (translated by Sokolow, ‘‘Saadia’s Prolegomenon to Psalms,’’ pp. 148–172); Simon, Arba‘ Gishot le-Sefer Tehillim, chap. 1. 65. See chap. 20, pp. 322–323. A 66. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Yom Tov, Responsa, no. 5 (pp. 3–4), and cf. ibid., vol. 5, Rosh ha-Shanah, no. 9 (p. 21). Se‘adyah’s assertions concerning the extreme antiquity of Rabbanite prayer, including its postexilic forms, undoubtedly belong to the same category. Cf. chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah as the Champion of Tradition.’’

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A of Samuel b. Hofni, for instance, included polemical comments, directed against both Jewish sectarians and freethinkers, but these figure much less prominently than in Se‘adyah’s commentaries.∏π Additional references to sectarian opinions are to be found in a number of responsa, especially those of Hayya Gaon. The outstanding difference between the questions addressed to these Geonim and the questions of the earlier period is that the questioners are now troubled by Karaite polemics and seek help in refuting their arguments.∏∫ Se‘adyah’s unique role in upholding the tenets of Rabbanite Judaism and combating sectarianism is amply reflected in Karaite literature, in which polemics against Se‘adyah, of greatly varying quality, continued to occupy a central place almost up to the present.∏Ω A 67. See Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, pp. 46–47, 152– 153, 444–445, and chap. 19, ‘‘Theological and Polemical Dimensions.’’ 68. For Hayya see, in addition to the responsum cited in n. 66, Lewin, Ofsar haGe’onim, vol. 5, Rosh ha-Shanah, Responsa, no. 117, esp. p. 61; some other questions on theological topics addressed to this Gaon may also have arisen in similar contexts (see chap. 18, n. 53). 69. See Poznanski, Karaite Literary Opponents.

7

Competition with the Palestinian Center

In addition to the sometimes uneasy division of power between Exilarchs and Geonim and the challenge posed by the emergence of various sectarian groups, the leaders of Babylonian Jewry found their freedom of action restricted in yet another direction, at least with respect to the Jewish diaspora outside their specific spheres of hegemony, the reshuyot. The Babylonian center had no automatic claim on the allegiance of other Jewish communities, such as those of North Africa and Europe. These communities, even if they were not yet ready to assert their independence, might prefer to seek guidance from the other spiritual center of the Jewish heartland, Palestine. Furthermore, the Palestinian center enjoyed a priori two significant advantages in its competition with Babylonia: its greater antiquity (this in an age which placed great value on continuity and tradition) and the sanctity attached to the Holy Land itself in Jewish tradition.∞ This competition between the Babylonian and Palestinian centers may be viewed as a continuation of the situation which had prevailed in the talmudic period, with one significant difference: whereas in the earlier period the sources 1. See, inter alia, Grossman, ‘‘Yeshivat Ere≠s-Yisra’el,’’ pp. 193–206; Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Beney ha-Magreb we-Qishrehem’’; idem, Qayrawan, pp. 401–410 and passim. PalA estine is often referred to as Erefs ha-Sevi (‘‘the land of the hind,’’ see Daniel 11:16, 41).

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reflect an ongoing dialogue, with many elements of a debate, between the centers themselves, in the Geonic period the emphasis shifted to a competition for influence over peripheral regions.≤ The Palestinian center enjoyed several further advantages, beginning with its greater proximity to the leading diaspora communities of the time. In an era of slow and difficult communications, the greater speed with which letters could have traveled between outlying areas and Palestine should have made it substantially easier to maintain regular contact with this center and have tempted diaspora communities to turn to it for guidance.≥ Furthermore, those territories which had been included in the Byzantine Empire before the spread of Islam—in particular Egypt—had centuries-old ties with the Palestinian center. Finally, as we shall see below, the Muslim authorities (at least in the later part of the Geonic period) recognized Palestinian hegemony over the Jewish population of a swathe of territory extending from Syria and Lebanon in the north to Egypt in the south.

The Palestinian Center and Its Academy Talmudic literature provides us with abundant, if unsystematic, information concerning the existence and functioning of rabbinic academies in Palestine during the periods of the Tanna’im and Amora’im (approximately 70–350 c.e.).∂ From about the middle of the fourth century until the ninth, however, our sources offer almost no direct evidence on any rabbinic academies that operated in Palestine.∑ With regard to the ninth century the available sources are somewhat more promising, but they remain extremely fragmentary. There are some indications that Tiberias, which had been the home of the leading Palestinian academy in the Amoraic period, continued to play a central role during the ninth century, although the sources do not speak unequivocally of a Tiberian academy.∏ According to a seemingly reliable source, several 2. See the recent book by I. M. Gafni, Land, Center and Diaspora: Jewish Constructs in Late Antiquity, Journal for the Study of the Pseudepigrapha Supplement Series, 21 (Sheffield, 1997). 3. Cf. Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 1:273–352 (esp. 289–291), and below, chap. 12, n. 7, and the corresponding text. 4. See Levine, The Rabbinic Class. 5. For the possible exceptions see Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 2:408– 410 (Broido, pp. 495–496). According to one of these sources, ‘‘the Tiberians’’ played a leading role in the struggle between two contenders for the Babylonian Exilarchate; cf. above, chap. 5, n. 50. 6. See ibid., pp. 410–412 (Broido, pp. 496–498), and cf. Grossmann, ‘‘Yeshivat Ere≠sYisra’el,’’ p. 179, n. 1.

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heads of the central Palestinian academy in this period (no precise dates are available) were descended from ‘Anan ben David, the proto-Karaite sectarian. The implications of this testimony are debatable, however, especially since we do not know whether ‘Anan’s descendants followed his approach.π Relatively abundant documentation becomes available only in the tenth and eleventh centuries thanks to the Cairo Genizah, which has preserved hundreds of documentary items bearing on the Palestinian academy in this period, primarily items of correspondence written by or addressed to the leaders of this institution.∫ Recall that the main source of Genizah fragments was the ‘‘Palestinian’’ synagogue of Cairo, which served as the primary local center of the Palestinian heritage and whose leading members maintained close ties with their cultural homeland and its leadership. When viewed from the perspective of contemporaneous Babylonian institutions, the Palestinian academy may be said to have combined the functions of the leading Babylonian academies with those of the Exilarchate. The head of the Palestinian academy was recognized by the Fatimid authorities as the official representative of the Jewish community in the area known as the reshut, comprising Palestine, Lebanon, Syria, and Egypt, in temporal as well as in religious matters.Ω In the surviving documents relating to this academy, the political and administrative dimensions of the Palestinian academy figure most prominently. In its internal organization the Palestinian academy, even more than the comparable Babylonian institutions, was dominated by a small number of families (two of which were of priestly origin); it was not unusual for several members of the same immediate family to hold leading positions simultaneously or for a son to inherit his father’s place at the head of the academy. The Palestinian academy shared with its Babylonian counterparts the titles of the two highest-ranking officials: Gaon and Av Bet Din. The next five scholars in the academic hierarchy received numerical titles: the third (in the academy), the fourth, and so on. Another important title, with which religious or com7. Compare Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, pp. 25–29, 33, with Gil, ErefsYisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 1:534–538 (Broido, pp. 654–660); 2:8. 8. The sources are collected in Gil, ibid., vol. 2–3, passim, and Bareket, Yehudey Mifsrayyim, esp. pp. 54–105. They are analyzed at length in Gil, op. cit., 1:405–626 (Broido, pp. 490–776); cf. Gil, ‘‘Ere≠s-Yisra’el: Tiqqunim,’’ pp. 292–305; Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Beney ha-Magreb we-Qishrehem’’; idem, ‘‘Qishrey Magreb-Mashraq.’’ 9. See Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 1:419–421 (Broido, pp. 508–510); the crucial document is reprinted ibid., 2:567–569. In my opinion, the revisionist approach put forward by Sela in ‘‘The Head of the Jews’’ rests on wholly inadequate foundations.

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munal leaders from outside the academy were dignified, was haver f (roughly ‘‘colleague,’’ comparable to the Babylonian title of alluf or resh kalla). This title was granted both to communal leaders appointed by the Gaon and his academy to conduct the affairs of Jewish communities which belonged to their reshut and to prominent dignitaries of Jewish communities elsewhere, whom the Palestinian leadership wished to honor.∞≠ The granting of honorary titles to ‘‘outsiders’’ was one aspect of a complex web of relationships which linked the academy with an extensive diaspora, including not only the reshut which was officially subject to the Palestinian center but also other territories (such as Sicily and parts of Italy) which had been included in the Byzantine Empire. On the one hand, the heads of the academy were consulted on communal as well as legal issues, and contending factions sought their support. On the other hand, the academy was largely dependent on the financial support and political connections of Jewish communities outside Palestine. The most important of these was the community of Egypt, which benefited, inter alia, from its proximity to the seat of the Fatimid caliph.∞∞ The prestige of the Palestinian academy depended to a large extent on its location in the Holy Land and its claim to continue the ancient Palestinian institutions of Jewish leadership. Although it had probably been located in Tiberias in the earlier period, by the second half of the tenth century the academy had relocated to Jerusalem.∞≤ The crucial symbolic importance of geography is indicated by a ceremony which is best documented for the eleventh century but very possibly goes back at least to the tenth century: the annual gathering on the Mount of Olives on the last day of the pilgrim feast of Tabernacles. The unique sanctity ascribed to this location was connected with the belief that the Divine Presence had settled here after leaving the Temple Mount. The occasion was used for official pronouncements, including those concerning the calendar. Dignitaries were appointed or honored, the academy’s supporters were blessed and prayers were offered on their behalf, and curses were called down upon the Karaites. The presence of numerous pilgrims at this season reinforced the prestige of the Palestinian academy and allowed its heads to strengthen their ties with outlying communities and to

10. See Gil, ibid., pp. 417–419 (Broido, pp. 505–508); Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, passim. 11. See Gil, op. cit., pp. 451–460, 472–499 (Broido, pp. 549–561, 575–609) and passim; Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Beney ha-Magreb we-Qishrehem,’’ pp. 64–69; Bareket, Shafrir Mifsrayyim, esp. pp. 76–143. 12. See Gil, op. cit., pp. 412–413 (Broido, pp. 499–501) and n. 738.

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deal with administrative and communal matters. These gatherings made a profound impression not only on the Jewish participants but also on their Christian and Muslim neighbors, as is evidenced by the descriptions recorded by several authors.∞≥ The history of the Palestinian academy was marked by a series of struggles between factions and contenders for leadership, both within the academy itself and in the broader Jewish community, struggles which may be interpreted in large part as reflecting the rise and decline of competing Jewish centers. The rise of the Jewish communities of the Maghreb brought into prominence families of North African extraction, which contended for the leadership of the Palestinian academy from about the 980s and produced many of its Geonim in the eleventh century.∞∂ In the course of this century increasing competition arose from the Egyptian center, reaching its apogee during the last decades of the century. Elijah Ha-Kohen, the Palestinian Gaon during the years 1062–83, was forced by political and economic vicissitudes to remove the academy, which had operated for hundreds of years in Jerusalem and other Palestinian cities, to Tyre, a step which seriously weakened its remaining claim to legitimate authority and strengthened the relative position of other contenders. (In an attempt to retain direct ties with the Holy Land, Elijah managed to arrange a gathering, similar to those which had traditionally been held on the Mount of Olives, in Haifa in 1082.)∞∑ The weakness of the Palestinian academy, particularly after its exile to Tyre (and later to Damascus), soon exposed it to attacks. The challenger was David b. Daniel, a descendant of the Exilarchal family whose father, Daniel b. ‘Azaryah, had served as head of the Palestinian academy before Elijah. David attempted, beginning about 1079, to establish himself as the head of Egyptian Jewry, bearing the (Babylonian!) title of Exilarch, and to end this community’s dependence on the Palestinian center; his challenge gained momentum during the Geonate of Elijah’s son Evyatar, which began in 1081. (Evyatar and Elijah held the title Gaon jointly for two years.) Despite David’s youth, inexperience, and lack of local roots, his leadership was recognized not only by a large segment of Egyptian Jewry but also by important Palestinian communities. For about ten years, until the spring of 1094, the Palestinian academy was on 13. See Gil, ibid., pp. 509–515 (Broido, pp. 622–630), with references to the primary sources (mostly reprinted ibid., vol. 2–3) and to earlier discussions. 14. See esp. Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Beney ha-Magreb we-Qishrehem,’’ and cf. Gil, ‘‘Ere≠sYisra’el: Tiqqunim,’’ pp. 298–299, 311. 15. See Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 1:600–604 (Broido, pp. 741–746), and n. 899, and cf. ibid., p. 159 (Broido, pp. 192–193); the primary description of the gathering in Haifa is reprinted ibid., 3:396.

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the defensive. At that time a previous leader of Egyptian Jewry who had been supplanted by David, Mevorakh b. Se‘adyah, regained his position of influence in the Fatimid court and soon organized a gathering at which the leaders of Jewish communities from Palestine and other lands reaffirmed their allegiance to the Palestinian academy, thus effectively deposing David. Nevertheless, the Palestinian academy had won only a brief respite; by the early twelfth century the academy had moved to Fustat (Old Cairo) and been absorbed into the Egyptian Jewish community.∞∏

Intellectual and Spiritual Life The cultural landscape of Palestinian Jewry in general and of the circles associated with its central academy in particular was significantly different from that which prevailed in Babylonia and especially in the Geonic academies. The responsa of the Babylonia Geonim, of which thousands have survived, enable us to paint a picture, albeit imperfect, of the Babylonian Jewish intelligentsia, which clustered around the Geonic academies. The cultural elite of Babylonian (Rabbanite) Jewry before the advent of Se‘adyah concentrated almost exclusively, as far as we can tell, on the study of the talmudic sources and their practical application.∞π In Palestine the situation was profoundly different in several respects. The spheres of intellectual and cultural activity were much broader than in Babylonia, and talmudic learning appears to have played a much smaller role. This emphasis is strikingly reflected in the overwhelming concentration, in the dozens of letters by Palestinian Geonim which have survived, on administrative and political matters rather than the legal and talmudic questions which dominate the writings of the Babylonian Geonim.∞∫ Furthermore, the Palestinian Geonic academy itself seems to have occupied a much less central place in the local intellectual scene than its Babylonian 16. See ibid., pp. 606–626 (Broido, pp. 750–776); Gil, ‘‘Ere≠s-Yisra’el: Tiqqunim,’’ pp. 304–305; M. R. Cohen, Jewish Self-Government in Medieval Egypt, Princeton, 1980, pp. 178–212; Bareket, Shafrir Mifsrayyim, passim. 17. See chap. 9, ‘‘Areas of Interest,’’and chap. 6, ‘‘ ‘Anan and the Origins of Karaism’’; ‘Anan’s writings fit this pattern well. I exclude here the emerging group of Jewish intellectuals whose interests and training were primarily channeled outside the Jewish cultural tradition; see pp. 287–289 and n. 14. 18. See Grossman, ‘‘Yeshivat Ere≠s-Yisra’el,’’ pp. 189–190, where alternative theories are discussed. In view of the massive quantities of material preserved in the Genizah and elsewhere, I think Grossman—despite his reservations—gives too much credence to Mann’s thesis that the role of the Palestinian Geonim as decisors is inadequately reflected in the sources because most of their responsa were not sent via Egypt (cf. Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, p. 409). On Palestinian halakhic writings see the next section.

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counterparts. Very little of the literature produced in Palestine during the Geonic era can be connected with any degree of confidence to the central academy. In addition, the Karaites played a central role in the religious and cultural life of Palestinian Jewry and to some extent may be said to have cast the activities of their Rabbanite brethren into the shade. Perhaps the most important vehicle of creative self-expression among the Rabbanite Jews of Palestine was the writing of piyyuft, or liturgical poetry. The multiplication of poetic liturgies alongside the ancient prose prayers was, in all probability, a prominent characteristic of Palestinian piety already in talmudic times. During the classical age of synagogal poetry, which lasted into the seventh century, creativity in that sphere appears to have been restricted to Palestine, which continued to be a major center of piyyu≠t composition throughout the Geonic period; additional centers began to develop elsewhere. Later the centers of poetic compositions shifted to Europe, but the genre remained heavily indebted to its Palestinian origins in a variety of ways.∞Ω Until the discovery of the Cairo Genizah, the legacy of early liturgical poets was known almost exclusively from later European liturgical traditions, especially those of France and Germany, which incorporated substantial quantities of older Palestinian piyyu≠t, along with the creations of later European poets. The study of piyyu≠t is one of the fields which has benefited most dramatically from the Genizah discoveries, which have already—with only a small part of the available material published—yielded numerous poetic creations by the great masters, as well as important bodies of work by previously unknown authors and a great many anonymous poems. Furthermore, the original liturgical functions of the various sorts of piyyu≠t, often obscured by the ways in which poems were reused in the European traditions, have been substantially clarified, and it is now possible to appreciate more fully the central role this form of literature played in Palestinian religious and cultural life.≤≠ Originally, liturgical poems were intended to replace the standard prose versions of essential portions of the liturgy: either the benedictions surrounding the recitation of the Shema‘ or those making up the ‘Amidah prayer. To be 19. For a comprehensive survey see Fleischer, Shirat ha-Qodesh; for the remarks in this paragraph see esp. pp. 11–13, 41–46. For a briefer, English-language survey, see Fleischer’s article ‘‘Piyyut’’ in the Encyclopaedia Judaica, vol. 13 (Jerusalem, 1971), columns 573–602. 20. There is no comprehensive and up-to-date bibliography of research in this field; a selective bibliography to 1975 may be found in Fleischer, Shirat ha-Qodesh. Aside from Fleischer (whose publications through 1994 are listed in Kenesset ‘Ezra, pp. 379–389), the most important contributors to the study of early piyyu≠t over the last twenty years have been S. Elizur, A. Mirsky, Z. M. Rabinowitz, and Y. Yahalom.

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more precise, the concluding eulogies of these benedictions, along with other brief passages, were retained from the standard liturgy, but the bulk of the prose text of each benediction was replaced by one or more poems, constructed according to fixed patterns. Poems were keyed to special occasions, such as festivals, or to the weekly readings from the Pentateuch and Prophets. One of the motives for their composition, it would seem, was to introduce freshness and variety into the synagogue service, in place of constant repetition of the fixed versions of the prayers. This was true especially with regard to the repetition of the ‘Amidah prayer by the precentor, mandated by talmudic law; rather than hearing a repetition of the prayer which they had just recited themselves, congregants preferred to hear a new, poetic version of the prayer rendered by the precentor, who may have been chosen for his cantorial abilities. It seems, furthermore, that many if not all of the great liturgical poets were themselves cantors, although their creations were undoubtedly adopted by others as well.≤∞ The writing of piyyu≠t satisfied numerous other needs in addition to the desire for variety. It provided an outlet for the authors’ religious and artistic self-expression and appealed to the audience’s aesthetic sensibilities. Furthermore, the themes of the poems were drawn primarily from the vast storehouse of rabbinic tradition, especially from homiletical and exegetical traditions concerning the biblical readings appropriate to a given occasion. Much of the poets’ artistry was devoted to creating a complex web of subtle allusions to biblical verses and rabbinic traditions, which must have provided the more erudite among their listeners with an enjoyable intellectual challenge. Linguistic virtuosity was also prized; the efforts of some liturgical poets—especially the greatest of them all, El‘azar Ha-Qallir—dazzle the reader (or auditor) with a stunning array of new coinages and meanings. Some of these were required by the exigencies of the genre, such as the need to supply rhymes or acrostics, but certain poets delighted in imposing additional demands on themselves and created amazingly complex structures embodying an array of technical and rhetorical devices. Although thoroughly imbued with the riches of biblical Hebrew, the piyyu≠tim brought additional richness and flexibility to the medieval language.≤≤ The liturgical poems composed in Palestine constitute a major repository of Palestinian tradition, both with regard to the talmudic and midrashic sources they draw from and with regard to the liturgical praxis they reflect. A wellknown example of the latter is that the Palestinian version of the weekday 21. See Fleischer, op. cit., pp. 47–56. 22. See Yahalom, Sefat ha-Shir, and chap. 20, with n. 48.

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‘Amidah, whether in prose or in poetry, contains only eighteen benedictions, as against the nineteen of the Babylonian tradition.≤≥ We have very limited biographical information concerning most of the liturgical poets; even the dates assigned to some of the major figures are only rough approximations. Nevertheless, it is worth noting that only one poet of the Geonic era is known to have been associated with the Palestinian academy: Samuel b. Hosha‘na, who flourished about the end of the tenth century and rose to the rank of third in the academy.≤∂ Another area of activity, which overlaps to some extent with that of liturgical poetry, is the field of midrash. The poets appear to have adapted some of their commonest techniques from those prevalent in midrashic literature.≤∑ We have also seen that the liturgical poets used midrashic motifs extensively as raw materials; most of these are to be found in surviving midrashic collections, but some midrashic traditions are attested only through their reflection in poetic works. In exceptional cases, late midrashic collections even appear to have incorporated elements which originated in the poetic context.≤∏ The history of redaction for the extant midrashic compilations is quite obscure, but the scholarly consensus is that the classical collections were produced in Palestine during the Savoraic and Geonic periods. There is, however, no evidence that the academy of the Palestinian Gaon played any role in this undertaking.≤π Another field cultivated assiduously in Palestine was that of biblical studies, 23. See Fleischer, Shirat ha-Qodesh, pp. 26, 199. The classical liturgical poets drew specifically on Palestinian sources and traditions; see, for example, Z. M. Rabinowitz, Halakhah we-Aggadah be-Piyyutey Yannai [Halakhah and Aggadah in the liturgical poetry of Yannai] (Tel Aviv, 1965), esp. pp. 23–28. 24. See Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 1:545–546 (Broido, p. 670) and passim; Fleischer, Ha-Yofserot be-Hithawwutam we-Hitpathutam, f pp. 195–196 and passim. A 25. See A. Mirsky, Yesodey Surot ha-Piyyuft≤ [The origin of forms of early Hebrew poetry], Jerusalem 1985, and the author’s articles listed in the unpaginated introduction, ibid. 26. See S. Elizur, ‘‘Mi-Piyyu≠t le-Midrash’’ [From piyyu≠t to midrash], in Sefer ha-Yovel la-Rav Mordekhai Breuer [Rabbi Mordechai Breuer Festschrift], ed. M. Bar-Asher (Jerusalem, 1992) , pp. 383–397. 27. For a recent survey see Stemberger and Strack, Einleitung, pp. 257–296. Grossman includes this and other genres in his survey of the Palestinian academy on very tenuous grounds; see Grossman, ‘‘Yeshivat Ere≠s-Yisra’el,’’ esp. p. 180. Although a great deal of material of a midrashic nature is included in the Babylonian Talmud, the genre seems to have generated little interest in Geonic Babylonia. No midrash collections from this source have been preserved (outside the Talmud), although there is some evidence that such collections may have existed during the Geonic period. See p. 182.

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in which we may distinguish two main branches: Masorah and exegesis. The activity of Masoretic scholars, who flourished especially in Tiberias, was directed towards fixing the consonantal text, vocalization, and cantillation of Scripture down to their finest nuances; this activity, which must have been going on for generations, reached its culmination in the late ninth and early tenth centuries with the members of the Ben Asher family, who were ultimately recognized as the outstanding authorities in this discipline. Controversy has raged for more than a century around the question of whether these and other leading Masoretes were Rabbanites or Karaites, and no clear consensus has been reached.≤∫ A related genre is that of manuals intended to guide the reader of the biblical text in the nuances of pronunciation; these manuals constitute, in a sense, the earliest treatises on Hebrew linguistics.≤Ω When it comes to systematic biblical exegesis, which was a later arrival on the scene, the Karaites undoubtedly dominated the field. Biblical exegesis, for obvious reasons, played a central role in Karaite literary activity from the beginning; from the end of the ninth century onward, many of the most important Karaite exegetes and authors resided in Jerusalem. We know of no comparable exegetical works written by Rabbanite Palestinian Jews, although they evidence a profound familiarity with the text and language of the Bible inter alia in their liturgical poetry. Religious philosophy was beginning to be cultivated in Palestine and Egypt by the late ninth or early tenth century; once again, it is unclear whether the scholars active in the field were Karaites or Rabbanites.≥≠

Legal Tradition and Literature In the field of halakhah (religious law), which dominated Babylonian Geonic interests, the Palestinian literature at our disposal is quite sparse. The so-called minor tractates of the Talmud, like the classical midrashic collections, appear to have been redacted in Palestine during the second half of the first millennium, primarily on the basis of earlier Palestinian sources. The study of these collections has been relatively neglected, and many central questions have yet to be satisfactorily resolved; we have no good reason to suppose a priori that the several works generally gathered under this heading evolved in the same way or were produced by the same circles (or authors). Once again, there is no 28. For a recent discussion of this question, with a summary of the earlier literature, see Drory, Reshit ha-Maga‘im, pp. 150–152. 29. See, most recently, I. Eldar, Torat ha-Qeri’ah ba-Miqra [The Study of the Art of Correct Reading of the Bible] (Jerusalem, 1994). The author of this work was probably a Karaite; see ibid., pp. 32–40. 30. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 32–36, and chap. 18, n. 11.

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indication that the circles of the Palestinian Geonim were involved.≥∞ We know of a very small number of responsa written by Palestinian Geonim; a large proportion of the Palestinian decisions known to us (whether they were actually responsa or instead decisions on questions brought before the Gaon in person) were incorporated into collections of Geonic responsa under the heading ‘‘Palestinian Responsum’’ (Teshuvat Erefs Yisra’el ). These are distinguished from the responsa of the Babylonian Geonim by their invariable composition in Hebrew and by subtle stylistic features. In content, too, they represent a distinct legal tradition, which in many instances may be traced back to earlier sources, especially the Palestinian Talmud.≥≤ The remaining genre of Palestinian halakhic literature is codificatory. It is represented most prominently by what might be called the Ma‘aseh (‘‘Case’’ or ‘‘Decision’’) literature. The existence of this type of literature was known before 1930 only from a responsum of Hayya Gaon which states that a certain decision contained in the compendium Halakhot Gedolot was thought to have been taken from Ma‘asim li-Beney Erefs Yisra’el (Palestinian Ma‘asim). In the 1930s a number of scholars began publishing Genizah fragments which they identified as belonging to this literature. Their decision was based on such factors as linguistic and stylistic features, dependence on specifically Palestinian sources and traditions, the frequent occurrence of the heading ‘‘Ma‘aseh,’’ and the actual inclusion in one of these fragments of the decision referred to in Hayya’s responsum. It was further discovered that some of the fragments overlapped with material preserved in other sources, including passages transmitted as ‘‘Palestinian responsa’’ and other passages which were transmitted anonymously in European sources, especially in certain works attributed to the circle of R. Solomon b. Isaac (Rashi).≥≥ Some of the scholars involved were carried away by the excitement of discovering remnants of Palestinian posttalmudic halakhic literature and made sweeping claims assigning passages in later works to this source, on little evidence other than that they were written in Hebrew. A subsequent reaction attempted to deny the Palestinian origin of the Genizah fragments themselves; when the dust had settled, it was clear that this too was an overreaction but that a more cautious approach was in order

31. See, most recently, M. B. Lerner, ‘‘The External Tractates,’’ in Safrai, Literature of the Sages, 1:367–403. 32. See the literature cited in n. 34. Epstein (Mehqarim, f 2:360–367) undoubtedly went too far, however, in taking the use of Hebrew alone as sufficient evidence of Palestinian provenance; see Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 159–161. 33. See the articles first published in Tarbiz, h vols.1–2 (1929–1931), and later collected in Sefer ha-Ma‘asim li-Beney Erefs-Yisra’el.

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with regard to passages embedded in non-Palestinian contexts.≥∂ Furthermore, it transpires that not all the ‘‘Ma‘asim’’ fragments are cut from the same cloth; in particular, while some appear to reflect a pure Palestinian tradition, others show a greater or lesser admixture of Babylonian elements, including, for example, citations from the Babylonian Talmud. These elements appear to reflect the growing impact of the Babylonian tradition within Palestine and its environs, both on the decisors and on the redactors of the various collections of decisions.≥∑ Genizah fragments of the Ma‘asim type continue to be identified and published, although at a slower pace.≥∏ In general, the fragments show little or no attempt at thematic organization or sustained argument; each Ma‘aseh is a separate case, which is described briefly, along with its disposition. It is highly probable that the original sitz im leben of this type of literature was the archive of a central court, probably associated with the Palestinian Geonic academy; some of the cases considered may have been brought before the court in person, while others may have been submitted in writing.≥π Alongside the Ma‘asim type of literature, we find a few attempts at thematic codification, once again of unknown provenance. Perhaps the most important of these efforts concerns the Palestinian law of t≠erefah (diseases or injuries which render an animal unfit for consumption); this work is partly preserved in several sources, including (oddly enough) the major manuscript of the essentially ‘‘Babylonian’’ work Halakhot Pesuqot.≥∫ In addition to halakhic literature proper, sources of various types contribute to our knowledge of the Palestinian halakhic tradition. We have already mentioned the significance of liturgical poetry. Other sources include legal 34. The leading dissident against the emerging scholarly consensus was Aptowitzer, whose arguments were adumbrated in earlier publications and developed most elaborately in Mehqarim f be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 26–90. The most important refutation of Aptowitzer’s theories is S. Lieberman’s, in Lewin, Ginzey Qedem, 5:177–185; see also Margaliot, Hilkhot Erefs-Yisra’el min ha-Genizah, Introduction, pp. 1–16. 35. See Margaliot, ibid.. Margaliot’s reconstruction appears quite convincing, but remains conjectural to some extent, due to the fact that most of the relevant texts cannot be firmly dated. 36. For bibliography see Grossman, ‘‘Yeshivat Ere≠s-Yisra’el,’’ p. 184, n. 15; related studies are listed ibid., p. 179, n. 2. 37. See esp. Margaliot, Hilkhot Erefs-Yisra’el min ha-Genizah, pp. 2–4; Grossmann, ‘‘Yeshivat Ere≠s-Yisra’el,’’ p. 184. 38. See Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:336–346; Margaliot, Hilkhot Erefs-Yisra’el min haGenizah, pp. 95–117; Sasson, Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 193–198; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 85–86; and chap. 14, with n. 17. For additional examples of this genre see Margaliot, op. cit., pp. 1–38, 56–71.

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documents and prayer books preserved in the Genizah; these are almost all from the eleventh century or later and frequently originate outside Palestine, but they nevertheless preserve Palestinian traditions to a considerable extent.≥Ω Some of the minor tractates can also contribute to our reconstruction of Palestinian custom. In particular, the tractate Soferim (‘‘Scribes’’) contains important information concerning liturgical customs, although doubts have sometimes been cast on the reliability of its testimony about the historical situation in Palestine.∂≠ Further information may be obtained from Babylonian polemics against the Palestinian tradition (to be discussed below). A unique source is an anonymous list of approximately fifty differences between Babylonian and Palestinian custom (the exact number varies in different versions of the list).∂∞ As a rule, each point of disagreement is described in a few words, with no argumentation or indication of the author’s own preference. The background of this little work is almost entirely obscure. Practically all that can be said with confidence is that it postdates the Muslim conquest of Babylonia in the 650s and was composed early enough for Qirqisani to have made use of it (apparently in an Arabic version) in the tenth century as an important component of his argument against the integrity of rabbinic tradition.∂≤ It is not inconceivable that the list was compiled by a Karaite author with this purpose in mind, although Qirqisani claims that its author was ‘‘one of them.’’ Assuming the author was a Rabbanite Jew, his personal allegiance is unclear: to judge by the brief remarks appended to some of the differences, he 39. See Margaliot, Hilkhot Erefs-Yisra’el min ha-Genizah; Friedman, Jewish Marriage in Palestine; idem, ‘‘Hitnagdut’’; Fleischer, Tefillah u-Minhegey Tefillah. 40. See esp. Fleischer, ibid., pp. 199–202 and passim. Fleischer ignores the complex redactional history of the tractate, which has been discussed to a limited extent by earlier scholars (e.g., Higger, Massekhet Soferim, Introduction, esp. pp. 15–35, 78–81), and treats the extant text as a unitary work; in my opinion, this leads to quite problematic conclusions. A 41. There are two editions: Lewin, Ofsar Hilluf Minhagim (containing copious A comparative material), and Margaliot, Ha-Hilluqim (a critical edition, with extensive introduction and historical reconstructions). A 42. Compare Margaliot, Ha-Hilluqim, pp. 27–31, 44–46, 52–56; we cannot enter here into a detailed refutation of Margaliot’s arguments for a date before the middle of the eighth century. Qirqisani’s peculiar version of a difference concerning marriage cusA toms (discussed in ibid., p. 54, and cf. Lewin, Ofsar Hilluf Minhagim, p. 54) is easily explained as the result of confusion of two similar letters in a Judeo-Arabic Vorläge (reading sab‘a for tf ab‘a). For the text of Qirqisani’s remarks see Qirqisani, Kitab alAnwar, p. 51 (Nemoy, p. 381; Lockwood, p. 143; both translate the word incorrectly: ‘‘Jubilee’’).

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appears to adopt the Palestinian position in a larger number of cases but to prefer the Babylonian approach in other instances.∂≥ Many but not all of the differences listed are documented in other sources as well. Still, our list is clearly not exhaustive, as several points of difference known from other sources are not included; we can only guess at the reasons for this selectivity.∂∂

The Babylonian Offensive Our earliest direct evidence of conflict between the Palestinian and Babylonian centers in the post-talmudic period is provided by perhaps the most piquant literary work of the Geonic era: an open letter addressed by one Pirqoy b. Baboy to the Jewish communities of North Africa and Spain.∂∑ The author identifies himself as a disciple of a disciple of Yehudai Gaon, head of the Sura academy about 760, and on this basis is assumed to have written his pamphlet at about the turn of the ninth century. His avowed aim is to convince his readers, who have been exposed to Palestinian customs, of the supremacy—in fact, the exclusive legitimacy—of the Babylonian halakhic tradition. In the author’s view, the continuity of Palestinian tradition was fatally compromised as a result of Christian persecutions about 500 years before his time. By the time the situation of Palestinian Jewry improved, after the Muslim conquest in 634, the links of living tradition had been irreparably broken, and attempts to restore it on the basis of fragmentary written sources were doomed to failure. Palestinian practice in his time thus represented for Pirqoy an amalgamation of customs adopted as emergency measures during times of persecution with others resulting from ignorance and a break in tradition.∂∏ Only in Babylonia A 43. Compare Margaliot, Ha-Hilluqim, pp. 30–35. If the author was in fact a Rabbanite, it might provide the earliest evidence for a selective blending of the two traditions but the historical sitz im leben is unclear. 44. Compare Margaliot, op. cit., pp. 29, 36–37. It is possible that some earlier differences had disappeared, or were at least less clearly demarcated, by the author’s time; cf. ‘‘The Babylonian Offensive,’’ with notes 59–61. 45. The most important publications to date are Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, 2:139– 147, 504–573; Lewin, ‘‘Mi-Seridey ha-Genizah’’; Spiegel, ‘‘Le-Parashat ha-Polemos shel Pirqoy’’; additional fragments of the text have been identified in the Genizah and await publication. For the identity of the addressees see Lewin, op. cit., pp. 384–385, 396–397 (correcting Ginzberg on the basis of new manuscript discoveries); Spiegel, op. cit., pp. 272–273. 46. See esp. Lewin, ‘‘Mi-Seridey ha-Genizah,’’ p. 397; Spiegel, ‘‘Le-Parashat ha-Polemos shel Pirqoy,’’ pp. 250–251, 253–258, 273.

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had the living tradition been preserved without interruption.∂π In fact, Babylonia had, according to Pirqoy, supplanted Palestine as the true Zion:∂∫ Even in the days of the Messiah, they (the Babylonian academies) will not experience the travail of the Messiah, for it is written (Zechariah 2:11) ‘‘O Zion, escape, you who dwell in Babylonia,’’ . . . and Zion is nothing but the academy, which is distinguished in Torah and precepts,∂Ω as it is written (Micah 4:10), ‘‘Writhe and cry out, daughter of Zion, like a woman in childbirth, for now you shall depart the city and dwell in the field and go to Babylonia; there you will be saved, and thence will God redeem you from the hand of your enemies.’’ And redemption will come first to the academy of Babylonia; for, as Israel is redeemed by their (the academies’) virtue, redemption comes first to them.

It goes almost without saying that both aspects of this presentation have been distorted for polemical purposes. On the one hand, we know of the trials and tribulations of Babylonian Jewry, including the temporary closure of their academies, from Sherira Gaon, who can hardly be suspected of purveying anti-Babylonian propaganda. On the other hand, there is clear evidence of the continuity of Palestinian tradition—at least in many of its aspects—despite the repeated and sometimes severe persecutions which the Palestinian Jewish community had endured.∑≠ Pirqoy places considerable rhetorical talents at the service of his ideology. The body of his work, after an introduction devoted to praise of the Oral Law and the ‘‘historical’’ introduction just summarized, consists of a series of scathing attacks on several Palestinian customs, ranging from such a central item of Palestinian culture as the use of liturgical poetry to such seemingly trivial matters as the custom of circumcising babies over sand rather than over a basin of water as was customary in Babylonia. Whatever the issue at hand, Pirqoy’s approach is unvarying: the only legitimate custom is the Babylonian one; Palestinian practice (which hardly deserves to be dignified with the name of custom) is in error, and whoever follows it is enmeshed nolens volens in a series of transgressions. In addition, Pirqoy relies on the precedent of other 47. The passage in which Pirqoy stated most explicitly the claim that Babylonian Jewry and its academies had enjoyed uninterrupted tranquility has not yet been recovered in the Genizah but may be restored on the basis of parallel sources which overlap with the surviving fragments; see Lewin, ‘‘Mi-Seridey ha-Genizah,’’ pp. 395–396. 48. For the text see Lewin, ibid., p. 396; Spiegel, ‘‘Le-Parashat ha-Polemos shel Pirqoy,’’ p. 272; and cf. Spiegel’s discussion, ibid., pp. 266–272. 49. This is a play on the etymology of the name Zion; cf. BT Berakhot 8a. 50. See in particular Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, 2:508–544, and, in general, the literature discussed in the two previous sections.

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Babylonian Jews, especially his idol Yehudai Gaon, who had attacked Palestinian tradition even on its home ground by attempting to persuade the Jews of Palestine to abandon their time-honored practices in favor of those dictated by Babylonian tradition. Pirqoy’s methods can be illustrated with selections from the longest surviving section of his work, an attack on piyyu≠t and related liturgical customs:∑∞ From this you learn that it is forbidden to add even one letter to the praise of the Holy One, Blessed be He, which the Sages of blessed memory did not institute. How much more so is it forbidden to pray for one’s needs in the first three and last three (benedictions of the ‘Amidah)! Even more so is it forbidden to discuss permitted and forbidden (that is, matters of religious law) or haggadah . . . And thus said R. Yehudai of blessed memory: it is forbidden to recite any benediction which is not found in the Talmud, and it is forbidden to add even one letter. . . . A decree was enacted against (the Jews) of Palestine, that they should not recite the Shema‘ or pray. They used to allow them to congregate on Sabbath mornings . . . and they would say . . . ‘‘Holy’’ and Shema‘ surreptitiously, and they did these things under compulsion. Now that the Holy One, Blessed be He, has ended the Kingdom of Edom (that is, Byzantine domination) and revoked its decrees and the Ishmaelites have come and permitted them to engage in (the study of) Torah and recite the Shema‘ and pray, it is forbidden to say anything other than in its proper place . . .∑≤ Know that it is thus, and it is an institution of persecution, because they do not say Shema‘ between ‘‘Holy’’ and ‘‘He will reign’’ except in the morning service on the Sabbath . . . Even now they do not say ‘‘Holy’’ and the Shema‘ in Palestine except on the Sabbath and on festival days, in the morning service only—except for Jerusalem and every other city where there are Babylonians, who quarreled and caused dissension until they (the native Palestinians) took it upon themselves to say Qedushah every day.

The superior attitude of Babylonian Jews—whether they remained in Babylonia or migrated to Palestine—and their aggressive attempts to impose their 51. Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, 2:546, 550–552, 555–556; Lewin, ‘‘Mi-Seridey haGenizah,’’ pp. 398–400 (with improved readings). Probably only the second paragraph represents quotations from Yehudai Gaon. 52. Shema‘, the first word of Deuteronomy 6:4, gives its name to one of the essential components of the Jewish liturgy, consisting of a group of biblical passages. The question being debated is whether it is appropriate to add this verse to the congregational refrains included in the Qedushah, recited during the precentor’s repetition of the ‘Amidah prayer, alongside the standard verses (Isaiah 6:3, Jeremiah 3:12, Psalms 146:10). See Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, 2:523–526; Hoffman, Canonization of the Synagogue Service, pp. 81–84.

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customs on the native Jewish community of Palestine are thus alleged to have begun no later than the middle of the eighth century; and although Pirqoy’s version of earlier history is highly suspect, these aspects of his account are probably accurate, at least in their essentials.∑≥ Pirqoy thus continued a preexisting movement and gave it a new twist: rather than attempt to convince the Jews of Palestine itself, he turned to other communities which had been exposed to Palestinian influence. Perhaps he felt that he had little chance of succeeding in Palestine itself, where Yehudai Gaon had failed; he may also have thought that the struggle could be carried on more effectively by the groups of Babylonian immigrants, who had already achieved success in one area at least. Our sources shed very little light on the arguments raised by the indigenous Palestinian community in its attempts to defend itself against the incursions of Babylonian tradition. Our only information bearing directly on the early period is provided by a further passage from Pirqoy’s tract:∑∂ ‘‘Furthermore, he (Yehudai Gaon) wrote to Palestine concerning . . . all the precepts in which they act not according to the halakhah but according to the customs of persecution (minhag shemad), but they did not accept (this) from him, and they sent to him: ‘Custom overrules halakhah.’ ’’ At least according to Pirqoy, the Palestinians did not attempt to argue against Yehudai’s strictures on academic grounds—for him it is a foregone conclusion that any such attempt on their part would have been hopeless∑∑ — but only on the strength of custom. Several scholars have recently argued that the tendency to rely primarily on custom represents a continuation of the ancient Palestinian approach, which placed a greater emphasis on the living, day-to-day tradition and a lesser emphasis on learned argumentation than did the Babylonian.∑∏ Pirqoy’s insistence on the discontinuity of Palestinian tradition and his corresponding emphasis on the crucial importance of personal transmission—in addition to canonical literature—in the Babylonian tradi53. Cf. Spiegel, ‘‘Le-Parashat ha-Polemos shel Pirqoy,’’ pp. 262–264; Margaliot, Hilkhot Erefs-Yisra’el min ha-Genizah, Introduction, pp. 8–9. Nothing is otherwise known about Yehudai’s activities in this respect, but if we accept Pirqoy’s testimony on this point, it could provide a partial explanation for the extraordinary image enjoyed by Yehudai; cf. chap. 14, n. 10. 54. Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, 2:559–560. 55. In the continuation of the passage quoted above, Pirqoy attributes the Palestinian position on a certain question of kashrut to their abysmal ignorance in such matters. 56. See esp. Y. M. Ta-Shema, Minhag Ashkenaz ha-Qadmon [Early Franco-German ritual and custom] (Jerusalem, 1992), pp. 61–85 and passim.

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tion give the appearance of having been tailored to refute this sort of Palestinian defense.∑π Nonetheless, it would seem to be true that Palestinian rabbinic scholars were unable to contend as equals with their Babylonian counterparts, in those fields in which the Babylonians specialized during this period, namely Talmud and halakhah. In addition to the argument from silence (both in regard to direct challenges from Babylonia and to the dearth of halakhic literature generally, including responsa), there seem to be some indications, albeit indirect and undated, that the Palestinians themselves suffered from a sense of inferiority in these areas. One likely indication of this is the translation of works of Babylonian Geonic literature into Hebrew, the language of halakhic writing in post-talmudic Palestine. In the first of two major examples of this phenomenon, the Hebrew adaptation of Halakhot Pesuqot known as Hilkhot Re’u, certain signs point specifically to Palestine as the translator’s venue. The other case, that of Sefer we-Hizhir, is less clear-cut, but we can at least say that it was produced in a milieu which was exposed to very substantial Palestinian influence.∑∫ That the interest taken by Palestinian scholars in Babylonian writings was not purely academic is proven by the (presumably increasing) infiltration of a Babylonian component into Palestinian halakhic literature, where to some extent it supplanted native Palestinian elements. Babylonian influence also made itself felt in daily life, especially in liturgical and related matters. We have already seen one instance of this influence, affecting the daily recitation of the Qedushah. A very striking development, amply documented in the field of liturgical poetry, is the shift from a triennial cycle of Torah reading (which is recorded as characteristically Palestinian already in the Babylonian Talmud) to the annual cycle customary in Babylonia. This shift, apparently complete by the end of the eighth century, was accompanied by somewhat bizarre compromises, by means of which the ancient Palestinian division of the Torah into sedarim could be retained alongside the Babylonian division into parashot.∑Ω Another likely example of Babylonian influence is the 57. For Yehudai’s insistence that canonical sources be supported by oral tradition, see Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, pp. 556–560. Of course, similar statements can be found within the Babylonian tradition as well, both before and after Pirqoy, and his account might to some extent reflect Yehudai’s particular personality and approach. 58. See chap. 13, with n. 53, and chap. 14, with n. 23; cf. Grossman, ‘‘Yeshivat Ere≠sYisra’el,’’ p. 193 and n. 49. 59. The most explicit evidence for these developments is provided by the covenant signed by the leaders of the Palestinian synagogue in Fustat in the early thirteenth century, but there is a good deal of supporting evidence. See Fleischer, Tefillah u-Minhegey Tefillah,

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celebration of a second day of New Year.∏≠ Babylonian influences of a less dramatic nature are difficult to document unequivocally for the Geonic period.∏∞ We should also bear in mind that the degree of Babylonian influence is likely to have varied significantly from one community to another—as indicated already by Pirqoy∏≤ —and perhaps from one synagogue to another within a single community. Nor did this influence necessarily develop monotonically; at times attempts may have been made to reinstate pristine Palestinian praxis. Nevertheless, the overall trend undoubtedly favored the adoption of Babylonian customs and practices. A crucial watershed in the protracted struggle between Babylonian and Palestinian traditions was the dispute over the calendar in the early 920s. We need not concern ourselves with the technical details underlying the dispute, which are complex and, despite the efforts of a series of scholars, remain somewhat obscure.∏≥ The course of events, in its essentials, is clear. By the summer of 921 the Palestinian Gaon, either Aaron b. Me’ir or his father Me’ir, had announced his intention to make an official proclamation about the calendar of the next three years (beginning with the New Year in the fall of 921), which differed from the calendar anticipated according to the calculation of the Babylonian authorities. The implications of such a disagreement for the unity of the Jewish people were, needless to say, quite grave. The Babylonian authorities repp. 293–320 (esp. 293–302); Friedman, ‘‘Hitnagdut,’’ pp. 77–82. Even if Fleischer is A right in asserting (pp. 316–317, and in greater detail idem, ‘‘Qeri’ah Had-Shenatit u-Telat-Shenatit’’) that the ‘‘Babylonian’’ custom had coexisted all along with the triennial cycle in Palestine, it seems to me that Babylonian influence cannot be ignored as a major factor in its move from marginal to predominant status in Palestine. 60. Once again Fleischer, who first discovered and interpreted the relevant data, is now inclined to downplay the possibility of Babylonian influence. See Fleischer, Tefillah u-Minhegey Tefillah, pp. 123–124, n. 117, where Fleischer’s original publication and A some of the ensuing discussions are listed. Cf. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Yom Tov, no. 5, pp. 4, 9. 61. For evidence from a slightly later period see Fleischer, op. cit., passim and cf. ibid., pp. 215–222 (and cf. Friedman, ‘‘Hitnagdut’’). I am inclined to think, contra Fleischer, that some passages in tractate Soferim reflect actual influence of this sort, but their dating is highly problematic. 62. Quoted on p. 115. 63. The basic treatment is Bornstein, Mahloqet; f a survey of the attempts to explain the issues dividing the Palestinian and Babylonian camps is to appear in D. Lasker’s essay in Ben-Sasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Ga’on. Note that Palestinian figures had, before this time, been eagerly sought after as allies in intra-Babylonian disputes. For events shortly preceding the outbreak of the calendar dispute and involving many of the same personalities, see Mann, ‘‘ ‘Inyanim Shonim,’’ 5:148–154.

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sponded with a series of letters addressed to the Palestinian Gaon in an effort to convince him of the error of his ways, and with broadsides addressed to communities throughout the Jewish world, demanding that they follow the Babylonian computation. A leading role in the composition of these missives was played by the newly arrived Se‘adyah b. Joseph, whose international connections and outstanding abilities (inter alia as a polemicist) brought him to the forefront of the struggle, despite his lack of official standing in the Babylonian academies. The Palestinian leadership responded with letters and broadsides of its own. At first the issue was in doubt; numerous communities, apparently even including some in Babylonia,∏∂ followed the Palestinian computation and celebrated the first day of Passover in the spring of 922 on Sunday (rather than the following Tuesday as prescribed by the Babylonians). Some communities persisted in following the Palestinian system as late as the New Year celebrated in the fall of 922; but after this no more is heard of the Palestinian side in the dispute. The Babylonian triumph was apparently complete.∏∑ To appreciate the unique importance of these events, we must bear in mind that the right to issue proclamations about the calendar had been established, hundreds of years earlier, as a jealously guarded Palestinian prerogative.∏∏ Although actual observation of the moon had been replaced by astronomical calculations, the Palestinian leaders of the Geonic period continued (and perhaps elaborated) ancient practices connected with the proclamation of the new moon.∏π Furthermore, as late as 835/6, the Babylonians acknowledged the Palestinians’ greater authority in calendrical matters and declared themselves dependent on their proclamations.∏∫ A further indication of Palestinian superiority in this domain is the fact that a delegation of Babylonian scholars was sent to Palestine to study calendrical matters, apparently shortly after 64. If it is true that some Babylonian communities followed the calendar proclaimed in Palestine, this would on the surface weaken the general impression of the hegemony exercised by the Babylonian Geonic academies; but in view of the traditional monopoly enjoyed by the Palestinian authorities in this area, not too much should be made of it. 65. In addition to the detailed analysis of Bornstein, Mahloqet, f several briefer surveys of the course of events are available. See in particular Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 69–88; Baron, ‘‘Saadia’s Communal Activities,’’ pp. 36–47. 66. See, for example, Bornstein, Mahloqet, f pp. 8–9. 67. See Higger, Masseket Soferim, pp. 329–333, and the literature listed on p. 30; Fleischer, ‘‘Berurim.’’ 68. The crucial piece of evidence is the letter of an Exilarch, whose name is missing, first published by Mann, Jews in Egypt and Palestine, 2:41–42, and reprinted inter alia in Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 5, Rosh ha-Shanah, no. 42. For further literature see Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 1:465, n. 788 (Broido, pp. 567–568, n. 61).

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835, for the Babylonians were able to claim at the time of the Ben Me’ir controversy that even eighty-year-olds could not remember a time when the Babylonians had been dependent on Palestine for calendrical decisions.∏Ω In other words, the Babylonian center achieved independence in calendrical matters in the course of the ninth century, and by the 920s considered itself competent to overrule its erstwhile mentors. Moreover, the Jewish world of the time accepted the Babylonian claim, although not without a struggle. The last bastion of Palestinian halakhic authority had been successfully breached. As a final instance of Palestinian submission, we may mention a letter of the Palestinian Gaon Solomon b. Judah, written approximately a century after the Ben Me’ir affair, in which he mentions that his son is studying in Babylonia with Hayya Gaon. In all probability this is to be explained as an acknowledgment of the superior education to be obtained in the academy of the Babylonian Gaon, at least in those areas in which the Babylonians had traditionally specialized.π≠ By this time, at the end of the Geonic period, the Palestinian halakhic tradition was clearly in retreat, although its influence continued to be felt in certain respects into the Middle Ages and even beyond. In the lands bordering Palestine, this influence was particularly noticeable in the liturgical sphere.π∞ At a greater distance Palestinian influence may be discerned in the development of the medieval Jewish communities of Italy and Franco-Germany, but its precise extent is debatable. In addition, it appears that these communities were no longer aware, by the eleventh century (the time when substantial documentation becomes available), of the source of this influence. Their conscious allegiance, with regard to a literary canon, was to the Babylonian Talmud and Geonic tradition, while practices shaped under Palestinian influence derived their authority from ancestral custom. The struggle between Palestinian and Babylonian elements was perceived by the protagonists as one between literary and traditional sources of authority, which they felt obligated to harmonize, generally in favor of traditional praxis. This tendency in itself 69. See Bornstein, Mahloqet, f pp. 74–75. 70. See Mann, Jews in Egypt and Palestine, 2:133–134; Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 2:93. Palestinians also came to Qayrawan to study; see Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 235, 409. An alternative but seemingly less plausible explanation would be that the Palestinian Jews of this period (like their Muslim contemporaries) considered it desirable for developing scholars to travel widely to amass a wide range of ‘‘traditions.’’ See also Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, p. 29, no. 64, but the scholars mentioned there may have belonged to the Babylonian community of Jerusalem. 71. See esp. Fleischer, Tefillah u-Minhegey Tefillah, with regard to Egypt and Syria (see A the index, s.v. Aram Sova), and Friedman, ‘‘Hitnagdut,’’ with regard to Egypt.

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may represent the most profound and lasting impact of the Palestinian halakhic tradition.π≤

The Palestinian Riposte It would appear, then, that the triumph of Babylonian tradition was virtually complete by the end of the Geonic period and that whatever survived of the Palestinian tradition was relegated either to isolated backwaters or to an underground existence. The broader picture, however, is considerably more nuanced. This is because the Babylonians themselves had absorbed important components of Palestinian culture over the years. True, before the advent of Se‘adyah, Palestinian halakhic and midrashic literature (except for that of the Tannaitic period) had made practically no inroads in Babylonia.π≥ There were, however, influences at a more popular level. The most striking instance is the spread of piyyu≠t from its Palestinian homeland to Babylonia and other communities which honored Babylonian tradition.π∂ Although, as we have seen, Pirqoy b. Baboy fiercely attacked this Palestinian institution, his may have been an isolated position. At any rate, fairly soon after Pirqoy wrote, Babylonian Geonim generally accepted the legitimacy of liturgical poetry in principle and restricted themselves to criticizing or rejecting certain specific poems on halakhic grounds, primarily those of excessive deviation from the structure and themes of the standard prayers.π∑ By the early tenth century, and very likely before Se‘adyah’s arrival, piyyu≠tim were not only being recited in important Babylonian congregations but were also being composed by native A 72. See esp. A. Grossman, Hakhmey Ashkenaz ha-Rishonim [The early sages of Ashkenaz], Jerusalem 1981, pp. 424–435 (and the article mentioned ibid., p. 424, n. 59), and the debate which followed publication of this book: I. M. Ta-Shma’s review in Kiryat Sefer 56 (1981), pp. 344–352; Grossman’s rebuttal in Zion 47 (1982), pp. 192–197; and D. Berger’s summation in Tarbizh 53 (1984), pp. 479–487. Cf. above, in this section, with n. 59; H. Soloveitchik, ‘‘Religious Law and Change: The Medieval Ashkenazic Example,’’ AJS Review 12 (1987), pp. 205–221. 73. See chap. 10, ‘‘Other Sources.’’ 74. Other possible examples of Palestinian influence have been discussed mostly in the context of problematic attempts to delineate and explain differences between the academies of Sura and Pumbedita; cf. chap. 9, with n. 40. 75. The most detailed treatment to date is by Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, 2:508–527, but a thorough review of this question is overdue. See, meanwhile, Hoffman, Canonization of the Synagogue Service, pp. 66–71; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 136–137. (Whether the Geonim envisaged the recitation of piyyuftim in place of, or in addition to, the standard prayers requires further investigation.)

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Babylonians who served these congregations as cantors.π∏ In the field of Masorah, as well, the Palestinian tradition came to predominate even in the Babylonian sphere, a development which gave rise to mixed traditions.ππ The revolution created by Se‘adyah Gaon in the agenda of the intellectual and cultural elite of Babylonian Jewry owed a great deal to Palestinian precedents, with which he had had ample opportunity to acquaint himself at first hand. In the field of talmudic literature, he brought post-Tannaitic Palestinian rabbinic literature within the purview of Babylonian scholars, albeit in a role subordinate to that of the Babylonian Talmud.π∫ Outside this area, in which the Geonic academies had always specialized, Se‘adyah greatly expanded the intellectual and literary horizons of his predecessors, branching out not only into liturgical poetry, but also into fields such as philosophy, linguistics, and biblical exegesis. Furthermore, Se‘adyah’s lead was followed, in varying degrees, by quite a number of his contemporaries and successors.πΩ The tradition which came to dominate medieval Judaism, then, was actually an amalgam of two strands of tradition, the Palestinian and the Babylonian, which had achieved a sort of synthesis after several centuries of parallel development. Babylonia achieved supremacy in the areas where its intellectual energies had been concentrated, but it expanded its horizons to include those fields which had first been cultivated in the Palestinian sphere. 76. In fact, this date can probably be pushed back somewhat. See Beeri, ‘‘Le-Toledot A Mishpahat ≠ Hazanim be-Bavel,’’ esp. p. 265. 77. See Yeivin, Mesoret ha-Lashon ha-‘Ivrit, pp. 21–24. 78. See chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah as Revolutionary.’’ 79. See chaps. 18–20.

8

Ties with the Diaspora

We conclude our survey of the historical framework within which the Geonim operated with an overview of the ties which bound the Babylonian center to the far-flung Jewish diaspora of the time. We have already had occasion to discuss several aspects of this network of relationships but will now consider the topic from the perspective of the various Jewish communities and the particular types of relationship which prevailed in different areas. The Jewish world of the Geonic period may be viewed as a series of expanding concentric circles, with the radius of each defined culturally and politically rather than purely geographically. (See Map 2.)

The Sphere of Babylonian Hegemony The Babylonian Jewish center enjoyed a privileged position, recognized by the government, within the framework of limited autonomy for religious minorities which characterized the caliphate. Its leading institutions, the Exilarchate and the Geonic academies, exercised a far-reaching hegemony— subject, of course, to the overriding claims of the Muslim authorities—over the Jewish populace of vast territories. These were divided into three domains known as reshuyot, of which one was subject to the Exilarch and one each to the central academies of Sura and Pumbedita. Each of these institutions

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Map 2: The World of the Geonim (around 800 c.e.)

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‘‘governed’’ its domain according to a similar pattern comprising two principal elements: a system of taxation, which provided much of the budget of the parent institution, and the dispatch of officials who were to serve as judges and supervisory authorities in the local communities.∞ Our information concerning the precise extent of the reshuyot is far from complete, and the situation may not have remained static throughout the Geonic period. The most detailed description of the workings of this system is contained in the account of Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian, who provides partial details of the extent of the reshuyot: the sphere of Pumbeditan hegemony traditionally included the eastern Iranian province of Khurasan; Suran territories included the areas of Wasit and Basra, in southern Iraq, as well as ‘‘Babylonian reshuyot (extending) north, south, east and west’’; and the Exilarch controlled territories extending eastward from Baghdad, and including the Iranian province of Fars.≤ We may safely conclude that all the Jewish communities located in present-day Iraq and Iran were subject to the authority of the Babylonian center, even though we cannot draw a precise map indicating the boundaries of each reshut. Towards the southeast, Babylonian hegemony apparently extended to the Jewish communities of Arabia and Yemen, although these are not included in Nathan’s (avowedly incomplete) survey. These ancient communities had been profoundly influenced, in earlier times, by the Palestinian center, to which their allegiance reverted after the decline of the Babylonian center in the mideleventh century; but during the Geonic period, the predominant cultural influence was Babylonian.≥ Our evidence with regard to Babylonian administrative hegemony in these communities derives from a series of letters, partly preserved in the Genizah, addressed by a Babylonian Gaon—possibly Hayya —to communal leaders in ‘‘Yamen and Yamamah.’’∂ The recurring theme of 1. See chap. 4, ‘‘Administrator,’’ and chap. 5, ‘‘Rights and Responsibilities.’’ 2. See Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:78, 85–87 (and cf. above, pp. 27). 3. See Goitein, Ha-Temanim, pp. 54–57; Sh. Morag, Aramit bi-Mesoret Teman: Leshon ha-Talmud ha-Bavli [Babylonian Aramaic: The Yemenite Tradition], Jerusalem, 1988, pp. 35–37. 4. See Lewin, Ginzey Qedem, 3:14–23; Goitein, Ha-Temanim, pp. 19–32. If we accept Goitein’s plausible restoration of the damaged text of Letter 6 (ibid., p. 24), the impression conveyed is that the author was his father’s immediate successor in the Geonate, which would point to Hayya b. Sherira. On the other hand, it is difficult to imagine that Hayya would have referred in quite such acrimonious fashion to his only known A rival, his father-in-law, Samuel b. Hofni. For ties with the Arabian peninsula at this time, see Goitein, Ha-Temanim, p. 23, and the responsa mentioned ibid., p. 20, n. 3.

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these letters is a plea (demand might be more accurate) for financial support, to be channeled through an official representative of the academy residing in the capital city of San‘a. The Gaon claims that the communities whom he addresses have traditionally supported his academy with very substantial sums, but these have declined drastically in recent years, at least partly as the result of funds being diverted to ‘‘the accursed and excommunicated’’ rather than ‘‘the academy of truth.’’ Although we have encountered similar appeals to communities which were not subject to Geonic authority, the tone of these letters seems to indicate that the author is claiming the academy’s legal dues, and not merely customary contributions; he also refers repeatedly to ‘‘our judges and emissaries’’ in the territories in question.∑

Palestine and Egypt The territories under Babylonian hegemony represented, for all practical purposes, the eastern limits of Jewish settlement in the Geonic era. Moving westward from the Babylonian center, we come next to its rival center in Palestine, and to those lands whose Jewish communities were in theory subject to Palestinian authority: Egypt to the southwest and Lebanon and Syria in the north. We have virtually no direct evidence of contact between the Babylonian academies and Syria-Lebanon, despite the existence of important Jewish communities in this area during the period in question and the ancient routes connecting Syria with northern Mesopotamia.∏ However, in view of the fact that a Babylonian Jewish community flourished in Damascus by the year 933 at the latest, it is likely that there were contacts of this sort.π In all probability, the lack of information concerning such contacts may be attributed to the fact that almost all the sources containing information about the Jews of Syria in 5. These letters, in addition to speaking of ‘‘judges and emissaries,’’ refer to the academy’s dues (hoq f ha-yeshivah) as well as income derived from use of the ban (as part of the punishment for certain transgressions?) and specify a yearly sum; see esp. Goitein, Ha-Temanim, pp. 22–23. 6. For a possible exception see Aescoly, Ha-Tenu‘ot ha-Meshihiyyot f be-Yisra’el, pp. 124, 152–155 (and Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 31, n. 18; cf. above, chap. 6, n. 5). On the Jewish communities see esp. Friedman, Jewish Marriage in Palestine, and Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, according to the listings for Syria and for individual cities in the indexes; for Aleppo see also below, p. 237; for Tyre see above, p. 104. Cf. also: Gil, op. cit., 1:436. 7. See Friedman, Jewish Marriage in Palestine, 2:396–439 (esp. 396–399), with references to earlier literature.

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this period derive from the Genizah of Cairo, and correspondence between Babylonia and Syria would have been unlikely to find its way to Egypt. When we turn further south, to Palestine itself and to Egypt, the available sources are comparatively abundant. Our earliest evidence comes from the epistle of Pirqoy b. Baboy, written at about the turn of the ninth century. According to Pirqoy’s testimony, Yehudai b. Nahman ≠ Gaon (fl. ca. 760) had already attempted—albeit unsuccessfully—to persuade the Jews of Palestine to renounce their ancestral customs in favor of those current in Babylonia. By Pirqoy’s time, Babylonian Jews had settled in some Palestinian cities in sufficient numbers, and argued their case with sufficient success, to effect changes in the native Palestinian custom.∫ In the first half of the ninth century, the Babylonian Jewish leadership still acknowledged its dependence on the Palestinian center in matters concerning the calendar and sent emissaries to Palestine to study these subjects. The Palestinian community may also have been involved in the dispute concerning the selection of an Exilarch in the second or third decade of the century.Ω In the early tenth century, too, Palestinian leaders played a part in conflicts within the Jewish community of Babylonia, but their erstwhile allies turned against them and asserted their independence from Palestine and superior authority, even in calendrical matters. After a bitter struggle, this claim was accepted by the Jewish world at large. This may be seen as the last decisive battle between Babylonian and Palestinian tradition in matters of religious law. Concurrently, although it is impossible to provide precise dates, Babylonian influence had been growing within the Palestinian leadership itself; by the end of the Geonic period, the issue had been decided in favor of Babylonia. On the other hand, Palestinian culture had made considerable inroads in Babylonia, in other than purely legal matters, largely as a result of the extraordinary career of Se‘adyah Gaon.∞≠ In Egypt, too, communities of Babylonian Jews had established themselves by the end of the ninth century, if not earlier. In the capital city of Fustat (Old Cairo), which was also the most important center of Jewish Egypt, the Babylonian Jews purchased a Coptic church in 882 to serve as their synagogue.∞∞ Although the so-called Babylonian and Palestinian communities of Egyptian Jews were doubtless composed mostly of members born in Egypt (or North

8. See chap. 7, ‘‘The Babylonian Offensive.’’ It is unclear how numerous the Babylonian Jews were and whether they were organized in separate communities; see Friedman, Jewish Marriage in Palestine, 2:397 and n. 3. 9. See above, chap. 5, n. 50, and pp. 119–120. 10. See above, chap. 7, ‘‘The Babylonian Offensive’’ and ‘‘The Palestinian Riposte.’’ 11. See Friedman, Jewish Marriage in Palestine, 2:397 and n. 4.

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Africa), each remained loyal to its ancestral tradition and maintained a separate identity. The rivalry between these two communities in Fustat lasted into the thirteenth century, with the Babylonians steadily gaining ground at the expense of the Palestinians. We know that Se‘adyah, a native of upper Egypt, wrote to the Jews of Egypt immediately after his appointment to the Geonate of Sura in 928, but most of our source material comes from the late tenth century and afterward.∞≤ In this period the leading rabbinical figures of Fustat, who also served as heads of an important local academy, were R. Shemaryah b. Elhanan ≠ and his son R. Elhanan, ≠ both of whom had studied in the academy of Pumbedita and maintained close contacts with its Geonim, Sherira and his son Hayya.∞≥ Among the most important lay figures in the Fustat community were members of the Ibn ‘Awkal family of international traders; particularly prominent was Joseph b. Jacob, who acted as local agent for the Babylonian academies.∞∂ Many of our sources describe the competition and tension which existed between the Palestinian community of Fustat, headed by Ephraim b. Shemaryah, and the Babylonian community, whose leaders included Abraham b. Sahlan and his son Sahlan, in the first half of the eleventh century. This competition extended even to areas such as synagogue attendance, with the parties keeping careful track of worshippers who left one community’s synagogue to join the other’s. Perhaps most tellingly, the Babylonians attempted to have one of their number appointed as communal judge, despite the Palestinian hegemony recognized by the Fatimid authorities. The Palestinian Gaon Solomon b. Judah and the Babylonian Gaon Hayya b. Sherira played prominent roles in this conflict, each supporting ‘‘his’’ communal leaders and, at the same time, attempting to establish cordial relations with the leaders of the competing community, and perhaps to sway their allegiance. In fact, there were a number of cases in which both Palestinian and Babylonian academies courted the same local leaders; this competition often found expression in the granting of honorary titles (the Babylonian alluf or resh kallah and the Palestinian haver) f and 12. For Se‘adyah’s letter see above, pp. 65–66. For a brief survey of ties between Egypt and Babylonia as reflected in Geonic responsa, see Mann, ‘‘Responsa of the Babylonian Geonim,’’ 7:477–481. The bulk of the documentary source material is now collected in Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit; a summary of relations between the Babylonian and Palestinian communities is in ibid., 1:434–441 (Broido, pp. 527–537). 13. See esp. Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, pp. 105–179; Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el baTequfah ha-Muslamit, pp. 472–477 (Broido, pp. 576–582); Bareket, Shafrir Mifsrayyim, pp. 144–164. 14. See Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, pp. 91–101; Gil, ‘‘Babylonian Yeshivot and the Maghrib,’’ pp. 101–104.

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frequently led to injured feelings on the part of one Gaon or the other, when the leader in question appeared to lean in the direction of the competing center or to place greater value on the title which it had conferred on him.∞∑

The Maghreb As we continue to move westward in our survey, we come next to the coastal strip of northern and northwestern Africa known in Arabic as the Maghreb (‘‘West’’), of which the eastern portion (corresponding approximately to modern Tunisia) was also known as Ifriqiya. These territories contained a large, and increasingly important, part of the world Jewish population in the Geonic period, and we know of a considerable number of communities which maintained contacts with the Babylonian academies; these include Qayrawan, Qabes, and Nafusa in the east, and Tilimsan, Tahert, Fas, and Sijilmassa in the further Maghreb.∞∏ Ties to Babylonia were strengthened by large-scale migrations to the Maghreb in the course of the ninth and tenth centuries, in which Iraqi Jews played a leading role. This was part of a vast migratory movement which included Muslims as well as Jews, who presumably were drawn, for the most part, by the rapidly expanding economy of the region, at a time when the older Islamic heartland was beset by political instability and economic stagnation.∞π From the point of view of the Geonim, the crucial point was that these territories belonged to neither Babylonian nor Palestinian reshuyot; that is to say, their Jewish inhabitants were not officially subject to either of the great centers and were free to chart their own course in religious matters. The competition between the two centers for influence over the Jewish diaspora could, therefore, be carried on without constraints, as witnessed already by the epistle of Pirqoy b. Baboy, which was addressed to the Jewish communities of Ifriqiya and Spain. Our documentation concerning most of these communities is rather sparse, consisting primarily of modest numbers of Geonic responsa addressed to them, mostly in the late tenth and early eleventh centuries. The situation is 15. See esp. Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 1:434–443 (Broido, pp. 527– 539); Bareket, Shafrir Mifsrayyim, p. 178. For Solomon b. Judah as the injured party, see Gil, op. cit., 1:442, 2:149–150; for Hayya in this role, see the text discussed most recently in Gil, ‘‘Babylonian Yeshivot and the Maghrib,’’ p. 88 and n. 7. 16. See Mann, ‘‘Responsa of the Babylonian Geonim,’’ 7:481–485; Mann, ‘‘Addenda,’’ pp. 438–443; Gil, ‘‘Babylonian Yeshivot and the Maghrib,’’ pp. 72–79. 17. See Gil, ‘‘Babylonian Yeshivot and the Maghrib,’’ pp. 69–71; Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 34–41 and passim (literature on migrations in the Islamic world at this time is listed at p. 34, n. 10).

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very different with regard to the most important city of the region from 800 on: Qayrawan, the capital of Ifriqiya under successive dynasties. Here we have at our disposal a vast quantity of source material, literary and documentary, Jewish and Muslim, which makes it possible to study the history and culture of the Jewish community in depth over the course of two and a half centuries. We will therefore view the situation of the Jewish Maghreb as a whole through the prism of this single community.∞∫ By the middle of the ninth century at the latest, Qayrawan enjoyed close ties with the academy of Sura and received numerous responsa from its Geonim.∞Ω This connection continued into the tenth century and was renewed after the Suran academy, which had been closed for several decades, re-opened at the end of the century.≤≠ Ties with Pumbedita may be traced to the late ninth century and became predominant in the tenth and eleventh centuries, especially during the reigns of the Geonim Sherira and Hayya (968–1038).≤∞ The Jews of Qayrawan had already acknowledged the superior claims of the Babylonian legal tradition, based on the Babylonian Talmud and its authoritative interpretation by the Geonim, in the ninth century; although they may have retained some customs of Palestinian origin, they seem to have been unaware of their source.≤≤ Instead, the real competition faced by the Babylonian Geonim in the last two centuries of the Geonic period, so far as Qayrawan was concerned, was the local intellectual center which developed there and which achieved international standing towards the end of this period. The scholars of Qayrawan were able to deal on their own with increasingly complex questions, whether of an academic or a practical nature. Furthermore, the Babylonian academies 18. Our presentation depends principally on the masterful study of Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, esp. pp. 410–424. A briefer survey may be found in Gil, ‘‘Babylonian Yeshivot and the Maghrib,’’ pp. 80–115; see also Poznanski, ‘‘Anshey Qayrawan,’’ for a list of local scholars and dignitaries. Qayrawan was founded in 800 and invaded in 1057. For the historical background and a description of the source material, see Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 3–17, 439–494. 19. See Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 440–444; Gil, ‘‘Babylonian Yeshivot and the Maghrib,’’ pp. 81–84; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 62–63. In a question addressed to Na≠tronai b. Hilai (middle of the ninth century), the Jews of Fas are said to rely on a responsum of Jacob b. Mordecai, Gaon of Sura at the very beginning of the century, but the addressees of this responsum are not specified. See Brody, op. cit., p. 349. 20. See Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, p. 446; idem, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ pp. 184–198; Gil, ‘‘Babylonian Yeshivot and the Maghrib,’’ pp. 84–85. 21. See Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 281–282, 421 and n. 98, 442–443, 446–447, 450– 460, 474–480; Gil, ‘‘Babylonian Yeshivot and the Maghrib,’’ pp. 86–115 (esp. 86–89). 22. See Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 402–403.

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were in decline in the middle of the tenth century, and the difficulties of communication, which were never negligible, were exacerbated by a series of political developments at about the same time. As a result, Sherira Gaon had to fight an uphill battle in order to strengthen ties which had been seriously weakened under his predecessors; his son Hayya followed in his footsteps, A especially in his efforts to establish close ties with Hushi’el b. Elhanan, ≠ who arrived in Qayrawan about the turn of the eleventh century. These were ultimately successful, although it should be borne in mind that it may have been A Hushi’el who introduced the study of the Palestinian Talmud in Qayrawan. (Of course, by that time it was being studied and used by the Babylonian Geonim themselves.)≤≥ On the whole, the picture which emerges is of a community which attained, by the end of the Geonic period, a very high level of achievement in talmudic matters and displayed a good deal of intellectual breadth and curiosity as well. It maintained ties of impressive closeness with the Palestinian center as well as the Babylonian, and Jews of Maghrebi extraction came to play an important role in the Palestinian academy, providing a number of its Geonim in the course of the tenth century. These ties, however, were based on political and what might be called nostalgic considerations; there is no suggestion that the Palestinian academy was in any position to compete with the academies of the Babylonian Geonim in matters of talmudic learning and religious law.≤∂ It was the Babylonian academies to which the scholars of Qayrawan turned for spiritual and intellectual guidance, and whose leadership and mastery they acknowledged.≤∑ The Babylonian Geonim, for their part, undertook various initiatives with regard to the communities of the Maghreb, as well as responding to the wide range of queries addressed to them, in spite of their lack of official standing and inability to exercise any form of coercion beyond that provided by their acknowledged stature and moral suasion. The scholars of Qayrawan were co-opted into a sort of partnership with those of the Babylonian academy, and the Geonim spoke of them with the highest regard. On the other hand, they were discouraged from setting up an independent center and

23. See esp. Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 255–257, 282–290, 408–424; Gil, ‘‘Babylonian Yeshivot and the Maghrib,’’ pp. 93–96. 24. See esp. Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 408–410; Gil, ‘‘Ere≠s-Yisra’el: Tiqqunim,’’ pp. 298–299, 311. 25. See Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 410–412, 422–424; Groner, ‘‘Ha-Ge’onim,’’ esp. pp. 160–162. It seems to me that Groner, while justified in pointing out the limits of the available evidence, is overly willing to argue ex silentio and goes too far in his revisionist approach; but this is partly a semantic debate about what is meant by ‘‘leadership.’’

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were expected to function as loyal subordinates, for example by forwarding the queries of outlying communities to the Geonic academies.≤∏

Europe When we turn to the northern shore of the Mediterranean, the first striking fact is that the unifying influence of the Islamic framework plays a much greater role than does geographical proximity. The ties between the Geonic academies and Spain are incomparably stronger than those binding the Babylonian center with any nearer part of mainland Europe, which of course was in Christian hands.≤π This is true despite the fact that, from the middle of the eighth century, Spain alone was governed by a branch of the Umayyad dynasty, while the rest of the Muslim world owed allegiance (at least nominally) to the Abbasid caliphate. Ties between the Jewish communities of Babylonia and Spain can be traced as far back as the end of the eighth century, when the Exilarch Na≠tronai b. A Havivai migrated to Spain after being deposed from office.≤∫ At the turn of the ninth century, as we have seen, Pirqoy b. Baboy addressed his epistle to the communities of Spain, along with those of Africa.≤Ω During the ninth century, Geonic responsa provide ample evidence of close connections between these lands and of a considerable degree of Spanish dependence on the guidance provided by the Babylonian Geonim. These responsa indicate that the Jews of Spain were in contact with both leading academies, of Sura and Pumbedita. Furthermore, it was at their request that ‘Amram b. Sheshna, a claimant to the Geonate of Sura, wrote his famous prayer book.≥≠ A number of Geonic responsa of this period reflect a fairly intimate acquaintance with conditions in 26. See esp. Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 412–419; Gil, ‘‘Babylonian Yeshivot and the Maghrib,’’ pp. 95–115; and cf. below, pp. 151–153. 27. With regard to Sicily, which was subject to Islamic rulers based in North Africa during the latter part of the Geonic period, we have more evidence of contact with Babylonia. See M. Ben-Sasson, Yehudey Sifsilyah, 825–1068: Te‘udot u-Meqorot [The Jews of Sicily, 825–1068: Documents and Sources], Jerusalem, 1991 (Oriens Judaicus, ser. 1, vol. 1), esp. pp. 131–140. 28. See Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 104 and n. 7 (and cf. below, chap. 9, n. 17). 29. See above, chap. 7, n. 45. 30. See esp. Mann, ‘‘Responsa of the Babylonian Geonim,’’ 7:485–487; Mann, ‘‘Addenda,’’ pp. 443–444; Groner, ‘‘Ha-Geonim,’’ pp. 159–160. Groner is correct in stating that the prayer book as we have it is far from that written by ‘Amram, but this is a result of its transmission; see Brody, ‘‘ ‘Arikhato shel Seder Rav ‘Amram,’’ and cf. below, pp. 192–193.

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Spain, for which the arrival in Babylonia of a leading Spanish scholar, R. El‘azar Alluf, may provide a partial explanation.≥∞ Later Geonic literature shows a sharp decline in the number of responsa addressed to Spain. This may be due, as argued by Abraham Ibn Daud, to the growth of an indigenous Spanish center, which now felt able to assert its independence from the Babylonian center; but this is by no means certain.≥≤ Perhaps the last Geonim had to content themselves with strengthening ties with North Africa after the crisis of the mid-tenth century and were unable to reestablish the earlier connection with Spain by way of the Maghreb.≥≥ With regard to Christian Europe, the evidence at our disposal is extremely restricted. In the time of Sherira and Hayya we learn of students from Constantinople attending the academy of Pumbedita, and of responsa addressed to R. Meshullam b. Qalonymus of ‘‘Lucca in the land of Frangah’’ (that is, of the Franks).≥∂ Aside from these specific instances, there are a number of vague references to the land of Frangah or Afrangah in Geonic responsa of varying date; it is difficult to say precisely which parts of Christian Europe are included in this designation.≥∑ A responsum of Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon, concerning the behavior appropriate to ‘‘distant communities such as Spain and Frangah’’ when they hear of the death of Babylonian scholars after more than a year has 31. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 61–62 and notes 17–18 (cf. above, chap. 4, n. 33). 32. See Cohen, Book of Tradition, pp. 63–71 (for the original text see ibid., Hebrew section, pp. 46–53); Mann, ‘‘Responsa of the Babylonian Geonim,’’ 7:485–487; Groner, ‘‘Ha-Ge’onim,’’ pp. 159–160; and cf. the letter quoted above, p. 15. For an interpretation of the career of Samuel ha-Nagid largely as a series of attacks on the prestige of the Geonic academies, and specifically of Hayya Gaon, see M. Margaliot, Hilkhot ha-Nagid [Hilkhot Hannagid], Jerusalem, 1962, pp. 8–10, 15–19, 30–35, 58–59; but cf. Abramson, Rav Nissim Ga’on, pp. xxvi–xxx. 33. It is worth noting in this context that Spanish rabbinic literature of the eleventh and early twelfth centuries is heavily dependent on Geonic writings. The outstanding examples are Isaac ibn Ghayyat’s Halakhot Kelulot, the various writings of Samuel ha-Nagid (see Margaliot, Hilkhot ha-Nagid, pp. 13–15, 30, 43–50), and those of Judah b. Barzilai of Barcelona. 34. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 2, Shabbat, Responsa, no. 256 (cf. below, chap. 9, n. 8), and Ginzberg, Geonica, 2:57; these sources were cited by Mann, ‘‘Responsa of the Babylonian Geonim,’’ 7:487–489. Mann also suggests that a responsum dealing with the cultivation of silkworms (reprinted in Lewin, ibid., no. 473) may have been addressed to Greece. 35. See Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, p. 201 (where Afrangah appears alongside ‘‘the land of Edom’’), and the responsum next quoted in the text. Cf. Gil, Be-Malkhut Yishma‘’el bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, §201.

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elapsed, appears to indicate the existence of fairly regular ties and some emotional connection to the Babylonian academies, despite the formidable logistical difficulties.≥∏ A notable and striking example, in which greater geographical precision is possible, is provided by a question addressed to the same Gaon, and (in slightly different form) to his Pumbeditan contemporary Pal≠toy Gaon, with regard to the permissibility of trading at an annual fair known as ‘‘the fair of such-and-such an idolatry.’’ The locale is not specified, but, so far as is known, the only fairs which might have fit this description in the time of these Geonim (the middle of the ninth century) were located in France, and the likeliest identification is with the fair of St. Denis, held just outside Paris.≥π 36. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 424–425. 37. See ibid., pp. 63 (with n. 25), 373–374 (with references to Pal≠toy’s responsum given in n. 1).

P A R T

The Classical Geonic Period

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9

The Intellectual World of the Geonim

Our treatment of Geonic literature and intellectual life is divided into two parts, in order to reflect the many and far-reaching changes which date approximately to the third decade of the tenth century and are associated primarily with Se‘adyah Gaon (928–942 c.e.). In this chapter we will delineate some of the major contours of the cultural and intellectual setting of the earlier Babylonian Geonim before focusing our attention specifically on the talmudic literature and related traditions. Our data derive primarily from the responsa written by these Geonim; we will sometimes use later responsa to fill in the picture when there is no reason to suppose that fundamental changes occurred in a given area in the course of the Geonic period but direct evidence from the earlier period is lacking. The evidentiary corpus is restricted in several ways.∞ First, the preservation and transmission of Geonic responsa were haphazard, and there is a possibility that the available selection may present a skewed or incomplete picture. Second, we have few responsa known to be earlier than the ninth century, and very few written before the middle of the eighth century. As a result, we cannot be sure to what extent the picture presented by our sources reflects the situation in the earliest part of the Geonic period, beginning in the mid-sixth 1. For a more detailed discussion of the responsa literature, see chap. 12.

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century. Third, the responsa do not represent a coherent literary enterprise; they were written at the instigation of those who applied to the Geonic academies on various questions and so do not necessarily give expression to the full range of interests of the authors. With these caveats in mind, we will offer some general observations.

Knowledge of Languages One of the most important factors shaping the intellectual horizons of an individual or a society is the range of languages, and their associated cultures and literatures (whether written or oral), to which they have access. The linguistic situation of the Geonim and the cultural elite of Jewish Babylonia is fairly clear. The dominant languages were Hebrew and Aramaic, which were part of their ancient cultural heritage, and Arabic, which entered the Babylonian scene with the Muslim conquest in the middle of the seventh century and grew in importance throughout the period under discussion. Yet despite the obvious importance of Arabic as the language of government and the dominant political stratum, Hebrew and Aramaic were not supplanted by this late arrival. According to Hayya Gaon, writing at the end of the tenth and beginning of the eleventh centuries, Aramaic was still to be heard in the daily speech of non-Jews in Baghdad, let alone smaller towns or provincial backwaters; as is well known, the Aramaic used by Christians and Mandeans in this area is very close to that spoken by the Jews.≤ Knowledge of Hebrew was presumably restricted (with the exception of a few Christian intellectuals) to Jews but was nearly universal among Jewish males, at least at the minimal level of the ability to read the Bible (not necessarily with any great degree of understanding), which formed the core of Jewish elementary education.≥ Similarly, few Jews would have been unable to participate in public prayers conducted in Hebrew, although it is doubtful whether many worshipers used prayer books.∂ In learned circles, Hebrew was apparently widely used, not only in writing but also in oral communication, and active fluency in Hebrew was probably one of 2. See Epstein, Diqduq Aramit Bavlit, pp. 9–17. 3. See Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 113–114; and cf. Goitein, Mediterranean Society, 2:173–180, and Se’adyah’s comments (see n. 5, below). According to Sherira Gaon and Hayya (Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 10, Gi≠t≠tin, Responsa, no. 79), an ‘‘Israelite’’ may be presumed to be capable of reading Hebrew until proven otherwise. 4. See S. C. Reif, Judaism and Hebrew Prayer: New Perspectives in Jewish Liturgical History, Cambridge, 1993, pp. 178–179, 183–185.

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the marks of an educated man.∑ An interesting illustration of the sociology of knowledge is provided by the situation described in a question addressed to Se‘adyah Gaon:∏ There was a case in our place: Reuben had two daughters and betrothed one to Simeon . . . and this Reuben was a student and elder, and the students and congregation came to the House of Study, and Simeon stood up and gave the marriage (ring) to Reuben, and the students . . . were sitting next to them. Simeon said: ‘‘Let your daughter be married to me with this ring,’’ and they said to him in the holy tongue, Paresh, Paresh (‘‘Specify, Specify,’’ scil. which daughter you intend to marry), four or five times, but he disregarded their words, because he was terrified at standing before the students and the congregation.

It seems clear that the bridegroom, as opposed to the bride’s father, was not a learned man, and that his failure to react to the bystanders’ urgings had something to do with the fact that they spoke ‘‘in the holy tongue’’ and not only with his embarrassment in the presence of the congregation. Fluency in Arabic, on the other hand, was a practical necessity for many people, especially for those who had commercial or administrative contacts with Muslims. Knowledge of Arabic would have become increasingly important to the Geonim, if not for their own contacts with the Muslim world, then at least as a medium of communication with those Jews for whom it became a mother tongue. By the middle of the ninth century, at the latest, we find the Geonim using Arabic glosses in their responsa and apparently even writing responsa in Arabic when this was the language used by the questioners, although it is only in the tenth and eleventh centuries that Arabic plays a central role in Geonic literature.π Aside from these three Semitic languages, which were also the dominant languages of the Jewish society represented in the Genizah, the Geonim were necessarily aware—if only from the talmudic literature—of two Indo-European 5. This is suggested by accounts of conversations between members of the Geonic academies (e.g., Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 351–352, 515–517), although it is conceivable that the author is paraphrasing a dialogue which took place in another language. Compare the comments of Se‘adyah Gaon concerning his motives for writing the Egron (Allony, Egron, pp. 150–153, 158–159, and below, pp. 247–248) and Drory, Reshit ha-Maga‘im, pp. 41–54. 6. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 9, Qiddushin, Responsa, no. 305 (abridged ibid., no. 304). We do not know for certain where the questioners lived (very likely Qayrawan; see Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, p. 446), but a similar situation probably prevailed in many places. 7. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 399, n. 1.

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languages, Greek and Persian, which had played a significant role in Jewish life in earlier periods and continued to be used by considerable numbers of Jews in their own time. There is rather clear evidence that the Geonim had no firsthand knowledge of Greek, which of course had not been spoken in Babylonia at least since the early third century c.e.∫ With regard to Persian, which had much deeper roots in Babylonia and continued to occupy an important position as the second language of Islam, the situation is less clear. There is good reason to believe that certain Geonim did not know Persian; these include Se‘adyah Gaon, who repeatedly refers to ‘‘all the languages we know’’ in statements which apply only to Semitic languages.Ω On the other hand, some responsa, especially those of Hayya Gaon, seem to reflect a knowledge of Persian, although there is no unequivocal evidence to this effect.∞≠ It seems likely that some Geonim had some knowledge of this language, while others did not.

Areas of Interest Once again we must recall that we have no programmatic statements from the earlier Geonic period concerning the intellectual interests of the academic elite within the Babylonian Jewish community, nor writings undertaken by the Geonim at their own initiative. We must bear in mind the possibility that certain of their interests did not find expression in their responsa, the topics of which were dictated by the interests of the questioners; or else that the responsa which would have afforded evidence for certain types of intellectual occupation have fallen victim to the more restricted interests of later users or to the hazards of time and distance. Nevertheless, all of the available evidence seems to show that the Geonim of this era, like their correspondents, concerned themselves almost exclusively with (parts of) the talmudic literature and associated traditions. Although elementary Jewish education was based on the Bible, and despite the fact that occasional questions on biblical topics were addressed to the Geonim—these are already found in 8. See Cassel, Teshuvot Ge’onim Qadmonim, no. 5; Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, nos. 6, 47, 225, 244, 291, 364 (and Harkavy’s note [to no. 379] on p. 374); Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim min ha-Genizah, p. 176 (end); Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 70, n. 12. On the role of Greek under the Arsacids, who were supplanted by the Sasanids in the early third century, see Gafni, The Jews of Babylonia, p. 32, and the sources listed in n. 67, ibid. 9. See below, chap. 20, with n. 26, and cf. Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim mi-tokh haGenizah, p. 183, no. 241; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 70, n. 12. 10. See esp. Harkavy, Zikron Kammah Ge’onim, nos. 26, 31, 33, 46, 47, 255, 299, 379 (and Harkavy’s note on pp. 366–367).

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the responsa of Yehudai Gaon, in the middle of the eighth century—there is nothing in their answers to show that advanced scholars in their circles devoted much time to biblical studies in this period. Babylonian schools of Masoretic scholars must have been active at this time, but there seems to have been no overlap between these groups and those comprising the Geonic academies.∞∞ Perhaps the nearest thing we have to a programmatic statement on the curriculum is contained in a responsum of Na≠tronai b. Hilai, Gaon of Sura in the middle of the ninth century:∞≤ This was the custom of the earlier ones, in places where there were disciples of the sages: When they prayed . . . after answering Amen . . . they brought (a book of the) prophets and read ten verses, more or less . . . and then they said Qaddish and engaged in (the study of) Torah—whoever so desired engaged in Mishnah, and whoever so desired engaged in Talmud—in order to fulfill what the Sages said: ‘‘A man should always divide his years in three—a third for Scripture, a third for Mishnah, a third for Talmud.’’ But when poverty increased and the disciples became dependent on their earnings, and could no longer engage in Torah constantly and divide each day into thirds, they relied on the Talmud alone and abandoned Scripture and Mishnah.

With the sole exception of mysticism, to which we will next turn, none of the intellectual or cultural pursuits which were to achieve prominence in the tenth and eleventh centuries seems to have penetrated the intellectual life of the earlier Geonic academies or their correspondents. Some of these, such as systematic theology, had not yet established a foothold within Judaism; others, such as the writing of liturgical poems ( piyyuftim), were still confined to the Palestinian cultural sphere. In the period which we are considering, the exposure of those at the center of Babylonian Jewry to Muslim and Christian culture appears to have been absolutely minimal, although there are some indications of acculturation in outlying communities.∞≥ Even contacts with 11. See Yeivin, Mesoret ha-Lashon ha-‘Ivrit, pp. 21–36. In contrast, from Se‘adyah Gaon onwards we find abundant evidence of an active interest in biblical studies in the Geonic milieu: see below, chap. 19, and cf. the responsum of Hayya Gaon in Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim mi-tokh ha-Genizah, p. 106 (for the attribution see p. 104). Cf. below, chap. 19, n. 41, and the corresponding text. 12. Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 146–147. The citation is from BT Qiddushin 30a, ‘Avodah Zarah 19b. 13. See, e.g., Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 399–401 (and n. 1), 549 (and nn. 2, 4–5). I refer here to those who remained faithful to Judaism; the possibility that Jews would be attracted to Islam was perceived as a threat almost immediately after the Muslim conquest, even in the Babylonian heartland; see Brody, ‘‘Kelum Hayu haGe’onim Mehoqeqim?’’ ≠ pp. 290–295.

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Palestinian Jewish culture were extremely restricted and often antagonistic, although most Geonim were able to reconcile themselves to the adoption by Babylonian Jewry of some Palestinian practices, most notably the recitation of piyyu≠tim as part of the synagogue service.∞∂

The Supernatural The Geonim and their contemporaries were the heirs to a rich system of beliefs concerning the world of angels and demons which had developed in biblical times and had expanded further in the Second Temple and talmudic eras. It would seem that, in the main, Geonic circles, like their Rabbanite Jewish contemporaries, were quite comfortable with this aspect of their talmudic heritage, although there might be some deviations on points of detail.∞∑ One can detect differences among the Geonim in the use they make of such beliefs in order to explain or motivate various customary practices, but there does not seem to be an overarching explanation for these specific differences, in spite of Hayya Gaon’s insinuations that the Surans were more gullible than the Pumbeditans ‘‘because they are near the city of Babylon and the house of Nebuchadnezzar and we (in Pumbedita) are far from there.’’∞∏ In the early ninth century, while Moses Gaon of Sura was reputed to make frequent use of amulets and magical spells, Abraham Gaon of Pumbedita was said to understand ‘‘the conversation of palm trees.’’∞π Several decades later, Na≠tronai b. 14. See above, pp. 121–122 and notes 75–76, and cf. the superior status accorded to ‘‘the anonymous Mishnah’’ as contrasted with the opinions attributed to individual rabbis. 15. For instance, Sherira Gaon and his son Hayya assert that it was well-established traditional practice to address prayers to the angels in Aramaic, contrary to the rule laid down in the Talmud; see Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 2, Shabbat, Responsa, no. 16. Sectarian attitudes on these questions were somewhat more complex; see, for example, Nemoy, Karaite Anthology, pp. 21, 30–31, 335–336. (H. Ben-Shammai informs me that Karaite authors ridiculed the Rabbanite belief in malevolent supernatural forces.) For the historical background see the introductions to the volumes by Naveh and Shaked listed in n. 21, below. 16. In this section I take issue with the view of Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 261–264. Assaf takes at face value Hayya’s assertion, which is found in Lewin, Ofsar A ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Hagigah, no. 21, p. 20 (a fuller version of this long responsum A appears in Emanuel, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim ha-Hadashot, pp. 121–146, and in Hurwitz, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim, pp. 116–134); cf. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 5, Rosh haShanah, no. 66, cited by Assaf, ibid., p. 262. A 17. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Hagigah, no. 21, p. 20; vol. 6, Sukkah, no. 67 A (p. 31). The story concerning Na≠tronai Gaon (vol. 4, Hagigah, p. 16, and cf. p. 20) is

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Hilai Gaon of Sura explained the substitution of a shorter version of the evening prayer on Friday nights inter alia by reference to the talmudic belief that demons are especially active at this time, ‘‘and all Israel need to hurry to enter their homes before dark,’’ but Hayya Gaon himself was sensitive to the dangers posed by mazziqim (‘‘harmers’’).∞∫ In another instance, Na≠tronai attempted to differentiate between the practice described in talmudic sources of sitting down and standing up seven times on the way back from a funeral and a very similar contemporary practice among the members of his academy, and to downplay the importance of this custom. His contemporary Pal≠toy Gaon of Pumbedita, in contrast, apparently accords greater authority to this custom, and explains it as designed to repel seven evil spirits which accompany the mourners from the cemetery.∞Ω The widespread custom of looking at one’s hands by the light of the havdalah candle at the close of the Sabbath elicited different explanations: while Na≠tronai Gaon saw this as simply the most convenient way to fulfill the talmudic requirement of making use of the candle’s light, the supposedly ‘‘rationalist’’ Hayya Gaon adds the explanation, ‘‘And we have heard some of the elders say that there is a certain sign in the lines of the palm which brings blessing.’’≤≠ When it comes to more active involvement in the unseen world—whether it takes the form of practical magic, mystical praxis, or theosophical speculation—the evidence is almost entirely restricted to the latter part of the Geonic period. In recent years a great deal of attention has been devoted to the mystical beliefs and practices of the talmudic period, the attitudes of the talmudic sages towards these matters, and the question of continuity between this era and the types of Jewish mysticism documented in the Middle Ages. We cannot enter here into a discussion of these subjects, but it seems safe to say that the Jewish magical tradition, prominent in talmudic Babylonia, had not disappeared, and that the bulk of the Hekhalot (‘‘Palaces’’) literature antedates Se‘adyah Gaon.≤∞ Nevertheless, if we were dependent exclusively on the irrelevant and may have grown out of a confusion with the Exilarch Na≠tronai b. Havivai; see Lewin’s note 9 ad loc.; Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, p. 16, n. 5; and above, chap. 8, with n. 28. 18. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 182–183 and nn. 6–7; Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 263. 19. See Brody, op. cit., pp. 434 (and nn. 4, 6), 442, pace Assaf, op. cit., pp. 262–263. 20. See Brody, op. cit., p. 205 and n. 3; Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 1, Berakhot, Responsa, no. 342, end. 21. Relevant titles of the last decade include J. Dan, The Ancient Jewish Mysticism, Tel Aviv, 1993; D. J. Halperin, The Faces of the Chariot: Early Jewish Responses to Ezekiel’s Vision, Tübingen, 1988; M. Idel, Kabbalah: New Perspectives, New Haven, 1988; J.

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Geonic responsa of the earlier period, we would know virtually nothing of this. An important exception is provided by an exegetical responsum of Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon, which informs us of the existence of ‘‘books devoted to the Work of the Chariot’’ (that is, theosophical speculation, connected with the vision of the celestial chariot in the first chapter of Ezekiel) which contain pairs of letters, including such meaningless combinations as aleph aleph; this is considered to be the earliest attestation of the existence of Hekhalot literature, although it is impossible to identify any specific work which the Gaon had in mind.≤≤ In order to round out our picture we will temporarily relax our chronological restrictions and glance at a few later responsa. We must of course bear in mind the possibility that the attitudes of the later Geonim towards these phenomena were affected by the advent of the sort of philosophical theology introduced by Se‘adyah, but the contents seem to argue that they had not moved, in these respects, very far from the attitudes of previous generations in the circles of the Geonic academies.≤≥ With regard to attitudes towards practical magic, our most important source is a lengthy and fascinating responsum of Hayya Gaon. We will cite several passages and allow them to speak for themselves:≤∂ This question was asked of R. Hayya Gaon . . . who was asked about the (Divine) Name, and that there are several Names, and there are those who achieve by them great things which it is impossible for a person to accomplish except by way of signs and wonders, such as he who hides himself from brigands or binds them. And he responded that all these and the like are idle talk . . . We are astounded at this, for several sages of Palestine and the land of Edom (Italy) . . . relate that they saw this in public, someone who takes leaves . . . and writes a Name on them and throws it towards the brigands and they cannot pass, and someone writes it on new pottery and throws it in the roiling sea and it is calmed, or on a person and he dies immediately. . . . We see (the matter) thus: This question encompasses various topics, of which some deserve an answer and some are (baseless) allegations and preNaveh and S. Shaked, Amulets and Magic Bowls: Aramaic Incantations of Late Antiquity≤, Jerusalem, 1987; idem, Magic Spells and Formulae: Aramaic Incantations of Late Antiquity, Jerusalem, 1993; P. Schäfer, Hekhalot-Studien, Tübingen, 1988. 22. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 626 and n. 4. 23. See esp. the responsum of Hayya Gaon mentioned in n. 15. Explicit claims of continuity and dependence on the Gaon’s predecessors’ critical investigations are in A Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 5, Hagigah, pp. 20–21, while traditional notions concerning the power of the Divine Name and related matters are maintained esp. on pp. 21–22 (and cf. pp. 24–25 on revelatory dreams). 24. Ibid., pp. 16, 18, 20–21.

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texts and worthless talk, such as . . . the nonsense concerning which you wrote us previously . . . and we wrote to you that these and the like are vain things, and now you express astonishment in this question, because several sages of Palestine and the land of Edom . . . say they saw this in public. We do not know whether you are amazed at them or at us—if at them, this is as it should be. But if not, once you believe that deeds can be performed by means of the Name, which can be achieved only by way of signs and wonders, how will you distinguish between the signs of a prophet and what commoners can perform by means of the Name, and what will be the difference between a prophet and another? . . . And instantaneous travel (qefifsat ha-derekh) is not one of the impossible things, and we have heard (reports) about people like those which you have heard, but we investigated greatly and heard from our fathers and fathers’ fathers that they had investigated this . . . and did not see the truth of the thing. And as for what they told you, that the sea is quieted (by means of a piece of pottery), and that they kill a man by throwing new pottery on him . . . this is very farfetched, and the general rule is: ‘‘A simpleton will believe anything’’ (Proverbs 14:15) . . . (As for) the writings which you have seen, ‘‘He who wants to accomplish such-and-such should do such-and-such,’’ there are a great many of these in A our vicinity, such as that called Sefer Ha-Yashar and that called Harba deMosheh≤∑ . . . aside from the fragments and individual passages which are endless and numberless, and many toiled their entire lives without discovering the truth of the matter. But as for proven amulets . . . they exist, and mostly depend (for their efficacy) on the writer . . . and even so do not always work . . . and if anyone tells you differently, do not believe them . . . Certainly it is true, as you say, that there are books and Names and seals and the Greater Hekhalot and the Lesser Hekhalot and Sar Torah and other mishnayot which terrify whoever sees them . . . and we have heard firm reports that some engaged in them and were soon lost, and all this is because of the sanctity of the Name . . . and (of) the angels which surround them and the sanctity of the chariot, for whoever engages in this Work is surrounded by swarming angels.

Another responsum of Hayya Gaon presents, in addition to important testimony concerning mystical praxis, the same complex attitude, which combines a profound belief in the supernatural with grave reservations as to the reliability of those who claim to be its adepts, let alone the advisability of emulating them:≤∏ 25. Apparently the same text published by M. Gaster, The Sword of Moses: An Ancient Book of Magic . . . , London, 1896, pp. i–xx; see ibid., pp. 16–18. A 26. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Hagigah, no. 20 (the quotation is from p. 14). Cf. the responsum of Sherira Gaon and Hayya, no. 16 (in which physiognomic lore is also

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The Classical Geonic Period Know that it has never been our way to conceal anything, and to explain it other than in accordance with the intention of the one who said it, as others do. Now we will explain to you the opinion of this Tanna (who related the story of ‘‘the four who entered Paradise’’) and his intention and the truth about what he thought, without guaranteeing that these things are halakhah (i.e., correct)—surely there are many mishnayot which are not halakhah, and we (nevertheless) explain them according to (the understanding of) those who taught them. And perhaps you know that many of the sages were of the opinion that whoever is suited in various specified respects, when he wants to see the Chariot and to glimpse the palaces of the celestial angels, there are techniques for him to perform, (namely) that he should fast a certain number of days and place his head between his knees and whisper to the earth many specified hymns and praises. Then he looks within himself and his chambers, as if he sees with his eyes seven palaces, and visualizes as if he proceeds from one palace to the next, and sees what is in it. And there are two mishnayot which the tanna’im recite on this subject, and they are called the Greater Hekhalot and the Lesser Hekhalot.

Similar doubts, buttressed in this case by acute theological discomfort, are expressed by Se‘adyah Gaon with respect to the notorious text known as Shi‘ur Qomah, which—at least according to a straightforward reading of the text—describes in minute detail the dimensions of a Divine body:≤π And let me say: Not all the . . . sages are agreed with regard to Shi‘ur Qomah, since it is not in the Mishnah or the Talmud, and we have no way of establishing whether it is the words of R. Ishmael or not, and perhaps someone else attributed them to him, for we see many books called by the names of people who did not produce them . . . and if so, we need not respond to this claim,≤∫ but I reply nevertheless . . . If we were to attribute Shi‘ur Qomah to R. Ishmael we could find several aspects (i.e., acceptable interpretations) to his words and explain that they follow the path of monotheistic faith. brought to bear). On the attitudes of these two Geonim to the supernatural see Hildesheimer, ‘‘Mystik und Agada.’’ 27. The quotation (from a secondary source) is in Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 1, Berakhot, Responsa, no. 29, p. 17. Compare the responsum of Sherira and Hayya in A ibid., vol. 4, Hagigah, no. 16; G. G. Scholem, Jewish Gnosticism, Merkabah Mysticism and Talmudic Tradition≤, New York, 1965, pp. 36–42, 123–125 (addendum by S. Lieberman), 129–131. For the text(s) in question see now M. S. Cohen, The Shi‘ur Qomah: Texts and Recensions, Tübingen, 1985 (Texte und Studien zum Antiken Judentum, 9). 28. The context of this passage is polemical (see Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 1, Berakhot, p. 15, and above, chap. 6, ‘‘Rabbanite Reactions’’), but the Gaon shares his adversary’s theological posture.

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As far as these Geonim are concerned—and we have no reason to suppose that most earlier Geonim differed from them in this respect≤Ω —mystical texts are not included within the authoritative consensus which applies to such core texts of rabbinic literature as the Mishnah and Talmud.≥≠ The responsa of Hayya Gaon, especially, certainly demonstrate his familiarity with the existence of a vast mystical literature and a well-known if not necessarily widespread mystical praxis, but the Gaon is clearly at pains to distance himself from this world, if not from esoteric knowledge in general.≥∞

Attitudes towards Authority It is a commonplace of scholarly literature to portray the Geonim as tyrants manqué, who ruled their own academies with an iron fist and attempted to assert their hegemony over the entire Jewish world, at least in their own times and perhaps throughout the future as well.≥≤ Evidence to support such an interpretation is certainly not lacking; we may mention references to the Geonic court as ‘‘the Great Court which corresponds to the Sanhedrin,’’ expressions such as ‘‘one should not deviate from this (decision) either to the right or to the left,’’ and the struggle conducted by some of the Geonim and their associates against the Palestinian halakhic tradition.≥≥ We will attempt, 29. Note that individuals were reputed to have such interests; the impression given is that they were exceptional in this regard. Of course the later Geonim had the additional motivation of exposure to philosophical thinking, but this had a limited effect on their A beliefs (see, e.g., Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Hagigah, p. 15, end, and below, chap. 18), and it is doubtful whether they would have abandoned a firmly entrenched belief in this literature. 30. In fact, not even all the passages contained in these texts enjoy authoritative status; see above, with n. 15; below, chap. 10, end of the section ‘‘Interpretation and Application A of the Talmud’’; and, e.g., Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Hagigah, p. 22, concerning the Asmodeus story (found in BT Gi≠t≠tin 68a–b; see ibid., p. 17). 31. See esp. ibid., p. 14. We are not concerned with the Kabbalists’ habit of attributing mystical works pseudonymously to various Geonim, esp. Hayya (see Danzig, ‘‘Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim Sha‘arey Teshuvah,’’ p. 30, with earlier literature listed in n. 30). 32. See, for example, Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:6–11; Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim weSifrutah, pp. 45, 59–60 (more critical); Twersky, Introduction to the Mishneh Torah, p. 83. See also above, chap. 4, ‘‘Legal Innovator,’’ on the question of the ‘‘legislative’’ activity of the Geonim. 33. See Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 60; above, chap. 3, ‘‘Position and Power in the Academy,’’ and chap. 7, ‘‘The Babylonian Offensive’’; and cf. Sha‘arey Teshuvah, no. 270 (end).

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nonetheless, to demonstrate that this selection of sources is rather misleading. This question has synchronic and diachronic, as well as local and global, aspects. To what extent did the Geonim in fact ‘‘rule’’ their academies, and what authority—if any—did they claim over the Jewish world as a whole? Were they willing to grant legitimacy to local authorities, or did they aspire to make the entire Jewish diaspora directly dependent on the Babylonian center? Did they consider the decisions of a given Gaon to be binding on later authorities, whether within the academy or outside it? There is nothing to indicate that the Geonim in general acted as dictators within their own academies, and it is very doubtful whether the institutional framework would have allowed them many opportunities for doing so. For instance, we hear of no mechanism for expelling members of the academy, whether by decision of the Gaon alone or of any other forum; the only disciplinary measure of which we have any record is a reduction in the stipends allocated to lazy students.≥∂ The Gaon probably had considerable—perhaps even total—control of the academy’s finances, and we occasionally hear of internal dissension over what was seen as an unfair allocation of funds;≥∑ apart from this it is doubtful whether the Gaon exerted any recognized powers over the members of his academy. Sherira Gaon describes several periods in which Geonim attempted to act tyrannically within their academies in unspecified ways and were confronted with a mass exodus of scholars, who might go over to the competing academy and remain there as long as they saw fit. In other cases, scholars might set up splinter academies when they were unhappy with the candidate elected to the position of Gaon.≥∏ But even when they remained within the confines of the Gaon’s academy, we have no reason to suppose that scholars were unable to speak their minds freely; on the contrary, we have a number of records of disputes or of critical dialogues within the Geonic academies.≥π In fact, in the sole instance in which we hear of the occurrence of something which might be called an inquisition, it is the Gaon Jacob b. Mor34. See above, p. 46. 35. See for example, Mann, Texts and Studies, 1:147–149, 155–159 (and cf. pp. 96– 97); Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ pp. 194–195; and the letter cited above, p. 15. 36. On divided academies see above, pp. 40–41; for the migration of scholars in such circumstances see Lewin, Epistle of Sherira Gaon, pp. 102–103 (Rabinowich, pp. 126– 127 [the translator’s note ad loc. should be ignored]; Schlüter, p. 247). 37. See, for example, Harkavy, Zikron Kammah Ge’onim, nos. 69, 179, 181 (to which A compare Emanuel, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim ha-Hadashot, pp. 159–162; Hurwitz, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim, pp. 143–147); Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim min ha-Genizah, pp. 25, 30, 37, 72–73; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 351–352, 546–547. (In some of these cases, however, the reference may be to a disagreement between academies.)

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decai who is interrogated by other leading members of the academy; although this is not stated, it seems that he was in danger of being deposed had his answers failed to satisfy his colleagues.≥∫ It should, therefore, come as no surprise to discover that the Geonim did not consider themselves bound by the opinions or decisions of their predecessors, whether in their own or in the sister academy, and whether they had served only a few years previously or centuries earlier. There is abundant documentation for this, whether in instances where later Geonim explicitly disagree with their predecessors or in the numerous cases where they do so without referring to their predecessors’ opinions, although there is little or no doubt that they were aware of them. (A fortiori the Geonim considered themselves free to reject decisions found in Halakhot Pesuqot or Halakhot Gedolot.)≥Ω The Geonic academies were much less monolithic in character than is generally assumed in the scholarly literature. One corollary of this observation is that the search for consistent disagreements between the academies of Sura and Pumbedita is largely misguided, and assumptions of this sort should certainly not be accepted as a basis for attributing anonymous responsa or rejecting the attributions of other responsa to particular Geonim.∂≠ Because of the predominance of the Suran academy in the earlier period, most of the available evidence concerns cases in which decisions of Suran Geonim were rejected by later Geonim, whether of Sura or of Pumbedita, but there are also instances in which Pumbeditan Geonim rejected the views of their Pumbeditan predecessors (who were sometimes also their ancestors).∂∞ True, those Geonim who explicitly rejected their predecessors’ opinions were inclined to uphold their honor by asserting that they could not possibly have

38. See Brody, op. cit., pp. 351–352; on the possibility of a reigning Gaon being deposed, see above, p. 79. 39. See below, at the end of chap. 14, with notes 68–69, and cf. Brody, op. cit., pp. 90–91. 40. See esp. Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 261–278. There are at most a handful of consistent disagreements for which there is adequate evidence. Cf. below, chap. 14, n. 54. (But see Mann, Texts and Studies, 1:652, l. 26, and 1:670, n. 105; cf. Makdisi, Rise of Colleges, pp. 106, 112.) 41. See, for example, Harkavy, Zikron Kammah Ge’onim, nos. 69, 210, 213, 385; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 90–91, 268–269; Rosenthal, ‘‘Pal≠toy Ga’on,’’ pp. 629–633; Weinberg, Teshuvot Rav Sar Shalom Gaon, p. 29 (no. 2). Aside from cases in which the rejected opinion is mentioned explicitly, we may assume that the Geonim, who had spent their adult lives in the academic milieu, were well aware of the positions taken by those who held office shortly before them (cf. Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 60).

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expressed the opinions attributed to them and must have been misquoted or misunderstood; but they were also capable of criticizing them quite forthrightly when they felt this was called for.∂≤ We may illustrate the prevailing A approach with a citation from a Pumbeditan responsum, apparently by Sema h≠ b. Pal≠toy Gaon of the late ninth century, in which he describes his attitude towards a responsum written several decades previously by a Gaon of Sura:∂≥ And as for your being troubled by that (statement) of Amemar as compared with the responsum of Mar Rav Sar Shalom . . . we have already explained to you the reasoning of Amemar . . . but as for the reasoning of Mar Rav Sar Shalom, we do not know his reason . . . and it is not proper to refute his words after (his) death, as we have learned that ‘‘one does not turn back the lion after (its) death.’’ . . . Therefore we too cannot refute the words of Mar Rav Sar Shalom, of blessed memory, at all, but neither do we learn from him.

Almost invariably, when a later Gaon mentions explicitly that he rejects the opinion of an earlier Gaon (or the opinion attributed to him), the opinion in question has been cited by the questioners. It was not Geonic practice to undertake a systematic review of prior opinion on the questions under discussion. When a Gaon cites a predecessor on his own initiative, this is almost always in order to rely on an innovative precedent of one sort or another; if the issue is a talmudic one, the Geonim will normally refer neither to those predecessors with whom they agree nor to those with whom they disagree. In the absence of a doctrine of binding precedents, there would have been little reason for them to do so.∂∂ Before turning to the question of the degree of authority which the Geonim claimed for themselves over the world outside their academies, we must distinguish between the specific authority of the Geonic academies and that of the Babylonian tradition as a whole, and the Babylonian Talmud in particular. There is no doubt that many of the Geonim (and other prominent members of their academies, such as Pirqoy b. Baboy) took part in a determined struggle to 42. See esp. Rosenthal, ibid. (who suggests that this tendency was more pronounced when the later Gaon felt greater allegiance, for reasons of institutional or family piety, to the earlier authority), and cf. above, at the end of chap. 6. 43. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 8, Ketubbot, Responsa, no. 646 (pp. 269–270). The talmudic citation is from BT Gi≠t≠tin 83a. 44. See, for example, Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 90–91; the situation with respect to post-talmudic literary works is very similar (see below, p. 204, and chap. 14, and cf. chap. 11, n. 4, and p. 193). In rare instances (e.g. Lewin, Ofsar haGe’onim, vol. 2, Shabbat, Responsa, no. 250) a Gaon refers on his own initiative to a predecessor with whom he disagrees, probably because the opinion in question was widely known.

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establish the theoretical and practical supremacy of the Babylonian tradition, and some even went so far as to attempt to assert Babylonian hegemony in halakhic matters over Palestine itself.∂∑ Undoubtedly they saw themselves and their colleagues as the exponents par excellence of this tradition, which in their eyes was clearly the authentic and obligatory version of (rabbinic) Judaism; but this does not mean that they claimed for themselves sole or absolute authority in the interpretation and application of the tradition. Again, a distinction must be drawn between the territories of the reshuyot, which were formally subject to their authority, and the rest of the Jewish world. Within these territories, at least in the larger towns, the legal apparatus was directly subject to the central Geonic authority; for a local judge to refuse to accept a Geonic decision, or for the locals to deny the authority of the judge appointed by the Geonic academy, would have been perceived as an act of rebellion.∂∏ The situation elsewhere was quite different. Even if the Geonim had aspired to recognition as the ultimate sources of authority, they were in no position to compel such recognition. There is no suggestion that the Geonim ever attempted to appoint judges for these communities, and the logistical difficulties were such that it was obviously impossible for every problem which arose to be referred directly to the Babylonian academies.∂π In practical terms the Geonim would have had little choice but to recognize the legitimacy and authority of properly constituted local courts; even those responsa which instruct or encourage the local authorities to punish offenders, or to place them under the ban, are eloquent testimony to this.∂∫ But in fact they seem to go rather further in recognizing the legitimacy of local authorities than would have been strictly necessary, at least in the latter part of the Geonic era, when Jewish communities such as that of Qayrawan achieved a scholarly level comparable to that which could be found in Babylonia.∂Ω We may illustrate this 45. See above, chap. 7, ‘‘The Babylonian Offensive’’; consider also such responsa as Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 8, Ketubbot, Responsa, no. 121 (probably by Sherira Gaon; see n. 5 ad loc.). 46. For the reshuyot and the appointment of judges see chap. 4, ‘‘Administrator.’’ For the possibility of a judge defying Geonic authority see chap. 4, ‘‘Legal Innovator,’’ and A Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 81–84; for attempts by the local populace to defy judicial authority see Taubes, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim le-Massekhet Sanhedrin, no. 354. 47. See Taubes, ibid., and above, at the beginning of chap. 7, with n. 3. 48. As emphasized by M. Ben-Sasson in an unpublished lecture (Jerusalem, 1995); for examples see the sources discussed in Libson, ‘‘Ha-Gezerta bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim,’’ and Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 93–94. 49. In addition to the sources cited above, see Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 150– 151. The attitude of the later Geonim may have been influenced by the difficulties experi-

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with two brief citations, the first of which is taken from a responsum, probably issued under the joint authority of Sherira Gaon and his son Hayya, concerning attempts to monopolize the judicial apparatus in a given locale:∑≠ And as for your question: Can the decisors (morim) be prevented (from issuing decisions) in a place where there is a judge . . . and moreover he does not accept upon himself anything for the academies? . . .∑∞ We see (the matter) thus: Whoever is worthy of deciding, who is known to decide properly and according to the law,∑≤ it is forbidden to prevent him from issuing decisions.

Another responsum, probably by Hayya Gaon, is perhaps even more striking in its definition of the status of local courts vis-à-vis the Geonic academies:∑≥ One who swears that he will not be judged except before the holy Yeshivah and says to his opponent: Let us write our claims and subscribe witnesses to them and send (them) before the Gaon . . . and his opponent says: You only demand the judgment of the Yeshivah in order to prolong (the handling of) my case . . . who is justified and who should be compelled to retract? Let our master instruct us. We see (the matter) thus: this law is laid down in the Talmud: If the defendant says, ‘‘I want the judgment of the Great Court,’’ we do not listen to him, and he is compelled to face judgment in his town, or in the court near his town. . . . But certainly, if the Great Court is near their place and it becomes necessary to ask, judgment is deferred and they write and send (a question to the Great Court). And also in a distant place, if the matter is unclear to the Great Court of that place,∑∂ they ask a rabbi who is near them—even though enced by their academies and the concomitant flourishing of distant centers; see above, chap. 1, ‘‘The End of the Geonic Era.’’ 50. See Taubes, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim le-Massekhet Sanhedrin, no. 667 (see nn. 51–52 ad loc. for the attribution), and cf. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 9, So≠tah, no. 49. 51. I.e., the Geonic academies. The meaning is not quite clear; I am inclined to think (contra Taubes’ note 55 ad loc.) that the ‘‘upstart’’ does not transmit fees to the academies. (Cf. Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:85–86.) 52. This translation assumes that the text is slightly corrupt here; a possible literal translation, without resort to emendation, would be: ‘‘whoever knows that he is proper and fit by law is forbidden to prevent him.’’ 53. Taubes, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim le-Massekhet Sanhedrin, no. 664 (for the attribution see n. 19 ad loc.); cf. Harkavy, Zikron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 347 (and Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 38–39, although it is possible to interpret the words of this responsum as an outburst of sarcasm). 54. Following the obvious emendation of Ginzberg and Taubes (maqom in place of the manuscript’s mamon).

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the debtor offers a guarantor until an answer arrives from the Great Court, the creditor need not wait.

Note especially that aside from the Great Court in the strict sense (that associated with his own academy), the Gaon recognizes the legitimacy not only of local courts and distinguished local authorities to whom they might appeal in case of doubt, but also of local Great Courts—even this honorific title is not the exclusive prerogative of the Geonic academies.∑∑ A related issue concerns the attitudes of the Geonim towards the multiplicity of local customs.∑∏ One frequently encounters in secondary literature sweeping statements to the effect that the Geonim glorified their own local customs, whether those of Babylonian Jewry as a whole or those of their academies in particular, and attempted to impose them on the entire Jewish world.∑π Here, too, the reality is much more complex, and it is difficult to generalize. For instance, in one responsum which is frequently quoted out of context, Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon writes that ‘‘whoever deviates from our custom has not fulfilled his obligation’’; but analysis of the context and comparison with Na≠tronai’s other responsa make it clear that this opinion condemns only one particular custom, which the Gaon believed (erroneously) to be of Karaite origin, while he countenanced many other customs which differed from those of his academy.∑∫ One of the complicating factors is that there are a good many intermediate degrees between wholehearted endorsement of a custom and its outright rejection. This is indicated, for instance, in the introduction to Se‘adyah Gaon’s prayer book, in which the critique of local customs occupies a central place:∑Ω I saw fit to gather in this book the essential prayers and liturgies and benedictions in their pristine forms . . . and establish them as canons, and I will then add whatever I have encountered in the way of addition or deletion, 55. Taubes (n. 32 ad loc.) says that the word ‘‘Great’’ should be omitted, but there is no evidence to support this emendation. 56. On the constitutive value of universal Jewish custom, see esp. Lewin, Ofsar haGe’onim, vol. 5, Rosh ha-Shanah, no. 117, discussed and partly translated by Groner, Legal Methodology of Hai Gaon, pp. 16–17. 57. The only extensive study devoted specifically to this topic is Fishman, ‘‘Ha-Minhag be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim.’’ See also Libson, ‘‘Minhag Tosefet Ketubbah’’; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 91–92. 58. See Müller, Mafteahf li-Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim, p. 101; Fishman, ‘‘Ha-Minhag beSifrut ha-Ge’onim,’’ pp. 150–154 (esp. 150–151); Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 92 (and n. 169), 257–259; and above, p. 96. 59. Assaf et al., Siddur Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, p. 11; cf. Brody, ‘‘Limits of Liturgical Flexibility.’’

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The Classical Geonic Period according to the preference of some . . . and whichever of them spoils the intended sense, I have prohibited its recitation; and whatever does not spoil it, I have nevertheless indicated that it is not part of the essential tradition.

The Geonim generally were very sparing in the condemnation of customs about which they had reservations. Only those customs which were absolutely unacceptable from a halakhic point of view were rejected out of hand.∏≠ There were undoubtedly differences in attitude and nuance between various Geonim, not all of which can be attributed to ‘‘political’’ considerations;∏∞ these have yet to be thoroughly explored. The Geonim were sensitive to the danger of communal disputes erupting in case of attempts to uproot established customs and were loath to risk such consequences unnecessarily. An interesting example of this approach is provided by a responsum of Hayya Gaon:∏≤ We have received from the mouths of the early rabbis, the pillars of the world, not to do thus . . . As for you, if it is easy for you to renounce your custom . . . and act according to our custom, how good and how lovely! But if the matter is difficult because of the rest of the populace who hold to the custom, and it is difficult to uproot it from them, you may rely upon what we have said (in the Talmud) . . . even though our custom is the preferable one.

We must emphasize, however, that the Geonim were quite content to tolerate a variety of customs of many sorts—especially, but not exclusively, in the realm of liturgy—even in their immediate surroundings, where they would have been in a strong position to impose uniformity had they desired to do so.∏≥ In this respect, too, the Geonim were willing to accord legitimacy to a rather broad spectrum of religious behavior, so long as the practices in question were permissible, or at least defensible, from a halakhic perspective. 60. See Brody, ‘‘Limits of Liturgical Flexibility’’; Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 6, Yoma, no. 43; Sukkah, no. 154. The opposition to Palestinian customs was to some extent a special case, but even such an extremist as Pirqoy b. Baboy based his argumentation largely on the contention that these customs contravene the halakhah (see above, chap. 7, ‘‘The Babylonian Offensive’’). 61. As attempted by Hoffman, Canonization of the Synagogue Service, esp. pp. 161– 170. 62. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 8, Ketubbot, Responsa, no. 61 (on the quntres which included this responsum see most recently Groner, ‘‘Qun≠tresey Teshuvot Ge’onim,’’ pp. 9– 10); cf. Lewin, op. cit., vol. 5, Megillah, no. 168 (end). 63. See, for example, Müller, Halakhot Pesuqot, no. 190; idem, Teshuvot Ge’oney Mizrahf u-Ma‘arav, no. 122; Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 148–149; Lewin, Ofsar haGe’onim, vol. 5, Megillah, no. 242; vol. 12, Bava Qamma, Responsa, no. 286 (end); Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 115, 145–146, 435.

10

The Talmudic Sources

We may now turn to a closer examination of those portions of the talmudic literature which constituted the core of the intellectual world inhabited by the Geonim and the members of their academies. The most central text in this world was the Babylonian Talmud, which, as we have seen, was deemed to include within itself both Scripture and the Mishnah, thus obviating the need for advanced scholars to divide their time between the three corpora. The notion that the Mishnah—or, to be more precise, those parts of it encompassed by the Babylonian Talmud—is for practical purposes subsumed within the Talmud finds striking confirmation in the manuscript tradition: identifiably Babylonian manuscripts never contain these portions of the Mishnah in isolation, but only within the context of the corresponding tractates of the Talmud.∞ Although there were tanna’im who specialized in the study of the Mishnah and similar texts, this was apparently so far from the educational mainstream as to leave no manuscript record.≤ On the other hand, it was not 1. See Sussmann, ‘‘Kitvey-Yad u-Mesorot-Nusah.’’ ≠ M. Glatzer, in an unpublished lecture (Jerusalem, 1996), has argued on codicological grounds for the Babylonian provenance of MS Antonin 262 of Mishnah ATeharot (for which there is no Talmud). 2. See above, p. 50, and chap. 9, ‘‘Areas of Interest.’’ (Note that the repertory of the tanna’im is here said to include texts of a mystical nature.) Of course the sources

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the entire Babylonian Talmud which comprised the curriculum of the Geonic academies, but a truncated version of it. From a unique and incomplete source it appears that the tractates which were not studied are those which are characterized by differences in dialect and terminology from the bulk of the Talmud (such as Nedarim and Nazir), and this is clearly not coincidental, although the exact relationship between the two phenomena remains obscure. Other sources indicate that Nedarim, at least, was excluded from the curriculum by the time of Yehudai Gaon, in the middle of the eighth century, at the latest.≥ The paucity of questions addressed to the Geonim concerning these tractates strongly suggests that they were relatively unpopular outside the Geonic academies as well.∂

Oral versus Written Talmud For the Geonim and the members of their academies, up to the very end of the Geonic period, the Talmud remained literally in the category of Oral Torah. The act of oral study or recitation and the oral ‘‘text’’ were described by forms of the verb GRS (literally ‘‘to chew’’), the act of copying or the physical copy by A (originally ‘‘to pluck out,’’ then ‘‘to transfer, copy’’).∑ forms of the verb NSH By the end of the Geonic period there were certainly written copies of the Talmud—the earliest clear evidence for the existence of such texts takes us back approximately to the middle of the eighth century∏ —and the Geonim were not averse to making use of these on occasion. Nevertheless, within the academies the dominant model of transmission—ideologically, and apparently also in practice—remained an oral one; this preference for oral transmission was very likely connected with a belief in the superiority of oral instruction, for which describe their study as oral, but this is not a complete explanation for the lack of written documentation. 3. See above, p. 45; Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 283– 284, and the literature cited in notes 194–195, ibid. 4. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 11 (this volume includes many selections which are not really responsa devoted to the corresponding talmudic texts); Kimmelman, ‘‘Luah≠ ‘Ezer,’’ pp. 577–578. 5. See Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 290–291. The oral nature of Talmud in this period was first stressed by Rosenthal, ‘‘Lishana Ahrina’’ ≠ (and in lectures, some of which have been published posthumously), and Epstein, Mevo’ot leSifrut ha-Amora’im, pp. 140–141. 6. See Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ p. 280 and n. 178.

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parallels may be found in other cultures.π The clearest testimonies to this aspect of academic life are to be found in two responsa of tenth-century Pumbeditan Geonim. The first of these, by the Gaon Aaron Sarjado, refers to the traditional intonation with which a certain talmudic sentence is pronounced (as a rhetorical question rather than a declarative statement). It speaks of the recitation of ‘‘the entire academy—and it is known that their recitation ( gursa) is from the mouths of the masters, and most of them do not know what a book is.’’ Although this is clearly an exaggeration, what the Gaon seems to mean is that the majority of the academicians do not know what a written Talmud looks like, or at least are not accustomed to making use of one; rather, their knowledge of the talmudic text derives from an unbroken chain of oral tradition.∫ The second piece of evidence comes from Sherira’s Epistle. One of the questions addressed to the Gaon was: ‘‘How were the Mishnah and Talmud written?’’ He replied,Ω ‘‘The Talmud and the Mishnah were not written, but rather composed (tarofsey ittarfsu), and the Rabbis are careful to recite orally, but not from (written) copies, for we say, ‘Things which are oral, you may not say in writing,’ and we say ‘These you may write, but you may not write laws.’ ’’ The inferior status of written texts as against oral traditions, in the eyes of the Geonim, is clearly indicated by the fact that the oral versions are invariably mentioned first. Written texts may be called upon for additional support, to explain a reading cited by the questioners, or as a last resort when the (orally) received text is judged to be hopelessly corrupt—a suggestion which the Geonim would put forward, if at all, with great hesitation.∞≠ As an illustration of some of these themes we may cite another responsum from the end of the Geonic period, this time by Hayya Gaon:∞∞ 7. Outside the academies, written transmission probably dominated; note that the traditions concerning the earliest written texts attribute their production to the needs of communities remote from Babylonia (but see n. 12, below). 8. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 7, Yevamot, no. 170; see Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ p. 241, with references to earlier discussions. But cf. Lewin, op. cit., vol. 2, Shabbat, Responsa, no. 17. 9. Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 71–72 (following the French recension; see above, chap. 2, ‘‘The Epistle of Sherira Gaon’’; Rabinowich, p. 84; Schlüter, pp. 193– 194); cf. Epstein, Mevo’ot le-Sifrut ha-Amora’im, pp. 613–615; Abramson, ‘‘Ketivat haMishnah.’’ The talmudic citations are from the parallel passages BT Gi≠t≠tin 60b, Temurah 14b. 10. See Epstein, Mevo’ot le-Sifrut ha-Amora’im, p. 140; Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 243–244. 11. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 6, Sukkah, no. 96. The subject under discussion is

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The Classical Geonic Period And as for what we have learned (Mishnah Sukkah 3:7): ‘‘the largest (permissible citron)—so that he can hold two in one hand,’’ and in some copies: ‘‘so that he can hold both in one hand.’’ Let our master teach us which is the correct version of the Mishnah, and its interpretation. . . . So they taught us originally, ‘‘and the largest—so that he can hold two in one hand,’’ and we heard that in Palestine they recite: ‘‘so that he can hold both in one hand,’’ and here too there are copies which are written so. And this made sense to us, and we said in the academy . . . that this wording ( girsa) is more accurate, and the elders . . . protested vehemently against us over this.

The Gaon goes on to explain that according to the version he prefers, ‘‘both’’ should be taken as referring not to two citrons but to the citron and the palm branch, which are held together; so this minimal textual difference (one letter in Hebrew!) is not without significance in terms of the legal content of the Mishnah. For our purposes it is worth noting the characteristic fact that the questioners speak of written texts,∞≤ while the Gaon cites oral traditions in the first instance and adduces written texts only in a secondary role—even though the oral traditions he prefers are Palestinian and the written texts he cites belong to his native Babylonian tradition. Furthermore, ‘‘the elders’’ who were present on this occasion ‘‘protested vehemently’’ over Hayya’s effrontery in preferring the combined testimony of Palestinian oral tradition and (some) Babylonian copies to their received oral tradition. This is in fact one of the very few cases in Geonic literature where anything approaching a textual emendation is proposed.∞≥ It appears that the members of the Geonic academies were identified to such an extent with the living and uninterrupted oral tradition of the talmudic text that they found it virtually inconceivable that errors had crept undetected into and contaminated this tradition as a whole (although they sometimes admitted the possibility that some of the oral versions could be mistaken). This is in sharp contrast to the attitude of medieval rabbinic authors in Europe—especially those of Franco-Germany, who were further removed from the Babylonian wellsprings than their Spanish and Provençal the requirement to hold a citron and palm branch (along with myrtle and willow twigs) on Sukkot, according to rabbinic exegesis of Leviticus 23: 40. 12. There were oral transmitters outside the immediate environs of the academies, who were sometimes accused of corrupting the transmission of the text; see ibid., vol. 5, Megillah, no. 11. 13. Cf. ibid., vol. 1, Berakhot, Commentaries, pp. 95–96 (this passage is taken from the commentary of Hayya Gaon; see ibid., p. 90). One occasionally encounters the claim that the Geonim frequently emended texts, but there is no real evidence for this, although they did reject variants which they considered corrupt (cf. Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ p. 238, n. 9).

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contemporaries. These scholars, who received the Talmud as a written text, had no such sublime faith in its textual accuracy and were wont to emend the received text rather freely—one might even say cavalierly—when they encountered difficulties in its interpretation.∞∂ Another aspect of the ‘‘oral Talmud’’ phenomenon is the substantial degree of fluidity which characterized the talmudic text, so far as the Geonim and their circles were concerned. In contrast to a written text like that of the (Masoretic) Bible, which might be fixed down to the finest minutiae, there was seemingly no attempt or desire to fix the talmudic text at the lowest linguistic level, but only at a thematic level. Not only are there many cases in which different Geonim had different versions of a given talmudic passage, but there are quite a number of cases in which a single Gaon cites a number of variant oral ‘‘texts’’ of a given passage, without feeling the need to decide on a single ‘‘correct’’ version (although, of course, there are other cases in which one version is adopted and another rejected). There is a tendency in such cases for the Gaon to argue, or at least hint, that the difference in wording is irrelevant to the meaning; but even where the practical implications of the textual variant in question are undeniable, the Geonim were not always able or willing to make an unequivocal decision about the disputed text.∞∑ The impression one receives from the sources is that as far as Geonic circles were concerned, so long as the meaning was held constant, the wording could be allowed to vary quite freely without any objection being raised. This situation, despite all the differences in sitz im leben, puts us forcibly in mind of the findings of students of oral literature in other cultures, such as A. B. Lord:∞∏ ‘‘To the singer the song, which cannot be changed (since to change it would, in his mind, be to tell an untrue story or to falsify history), is the essence of the story itself. His idea of stability, to which he is deeply devoted, does not include the wording, which to him has never been fixed, nor the unessential parts of the story. He builds his performance . . . on the stable skeleton of narrative.’’ The similarities go deeper than the overall impressions we have described up to now, as can be shown by a careful analysis of the types of textual variation and their relative frequencies. Contrary to the impression conveyed by some scholars, Geonic literature reflects, virtually without exception, the same recension of the Babylonian Talmud with which we are familiar from later witnesses, both direct (Genizah fragments, medieval manuscripts, and early printed editions) and indirect (citations in medieval rabbinic literature). The A 14. See Ta-Shma, ‘‘Sifriyyatam shel Hakhmey Ashkenaz,’’ esp. p. 301. 15. See Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 237–240. 16. A. B. Lord, The Singer of Tales, Cambridge, 1960, p. 99.

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misleading impression that certain works of the Geonic period—especially the She’iltot—reflect different talmudic recensions arises partly from a lack of precision in defining the notion of recension and partly from unwarrantably radical reconstructions of hypothetical talmudic texts on the basis of indirect evidence. The many textual differences—both between parallel versions of a single talmudic text in distinct Geonic sources and between Geonic versions and those found in the later witnesses—are best understood as reflecting different oral ‘‘versions’’ or ‘‘performances’’ of a single recension, which is defined by what might be called its dialogical skeleton—the selection of sources, the order in which they are presented, and the connections drawn between them.∞π In addition to the sorts of variants which may be created either in oral or in written transmission of a text, such as changes in order and the insertion of explanatory glosses, we find many variants which point specifically in the direction of oral transmission.∞∫ Variations of wording which do not affect the sense of the text are extremely common; it would not be much of an exaggeration to say that every talmudic citation of more than a few words’ length provides evidence of this phenomenon. Variants with regard to proper names are rather common, even if we exclude examples of the interchange of graphically similar names, which could be explained as the result of copyists’ errors. Less common is the addition or omission of a dialectical stage in the structure of the talmudic discussion, for example cases in which a question is left unanswered in one version of the text, whereas an answer is provided in other versions. All these types of variation, and their relative frequencies, correspond to the sorts of changes encountered in comparisons between different oral performances of a given ‘‘text.’’ It is only very rarely that we find variants which affect more profoundly the dialogical skeleton of the talmudic discussion. These may be viewed as phenomena which occur at the periphery of the standard recension of the text, where variant traditions have escaped the editorial bottleneck. If we allow for a limited degree of fuzziness at the edges, we may say that a definitive recension of the Talmud had been achieved, in 17. See Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 245–256, with references to earlier literature. The basic distinction was made by Rosenthal, ‘‘Lishana Ahrina.’’ ≠ An additional factor which has contributed to overly radical reconstructions is insufficient sensitivity to the manifold exegetical possibilities which are often latent within a given talmudic text. 18. For the content of this paragraph see esp. Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 257–281. For purposes of this survey, we include differences between Geonic citations and later texts (manuscripts, editions, etc.) which may most plausibly be explained as products of the era of oral transmission (cf. ibid., pp. 257, 269–271).

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a process extending over several centuries, by the time the earliest Geonic sources were composed.

Interpretation and Application of the Talmud The greatest contribution of the Geonim to the course of Jewish history was the elevation of the Babylonian Talmud to canonical status. The Talmud is an extremely complex literary work, comprising legal and other materials, which evolved over several centuries. Even in its legal portions, many discussions are wholly or partly of an academic nature, and many disputes on practical issues remain unresolved. Furthermore, the material is not organized systematically, in the style of a legal code; a single issue may figure in a variety of contexts, and the relationship (if any) between the various discussions, as well as the weight to be assigned to them in deriving legal conclusions, is rarely selfevident. We have no way of knowing to what extent, if at all, the ‘‘editors’’ of the Talmud—as distinct from the authors of the legal dicta embedded within it∞Ω — intended to create a normative legal work rather than an academic or literary corpus. In addition, the Talmud evolved within a specifically Babylonian rabbinic tradition, although it incorporates many elements of Palestinian origin— both those belonging to the Tannaitic period, on which the Talmud is largely based, and those deriving from the Palestinian Amora’im, whose Babylonian contemporaries created the early strata of the Babylonian Talmud. On the face of it, the authors and editors of this Talmud could have hoped at best that their work would be accepted as authoritative within Babylonia and its immediate environs; and even within Babylonia, it is difficult to estimate the degree of influence exercised by the talmudic rabbis over the Jewish populace.≤≠ The situation in the Geonic period was fundamentally different. On the one hand, the Talmud was now perceived as a closed corpus. As far as the Geonim were concerned, the Savora’im who preceded them had added whatever finishing touches were needed to the Talmud which they inherited from the Amoraic period.≤∞ This was probably the crucial distinction, in the self-perception of the Geonim, between themselves and their predecessors: the Savora’im had been 19. I mean to distinguish between roles rather than between individuals; the two groups probably overlapped to a large extent, but this is not the place to enter into vexed questions of talmudic redaction. 20. Compare Neusner, History of the Jews in Babylonia, 2:251–287; 3:200–338; 4:125–278; 5:244–342; Gafni, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat ha-Talmud, pp. 105–106, 226–232. 21. See chap. 1, ‘‘Savora’im and Geonim,’’ esp. Sherira’s assertion that the Savora’im had resolved all outstanding questions (cf. chap. 1, n. 8).

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the last ‘‘editors’’ of the talmudic text, with which the Geonim could no longer tamper—although, as we have seen, the talmudic text was closed only at the level of its dialogical structure, and the exact wording remained fluid to a large extent. This is not to say that the rule was perfectly observed in practice: a considerable number of glosses crept into the text, as did a modest number of more substantial additions.≤≤ But the Geonim and their contemporaries no longer saw themselves as participating, even in a minor capacity, in the creation of the Talmud; rather, their ambition was to oversee its transmission, interpretation, and application. On the other hand, the ambitions which the Geonim entertained on behalf of the Talmud were probably greater than those of its creators. In their view, rabbinic Judaism was almost self-evidently the sole legitimate heir of biblical tradition, and the Babylonian version of rabbinic tradition was, if not the only legitimate version, as some contended, certainly the primus inter pares, to be preferred whenever it disagreed with Palestinian tradition. Their aspirations on behalf of Babylonian tradition knew in principle no geographical bounds, although most of their efforts outside of Babylonia were apparently directed at those territories whose Jewish populations were officially independent of the two great centers, rather than at the Palestinian heartland and its neighboring dependencies. Furthermore, they did battle not merely on behalf of an amorphous body of tradition but also on behalf of a specific literary crystallization, the Babylonian Talmud, which served as the flagship of that tradition. There were, as we shall see, exceptions of various sorts, but in general the Talmud served as the source of authority, from which almost all legal decisions were to be derived.≤≥ In theory the ultimate source of validation, for the Bible as well as for the Talmud, might be the unanimous tradition of the Jewish people;≤∂ but in practice it was the Talmud to which one normally turned for authoritative guidance. And when one was personally unable to extract an unambiguous ruling from the Talmud—whether this inability resulted from the limitations of the individual or of the Talmud itself—it was the recognized interpreters of the Talmud whom one consulted. The Geonim took upon themselves the threefold responsibility of supervising the transmission of the Talmud, interpreting it, and facilitating its practical implementation. The Geonic academies, which represented the continuation of the leading academies of the Amoraic period, were assumed to preserve the 22. Cf. below, chap. 11, ‘‘Other Halakhic Traditions,’’ with n. 32. 23. Conscious (or at least explicit) deviation from talmudic precedent plays a limited role in Geonic legal praxis; see chap. 4, ‘‘Legal Innovator.’’ 24. See chap. 9, n. 56.

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purest and most reliable textual tradition, even if there were exceptions to this rule.≤∑ All the textual traditions which circulated presumably derived in the last analysis from these academies, and the earliest known copies of the Talmud are reported to have been written from memory by emigrés from Babylonia (the Exilarch Na≠tronai in the eighth century) or sent abroad by Babylonian Geonim (Pal≠toy Gaon of Pumbedita in the ninth century).≤∏ Once talmudic texts began to circulate and to be studied outside the immediate environs of the academies, the Geonim were frequently consulted on textual questions; occasionally they also volunteered textual comments and rejected faulty readings, when questioned on other aspects of the talmudic sources.≤π Until the second half of the tenth century, the Geonim did not write talmudic commentaries. Systematic exegesis was confined to the framework of oral instruction carried on within the academies, to which we have no direct access. A number of factors may have contributed to this situation, but it may be perhaps be best understood in the context of Geonic attitudes towards education in general. Written explanations of talmudic passages were provided at the urging of questioners, but this was considered an inherently inferior pedagogical method, as we see from the following responsum of Sar Shalom Gaon, head of the academy of Sura in the mid-ninth century:≤∫ And you ask: A Gentile who puts his hand into a Jew’s wine, and (about the dicta) of R. Judah b. Bava and R. Judah b. Betera—all these are interconnected and extremely obscure. If . . . you were before us, it would be possible to explain them very well, and distinguish very well between one and another, like ‘‘a word fitly spoken’’ (Proverbs 25:11). For when a student sits before his 25. In such cases it appears that the text continued to develop to some extent during its transmission in the Geonic milieu, while the version known to the questioners branched off from this chain of transmission at an earlier stage. See Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 264–266, 276–281. 26. See Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 138–139, and cf. Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ p. 280 and n. 178, and above, chap. 8, n. 28. 27. For questions on textual matters see Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, pp. 125–126. For examples of unsolicited corrections see Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 2, Shabbat, Responsa, no. 191; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 455–456. 28. For the text and authorship of this responsum see chap. 4, n. 2. Cf. Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Geonim hi-tokh ha-Genizah, p. 46; Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 2, Shabbat, Responsa, no. 311. The desire to encourage students to come to the academies may have played some role in these cases and in the failure to write commentaries (as argued, rather too forcefully, by Grossman, ‘‘Ha-Ziqah’’); in a sense the question only arises with Se‘adyah, who was the first Gaon to write systematic works of any description. For later developments see below, chap. 17, ‘‘Commentaries on the Mishnah’’ and esp. ‘‘Commentaries on the Talmud.’’

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The Classical Geonic Period master and discusses a matter of law, his master perceives the trend of his thoughts, and what he has overlooked and what is clear to him and what stubbornly eludes him, and explains to him until his eyes light up . . . but in writing, how much is possible?

As interpreters of the Talmud, the Geonim had at least two great advantages over other exegetes: in addition to having access to the most authoritative textual traditions, they still spoke a dialect of Aramaic which was very close, although not identical, to that used in the Babylonian Talmud. Words which their questioners found obscure might still be part of everyday speech for the Geonim, and even for their Gentile neighbors.≤Ω The Geonim rarely lay claim to specific exegetical traditions going back to talmudic times, but there are occasional instances of this sort.≥≠ It is evident from the numerous disagreements within the Geonic milieu over the understanding of specific passages that there was no uniform interpretive tradition covering the entire talmudic corpus. Nevertheless, they clearly shared an intimate acquaintance with the spirit of talmudic discourse and a sensitivity to its literary nature, which profoundly influenced their exegesis at a metatextual level and had important implications for the practical application of the text. In particular, Geonic sources display an awareness of the academic orientation of much talmudic dialogue, in which possible harmonizations of different sources or opinions are suggested in order to show that they are not incompatible, without the claim being advanced or implied that these are the correct or authoritative interpretations of the sources in question. Similarly, the Talmud may devote considerable energy to the explication of positions which are not deemed authoritative.≥∞ On the other hand, there was widespread consensus among the Geonim that the talmudic dialectic was not purely academic and that certain conclusions of a legal nature could be drawn from the course of discussion, although they were never stated explicitly. For instance, a source used as the basis of an attack on an Amoraic opinion must have been considered 29. On dialectical differences see the beginning of chap. 13, with notes 7–8. For Aramaic as a spoken language in Babylonia see Epstein, Diqduq Aramit Bavlit, pp. 16– 17; for interpretations of Aramaic words and expressions see, e.g., Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, passim. Cases in which the Geonim have difficulty with Hebrew or Aramaic words are quite rare; cf. Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 70, n. 12. 30. Not all these claims are equally plausible. See chap. 11, ‘‘Aggadic and Historical Traditions.’’ 31. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 86 and n. 128; p. 273 and n. 2; cf. also Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 5, Rosh ha-Shanah, no. 134, and esp. the detailed (but occasionally obscure) responsum, probably by Sherira or Hayya Gaon, published by Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim min ha-Genizah, pp. 63–66.

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authoritative.≥≤ In other cases, the Geonim disagreed among themselves about the permissibility of drawing halakhic implications from academic discussions. For example, if one talmudic authority explicated another’s dictum, did this indicate that he agreed with it?≥≥ Questions arose also with regard to the anonymous editors of the Talmud. Was any significance to be attributed to the order in which they chose to present various discussions? If two alternate versions of a given discussion were transmitted side by side in the Talmud, should they be given equal weight, or should the latter version be judged the authoritative one?≥∂ These are the broadest sorts of methodological questions which confronted the Geonim in their attempts to elicit practical guidance from the complex patchwork of talmudic discussions, but they are by no means the only ones. The Talmud contains many hundreds, if not thousands, of explicit disputes between various authorities, in which no decision is given, and—as part of the effort to convert the Talmud into the central, authoritative guide to Jewish practice—it became necessary to develop rules for adjudicating such disputes. The beginnings of this process may be found already in Tannaitic literature, and some important rules of this sort are contained in the Talmud, but many are attested for the first time in Geonic literature, and some of these were the subjects of dispute in that period and later.≥∑ Even undisputed dicta were not necessarily considered authoritative, although in the vast majority of cases they were. In some instances the Geonim declared that they were possessed of a tradition that a given dictum was not accepted as halakhah, or drew this conclusion from a traditional practice which disregarded it.≥∏ Even supposing that a given dictum was considered authoritative, it might be interpreted broadly or restrictively,≥π and its applicability to the case in question might be subject to dispute. Like any jurist dependent on a legal corpus, the Gaon who 32. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 87 (no. 14) and n. 133. 33. See ibid., p. 86 (no. 10) and notes 127, 129. 34. See ibid., pp. 83–85. Some Geonim gave decisive weight to the discussion occurring later in the Talmud, even when there was no direct connection or comparison between the two passages; see, e.g., the responsum of Yehudai Gaon in Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 1, Berakhot, Responsa, no. 240. 35. For the Geonic period see Kahan, Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im; Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 223–245; Groner, Legal Methodology of Hai Gaon; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 78–87. For the development of such rules in general, cf. Groner, ibid., p. 44. 36. See above, chap. 9, n. 15, and below, chap. 11, ‘‘Other Halakhic Traditions.’’ 37. See Brody, ‘‘Kelum Hayu ha-Ge’onim Mehoqeqim?,’’ ≠ pp. 280–281; idem, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 77–78.

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dealt with a real-life question had to analyze the situation into its legal components, collate the sources relevant to each of these, and decide on their relative weight before reaching a concrete decision. It is important to note that these observations apply specifically to the legal portions of the Talmud; with regard to nonlegal materials, the Geonim in principle maintained an independent stance and did not feel responsible for defending talmudic dicta or bound to accept them. The sources which contain clear statements to this effect date from the end of the Geonic period, but we have no reason to suppose that this attitude was a new one.≥∫

Other Sources Although the Babylonian Talmud, together with those parts of the Mishnah encompassed by it, constituted the predominant textual authority for the Geonim, their repertory included a number of additional literary sources, the bulk of them of Palestinian origin. In surveying the utilization of these sources in the Geonic academies prior to Se‘adyah Gaon, it is crucial to distinguish between Tannaitic sources (those redacted, roughly speaking, by the third century c.e.) and later sources, such as the Palestinian Talmud and midrashim. We have already had occasion to cite the responsum of Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon, which describes the activities of a group of specialist tanna’im who used to study ‘‘Mishnah, midrash, and Tosafot,’’ whereas most scholars concentrated exclusively on the study of the Talmud.≥Ω It would seem that this division corresponds approximately to the three major components of Tannaitic literature—Mishnah, Tosefta, and the so-called halakhic midrashim— except that the term tosafot may refer to a broader category, rather than to the specific literary work known as the Tosefta.∂≠ However, these works were not 38. The ramifications of this important topic deserve a full-scale investigation. The most comprehensive discussion to date, with references to earlier literature, is in Sklare, A Samuel ben Hofni Gaon, pp. 41–48; see also Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on liBereshit, pp. xiii-xviii. 39. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 146–147, and cf. chap. 3, with nn. 67–68. 40. Cf. H. Albeck, Mehqarim f bi-Berayta we-Tosefta we-Yahasan f la-Talmud [Studies in Baraita and Tosefta and their Relationship to the Talmud], Jerusalem, 1944, pp. 60–65; Epstein, Mevo’ot le-Sifrut ha-Tanna’im, pp. 241–244. Note that Na≠tronai himself uses a different term, ‘‘Hilkhot (Malqot),’’ to refer to the Tosefta (Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 430). For the use of Seder ‘Olam see Harkavy, Zikron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 45 (listed by Kimmelman, ‘‘Luah≠ ‘Ezer,’’ p. 586); Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 3:374– 376 (cf. Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 209–210, no. 87), and below, chap. 15, nn. 37, 46.

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the exclusive province of the tanna’im, as is evident from the responsa of various Geonim.∂∞ Once again, we are confronted with the difficulty of assessing the situation of the Geonic academies on the basis of responsa which by definition address the concerns of the questioners rather than those of the Geonim and their colleagues. The Geonim were only rarely consulted about those portions of the Mishnah not covered by the Babylonian Talmud; in a modest number of additional cases they cited these portions of the Mishnah on their own initiative, but there are grounds for suspecting that their knowledge of these sources was less comprehensive than their command of the Talmud and those parts of the Mishnah subsumed within it.∂≤ The situation with respect to the Tosefta, a slightly later collection parallel to the Mishnah, is very similar.∂≥ It is worth quoting parts of a well-known responsum by ‘Amram b. Sheshna ‘‘Gaon’’ which sheds light both on the degree to which the Geonim and their contemporaries were acquainted with this and other Tannaitic sources and on their attitude towards the halakhic status of those sources:∂∂ And as for your question: Is the Tosefta to be relied upon? This is not a fixed or well-defined matter, because the Tosefta and Torat Kohanim and Sifrey are called in the Talmud barayyata (‘‘externals,’’ with respect to the Mishnah)—some of them are (according to the) halakhah and some of them are not (according to the) halakhah. How so? Every baraita against which the Amoraic rabbis do not argue in the Talmud—the halakhah follows it . . . and every baraita against which they argue in the Talmud—the halakhah does not follow it. For lo, the Mishnah is more precise than the barayyata, and we find in several places that the halakhah does not follow it . . . Therefore there is no fixed rule with regard to the Tosefta or Sifra or Sifrey.

The ultimate source of halakhic authority is thus located in the Babylonian Talmud, which may reject even a particular Mishnah, let alone an ‘‘external’’ 41. References to Geonic use of Tannaitic sources were collected by Higger, ‘‘Sifrey haTanna’im.’’ An updated and revised version of this survey is a desideratum; meanwhile one may also consult the indexes to Mirsky, She’iltot, Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, and Kimmelman, ‘‘Luah≠ ‘Ezer,’’ pp. 508, 515–517, 526, 560, 562, 578–582, 586. 42. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 69–70. Geonic citations of these portions of the Mishnah are listed by Kimmelman, ‘‘Luah≠ ‘Ezer,’’ pp. 512, 515–517, 526, 560, 562, 578–581; cf. n. 1, above. 43. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 70–71; Geonic citations are listed in Higger, ‘‘Sifrey ha-tanna’im,’’ pp. 95–120, and Kimmelman, ‘‘Luah≠ ‘Ezer,’’ pp. 581–582. 44. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 6, Sukkah, no. 30. ‘Amram was active in the Suran sphere in the middle of the ninth century; see pp. 191–192, and Brody, ‘‘Rav ‘Amram bar Sheshna.’’ This responsum was later incorporated in Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im (ed. Kahan, pp. 17–19; German translation: ibid., pp. 8–9); see chap. 17, ‘‘Early Works on Talmudic Methodology,’’ with n. 31, and Ginzberg, Geonica, 2: 307–308.

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mishnah. But so long as there is no indication in the Talmud that a given Tannaitic text is to be overruled, it constitutes an authoritative source. Although ‘Amram was asked specifically about the Tosefta, he volunteers the information that there is no difference in this regard between the Tosefta and such halakhic midrashim as Sifra (= Torat Kohanim) or Sifrey. These and other halakhic midrashim are quoted from time to time in Geonic responsa, more commonly as a source for exegetical traditions and the like than as halakhic sources in the strict sense. It is unclear to what extent this is simply a function of the nature of these books, and to what extent it may represent the attitude of some Geonim towards the authority enjoyed by these texts.∂∑ We should note that although the halakhic midrashim in general are considered to be of Palestinian origin, one of the latest such texts, the Mekhilta de-Rabbi Shim‘on b. Yohai, f may have been redacted in Babylonia, as suggested by a responsum of Hayya Gaon, which contrasts this text (albeit under the name Sifrey de-Bey Rav) with ‘‘the Palestinian Mekhilta,’’ that is, the text known as the Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishma‘’el.∂∏ Considerable scholarly attention has been devoted to the question whether later Palestinian sources, in particular the Palestinian Talmud, were utilized in Geonic literature prior to the time of Se‘adyah Gaon.∂π The only explicit reference to the Palestinian Talmud dating from this period is in the epistle of Pirqoy b. Baboy, in the context of his anti-Palestinian polemic:∂∫ ‘‘Know you why they eat sirkha in Palestine—because they have not a single halakhah of Talmud of the law of slaughtering, nor of the entire Order of Qodashim; they have forgotten the entire Order of Qodashim, and the Talmud of the entire A Order of Teharot.’’ In the context of his attempt to delegitimize the Palestinian halakhic tradition, Pirqoy conveniently overlooks the fact that the Babylonian Talmud is A also lacking two Orders (Zera‘im and Teharot), but what is important for our 45. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 71–72. The use of these texts elsewhere in Geonic literature requires further investigation; the published sources are listed in Higger, ‘‘Sifrey ha-Tanna’im,’’ pp. 143–164, and Kimmelman, ‘‘Luah≠ ‘Ezer,’’ pp. 508. 46. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 12, Bava Qamma, Responsa, no. 24 (for the probable attribution to Hayya see Abramson, Rav Nissim Ga’on, pp. xxviii–xxx and n. 46a). I owe the suggested interpretation to D. Boyarin. 47. The literature on this question is listed in Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 73, n. 30. 48. See chap. 7, ‘‘The Babylonian Offensive.’’ The citation is from Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, 2:560. The subject under discussion is the permissibility or otherwise of eating meat from an animal whose lungs are found to adhere to its heart; the question is whether this is a symptom of mortal disease (fterefah), which would render the meat unfit for consumption.

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current purpose is that this Babylonian propagandist is aware of the existence and scope of the Palestinian Talmud. This much knowledge was presumably shared by other members of the Geonic milieu; but if they delved any further into the Palestinian Talmud, these studies have left no trace in their writings. A few early responsa appear at first glance to contain references to the Palestinian Talmud, but closer investigation reveals that this impression is mistaken. What is more, there are several clear instances in which the decisions of early Geonim contradict those of the Palestinian Talmud, although the Babylonian Talmud has nothing to say on the issue under discussion. The conclusion that these Geonim either were not aware of the rulings contained in the Palestinian Talmud or else accorded them no weight in their deliberations seems inescapable.∂Ω We now know that such works of this period as the She’iltot and Halakhot Pesuqot cannot be shown to cite the Palestinian Talmud, despite the contentions of some earlier scholars.∑≠ The only exception among the quasiGeonic works of this period is Halakhot Gedolot, which utilizes not only the Palestinian Talmud but also an impressive variety of Palestinian sources, some of them clearly later than the Talmud. This ‘‘aberrant’’ behavior raises the question whether Halakhot Gedolot is in fact of Babylonian provenance, as is generally assumed.∑∞ The situation with regard to Palestinian texts other than the Talmud may be summarized more briefly. Aside from Halakhot Gedolot, there is no trace of the Palestinian midrashic collections, or of post-talmudic Palestinian halakhic literature of the Sefer ha-Ma‘asim type, in the Geonic literature of the early period.∑≤ The so-called minor tractates, as we have seen, are difficult to date. Aside from Halakhot Gedolot, which clearly utilizes a number of those tractates, several earlier sources appear to reflect an acquaintance with the tractate

49. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 72–73 and n. 30. For the possibility that these works were known but disregarded, compare the comments of Sherira Gaon in his Epistle (Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 47; Rabinowich, p. 49; Schlüter, pp. 142–143 [both translations are inaccurate]) with regard to putatively Tannaitic works: ‘‘And if we now find copies of barayyata we do not rely on them, because they are not recited (by the tanna’im) and we do not know if they are true or not, except for those which are recited in the House of the Rabbis, and other barayyata which the rabbis call ‘minor ones,’ which are not (intended) for purposes of legal instruction, but are like halakhot of etiquette and aggadot.’’ The last category apparently refers to the ‘‘minor tractates.’’ 50. See chap. 13, with n. 38; chap. 14, with n. 17. 51. See chap. 14, ‘‘Halakhot Gedolot,’’ with nn. 49, 54. 52. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 89; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 159–161, 203–211. For the Sefer ha-Ma‘asim and allied literature see above, chap. 7, ‘‘Legal Tradition and Literature.’’

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or tractates on mourning.∑≥ The Babylonian Talmud was already familiar with two such tractates, although these were not necessarily identical with those which have reached us. In view of our findings with regard to the use made (or not made) of various Palestinian sources in the early Geonic literature, it is probable that these tractates are of Tannaitic origin or at least were considered as such in Geonic Babylonia.∑∂ We may conclude with a few remarks concerning two types of literature which may be said to lie on the periphery of the classical rabbinic corpus: mystical texts of the Hekhalot type and Aramaic biblical translations (Targumim). As we have seen, Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon was already acquainted with some (unidentified) Hekhalot texts, and in a later period we have the evidence of Hayya Gaon to the effect that at least two major texts of this sort were recited by ‘‘the tanna’im,’’ presumably the same tanna’im who studied ‘‘Mishnah, midrash, and Tosafot.’’ The date of these texts is a matter of intense scholarly dispute; it is not clear when they entered the repertory of the tanna’im of the Geonic period or whether their inclusion in this corpus proves that they are of Tannaitic origin. It probably does imply, at the least, that such a belief was current at the time, but this may have been based on the Hebrew style of the texts in question and the attributions to Tannaitic authorities contained in them, rather than on any precise knowledge of the circumstances surrounding their composition.∑∑ As for the Aramaic Targumim, the early Geonic literature shows no signs of acquaintance with the so-called Palestinian Targumim but does draw on Targum Onqelos, which was apparently already cited in the Babylonian Talmud.∑∏ 53. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 638 and n. 3; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 162–163, 209. 54. On the history of these tractates see D. Zlotnick, The Tractate ‘‘Mourning,’’ New Haven, 1966 (Yale Judaica Series, 17), pp. 1–9; M. B. Lerner, ‘‘The External Tractates,’’ in Safrai, ed., Literature of the Sages, 1:389–393. 55. Note that Hayya Gaon calls them mishnayot, but cf. Se‘adyah’s doubts about the attributions of Shi‘ur Qomah (chap. 9, at the end of the section ‘‘The Supernatural’’) and Sefer Yefsirah (chap. 18, with n. 25). For recent literature regarding the Hekhalot literature see chap. 9, n. 21; for the ongoing debate concerning Sefer Yefsirah, see most recently the articles by Sh. Morag and Y. Liebes in Tarbizh 63, no. 1 (1993), pp. 135–144. 56. See the passages in which the Talmud speaks of translation of the Bible in the firstperson plural, listed in B. Kasowsky, Ofsar Leshon ha-Talmud [Thesaurus Talmudis: Concordantiae Verborum . . .], vol. 41, Jerusalem, 1982, p. 526, third column. Hayya was apparently the first Gaon to refer to the Palestinian Targumim. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 69 and n. 4, and cf. the sources listed in Kimmelman, ‘‘Luah≠ ‘Ezer,’’ p. 508, esp. the responsum by Sherira and Hayya published in Lewin, Ofsar haGe’onim, vol. 5, Megillah, no. 8; vol. 9, Qiddushin, nos. 295–296.

11

Extra-Talmudic Oral Traditions

In addition to utilizing large parts of the talmudic literature, the Geonim and their contemporaries were able to draw upon a body of extra-talmudic traditions which were transmitted for generations in the milieu of the Geonic academies. In these circles the talmudic literature itself was transmitted orally for the most part, although written copies were in existence by the early ninth century and were sometimes referred to—albeit in a subordinate capacity— by the later Geonim. The same situation apparently prevailed with regard to extra-talmudic traditions. When the mode of transmission is indicated, it is always oral, but one responsum of Hayya Gaon describes the practice of ‘‘the early ones,’’ who recorded in private notebooks (megillot setarim) certain traditions which they had heard in the name of even earlier scholars.∞ Leaving aside traditions concerning events of the Geonic period and those of an aggadic nature, to which we shall return below, we are confronted with a stock of anonymous traditions on matters of Talmud and halakhah. The scope of this body of traditions is unknown: there are only a few explicit testimonia concerning traditions of this sort, but it is very likely that these represent 1. See most recently Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 12. Note that the material recorded in this fashion is described as ‘‘recollections of things heard’’ (zikhronot shemu‘ot).

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merely the tip of the iceberg.≤ This material may be classified in several different ways, including by the period to which it is attributed, but at this point we will consider distinctions of a different sort. Some traditions can stand alone from a formal point of view, while others are formulated in such a way that they are intelligible only when taken along with the talmudic text. Furthermore, some traditions were crystallized in precise verbal form, while in other cases it may have been the contents alone which were transmitted, without being reduced to a specific wording.

Formulaic Traditions Direct evidence for the existence of traditions of this sort is to be found in a few responsa of the last Pumbeditan Geonim, Sherira and especially Hayya. We will consider one example of a formally independent tradition and one of a tradition formulated as an adjunct to the Talmud. The first example, from a responsum of Hayya Gaon, concerns the legitimacy of children born out of wedlock:≥ And you, our colleagues, preserve from our mouths words which are a tradition received from our fathers and forefathers of many generations, in this formulation: If an unmarried woman fornicates, and we do not know with whom she has fornicated, whether he is eligible (for marriage) or ineligible, and we have asked her and she says, ‘‘I don’t know him,’’ the child is (deemed) a foundling (shetuqi); but if she says ‘‘from a suitable one,’’ the child is eligible. And even if she was seen having intercourse, and we do not know whether she had intercourse with an eligible or an ineligible (man), and she says, ‘‘I had intercourse with an eligible man,’’ she is eligible for (marriage with) the priesthood and her daughter is also eligible for (marriage with) the priesthood.

There are several partial parallels to this set of rules in the Geonic literature, of which the closest and most interesting is to be found in the She’iltot, where the declarative structure is replaced by a series of questions and answers. The Gaon, however, is clearly quoting not from any of these works but from a traditional source which apparently underlies them.∂ Our second ex2. For collections of testimonia see Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:378–381; Danzig, Mavo leSefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 8–12, and cf. ibid., pp. 5–8. 3. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 8, Ketubbot, Responsa, no. 150–151 (Epstein, ibid., pp. 378–379; Danzig, ibid., p. 12; for the probable attribution see Abramson, Rav Nissim Gaon, pp. xxviii–xxx and n. 46a). For the legal background see Mishnah Yevamot 6:4, Mishnah Qiddushin 4:1–6. 4. See Sassoon, Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 142 (cf. Schlosberg, Hilkhot Re’u, p. 107, and the passage from Sefer we-Hizhir given in the lefthand column of Lewin, ibid.); Mirsky,

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ample is taken from a responsum of Sherira Gaon, which quotes a lengthy unit of tradition which is attached to a talmudic statement regarding a sort of limited partnership: ‘‘This ‘isqa is half loan and half deposit; the Rabbis instituted something which is desirable for the creditor and desirable for the debtor’’:∑ And should you say that this is not how it is to be explained, the rabbis have received an explanation in the name of the Savoraic Rabbis who were after (the era of) authoritative instruction (hora’ah),∏ and this is what they said: ‘‘ ‘Desirable for the creditor’—for if you were to say the entire ‘isqa should be treated as a loan, the creditor would be forbidden to take (a share in) the profit, for this is usury; therefore the Rabbis made it half a loan and half a deposit, so that if profit accrues to him, we say: The deposit remains in its owner’s possession, and it is as if he himself did business with it and profited, so that when he profits, this does not have the appearance of usury. ‘And desirable for the debtor’—for if you were to say that it should all be treated as a loan, it would be in his possession, and if it were lost, he would be obligated to pay the whole amount; and if you were to say that it should all be treated as a deposit, a deposit remains in the possession of its owner, and whatever profit accrues from it, he (the debtor) is forbidden to partake of it. Therefore the Rabbis made it half a loan, so that when he (the active partner) exerts himself, he exerts himself for his own (share), and the creditor’s profits automatically; and the Rabbis made it half a deposit, so that if it is accidentally destroyed . . . the debtor pays only half. And if a man accepts an ‘isqa from his fellow and dies . . . even though the property is inherited by orphans, its owner takes it, for R. Idi b. Avin said . . . and Rava said . . . and the law follows Rava. Certainly if the (object of the) ‘isqa itself is no longer extant . . . (the creditor) takes an oath and collects half, even from movable property—for if you supposed that Rava said (he could collect only) from immovable property, did we not know previously that a creditor may collect from immovable property? . . .’’ These things, in this order and in this formulation, were said in the name of the Savoraic Rabbis, and they are arranged in the mouths of all the Rabbis likeπ (the) Talmud.

She’iltot, 4:166–168; and cf. Lewin, ‘‘Rabbanan Savora’ey,’’ p. 188. The failure to quote works of post-talmudic literature is in keeping with the usual practice of the Geonim; see above, chap. 9, ‘‘Attitudes towards Authority,’’ with n. 44. 5. The talmudic statement is found in BT Bava Me≠si‘a 104b, the responsum in Sha‘arey A Sedeq, 4:8:5, and a parallel manuscript (see Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 9 and n. 33). 6. See chap. 1, ‘‘Savora’im and Geonim.’’ 7. Accepting the minuscule emendation adopted by most scholars who have discussed this responsum, in lieu of ‘‘in’’ as found in the two closely related textual witnesses. See Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 9, n. 34 (but cf. n. 21, below).

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The source which is said to be ‘‘in the mouths of all the Rabbis like (the) Talmud’’ begins with the explication of a talmudic statement and goes on to other laws derived from, and explicitly attached to, an adjoining talmudic passage and its legal interpretation. This source is reproduced verbatim in Halakhot Pesuqot and Halakhot Gedolot, but once again the Gaon prefers to give the oral tradition as his authority.∫ The same phenomena—including the characterization of the way in which traditions were transmitted orally, ‘‘like (the) Talmud’’—recur in several additional responsa, mostly by Hayya Gaon. Most of the traditions referred to are ‘‘codificatory’’; others are ‘‘exegetical.’’ The passages quoted are considerably shorter than the one given above, but the Geonim may simply have extracted the sentences they required from their context.Ω About half of the traditions which are said to have been transmitted in precisely worded form are ascribed to the Savora’im. Another two are said to go back to ‘‘the masters’’ (rabbevata) or ‘‘the first masters’’ who came after the Savora’im,∞≠ while the authorities from whom the remaining traditions derive are described in very vague terms. We have already considered one tradition which is attributed to ‘‘our fathers and forefathers of many generations’’; in other instances we find such attributions as ‘‘the earliest early ones, before Mar Rav Yehudai Gaon’’; ‘‘the early rabbis, the mighty ones of the world’’; or ‘‘the masters, the pillars of the world, who received it from the masters . . . in the name of the early ones.’’∞∞ The authors who describe their sources in this manner obviously intend to convey that they are of considerable antiquity and authority; for example, the second tradition quoted above is used to override an opinion attributed to Pal≠toy Gaon, and according to Sherira Gaon it is

8. In fact, what seems in the responsum to be an integral source appears in the Halakhot collections as two separate passages. The first of these is found in Sassoon, Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 49 (Schlosberg, Hilkhot Re’u, p. 39), and in Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 2:406–407, the second in Sassoon, p. 51 (Schlosberg, p. 41) and in Hildesheimer, pp. 524–525. 9. See Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:379–381; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 10–12. Several of the passages quoted here clearly refer to the oral transmission of precisely worded ‘‘texts’’; the comparison with the transmission of the Talmud occurs in the text which is Epstein’s fourth example and Danzig’s fifth. 10. Note that in one of these cases the linguistic evidence apparently points to a Sasanian date: Danzig, op. cit., p. 11, n. 48 and p. 163 (following E. S. Rosenthal). This provides further support for our contention that the Savoraic period ended well before the Muslim conquest of Babylonia; see above, chap. 1, ‘‘Savora’im and Geonim.’’ 11. See the sources collected in Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:379–381; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 9–12.

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inconceivable that Pal≠toy actually expressed the opinion attributed to him, while ‘‘if there is anyone who wrote the opposite, it is an inadvertent error and not to be relied upon.’’∞≤ However, it is highly doubtful whether any precise meaning was ever attached to such terms as ‘‘the early rabbis’’ or ‘‘the earliest early ones,’’ and whether it is at all fruitful to attempt to date the authorities to whom the later Geonim attributed these and other traditions. A fortiori is it misguided, with rare exceptions, to attempt to pinpoint the roles played by particular individuals in the formulation and transmission of such traditions.∞≥ On the contrary: whereas an opinion attributed to an individual Gaon, however highly regarded, could be rejected at will by any of his successors, the traditions we are now discussing derive their standing precisely from the collective authority of the scholars associated with the Geonic academies.∞∂ This raises a series of questions which, at least in our current state of knowledge, are unanswerable. Foremost among these is the question of quantity. The sum total of the specifically formulated extra-talmudic traditions which are explicitly attested in Geonic responsa would occupy only one or two printed pages; but it seems overwhelmingly likely that these particular traditions do not comprise an exhaustive list and that the Geonim, had they been so inclined, could have added numerous traditions to this list. These particular traditions were cited and identified as such because of their importance for the topics discussed in specific Geonic responsa, rather than from any desire to compile a corpus of early traditions.∞∑ There is no telling how many traditions of this type have been lost forever. On the other hand, it is very possible that large quantities of traditional material have been embedded in the works of the earlier Geonic period to be discussed below: the homiletical She’iltot and codificatory works such as Halakhot Pesuqot and Halakhot Gedolot. Virtually all the attested formulaic traditions are in fact embedded in one or more of these works, and, as we have seen, the She’iltot is also capable of treating 12. Cf. above, chap. 9, ‘‘Attitudes towards Authority,’’ with n. 42. 13. See esp. Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 31–34, and Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ p. 148 and n. 46, on the role of Yehudai Gaon. See also Weinberg, Teshuvot Rav Sar Shalom Ga’on, p. 60, n. 4, compared with Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 121–122, n. 5; and on the putative role played by notebooks see Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:74–75, and Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:381. For possible exceptions see Brody, op. cit., p. 89, n. 150. 14. See above, chap. 9, ‘‘Attitudes towards Authority,’’ with n. 41. 15. It is possible, however, that a desire to emphasize the access enjoyed by the Geonim and their colleagues to exclusive sources of knowledge was a contributing factor, and that this might explain why all the examples are found in the responsa of the Geonim Sherira and Hayya; see chap. 1, ‘‘The End of the Geonic Era.’’

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such traditions (just as it treats talmudic passages) as raw material to be reworked in accordance with the needs of the genre. Is there, then, any way of identifying additional portions of these works which derive from the same reservoir of traditions? It seems that the only path open to us is to attempt to identify characteristic features of the formulaic traditions, and then look for other passages which share these characteristics and may derive from a similar source. The most obvious characteristic common to the traditions we are considering is that their language is Aramaic, with a minimal admixture of Hebrew. In terms of style, there is a certain amount of diversity. We have already noted that some traditions explicate talmudic passages or analyze them in order to draw legal conclusions, while others formulate legal decisions in a manner which is formally independent of the talmudic sources, although the content is generally derived from these. It is these ‘‘codificatory’’ traditions which have the most distinctive style, featuring casuistic formulations which generally begin with one of a limited stock of introductory words or phrases, such as we-’ilu (‘‘and if’’), we-hekha (‘‘and where’’), and u-man de- (‘‘and one who’’). Exceptions to broadly formulated rules are frequently introduced by waddai (‘‘certainly’’).∞∏ This style, which is to be found only very exceptionally in the Talmud, is widespread in the works mentioned above. But can we be sure that its use was restricted to a relatively brief period, the time of the Savora’im and the very first Geonim? Was there anything to prevent later scholars from casting their decisions or interpretations in the same, easily imitated style? Admittedly it is almost impossible to prove that any of the surviving formulations in this style are later than, say, the sixth century,∞π but it is equally difficult to prove that they antedate the eighth or ninth century, when the works in which they are first attested were composed.∞∫ A related question concerns the sitz im leben of these blocks of tradition. Did they circulate as independent units, or were they incorporated in some more comprehensive framework or frameworks? Might they have circulated 16. See Epstein, Mehqarim, f 1:90; 2:381; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 15; Morell, ‘‘Meqorotaw shel Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot,’’ esp. pp. 68–74. 17. Danzig’s attempts to assign two such laws to the middle or end of the seventh century and explain the background against which they developed (Danzig, Mavo leSefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 167–171, 234–236) are plausible enough but hardly conclusive. Perhaps the rule beginning we-kol heykha which is found in Halakhot Gedolot and said to derive from Jacob b. Mordecai Gaon (see below, p. 228 and n. 55) should be taken as an example of this sort. 18. Passages incorporating Persian loan words may constitute an exception; cf. n. 11 above and Danzig, ibid., p. 281, n. 34. On the dating of Halakhot Pesuqot and Halakhot Gedolot see below, pp. 218–221, 228–229.

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in both of these ways, either simultaneously or consecutively? Were they conveyed in any organized fashion from generation to generation—for instance, as part of the curriculum of the Geonic academies—or were they transmitted haphazardly, so that different scholars would have known different groups of traditions? Did written collections (‘‘notebooks’’) play any role in this transmission? If, for the sake of argument, we knew that the academies transmitted a recognized corpus of extra-talmudic traditions, it would seem much less likely—although by no means impossible—that relatively late scholars would have gone on producing such formulations, and that these would have been absorbed into a corpus based to a large extent on sixth-century materials. We have, however, no evidence to support such a hypothesis, aside from the claim made or implied in a few responsa that a given item of tradition is widely or universally known among the scholars of the academy.∞Ω Moreover, although we have quite a few references to the teaching of Talmud in the Geonic academies, as well as the relatively detailed report of Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian,≤≠ there is no corresponding reference to the teaching of extra-talmudic traditions.≤∞ On the other hand, the hypothesis that there were relatively comprehensive ‘‘works’’ of extra-talmudic oral tradition gains considerably in plausibility when we examine the long traditional passage cited by Sherira Gaon, which we have given in abbreviated form above (p. 173). In this unique example we can see the interplay of talmudic exegesis and independent halakhic formulation so characteristic of the book Halakhot Pesuqot, in which this particular passage is embedded. There appears to be no compelling reason to reject out of hand the possibility that Sherira is merely quoting the immediately relevant passage from a much more extensive oral ‘‘text,’’ or that larger portions of such a text might have been incorporated in Halakhot Pesuqot or even in other works such as Halakhot Gedolot and She’iltot.≤≤ 19. This possibility would seem to be strengthened by the reference quoted at the beginning of the chapter to the role of private notebooks. 20. Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:87–88; see above, chap. 3, ‘‘The Operation of the Academies.’’ 21. But see n. 7 above: if we were to accept the reading ‘‘in the Talmud,’’ this would seem to imply that such traditions were actually interwoven within the talmudic text itself (thus Morell, ‘‘Meqorotaw shel Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot,’’ p. 71 and n. 115). The suggestion that these traditions were the subject matter discussed at the assemblies known as pirqey (Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 14–15) seems implausible; they are not suited to a broad audience as are the she’iltot (see below, chap. 13, ‘‘The Genre: Form and Structure’’). 22. Danzig, ibid., p. 16, states unhesitatingly that such extensive units must have been produced in writing, on the basis of much shorter oral units; but I doubt whether it is possible to lay down hard-and-fast rules concerning the scope of orally redacted ‘‘texts.’’

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Furthermore, if we were to suppose that the author or authors of Halakhot Pesuqot made use of sources of this type (or, for that matter, of their written equivalents), this could provide a partial explanation for the (admittedly few) internal contradictions found in this work and for the discernible differences in style between various portions of it. This is an intriguing line of research, but it is doubtful whether the evidence at our disposal will suffice to produce unequivocal results.≤≥

Other Halakhic Traditions Those traditions which are said to have been transmitted ‘‘word for word’’ are in many ways the most striking in the Geonic corpus, but they are only a small minority of the total number of anonymous halakhic traditions cited by the Geonim and their contemporaries. By the middle of the ninth century at the latest, we find frequent references to decisions or interpretations which are attributed to such ill-defined groups as ‘‘the rabbis,’’ ‘‘our masters,’’ ‘‘(the) sages,’’ or ‘‘our ancient ones.’’≤∂ Traditions of this sort continue to play a prominent role until the end of the Geonic period, although the terms by which they are cited may vary.≤∑ In these instances there is no explicit evidence that the tradition was transmitted in a fixed wording, and some of the traditions in question were communicated in actions rather than in words. On the other hand, it is possible that some Geonim paraphrased precisely worded traditions or quoted them without mentioning that they were doing so; in a few cases there is some supporting evidence for such a conjecture.≤∏ As a practical rule, the Babylonian Talmud constitutes the source of authority on which the Geonim rely in their decisions; but in theoretical terms the Talmud itself requires validation from without, which is found in the realm of consensus and tradition within Rabbanite Judaism. In fact, the Talmud itself cites a baraita containing a rule to the effect that the halakhah is not to be decided on the basis of Mishnah, ‘‘Talmud,’’ or a practical ruling, until one is 23. An important start has been made by Morell, ‘‘Meqorotaw shel Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot.’’ Danzig takes issue with Morell (see esp. Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 145–147, n. 119, and pp. 164–165) but seems to be arguing the weaker side of the case and to be influenced by a desire to assign maximum weight to the innovative dimension of Halakhot Pesuqot. 24. See Weinberg, Teshuvot Rav Sar Shalom Gaon, p. 29 (not all the examples listed there belong to this category); Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 89–90. 25. See, for example, Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, nos. 3, 29, 76, 225, 281, 334. 26. Cf. Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 199, n. 1.

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told that a given ruling is ‘‘halakhah to be followed in practice’’ (halakhah lema‘aseh); in order to justify issuing rulings on the basis of the Talmud, one must develop a theory to the effect that the Talmud as we have it (in contrast, perhaps, to the primeval ‘‘Talmud’’ to which the baraita refers) was redacted with a view to conveying halakhah and enjoys special authority by virtue of an uncontested consensual tradition.≤π According to Pirqoy b. Baboy, in fact, Yehudai Gaon (in the middle of the eighth century) had not yet accepted the notion that such a consensus provided sufficient grounds for assigning blanket authority, even as a rule of thumb, to the Talmud:≤∫ Furthermore, Mar Yehudai of blessed memory said: I have never said anything in answer to your questions except for matters which can be demonstrated from the Talmud and which I learned as halakhah to be followed in practice from my master, and my master from his master; but a matter which can be demonstrated from the Talmud but concerning which I had no halakhah to be followed in practice from my master, or concerning which I had a halakhah to be followed in practice from my master but which could not be demonstrated from the Talmud—I did not say to you.

One of the consequences of this approach is that the extra-talmudic tradition retained an ultimate authority, which entitled it to overrule talmudic decisions, although this authority was rarely exercised, at least explicitly.≤Ω One possible example of this phenomenon is found in a ruling attributed to the Savora’im. In the Talmud (BT Megillah 23a) we find a dispute as to whether the mafftir (the one called upon to read a portion from the Prophets, preceded by the final verses of the Torah reading) is or is not to be counted towards the minimal number of readers from the Torah. Rather than accepting either of the Amoraic positions recorded in the Talmud, the Savora’im are reported to have reached what looks like a compromise decision: the maf≠tir is to be counted only if Qaddish is not recited before he reads from the Torah.≥≠ There are a number of instances in which Geonim attribute to their (unidenti27. As did, for instance, Maimonides in the introduction to his Mishneh Torah. Cf. Groner, Legal Methodology of Hai Gaon, pp. 1, 4–9, 19–22; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 133–135; and above, chap. 10, ‘‘Interpretation and Application of the Talmud.’’ 28. See Ginzberg, Geonica, 2:53; idem, Ginzey Schechter, 2:558–559; and the discussion in Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 19–22. 29. For a programmatic statement on the primacy of tradition, see the sources listed above, chap. 9, n. 56. 30. See Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 8–9; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 199 and n. 2 (where an alternative explanation for the Savoraic decision is cited).

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fied) predecessors the decision to ignore a given Amoraic opinion; these decisions may, however, ultimately depend on other talmudic passages.≥∞ Decisions of this sort, in favor of one party in a talmudic dispute or against an uncontested opinion, are frequently found in the Talmud itself, and it is virtually certain that at least some of these decisions were originally transmitted alongside the Talmud and later infiltrated into the text.≥≤ Let us consider a responsum of Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon which illustrates this and other interesting points. The Gaon was asked whether it was possible in case of emergency to rely on the lenient opinion of R. Joshua b. Levi (BT Berakhot 47b), according to which a slave may be counted in the quorum of ten men required for communal prayer. He responded:≥≥ ‘‘The law does not follow R. Joshua b. Levi, and we do not act according to him. . . . And furthermore, we have heard explicitly from our masters that these sayings of ‘Three who ate together’ (the seventh chapter of tractate Berakhot), like ‘nine and a slave’ . . . and ‘a minor who knows Whom they are blessing’ are not halakhah, and we do not act in accordance with them.’’ Our texts of the Talmud (BT Berakhot 48a) contain an explicit decision which contradicts Na≠tronai’s responsum: ‘‘And the halakhah does not follow any of these sayings except for what Rav Nahman ≠ said: A minor who knows Whom they are blessing may be included in the quorum for the Grace After Meals.’’ In the Geonic literature we find two conflicting traditions with regard to the ruling of Rav Nahman, ≠ while there appears to be a consensus that the other lenient rulings found in this talmudic passage are to be rejected. It seems clear that these decisions circulated alongside the Talmud and that our texts have absorbed one of the competing traditions. But we may go one step further: it is quite likely that these conflicting traditions arose as interpretations of an earlier, ambiguously worded ruling, along the lines of ‘‘The halakhah is not like any of these sayings,’’ which could be taken to include or to exclude the dictum of Rav Nahman, ≠ which comes at the end of a list of lenient dicta concerning the composition of the prayer quorum. In addition to openly halakhic decisions, the Geonim quote a substantial 31. See, for example, chap. 9, n. 15; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 78. 32. There is, however, no way of proving the widespread assumption that all decisions of this sort represent Savoraic or later additions to the text of the Talmud. See Lewin, ‘‘Rabbanan Savora’ey,’’ pp. 191–195; Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 266–267 and nn. 129–130; idem, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 75 and n. 46. 33. Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 120–121; cf. n. 5 ad loc. for further details.

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number of traditional interpretations of talmudic sources, many of which have direct halakhic implications; several of these are said to go back to the Savora’im.≥∂ Restrictive interpretations are a particularly important component of the practical implementation of the Talmud, and at least some of these interpretations were traditional.≥∑ Until now we have been discussing traditions which relate to particular passages, but Geonic literature is also replete with rules for deciding the halakhah in case of unresolved disputes or discussions.≥∏ Some of these are clearly stated to be traditional; for example, ‘‘The rabbis have received an oral tradition from the early ones that the halakhah follows Mar b. Rav Ashi in all but three cases.’’≥π Other rules appear to be of a traditional nature, although not clearly labeled as such. These include two of the most important rules for adjudicating disputes between Amora’im, rules which appear prima facie to be in conflict: in disputes between master and disciple the halakhah follows the master, while in disputes in which sages of various generations take part the halakhah follows the later authorities.≥∫ In this case there is probably only an appearance of conflict between the two rules, but in other cases there is definite evidence that conflicting approaches, both of which were considered traditional, circulated side by side. One interesting example concerns the significance of the redactional note frequently found in the Talmud, ‘‘and (the dictum) of So-and-So disagrees’’ (u-peliga dipeloni). The Geonim seem to agree that this comment is intended to have halakhic implications but disagree as to whether it speaks in favor of ‘‘So-andSo’’ or his opponent. It seems likely that these approaches arose as divergent interpretations of an earlier, ambiguously worded rule.≥Ω 34. See Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:381, n. 1; Lewin, ‘‘Rabbanan Savora’ey,’’ pp. 181, 187– 188; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 89 and n. 151. 35. See Brody, op. cit., pp. 77–78, 160 and n. 4 ad loc.; idem, ‘‘Kelum Hayu haGe’onim Mehoqeqim?’’ ≠ pp. 280–281. 36. See chap. 10, end of the section ‘‘Interpretation and Application of the Talmud,’’ with n. 35. 37. See Taubes, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim le-Massekhet Sanhedrin, no. 623 (this responsum was cited by Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:380); cf. Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 230–231; Kahan, Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, p. 49. 38. For documentation of these principles and various attempts to reconcile them, see Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 81–82. For additional instances of conflict between principles of adjudication, see ibid., pp. 78 (no. 1), 81 (no.7). 39. See ibid., p. 83 and n. 107. For additional examples of disagreements over rules within Geonic literature, see ibid., pp. 80 (no. 4), 83–85 (no. 6, and possibly no. 8), 86 (no. 10).

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Aggadic and Historical Traditions When we turn to extra-talmudic traditions of a nonlegal nature, it is once again possible to distinguish between several categories. We may begin with those cases in which the Geonim or their contemporaries appear to be citing midrashic sources, but no such sources can be identified. For example, we have had occasion to refer to a responsum of Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon concerning developments in the academic curriculum. In contrast to the recommendation found in the Talmud, according to which one’s study time should be equally divided between Scripture, Mishnah, and Talmud, the scholars of later generations concentrated exclusively on the study of the Talmud ‘‘and relied on what they said: All the streams flow to the sea—Scripture, Mishnah, and Midrash.’’∂≠ The Gaon appears to be quoting a bit of midrash on Ecclesiastes 1:7, which may be completed as follows: ‘‘All the streams flow to the sea—Scripture, Mishnah, and Midrash; yet the sea is not full— Talmud.’’ A number of similar interpretations of this verse may be found in the midrashic literature, but nothing quite like the midrash which the Gaon seems to have had in mind.∂∞ Of course it is possible that his memory played tricks on him or that he had such a reading, let us say, in the Talmud. But in view of the fact that we have no midrashic collections of Babylonian provenance (except for the material included in the Babylonian Talmud), it is worth considering an alternative explanation: the Geonim may have utilized Babylonian midrashic traditions, or even comprehensive collections of such traditions, which have not survived except for such isolated citations. Additional support for such a hypothesis may be found in one of the few concentrations of aggadic material in the surviving Geonic literature: the middle portion of the first homily in the She’iltot collection. Here we find, alongside selections from the Talmud, a number of passages which are similar to them in style but are not to be found in the Talmud (although parallel versions of some of them are to be found there).∂≤ It hardly seems likely—especially in view of the nature of the She’iltot as a whole—that the author of this homily was creating these aggadot as he went along, or reworking them with such freedom; it is more plausible to suppose that he was drawing on traditional sources, most likely oral, which are unavailable to us.∂≥ 40. Ibid., p. 147; cf. above, chap. 9, ‘‘Areas of Interest.’’ 41. See ibid., n. 3. 42. See Mirsky, She’iltot, 1:9–12, and compare the talmudic and midrashic sources cited in the editor’s notes ad loc. 43. See below, chap. 13, ‘‘The Sources of the She’iltot.’’ Cf. Ginzberg, Ginzey Schech-

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Another sort of tradition is more directly connected to the Babylonian Talmud. In several places the Talmud refers to what apparently were well-known stories, without giving their details, which are supplied by Geonic sources.∂∂ In other instances, the Geonic literature preserves accounts of the actions of Babylonian Amora’im which are intended to supplement the information available in the Talmud. The accuracy of some of these traditions, such as the dates of death of various Amora’im preserved in Sherira’s Epistle, is hardly in doubt,∂∑ but the historicity of some other traditions is suspect. For instance, A the Talmud (BT Hullin 110a) relates that when Rav reached a certain Babylonian village and heard a woman asking her neighbor how much milk she should put in the meat she was cooking, he was appalled to discover that the locals were ignorant of the prohibition of mixing meat and milk, and decided to spend some time in that area. When a Geonic responsum informs us that the anonymous woman of the story was none other than R. Asi’s mother, and that she asked her question in order to trick Rav into staying in town, for fear that her son would follow him if he left, we wonder whether this is an apologetic attempt to alleviate the negative impression which we would otherwise obtain of the level of Jewish knowledge and observance which prevailed in Babylonia prior to Rav’s arrival.∂∏ It is interesting to compare a famous responsum of Sherira Gaon, who was asked about the claim reported in the Talmud (BT Yevamot 16a) that R. Dosa b. Hyrkanos was able to call heaven and earth to witness concerning the actions of the prophet Haggai:∂π ‘‘And much of what happened in the days of the Geonim Mar Rav Pal≠toy and Mar Rav Ahai ≠ and Mar Rav Mattatyah . . . is clear to us . . . and we know the place of each one and his seat, and many of their conversations, and their lessons day by day: where he sat and what he expounded and what was said in his academy . . . and it would be possible for us to call heaven and earth to witness that Mar A Rav Sema h≠ had here expounded such-and-such.’’ ter, 2:550, 570–571; Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, vol. 3, pt. 2:8–13, 20 (and the editor’s notes ad loc.); Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 516 and n. 5. 44. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 1, Berakhot, Responsa, no. 37; vol. 9, Qiddushin, Responsa, no. 390; and cf. vol. 5, Ta‘anit, no. 132; Mirsky, She’iltot, 4:183–184; Abramson, Peraqim min Sefer Mevo ha-Talmud, p. 133. 45. See chap. 2, ‘‘The Epistle of Sherira Gaon,’’ with n. 17. 46. See Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim min ha-Genizah, pp. 147, 165, and cf. ibid., p. 162; Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 6, Yoma, no. 66; Mirsky, She’iltot, 4:183–185, and the editor’s notes ad loc. 47. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 7, Yevamot, no. 42; for the literature concerning this responsum see Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 6, n. 19.

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Sherira reports that tradition within the Pumbedita academy has preserved reliable information in massive quantities concerning not only the opinions but also the doings of ninth-century Geonim, a century or more earlier than himself. But he does not lay claim to similarly detailed and precise information concerning the lives of earlier Geonim (or those of Sura), let alone the lives of the Amora’im, although he himself transmits information of this sort in his Epistle. Internal academic traditions with regard to the Geonic period, of the sort described here by Sherira Gaon, are in fact to be found in a number of Geonic sources, and it is likely that the modest number of documented traditions is explained not by the limited information available to the later Geonim, but by the fact that they saw a need to report these traditions only in special circumstances, particularly with regard to sensitive halakhic controversies.∂∫ A 48. See Danzig, ibid., pp. 5–6 and n. 19 (cf. Emanuel, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim ha-Hadashot, pp. 159–162; Hurwitz, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim, pp. 143–147); Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 60 and n. 8; and cf. above, chap. 9, ‘‘Attitudes towards Authority.’’

12

The Responsa Literature

In any attempt to present a synchronic picture of the early Geonate, the responsa produced by the Geonic academies must play a leading role. They represent not only the most important source of information concerning the world of the Geonim, but also the form of literary expression most characteristic of this period. They were the primary means by which the Geonim and their academies maintained ties with, and exerted influence on, the Jewish world as a whole.∞ The Talmud preserves occasional reports of halakhic questions which were submitted to distant authorities and of their responses, which in some cases were apparently given in writing, but it was only in the Geonic period that this became a central facet of rabbinic activity. This development was stimulated, in particular, by the Muslim conquests of the seventh century c.e., which brought the overwhelming majority of the world’s Jewish population under a single cultural and political dominion for the first time in over a millennium. The extant responsa date without exception from the Muslim era, and very few of them are earlier than the Abbasid dynasty, which came to power in the middle of the eighth century and established Babylonia as the center of the Islamic empire.≤ Although the surviving re1. This is especially true of the lands outside the Geonic reshuyot; cf. chap. 4. 2. Although badly outdated, Müller, Mafteafh li-Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim, gives a reasonably accurate picture grosso modo: see pp. 62–65 for the handful of responsa antedat-

185

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sponsa are only a fraction of a truly vast literature, the number of those preserved (approximately 5,000–10,000) is large enough to provide us with a well-grounded picture of this era. We may reasonably assume that, on the whole, the factors which affected the transmission or loss of the various responsa were not such as to produce any systematic distortion.≥ We have already seen that, within the Babylonian context, the writing of responsa was a virtual monopoly of the Geonim and their academies.∂ It was the Gaon who, after consulting with his colleagues, dictated and signed the actual responsa, and it was his name which was associated with their authorship, although he spoke in the name of the entire academy. There are numerous instances in which the questioners addressed the Gaon in the singular as the recipient of their letters (although he was careful always to word his responsa in the plural) or in which the Geonim and their correspondents had occasion to refer to earlier responsa on a given subject and almost invariably attributed these to a certain Gaon.∑ We are unable to assess the extent to which the scholars of the academy influenced the content of the responsa, and it is quite likely that the extent of their influence fluctuated according to a variety of circumstances.

Technical and Stylistic Aspects It was a widespread practice to address the Gaon and his academy with a rather large number of questions, on widely varying topics, at one time. In fact, this practice was probably almost universal, at least with respect to queries sent from a considerable distance, which comprise the overwhelming majority of those preserved.∏ The reason for this custom was one of logistics: opportunities for dispatching long-distance mail were severely limited, and many months might pass before a caravan traveling in the desired direction passed through a ing Yehudai Gaon (approximately 760 c.e.) and pp. 65–72 for Yehudai’s responsa. (It seems to me that Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 495 and passim, has inadequate grounds for rejecting many of these attributions.) 3. But see below, n. 15. 4. Above, chap. 4, ‘‘Author of Responsa.’’ 5. See, for example, Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, nos. 67, 77–78, 80, 182, 210, 325, 347. 6. Geonic responsa have survived, in almost all cases, either because they were deposited in the Genizah or because they were incorporated in later rabbinic writings, composed in North Africa or Europe. Responsa sent to other locations reached these channels only very occasionally; see, for example, Ginzberg, Geonica, 2:33 (end), 71, and above, chap. 7, n. 70.

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given locale.π In the meantime, local scholars were likely to have accumulated a considerable number of questions on which they wished to consult the Babylonian authorities, whether these arose in the course of their studies or as a result of events in their communities. When the long-awaited opportunity to establish contact with Babylonia arrived, these questioners made the most of their opportunity and might bombard the academy with dozens of questions at a time.∫ Such a batch of questions was known as a quntres (quire) in Hebrew or a daraj in Arabic. As a rule, little or no effort was devoted to any attempt to organize the questions in such a batch thematically, with the exception of groups of exegetical questions which follow the order of a given talmudic tractate.Ω Queries addressed to the Geonic academies frequently passed through the hands of intermediaries who maintained close connections with the academies and might be responsible in some instances for editing the original queries.∞≠ Furthermore, the responsa issued by the Geonic academies passed through numerous hands on their way from Babylonia to the questioners, in addition to those of merchants or other travelers who might be asked to carry mail. The responsa were not treated as confidential (envelopes, of course, had not yet been invented); scholars residing at intermediate locations, including local representatives of the academies in charge of distributing their correspondence, frequently copied selected responsa (often in abridged form) for their own use. While the responsa constitute our most important evidence for the intellectual and cultural milieu of the Geonic academies, the queries themselves provide almost all the evidence available to us with respect to the intellectual world of numerous Jewish communities, or at least of their intellectual elites, throughout a widespread diaspora.∞∞ These queries belong predominantly to 7. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 296–297; and cf. Lewin, Ofsar haGe’onim, vol. 10, Gi≠t≠tin, Responsa, no. 105. 8. See, for example, Ginzberg, Geonica, 2:56–71; Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 219–229; Groner, ‘‘Qun≠tresey Teshuvot Ge’onim.’’ 9. Even in such cases we find some deviations from the talmudic order. See, for example, Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 154–155, 168–169; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 44–47 and nn. 75, 82. 10. Presumably such assistance was called for especially when the actual questioners were not scholars, but see Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, pp. 100–103. See also Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 325 (beginning), and cf. Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 529 and n. 6. 11. The distinction between information contained in the questions and in the responsa —which reflect different milieus—is an important one, sometimes overlooked in the scholarly literature. Cf. Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ p. 144 and n. 24.

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two categories: questions concerning practical halakhah and those of an academic nature, generally concerning the interpretation of a talmudic text or (less frequently) the relationship between two or more such texts. Occasionally these two categories overlap, as when the questioners are troubled by what they perceive as a discrepancy between the canonical sources and contemporary practice, when they inquire into the rationale underlying a custom, or when they are unsure as to the applicability of a given source to a particular case.∞≤ An important subcategory consists of academic questions arising from the study of Geonic and other post-talmudic writings; these are significant inter alia as evidence of the attention devoted to the works in question, which include Geonic responsa, codes such as Halakhot Pesuqot, and (later on) halakhic monographs; the responsa to these questions shed a good deal of light on the attitudes of the Geonim to their predecessors in the post-talmudic period.∞≥ Only very rarely do we encounter questions on such strictly nontalmudic topics as the peculiarities of Hebrew orthography.∞∂ Somewhat more common are questions concerning biblical interpretation or religious doctrine. These two categories, which sometimes overlap, gain a degree of prominence towards the end of the Geonic period, a development which is symptomatic of new cultural and intellectual trends.∞∑ The Jews of the Muslim world have always used three Semitic languages, individually or in combination: Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic. The functional division between these languages was complex and depended on a variety of factors. Fluency in Arabic was the rule, while Hebrew and Aramaic were ‘‘learned’’ languages and were probably understood to a very limited extent by many Jews, although most (males, at any rate) could read these languages and were accustomed to their use in liturgical contexts.∞∏ Queries addressed to the Geonim might be written in any of these languages or in various combinations thereof. Hebrew and Aramaic were frequently used almost interchangeably, with the author moving back and forth between the two languages within a single sentence. Responsa written in Hebrew or Aramaic frequently contain 12. See, for example, Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 436, 514–515. 13. Cf. chap. 9, ‘‘Attitudes towards Authority,’’ and below, n. 39; chap. 14, passim; chap. 16, ‘‘Monographs of Later Geonim,’’ with the sources cited in n. 53. 14. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 5, Megillah, no. 170. 15. Cf. chaps. 18–19. These responsa are poorly represented in the collections based on European manuscripts, whose redactors were primarily interested in material of legal import (see Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:200–202). 16. See chap. 9, ‘‘Knowledge of Languages’’; Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, nos. 231, 238; and cf. Drory, Reshit ha-Maga‘im, pp. 41–42, 46–48. It is evident from the Judeo-Arabic translations of liturgical texts found in the Genizah that liturgical Hebrew was not understood by all (cf. below, pp. 247–248).

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Arabic glosses; these appear most often in exegetical responsa, where they serve as explanations of talmudic expressions.∞π Quotations and expressions in Hebrew or Aramaic within Arabic-language queries and responsa (almost invariably written in Hebrew characters)∞∫ are very common. As a rule, the Geonic responsa were written in the same language as the queries which they addressed, although there appear to have been some exceptions, which are difficult to explain.∞Ω Queries regarding practical issues frequently preserve details of historical interest, even if they are completely irrelevant from a legal perspective. It seems likely that many questioners were not sufficiently knowledgeable to feel confident that they could extract the legally relevant data, and preferred to describe their real-life problems as fully as possible, leaving it to the respondents to discard whichever facts were irrelevant to their analysis. For this reason, the queries addressed to the Geonic academies represent a treasure trove, not only for the cultural historian, but also for the economic or social historian.≤≠ Their utility for these purposes is limited, however, by a number of factors, of which the most important is the tendency of scribes and later users to omit the legally irrelevant details. With regard to one particular, we know that this was customary already in the original queries: the personal names of the parties involved were generally replaced by the names of Biblical characters, especially those occurring in the family of Jacob. This habit was so widespread that we find a reference to a responsum having been formulated ‘‘with Reuben, Simeon, and Levi, as is usual in queries,’’ but it was not an invariable rule.≤∞ Toponyms were sometimes replaced in similar fashion.≤≤ 17. Many examples can be found by means of the indexes to the various responsa collections, and especially to the several volumes of Lewin’s Ofsar ha-Ge’onim. 18. The sole known exception is a Genizah manuscript, of which one leaf was published by Assaf (Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim min ha-Genizah, pp. 132–134; Hebrew translation: ibid., pp. 134–136) and another is found in the Taylor-Schechter New Series, in which the text is written in Arabic characters, except for citations of rabbinic sources. Cf. also Schechter, Saadyana, pp. 132–133. Internal Jewish use of Arabic characters, while probably the exception rather than the rule, was considerably more common in private correspondence. 19. See Mann, ‘‘Addenda,’’ pp. 462–463; Abramson, Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot, p. 117; an unexplained exception is found in Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 552. The balance between Hebrew and Aramaic, which, as noted, were not sharply distinguished, might also change between query and responsum. 20. See esp. the various works by Mann and Ben-Sasson listed in the bibliography. 21. See Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 554 (noted in Assaf, Tequfat haGe’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 217); ibid., no. 535. 22. For an interesting example, which misled several scholars, see Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 236–237. Cf. Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 217.

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The Geonim were often well acquainted with their questioners, whether as a result of protracted correspondence or because the questioners had previously studied in the Babylonian academies.≤≥ This acquaintance with the questioners and their abilities and interests might have a considerable impact on the formulation of responsa, as illustrated by a fascinating responsum of Sherira Gaon and his son Hayya, which concludes a detailed comparative and source-critical analysis of passages in the Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds with the remark, ‘‘And because you are a student-colleague to us and a great mountain in Torah, we have revealed to you the feelings of our hearts.’’≤∂ Even when they were not personally acquainted with their questioners, the Geonim could undoubtedly arrive at a fair estimate of their abilities and interests, in many cases, solely on the basis of their questions, and it seems that these factors sometimes influenced the style of their responsa and the degree to which they discussed the reasoning underlying their decisions. In particular, it seems to have been fairly common practice to cite well-known or relatively simple talmudic sources in support of a given decision, even when these were not the crucial sources from a strictly scholarly point of view.≤∑ Partly as a result of the crystallization of a conventional, formal style (perhaps abetted by the role of the academies’ scribes in producing the actual responsa), and partly because of the depredations which most responsa have suffered at the hands of generations of copyists, it seems futile to attempt to identify the styles of individual respondents, even though certain phrases may occur more or less frequently in the responsa of a particular Gaon.≤∏ It is not easy to isolate even long-term trends, but we may offer a few remarks on this subject. As a rule—although there are numerous exceptions and complicating factors—the length and explicitness of the responsa seem to grow with time. Later respondents more frequently discuss in detail the sources and interpretations underpinning their decisions and are likelier to address issues which are broader than those required for the solution of the question which they were 23. See Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim mi-tokh ha-Genizah, p. 46; Lewin, Ofsar haA Ge’onim, vol. 4 Hagigah, no. 16 (end); Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 278, 283. 24. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 5, Rosh ha-Shanah, no. 134 (end of p. 73); cf. Mann, Texts and Studies, 1:89–90, 103–104, 199. On joint responsa of Sherira and Hayya see above, chap. 4, n. 34. 25. See, for example, Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 64–65. 26. Cf. below, n. 58. It is possible that computerized stylistic analysis will eventually enable us to overcome these obstacles to some extent (as suggested to me by Z. Elkin), but nothing has yet been attempted along these lines.

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posed.≤π One particular stylistic feature, which appears to be limited to the period beginning with Se‘adyah, is worth noting: the tendency to give numbered lists of alternative possibilities, stages in an argument, or the like. For example, in a responsum by Se‘adyah we read:≤∫ ‘‘And as for Judah, who arraigned Reuben once again after he had accepted a gezerah≤Ω to which he was not obligated . . . his words contain many flaws: first, he has already received from him more than his due; . . . second, he wants to make him swear by the Torah; . . . third, he imagines that the gezerah is only effective against one who considers it an oath.’’ The length of an individual responsum could vary enormously, ranging from a word or two (in the case of exegetical responsa glossing an unfamiliar talmudic term) to discussions of knotty problems covering several pages. Occasionally the bounds of the genre were stretched even further, as when SamA uel b. Hofni Gaon offered to write commentaries on biblical books or tractates of the Talmud at his correspondents’ request.≥≠ Perhaps commentaries of this sort (if any were actually written at the request of specific readers) should not be considered as proper responsa, but there were two earlier instances which must certainly be regarded as responsa, despite their magnitude. One of these is the Epistle of Sherira Gaon, which has already occupied a central place in our discussions.≥∞ The other, to which we must now devote a few words, is the earliest known Jewish prayer book. ‘Amram b. Sheshna headed a breakaway faction in the academy of Sura in the middle of the ninth century and set himself up as the head of a short-lived rival academy, in opposition to Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon, head of the ‘‘official’’ Suran academy. It is unclear whether he later served as Na≠tronai’s successor, as alleged by Sherira. At any rate, ‘Amram wrote numerous responsa, as befitting 27. See Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 216 (although here too there were differences between individuals); this trend was to continue throughout the later course of rabbinic literature. Note, however, that the discrepancies found among the surviving responsa may well be due in part to the developing interests of the questioners and to the depredations of generations of copyists. A 28. Sha‘arey Sedeq, 4:2:38 (cf. ibid., 3:2:9, 4:1:18, 4:2:5, etc.). For a possible explanation of this phenomenon see below, chap. 16, ‘‘General Characteristics of the Monographs.’’ 29. A type of oath which gained wide currency in the Geonic period as a substitute for earlier forms, reflected in talmudic literature. See Tykocinski, Gaonäische Verordnungen, pp. 80–98 (Havazelet, pp. 58–68); Libson, ‘‘Gezerta.’’ Cf. above, chap. 4, n. 51. 30. Quoted below, p. 271. For the motives underlying this offer see above, pp. 13–18. 31. See esp. chap. 2, ‘‘The Epistle of Sherira Gaon.’’

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a Gaon; many of these were certainly written during Na≠tronai’s tenure.≥≤ Among his responsa, a unique place is occupied by a prayer book, known as Seder Rav ‘Amram, written at the request of one Isaac b. Simeon of Spain, who asked for ‘‘an order of prayers and benedictions for the entire year.’’≥≥ This represents, so far as we know, the first attempt to produce anything like a comprehensive prayer book—certainly the first by a recognized authority.≥∂ The Seder includes liturgical texts (almost exclusively in Hebrew) and related regulations (in both Hebrew and Aramaic); the weekday prayers are given first, followed by those for the Sabbath, festivals, and other special occasions. Unfortunately, the text has suffered terribly at the hands of copyists and later users, and is probably more corrupt than that of any other work of Geonic literature. ‘Amram’s work achieved its greatest popularity in Europe, where, however, the copyists allowed themselves to modify the text in accordance with local liturgical custom. The Genizah contains very few fragments of this work, although one very extensive fragment shows that the text was also reworked under Palestinian influence, presumably in the East.≥∑ Furthermore, close analysis of the text and comparison with other sources indicate that even the kernel shared by all these manuscripts represents a secondary version of ‘Amram’s prayer book incorporating numerous additions, the most obvious of which are Geonic responsa (by ‘Amram himself, his predecessors, and his contemporaries). This recension, which was probably prepared about the year 900 in North Africa, completely eclipsed the original version of ‘Amram’s work, creating considerable confusion in the scholarly literature and frustrat32. See the brief notice in Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 115 (Rabinowich, pp. 146–148; Schlüter, p. 269) and detailed discussion in Brody, ‘‘Rav ‘Amram bar Sheshna.’’ 33. See Goldschmidt, Seder Rav ‘Amram, p. 1; Cohen, Book of Tradition, p. 53 (and note to lines 114–115, where attempts to identify the questioner’s location more precisely are listed). 34. Several authors (e.g., Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:123; Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim weSifrutah, p. 182) have treated Na≠tronai’s responsum on the one hundred benedictions to be recited daily (most recently edited in Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 106– 113) as a precursor to the Seder Rav ‘Amram, but the scope of that responsum is nowhere near as ambitious as that of the Seder. There are many fragments of anonymous prayer books in the Genizah, and some of them (or others like them) may antedate ‘Amram. 35. See Goldschmidt, Seder Rav ‘Amram, Introduction, pp. 8, 11–15; for the revised text see Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 71–89; Abramson, ‘‘Le-Toledot ha-Siddur.’’ Aside from the fact that it was addressed to Spain, the relative unpopularity of ‘Amram’s prayer book in the East is probably to be explained by the outstanding popularity of Se‘adyah’s, which enjoyed numerous advantages, including the fact that its regulations were written in Judeo-Arabic. See below, chap. 16, esp. the end of the section ‘‘The Monographic Writings of Se‘adyah Gaon.’’

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ing our desire to achieve a proper appreciation of ‘Amram’s landmark contribution or to utilize it with confidence as evidence for liturgical history.≥∏

The Fate of the Responsa Once they were written, impressed with the Gaon’s seal, signed, and dispatched, the responsa led a precarious life. On the way to their original addressees they were exposed to the manifold difficulties and dangers—not to speak of delays—associated with long-distance travel in this era. As for their chances of surviving as literary artifacts until later times, the obstacles were even greater—although, as we have seen, additional chances of survival were provided by those who might copy or otherwise utilize the responsa at various way-stations. In addition, copies or drafts of the responsa may have been preserved in the archives of the academies from which they were sent, and these could eventually have found their way to later collections. It appears certain, however, that none of the extant collections derive from the academies’ archives,≥π and the very existence of such archives is problematic. On the one hand, a number of sources attest, directly or indirectly, that copies of some responsa were retained for generations and could be consulted in case of need. On the other hand, the same Hayya Gaon who on one occasion could cite a A responsum of Haninai Gaon, written over two centuries earlier, could also write, ‘‘We do not remember now what we wrote nor what our father the Gaon of blessed memory wrote, but we say what seems right to us.’’≥∫ It would seem that the academies, or at least the academy of Pumbedita, did maintain archives of this sort, but these were less than completely comprehensive—or, at the very least, so cumbersome that consulting them was not always practical. The long-term impact of the responsa, then, was dependent primarily upon secondary users. These might be residents of the communities to which the original responsa had been addressed or—probably more commonly—scholars who had ‘‘intercepted’’ the responsa en route to the addressees and copied or summarized those which interested them. Such collections might then be used 36. See Brody, ‘‘ ‘Arikhato shel Seder Rav ‘Amram.’’ (Hoffman, Canonization of the Synagogue Service, is oblivious to the difficulties.) 37. Despite the claims advanced by Harkavy for the collection which he edited; see Groner, Legal Methodology of Hai Gaon, pp. 179–181. A 38. This citation is from Sha‘arey Sedeq, 4:8:6; the sources for both sides of this question have been collected and discussed by Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 258–260. It is, however, possible that it would have been difficult to search the archives thoroughly, even if such archives were maintained scrupulously.

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for purposes of study, in addition to serving as sources of practical guidance.≥Ω For such users, the haphazard arrangement of questions in the original quntresim, and correspondingly in the batches of responsa dispatched from the Geonic academies, presented formidable difficulties. Such a batch normally contained, as we have seen, a fairly large number of responsa on widely varying topics in no sort of canonical or even logical order, and scholars would want to be able to consult not just one but dozens of such batches. A number of techniques evolved in order to deal with this situation. Perhaps the most primitive of these was simply to copy several batches of responsa, one after the other, in a single manuscript.∂≠ Sometimes this process was continued in further stages, as smaller collections were recopied in later manuscripts without the original structure being disturbed, although the copyists might abridge or omit material which seemed to them relatively unimportant.∂∞ (The queries were even more vulnerable to this sort of editing than the actual responsa.) Omissions of this sort, in addition to affecting the transmission of the responsa in question, could also wreak havoc with the possibility of labeling the individual responsa in a coherent way. The normal and obvious way to identify a given responsum was to give the quntres to which it belonged (generally identified by the first few words of the first question or answer it contained) and its serial number within this batch. When some of the responsa in a quntres were omitted, the original numbers might be retained for those copied, but the numbering might also be readjusted to conform to the reduced contents. As a result, we find parallel copies of a single quntres with discrepancies in numbering.∂≤ A more refined technique involved a form of indexing. The usual method was to list the responsa contained in one or more quntresim, giving their serial numbers and a brief citation or description for each; a common refinement was to note next to the listing of each responsum (not always accurately) the relevant talmudic tractate.∂≥ The result was a table of contents—whether of an actual book or of a number of separate pamphlets—which could guide the 39. See esp. the material collected by Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, p. 257, n. 351. 40. Examples are partially preserved in Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim mi-tokh ha-Genizah, pp. 1–35, 61–75, 187–192 (cf. Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, 2:1–40); cf. also Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, p. 99. 41. The best example is provided by the manuscript underlying most of Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim; see ibid., pp. vii–viii. 42. See esp. Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 102, 108–109 and n. 1, 117–120, 177–179; Groner, ‘‘Qun≠tresey Teshuvot Ge’onim.’’ 43. Some of these lists give only a selection of the responsa; others intersperse copies of the texts of some responsa among the listings. For examples of the various types see Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 103, 117, 200–217, and the earlier publications listed ibid., pp. 211–212.

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reader to responsa on a particular subject. It was also possible to add marginal indications of subject in an actual responsa collection. Numerous fragments of one such collection, in which the indexing standard is Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah rather than the Talmud, have survived in the Genizah.∂∂ The most radical approach was to dismember the original batches of responsa and reorganize the individual items according to subject, within some overall framework. Such an approach had substantial advantages for the user, allowing convenient access to the relevant material on any given topic (although it was unavoidably imperfect, as a single responsum frequently dealt with a number of related questions). On the other hand, the information provided in the original framework, concerning the identities of questioner and respondent, was frequently omitted in the transition. The editors of such collections also took a more ruthless approach, on the whole, to the individual responsa and were more likely to omit details or abridge discussions as they saw fit. The beginnings of this process may be traced in the Genizah, but its major surviving representatives are European manuscripts and printed editions.∂∑ Until the middle of the nineteenth century, the publishers of Geonic responsa were dependent solely on medieval, principally European, manuscripts, not all of which have been published. These collections may be divided into two categories: those which retained, albeit in modified form, the structure of the original quntresim and those which display a topical reorganization of the material. Common to both sorts of collection is the addition of material other than Geonic responsa, although the precise nature of such material varies from one collection to another. It may include Palestinian material of the Geonic period, selections from monographic works or codes of this period or slightly later, and responsa of early European authorities.∂∏ Some of the published (and manuscript) collections of Geonic responsa actually derive 44. See most recently ibid., pp. 218–222, with references to earlier publications. 45. For examples of topically arranged Genizah fragments see Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, 2:166–181, 300–309. For descriptions of major manuscript collections of Geonic responsa see Hildesheimer, ‘‘Komposition’’; Tavory, ‘‘Meqorotaw shel Sefer Sha‘arey-Teshuvah’’; idem, ‘‘Teshuvot ha-Geonim weha-Rishonim’’; for a survey of the printed collections and related studies see Groner, Legal Methodology of Hai Gaon, pp. 173–187, and now Danzig, ‘‘Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim Sha‘arey Teshuvah.’’ An important collection, which was lost for many years, has now appeared twice: Emanuel, Teshuvot A ha-Ge’onim ha-Hadashot; Hurwitz, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim. M. Ben-Sasson (personal communication) suggests that collections arranged according to the order of the Talmud A underlie the ‘‘Geonic’’ commentary on Teharot (see below, chap. 17, ‘‘Commentaries on A A the Mishnah’’) and the Talmud commentary of Hannan’el b. Hushi’el. 46. See Groner, Legal Methodology of Hai Gaon, pp. 175–178, and the specific studies mentioned there; above, chap. 7, ‘‘Legal Tradition and Literature.’’

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from lost medieval works, from which the Geonic sources were extracted; this process introduced an additional sort of contamination into collections which purport to be devoted solely to Geonic responsa, as those who extracted the responsa were not always completely successful in distinguishing between Geonic and other sources embedded in later writings.∂π An important watershed was the publication of A. E. Harkavy’s collection of responsa in 1887. Although the source of his manuscripts was not known to the editor, this was in fact the first responsa collection to be based on Genizah manuscripts, as were most of the succeeding editions. These publications revolutionized the study of the Geonic period in general, and of Geonic responsa in particular, because of the relatively pristine form in which these responsa are preserved in the Genizah fragments, despite the technical difficulties caused by the physical deterioration of the manuscripts in question. Thus, even when a given responsum was known previously, whether from a collection of Geonic responsa or through citations in the works of medieval authors, the Genizah fragments were frequently found to preserve fuller and more accurate texts. In addition, many responsa previously considered anonymous or of dubious authorship could now be assigned unequivocally to their proper authors. Many hundreds—perhaps thousands—of previously unknown responsa were also brought to light.∂∫ Despite the work of generations of scholars, several hundred responsa—many of them unknown—remain to be published on the basis of Genizah manuscripts. A final source of information concerning Geonic responsa, which has been largely but not yet fully exploited, is the vast territory of medieval rabbinic literature. In this connection there are great differences between the various medieval authors, not only with regard to the quantities of Geonic material which they preserve, but also in the degree of faithfulness with which these sources are transmitted in their works (including the preservation or omission of the respondents’ names). As a rule, material transmitted through these channels was exposed to greater interference than that preserved in collections dedicated to Geonic responsa, as later authors were even more likely than scribes or collectors to adapt Geonic materials to their new settings. Such adaptations might include the addition of explanatory glosses or expressions

47. Chiefly the voluminous works of R. Judah b. Barzilai of Barcelona; see most recently Tavory, ‘‘Meqorotaw shel Sefer Sha‘arey-Teshuvah.’’ 48. It is impossible to give an exact number, inter alia for the reasons discussed in Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 31–32. A comprehensive new catalog of the Geonic responsa, to replace Müller, Mafteahf li-Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim, is a major desideratum.

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of the later author’s reservations with regard to his predecessor’s arguments. Even more common is the habit of selective citation or abridgement, which at its most extreme reduces an entire responsum to a note of the form ‘‘and Rabbi So-and-So was of the same opinion.’’ Nor are such notes always entirely reliable: the author may have placed the Gaon in a certain camp with regard to the issue which interested him, while overlooking or ignoring some of the finer nuances of his opinion.∂Ω

Problems of Identification and Attribution What has already been said should suffice to give the reader some sense of the difficulties which beset research on the Geonic responsa, whether the student is interested in extracting legal opinions or historical information. Those responsa which have reached us in their original form are probably in the minority; even responsa which appear prima facie to be complete may be found, on closer analysis or comparison with other sources, to have been abridged. As a consequence, we are frequently unsure whether two or more texts derive from a single responsum. The problem is especially acute with regard to the abbreviated citations common in medieval rabbinic literature. The fact that a number of sources express the same opinion with respect to a particular question is by no means sufficient to prove that they represent a single responsum, even in the absence of evidence to the contrary. Many questions arose repeatedly in the course of the Geonic period, and it was not even unusual for a single Gaon to address the same topic several times, since his agenda was set by his questioners, and the same question might arise in various communities.∑≠ We may only identify separate sources as deriving from a single responsum when they express idiosyncratic opinions or when the overlap between them extends to the specific wording and is not limited to the positions adopted. And even in such cases, it is possible that these are remnants of various responsa by the same author. 49. See, for example, Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, p. 124, nn. 4–5, and cf. ibid., p. 525, n. 10. This may be seen as a reflection of the attitude of later rabbinic authorities to the Geonim in general. While paying lip service to their unassailable authority, and frequently citing their decisions as precedents, they did not in fact treat these as binding. See I. Twersky, Rabad of Posquières: A Twelfth-Century Talmudist ≤, Philadelphia, 1980, pp. 216–222. 50. See, for example, Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 195–197, with nn. 1, 4. In such instances the respondent would sometimes make use of his previous responsum, whether directly or indirectly; see Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 259– 260.

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In considering a given responsum, we may be confronted with textual and exegetical problems of various sorts, but it is difficult to generalize on these issues.∑∞ It is, however, worth offering some general observations on one of the most difficult and frequently recurring problems in the field of Geonic responsa: attribution. Difficulties may arise either from a dearth or from a superabundance of data. Although no accurate statistics are available, it is probably the case that most surviving Geonic responsa have been transmitted anonymously, while in many other cases we are confronted with conflicting attributions for a single responsum. The determination of the authorship of a particular responsum is important not only for any attempt to reconstruct the intellectual history of the period, or the thought of an individual Gaon, but also for purposes of social or economic history, since knowing the author gives us an approximate date for the text in question. (The historian would also like to know the identity, or at least the time and place, of the questioner; such information is even harder to come by than that concerning the respondent.) Before discussing the various means by which we may attempt to determine the authorship of anonymous responsa or to decide between conflicting attributions, we must briefly consider another phenomenon: the simultaneous submission of identical queries to rival Geonim. The most unambiguous evidence for the existence of this practice is contained in an unusually harsh rebuke addressed to the scholars of Qayrawan by Nahshon ≠ Gaon, head of the Sura academy in the second half of the ninth century:∑≤ And that you sent queries to us and to the academy of Pum(bedita), and there are almost 28 parasangs between us—we do not know what they write and they do not know what we write— . . . is this not a profanation of the (Divine) name there (in your community), that you (will) say: They argue with each A other? The late R. Nathan b. Hananiah and your earlier rabbis, whose intentions were (solely) for the sake of heaven, never acted thus; for the last 36 years they sent their queries either to us or to Pum, or some to us and some to Pum, but certainly to send a single query to both academies—they never did so. . . . Now we also warn you, that if you address a single query to us and to Pum, nothing (by way of answer) will be sent to you either from Pum or from us.

The available evidence shows that the phenomenon was quite widespread. We have dozens of pairs of responsa which address identical queries, and our documentation is undoubtedly incomplete.∑≥ Whatever may have been the 51. But see above, chap. 10, ‘‘Oral versus Written Talmud,’’ with n. 17. 52. The text has been published and discussed several times, most recently by Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 38–39. 53. See ibid., pp. 36–39; Abramson, ‘‘Ahat ≠ She’elah’’; Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 60–61 and n. 13, and cf. ibid., pp. 29–30.

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motives of the questioners, the phenomenon is significant for two reasons in our present context. First, some ‘‘conflicting’’ attributions actually refer to the query rather than the responsum; rather than representing a conflict, they reflect the fact that a particular question was addressed to two Geonim. Second, we may use our knowledge of the chronology of the Geonim to clarify questionable attributions in such cases; or, conversely, we may use the evidence of simultaneous queries to help resolve chronological problems.∑∂ In general, clear internal evidence for the assignment of a responsum to a particular Gaon is very rarely available. Questioners and respondents only occasionally refer to historical events, and when they do, these events and the questions based on them cannot always be dated. As examples of unambiguous evidence for attributions we may mention cases in which the Gaon is asked about a book he has written, or in which the respondent mentions his ancestors who served in the Geonate, and sufficient biographical information is available to narrow the author down to a single individual.∑∑ In other cases, such as those of the simultaneous queries, the evidence may suffice to limit the alternatives, or to tip the scale between conflicting attributions, without sufficing to point unambiguously to the author. In some instances the internal evidence may supply a date, whether exact or approximate, without indicating the academy in question, while in others the language of the responsum— for instance, a reference to preceding heads of the same institution, or to a local tradition—may make it clear to which academy the author belongs.∑∏ On the other hand, the opinion expressed may hardly be taken as evidence of institutional affiliation, as some scholars have suggested.∑π Attempts to identify elements of individual style which could serve as criteria for attribution have also failed to produce convincing results.∑∫

54. In addition to the sources listed in the previous note, see Brody, ‘‘Rav ‘Amram bar Sheshna.’’ The remainder of this chapter is based on Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 29–35. 55. For examples see ibid., p. 29; Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 182 (and cf. ibid., no. 548 and n. 4). 56. See, for example, Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 29–30; Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 389; Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 8, Ketubbot, Responsa, nos. 534, 648. 57. See above, chap. 9, ‘‘Attitudes towards Authority,’’ with n. 40. For examples of the approach in question, which was sometimes pursued by means of rather high-handed emendations, see Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 261–278; Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, 2:509–516. 58. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 28–29, n. 4. There are, however, certain stylistic features which point to groups of Geonim if not to individuals; see above, pp. 190–191.

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In the vast majority of cases, however, we are dependent—either directly or indirectly—on the attributions supplied by our sources. These may take various forms, of which the most common are headings in manuscripts (or early printed editions, if the underlying manuscripts have been lost) and citations in the writings of later authorities. Such citations are already found in significant quantities within the Geonic literature itself (although the Geonim do not make a practice of citing their predecessors except in special circumstances),∑Ω but they occur in much larger quantities in the later medieval literature. Evidence of this sort, although much more widely applicable than the sorts of internal evidence discussed above, is inherently less satisfactory and confronts us with a number of problems. In general, we cannot assume that the scribes, editors, or later authors always had impeccable information on the authorship of the sources they used (as proven by the existence of numerous conflicts in attribution). Furthermore, with regard to citations in particular, it is not always clear whether the brief citation or précis given by a later author derives from a given responsum or whether two such citations derive from one and the same responsum. Nevertheless, very strong grounds should be demanded for rejecting an explicit attribution which is not contradicted by another.∏≠ The greater difficulty arises with regard to responsa for which there is no explicit attribution. The question may be phrased thus: In what circumstances may the evidence of attributions (or, where available, internal evidence) be applied to other responsa, which have been transmitted anonymously? Many scholars have assumed that when they find an attribution to a certain Gaon in a responsa collection, this is meant to refer also to the succeeding responsa, until another attribution is encountered. Some have gone even further and assigned series of responsa to a single Gaon on the basis of an attribution of one responsum derived from a parallel source. Such presuppositions appear to arise from the fact that Geonic responsa were normally sent in batches, and from the hope that our sources have generally preserved such batches. A careful analysis, however, shows that such an approach creates more problems than it solves, including large numbers of illusory ‘‘conflicting attributions.’’ Many collections were created precisely by breaking up the individual quntresim and rearranging the individual responsa by subject, and

59. See chap. 9, ‘‘Attitudes towards Authority,’’ with n. 44. 60. Compare Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 441–442; p. 558, n. 11. On the other hand, I strongly doubt whether it is justified to take references by certain authors to ‘‘a Gaon’’ or ‘‘the Gaon’’ as specific attributions to Hayya Gaon, as is sometimes done (see Groner, Legal Methodology of Hai Gaon, pp. 124–128; idem, Reshimat Teshuvot Rav Hai Ga’on, pp. 79–81).

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there is no reason to suppose that the creators of such collections attempted to keep the responsa of individual Geonim together. In fact, there is evidence to suggest otherwise.∏∞ Even collections which have not been topically arranged may combine diverse sources, as may collections which include misleadingly general headings.∏≤ A higher standard of proof is required before we may assume that a given source has preserved one or more batches of responsa, each attributable to a single Gaon. Although it is impossible to give hard-and-fast rules, the only sound approach appears to be a statistical one. Suppose a given Genizah fragment, or a section of a collection, contains some responsa for which no evidence of authorship is available and others whose authorship may be determined, at least tentatively, on the basis of explicit attributions or internal evidence. If all, or the overwhelming majority, of the attributable responsa belong to the same Gaon, the suggestion that the anonymous responsa in the group should be attributed to the same author becomes plausible—increasingly so as the attributed responsa occupy a larger and more widely distributed portion of the text in question.∏≥ In the end, though, it is probably the better part of valor to reconcile ourselves to the anonymity of many Geonic responsa rather than to attempt to establish the identities of their authors on insufficient grounds. 61. See above, ‘‘The Fate of the Responsa,’’ with n. 45, and Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 32–34. 62. See, for example, Ginzberg, Geonica, 2:20–21; Assaf, ‘‘Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim,’’ p. 9; Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 218–220; Emanuel, Teshuvot haA Ge’onim ha-Hadashot, p. 91, n. 2. 63. For more detailed suggestions in this vein see Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 34–35.

13

The She’iltot

Another important product of the Geonic period, both more literary than the responsa and less closely connected with the Geonim themselves, was the collection of homilies known as the She’iltot. In considering this literature, we must distinguish between two topics: the literary genre as a whole and a particular collection associated with the name of R. Ahai ≠ (or Aha) ≠ of Shavha. ≠ In order to minimize confusion, we will refer to the individual units by the lower-case she’ilta (pl. she’iltot), and to R. Ahai’s ≠ collection by the upper-case plural She’iltot.

The Genre: Form and Structure The individual units of this genre, each of which is called a she’ilta (‘‘question’’ or, less literally, ‘‘discourse’’),∞ are homilies of a peculiar type, strikingly different from the dominant types of Palestinian homilies which are reflected, directly or indirectly, in numerous collections of midrash.≤ This homiletical genre is already attested in the Babylonian Talmud and continued 1. See S. Mendelsohn, ‘‘SH’L, She’ilta et She’iltot,’’ RÉJ 32 (1896), pp. 56–62. 2. On the Palestinian midrashic collections generally, see Stemberger and Strack, Einleitung, pp. 257–296; for literature discussing the problem of the extent to which these redacted collections preserve actual homilies, see ibid., pp. 230–232.

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to be used (with slight modifications) at least into the tenth century, as indicated by Rabbi Nathan’s account of his visit to the Babylonian academies of that time. Not only was a she’ilta-type sermon delivered at the ceremony marking the investiture of an Exilarch, but a very similar sort of lecture was apparently a fixture of the kallah sessions at the Geonic academy which Rabbi Nathan visited. In both these settings the Gaon was the main speaker, but the concluding portion of the lesson was delivered by another scholar.≥ Thus, although almost all surviving she’iltot are associated with the name of R. Ahai, ≠ who was active in the mid-eighth century, they belong to a genre which flourished for more than five centuries. All the available evidence associates homilies of this sort with the territories to the east of the Jordan, beginning with the lone talmudic example which is attributed to R. Tanhum ≠ of Nawe in Transjordan,∂ and continuing with the she’iltot collection attributed to the Babylonian R. Ahai ≠ and those homilies which Rabbi Nathan heard in Babylonia. Nevertheless, some scholars have suggested a Palestinian origin for the She’iltot. The original inspiration for this suggestion is probably the testimony of Sherira Gaon that R. Ahai ≠ left Babylonia and emigrated to Palestine after having been passed over for promotion to the position of Gaon.∑ This theory was developed most thoroughly by L. Ginzberg,∏ who offered two primary arguments. First, their language contains numerous grammatical forms and some lexical items which do not conform to standard Babylonian Jewish Aramaic as found in the Babylonian Talmud, whereas parallels to some of these elements are to be found in Palestinian Jewish Aramaic. Second, the She’iltot are almost never quoted in later Geonic literature—at first glance a quite surprising fact, which Ginzberg explains by suggesting that Babylonian authors were unfamiliar with a work composed (albeit by a Babylonian expatriate) in Palestine. The first and more impressive of these arguments was, however, thoroughly demolished by J. N. Epstein,π who showed that the language employed in the She’iltot is typical of the Aramaic of the Geonim and, furthermore, is closely related to the Aramaic dialect of certain tractates (such as Nedarim, Keritot, and Temurah) of the Babylonian Talmud itself. The historical and geographical background of these competing dialects of Babylonian Jewish Aramaic remains enigmatic but 3. Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:84 (cf. above, chap. 3, ‘‘The Operation of the Academies’’); 87–88 (cf. above, chap. 5, ‘‘Exilarchs and Geonim’’). 4. See Oppenheimer, Babylonia Judaica, p. 314, with references to earlier literature. 5. See below, with n. 21, and cf. above, chap. 5, ‘‘Exilarchs and Geonim,’’ with n. 43. 6. Geonica, 1:86–89. 7. Epstein, Mehqarim, f 1:85–135. (The English original was published in JQR, n.s., 12 [1921–22], pp. 299–390; see esp. pp. 299–329.)

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has little or nothing to do with Palestinian origins; the features which Geonic Aramaic shares with Palestinian Aramaic are almost all features of older Aramaic which were modified in standard talmudic Aramaic and retained (or, less likely, restored) in Geonic Aramaic.∫ As for the failure of later Geonim to cite the She’iltot, we may mention the ingenious explanation proposed by V. Aptowitzer.Ω He suggests that later Babylonian authors saw R. Ahai ≠ as a traitor because of his emigration to Palestine and for this reason boycotted his works! A more likely explanation is provided by the canons of Geonic writing, in which post-talmudic authors are cited only in unusual circumstances, and by the fact that the She’iltot contain very little of an original nature which would not have been available to the Geonim from other, more primary sources. The classic she’ilta of the Geonic period comprises four sections, of which all but the first begin with fixed formulae.∞≠ The first section introduces a particular commandment (generally of biblical but occasionally of rabbinic origin) and may exhibit any one of a number of alternative formulations, of which the most common are ‘‘that those of the House of Israel are forbidden,’’ in the case of a prohibition, and ‘‘that those of the House of Israel are obligated,’’ in the case of a positive commandment. After a summary statement of the commandment in question, normally buttressed by an appropriate biblical citation, selected aspects are elaborated upon by means of talmudic citations or paraphrases. The second section, beginning ‘‘but you must learn,’’ briefly presents a legal question arising out of those points discussed at the end of the previous section. Generally only two alternatives are suggested, with concise arguments offered in favor of each; at times a number of preliminary questions are resolved in passing, before the homilist presents the central question which he seeks to address. The third section, beginning with a long formulaic introduction which praises God for granting Israel the Torah, actually ignores the question raised in the second section and is devoted to extended quotations from talmudic sources on the theme of the she’ilta. The resolution of the specific question raised earlier is deferred to the final section, which opens with the resumptive formula ‘‘and as for the question which I have been asked∞∞ 8. The most thorough treatment of this topic is S. Rybak’s doctoral dissertation, The Aramaic Dialect of Nedarim, Yeshiva University, New York, 1980. 9. Aptowitzer, ‘‘Untersuchungen,’’ pp. 382–383. 10. This pattern was clarified only gradually, because of the modified form in which most of the homilies appear in the printed editions and European manuscripts. See Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:90–91; Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 158; Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 10–12. 11. The written form of the verb employed is ambiguous; I prefer to analyze this as the passive form she’ilna, but it may equally represent the active she’elna.

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before you, come and hear.’’ This is followed by a talmudic passage which normally resolves the question without further ado; in some instances further analysis of the cited passage is required in order to elucidate its bearing on the issue being discussed. In the unique example, previously mentioned, of a she’ilta recorded in the Talmud, the introductory section does not appear, and the question addressed by the homilist R. Tanhum ≠ is explicitly said to have been propounded by anonymous members of the audience (‘‘They asked a question above ∞≤ It seems likely that the Geonic she’ilta reflects a later developR. Tanhum’’). ≠ ment of this basic form, in which the elements of spontaneity and audience participation were eliminated in favor of a systematic introduction, a development which would obviously have made the homilist’s task much easier, by allowing him to choose the topic on which he would speak and to prepare his homily in advance rather than being called upon to speak extemporaneously.∞≥ It is also possible that the later form of the she’ilta represents an amalgamation of the earlier form with that of another genre preserved in the Talmud: a list of relatively straightforward laws, followed by a more complex question and its resolution.∞∂ The structure of the she’ilta has often been compared with that of midrashic homilies of the so-called Yelamdenu type, in which a legal question and its answer precede a much lengthier nonlegal section.∞∑ The comparison is particularly apposite with regard to the earlier form of the she’ilta; the later form, aside from the addition of an introductory section, differs from the Yelamdenu midrashim by virtue of a greater emphasis on legal questions and correspondingly lesser interest in aggadah. It is, however, important to note that the 12. This apparently reflects a setting in which the audience’s seats were higher than the floor from which R. Tanhum ≠ spoke. Many ancient synagogues had several rows of benches, one above the other, around their walls; see, for example, L. I. Levine, Ancient Synagogues Revealed, Jerusalem, 1981, passim. 13. If my interpretation of the opening formula (see n. 11 above) is correct, this would be a petrified remnant from an earlier period in which the question was provided by members of the audience. Similar elements are to be found even in the exceptional types of she’ilta described by Rabbi Nathan. 14. This genre in its complete form seems to have been a specialty of Rava; cf. BT Shabbat 23b, Ketubbot 53a, Bava Qamma 96a and 105b, Bava Batra 175a (?) and Menahot ≠ 7b. Partial parallels, comprising simple laws followed by a problem or a problem together with its resolution, are quite numerous. 15. See the summary in Mirsky, She’iltot, Introduction, pp. 10–12, with references to earlier discussions. For literature on the Yelamdenu genre and its origin, see Stemberger and Strack, Einleitung, pp. 279–282. The designation of this genre comes from its standard opening formula, yelamdenu rabbenu (‘‘let our master teach us’’).

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she’ilta frequently focuses on legal questions which might be expected to interest a broad audience; the legal issues involved are generally not very technical or abstruse, and frequently have a prominent ethical dimension. The classical arrangement of the she’ilta allowed for a considerable degree of flexibility. Often a single introduction could be used without modification as the springboard for a number of different questions coming under a single general heading; in other instances, the basic introduction could be modified in various ways in order to lead up to alternative questions. Furthermore, a single she’ilta could frequently be used on various occasions (presumably with different audiences). It appears likely that the theme of the she’ilta was chosen for its relevance to some aspect of the weekly Torah reading,∞∏ but many themes (such as the Sabbath or the prohibition of robbery or murder) could easily be connected with numerous weekly portions. Thus a relatively limited stock of basic homilies could be ‘‘stretched’’ to cover a variety of occasions. Another sort of flexibility was provided by the third section of the she’ilta, known as the derashah.∞π Because the contents of this section were not related to the specific question posed in the she’ilta but only to the commandment which provided its overall theme, the homilist enjoyed great freedom in selecting the materials to be incorporated in this section. In fact, in one case a Genizah manuscript contains an explicit note to the effect that at this point the homilist is free to adduce ‘‘as much aggadah as he pleases.’’∞∫ Although there is sufficient evidence to enable us to reconstruct with confidence the structure of the classical she’ilta, very few such homilies have reached us in anything like their original form. The reason for this is the peculiar nature of the derashah. Within the context of an oral homily, this section played an important role: by postponing the resolution of the question posed by the homilist, it created suspense and maintained interest. Furthermore, once the audience’s attention was engaged, the derashah could serve a pedagogical function, by acquainting the listeners with additional laws and talmudic sources. To medieval copyists and erudite readers, however, this section seemed superfluous, a mere conglomeration of talmudic sources which broke the organic link between question and answer. For this reason, the derashah suffered an ignominious fate: it was either transferred from its origi16. Aside from its inherent plausibility, this is the situation reflected in R. Ahai’s ≠ collection. It is, however, conceivable that it was the editor who imposed this order on the material. 17. This term appears already in the manuscripts, including Genizah fragments, of the She’iltot. 18. See Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:393, 413.

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nal location to the end of the she’ilta or dropped altogether, leaving at most a talmudic reference of a few words.∞Ω Thus the typical she’ilta as transmitted consists merely of an introductory section, followed by a question and answer; frequently the introduction is followed by a number of alternative questions and a corresponding series of alternative answers, linked by the phrase i namey (‘‘or else’’). In actual homiletical practice only a single question and answer would have been used on any given occasion, so that a listing of this sort actually records a number of different homilies sharing a common introduction. Occasionally we also find brief notes concerning modifications to be made in the introduction, depending on the question and answer selected.≤≠

The She’iltot of R. Ahai f We turn now to consideration of the particular collection of She’iltot associated with R. Ahai ≠ of Shavha. ≠ Of R. Ahai ≠ himself we know practically nothing. In his Epistle, Sherira Gaon informs us that R. Ahai ≠ left Babylonia for Palestine after his former disciple was promoted over his head to the position of Gaon of Pumbedita, around the year 750; other Geonic sources provide us with the name (and a few halakhic opinions) of a scholar, R. Samuel Rosh Kallah, who is identified as R. Ahai’s ≠ teacher.≤∞ In Sherira’s Epistle the name of R. Ahai ≠ is introduced without further identification or explanation, apparently on the assumption that it is well known to the recipients. His connection with a collection of She’iltot is first asserted in another responsum of Sherira or his son Hayya Gaon≤≤ and thereafter repeated at frequent intervals throughout medieval rabbinic literature. 19. It is likely that the derashah was first transferred and later abbreviated; the medieval commentaries published in Mirsky’s edition of the She’iltot reflect an intermediate stage in this development. The derashah is generally preserved intact and in its original location in Genizah fragments of the She’iltot, but only very rarely in the later European manuscripts; the most striking exception is the first homily in the collection, for which a quite lengthy derashah has been transmitted, even in the printed editions. 20. See the following homilies in Mirsky, She’iltot: no. 10 (esp. p. 67; duplicated in no. 39), 55 (p. 114), 65 (p. 175), 104 (p. 118; cf. the editor’s commentary ad loc.), 107 (p. 139), 120 (p. 224), 160 (p. 9). 21. See Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 103 (with n. 8, for the translation ‘‘disciple’’; Rabinowich, p. 127; Schlüter, p. 248); Poznanski, ‘Inyanim Shonim, pp. 65–66. Cf. above, chap. 3, ‘‘Positions and Power in the Academy’’ (on the title rosh kallah); chap. 5, ‘‘Exilarchs and Geonim,’’ with n. 43; and below, Appendix A, n. 3. 22. Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 376 (p. 191). For the authorship of the group of responsa of which this is one see esp. ibid., no. 386.

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The She’iltot collection as we have it comprises approximately 180 homilies,≤≥ arranged according to the weekly portions of the Torah reading according to Babylonian custom.≤∂ Almost all the weekly portions are represented, with the number of homilies for a given portion ranging from one to upwards of half a dozen; in addition, there are a number of homilies assigned to festivals and other special occasions.≤∑ Considerable ingenuity is exercised in attaching homilies, each of which is devoted to a particular commandment, to nonlegal portions of the Torah; this is especially evident with regard to the book of Genesis, which contains almost no legal material. Thus, homilies dealing with marriage law are attached to the story of Isaac’s wedding, those concerned with the legal implications of dreams to the story of Joseph, and so on. A single she’ilta could frequently serve equally well for a number of different portions, and this potential is exemplified in the existing collection. In numerous cases a particular she’ilta appears in various locations, whether in different textual witnesses or within a single witness. Sometimes the entire homily is given once and a brief cross-reference inserted in an alternative location.≤∏ One of the most important questions arising with regard to the She’iltot is that of the role played by R. Ahai ≠ in its formation. As we have seen, the units of this collection are actually independent homilies, and there is no reason to assume a priori that their authorship is unitary. Granted that we have no grounds for rejecting the attribution of this collection to R. Ahai, ≠ we may yet inquire in what sense this attribution is to be understood. Was R. Ahai ≠ the author of each and every homily in the collection, which would then represent some version of his collected sermons? Did he adapt or rework homilies delivered by others? Did he anthologize the homilies of others, or incorporate them in his collection along with original homilies of his own? In short, to what extent may we reasonably expect the She’iltot to represent the coherent viewpoint of an individual, and to what extent merely the temper of 23. There is a certain ambiguity, or even arbitrariness, in the numbering of the individual units. Mirsky gives the total number as 194, as against 171 in earlier editions, the disparity arising primarily from counting cross-references et sim. as independent homilies. Conversely, as an extreme example, no. 104 in Mirsky’s edition could easily be divided into four (or more) separate homilies. 24. This might be further evidence of the Babylonian provenance of this work 25. The location of these homilies varies from one family of textual witnesses to another; it seems likely that they were originally grouped at the end of the book. For details see Brody, Le-Toledot Nusahf ha-She’iltot, pp. 185–189. 26. The latter tendency is especially characteristic of the editio princeps and MS St. Petersburg. For details see ibid., pp. 92–93, 186–189.

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an age or of several ages? This question requires further research, but significant differences in the talmudic text reflected in various homilies within the collection would seem to constitute a strong argument against unity of composition.≤π A closely related question is whether all the individual units in the She’iltot are at least contemporaneous—whether the collection attributed to R. Ahai ≠ contains any homilies which are either earlier or later in origin than the lifetime of the putative author or editor. It is perhaps easier to deal with the question of later homilies. Some of the textual witnesses contain homilies which are indubitably considerably later than R. Ahai; ≠ ≤∫ other homilies are ≤Ω suspect for one reason or another. The question remains, however, whether or not all the later additions to the collection are betrayed by such giveaway indications. The question of the possible inclusion of homilies from an earlier period raises problems of a different and more complex nature. Epstein, in particular,≥≠ argued that R. Ahai’s ≠ collection comprised homilies composed hundreds of years earlier, in the Savoraic period.≥∞ This contention rests on two principal arguments: the fact that several passages found in the She’iltot are described elsewhere in Geonic literature as embodying ancient traditional material, and the impression that at least some portions of the She’iltot reflect a recension of the Babylonian Talmud so radically different from that attested in later witnesses that they must be assigned a date earlier than the (final) redaction of the Talmud as we know it. Neither of these arguments, however, is very convincing. The simplest explanation for the presence of ancient traditional material in these homilies is that their authors drew on a body of such material in addition to their other sources. Moreover, reexamination of the data adduced by Epstein raises grave doubts concerning many of the talmudic A 27. I have dealt with one instance of this sort (BT Hullin 18a) in Brody, ‘‘Sifrut haGe’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 261–262. There are, however, only a few cases in which a single talmudic passage is quoted in two different homilies within the She’iltot, so that it is difficult to arrive at firm conclusions. 28. The most striking instance is the quasi-she’ilta published by D. Sassoon in his catalog Ohel Dawid, London, 1932, pp. 112–115. For other quasi-she’iltot found outside the She’iltot manuscripts see Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 381–389. 29. See Brody, Le-Toledot Nusahf ha-She’iltot, p. 93 and n. 110; ibid., p. 186 and nn. 5, 7. Note that none of these homilies is found in all the textual witnesses (although MS Sassoon is defective and may have contained some of the homilies in question). 30. See esp. Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:382–391 and passim in this article. Epstein was followed by others, including Mirsky, She’iltot, Introduction, pp. 12–16. 31. Cf. above, chap. 1, ‘‘Savora’im and Geonim.’’

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texts which he reconstructed and his assessment of the significance of others for the history of talmudic redaction.≥≤

The Sources of the She’iltot This brings us to the question of the sources employed by the homilist or homilists responsible for the She’iltot, as well as for isolated homilies belonging to the same genre and preserved outside the bounds of this collection. The she’ilta, as a homiletical-pedagogical vehicle aimed primarily at a popular audience, had few if any pretensions at originality. The derashah section omitted by later copyists is the most strikingly unoriginal component of the classical she’ilta, but the homily as a whole generally contains very little that is original in terms of content. We might perhaps expect the original contribution of the homilist to be found in the problems which he propounds and later resolves. In fact, in the great majority of cases the resolution is achieved simply by quoting an explicit talmudic source, so that there is nothing genuinely problematic about the question which serves as the focal point of the she’ilta. Further confirmation may be found in several instances of alternative homilies sharing a common introduction, in which a law featured in the central problem in one version is included in the straightforward introduction according to the parallel recension.≥≥ In view of these and other indications, to be discussed below, it seems very likely that even the minority of instances in which the homilist adds interpretations of talmudic sources, or legal argumentation based on them, represent not genuinely original contributions but rather the homilists’ exploitation of traditional materials. The originality of the she’ilta is to be sought not in its legal content but in its literary form: an adaptation of selected talmudic sources to a homiletical format which could appeal to a nonscholarly audience.≥∂ While we have stressed repeatedly that the classical she’ilta depended almost entirely on talmudic sources, the precise identity of these sources requires 32. See the detailed discussion in Brody, ‘‘Sifrut ha-Ge’onim weha-Teqs≠t ha-Talmudi,’’ pp. 245–256, and cf. above, chap. 10, ‘‘Oral versus Written Talmud’’ (esp. towards the end). 33. See Mirsky, She’iltot, no. 10 (esp. p. 67; duplicated in no. 39), 104 (p. 118, see the editor’s commentary ad loc.), 107 (p. 139), 160 (p. 9). 34. Cf. Gafni, ‘‘Ha-Pirqa.’’ The types of she’ilta described by Rabbi Nathan (above, n. 3) are exceptional in this regard. For a comparison of learned and popular homilies in the earlier period and an attempt to assess their contributions to the midrashic corpus see Y. Frankel, Darkhey ha-Aggadah weha-Midrash [The Methods of Aggadah and Midrash], Givatayim, 1991, pp. 16–43.

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further discussion. By far the most important such source is the Babylonian Talmud, taken together with those portions of the Mishnah on which the Talmud comments, as was customary in Babylonia.≥∑ In keeping with the situation reflected in other, roughly contemporaneous Geonic literature, we find that the homilists occasionally exploit other Palestinian sources of the Tannaitic period: the Tosefta and halakhic midrashim, as well as those portions of the Mishnah not covered by the Babylonian Talmud.≥∏ Much more problematic is the question of the use of Palestinian literature of the Amoraic period. Scholarly debate has concentrated in particular on the possibility of identifying citations from the Palestinian Talmud.≥π More careful analysis, however, demonstrates that many of the examples adduced are illusory, while the few clear citations appear not to belong to the original text of the She’iltot but rather to represent later interpolations.≥∫ This failure to exploit the Palestinian Talmud is consonant with the situation in Geonic literature generally before the advent of Se‘adyah Gaon, as we have seen, and further strengthens the arguments for assigning this literature to Babylonia. Similarly, there is no evidence that the Babylonian homilists made use of Palestinian midrashic collections.≥Ω On the other hand, there are instances of midrashic citations which do not originate in the Babylonian Talmud, some of which have thematic parallels in Palestinian sources; these should probably be taken as evidence for the existence of Babylonian midrashic materials or collections, of which only isolated fragments have survived.∂≠ We know from later Geonic literature that several She’iltot passages embody ancient halakhic traditions, which are said to belong to the oral heritage of the Babylonian academies from the earliest post-talmudic times;∂∞ we have already argued that the most natural conclusion is that the Babylonian homilists, like other authors of the Geonic period, drew on this reservoir of oral traditions. Furthermore, it is quite possible that the passages which are explicitly said to belong to this pool of ancient traditions represent only the tip of the iceberg, and that many other exegetical or 35. See the beginning of chap. 10, with n. 1. 36. References may be found in the indexes to the several volumes of Mirsky, She’iltot, although many of these are illusory. 37. See esp. Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:78–86; Poznanski, ‘Inyanim Shonim, pp. 12–16; Kaminka, ‘‘Ha-She’iltot we-Yihusan ≠ la-Yerushalmi.’’ 38. See esp. Brody, Le-Toledot Nusahf ha-She’iltot, p. 73 and n. 25. 39. See above, p. 169. 40. Several good examples are provided by the lengthy derashah of the first homily in R. Ahai’s ≠ collection. For other evidence supporting the hypothesis of lost Babylonian midrashic collections see above, chap. 11, ‘‘Aggadic and Historical Traditions.’’ 41. Testimonies to this effect are collected by Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:378–379.

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legal passages, related to but not contained in the Babylonian Talmud, derive from the same stock of oral traditions current in the Babylonian academies.∂≤ For modern scholarship, as for ancient audiences, the primary importance of the She’iltot is as a conduit for the transmission of the Babylonian Talmud. Even if we reject the theory that the She’iltot and associated homilies reflect an earlier recension of the Talmud than that utilized by other sources, there can be no doubt of the extraordinary significance of the She’iltot as a witness to the talmudic text. It is the earliest indirect witness to preserve such large quantities of text and antedates by hundreds of years those Genizah fragments of the Talmud which constitute our earliest direct witnesses.∂≥ Proper exploitation of the She’iltot for purposes of textual criticism presents, however, a number of difficulties. First of all, as is common in Geonic literature, large sections of the text paraphrase the Talmud rather than quoting it directly, and reconstruction of the underlying talmudic text must be approached with considerable caution and with an awareness of the inherently limited reliability of any such reconstruction. But even those sections of the She’iltot which simply reproduce talmudic passages are not free of difficulties. Apart from the inclusion of glosses which may have been included in the original homilies, and the usual vagaries of scribes, a work like the She’iltot was peculiarly vulnerable to conscious and unconscious emendation in favor of versions of the Talmud with which the copyists and students of the text were more familiar.∂∂ The greatest care is therefore required in attempting to distinguish between original Geonic readings in the Talmud and medieval interpolations or emendations, and a critically established text of the She’iltot is a prerequisite for its exploitation as a primary tool in the textual criticism of the Talmud. The raw material for establishing a critical text of the She’iltot is impressive in quantity. In addition to the editio princeps we have ten manuscripts, each of which contains the bulk of the work. There are also dozens of Genizah fragments and some very important indirect witnesses. On the other hand, none of the European manuscripts antedates the fourteenth century; furthermore, all but one belong (together with the editio princeps) to a single family. Thanks, however, to the one exceptional manuscript∂∑ and the supporting evidence of Genizah fragments and other sources, it is possible to establish a surprisingly 42. This largely explains the dearth of quotations from the She’iltot in the writings of later Geonim; cf. above, p. 204. 43. This phenomenon is widespread and affects copyists (and even modern editors) of works such as biblical and talmudic commentaries. 44. In saying this, I refer to the original version of the She’iltot rather than to the extant witnesses, of which the earliest are Genizah fragments. 45. This was previously MS Sassoon 415; today it is MS Boesky 29 in the Jewish Theological Seminary Library, New York.

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good text of the She’iltot, representing a lost source dating to the middle of the ninth century at the latest.∂∏ As with most works of Geonic literature, a truly critical edition of the She’iltot, exploiting all the available source material and the techniques of stemmatic criticism, remains a desideratum. Meanwhile we may avail ourselves of a variorum edition, which contains quite accurate information on the readings of almost all the European manuscripts but makes very little use of Genizah material.∂π

The Influence of the She’iltot We have already noted that the She’iltot is hardly ever quoted by the Geonim—a fact which led Ginzberg to suppose that the work had been composed in Palestine and was unknown in Babylonia. It is by no means true, however, that this work failed to leave its mark on the literature of the Geonic period (including works which are assumed to be of Babylonian origin);∂∫ the Geonim probably failed to cite the She’iltot for other reasons, as we have argued. The influence of the She’iltot on legal codes of the Geonic period, to be discussed in our next chapter, is obvious in the Halakhot Gedolot of R. Simeon Qayyara. A late Geonic responsum∂Ω describes the She’iltot of R. Ahai ≠ as one of the sources of the Halakhot Gedolot, a statement abundantly confirmed by examination of the two works. The she’ilta origin of numerous passages contained both in the She’iltot and in Halakhot Gedolot is betrayed by the characteristic structure and phraseology of this genre. These criteria further enable us to identify additional passages of she’ilta origin found in the Halakhot Gedolot, which derive from homilies not included in R. Ahai’s ≠ col∑≠ lection. (It should, however, be noted that some passages originally belonging to Halakhot Gedolot have secondarily entered the manuscript tradition of 46. Brody, Le-Toledot Nusahf ha-She’iltot, is devoted to the documentation of this claim. 47. Mirsky, She’iltot; for further details on the strengths and weaknesses of Mirsky’s edition, see Brody, op. cit., pp. 13–15, 190–193. For preliminary collations of many Genizah fragments see Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 319–381. 48. Although there are some grounds for questioning these assumptions; see below, chap. 14, ‘‘Halakhot Pesuqot’’ and ‘‘Halakhot Gedolot,’’ with n. 54. 49. See above, n. 22. 50. She’ilta passages known only from Halakhot Pesuqot and/or Halakhot Gedolot were collected by Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:460–499 (but cf. Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 106); I see no reason to assume (as Epstein apparently does, ibid., pp. 462, 505) that these were originally included in R. Ahai’s ≠ collection and dropped out in the course of transmission. For a possible example of she’ilta material preserved elsewhere, see Goldschmidt, Seder Rav ‘Amram Ga’on, pp. 50–51 (paragraphs 87–88).

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the She’iltot.)∑∞ It seems, moreover, that the earlier Halakhot Pesuqot, attributed to Yehudai Gaon, had already made use of the She’iltot, although the evidence for this claim is much more tenuous.∑≤ The influence of the She’iltot was not limited to these works of Geonic literature. It appears to have served as the inspiration for a number of works arranged according to the order of the weekly Torah readings, of which the best known and best preserved is the so-called Sefer we-Hizhir.∑≥ This work of the late Geonic period, originating in a milieu exposed in large measure to both Palestinian and Babylonian influences, depends on the She’iltot in two ways: in addition to incorporating substantial quantities of She’iltot material in Hebrew translation, it imitates the basic structure of the She’iltot, except that the number of questions and answers included in each ‘‘homily’’ is fixed at three. Thus, each major unit of the text, corresponding to a weekly portion of the Torah, is composed of an introductory section, three questions, a miscellaneous collection of sources comparable to the derashah section of the she’ilta, and the answers to the three questions.∑∂ Apart from its influence on other literary works, the She’iltot itself enjoyed considerable popularity in the Middle Ages, as indicated by the large number of surviving manuscripts. Further evidence is provided by the fact that a number of medieval authors wrote commentaries on the work, although only two or three of these are known to have survived.∑∑ Several late midrashic collections also incorporated material from the She’iltot.∑∏ There are hundreds of citations or paraphrases to be culled from medieval works of rabbinic literature in general, but most of these are very brief references. Furthermore, many of these citations were copied from one medieval author to another, so that only a fraction of them reflect direct use of R. Ahai’s ≠ collection. 51. See Brody, Le-Toledot Nusahf ha-She’iltot, pp. 110–111. 52. See chap. 14, ‘‘Halakhot Pesuqot,’’ with n. 20. 53. Freimann, Sefer we-Hizhir. See Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 161– 164; Brody, Le-Toledot Nusahf ha-She’iltot, pp. 111–116. For another imitative work, see Epstein, Mehqarim, f 2:555–568 (with references to Schechter’s earlier publication). 54. See Brody, Le-Toledot Nusahf ha-She’iltot, pp. 111–116, 159–181 (where the translation technique is exemplified by a systematic comparison of a long passage as transmitted in both works). 55. See ibid., pp. 124–129; on the commentary of R. Yohanan ≠ b. Reuben see I. M. TaShma, ‘‘Le-Toledot ha-Sifrut ha-Rabbanit be-Yawan ba-Me’ah ha-YodDalet’’ [On GreekByzantine Rabbinic Literature of the 14th Century], Tarbiz 62 (1993), pp. 101–106. Fragments of several other commentaries are known; see Brody, p. 124, n. 3; and cf. TaShma, p. 107. 56. See Brody, Le-Toledot Nusahf ha-She’iltot, pp. 117–124.

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We may conclude with two general observations on the diffusion and impact of the She’iltot. First, although this work was known throughout the medieval Jewish world, its popularity seems to have varied considerably from one region to another. Its influence was felt in various parts of the East, although it is difficult to be precise about specific countries, other than Persia; in Europe, its popularity was greatest in Byzantium and Italy.∑π Second, its importance as a source for medieval rabbinic authors was quite restricted— surprisingly so, in view of its wide diffusion. The reason for this limited impact is similar to that which explains the almost total obliviousness of the Geonim to this work: it contains very little which is new or original, being essentially a popular, homiletical work. It was more important for medieval European rabbinic authors than for the Geonim of Babylonia, because their access to Babylonian tradition was so much more limited; but even they cited a very modest number of legal traditions from the She’iltot, and these can generally be documented from other Geonic sources as well. The greatest importance of the She’iltot was as a witness to traditions of the talmudic text or its exegesis, which may have been widespread in Babylonia but were known to Western authors primarily or exclusively through this channel. 57. See ibid., pp. 124–133, 194.

14

The Earliest Legal Codes

One of the most important developments of the earlier Geonic period was the proliferation of efforts to produce codes of talmudic law, some of them fairly comprehensive. Although it was perhaps to be expected that, once the Babylonian Talmud itself was perceived as a closed corpus, a process of extra-talmudic codification would begin, this was nevertheless a crucial innovation and may be seen as marking the beginning of post-talmudic rabbinic literature in the strict sense, in contrast to the responsa and homilies. The new codes were written in the mixture of Hebrew and Aramaic characteristic of the period and incorporate several types of material. From a formal point of view, the most important distinction is between talmudic extracts and non-talmudic formulations, but this does not imply a corresponding distinction with regard to content. Most of the non-talmudic formulations (overwhelmingly in Aramaic) simply summarize the upshot of talmudic discussions, and in fact the relevant talmudic sources are usually appended to them; occasionally we find an explicit discussion of the way in which the halakhic conclusion may be derived from these sources.∞ Clear allusions or explicit 1. See, for example, Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 564–565 (with parallel in Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 1:29–30); Hildesheimer, op. cit., 1:53.

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references to post-talmudic developments are quite rare, although there are many cases in which the talmudic sources do not point unambiguously to a single halakhic decision—whether because of hermeneutical difficulties or because they contain conflicting opinions, without a definitive conclusion— and there is no way of dating the corresponding non-talmudic formulation. Much of this material is included in several different collections. Not only did their compilers make use of common sources, but existing collections were reworked—whether by way of expansion, abridgement, or other revision—so that it is not always easy to determine the recensional identity of a given text, especially when it survives in fragmentary form only. Most of this chapter will be devoted to the two most important and most clearly defined representatives of this genre, known as Halakhot Pesuqot and Halakhot Gedolot, after which a few words will be added concerning other, similar works.

Halakhot Pesuqot The student of Halakhot Pesuqot is confronted at the outset by serious bibliographical problems. In contrast to Halakhot Gedolot, which was studied uninterruptedly throughout the medieval and modern periods, Halakhot Pesuqot disappeared from view for centuries, during which time its existence was known only through citations in medieval rabbinic literature. From these citations it was clear that the original work was written in a mixture of Hebrew and Aramaic, but the first relevant manuscript to be discovered was entirely in Hebrew, and the precise relationship between this text (now generally known as Hilkhot Re’u)≤ and the Hebrew-Aramaic original was long obscure. It was not until the middle of the twentieth century that a manuscript containing most of the original Hebrew-Aramaic text was first published. Even today, despite the efforts of scholars, most notably N. Danzig, not all the lacunae of the text have been completed.≥ Despite the remaining lacunae, the overall plan and scope of the book are 2. Schlosberg, Hilkhot Re’u (published in 1886); see Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 71–72. 3. The main manuscript was published in Sassoon, Halakhot Pesuqot; subsequent manuscript discoveries, mostly from the Genizah, are best consulted in Danzig, Mavo leSefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 503–636 (which incorporates earlier publications; for deA tails of these see ibid., pp. 72–84). See also Y. Kara, ‘‘Hilkhot Terefot u-Shehi≠ ≠ tah mi-Sefer A Halakhot Pesuqot’’ [Laws of Terefot and Ritual Slaughter from Halakhot Pesuqot], in Le-Rosh Yosef [ Jubilee Volume Dedicated to Rabbi Yosef Qafi ¯ h], ≠ Jerusalem, 1995, pp. 187–225.

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essentially clear. Halakhot Pesuqot is divided into chapters devoted to halakhic topics, covering all the principal areas of practical relevance in the author’s time:∂ laws of prayer, Sabbath and festivals, family and commercial law. The bulk of the talmudic material in each chapter is drawn from a single tractate, but relevant sources from other tractates are incorporated. Neither the order of the chapters nor the order of the material within each chapter is completely dependent on the talmudic order, although this clearly exerted a powerful influence.∑ In general, an attempt has been made to distill from the Talmud (and associated traditions) the most important laws in each area, while eliminating most of the talmudic dialectic and many specific laws. The overwhelming impression—in spite of occasional internal contradictions—is of a pioneering codificatory work, which still retains in large measure the imprint of the talmudic sources on which it is based.∏ With the publication of Halakhot Pesuqot, however, the real bibliographical difficulties were only beginning. The thorniest problem concerns the authorship of this work, which some medieval authors clearly attributed to Yehudai Gaon, the Pumbeditan scholar who was appointed as the head of the academy of Sura shortly after the middle of the eighth century and served in this capacity for three and a half years.π One aspect of this problem which has occasioned heated controversy is the question whether Halakhot Pesuqot is to be identified with a work repeatedly referred to in Geonic literature, generally under the name Halakhot of R. Yehudai Gaon or some variant thereof. The difficulty arises, in large part, from the fact that if these two works are to be identified, then the work in question was almost always referred to by one set of names in the Geonic period and by another set in the later medieval literature. Furthermore, not all the citations in Geonic literature agree with the extant text, which is certainly the one utilized by medieval authors. This is 4. Not only were laws of sacrifices and purity excluded, but also those of vows and Naziriteship, which were of very limited application by this time (see the sources listed in n. 59, below). 5. See esp. Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 171–173; a more detailed analysis, especially with regard to the internal organization of the individual chapters, is a desideratum. 6. See ibid., pp. 142–146, 163–167. On the possibility that the author(s) utilized earlier post-talmudic compilations see below, with n. 19. 7. For a survey of the sources concerning Yehudai Gaon see ibid., pp. 17–37. For medieval attributions of the work in question to this Gaon see Sassoon, Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 26–27; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 36–37, 349–350, 368– 375, 383–385.

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especially so with regard to the earliest Geonic citations, while those from the end of the period, contained in the responsa of the Geonim Sherira and Hayya, present few difficulties in this regard.∫ Nevertheless, the most plausible interpretation of the evidence—if only by virtue of Occam’s razor—appears to be that the Geonim and their successors were referring to a single work, which circulated under the name of Yehudai Gaon.Ω Most scholars who have dealt with Halakhot Pesuqot seem to have taken for granted that the Halakhot of R. Yehudai Gaon is actually the work of this Gaon (or his immediate disciples), so that those who identify this work with Halakhot Pesuqot take the latter to be R. Yehudai’s work. However, the attribution of the Halakhot of R. Yehudai Gaon—whether or not we identify it with Halakhot Pesuqot—to Yehudai Gaon, although attested early and often, is not necessarily accurate; in fact, a number of weighty considerations argue against it. First of all, we should bear in mind that Yehudai, for whatever reasons,∞≠ assumed a unique importance in the consciousness of his successors already within the Geonic period, and his name was attached to two major literary works and to a wide variety of traditions and decisions which are certainly not his.∞∞ There is, then, no a priori reason to grant credence to the attribution to him of other works. The evidence to the contrary can only be summarized very briefly here. To begin with, many of those who cite this attribution, from the earliest times, do so with reservations—with regard either to the work as a whole or to particular opinions which it contains. The possibility of interpolation is raised several times and buttressed by the assertion that Yehudai was blind, and so could not write a book himself but would have had to dictate it to his disciples.∞≤ Furthermore, to the best of our knowledge, Geonim prior to Se‘adyah did not write any literary works other 8. See Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 288–326. 9. See esp. Morell, ‘‘Le-Berur’’; Danzig, ibid., pp. 34–64, 74–76, 193–242, 271–389. These authors convincingly refute the various attempts by Hildesheimer (listed by Danzig, ibid., p. 75, n. 21) to argue that the Geonim refer to a lost work, while later authors knew the extant work, which Hildesheimer takes to be an abridgement of Halakhot Gedolot. 10. Possible explanations include his reputed pioneering role in the struggle to establish the supremacy of Babylonian tradition (see chap. 7, ‘‘The Babylonian Offensive’’), and the fact that he was apparently the first Gaon to issue responsa in large numbers (see the beginning of chap. 12, with n. 2). 11. See esp. Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 34–35 (n. 98), 441–445. 12. See Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ p. 145 and n. 34; on Yehudai’s blindness see Danzig, ibid., pp. 18–19.

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than responsa, and there is no reason to believe that Yehudai—who is reputed to have been an arch-conservative—was the sole exception.∞≥ In addition, Halakhot Pesuqot contains references to Yehudai Gaon in the third person and, on the other hand, decisions which contradict those attributed to him elsewhere.∞∂ But the most telling evidence against the traditional attribution is to be found in several Geonic responsa which apparently deal with this work. One of the later Geonim, possibly Hayya, informs us that ‘‘these Halakhot of Mar R. Yehudai Gaon were not seen in Babylonia in the days of R. Yehudai, but were brought to Babylonia by prisoners about a hundred years after him.’’ Several scholars have taken this statement to refer to some other set of Halakhot attributed to Yehudai, but this interpretation appears far-fetched.∞∑ Furthermore, analysis of certain Geonic responsa seems to confirm that Halakhot Pesuqot was in fact not known in Babylonia in the middle of the ninth century, although it was known elsewhere at the time. We have two questions addressed to the Geonim of this period, one of which explicitly relates to the Halakhot of Mar Yehudai Gaon and may reflect a corrupt text, while the other appears to refer to this work by another name and to reflect the questioners’ difficulty in understanding a somewhat ambiguous passage. In both cases, the respondents show no first-hand knowledge of the text but content themselves with the assertion that Yehudai could not possibly have held the opinions cited by the questioners.∞∏ The accumulated evidence appears to render the attribution to Yehudai Gaon more or less untenable. Nevertheless, there is no doubt that the sources on which Halakhot Pesuqot draws are overwhelmingly if not exclusively Babylonian in origin, and include not only the Babylonian Talmud but also traditions which circulated, alongside the Talmud, in the Babylonian academies.∞π 13. On the question of Geonim as authors see below, chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah as Revolutionary,’’ with n. 22; on Yehudai’s personality see Ginzberg, Ginzey Schechter, 2:556– 559 (and the partial parallel in idem, Geonica, 2:52–53). 14. See Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 411–430 (third-person references to Yehudai are listed in n. 3 on p. 415); Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ p. 146. 15. For an extended discussion of this responsum, including references to previous scholarship, see Danzig, ibid., pp. 261–265. The identity of the author is discussed on p. 264, n. 124. Danzig follows Margaliot, who interpreted this responsum as referring to the work known as Halakhot Qefsuvot, which he edited; see p. 264 and n. 126. 16. See ibid., pp. 288–293 (and cf. pp. 293–300); Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ pp. 144–145. 17. For the incorporation of ancient Babylonian traditions see esp. Danzig, Mavo leSefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 8–13, 163–171. The Palestinian Talmud is not used (see

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We have seen that a body of such traditions circulated orally and was drawn upon inter alia by the author(s) of the She’iltot.∞∫ Further research is needed to attempt to clarify whether Halakhot Pesuqot drew directly on a reservoir of individual oral traditions or whether it made use of larger collections, be they oral or written.∞Ω It seems, too, that Halakhot Pesuqot made occasional use of she’ilta material proper, in addition to material which can be attributed to a common traditional source.≤≠ Even if the evidence leads us to reject a direct connection between Yehudai Gaon and Halakhot Pesuqot and to suppose that this work was composed by an anonymous author or group of authors active outside Babylonia, its contents undoubtedly reflect, on the whole, opinions and interpretations which enjoyed currency, if not necessarily universal acceptance, in the Geonic academies of the late eighth or early ninth centuries. An important indication of the success achieved by Halakhot Pesuqot is the existence of a number of translations or adaptations, both in Hebrew and in Judeo-Arabic. We have already mentioned the Hebrew version known as Hilkhot Re’u (after the beginning of the text, a citation from Exodus 16:29), which was published prior to the discovery of the largely Aramaic original. Now that the original, albeit defective, is available for comparison, it is clear that the Hebrew represents a substantial adaptation and not merely a translation; material has been added (largely, but not exclusively, from Halakhot Gedolot), deleted, rearranged, and revised.≤∞ Evidence from Genizah finds makes it overwhelmingly likely that the translator was responsible for creating this recension and was not faithfully translating a variant Aramaic original, since no traces of such a version survive.≤≤ Some of the changes made by the translator (particularly the conversion of first-person references to the Diaspora

ibid., pp. 153–158); for the exceptional use of a Palestinian source (if this is not an interpolation!) see ibid., pp. 162–163. 18. Chap. 11 and chap. 13, ‘‘The Sources of the She’iltot.’’ But we must bear in mind that the style of these traditions may have been utilized (imitated?) by later authors as well; see Danzig, ibid., p. 14; Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ pp. 147–148. 19. A significant beginning in this direction has been made by Morell, ‘‘Meqorotaw shel Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot’’ (despite Danzig’s strictures; see Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut haHalakhot,’’ p. 147, n. 44). 20. See Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ pp. 146–147, with references to earlier discussions, esp. Morell, ‘‘Ha-Yahas.’’ ≠ 21. See the summary in Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 58–60, with references to earlier literature. Note, however, that in passages which parallel the original, the translation is very literal, even with regard to termini technici (see Halberstamm’s introductory note in Schlosberg, Hilkhot Re’u, p. ii, paraphrasing Sachs). 22. See Danzig, ibid.

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custom of celebrating each festival for an extra day to third-person references to ‘‘the Babylonians’’), as well as the very need for a Hebrew translation, seem to point to Palestine as the scene of the translator’s activity, although this conclusion has not been universally accepted.≤≥ The Hebrew translation left relatively few traces in the Genizah but had some influence in Europe; in particular, one chapter was incorporated in the prayer book attributed to Rashi.≤∂ Fragments of at least three different Judeo-Arabic translations of Halakhot Pesuqot are preserved in the Genizah. Two of these translations are written in a phonetic orthography, quite different from that of standard Judeo-Arabic; according to recent research, this phonetic system was widely used in the last centuries of the first millennium c.e., after which it was displaced by the standard Judeo-Arabic orthography, which Se‘adyah’s works seem to have ‘‘canonized.’’ Texts written in the earlier orthography thus provide crucial evidence for the cultural situation of Jews in the early centuries of Islamic domination, about which we have few sources of information.≤∑ The later Judeo-Arabic fragments have not yet been studied, but the surviving fragments of the earlier translations have yielded fascinating information, especially from the viewpoint of cultural history.≤∏ Each of these translations is preserved in a single, fragmentary manuscript: one contains only the JudeoArabic version, while the other presents alternating paragraphs of the Hebrew-Aramaic original and of the Judeo-Arabic translation. The first translator’s intention seems to have been to produce an accessible guidebook, which led him to add headings and summaries, rearrange material, paraphrase some sections (sometimes adding concrete examples which are lacking in the original), and abbreviate some talmudic citations. The other translation, which was copied together with the original text, adheres to it more closely; its author may also have intended to enable the reader whose command of Aramaic was imperfect to understand the original with the assistance of an Arabic ‘‘crib.’’ In view of the topics covered, it seems clear that the intended audience would have been composed largely of local judges; if so, this is striking evi23. See ibid., pp. 64–66, with references to earlier literature. 24. See ibid., pp. 69–70. 25. See ibid., pp. 67–68, 627–635. On this nonstandard Judeo-Arabic orthography and its chronological significance, see Blau and Hopkins, ‘‘On Early Judaeo-Arabic Orthography.’’ 26. These texts are to be published shortly in Blau and Hopkins, Qorpus; for details of (almost all) the manuscript fragments, see Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 83, n. 73, and pp. 627–628. These fragments also make a modest contribution to the reconstruction of the text of Halakhot Pesuqot, esp. where no fragments of the Aramaic original have survived.

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dence of the limits of their education. What is more, both translators have misunderstood the original at surprisingly frequent intervals; in some cases it is clear that they have worked from Halakhot Pesuqot alone, without consulting the underlying talmudic sources.≤π

Halakhot Gedolot When we turn to the second great code of the early Geonic period, we find fewer problems with regard to authorship but much greater difficulties of a textual and recensional nature. Although many medieval authors in France and Germany attributed Halakhot Gedolot to Yehudai Gaon—possibly because of confusion with Halakhot Pesuqot, which, as we have seen, was very widely attributed to him—modern scholars have no hesitation in adopting the attribution to R. Simeon Qayyara, which is found already in Geonic sources and echoed by medieval rabbinic authorities in Spain and North Africa.≤∫ It must be admitted, however, that this information is of limited value, since we know virtually nothing concerning R. Simeon, aside from the fact that he was nicknamed ‘‘Ba≠sroya,’’ apparently meaning that his place of birth was the southern Iraqi city of Basra.≤Ω Neither the precise time nor the scene of his activity is known, although the time at least can be narrowed down. The textual situation is very complicated and has yet to be explored in the requisite depth. The only version available for several centuries was the editio princeps (Venice 1548), until a second recension was printed in the middle of the nineteenth century, on the basis of a Vatican manuscript. For nearly a century, scholarly discussions of the text and recensions of Halakhot Gedolot depended exclusively on these two editions. One outstanding difference, which served as the basis for various theories, is that the Vatican text contains numerous Geonic responsa (by authors dating up to the turn of the tenth century), which clearly represent secondary interpolations. The presence or absence of these responsa was therefore taken as the litmus test for classifying versions of the text and as the foundation of attempts to reconstruct its history. A. Epstein, for example, considered the recension reflected in the editio princeps to represent R. Simeon Qayyara’s work and the Vatican manuscript to represent an augmented edition, while Ginzberg saw the first 27. See my contribution (notes to the text and an introductory section) in Blau and Hopkins, Qorpus. 28. See the summary in Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 175–180, with references to earlier literature. 29. See Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim min ha-Genizah, pp. 38–39; Danzig, Mavo leSefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 178–179 and n. 21.

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recension as a reworking, by an anonymous disciple, of an original Halakhot Gedolot composed by Yehudai Gaon and attributed the augmented recension to R. Simeon Qayyara. Both these scholars agreed that the more original version of the work was used by medieval rabbinic authorities in France and Germany, and the augmented recension by those in Spain, Provence, and North Africa; as a result, this recension was identified (not quite accurately) with the ‘‘Spanish Halakhot Gedolot’’ occasionally cited by Franco-German authors.≥≠ The recent publication of E. Hildesheimer’s variorum edition represents a significant step forward, although there is still considerable room for improvement.≥∞ Among the editor’s more important discoveries was the fact that the development of varying recensions preceded the interpolation of Geonic responsa; in fact, we now know that such interpolations were not restricted to one particular recension.≥≤ The nature of the relationship between the basic versions of the two recensions, however, has yet to be adequately clarified.≥≥ The relationship between Halakhot Pesuqot and Halakhot Gedolot is extremely close. Halakhot Gedolot is a much larger work—in fact, its name means ‘‘Large Halakhot,’’ in contrast to Halakhot Pesuqot (‘‘Decided Halakhot’’)≥∂ —but large portions of the two books are identical, although the blocks of verbatim material often appear in a different order.≥∑ The kinship of the two works is too obvious to have escaped the notice of anyone who has dealt with both, but the precise nature of the relationship is somewhat less obvious. Is the shorter work an abridgement of the longer, or does the larger work expand on the shorter one?≥∏ A responsum of Sherira (or Hayya) Gaon

30. See Epstein, Mi-Qadmoniyyot ha-Yehudim, pp. 399–402 (and 381–384); Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:99–108. 31. Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot. The shortcomings of this edition (even as a variorum edition, which does not aspire to a critical reconstruction of the text) include a somewhat haphazard use of Genizah fragments, the incomplete collation of variants, and the questionable choice of the Milan manuscript as a base text. 32. See ibid., 1:xx–xxi; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 188–189. 33. See most recently Danzig, op. cit., pp. 186–189; Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ pp. 150–151. 34. These names were apparently given not by the authors but by later users, which would explain the large variety of names by which these and similar works were known at various times (see Danzig, op. cit., pp. 46–54, 391–401). Cf. below, pp. 251–252. 35. Comparative tables are given at the beginning of each chapter in Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot. 36. The argument that Halakhot Pesuqot is an abridgement of Halakhot Gedolot has been repeatedly advanced by Hildesheimer, who further contends that although this

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provides prima facie a definitive answer to this question, assuming we accept the identification of Halakhot Pesuqot with the so-called Halakhot of R. Yehudai Gaon:≥π And as for your question: We have found in Halakhot Gedolot ‘‘And if he does not have enough to eat the entire meal of that which has been guarded,≥∫ he first eats the quantity of an olive of that which has been guarded,’’ and in the Halakhot of Mar Rav Yehudai . . . the reverse, ‘‘And if he does not have enough to eat the entire meal of that which has been guarded, he first eats of that which has not been guarded’’—so in all the copies, but we think it must be a scribal error . . . We see (the matter) thus: What you have found in the Halakhot of Mar Rav Yehudai . . . is not a scribal error. Rather, thus was it said in his name and in the name of other masters as well . . . And R. Simeon Ba≠sroya, who edited≥Ω Halakhot Gedolot, did not understand the reasoning of Mar Rav Yehudai and of those masters.

We might be inclined to question whether Sherira or Hayya had accurate information on these topics, but in this case a detailed comparison confirms that the text of Halakhot Gedolot is based on that found in Halakhot Pesuqot, which has been imperfectly reworked in keeping with a different halakhic opinion.∂≠ There are quite a number of other instances in which the halakhic decision has been changed while the surrounding text has been left essentially unaltered, although in most of these cases there is no clear evidence for the primacy of Halakhot Pesuqot.∂∞ For further confirmation of the nature of the work was referred to by medieval rabbinic authors, the Geonim knew an earlier work, now lost, attributed to Yehudai Gaon (cf. n. 9 above). The possibility that the two works share a common source, but neither depends on the other, has also been raised (cf. Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 2:xxxv–xxxvi). 37. See above, ‘‘Halakhot Pesuqot,’’ with n. 9. For the most nearly complete text of the responsum see Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim min ha-Genizah, pp. 44–45 (a shorter version, which nevertheless contains some additional text, is reprinted in Lewin, Ofsar haGe’onim, vol. 3, Pesahim, f Responsa, no. 360); cf. Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 316–317 (esp. n. 213, with regard to the problem of authorship). 38. That is to say, baked with flour made from grain which had been carefully guarded from the time of harvest (to ensure that it did not come into contact with water) for the express purpose of preparing unleavened bread for Passover. 39. The author describes R. Simeon’s role by means of the verb taqqin, which may have been chosen to reflect the perception that he was a redactor rather than an original author. 40. See Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ pp. 149–150, n. 57. 41. Some striking examples are listed in Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 1:xl, and

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connection between the two works, we may now turn to an analysis of the other sources of Halakhot Gedolot. We have already seen that Halakhot Gedolot contains a substantial quantity of she’ilta material—some, but not all, of which has parallels in the collection of she’iltot attributed to R. Ahai—which ≠ may often be recognized by its characteristic terminology.∂≤ The dependence of Halakhot Gedolot on the She’iltot was already noted by Hayya Gaon, who wrote,∂≥ ‘‘What R. Simeon Qayyara wrote in Halakhot Gedolot on this topic is the statement of R. Aha ≠ of Shavha ≠ in a she’ilta of (the weekly portion) Beha‘alotkha. . . . These are the words of R. Aha ≠ of Shavha, ≠ and R. Simeon wrote them in Halakhot Gedolot.’’ To some extent, we can identify the ways in which R. Simeon Qayyara employed this homiletical material. In particular, he was fond of using it to introduce chapters before entering into detailed discussions of a legal nature. It is much more plausible to see this as a literary refinement introduced by a later author than to suppose that an ‘‘editor’’ systematically omitted such material in producing Halakhot Pesuqot.∂∂ Furthermore, in some sections it is easy to analyze the text of Halakhot Gedolot into blocks of material drawn from Halakhot Pesuqot and alternating blocks of she’ilta material.∂∑ Aside from the Talmud itself,∂∏ the She’iltot and Halakhot Pesuqot are the two most important literary sources of Halakhot Gedolot, as recognized already by an ancient author whose remarks are preserved in the Genizah:∂π

Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 229–242. For a less obvious example compare Sassoon, Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 35 (lines 23–27), with Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 1:342 (lines 20–24). 42. See chap. 13, ‘‘The Influence of the She’iltot,’’ with n. 50. Note that there may be other sections of Halakhot Gedolot which are derived from homilies not contained in R. Ahai’s ≠ collection and utilize those sections of the homily which do not contain giveaway formulae. 43. Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, no. 376 (cf. above, chap. 13, n. 22). 44. As proposed by Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 1:xxxii–xxxiv. 45. See, for example, ibid., pp. 269–276, with n. 1 on p. 269 and n. 10 on p. 274 (a few lines of text remain unaccounted for); ibid., pp. 341–348, with n. 1 on p. 341 and n. 7 on p. 344 (lines 20–34 on pp. 342–343 may derive from the same source). 46. With regard to the Talmud we should note that Halakhot Gedolot makes much greater use than does Halakhot Pesuqot of those tractates which were excluded from the curriculum of the Geonic academies. See Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 193–197 (cf. Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ p. 149), and above, p. 45. 47. See Danzig, ibid., pp. 177–178 (and a corrected translation in Brody, ibid., p. 147). A I am not sure why Danzig confidently assigns this fragment to Samuel b. Hofni Gaon.

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‘‘As for R. Simeon, the author of Halakhot Gedolot, his bases for it are three. The first of these and the major component is his praiseworthy command of the Talmud . . . And the second, what he copied from the words of Rav Yehudai in his Halakhot. And the third, the she’iltot of the peraqim,∂∫ which were created by our sages and redacted by our later legists.

But these do not exhaust the list of R. Simeon’s sources. It is particularly noteworthy that Halakhot Gedolot—unlike other Geonic literature prior to Se‘adyah Gaon—makes use of the Palestinian Talmud and even of a number of later Palestinian sources. These include selections from Sefer ha-Ma‘asim and several minor tractates, as well as a list of methodological principles to be followed in adjudicating disputes between Tanna’im.∂Ω Once again, it is hardly plausible that all these passages were omitted, whether by accident or by design, in an abridgement of Halakhot Gedolot. Rather, R. Simeon Qayyara clearly drew on a wide range of sources, not all of which represent Babylonian tradition. R. Simeon did not impose a high degree of uniformity on the disparate sources which he incorporated in his book. In some cases, such as the preservation of much of the characteristic terminology of the she’ilta material, this was presumably a matter of conscious choice. In other cases it is difficult to say whether the author was aware of a certain roughness caused by the amalgamation of various sources. This is especially true with regard to the hundreds of instances of duplication, in which a single talmudic source or a single law appears twice or more.∑≠ In some of these cases, perhaps, the author felt it was desirable to cite a given passage or regulation in various contexts to which it was relevant; in others he may have done so unwittingly, as a result of incorporating various intermediary sources which drew on the same primary sources, such as the Babylonian Talmud and the traditions of the academies.∑∞ On the other hand, it seems unlikely that R. Simeon would knowingly have included contradictory sources within his work, and we seem to have little alternative but to assume that such contradictions, of which there are a considerable number, are the result of oversights. Such contradictions occur not 48. Arabic: sha’ilat(!) al-firuq. 49. See Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 203–211, with references to earlier discussions. 50. See ibid., p. 214, and the sources listed in ibid., n. 111. 51. Some duplications may also have resulted from textual interpolations. See Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 2:xx–xxi, xxxiv; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 214–216 (but Danzig’s conclusions concerning the date of Halakhot Pesuqot and the redaction history of Halakhot Gedolot seem unwarranted).

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only with respect to particular rulings but also with regard to principles of halakhic adjudication.∑≤ The multiplicity of sources is also of prime importance in attempting to determine the setting in which R. Simeon carried out his ambitious literary project. From the point of view of chronology, an approximate terminus ad quem is provided by the recension of Halakhot Gedolot described above, to which Geonic responsa dating from as late as the turn of the tenth century have been added in significant numbers. In all probability, the reason that later responsa are lacking is that this recension was created soon after the year 900.∑≥ A useful terminus a quo is somewhat more difficult to establish. As we have seen, R. Simeon’s work is largely dependent on Halakhot Pesuqot, but the date of that work cannot be determined with any precision. If, as argued above, Halakhot Pesuqot was unknown in Babylonia until the middle of the ninth century, and if we assume in addition that Halakhot Gedolot was composed in Babylonia, we would have to date it to the latter half of that century. The possibility should be borne in mind, however, that Halakhot Gedolot was actually written elsewhere, and this suggestion gains in plausibility when we recall that its use of post-Tannaitic Palestinian sources would be unique in the Babylonian literature of this period.∑∂ A somewhat firmer foundation is provided by an anonymous Geonic responsum, according to which the source of a certain law in Halakhot Gedolot is an opinion of Jacob b. Mordecai Gaon, head of the academy of Sura at the turn of the ninth century.∑∑ The most we 52. See Freimann, Sefer we-Hizhir, vol. 2, Introduction, §4.4 (referred to by Danzig, ibid., p. 214, n. 115); Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 83–85; Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 3:12, n. 7. I refer to contradictions within the original core of the book; additional contradictions were caused by later accretions. 53. This is essentially Epstein’s argument, modified in accordance with Hildesheimer’s more recent findings (cf. Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ p. 149 and n. 51); a less likely explanation is that this is a result of the decline in the number of responsa in the early tenth century (see chap. 1, ‘‘The End of the Geonic Era’’). There is also evidence that Se‘adyah Gaon, about the third decade of the tenth century, made use of Halakhot Gedolot; see Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 183–184. 54. This is not necessarily related to the question of whether Halakhot Gedolot was written under specifically Suran influence, as claimed by various scholars. The evidence offered for this assertion is not very strong, especially as we now know that many of the passages adduced in support of this contention were copied by R. Simeon from Halakhot Pesuqot. See Danzig, ibid., pp. 113–115 and n. 22, and cf. pp. 115–124. 55. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 2, Shabbat, Responsa, no. 45; cf. Ginzberg, Geonica, 2:85–86, where a forced interpretation is given to this text, in keeping with Ginzberg’s theories concerning the nature of Halakhot Gedolot and Halakhot Pesuqot.

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can say with confidence is that Halakhot Gedolot is a ninth-century work, although it does seem likely, in view of the recensions which had developed by the end of that century, that is should be assigned approximately to midcentury.∑∏ We may offer a number of observations on the overall plan and style of Halakhot Gedolot, especially as contrasted with Halakhot Pesuqot. R. Simeon Qayyara defined the scope of his work somewhat more broadly than had the author(s) of the earlier code, which served in large part as his literary model as well as his most important post-talmudic source. Halakhot Gedolot contains much larger quantities of nonlegal material, or material which was not of practical importance in the author’s time. For instance, as we have already noted, many chapters begin with homiletical introductions taken from the She’iltot. Additional chapters, concentrated at the end of the work, consist largely of talmudic citations concerning the Temple service and other topics which had no practical application after the destruction of the Second Temple.∑π There are also sections devoted to such nonlegal topics as a list of the prophets or a list of days on which voluntary fasts were undertaken, and a section devoted to what might be called legal methodology.∑∫ A further example is provided by the chapters on vows and Naziriteship which, although absent in one recension, were probably included in the original text of this work.∑Ω Another possible example, and a particularly important one in terms of literary history, is the ‘‘Introduction’’ to Halakhot Gedolot. Although this is not an introduction in the strict sense, but rather a sort of homily on the importance of the Oral Law combined with a classification of the commandments, it would represent the first time a work of rabbinic literature was 56. See Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 180–186, where the claims of earlier authors are surveyed (but no evidence is offered for the dating—the last quarter of the century—proposed on p. 185). If the recension underlying MS Vatican 142 (even before the Geonic responsa were added) is secondary (see Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut haHalakhot,’’ pp. 150–151), this might point to a somewhat earlier date, but no hard-andfast conclusions can be drawn. 57. See esp. Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, vol. 3, pt. 1:302–339, and cf. ibid., pp. 89–94, 371–389. Despite the textual differences between the various witnesses, there are no real grounds for rejecting the authenticity of these sections (pace Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:115–116; cf. Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 195). 58. See Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 1:396–398; 3:17–20 (cf. below, chap. 17, ‘‘Early Works on Talmudic Methodology’’). 59. See ibid., 2:xiv–xv, as opposed to Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 189 (cf. ibid., pp. 193–194, and Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ pp. 150–151, n. 61).

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provided with an introduction of any sort, if we could be sure it was part of the original work. Unfortunately, this is by no means certain.∏≠ In terms of the order of chapters, Halakhot Gedolot follows the talmudic order more faithfully than had Halakhot Pesuqot. The work is even divided in numerous manuscripts into ‘‘Orders,’’ following the accepted division of the Mishnah and Talmud. On the other hand, within a given chapter we sometimes find that Halakhot Pesuqot is closer to the talmudic order in its presentation of the sources, which are rearranged in Halakhot Gedolot. This entire topic requires further investigation, which will have to contend with very substantial discrepancies within the textual tradition of Halakhot Gedolot, and which should attempt to reconstruct, insofar as possible, the original structure of this work as conceived by its author.∏∞

The Impact of the Codes We have already encountered several indications of the popularity enjoyed by the earliest Aramaic legal codes. Halakhot Pesuqot, which undoubtedly acquired additional prestige as a result of its attribution to Yehudai Gaon, was translated several times and served both as literary model and as primary source for Halakhot Gedolot. It was also utilized by Jewish sectarians, including Benjamin al-Nihawandi and Eldad ‘‘the Danite,’’ in the ninth century.∏≤ So far as we know, Halakhot Gedolot was not translated, but it was provided with Judeo-Arabic glossaries and in its turn heavily influenced such works as Sefer we-Hizhir and Hilkhot Re’u.∏≥ Halakhot Gedolot superseded Halakhot Pesuqot in the course of time, certainly in Europe and probably also in the East, to judge by the quantities of Genizah fragments of the two works.∏∂ In addition to these two codes, Genizah finds show that there was a virtual cottage industry 60. The literature on this question is listed in Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, vol. 3, pt. 2, p. ix, n. 1; Danzig is somewhat inconsistent on this point (see Danzig, op. cit., pp. 183, 213 and n. 107). 61. The data concerning the order of chapters in the various witnesses are summarized in Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, vol. 3, pt. 1, pp. xiii–xviii; cf. Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:111–115; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 171–173. 62. See Danzig, op. cit., pp. 272–275 (and cf. Brody, ‘‘Mehqar ≠ Sifrut ha-Halakhot,’’ p. 145, n. 33). 63. See Danzig, op. cit., p. 68 and n. 148; for the influence of Halakhot Gedolot see Freimann, Sefer we-Hizhir, vol. 1, Introduction, sec. 3, and above, ‘‘Halakhot Pesuqot,’’ with n. 22. 64. See Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 41–47. For a sense of the situation in the Genizah, compare the nearly complete list in ibid., pp. 625–636, with the partial lists in Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 1:li–lii; 2:xxxix–xl; vol. 3, pt. 1, p. xxvii.

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dedicated to the production of works in this genre, which basically contain selections, frequently abridged, from Halakhot Pesuqot, Halakhot Gedolot, and She’iltot. No less an authority than Hayya Gaon admitted to having been misled in his youth by a work entitled Halakhot Qeftanot (‘‘Lesser Halakhot’’).∏∑ Further evidence of the impact of this genre, and the problems which it created, is provided by a well-known responsum which is generally taken to refer to Halakhot Pesuqot, although it does not use this name. (In fact, it is possible that the questioner is referring to the genre as a whole, rather than to a specific work.) The respondent is Pal≠toy Gaon, head of the academy of Pumbedita in the middle of the ninth century:∏∏ And that it is written: Which is preferable and praiseworthy, to delve deeply into the laws or to study Halakhot Qetu‘ot (or: decided laws)? And we would not have asked, but for the fact that most people incline to Halakhot Qetu‘ot (or: decided laws), and say: What need do we have for talmudic dialectic? They are not acting properly, and it is forbidden to do so, because they reduce (the scope of) Torah and it is said (Isaiah 42:21) ‘‘He will make the Torah great and glorious’’ . . . and Halakhot Qetu‘ot (or: decided laws) were not composed for (the purpose of) recitation, but rather (so that) if someone who has studied the entire Talmud and is engaged in it is in doubt about something and does not know how to explain it, he consults them.

Whether or not Pal≠toy’s explanation of the intentions of the authors of such works is accurate, the situation described by the questioners was clearly sufficiently widespread to be perceived as a serious threat. Already this responsum suggests an ambivalent attitude towards works belonging to the genre of Halakhot: the Gaon opposes their use as textbooks but considers them worthy of being consulted on difficult points by those who have studied the entire Talmud. We have seen that Pal≠toy’s Babylonian contemporaries were not acquainted with these works—and in particular not with the Halakhot attributed to Yehudai Gaon—at first hand; they were able only to reject various opinions cited by the questioners who appealed to them, and to conjecture that such opinions were incorrectly attributed to Yehudai. Almost all the evidence for first-hand knowledge of Halakhot Pesuqot comes from the responsa 65. For details see Danzig, op. cit., pp. 243–261, with references to earlier publications and discussions. On Halakhot Qefsuvot see Margaliot, Halakhot Qefsuvot; Danzig, ibid., pp. 261–269; and cf. above, ‘‘Halakhot Pesuqot,’’ with nn. 11, 15. A 66. This responsum is found in Shneurson and Wolfensohn, Hemdah Genuzah, no. 110, and a number of parallel sources. For a detailed treatment, with a bibliography of earlier discussions, see Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 53–54 (where the meaning of qetu‘ot is clarified), 285–286. The text of the question especially presents some difficulties (see ibid., p. 285 and n. 47), and I have given a slightly free translation.

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of the last Geonim of Pumbedita, Sherira and Hayya.∏π In the majority of these responsa, the questioners referred to this code and the respondents merely followed their lead, but there is one instance in which Hayya Gaon quoted it of his own initiative. Sherira and Hayya speak of this code in respectful terms, and apparently prefer it to Halakhot Gedolot, but also do not hesitate to reject its opinions.∏∫ Halakhot Gedolot was utilized in various ways by the Suran Geonim A Se‘adyah and Samuel b. Hofni. This code enjoyed semi-canonical status, in the sense that Se‘adyah could quote from it in the same manner in which he quoted A talmudic sources or that Samuel b. Hofni would include words found only here in his ‘‘talmudic dictionary,’’ but it is unlikely that these Geonim actually considered it a binding halakhic authority.∏Ω Certainly Hayya Gaon spoke disparagingly of this work on several occasions; although he also quoted it several times on his own initiative, he used it as a source for talmudic readings and early traditions rather than as an authority in its own right.π≠ Nevertheless, it is possible that he used Halakhot Gedolot as a textbook in his own academy, thus almost reversing the guidelines suggested by Pal≠toy Gaon.π∞ It was in medieval Europe that Halakhot Gedolot achieved its greatest prestige. For these authors, unable to read Arabic and cut off from the living oral tradition, it represented the major repository of the Geonic tradition which they venerated. As a result it enjoyed an extraordinary status, reflected not only in programmatic statements but also in the intensive study of this work and in its profound impact on later rabbinic literature.π≤

67. See Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 314–325. For a probable, isolated exception concerning a slightly earlier Pumbeditan Gaon, R. Aaron Sarjado, see ibid., pp. 310–314. 68. See esp. ibid., pp. 277–284, 314–325. 69. See esp. ibid., pp. 182–184, 277–280. Could these Geonim perhaps be drawing on parallel traditions? Aside from the implausibility on general grounds of supposing that the Geonim treated a post-talmudic work as binding (cf. above, chap. 9, ‘‘Attitudes towards Authority’’), consider such cases as Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 1:271 and n. 4; ibid., 2:502, as compared with Müller, Sefer ha-Yerushot, p. 18. 70. See Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 2:xxi–xxii; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 279–284. 71. The letter of the Palestinian Gaon Solomon b. Judah on which this assertion is based was first published in full by Mann, Jews in Egypt, 2:132–134; for the latest publication see Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 2:93. For an alternative interpretation of this passage see Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 284–285, n. 45. 72. See Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 2:xxii–xxiii; Ta-Shma, ‘‘Qeli≠tatam,’’ and cf. Epstein, Mi-Qadmoniyyot ha-Yehudim, pp. 399–402.

P A R T

Se‘adyah Gaon and After

III

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15

Se‘adyah Gaon, Revolutionary Champion of Tradition

While the rise of Islam was obviously the decisive political development affecting the Jews of Babylonia—and most of the Jewish world—during the Geonic period, the cultural elite associated with the Geonic academies remained largely unaffected by this development, except insofar as it facilitated the establishment of closer ties with the Jewish diaspora. In many ways, a much more important watershed in the history of the academies, and in Jewish intellectual and cultural history in general, was the career of Se‘adyah b. Joseph, Gaon of Sura in the years 928–942 c.e.∞

Se‘adyah’s Career The main outlines of Se‘adyah’s biography are well documented.≤ He was born in 882, in the Egyptian district known as the Fayyum, as a result of 1. The most comprehensive treatment of Se‘adyah to date is Malter, Saadia Gaon; a more up-to-date survey is forthcoming in Ben-Sasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Gaon. On the correct vocalization of the Gaon’s name, see Malter, p. 25, n. 3. 2. See esp. Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 25–134, 421–426 (a postscript in which Malter struggles to avoid correcting his treatment in the face of new manuscript discoveries); Mann, ‘‘Fihrist’’; Mann, ‘‘ ‘Inyanim Shonim’’; Baron, ‘‘Saadia’s Communal Activities’’; and Ben-Sasson’s essay in Ben-Sasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Gaon.

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which he was later nicknamed ‘‘the Fayyumite.’’ Nothing is known about his family, apart from the scurrilous allegations disseminated by the Gaon’s enemies. Se‘adyah lived in Egypt for about thirty years,≥ but very little is known about this period in his life, although the sources offer us a few glimpses, especially of his intellectual development. At least two of Se‘adyah’s writings may be dated to this period, and more specifically to the author’s early twenties: the Egron, a sort of rhyming dictionary which was intended to assist poetic composition and improve the contemporary standard of Hebrew, and what was probably the first of Se‘adyah’s numerous polemical works, the Refutation of ‘Anan. We know that during his Egyptian period Se‘adyah corresponded with an older contemporary, Isaac Israeli, one of the pioneers of Jewish philosophy.∂ Aside from this, virtually our only definite information is provided by letters written by Se‘adyah in Babylonia in the early 920s, which indicate that he left behind in Egypt not only a wife and children but a number of students.∑ It would seem that Se‘adyah spent most of the period between his departure from Egypt and the correspondence mentioned in Palestine. In rebuking his former students for failing to write to him for six and a half years and overlooking him even when they wrote to the Babylonian leadership, he suggests that they may have thought he was still in Palestine. The center of Se‘adyah’s activities during this stay was probably Tiberias, which was the cultural center of Palestinian Jewry at that time.∏ Se‘adyah’s intimate acquaintance with the Tiberian tradition of Hebrewπ probably dates to this period in his life. He would certainly have availed himself of the opportunity to deepen his acquaintance with the various branches of Palestinian Jewish culture, including linguistic and biblical studies as well as rabbinic literature; he may also have been able to further his study of Arabic literature on various subjects, which he had begun in Egypt. The only concrete evidence of Se‘adyah’s studies during this period, however, is a reference in the writings of his Muslim contemporary alMas‘udi to Se‘adyah’s having studied with a certain Abu Kathir Yahya ≠ al-Katib of Tiberias, a Jew with whom al-Mas‘udi had conducted a religious disputa3. The precise date of his departure from Egypt cannot be determined. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 54–62, 421–425; Baron, ‘‘Saadia’s Communal Activities,’’ pp. 20–25. 4. See chap. 18, ‘‘The Background to Geonic Theology.’’ 5. For bibliographical details see Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 55, n. 88 (and p. 413); Gil, Be-Malkhut Yishma‘’el bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, documents no. 5–6. 6. See Gil, Erefs-Yisra’el ba-Tequfah ha-Muslamit, 1:408–413 (Broido, pp. 495–501). 7. See, for example, Se‘adyah’s comments in his Commentary on Sefer Yefsirah (ed. Lambert, Arabic text, pp. 45–46, 76–79; French translation, pp. 68–70, 97–102; ed. Qafih, pp. 78–79, 112–116).

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tion. Abu Kathir cannot be definitely identified, but we may presume that the subjects which Se‘adyah studied with him included theological topics.∫ In addition to Palestine, Se‘adyah spent undetermined parts of this period in Syria (Aleppo) and several locations in Babylonia, including Baghdad, as we learn from a fragmentary autobiographical notice. We have no way of tracing his movements during most of the time in question; in particular, we cannot say whether he traveled back and forth between the competing centers in Palestine and Babylonia or stayed in Palestine until he felt he had absorbed whatever that center had to offer and then made his way to Babylonia.Ω It is in connection with the great calendrical dispute of the early 920s that Se‘adyah first appears in a public capacity, as a leading participant in the ultimately successful attempt by the Babylonian leadership to overrule the proclamations of the Palestinian authorities. This may be seen as the last, decisive battle in the course of the protracted struggle for Babylonian hegemony in the halakhic sphere. The exact nature of Se‘adyah’s contribution to the Babylonian cause is somewhat obscure, but it is likely that both his rhetorical abilities and his international connections were valuable assets.∞≠ It seems that Se‘adyah already held the rank of alluf by the summer of 922, whether in recognition of his earlier attainments or of his efforts on behalf of the Babylonian cause in this dispute.∞∞ For the next five years we hear nothing of Se‘adyah’s activities, except for the fact that at least two of his works, one an anti-Karaite polemic and the other a halakhic treatise, were written during this time. In the halakhic text the author furthermore indicates that the work was composed in Baghdad, which by Se‘adyah’s time was the home of the Geonic academies and where he probably resided more or less continually after the calendrical dispute.∞≤ The next great milestone in Se‘adyah’s career was his appointment as Gaon of Sura in 928. The background to this appointment, and the subsequent course of events, are described by our two major sources for Geonic history: the Epistle of Sherira Gaon gives a brief account of developments, primarily from the viewpoint of the Suran academy, while the report of Rabbi Nathan 8. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 32–36. 9. See Schechter, Saadyana, pp. 133–135; Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 60 (and n. 107), 425; Baron, ‘‘Saadia’s Communal Activities,’’ pp. 22–25. 10. See chap. 7, towards the end of the section ‘‘The Babylonian Offensive.’’ 11. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 64–65, and the sources listed in Malter’s notes; the word yeshu‘ah was actually Se‘adyah’s ‘alama, or hallmark signature, and not part of his title (see J. Mann, ‘‘Saadia Gaon, His Life and Works,’’ REJ 73 [1921], pp. 107–108). On the rank of alluf see above, chap. 3, ‘‘Positions and Power in the Academy.’’ 12. For the works in question see chap. 6 and n. 60; Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Seridim mi-Sefer ha‘Edut weha-She≠tarot,’’ pp. 181–184.

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the Babylonian contains a much more detailed and colorful version of the story, including important information about the personalities and factions involved.∞≥ The academy of Sura had fallen upon hard times, and serious thought was given to the possibility of closing it altogether, in view of the dearth of scholars of stature who might occupy the office of Gaon. Se‘adyah’s outstanding accomplishments would have made him an obvious candidate, but he suffered from two major handicaps: his Egyptian origin and his highly independent, not to say combative, personality, with which the leaders of Babylonian Jewry were by now well acquainted.∞∂ In spite of these drawbacks, and of the advice he received from one of the leading members of Babylonian Jewry, Nisi al-Nahrawani, the Exilarch David b. Zakkai decided to install Se‘adyah as Gaon. About two years later, however, a bitter dispute broke out between the two men, when the Gaon refused to confirm a judicial decision issued by the Exilarch. The Exilarch announced that Se‘adyah was no longer to be recognized as Gaon and appointed in his stead a greatly inferior scholar named Joseph b. Jacob. Se‘adyah, for his part, announced that he was deposing David b. Zakkai and replacing him as Exilarch with his brother Josiah, better known A by his Arabic name Hasan. The elite of Babylonian Jewry were divided into two armed camps. Se‘adyah was supported by leading scholars and prominent members of the community, including the powerful Na≠tira family of bankers with their political connections, while the Exilarch’s supporters included prominent members of the Pumbedita academy and the wealthy merchant Khalaf (Aaron) Sarjado, who was especially anxious to secure Se‘adyah’s downfall and went so far as to offer a substantial bribe to the caliph. The attempt to involve the Muslim authorities did not resolve the crisis, and a stalemate ensued, which lasted for six or seven years. Each faction continued to recognize its own leaders and to attack the opposition in propaganda broadsides.∞∑ A reconciliation was finally effected through the intervention of 13. The most important primary accounts are Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 116–118 (Rabinowich, pp. 150–151; Schlüter, pp. 271–275), and Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:80–82. (Sherira’s reference to Se‘adyah’s ‘‘hiding’’ from the Exilarch is hardly to be taken literally; presumably this means that he was forced to maintain a low profile during the period in question.) Additional information is provided by al-Mas‘udi. For attempts to reconstruct and interpret the events of these years see esp. Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 90–128; Mann, ‘‘ ‘Inyanim Shonim,’’ 5:148–179; Baron, ‘‘Saadia’s Communal Activities,’’ pp. 62–73; Rivkin, ‘‘Controversy.’’ 14. Sherira (Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 117) hints at the first of these, while Rabbi Nathan (Neubauer, Mediaeval Jewish Chronicles, 2:80) emphasizes the second. 15. For the writings of Se‘adyah’s opponents see Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 114, 116 (and n. 251); the major text is reprinted in Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah, pp. 123–124.

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Bishr b. Aaron, Sarjado’s father-in-law; Se‘adyah was once again universally acknowledged as Gaon, and the counter-Gaon Joseph b. Jacob was pensioned off. Se‘adyah died in May 942, shortly before his sixtieth birthday. He had served as Gaon for just under fourteen years, but half of this term had been marred by his bitter dispute with the Exilarch. During those years his ability to function as Gaon must have been seriously impaired.

Se‘adyah as Revolutionary Se‘adyah’s background worked both to the advantage and to the disadvantage of his career. On the one hand, he was able to draw on his personal contacts in various Jewish communities, especially the Egyptian community, in which he had been raised;∞∏ on the other, he was the object of considerable jealousy and hostility when he attempted to join the Babylonian Jewish elite. In the cultural sphere, the impact of his unconventional upbringing was even more far-reaching and ultimately no less dramatic. Prior to Se‘adyah’s advent, the leading members of the academies had been raised and bred in close proximity to these institutions and generally belonged to a small number of wellentrenched families; their intellectual world centered on the Babylonian Talmud (and earlier Palestinian literature), and they were largely insulated from Palestinian Jewish tradition, let alone the intellectual currents of the surrounding Arabic-speaking world.∞π Once he had succeeded in storming the bastions of the Geonic academies, it was Se‘adyah’s example and prestige which transformed almost beyond recognition the intellectual and literary agendas of the cultural elite associated with the Geonic academies. That transformation had a number of facets, of which at least two are easily explained as the products of Se‘adyah’s upbringing—specifically of his prolonged and profound exposure to Palestinian Jewish tradition. The first of these is the expansion of Babylonian intellectual horizons to encompass disciplines which had previously been cultivated primarily or exclusively in the Palestinian sphere, including linguistics, liturgical poetry, and systematic theology. Some of Se‘adyah’s work in these fields antedated his arrival in Babylonia, and none of these disciplines ever became mandatory for his successors, like the study of Talmud. But Se‘adyah’s example granted these and other disciplines legitimacy and prestige, and his lead in each field was followed by at least one or two of his successors in the Geonate. For the Gaon’s Sefer ha-Galuy, see Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 115, 269–271, 387–394; Tobi, ‘‘Daf Nosaf,’’ and n. 1, ibid. 16. Se‘adyah attempted to build on this power base after his appointment to the Geonate as well; see the end of chap. 4. 17. See the end of chap. 3, and chap. 9.

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The second aspect is somewhat subtler, but perhaps no less profound. For the first time the Palestinian tradition of the post-Tannaitic period was granted recognition—albeit limited—within the field of Talmud and halakhah, which constituted the traditional intellectual turf of the Babylonian Jewish cultural elite. With the sole exception of Halakhot Gedolot, the Palestinian Talmud— let alone later Palestinian literature—left no trace in the Geonic literature, however broadly defined, of the generations preceding Se‘adyah, although it can hardly be doubted that the Geonim were aware of this counterpart to the Babylonian Talmud. Even when they considered a question on which ‘‘their’’ Talmud took no stand, earlier Geonim were either oblivious to, or ignored, the discussions of the Palestinian Talmud.∞∫ Se‘adyah Gaon was the first to utilize this Talmud as well, and he did so not only in writings such as his biblical commentaries but also in his halakhic works. We should also note that it was Se‘adyah’s virtually invariable practice to refer to classical rabbinic sources by such generic designations as ‘‘they said,’’ ‘‘the sages said,’’ or ‘‘the early (authorities) said,’’ so that the reader has no way of knowing whether a given citation is taken from the Mishnah, the Babylonian or Palestinian Talmud, or another work.∞Ω True, so far as is known, Se‘adyah’s halakhic writings contain only a few citations from the Palestinian Talmud and none from the aggadic midrashim,≤≠ nor is there any programmatic discussion of the status to be accorded these sources. His work, however, provided a precedent which was adopted by at least some of his successors, who drew on these sources in greater quantities in their responsa and on several occasions gave explicit expression to their views concerning the status of the Palestinian Talmud. These formulations substantially resemble and complement one another; we will quote one example from a responsum of Hayya Gaon:≤∞ ‘‘We rely on our Talmud, and whatever is decided here, we do not concern ourselves with what is there (in the 18. See chap. 10, ‘‘Other Sources.’’ 19. In some of his works only one of these terms is used throughout, while in others a number of such terms alternate, with no perceptible difference in usage. 20. See Poznanski, ‘Inyanim Shonim, pp. 25–27; Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, p. 39 and n. 1. Most of the material, however, is still unpublished. Of course, the midrashim are utilized extensively in his biblical commentaries; see below, chap. 19, ‘‘The Relationship between Talmudic and Geonic Exegesis.’’ 21. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 10, Gi≠t≠tin, no. 23. For further references to the use of the Palestinian Talmud see Poznanski, ‘Inyanim Shonim, pp. 27–33, and add the sources listed by Kimmelman, ‘‘Luah≠ ‘Ezer,’’ pp. 583–585, and esp. Assaf, Teshuvot haGe’onim mi-tokh ha-Genizah, pp. 125–126; for the midrashim see Kimmelman, op. cit., pp. 586–587. Cf. Poznanski, op. cit., pp. 33–34; Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 244, no. 67.

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Palestinian Talmud). (But) certainly in order to reveal something which is concealed here, or which is not explicit here but neither is it contradicted, we rely on it (the Palestinian Talmud); or for a matter of interpretation.’’ The ground rules delineated here were to determine the approach followed, almost without exception, by medieval and later rabbinic authorities. In case of conflict, the Babylonian Talmud was to be preferred automatically; the Palestinian Talmud might be used either to shed light on obscure statements in its Babylonian counterpart or in connection with questions which do not arise, or are not satisfactorily resolved, in the Babylonian Talmud. The classical texts of the Palestinian rabbinic tradition were thus incorporated, albeit in a subordinate capacity, within the triumphant Babylonian tradition. In another respect, too, Se‘adyah’s revolutionary impact extended to those areas in which the Geonim and their colleagues had traditionally concentrated their efforts, namely the talmudic literature and the halakhah. Earlier Geonim had confined their literary activities to the writing of responsa; it is virtually certain that no Gaon before Se‘adyah wrote an independent literary work in any field (although a number of such works were mistakenly attributed to them, some of them already in very early times).≤≤ Se‘adyah, however, in addition to his writings in other fields, which were altogether outside the purview of earlier Geonim, pioneered the writing of halakhic monographs and of systematic talmudic works and found a number of followers among succeeding Geonim in each of these areas. As a result, the Geonim for the first time initiated systematic discussions of talmudic and halakhic topics of their own choosing, rather than merely reacting to questions propounded by their correspondents. In addition to working in disciplines which had been cultivated for some time in the Babylonian or the Palestinian center (or both), Se‘adyah ventured into fields which had hardly received any systematic treatment prior to his time in Jewish—or at least in Rabbanite Jewish—culture. One extremely important example is the field of biblical exegesis. Although we now know that he was not the first Jew to translate selected biblical books into Arabic, Se‘adyah may well have been the first Rabbanite Jew to write commentaries on biblical books.≤≥ In earlier Geonic culture, as we have seen, biblical studies were shunted aside, and 22. See chap. 14; Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:154–162; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 110 and n. 8; Abramson, Peraqim min Sefer Mevo ha-Talmud, p. 134, n. 5. There are no grounds for Allony’s attempt to assign the midrashic anthology known as Pitron Torah to Hayya b. Nahshon ≠ (‘‘Sefer Midrash ha-Torah le-Rav Hayya [ben Nah≠ shon] Ga’on’’ [‘‘Medrash ha-Tora,’’ a book by R. Hai (b. Nahshon) Gaon], Alei Sefer 9 A [1981], pp. 56–62); cf. Fleischer, ‘‘Siyyunim,’’ and below, chap. 20, n. 64. 23. See Blau and Hopkins, Qorpus.

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questions concerning the Bible were only rarely addressed to the Geonim.≤∂ Even in Palestine, where Masoretic studies were intensively pursued and an intimate knowledge of the Bible was mandatory for liturgical poets, we hear nothing of advanced studies or of literary works devoted to the interpretation of the biblical text. Here, perhaps even more than in other areas, the influence of the surrounding Arabic-language culture, both Muslim and Christian, is obvious, both in the central role accorded to biblical studies and in specific ways of thinking and writing about central hermeneutical issues.≤∑ From another point of view, it was probably the increasing exposure to other religious traditions which was largely responsible for the Jewish community’s newly perceived need for systematic Bible commentaries, which could ground religious ideas in sacred Scripture and refute the arguments of freethinkers, sectarians, and adherents of other religions.≤∏ That the Rabbanite Jewish world was ripe for such a development is obvious from the fact that other Geonim, beginning with his contemporary and rival Aaron Sarjado, took up where Se‘adyah had left off. At approximately this time biblical exegesis also came to occupy a central position in Karaite literary activity. A related development is the composition of works devoted principally to polemics. Although Se‘adyah’s intellect and personality were so multifaceted that virtually none of his works are actually confined to a single thematic realm, and religious polemic constitutes a recurring leitmotif in his writings in a number of genres,≤π several works have polemics as their major theme, to which other interests are temporarily subordinated. In this respect Se‘adyah stands alone among Rabbanite authors of the Geonic period. Although several of his successors incorporated elements of religious polemic in their writings— especially, it seems, in biblical commentaries—none of them seem to have written special works dedicated specifically to such polemics.≤∫ 24. See chap. 9, ‘‘Areas of Interest,’’ and cf. the beginning of chap. 19. 25. See Drory, Reshit ha-Maga‘im, pp. 156–178; but note that Drory’s claim that Se‘adyah’s exposure to Islamic influences was indirect, via Karaite mediation, is subject to serious criticism. With regard to Muslim and Christian precedents see chap. 19, at the end of the section ‘‘Exegetical Principles.’’ 26. On this dimension of Se‘adyah’s and his successors’ commentaries see chap. 19, ‘‘Theological and Polemical Dimensions.’’ 27. See chap. 18, passim; chap. 19, ‘‘Theological and Polemical Dimensions,’’ and chap. 20, at the end of the section ‘‘Se‘adyah Gaon as Linguist.’’ A 28. See chap. 18, ‘‘Samuel ben Hofni and Other Geonim,’’ and chap. 19, ‘‘Theological and Polemical Dimensions.’’ However, Samuel’s Kitab Naskh al-Shar‘ has a pronounced polemical dimension; it may also be that his personal attitude towards Karaism was more A moderate than Se‘adyah’s (see Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, p. 56). I refer here to ideological

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A number of possible explanations suggest themselves for the uniqueness of Se‘adyah’s contribution in this area. To begin with, his travels had doubtless exposed him, much more than other Geonim, to the cultural and intellectual currents prevailing in the Jewish world, both Rabbanite and Karaite, and in its non-Jewish environment. Furthermore, Se‘adyah’s understanding of his role was not conditioned by the accepted norms of Geonic activity. While the Geonim and their colleagues had traditionally concentrated on their responsibilities within the academies and the reshuyot, and were content—with the exception of the ongoing struggle to achieve recognition of the supremacy of Babylonian tradition—to maintain a largely passive relationship with the greater Jewish diaspora, Se‘adyah was motivated by a profound sense of mission and a feeling of responsibility for the entire Jewish world. This found expression already in his youthful writings and led him to redefine the nature of the Geonate, a step which was doubtless facilitated by the severe weakening of the academy of Sura and its ancient traditions, which preceded Se‘adyah’s accession to the office of Gaon. Se‘adyah achieved a symbiosis between his self-appointed role as the defender of traditional Judaism and the Geonic office, which profoundly affected the nature of the Geonate for the remaining century of its existence; but no other Gaon seems to have been imbued with quite the same sense of quasi-prophetic mission, expressed in the conviction that ‘‘God does not leave his nation in any generation without a scholar whom He instructs and enlightens, so that he may counsel and instruct her, and her condition may be bettered.’’≤Ω Se‘adyah’s rather assertive personality and rhetorical ability also suited him admirably to undertakings of this sort. Note that in addition to his polemics against the enemies of Jewish and especially of Rabbanite tradition, he played a leading role in the Babylonian leadership’s attacks on Ben Me’ir in the calendar controversy of 921–923, as well as composing an important tract, Sefer ha-Galuy, as part of his struggle against the faction headed by the Exilarch David b. Zakkai.≥≠ Finally, it is possible that later Geonim felt Se‘adyah had succeeded in presenting the case for Jewish

polemics rather than polemical writings of a personal nature, such as those directed against Se‘adyah by his opponents. 29. Harkavy, Ha-Sarid weha-Palift, p. 155; this is the motto of Malter, Saadia Gaon (p. 5; our translation differs slightly from Malter’s); see also the passage from the beginning of the Book of Beliefs and Opinions cited in chap. 18 at the end of the section ‘‘The Background to Geonic Theology.’’ 30. On writings in defense of the tradition see the end of chap. 6; on the calendar controversy see chap. 7 and the literature cited in nn. 63, 65; on Sefer ha-Galuy see above, n. 15.

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tradition in comprehensive fashion, and they could content themselves with dealing with specific points as the occasion arose.≥∞

Se‘adyah as the Champion of Tradition This brings us to the complementary, profoundly conservative aspects of Se‘adyah’s personality and outlook. While he did not hesitate to utilize innovative forms of argument and literary expression, all these were enlisted in the cause of preserving an idealized version of Jewish, and specifically Rabbanite, tradition. The central role of tradition in Se‘adyah’s thought is perhaps most clearly seen in his discussions of epistemology and related issues. In addition to the three sources of knowledge available to humanity at large, namely the evidence of the senses, immediate intellectual perception, and logical inference, Se‘adyah adds a fourth source of knowledge which is acknowledged by ‘‘the community of monotheists’’: authentic tradition.≥≤ But Se‘adyah is at pains to point out that in fact all human beings constantly rely on transmitted knowledge—tradition—so that he cannot be accused of special pleading on behalf of a particular religious community. In practice, no human life can be conducted on the exclusive basis of the knowledge directly acquired by a single individual; the only difference is that the traditions of the religious community are uniquely guaranteed against error:≥≥ Were it not for the fact that men felt satisfied in their hearts that there is such a thing in the world as authentic tradition, no person would be able to cherish legitimate expectation on the basis of the reports he receives about the success of a certain commercial transaction or the usefulness of a specified art . . . Nor would he heed the warnings he had received about the wrongness of a certain path, or the announcement of the prohibition of a certain act. . . . Nay, he A 31. For example, the polemical comments in Samuel b. Hofni’s Bible commentary (see chap. 19, ‘‘Theological and Polemical Dimensions’’) or the responsum of Hayya Gaon in Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 5, Rosh ha-Shanah, no. 117. 32. See Landauer, Kitab al-Amanat wa’l-I‘tiqadat, pp.12–14 (Rosenblatt, pp. 16–18; Qafih, pp. 14–15), and cf. below, chap. 19, ‘‘Exegetical Principles.’’ For discussion of Se‘adyah’s epistemology see G. Vajda, ‘‘Études sur Saadia,’’ RÉJ 109 (1948–49), pp. 78– 102 (with earlier discussions listed in the starred note on p. 78); Ross, ‘‘Seadya’s Concept of Cognition.’’ 33. Landauer, Kitab al-Amanat wa’l-I‘tiqadat, pp. 126–128; the translation is a modified version of that given by Rosenblatt, Book of Beliefs and Opinions, pp. 156–157; cf. Qafih, Ha-Nivhar f ba-’Emunot uva-De‘ot, pp. 130–131. This passage is meant to establish the legitimacy of relying on tradition in general; in the continuation, Se‘adyah explains why credence should be granted specifically to Jewish tradition.

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would not even be certain of being the son of his mother, let alone the son of his father. The result would then be that the affairs of men would always be subject to doubt, to the point where human beings would believe only what they perceive with their senses and only at the time of perception. . . . Now when we ponder these two criteria of the trustworthiness of traditions, our reason arrives at the conclusion that it is only the individual who is subject to and fooled by false impression or deliberate deception. In the case of a large community of men, however, their wrong impressions would not be in agreement. On the other hand, had they deliberately conspired to create a fictitious tradition, that fact could not have remained a secret to the masses . . . Accordingly, if the traditions transmitted to us by our ancestors are examined in the light of these principles, they will be found to be proof against these arguments, correct and unshakable.

While in the Book of Beliefs and Opinions these arguments are mustered in order to validate the mission of the prophets and the biblical canon, in other works Se‘adyah’s concern is to establish the authority of extra-biblical tradition in the context of his polemics against the Karaites, who claimed that the Bible was self-contained and that rabbinic ‘‘tradition’’ was a fraud. Se‘adyah’s favorite argument in this context, frequently repeated in his writings and adopted by many of his Rabbanite successors, was based on the inadequacy of the Bible as a source of law.≥∂ Many biblical commandments are so concisely worded that one would have no way of knowing, without the benefit of tradition, how they are to be implemented. How would one know how to prepare the fringes mandated in Deuteronomy 22:12, or the booths used on Sukkot (Leviticus 23:42 etc.)? In fact, without making use of tradition one cannot even ascertain which day of the week is the Sabbath. Even from a purely linguistic point of view, the Bible cannot possibly be treated as a closed corpus: many words are so rare that their meaning cannot be determined within the biblical corpus but only by appealing to Rabbinic Hebrew.≥∑ But Se‘adyah goes much further than this and contends that virtually everything contained in talmudic literature, at least in its legal portions, represents ancient tradition. Rather than argue that the talmudic rabbis and their predecessors were entitled to interpret Scripture and modify its laws as required by changing circumstances, while preserving a core of ancient traditions, Se‘adyah contends that the contents of the Mishnah and Talmud as a whole 34. See esp. Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 13–15 (Arabic text), 180–184 (Hebrew translation), and the sources cited in the editor’s notes to pp. 181–183. 35. See below, chap. 20, at the end of the section ‘‘Se‘adyah Gaon as Linguist.’’

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were transmitted orally from ancient times and were only crystallized in literary form under the pressure of circumstances:≥∏ And at the completion of a thousand years . . . from the days of Moses the man of God, at the end of the remaining prophets in the days of Media, when (prophetic) vision was sealed in the fortieth year after the construction of the Second Temple≥π . . . when our forefathers saw that the multitude was dispersed throughout the land and feared lest the Speech be forgotten, they gathered every word which they had transmitted from ancient times . . . and called them Mishnah. And there remained things which they hoped would be preserved with their occupation of the land (of Israel), since they belonged to the branches of the laws.≥∫ (But) we continued to go astray and deviate and were exiled again . . . and they feared lest they be forgotten and gathered them as well and called them Talmud, five hundred years after the first time.

Of course, such a position creates extremely serious difficulties. For instance, Se‘adyah is forced to contend that various laws were given to the prophets hundreds of years before they could possibly be applied in practice, and transmitted throughout the generations, presumably in oral form, until they were needed.≥Ω The multitude of disagreements between the talmudic sages presented another obvious difficulty, which Se‘adyah once again resolved in radical fashion, by denying altogether the existence of genuine disagreements of this sort.∂≠ We cannot say to what extent Se‘adyah genuinely believed in the claims he advanced and to what extent he simply chose those apologetic arguments which he estimated to have the greatest chances of success, but this line of argument was certainly one which he found congenial. On the other hand, when it came to aggadic materials of various sorts, Se‘adyah argued that talmudic literature contained an amalgam of ancient traditions 36. Schechter, Saadyana, p. 5. This passage appears near the beginning of Sefer haGaluy. 37. The author follows the rabbinic chronography Seder ‘Olam (chap. 30) in identifying the end of the age of prophecy with the beginning of the Seleucid era (312 b.c.e.) and dating this to the fortieth year after the construction of the Second Temple. See Cohen, Book of Tradition, p. 16, notes to lines 8 and 17 (cited by Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Seridim mi-Sefer ha-‘Edut weha-Shetarot,’’ p. 181, note to line 11). 38. This is one of many instances in which Se‘adyah distinguishes between the ‘‘roots’’ (Heb. shorashim, Arab. ufsul ) and the ramifications or ‘‘branches’’ (Heb. ‘anafim, Arab. furu‘) of the law. This distinction is a commonplace of Islamic legal thought, where ufsul al-fiqh (‘‘the roots of the law’’) enjoys the status of a separate discipline. 39. See, e.g., the end of chap. 6 and Assaf et al., Siddur Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, p. 10. 40. See Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 16 (Arabic original), A 187–188 (Hebrew translation). Samuel b. Hofni took a much more moderate position on these questions; see the end of chap. 17.

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and individual opinions. The former were to be considered authoritative and the latter were not, but no clear criteria could be offered for distinguishing one category from the other, and ultimately this decision was in the hands of the interpreter.∂∞ Se‘adyah’s attitude towards the past finds expression also in other fields, in which his highest aspiration is the restoration of a long-ago Golden Age. Even where the chain of tradition has been broken, one may yet attempt to achieve a renascence of ancient glory. This sort of approach, in which the individual and his generation are placed in a broad historical perspective, represents in itself an important innovation.∂≤ A fine illustration is provided by the preface to what was probably Se‘adyah’s first published work, the Egron:∂≥ The book Egron of the holy tongue, which our God has chosen from primeval times and in which His holy angels praise him. . . . There was one language . . . throughout the land, from the day when God created man on the face of the earth . . . until the days of the stormy herd∂∂ . . . The holy tongue remained in the mouths of the children of ‘Ever alone, because they were found to be true before God . . . our father Abraham who loved Him, Isaac His chosen one and Jacob His treasure . . . their feet trod the whole land . . . but it did not depart from their mouths, and when they left Egypt God spoke to us in it, eloquent words∂∑ by the hand of his servant Moses. . . . One hundred and one years after the destruction of God’s city we began to forsake the holy tongue and speak in the languages of the foreign peoples of the land . . .∂∏ We were exiled . . . there was no people among whom our refugees were not dispersed . . . and their uncouth speech concealed the beauty of our diction. . . . Our heart is appalled by this . . . for the sacred speech which is our redoubt is removed from our mouths, and the appearance of all its figures and speeches . . . is like a sealed book to us. . . . It would be proper for us and all the nation of God to study and understand and investigate it always, we and our children, our wives and slaves, let it not depart from our mouths . . . In the year 41. See, e.g., Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 284; cf. above, chap. 10, at the end of the section ‘‘Interpretation and Application of the Talmud,’’ and below, chap. 19, ‘‘The Relationship between Talmudic and Geonic Exegesis.’’ 42. As emphasized by M. Ben-Sasson; see his forthcoming essay in Ben-Sasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Ga’on. 43. Allony, Egron, pp. 156–159; cf. Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 66–67 (Arabic text), 278–279 (Hebrew translation; this parallel was suggested to me by B. Septimus). 44. The reference is to the building of the Tower of Babel as recounted in Genesis 11. 45. Divrey sf ahot; see chap. 20, ‘‘Se‘adyah Gaon as Linguist.’’ 46. The reference is to Nehemiah 13:23–24; the chronology apparently follows (as noted by Allony) chaps. 29–30 of Seder ‘Olam.

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Se‘adyah Gaon and After 1214 from the end of prophecy∂π the collector (i.e., Se‘adyah) wrote this work to offer wisdom for all the people of God . . . the people of God will speak in it when they go in and out, in all their occupations and in their bedrooms and to their children; it will not depart from the intelligence of their hearts.

Se‘adyah’s neoclassicist inclinations also informed his taste in poetry, as well as his distinction between the five great liturgical poets, whom he cites as models, and ‘‘the poets close to us (in time),’’ whom he quotes only when he has special occasion to praise their work. These preferences are also reflected in the selection of liturgical poetry included in Se‘adyah’s prayer book.∂∫ We may conclude by suggesting that there is a connection between Se‘adyah’s conservative leanings and his understanding of his societal role. This nexus is brought into relief if we compare Se‘adyah with perhaps the only figure of comparable stature in medieval Judaism, Moses Maimonides. Unlike Maimonides, who said he would rather write for one intelligent man than for a thousand fools, Se‘adyah saw himself as responsible for the spiritual wellbeing of an entire nation and sought ways to bring his message to the broadest possible Jewish audience.∂Ω He might be contemptuous of fools, especially of those who stood in his way, but he saw himself as the voice of an entire tradition and of a chosen people. It was not only because of his historical circumstances, but also because of his personality and sense of mission, that the yoke of tradition lay more heavily on Se‘adyah’s shoulders than on those of Maimonides. But Se‘adyah moved easily and elegantly under its weight and blazed a dazzling variety of trails for others to follow. He showed that a fierce loyalty to tradition could leave scope for creativity and individual expression of the highest order, and for assimilation of all that seemed best in the surrounding culture. 47. I.e., of the Seleucid era (see n. 37 above) = 902/3 c.e.. 48. See Allony, Egron, pp. 154–155 (for the approximate dates of the poets mentioned here see Fleischer, Shirat ha-Qodesh, pp. 118–119); Tobi, ‘‘Yahaso ≠ shel Rav Se‘adyah laPiyyu≠t.’’ 49. Compare Twersky, Introduction to the Code of Maimonides, pp. 468–471 and n. 279.

16

The Halakhic Monographs

Se‘adyah Gaon and his successors blazed a number of new trails in the traditional intellectual territory of the Geonic academies, in ways which were to have a profound impact on the later course of rabbinic literature. Probably the most obvious of these, and the most important from a literary-historical point of view, was the emergence of a substantial monographic literature in the related spheres of Talmud and halakhah. In this chapter we shall confine ourselves to the realm of halakhic codification, while talmudic works of a more academic nature will be the subject of the next chapter.

General Characteristics of the Monographs The works which comprise the corpus of classical rabbinic literature (‘‘talmudic literature’’ in the broadest sense) are—possibly with one or two exceptions∞ —collective productions. In any such work as the Mishnah, Babylonian or Palestinian Talmud, or any of the classical midrashim, we find a mixture of dicta attributed to numerous sages who flourished at different times, as well as large quantities of anonymous material, with the precise proportions varying from one text to another. Furthermore, the redaction of 1. See the forthcoming essay by C. Milikowsky on Seder ‘Olam, in Safrai, Literature of the Sages, vol. 2.

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each of these works may be shown to have been a prolonged and complex process—so complex, in fact, that it cannot be reconstructed in detail with any great degree of confidence. The texts are composed of many small units, no two of which may be assumed a priori to have the same redactional history; each text contains units clearly drawn from different sources, and it is impossible to identify an editor or group of editors bearing overall responsibility for the text as a whole. Even in the case of the Mishnah, so firmly associated in rabbinic literature with the name of Rabbi Judah the Prince, there are inconsistencies of content and style which reflect the use of disparate sources.≤ Conversely, closely related units of tradition appear with great frequency in different texts, which may have achieved their final shape at intervals of several centuries; and while certain pairs of texts, such as the Tosefta and the Palestinian Talmud, have more numerous and closer parallels between them than do other pairs, almost any pair of texts in this corpus will be found to share some traditions. Furthermore, the relationships between the parallels will vary from one case to another, so that one must generally analyze the relationship between individual units of tradition, rather than the relationship between the larger literary frameworks in which they are embedded.≥ In the earlier Geonic period, on the one hand, a few relatively ambitious literary works were produced, most notably the homiletical collection of She’iltot and the codificatory works Halakhot Pesuqot and Halakhot Gedolot. The first two of these have something of the collective nature of the talmudic works; Halakhot Gedolot shows signs of having been composed from a number of sources, including the Halakhot Pesuqot and the She’iltot, which in large part are incorporated bodily into the later text. To put it differently, none of these works can really be said to have had an author as we understand that term today, although the editor of Halakhot Gedolot assumed a relatively large degree of redactional responsibility. Furthermore, the overwhelming probability is that none of these works was edited by a Gaon. On the other hand, the writings of the Geonim consisted, so far as we can tell, exclusively of responsa, and even these were collective productions to some extent, although we cannot specify just what role the other scholars of the Geonic academies played in their composition.∂ Moreover, the responsa occupy a sort of no-man’s-land between the realms of literature and historical or administrative documents. As we have 2. See, for example, Epstein, Mevo’ot le-Sifrut ha-Tanna’im, pp. 15–240. I take issue with the approach pursued in recent years by J. Neusner and his students; cf. the literature cited by Stemberger and Strack, Einleitung, p. 55. 3. See, for example, Stemberger and Strack, pp. 62–64. 4. See chap. 4, ‘‘Author of Responsa,’’ and chap. 15, n. 22.

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stressed repeatedly, their authors respond to questions and problems raised by others rather than setting their own agenda, and (although there are exceptions and differences of degree in this respect) they generally confine themselves to a discussion of the issues arising directly out of a given question rather than essaying a systematic treatment of even a limited legal topic. To put it differently, the Geonic responsa, like Geonic leadership in general in this period, are reactive rather than proactive.∑ Se‘adyah, even before his appointment to the Geonate, broke decisively with both of these traditions and produced a series of monographs on selected legal topics which differed in kind from anything previously seen in rabbinic literature. These are the first works of rabbinic literature, certainly in the post-talmudic period, which can be said to have individual authors in something like the modern sense of this term. Not coincidentally, they also represent the earliest attempt to summarize substantial segments of the legal content of the classical talmudic literature, while breaking free of its associative and dialectical format. This model was also adopted by several of Se‘adyah’s successors, most A notably Samuel b. Hofni Gaon of Sura and Hayya Gaon of Pumbedita; less directly, it provided the precedent for the entire genre of post-talmudic halakhic codification, which continues to be cultivated assiduously to our own day. A number of technical features characterize the Geonic monographs, marking them off from later codes and, especially, from the talmudic texts. Perhaps the most striking of these is the fact that their language of composition is invariably Judeo-Arabic (that is, Arabic written in Hebrew characters, with many Hebrew and some Aramaic loan words), except for quotations within the text, generally but not exclusively from talmudic sources, in Hebrew or Aramaic. The choice of language may probably be attributed to two factors: the desire to reach a relatively broad audience, including readers less than fluent in Hebrew and Aramaic; and the fact that this genre developed under the influence of models of scientific writing, ultimately traceable to ancient Greece, which came to the attention of Jews living in the Islamic world through the mediation of Arabic and Islamic culture.∏ This influence is betrayed also by the monographic structure, beginning with the title: Earlier works of rabbinic literature 5. For this formulation see Ben-Sasson, Qayrawan, pp. 412–416. 6. On the question of language and intended audience see chap. 9, ‘‘Knowledge of Languages.’’ See Fakhry, History of Islamic Philosophy, pp. 5–33, for the proliferation of translations from Greek, and ibid., pp. 82–124, on the development of comparable literature in Arabic. Islamic legal works were being produced by the ninth century at the latest; see Schacht, Introduction to Islamic Law, pp. 40–60. The whole approach to systematization should be seen as an aspect of this influence, as has been remarked by numerous scholars.

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were apparently named not by their authors or editors, but by later users.π After the title, each monograph begins with an introduction, which also represents a departure from earlier literary conventions; with the possible exception of Halakhot Gedolot,∫ no earlier work of rabbinic literature was provided with an introduction. The introduction begins, following the Arabic model, with praises of God, before proceeding to prefatory remarks more explicitly devoted to the subject matter of the work; the transition is marked by the words ama ba‘du (‘‘but afterwards’’).Ω One of the measures of the author’s literary artistry is his success in choosing praises of God which are appropriate to the subject matter of the book and provide as smooth as possible a transition between these two sections. Thus Se‘adyah begins his work on the laws of testimony and legal documents by praising God as the Truth (al-haqq, one of God’s more popular epithets in Islam) who establishes the nobility of the truth, then proceeds to a definition of truth (theological and otherwise) and the means by which it may be ascertained, before focusing on the laws of testimony and the relationship between the absolute truth and the witnesses’ imperfect accounts of it.∞≠ SimA ilarly, Samuel b. Hofni begins a work on the laws of partnership by praising God who is utterly unique and has no colleague or partner, then goes on to discuss the problem of Divine attributes before remarking, ‘‘We have arranged our words in this fashion only because our aim in the composition of this book is to speak of the sorts of partnership between individuals and their regulations.’’∞∞ The introduction ends with a description of the internal organization of the book, which in the more developed instances is virtually a table of contents, listing the chapters of the work by number and title. This sort of clearcut organization only developed gradually; but even in those works which exhibit a more primitive division of the subject matter, at least a brief indication of this division concludes the introductory material.∞≤ The formal break with talmudic literature is very evident in the organization of the material within the body of the book. The characteristic style of talmudic literature is largely associative, and many topics are discussed, in whole or in part, in widely disparate and often unpredictable contexts. Even the authors of such pioneering codes as Halakhot Pesuqot and Halakhot Gedolot felt the need to reorganize the talmudic material in a more accessible form, but

7. See chap. 14, n. 34. 8. See chap. 14, n. 60. 9. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 179–180 and n. 411. 10. See Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Seridim mi-Sefer ha-‘edut weha-She≠tarot,’’ pp. 163–167. 11. See Lewin, Ginzey Qedem, 6:43–45. 12. See, for example, Müller, Sefer ha-Yerushot, p. 9.

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the order of presentation in these works is still largely determined by the order of the Talmud. Se‘adyah and his successors went much further, freeing themselves completely from the talmudic style of presentation; their aim was to organize the material on a given subject in a completely logical, ‘‘scientific’’ manner, which generally meant proceeding from definitions of the most basic terms and institutions to a consideration of more complex cases, exceptional phenomena, and so on.∞≥ Within a given chapter or section, too, we frequently find the same type of analytical division, with numbered lists of categories or subcategories. Se‘adyah, by way of illustration, prefaces his prayer book with the following remarks:∞∂ The prayers, as I have said previously, are of two categories, one for the usual run of time (normal weekdays) and one for special times; and each of these is also of two categories, one for individual prayer and the other for communal prayer. And since all communal prayers, whether in usual times or in special times, are expansions upon the individual prayers in both of these (times), we must first establish the simpler of the two categories, namely the individual prayer; and similarly, since the prayer of special times is an expansion upon the prayer of usual times, we must first establish the simpler of them, namely the prayer used (by the individual) in usual times.

This is followed by a definition of the terms special time and community, after which the author proceeds to a discussion of the structure of the individual weekday prayers. When this is completed he goes on to the communal weekday prayers, and only then to the prayers for ‘‘special times,’’ which are further divided into four categories, in order of decreasing frequency: the Sabbath, New Moon, festivals, and fast days.∞∑ The characteristic style of the monographs is a presentation of the legal content in Judeo-Arabic, with frequent citations of prooftexts, mostly from talmudic literature; biblical sources are also cited where appropriate.∞∏ Se‘adyah’s prayer book is an exception in this regard, and the author apologizes for not 13. See, for example, Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Seridim mi-Sefer ha-‘edut weha-She≠tarot,’’ pp. 171–172; and below, near the beginning of the section ‘‘Monographs of Other Geonim,’’ with n. 46. Se‘adyah’s monograph on the laws of kashrut is exceptional in this respect; see below, p. 259. 14. Assaf et al., Siddur Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, p. 12. 15. For an overview of the structure, see the detailed table of contents in ibid., pp. 7–8. The strict division between individual and community is maintained only with respect to weekdays. 16. For example, Deuteronomy 21:17 is cited in Se‘adyah’s monograph on succession, while his work on the laws of bailment contains an extended discussion of Exodus 22.

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giving his sources:∞π ‘‘And for everything included under this heading, I do not undertake to establish the evidence of its necessity from Scripture, nor to adduce proof concerning its interpretation from the tradents—I mean, what is in the Mishnah and Talmud. Rather, I will bring for all of this only undocumented, precisely formulated statements, because I composed this treatise not for (purposes of) proof, but for instruction.’’ The subjects treated in the Geonic monographs belong principally to the realm of civil law; works on family and ritual law are much less common and sometimes, as in the case of Se‘adyah’s prayer book, show other signs of belonging at the periphery of this genre. The selection of topics and the mode of treatment suggest that these works were not intended for the most part as handbooks for lay people; they seem to have been addressed to a more learned audience, composed of judges and other scholars in the Jewish diaspora, and may have been intended to serve both as reference works and as textbooks.∞∫ But some monographs were probably meant to serve as handbooks for a broader audience; examples, in addition to Se‘adyah’s prayer book, include formularies of legal documents and Se‘adyah’s work(s) on the laws of kashrut. Because they were written in Judeo-Arabic, most of the Geonic monographs practically disappeared from view as the center of gravity of the Jewish world shifted to Christian Europe, beginning in the twelfth century. Aside from a few works which were translated into Hebrew during the relatively brief period before the knowledge of Arabic died out, these works were inaccessible to most European rabbinic authors and left almost no trace in medieval (and later) rabbinic literature. Some were quoted on rare occasions, generally in Hebrew translation,∞Ω and others were at least known by name, but many were forgotten altogether until the riches of the Cairo Genizah became avail17. Assaf et al., Siddur Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, pp. 11–12. 18. There is no reason to believe that these works originated as lecture notes (contra A Goitein, Sidrey Hinnukh, pp. 154–156); cf. Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ pp. 183–184, 187–188, on Geonic writings which were composed in honor of specific individuals in distant communities. There is no necessary contradiction between the suggestion that the intended readership was a relatively elite one and the suggestion made above that the intended readers might have had difficulty with a work written in (Hebrew or) Aramaic; see above, chap. 14, at the end of the section ‘‘Halakhot Pesuqot’’ (and cf. chap. 9, ‘‘Knowledge of Languages’’). 19. There are exceptions, such as Zechariah b. Judah Aghmati in his anthological commentary on R. Isaac Alfasi’s Halakhot, entitled Sefer ha-Ner. Some authors may have understood Arabic and prepared their own translations of particular passages, while A others certainly used ready-made and comprehensive translations; cf. Abramson, ‘‘Hamishah She‘arim,’’ pp. 1312–1313, 1319–1321.

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able in the last century. Unfortunately, the combination of rabbinic learning and knowledge of Judeo-Arabic is rare even among modern scholars, and progress in the identification and publication of these works has been disappointingly slow.≤≠ With the help of ancient booklists and tables of contents, as well as cross-references from one monograph to another, we can now compile lists of dozens of Geonic monographs and proceed to reconstruct greater or smaller parts of many of these. Hundreds of Genizah fragments have been identified as definitely or probably belonging to this literature, but the work of sorting and definitively identifying these, let alone editing and studying them, is still far from complete, and only a small proportion of these texts has been published.≤∞

The Monographic Writings of Se‘adyah Gaon Probably the best known of Se‘adyah’s halakhic monographs is that on the laws of succession—Kitab al-Mawarith, known in Hebrew as Sefer HaYerushot.—thanks to M. Steinschneider’s identification of an Oxford manuscript which seemingly contained the entire work in the Judeo-Arabic original; this version of the work was published, along with a Hebrew translation, in 1897.≤≤ This manuscript does not give the talmudic (and other) sources underlying the author’s decisions, a fact which misled scholars and gave rise to some ingenious theories.≤≥ We now know, however, that it is simply an abridged version from which the references to sources were omitted; the majority of these may be supplied on the basis of numerous Genizah fragments.≤∂ Here, as in Se‘adyah’s other monographs, the talmudic references are given in extremely concise fashion, with at most a hint at the considerations which justify 20. Even Müller, Assaf, and Lewin, who made important contributions towards the publication of these writings, worked from Hebrew translations, with sometimes unfortunate results. Abramson, now followed by several of his students, was the first to work directly on the original texts. 21. A detailed bibliography of Se‘adyah’s writings will be included in Ben-Sasson and A Brody, Se‘adyah Gaon. For Samuel’s writings see Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 19–26; for Hayya see Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 201–202; Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 132–138; Groner, Reshimat Teshuvot Rav Hai Ga’on, pp. 91–93, 100–101. 22. In Müller, Sefer ha-Yerushot, pp. 1–53; for details see Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 344. 23. See esp. Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:166, followed, e.g., by Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 189. 24. See Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 232–233; the Genizah also contains several pages of an early Hebrew translation, which likewise preserves the sources cited.

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a particular interpretation or decision. In some instances one would not even know, without consulting the sources, that the opinion on which the author relies is a disputed one, or that another talmudic passage appears to contradict his source.≤∑ Furthermore, the actual talmudic citations are sometimes given in paraphrastic form, a fairly common phenomenon in Geonic literature.≤∏ Most of the work is devoted to the basic laws of succession, according to the gender of the heirs and the degree of kinship between them and the deceased; this portion of the book is carefully organized into numbered sections and subsections, although there is no formal division into chapters, and some material is awkwardly placed. The latter portion of the book deals with questions such as the rights of an heir whose identity is disputed and rules governing the division of specific types of property.≤π Se‘adyah begins his work on the laws of succession with the statement that property may be transferred from one person’s possession to another’s in any of three ways—inheritance, sale, or gift—and that he will begin by discussing the laws which apply in the case of inheritance. This suggests what Genizah finds and other evidence confirm: that the work on succession is actually the first part of a trilogy and was followed by treatments of the laws of sale and gift.≤∫ To judge by the minuscule number of Genizah fragments representing the latter two works, they were much less popular than the treatise on succession, a state of affairs for which we may suggest two explanations. First, both of these topics were treated more comprehensively by Se‘adyah’s successors; and second, the subject of gifts was of less practical importance than either sale or succession. This would explain why the Genizah contains a great many A fragments of Hayya Gaon’s work on sale but only a few of Samuel b. Hofni’s ≤Ω work on gifts. It seems likely, however, that a Hebrew version of Se‘adyah’s 25. For instance, near the beginning of his work on bailment Se‘adyah relies on the opinion of R. Nahman ≠ and R. Yohanan ≠ (BT Bava Qamma 118a), without mentioning the dissenting opinion of R. Judah and R. Huna; slightly further on he relies on BT Shevu‘ot 45b, without referring to the seemingly conflicting passage in Bava Batra 70a-b. In some cases no source is cited at all. 26. For examples see the last section of my essay in Ben-Sasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Ga’on, and cf. Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp.73–74. 27. See Müller, Sefer ha-Yerushot, pp. xi–xv, where the editor goes somewhat farther than the author in explicitly organizing the latter part of the work. As an example of awkward placement see ibid., pp. 19–20, where laws concerning male heirs are placed in a section devoted specifically to female heirs. 28. See Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 232–233. A 29. Samuel b. Hofni also wrote on sale, but his work was apparently much less popular

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work on gifts has been preserved. It is divided into four ‘‘gates’’ (she‘arim, presumably translating the Arabic abwab, which is also the common word for ‘‘chapters’’), which are devoted to the essential nature of a gift (including the qualifications of the donor), the qualifications of the recipient, the types of property which may be given as gifts, and the means by which they may be conveyed.≥≠ The work on sale, to judge by the few surviving Genizah fragments, resembles the work on succession in having a ramified structure of sections and subsections but no overall scheme of chapter division. Another fairly short work of which several fragments have been published, and which may be reconstructed almost in its entirety, is devoted to the laws of bailment: Kitab al-Wadi‘ah, known in Hebrew as Sefer ha-Piqqadon.≥∞ Here, too, the formal division into chapters is lacking, and there is noticeable unevenness with regard to the organization of material. The work as a whole is divided into two sections of unequal length, the first of which is systematically organized, while the structure of the second is considerably looser. (For example, in contrast to Se‘adyah’s usual practice, we find here a long list of unnumbered cases, which gives the impression that the author began compiling his list without having decided precisely how many items it would contain.) An interesting feature is the section dedicated to vindicating the classical rabbinic exegesis of the verses in Exodus 22 which contain the basic biblical regulations on this subject, and refuting a conflicting sectarian interpretation.≥≤ The most ambitious of Se‘adyah’s halakhic monographs is the Book of Testimony and Legal Documents (Kitab al-Shahadah wa’l-Watha‘iq, generally than Hayya’s, which was probably later. These criteria seem to explain the quantitative aspects of the Genizah finds (not only with regard to the trilogy under discussion) reasonably well. 30. See Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 1–16. Assaf (p. 2) attributes this work (with A some hesitation) to Samuel b. Hofni Gaon, but (as Abramson has pointed out in lectures) this must be rejected, since Genizah finds prove that the structure of Samuel’s work on gift, which contained twenty chapters, was completely different. 31. See Schechter, Saadyana, pp. 37–41; Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 32–39; Zucker, ‘Al Targum Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, pp. 165–167, n. 657 (for this reference I thank my students Z. Elkin and A. Shweka). The following description is based largely on Genizah fragments which I have identified and hope to publish. 32. The sectarian in question was probably Benjamin al-Nihawandi (see above, chap. 6 and n. 23); see Zucker, ibid. According to rabbinic exegesis, the crucial distinction is not (as appears prima facie from the text) between different sorts of goods entrusted for safekeeping but between different sorts of bailees: verses 6–8 refer to an unpaid, and verses 9–12 to a paid bailee, who is required to exercise a higher standard of care in guarding the objects entrusted to him.

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known to Hebrew authors by the abridged title Sefer ha-Sheftarot).≥≥ The book is divided into eight chapters; the first four treat of testimony in general, and the last four deal specifically with legal documents, which may be viewed as a form of written testimony. The last chapter is subdivided into fifty-four sections, each is which is devoted to the text of a single type of document and the rules associated with it. A striking illustration of the author’s penchant for dealing with his subject matter analytically is provided by his treatment of the texts of the various legal documents. Rather than give the complete text of each document separately, as did the authors of later compilations of this sort, he devoted chapters 5–7 of his book to standard clauses which recur in all or most of the documents, and in the section devoted to each individual document gave only those parts of the text which are peculiar to the document in question and determine its unique character. The texts of the documents are given, in keeping with ancient tradition, in Aramaic, although the author assumes that the spoken language of the parties is Arabic; the witnesses are enjoined to take pains to translate from one language to the other with scrupulous accuracy, as a minor variation in wording may have significant legal consequences. This is the only one of Se‘adyah’s legal writings for which we have a date: in illustrating the use of the dating formula, the author vouchsafes the information that the book was written in Baghdad at the end of 926 c.e.≥∂ At the beginning of the work Se‘adyah states that ‘‘this is a part of the Book of Religious Law (Kitab al-Fiqh) which I intend to write, but I saw fit to give it precedence because I became aware of the great need of the nation for it, and knew how great would be its utility.’’ This statement has been interpreted to mean that this was the first of all Se‘adyah’s halakhic monographs to be written.≥∑ However, in view of the greater scope and more highly developed systematization of the material in this work, as compared with his other halakhic monographs, it seems more plausible to suggest that this is one of the latest in the series, if not the very latest, and that the idea of composing a comprehen33. For the most comprehensive publication to date see Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Seridim mi-Sefer ha-‘Edut weha-She≠tarot’’ (details of earlier publications are given ibid., pp. 143–144); this is soon to be superseded by Ben-Sasson and Brody, Sefer ha-‘Edut weha-Sheftarot, on which the discussion here is based. 34. See Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Seridim mi-Sefer ha-‘Edut weha-She≠tarot,’’ pp. 146, 181. 35. See Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, p. 232; Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Seridim miSefer ha-‘Edut weha-She≠tarot,’’ pp. 142, 163; and cf. Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 345. Others suggested, without adequate reason, that the treatise on succession was Se‘adyah’s first work in this field; see Müller, Sefer ha-Yerushot, pp. ix, xvii; Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:165 and n. 3 (cf. n. 23 above).

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sive Book of Religious Law was one which came to Se‘adyah rather late in life and which he did not have the opportunity to pursue further.≥∏ Se‘adyah also devoted a number of monographs to halakhic topics outside the realm of civil law. These apparently included a short work on the prohibition of usury (which has both civil and religious dimensions) and one on the laws relating to menstruation, in addition to which Se‘adyah composed a more general work on the laws of ritual purity and impurity. This work is exceptional in that the author states that he will refrain from citing talmudic sources, as well as from polemicizing against sectarians (although it seems likely that the Karaite-Rabbanite polemic provided the impetus for the composition of such a work). It is divided into five chapters: on the sources of impurity, the individuals and objects capable of contracting impurity, the means by which impurity is transmitted, the degrees of impurity, and the means of purification.≥π Another area, in which at least two distinct works appear to have circulated under Se‘adyah’s name, is that of kashrut, specifically the laws governing the preparation of kosher meat. One of these, which appears in the manuscripts under the title of (Brief) Laws of Ritual Slaughtering (Hilkhot Shehitah f or Hilkhot Shehitah f Mukhtafsar), was divided into five chapters corresponding to the five stages involved in preparing the meat: identifying kosher species, slaughtering, checking the animal for signs of disease, removing certain fats and other portions prohibited for consumption, and purging the meat of any remaining blood.≥∫ This was an extremely important subject in premodern times, when meat could neither be stored for extended periods nor transported over long distances, and the Genizah is replete with fragments of manuals, mostly in Judeo-Arabic, devoted to it. Se‘adyah’s works on this subject enjoyed great popularity, as evidenced by the large number of manuscript copies, as well as by the effort expended in compiling a Judeo-Arabic glossary of the Hebrew and Aramaic terms embedded in the Judeo-Arabic text.≥Ω Their very popularity and practical importance, however, 36. There are a number of references in this work to such a book, but only one in Se‘adyah’s other extant writings, and this isolated instance is very doubtful (see n. 27 to my essay in Ben-Sasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Ga’on). 37. See Zucker, Kitab Istadrak al-Sahw, p. 7 and n. 22; for other possible works by Se‘adyah see Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 346–349. The work on usury may conceivably have been extracted from Se‘adyah’s commentary on the Pentateuch, as Malter suggests with regard to another work (ibid., pp. 346–347). 38. See Harkavy in Müller, Sefer ha-Yerushot, p. xxxvii; Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 347 (where the two works are mistakenly identified). 39. A fragment of this glossary is in the Cambridge University Library, Taylor-Schechter Collection, Ar. 25.56. So far as I know, this is a unique phenomenon, although

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apparently led copyists to treat the text of these writings with an extraordinary degree of freedom, as a result of which it is difficult if not impossible to reconstruct much of the original text.∂≠ Probably the most popular and influential of all Se‘adyah’s halakhic monographs was his prayer book, which, as we have already seen, was an exception within this genre, in that it was written ‘‘not for (purposes of) proof, but for instruction’’ and so did not include biblical or talmudic prooftexts.∂∞ This work is exceptional in other ways as well, since its core consists of traditional liturgical texts, mostly in Hebrew—although Se‘adyah incorporated in it not only rules regarding individual and communal prayer but also basic regulations concerning other, nonliturgical aspects of the various ‘‘special times.’’ As we have seen, an important component of the prayer book, according to its author’s conception, was a critical review of a wide range of liturgical customs which he had encountered in his travels.∂≤ Despite his own rather spectacular attainments as a liturgical poet, the liturgy which Se‘adyah incorporated in his prayer book is essentially prosaic; liturgical poems are included only in a few contexts, where the custom of reciting such poems had become particularly well entrenched. In these cases Se‘adyah favors his own poetical compositions and those of a few classical poets whom he held in high regard, while rejecting those of unnamed poets closer to his own time.∂≥ He also includes two individual prayers in elevated prose (baqqashot) of his own composition, one for use on weekdays and one for Sabbaths and festivals.∂∂

Monographs of Later Geonim Se‘adyah’s precedent in this field seemingly found no followers for over half a century, but about the turn of the eleventh century it was enthusiastically glossaries of this sort were compiled for important works written entirely in Hebrew or Aramaic (see, for example, Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 68 and n. 148). 40. For further detail see my essay in Ben-Sasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Ga’on. 41. See above, pp. 253–254. The quantities of Genizah fragments and medieval citations are enormous, as may be seen from the incomplete lists in Assaf et al., Siddur Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, Introduction, pp. 30–53. For publications of fragments missing from the editio princeps, see Brody, ‘‘Siyyum Siddur ha-Tefillah,’’ and the articles listed in ibid., nn. 2, 4. 42. See the end of chap. 9, and cf. chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah’s Career.’’ 43. It seems to me, however, that this does not necessarily imply that Se‘adyah had reservations about the value of poetry at the time he composed the Siddur. See Tobi, ‘‘Yahaso ≠ shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on la-Piyyu≠t,’’ and below, chap. 20, ‘‘Se‘adyah as Poet.’’ 44. See chap. 20, n. 45 and the corresponding text.

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A adopted by Samuel b. Hofni, Gaon of Sura, and his son-in-law Hayya b. Sherira, Gaon of Pumbedita. The basic pattern set by Se‘adyah with regard to the selection of topics for treatment remained largely unchanged, and the later Geonim even returned, albeit with some apologies, to several of the specific topics treated by their illustrious predecessor. By this time the format of a series of numbered chapters had won universal acceptance, and its was followed in all the later monographs (except that in a few cases a work was divided into two parts, in each of which the chapters were numbered separately).∂∑ Considerable efforts were invested in a logical ordering of the chapters, as we may see, for example, from the table of contents of Samuel Gaon’s monograph on the laws of partnership.∂∏ The first chapter is devoted to a definition of partnership and the second to a classification of three types of partnership, to each of which a separate chapter is then dedicated. The next chapters describe the conditions of partnership, the division of profit, actions which either partner may take on his own authority, and those which require the partners’ agreement. Later chapters deal with legal relations between the partnership and other parties and with various questions arising from the dissolution of the partnership, as well as the mutual responsibilities of the partners in case of negligence. The final chapters concern the validity or otherwise of partnerships contracted in special circumstances or in an exceptional form. A Samuel b. Hofni, by far the most prolific of the Geonic authors, produced over forty halakhic monographs. Many of these works were very large, containing dozens of chapters; his work on the law of sale, a particularly complex and important topic, contained eighty chapters.∂π Some of these are known only from booklists, and in a few cases the exact title (or its signification) is uncertain. Although all his monographs, like those of the other Geonim, were undoubtedly written in Judeo-Arabic, two monographs attributed to him appear to have been preserved only in Hebrew translations or adaptations, a fact which raises puzzling questions about the transmission of his works.∂∫ There is A 45. This is the case with Hayya Gaon’s work on oaths; cf. Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 171–173. 46. Lewin, Ginzey Qedem, 6:45–46. The table of contents found at the end of the introduction to Hayya ben Sherira, Sefer ha-Meqqahf weha-Mimkar, provides perhaps an even more impressive illustration. 47. For a detailed bibliography, on which the following discussion is largely based, see A Sklare, Samuel b. Hofni, pp. 19–26. (I have some doubts, however, about the reliability of the booklist published by Allony, ‘‘Kitvey RaSaG’’). Even listing his works was said to require two quires (Sklare, op. cit., p. 11), although it hardly seems possible that this refers to a mere list of titles. A 48. See Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 24–26; Hildesheimer, ‘‘Sha‘arey Shehi≠ ≠ tah

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a preponderance of works dealing with civil law; half a dozen treat aspects of family law and personal status, and a similar number (including the two works transmitted in Hebrew) belong to the sphere of ritual law. Scores or perhaps even hundreds of fragments of Samuel Gaon’s halakhic monographs have survived in the Genizah∂Ω —some of them of unusually large scope—but only a fraction of this material has been published. These include portions of works dealing with the obligations of judges and the laws governing divorce, the payment of debts, suretyship, support payments, modes of acquisition, partnership, the rights of abutters, and the preparation of sf ifsit, while the works transmitted in Hebrew deal with the rules concerning benedictions and kashA rut. One of the striking features of Samuel b. Hofni’s monographs is the influence of Islamic legal literature, which may be discerned in the choice of problems to be discussed and even in the titles given various chapters. This may be correlated with other information concerning this Gaon’s penchant for Islamic literature, which some of his contemporaries viewed with a degree of suspicion.∑≠ We should, however, note that this influence extends only on rare occasions to the legal content and even then serves to fill lacunae in the talmudic legal system, rather than generating departures from that system.∑∞ A Samuel b. Hofni’s son, Israel, one of the very last Geonim of Sura, followed in his father’s footsteps to the extent of writing at least one monograph, on prayer. Nothing of this work has yet been published, although the beginning of the introduction is preserved in the Genizah, as are several fragments which have been tentatively identified as belonging to the body of the work.∑≤ A much more important contribution to the genre was made by Samuel’s son-in-

u-Bediqah’’; I see no reason to assign the Chapters on Blessings to Israel b. Samuel Gaon, as suggested by Sklare, ibid., p. 25. A A 49. For a fragment preserved elsewhere see J. L. Nahum, Sohar le-Hasifat Ginzey Teman [Aperture to Revealing the Hidden Treasures of Yemen], Tel Aviv, 1986, p. 61, no. 182. 50. For Muslim influences, see esp. the studies by Libson listed in the bibliography; for A the Gaon’s Arabic learning see Sklare, Samuel b. Hofni, pp. 38, 47–66 and passim, and A below, chap. 18, ‘‘Samuel ben Hofni and Other Geonim.’’ 51. In my opinion Libson is overly eager to discover such influences, especially in the sphere of positive law, and minimizes chronological difficulties in some cases. An important (partial) exception is the validation of bills of exchange, according to ‘‘the custom of the merchants,’’ which probably goes back at least to the time of Se‘adyah. See Harkavy, Zikhron Kammah Ge’onim, nos. 423, 548, 552; Ben-Sasson and Brody, Sefer ha-‘Edut A weha-Sheftarot, end of document no. 2 (abezarih); and cf. Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 54–55. 52. See Ben-Sasson, ‘‘Shivrey Iggerot,’’ p. 195, n. 82.

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law Hayya b. Sherira, Av Bet Din and later Gaon of Pumbedita. Although the number of his monographs is relatively modest in comparison with those of A Samuel b. Hofni, they appear to have been more highly regarded and undoubtedly exercised a greater impact on the later course of rabbinic literature. The warmth with which Hayya’s works were received is amply attested by questions addressed to him concerning statements contained in these works, by a very large quantity of Genizah fragments, and by the fact that several of these works were quickly translated into Hebrew, in some cases more than once. Hayya’s fame in this field rests primarily on two works, the earlier of which was devoted to the laws of judicial oaths. This is the Kitab al-Ayman, better known under the Hebrew title Sefer Mishpeftey Shevu‘ot.∑≥ The work is divided into two sections, of which the first (in ten chapters and several appendices) concerns oaths by defendants and the second (in twenty chapters) oaths by claimants.∑∂ In addition to numerous fragments of the Judeo-Arabic original, two independent Hebrew translations survive; one of these was published in the sixteenth century, while the other is still in manuscript.∑∑ The second work, which may be the most comprehensive monograph in the history of rabbinic literature, is the Kitab al-Shira’ wa’l-Buyu‘ (Hebrew Sefer ha-Meqahf weha-Mimkar), on the law of sale, in sixty chapters. This work was translated into Hebrew no less than three times; once again, one of these translations was published in the sixteenth century. The Judeo-Arabic original is very prominently represented in the Genizah; to date, six of its sixty chapters have been published.∑∏ It is worth noting that both of these subjects were treated also by A Samuel b. Hofni, although we cannot say for certain that his works on these topics preceded those of Hayya; the same is true of most of the remaining

53. The priority of this work is established by references to it in Hayya’s work on sale; A see Assaf, ‘‘Le-Heqer Sefaraw shel Rav Hai,’’ p. 277, n. 1. It appears that both these monographs were completed before Hayya’s accession to the Geonate; compare Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 9, Qiddushin, Responsa, no. 57, with Hayya b. Sherira, Mishpeftey Shevu‘ot, pt. 1, chap. 1, near beginning, and with idem, Sefer ha-Meqqahf wehaMimkar, chap. 13, near beginning. 54. The tenth chapter of the first section, however, is placed after the second section; the author justifies this arrangement by pointing out that the oath in question (asserting that the claimant is destitute) is unique in that it is affects procedural, rather than substantive, aspects of the case. 55. Except for small excerpts published by Abramson (‘‘Sefer ha-Mashkon,’’ pp. 774– 775; ‘‘Min ha-Maqor ha-‘Aravi,’’ p. 298). At his death Abramson left a nearly complete edition of the original and the second medieval translation mentioned in the text, which is now being prepared for publication. A 56. See Abramson, ‘‘Min ha-Maqor ha-‘Aravi’’; idem, ‘‘Hamishah She‘arim.’’

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topics to which Hayya devoted halakhic monographs.∑π Moreover, the law of sale had already been treated by Se‘adyah Gaon, albeit in rather rudimentary fashion, and in fact Hayya prefaced his work with an apology for reverting to a subject on which Se‘adyah had written.∑∫ However, the Genizah finds and the evidence of translations make it overwhelmingly clear that it was Hayya’s works which set the standard in these two fields. A third monograph by Hayya Gaon was a formulary of legal documents. Strangely enough, it has survived primarily in a Hebrew version, although there can be little doubt that the work was originally written in Judeo-Arabic, and a few fragments of the original appear to have survived in the Genizah.∑Ω This work provides an interesting contrast to the two discussed above. The topic had already been treated by Se‘adyah Gaon, and possibly also by Samuel A b. Hofni, but—insofar as we may judge by the Hebrew translation—Hayya’s monograph represents a regression from Se‘adyah’s, at least in quantitative terms. It contains the texts of twenty-eight types of documents, as opposed to Se‘adyah’s fifty-four; and it includes no general treatment of the rules of evidence like that contained in the earlier chapters of Se‘adyah’s work. With a few exceptions, the types of documents treated by Hayya are included among those treated by Se‘adyah, although there are numerous differences in the details of their wording, possibly reflecting different local traditions. An advantage of Hayya’s work, from a utilitarian point of view, is that he gives complete texts of the various documents, rather than expecting the reader to combine clauses which are scattered in several locations.∏≠ Nevertheless, to judge by the quantities of Genizah finds, Se‘adyah’s more comprehensive formulary seems to have enjoyed much greater popularity.∏∞ Aside from these three works which have survived in their entirety, if only in translation, Hayya A 57. See Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 19–25; Groner, Reshimat Teshuvot Rav Hai Ga’on, pp. 91–93. Most of the monographs in question cannot be dated (cf. Sklare, op. cit., pp. 34–36), nor do we know when Samuel was born; he died twenty-five years before Hayya, but Hayya is said to have lived to age ninety-nine. 58. See Abramson, ‘‘Min ha-Maqor ha-‘Aravi,’’ p. 297; idem, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut haGe’onim, p. 233. It is intriguing that Hayya seems to feel no such need to apologize for writing on subjects treated by his father-in-law. 59. See Assaf, Sefer ha-Sheftarot; idem, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 40–41; Groner, ‘‘MiSifrey Halakhah shella-Ge’onim,’’ pp. 31–33. This work was known as (Tafsnif) Ma‘aseh Bet Din; see Assaf, Sefer ha-Sheftarot, pp. 9, 12; Allony, ‘‘Kitvey RaSaG,’’ p. 40, lines 147– 149 (cf. p. 47, ibid., where the editor misunderstood the relevant listing). 60. See above, p. 258, on Se‘adyah’s procedure in this regard. 61. For details see the introduction to Ben-Sasson and Brody, Sefer ha-‘Edut wehaSheftarot; and cf. above, n. 29.

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wrote at least two other monographs in the field of civil law, one concerning abutters’ rights and the other the obligations of judges; fragments of the second work, at least, survive in the Genizah. There is somewhat less satisfactory evidence concerning monographs in the field of ritual law, but Hayya probably composed a work on the laws of ritual slaughter and perhaps also one on the preparation of phylacteries. It seems that he also intended to write a work on the laws of divorce, but he may not in fact have done so.∏≤ An important feature of Hayya’s monographs, as contrasted with those of his predecessors, is the presence of explicit, and sometimes quite detailed, talmudic argumentation, going well beyond a simple citation of prooftexts. An extreme example is in the third chapter of his work on the law of sale, dealing with the problem of the legal capacity of a teenager. The question is a difficult one because various talmudic passages give what appear to be conflicting answers, and the relationship between these passages was much disputed. Here, briefly, is what Hayya has to say:∏≥ From the time when a lad reaches the age of thirteen and a day, and a lass the age of twelve and a day, until they reach the age of twenty, they must be examined during this interval in two respects—if both (positive results) are conjoined, their sale of their possessions, including land, is valid; if not, it is invalid . . . The first of these is his intellect . . . and understanding of the nature of buying and selling . . . and the second . . . the appearance of the signs of puberty. . . . Now you will see that I have dwelt on this, because I saw that it was difficult for some of the Rabbanites, and some of them prohibited the sale by a son of his inherited land until he reaches the age of twenty, thinking that this was the meaning of the dictum of the ancients (BT Bava Batra 156a) ‘‘And to sell his father’s property, until the age of twenty’’ . . . And if someone should say: What prevents you from saying that their dictum ‘‘and to sell his father’s property, until the age of twenty’’ is distinct . . . we say: this is impossible, because the halakhah has been decided (in the Talmud) in accordance with what we have explained, by the answer of Rabbah to Giddul b. Menasheh concerning this question, and this is the text of the Talmud . . . And no one who has studied this passage in the Talmud needs all this explanation of this matter; I only transmitted its explanation because I saw in a statement attributed to the Head of the Academy, the Fayyumite (i.e., Se‘adyah) . . . something which differs from the halakhah. And I think this must be a copyist’s error, for 62. See Groner, Reshimat Teshuvot Rav Hai Ga’on, pp. 91–93, 100–101, with references to earlier discussions. 63. The translation is based on the Judeo-Arabic text published by Abramson, ‘‘Min ha-Maqor ha-‘Aravi,’’ pp. 304–306; the Hebrew version published in Hayya b. Sherira, Sefer ha-Meqqahf weha-Mimkar, is much less faithful. For discussion of the various approaches to harmonizing the talmudic sources see ibid., pp. 298–302.

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Se‘adyah Gaon and After the knowledge of the Head of the Academy, of blessed memory, was superior to this;∏∂ but I have seen others of our time who err egregiously concerning this, and therefore I saw fit to explain these statements.

We have seen, then, how Se‘adyah’s pioneering efforts opened the way for his successors to refine and develop the art of monographic writing. Se‘adyah himself was treated with great respect but—like every other Gaon—was not immune from criticism, however politely it might be phrased. 64. Cf. chap. 9, n. 42, and the corresponding text.

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Talmudic Exegesis and Methodology

Se‘adyah Gaon and his successors were responsible for a number of farreaching literary innovations, even within those areas which had always attracted their predecessors’ attentions. In addition to producing systematic works of legal codification, they broke new ground with a series of more academically oriented works. These may be divided into two broad categories: commentaries on talmudic texts and treatments of talmudic methodology. Like legal issues, questions of talmudic exegesis—and, to a lesser extent, of methodology—had figured prominently in the responsa of earlier Geonim, but their treatment had been sporadic and largely dependent on the interests of the questioners. The systematic treatment of such topics is one of the characteristic features of the later Geonic period.

Commentaries on the Mishnah Before proceeding to the commentaries of Se‘adyah and later Geonim, we should take note of some partial precedents in the responsa of their predecessors. On a number of occasions, the Geonim were presented with long lists of exegetical questions concerning a given talmudic text. These are basically lists of expressions or passages which the questioners encountered in the course of their perusal of a particular text and which they had difficulty in

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interpreting on their own. Examples are provided by several series of questions concerning the tractate Shabbat of the Babylonian Talmud, which were addressed to Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon. The resulting series of responsa resembles a commentary on a large part of this tractate but never achieves independence from the responsa framework: both the specific passages commented on and the types of problems dealt with (chiefly lexical) are determined by the concerns of the questioners.∞ At the end of the Geonic period we hear of commentaries on particular chapters of the Talmud being written at the request of individuals, and these might be viewed as responsa of a sort but in fact are qualitatively different from earlier exegetical responsa.≤ Even if the choice of the text to be explained may have been made by someone else, the author of such a commentary was free to tackle the project as he saw fit; his sense of the intended audience’s interests and needs would doubtless have influenced decisions of this sort but no longer determined them completely. The only major work of talmudic exegesis clearly attributed to Se‘adyah Gaon is a commentary on the Mishnah. The separate treatment of the Mishnah represents a break with Babylonian tradition and probably reflects Se‘adyah’s prolonged exposure to Palestinian rabbinic culture.≥ According to a twelfth-century visitor to Babylonia, the local community studied ‘‘the commentary of R. Se‘adyah, which he produced for the entire Scripture and for the six Orders (of the Mishnah).’’ A later author offers slightly more detail: ‘‘The commentary on the difficult words in all the six Orders of the Mishnah, by the said Gaon R. Se‘adyah . . . is still to be found in the hands of individuals. And it may be that he did the same for the entire Talmud, but in the course of time they were lost.’’ It is clear from the context that the language of this commentary was Arabic.∂ The commentary was thus primarily lexical and belonged to the genre of AlfaAz al-Mishnah (The Words of the Mishnah), which is promi1. See Brody, Teshuvot Rav Naftronai Ga’on, pp. 44–47, 49–52, 563–634 (and cf. ibid., pp. 643–653, on tractate Ketubbot); note the constant repetition of introductory formulae such as weshe-she’altem (‘‘and as for what you asked’’) and we-dikhtiv (‘‘and as for what is written’’). For additional instances see Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim weSifrutah, pp. 143–144. 2. For the earlier period we might compare the tradition concerning Pal≠toy Gaon’s having sent ‘‘the Talmud and its explication’’ (Talmud u-pitrono) to Spain, for which see most recently Rosenthal, ‘‘Pal≠toy Ga’on,’’ p. 607. 3. See Sussmann, ‘‘Kitvey-Yad u-Mesorot-Nusah.’’ ≠ On the possibility that Se‘adyah commented on talmudic tractates, see below, nn. 5, 13. For the commentary on Baraita de-Rabbi Yishma‘’el see below, p. 277. 4. See Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 143; Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 60–61. A later hand apparently began to make this explicit and added in the margin the word be-lashon (‘‘in the language’’) but did not specify which language.

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nently represented in the Genizah: a series of short glosses in Arabic on Hebrew words and expressions, according to the order of the Mishnaic text. Many references to such works, on the Mishnah as a whole or on selected tractates, are also to be found in ancient booklists, and at least one of these lists includes a commentary of this sort on two tractates, ‘‘AlfaAz Berakhot and Shabbat of R. Se‘adyah.’’∑ In the 1950s N. Allony published two Genizah fragments, which cover the first few tractates of the Mishnah and are explicitly attributed to ‘‘R. Se‘adyah’’; he identified these as the first pages of the Gaon’s lexical commentary. This identification was questioned or even rejected by other scholars on inconclusive grounds, and discussion of the subject quickly reached an impasse.∏ Further manuscript discoveries in the Genizah, along with a comparison of citations in Se‘adyah’s name and interpretations contained in his other works, make it overwhelmingly likely that Allony’s identification was correct.π The style of the commentary is, roughly speaking, the accepted one in works of this sort. Selected words and phrases are glossed, often by as little as a single Arabic word; only rarely does the gloss constitute a complete sentence. From time to time alternative explanations are offered, introduced by such terms as wa-yuqal (‘‘and it is said’’). The explanations are generally of a purely lexical nature, but words and phrases which comprise specifically halakhic terminology are explained as they occur.∫ In addition to works of the AlfaAz al-Mishnah type, we have a unique example of a Mishnah commentary composed in the late Geonic period in Hebrew, with an admixture of several other languages, including Arabic, Greek, and Persian.Ω This commentary is restricted to the last Order of the Mishnah, A Teharot, which is particularly difficult to interpret, both because of its often recondite subject matter and because it alone (with the exception of a single 5. See Allony, ‘‘Alfa≠z al-Mishnah,’’ p. 13 (this could, but need not, refer to a commentary on the Babylonian Talmud, since these are the first two tractates of the Mishnah incorporated in it). Cf. Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 343–344; Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, p. 60, n. 1. 6. See Allony, Mehqeray f Lashon we-Sifrut, 1:137–150, 171–198 (and cf. pp. 151– 170); Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 60–62; Ratzaby, ‘‘Nosafot le-Alfa≠z al-Mishnah.’’ 7. A very large Genizah fragment of this work, encompassing the commentary on nearly half the Mishnah, was tentatively identified by A. Stolberg and has been prepared for publication by the staff of the Institute for the Complete Israeli Talmud, Jerusalem. I am indebted to Mr. U. Fuchs for bringing these facts to my attention. 8. See, for example, the definitions of tf evel (Allony, op. cit., 1:144) and prosbul (ibid., p. 147). In the Genizah fragment mentioned in the previous note we find definitions of such terms as issur mifswah and issur qedushah (Mishnah Yevamot 2:3). 9. First published in 1856; the critical edition is Epstein, Perush ha-Ge’onim le-Seder A Teharot. On the languages used in this work see ibid., pp. xlvii–lxiii.

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tractate, Niddah) is commented upon neither in the Babylonian nor in the Palestinian Talmud. The commentary in question was attributed by a number of early authors to ‘‘a Gaon’’ or ‘‘the Geonim’’ without further specification, while French and German authors attributed it to Hayya Gaon. This attribution has been rightly rejected on a variety of grounds, including the use of Greek (of which Hayya admitted his ignorance) and contradictions between this commentary and explanations transmitted elsewhere in Hayya’s name.∞≠ In fact, the commentary appears to be an eclectic one and can certainly not be identified as the last section of Se‘adyah’s commentary on the Mishnah, among other reasons because of the difference in language.∞∞ It is possible that the author of this commentary made extensive use of Se‘adyah’s earlier work, but a definite answer to this question will have to await the identification and publication of additional Genizah fragments.∞≤

Commentaries on the Talmud There is no adequate evidence that Se‘adyah Gaon composed any systematic talmudic commentaries. Although there are a few references to his perushim (explanations or commentaries), it is unclear whether the writers have in mind commentaries on chapters or tractates of the Talmud, responsa concerning particular passages, or some completely different sort of work in which a talmudic source might have been discussed en passant.∞≥ The same applies to the lone mention of a perush by Se‘adyah’s contemporary and rival, Aaron Sarjado Gaon of Pumbedita.∞∂ It was apparently at about the end of the tenth century that the Geonim entered this field on a large scale. Certainly A Samuel b. Hofni Gaon shows himself, in a well-known passage from one of his 10. See ibid., pp. xii–xxxi. The individual arguments are perhaps not completely conclusive, but their cumulative effect is overwhelming. 11. See ibid., p. xxxvi; and cf. above, chap. 9 and n. 9, on Se‘adyah’s apparent ignorance of non-Semitic languages. 12. See Epstein, ibid., pp. xxxi–xxxvi (written long before Allony’s publications and the ensuing debate). It seems that Epstein himself later doubted this suggestion (ibid., p. xxxvi, n. 125a); cf. Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 146 and n. 41. 13. Although we should note that in many of Se‘adyah’s works talmudic sources are only paraphrased. See Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:164 and n. 1, as compared with Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 162; Abramson, ‘‘Le-Toledot Nusah≠ Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im,’’ p. 219; and compare Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim mi-tokh ha-Genizah, p. 212, with Assaf et al., Siddur Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, p. 155. There seem to be no references to such commentaries in any known booklists, but cf. above, n. 5. 14. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 7, Yevamot, no. 535 (cited by Gil, ‘‘Aharon Ga’on,’’ p. 17).

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letters, to have been an eager participant in the exegetical endeavor and seems to consider this an integral aspect of his role as Gaon:∞∑ ‘‘If you, or some of you, desire to (have someone) elucidate for you one of the books of the prophets of God or explain to you a tractate of the Mishnah or the Talmud, kindly let him notify us, for we will then hasten to do his will.’’ A Despite this generous offer, we hear very little of Samuel b. Hofni’s talmudic commentaries, perhaps because of the competition provided by his Pumbeditan contemporaries, Sherira Gaon and Sherira’s son Hayya. We know that Samuel composed a commentary on tractate Yevamot, parts of which may have been incorporated in an extant collection of Geonic responsa; two additional commentaries, apparently restricted to the beginnings of other tractates (Shabbat and Ketubbot), are known only from booklists.∞∏ The Pumbeditan Geonim Sherira and Hayya made much more of an impression in this field, as indicated by the large number of citations from their commentaries in medieval rabbinic literature, as well as the relatively frequent appearance of these commentaries in ancient booklists and the survival of considerable portions of them in the Genizah.∞π In addition to lexical commentaries of the old type, which—in the case of Sherira and Hayya—were probably all written as responsa,∞∫ these two Geonim produced a number of commentaries of a new type, which mark the inception of one of the major genres of medieval rabbinic literature. The precise scope of their exegetical activity is uncertain—the evidence with regard to certain tractates is somewhat ambiguous, and it may be that the hazards of transmission have concealed the existence of other commentaries—but several commentaries are well attested and in fact have survived in large part. These include commenA taries on the tractates Berakhot, Shabbat, and Hagigah, and on the first three chapters of the very large tractate Bava Batra.∞Ω The commentary on Bava Batra is explicitly attributed jointly to Sherira and Hayya, and commentaries on Berakhot and Shabbat are attributed to both father and son. The most 15. Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 285 (and 195). A 16. See Sklare, Samuel b. Hofni, pp. 16–17 (who appears to have converted the suggestion made by Epstein, Mehqarim, f 1:145–146, concerning Cassell, Teshuvot Ge’onim Qadmonim, nos. 68–69, into a certainty). 17. For a detailed survey of the evidence arranged by tractates, together with a full bibliography of earlier discussions, see Groner, Reshimat Teshuvot Rav Hai Ga’on, pp. 94–105. (Text publications without discussion are treated less comprehensively here.) 18. See Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 141–142; Groner, ibid., pp. 96– 97, 102–105. 19. See Assaf, ibid., pp. 139–141; Groner, ibid., pp. 94–102, and the literature cited there; Hurwitz, ‘‘Seridim.’’

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plausible explanation appears to be that the commentaries on these tractates were also joint productions, whether they were written before or after Hayya was appointed Av Bet Din in about 985. This may be true of the commentary A on Hagigah as well.≤≠ These Geonic commentaries are written primarily in Hebrew, with a limited admixture of Aramaic. Lexical explanations play only a minor role; the authors concentrate instead on clarifying the talmudic dialectic, with a secondary emphasis on the halakhic conclusions which may be drawn from the text. Other salient features include relatively frequent references to variant textual and exegetical traditions which were current in the Pumbeditan milieu, and—following Se‘adyah’s lead—the use of the Palestinian Talmud as supporting evidence. It is worth noting that, in contrast to the usual practice of the Geonim in their responsa and monographic works, we find in these commentaries a fair number of references not only to anonymous traditions but also to named predecessors, whether their opinions are adopted or criticized.≤∞ In one instance the authors even advert specifically to a discussion which took place in the kallah month of Adar in the spring of 973, when Sherira was already Gaon.≤≤ To give a sense of the style of these works, let us cite some representative passages from the commentary on tractate Berakhot, folios 30–31:≤≥ ‘‘R. Eliezer b. ‘Azaryah says: One does not recite the Musaf prayer except in hever f ‘ir.’’≤∂ This means: The individual should not pray the Musaf prayer at all without a quorum, whether in a place which has a hever f ‘ir or in one which has no hever f ‘ir. ‘‘R. Judah says in his name: Wherever there is a hever f ‘ir the individual is exempt from the Musaf prayer,’’ meaning: hence, wherever there is no hever f ‘ir the individual is obligated; and this is why we say ‘‘The difference between them concerns an individual without a hever f ‘ir.’’ And the halakhah is not like R. Eliezer b. ‘Azaryah nor like R. Judah who spoke in his name—and the reason we must say that the halakhah is not like R. Judah . . . 20. See Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 142; Epstein, Mehqarim, f 1:136, 139, 146; 2:604, 609; and the sources listed in Groner, Reshimat Teshuvot Rav Hai Gaon, pp. 94–97. Cf. above, chap. 4, n. 34, with regard to joint responsa of Sherira and Hayya, and below, n. 22. 21. See, for example, Assaf, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim mi-tokh ha-Genizah, pp. 204, 206– 207; and cf. above, chap. 9 and n. 44. 22. See ibid., p. 198. Before this publication an out-of-context medieval citation misled Epstein (who later retracted) into thinking that this gave the date of the commentary. See Epstein, Mehqarim, f 1:137–138; and cf. Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, p. 142. On the kallah months see above, chap. 3, ‘‘The Operation of the Academies.’’ 23. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 1, Berakhot, Commentaries, pp. 42–43. 24. The Musaf is an extra prayer recited on Sabbaths, festivals, and other special occasions, in addition to the two (or three) regular daily prayers. The precise meaning of hever f ‘ir (literally ‘‘fellowship of the city’’) is unclear and has given rise to much debate.

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is because there is on this page (of the Talmud) someone who says that the halakhah is like him . . . ‘‘R. Ami and R. Asi, even though there were thirteen synagogues in Tiberias, prayed only between the columns, where they used to recite (talmudic texts, garsi).’’ The rabbis ask: Why did the (talmudic) rabbis say where R. Ami and R. Asi used to pray, and what (significance) is there in this tradition? And there are two dicta concerning this. One of them: Since we are discussing the Musaf prayer, he (scil. the tradent) is speaking of the Musaf prayer—and even though this is not explicit, we deduce it from the context. And he informs us that even though there were synagogues in Tiberias, they recited the Musaf prayer individually, which shows that they did not accept the opinion of R. Eliezer b. ‘Azaryah nor that of R. Judah in his name . . . ‘‘One does not stand up to pray except with a serious demeanor’’ because laughter and light-headedness are conducive to immodesty (lit. nakedness). . . . ‘‘One is forbidden to fill his mouth with laughter in this world’’—this means: in the time of the Exile. And all the halakhot which are stated after this are straightforward and contain no difficulty which requires interpretation.

These selections display a number of the characteristic motifs of the commentary. For example, the Mishnah is explained according to the interpretation reflected in the Talmud (although in this case its plain meaning appears to be different); a great deal of attention is devoted to deciding the halakhah, but questions of a literary nature (what does a given passage contribute?) also figure prominently. Considerable use is made of interpretations current in the academy with regard to traditional cruxes, while passages which present no particular difficulties evoke no commentary at all. A bit further on we find a number of instructive comments concerning the authority or lack thereof of homiletical statements included in folios 31–32. These display a sometimes quite surprising willingness to criticize and even reject talmudic dicta on theological grounds. With regard to many of these cases the authors state explicitly that they are relying on the precedent of earlier, unnamed Geonim; a striking A A instance of this concerns the dictum of R. Hama b. Hanina, according to which Israel may be absolved of responsibility for its sins on the basis of three scriptural verses which seem to deny the existence of free will:≤∑ And since we know from halakhot and reason and clear Scripture that ‘‘everything is in the hands of Heaven except for the fear of Heaven’’ (i.e., people A A are free to act morally or immorally), the words of R. Hama b. Hanina 25. Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 1, Berakhot, Commentaries, p. 45 (and cf. p. 44, where the authors are apparently willing to go further than their predecessors); the dictum in question is found at the beginning of BT Berakhot 32a (and a parallel in BT Sukkah 52b). Cf. above, pp. 164–165, and below, chap. 18, passim, and chap. 19, ‘‘The Relationship between Talmudic and Geonic Exegesis.’’

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Se‘adyah Gaon and After concerning the three verses are invalidated, and their (correct) explanations are other, clear meanings. . . . This is how those rabbis explained, and you too explain whatever resembles them in similar fashion, in order that they not contradict Scripture or reason.

Early Works on Talmudic Methodology In contrast to the situation with regard to halakhic monographs and talmudic exegesis, the writings of Se‘adyah Gaon in the area of talmudic methodology do not constitute a watershed. His contributions to this field were rather modest, and he had been preceded by at least two authors, both anonymous, who had endeavored to deal systematically with problems of talmudic methodology. The earlier of these is probably the brief work (approximately five hundred words) known as Halakhot Qefsuvot di-Beney Ma‘arva (Decided Laws of the Palestinians), which was incorporated in Halakhot Gedolot.≤∏ The first half consists of a list of rules for deciding the halakhah in case of disputes between Tanna’im, while the second comprises a long quotation from the Tosefta concerning the rules of scholarly etiquette. The first section presents a number of puzzling problems, as yet unresolved. Some of the rules it contains are clearly either quoted from or based upon the Babylonian Talmud, but at least one is prima facie derived from the Palestinian Talmud, which would fit the putative Palestinian nature of this source. Other rules, however, seem to contradict both the Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds, and their source remains enigmatic.≤π A more ambitious and highly influential work is the treatise usually known as Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im.≤∫ Its structure is quite complex: it is divided most obviously into a first, historical section and a second, methodological one, but each of these may be further analyzed into several component parts, and neither is overly coherent in its arrangement. The historical section begins with an elaboration of the famous passage at the beginning of Mishnah Avot which sketches the chain of rabbinic tradition down to the time of the Great 26. The latest edition is to be found in Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, 3:17–20. See Abramson, ‘‘Le-Toledot Nusah≠ Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im,’’ pp. 244–246; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, pp. 207–208; and above, chap. 14 and n. 49. 27. See Hildesheimer’s notes, op. cit., pp. 17–19; Abramson, op. cit., pp. 222, 246; Danzig, op. cit., pp. 207–208 and nn. 77, 79–80. 28. There is a critical but not definitive edition: Kahan, Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im (see Abramson, ‘‘Le-Toledot Nusah≠ Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im,’’ p. 217, n. 1). On other names by which this work was known, see Kahan, op. cit., pp. xvi–xvii; Abramson, op. cit., p. 218.

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Assembly. This is extended, by means of a list of the Patriarchs, down to the middle of the third century. The scene then shifts to Babylonia, the transition being accomplished with the statement that Rav left Palestine for Babylonia during the lifetime of R. Judah the Prince.≤Ω The next three centuries are treated primarily by means of a list of the death dates of prominent Babylonian Amora’im and Savora’im, followed by a sort of concluding formula which gives a date in the 880s. Next comes a section listing the Tanna’im and their predecessors, beginning with Simeon the Righteous of the Great Assembly; this list is rounded off with a few comments concerning later sages and other matters. Finally, there is a third historical section, in which Tanna’im and Amora’im are listed by generation, from the time of Hillel and Shammai to the time of R. Ashi and Rabina (and perhaps beyond).≥≠ The methodological portion of the work is explicitly divided into a section concerning the Tannaitic period (Seder Mishnah) and one concerning the Amoraic period (Seder Talmud), each of which contains a mixture of rules for adjudicating disputes between sages and other types of introductory material. The Tannaitic section begins with observations concerning the authorship of various Tannaitic collections and the identification of sages who are frequently referred to in abbreviated form or by vague expressions, as well as a few comments on chronology. Then come rules for deciding the halakhah in cases other than simple disputes between sages, followed by a longer list of rules for deciding straightforward disputes; this is concluded with the caveat that these rules of thumb are superseded whenever later sages have adopted the opinion of one of the disputants. The Tannaitic section is brought to a close with a lengthy responsum of ‘Amram b. Sheshna concerning the legal status of Tannaitic collections other than the Mishnah. The style is very different from that of the surrounding sections, but the author or redactor apparently saw fit to incorporate it bodily because of its relevance to his subject matter; at any rate, it is included in all the textual witnesses at this point.≥∞ The section devoted to the Amoraic period opens with a few remarks on chronology and the precise identification of sages, followed by a list of rules for adjudicating disputes between Amora’im. These are followed by a long section containing two types of material: rules for deciding the halakhah in a variety of 29. According to almost all versions of the text, the date of this event is given as 530 of the Seleucid era (218/9 c.e.). This has given rise to a considerable literature; see Gafni, Yehudey Bavel bi-Tequfat ha-Talmud, p. 255 and n. 58. 30. It is unclear whether §10a in Kahan’s edition (Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, Hebrew section, p. 10) is original; the wording of §10b, inter alia, makes this seem doubtful. See ibid., p. viii. 31. See ibid., pp. xii–xiii.

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circumstances other than straightforward disputes between Amora’im, and explanations of elements of talmudic terminology. These explanations are mostly formulated according to a standard model (‘‘And wherever there is X, [the meaning is as follows] . . .’’), and are concentrated towards the end of the section, but there is some overlap. The work ends with a few observations concerning the times and places in which certain sages were active, and the famous rule that the title Rabbi was given only to Palestinian authorities, while Babylonians were called Rav or Mar.≥≤ Authors who have discussed Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im usually treat it as a unitary work, but the above description raises some doubts about the validity of this assumption.≥≥ As a result, we cannot be sure that the date found at the end of the first historical section applies to the entire work as transmitted. The first clear reference to its methodological portion is to be found at the A turn of the eleventh century in the writings of Samuel b. Hofni Gaon, who treats it as an anonymous work (‘‘Someone has gathered the halakhot which may be relied on [in deciding disputes], and said . . .’’) and rejects at least one of its rules, namely that in case of a dispute between master and disciple, the halakhah follows the master.≥∂ The sources of the work clearly include the Babylonian Talmud and the body of traditions transmitted (whether orally or in writing) in the milieu of the Babylonian academies, but it also contains some rules which are obscure and others which are problematic or disputed.≥∑ It is likely but not certain that some of the rules concerning the adjudication of disputes between Tanna’im are drawn from Halakhot Qefsuvot di-Beney Ma‘arva.≥∏ Aside from the incorporation of ‘Amram’s responsum, a number of scholars have argued from putative traces of specifically Suran traditions (or at least differences from Pumbeditan ones) for the Suran provenance of this 32. The shortened form rav results from the elision of final vowels in unstressed syllables in Eastern Aramaic. See E. Y. Kutscher, Hebrew and Aramaic Studies, Jerusalem, 1977, Hebrew section, pp. 243–244 and n. 39. 33. See Abramson, ‘‘Le-Toledot Nusah≠ Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im,’’ pp. 217–218, for a description which perhaps overemphasizes the incoherence of the text. 34. See ibid., pp. 219–220, and cf. above, chap. 11, at the end of the section ‘‘Other Halakhic Traditions.’’ 35. See Kahan, Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, pp. 16–56; Abramson, op. cit., pp. A 218–224. Not only Samuel b. Hofni considered this text to lack binding authority; see, for example, Assaf, Tequfat ha-Ge’onim we-Sifrutah, pp. 230–231 (no. 23), 233–234 (no. 33; cf. above, chap. 10, n. 34). 36. See Abramson, op. cit., pp. 244–246; Hildesheimer, Halakhot Gedolot, vol. 3, notes to pp. 17–19, esp. p. 18, n. 10; and above, chap. 14, ‘‘Halakhot Gedolot,’’ on the date of this work.

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work, but the evidence is far from compelling. The author’s identity was A apparently unknown already to Samuel b. Hofni, and we are certainly not in a position to do any better; all we can say with reasonable confidence is that he was not a Gaon of either academy.≥π Like the contents of Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, the corpus of Se‘adyah Gaon’s writings includes contributions both to talmudic history and to methodology proper, but these are contained in separate works. So far as we know, only one work, presumably quite brief, was devoted to problems of talmudic biography: Se‘adyah informs us that, at the request of correspondents, he discussed the genealogy of R. Judah the Prince and the relationship between R. A Hiyya and Rav.≥∫ Some comments on the history of rabbinic tradition are included in others of his works, especially the polemical Sefer ha-Galuy.≥Ω His only work devoted expressly to the methodological sphere was a brief commentary on the list of thirteen principles of biblical exegesis known as the Baraita de-Rabbi Yishma‘’el, found at the beginning of the Sifra. Nothing of the Judeo-Arabic original of Se‘adyah’s commentary has been published to date, but a medieval Hebrew translation was published more than a century ago.∂≠ The discussion of almost every principle begins with an explanation of its nature and application; these are very brief and, at least in their Hebrew version, not overly helpful.∂∞ Most of the discussion of each principle, however, is devoted to illustrative examples; some of these are drawn from talmudic sources, while other are apparently Se‘adyah’s own contributions. Mostly, as might be expected from the nature of the exegetical principles themselves, these are of a halakhic nature, but some concern narrative passages of Scripture.∂≤

37. Contra Graetz; see Kahan, Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, pp. x-xiii, and cf. above, chap. 9, ‘‘Attitudes towards Authority’’; chap. 14, n. 54; chap. 15 and n. 22. 38. See Schechter, Saadyana, p. 135; Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 173, 354 (no. 3). Harkavy thought he had discovered a work by Se‘adyah on the chronology of the Tanna’im and Amora’im, but this seems very doubtful; see Malter, ibid. (no. 2). 39. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 270, and the sources listed on p. 392 (a); Tobi, ‘‘Daf Nosaf,’’ pp. 56–58. For a comprehensive chronological work plausibly attributed to Se‘adyah see Malter, ibid., pp. 172–173, 353–354. 40. For the baraita see L. Finkelstein, ed., Sifra de-Bey Rav . . . [Sifra on Leviticus], vol. 1, New York, 1989, pp. 120–191; for Se‘adyah’s commentary see Müller, Sefer haYerushot, pp. 73–83, with pp. xxiii–xxxiii. 41. This is missing in the explanation of the twelfth rule and appears in modified form in the explanation of the first rule; cf. Müller’s comments ibid., pp. xxxii–xxxiii. 42. For some examples and comparison with other commentaries see ibid., pp. xxiii– xxxiii; Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:162–163; Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 159–161.

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A Sherira, Hayya, and Samuel b. Hofni The efforts of the Geonim of Pumbedita in the area of methodology were rather restricted. Sherira Gaon did not devote any special works to talmudic methodology, although his Epistle is of course an important contribution to this field. We have had occasion to refer to this work principally as a source for the history of the Geonic period, but most of it is taken up with the history of rabbinic literature and the chain of rabbinic tradition in Babylonia, primarily in the Amoraic period.∂≥ Because this was a responsum, the author was restricted in principle to answering the questions addressed to him, although he did exhibit some initiative of his own, particularly with regard to the history of the Amoraic period. In addition to frequent citations of talmudic sources, Sherira relies explicitly, in certain instances, on written records and oral traditions, and it is possible that the true role of these sources is considerably greater than it appears on the surface. It is also quite likely that he made use of the historical portion of Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, written about a century earlier, in his historical survey, which resembles the earlier one in many external aspects: the list of Patriarchs, the use of Rav’s emigration to mark the transition to Babylonia, and the inclusion of death dates of many Amora’im. Sherira’s treatment, however, is much more detailed, and differs from that of Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im on numerous points of detail, while omitting some of the data preserved there.∂∂ With regard to literary history, Sherira adheres more closely to the (admittedly very broad) questions addressed to him. The questioners were troubled primarily by the apparent contradiction between current assertions about the antiquity of the Oral Torah embodied in the Mishnah and the fact that the majority of the authorities mentioned in it flourished in the second century c.e. Sherira’s response emphasizes the distinction between the content of tradition and its literary crystallization. In his view, there was no need in Second Temple times for a specific formulation of the tradition, which was universally agreed upon and understood; each master was free to transmit the material to his students in any style he chose. It was only with the crisis surrounding the destruction of the Temple that misunderstandings and doubts proliferated and the need for an established text was perceived, and only in the days of R. Judah the Prince was the time ripe for the production of such a text, which was 43. There are also a number of important observations offered en passant regarding the legal status of various Tannaitic sources; see, for example, Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 27–28, 37–39, 46–47 (Rabinowich, pp. 25, 37–41, 48–49; Schlüter, pp. 91– 93, 118–125, 140–143). 44. See chap. 2 and n. 14.

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immediately recognized as the canonical Mishnah. A similar evolutionary process, in which a period of independently formulated instruction was succeeded by the increasing crystallization of precisely worded oral traditions, characterized the formation of the Talmud as well.∂∑ In addition to literary crystallization, however, Sherira is willing to allow for a substantial degree of historical evolution in the specific contents of the Oral Torah, while at the same time maintaining the extreme antiquity of the tradition as a whole. Aside from doubts and controversies concerning the details of earlier traditions, new problems arose from time to time, which had to be resolved by analogy with established tradition. The essence of his position appears to be that all the later ramifications were contained in potentia in the earliest tradition and would have been clear to the earliest authorities had they considered these questions. But as a matter of historical fact, when these questions arose in later times, the sages had to grapple with them without the benefit of specific guidance from the tradition.∂∏ According to one of his letters, Sherira’s son Hayya wrote a methodological work before becoming Gaon:∂π Now we have written the answers to the wonderful, precious questions which Mar Rav Jacob . . . wrote, and in addition we—Hayya, Av Bet Din—have composed a work in the language of the Ishmaelites (i.e., Arabic), divided into several chapters, to make the paths of the Talmud straight . . . which, by the mercy of God, is a guide even for one who gropes. It includes several examples of every type of talmudic discussion (sugya de-shema‘ta), unties knots and releases those who are bound, and we will send it later on . . . only a little remains (to be written) and it will be dispatched to him.

We do not know for certain if this work was ever actually completed and dispatched; at any rate, it does not seem to have made much of an impression. If it was ever published, it was overshadowed by a much more ambitious and comprehensive methodological work, likewise written in ‘‘the language of the 45. See Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 9–11, 18–31, 48–49, 51–52, 58–59, 62–64 (Rabinowich, pp. 5–7, 14–29, 52–55, 58, 70, 72–74; Schlüter, pp. 52–55, 68– 103, 143–148, 153–155, 168–170, 174–179). 46. See Lewin, pp. 17–18, 52–53, 66–68 (Rabinowich, pp. 14, 59–60, 76–78; Schlüter, pp. 66–68, 155–157, 183–186). Contrast Se‘adyah’s extreme position, described above, at the end of chap. 6. 47. See Lewin, op. cit., Appendix, pp. xxxi–xxxii (Gil, Be-Malkhut Yishma‘’el biTequfat ha-Ge’onim, Document no. 33); this can hardly refer to one of Hayya’s monographs, as suggested by Lewin (p. xxxii, n. 1). Cf. the description of Hayya’s pedagogical activities contained in a letter of Sherira Gaon reprinted in Lewin, Appendix, p. xxviii (Gil, op. cit., Document no. 23).

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A Ishmaelites,’’ by Hayya’s father-in-law, Samuel b. Hofni Gaon of Sura. This book, entitled Kitab al-Madkhal ila ‘Ilm al-Mishnah wa’l-Talmud (The Book of Introduction to the Science [or Knowledge] of the Mishnah and Talmud), was divided into 145 chapters, ranging in size from a few lines to dozens of pages. Despite its vast proportions, it was a rather popular work, to judge from the Genizah finds and the evidence of abridgements and adaptations. The last five chapters have been published in their entirety, as have portions of several other chapters.∂∫ The first fifteen or sixteen chapters are devoted to a discussion of problems connected with the reliability of tradition (khabar, reported information) in general and rabbinic tradition in particular. This, of course, was a central topic in the intellectual discourse of the time, both because of the problems associated with the notion of hadith f in Islam and because of the Karaite rejection of Rabbanite tradition. The author himself remarks that he was obliged to insert these chapters into his introduction because it is inappropriate to introduce the learner to the methods of a subject before convincing him of its truthfulness, ‘‘and in order to inform our opponents in this matter that we do not believe in this tradition blindly (taqlidan).’’∂Ω These are followed by chapters devoted to the Tannaitic period and its literature, especially the Mishnah. Topics discussed include the structure of the Mishnah, the nature and status of anonymous portions of the Mishnah, the generations of Tanna’im, their titles and locations, and enactments promulgated in various generations. Many chapters are devoted to the controversies between certain pairs of Tanna’im. The last two chapters of this section deal with the Tosefta. Chapter 54 begins the larger portion of the work, which is devoted to the Babylonian Talmud, by describing which sections of the Mishnah it encompasses. About a dozen chapters are devoted to elements of talmudic dialectic, and two important chapters describe the means by which the halakhah may be 48. The major publication is Abramson, Peraqim min Sefer Mevo ha-Talmud. For details of other publications, a description of the Genizah finds, and a brief notice concernA ing abridged versions, see Sklare, Samuel b. Hofni, pp. 17–19. See also Abramson, ‘‘Min A ha-Pereq ha-Hamishi shel Mevo ha-Talmud,’’ p. 203. This work was mistakenly ascribed to Se‘adyah Gaon (see, e.g., Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 159, 341–342); see Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 164–173; idem, ‘‘ ‘Al Sefer Darkhey ha-Talmud.’’ A 49. See Sklare, The Religious and Legal Thought of Samuel b. Hofni Gaon: Texts and Studies in Cultural History, Ph.D. diss., Harvard, 1992, 3:180; Abramson, ‘‘Min haA Pereq ha-Hamishi shel Mevo ha-Talmud,’’ pp. 197, 200–201; and cf. below, chap. 18, ‘‘Se‘adyah Gaon as Theologian.’’ The following sketch is based on the partial table of contents published by Sklare, pp. 174–179; cf. Abramson, pp. 197–198.

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extracted from the text. As in the case of the Tanna’im, a chapter listing the Amora’im by generation is followed by a series of chapters devoted to disputes between various pairs of sages; near the end of the work there is a lengthy chapter (141) listing the tradents who transmitted dicta in the name of each leading Amora. Another very important chapter (143) is a talmudic glossary covering hundreds of words and expressions; in addition to brief glosses in Judeo-Arabic, some of these are accompanied by explanations of usage or by illustrative citations. Some of the terms glossed actually come not from the Talmud but from Halakhot Gedolot.∑≠ The last chapter, only a few lines long, appears to be an afterthought, as it treats of one of the earliest Tanna’im, Nahum ≠ the Median; the author did not go back and insert this chapter in its proper place, probably because the book was published in installments.∑∞ A We may conclude with the following illustration of Samuel b. Hofni’s style and method:∑≤ The fifth chapter: The discourse concerning the causes as a result of which disagreements arose between the tradents in the Mishnah and Talmud, and we say that this has ten causes. The first cause is that the tradition was transmitted concerning two sets of circumstances, in one case negatively and in the other case positively . . . and there is no contradiction between them, because they apply to different circumstances . . . and the harmonization of these is like the harmonization of two contradictory scriptural verses. . . .∑≥ And the third cause is that the tradent’s tradition gives rise to disagreement with respect to (its subjective) interpretations, not with regard to the precise formulation . . . and because of this they say to each other: ‘‘Did you hear this specifically or did you derive it from a generalization?,’’ as they said in the Talmud . . . And the fourth cause is that one of the tradents heard a general tradition and the other heard a specific tradition . . . and because of they said (BT ‘Eruvin 27a): ‘‘R. Yohanan ≠ said: one cannot learn from general rules . . .’’ And the fifth cause is that some of the tradents remembered the tradition and some of them forgot it and thought otherwise about it . . . and the seventh 50. See Abramson, Peraqim min Sefer Mevo ha-Talmud, p. 137; Danzig, Mavo le-Sefer Halakhot Pesuqot, p. 281, n. 34; and cf. above, at the end of chap. 14. A 51. See Abramson, op. cit., p. 201, who also cites a case in which Samuel b. Hofni corrects in a later chapter an oversight in an earlier chapter. A 52. Abramson, ‘‘Min ha-Pereq ha-Hamishi shel Mevo ha-Talmud,’’ pp. 210–215. 53. An anti-Karaite thrust: just as the Karaites agree that seemingly contradictory verses must be harmonized and do not constitute evidence against the integrity and veracity of Scripture, so they should admit that the same is true of rabbinic literature. The author goes on to describe the sort of objection which might be raised to this argument and states that he has disposed of it in a previous chapter.

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Se‘adyah Gaon and After cause is that some of the tradents grasped the tradition and preserved it, and some of them did not grasp it because of their preoccupation and believed something different concerning it than what the transmitter had said. Thus they said (BT Shevu‘ot 26a): ‘‘R. Kahana and R. Asa, when they left Rav’s presence, one used to say, ‘Rav said thus,’ and the other would say, ‘Rav said thus.’ When they came before Rav he agreed with one of them. The other said to him: ‘I told a lie!’ He said to him: ‘Your heart coerced you.’ ’’

18

Theology

Classical Judaism placed very little emphasis on dogma. While its adherents and critics might differ sharply in their attitude towards this orientation, they would have been able to agree that this was much more a religion of ‘‘works’’ than of ‘‘faith,’’ and that one’s membership in good standing in the religious community depended on practical observance rather than on formal assertions of belief. We hear of few internal debates on questions of dogma, and even someone who denied one of the few tenets which were deemed essential, such as the belief in resurrection, was only said to be denied a place in the World to Come and his transgression was not punishable by human agency.∞ Attempts to reconstruct a body of theological beliefs which can be attributed to the rabbis of the talmudic period are notoriously perilous, not only because of philological problems of various sorts but for more fundamental reasons. Although a few basic beliefs, such as the existence of God and the revelation of the Torah, may safely be considered part of a universal consensus for the Tanna’im and Amora’im, they were able to entertain an extraordinarily wide range of views on almost any other theological question. Furthermore, to judge by the available evidence, many of the talmudic rabbis devoted little or none of their intellectual energies to theological speculation, and those who 1. See Mishnah Sanhedrin 10:1.

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did concentrate on this field did not generally present their ideas in explicit, let alone systematic, form.≤ The same applies, so far as we can judge, to Se‘adyah’s predecessors in the Geonate, although we must note once again that our evidence for this period derives almost exclusively from responsa, and it is conceivable that the silence of these authorities on theological questions reflects a lack of interest on the part of their questioners rather than on their own part, or that responsa on these topics have failed to reach us, either by chance or because of a lack of interest on the part of later users and copyists of the Geonic responsa.≥ Given, however, what we know of the history of Jewish engagement in religious philosophy or systematic theology, and in view of the highly conservative nature of the Geonate before Se‘adyah’s time, it hardly seems likely that any of his predecessors concerned themselves to any substantial extent with matters of this sort.

The Background to Geonic Theology The impetus to systematic theological speculation came to the Jewish world from the outside, at a time when both Christians and Muslims were engaged in systematizing their beliefs and defending them by means of reasoned argumentation. This intellectual climate, in turn, was produced by a number of causes, including the proliferation of controversies both within each religious tradition and between the adherents of the various faiths. This development was also heavily influenced by a growing acquaintance with the heritage of the ancient Greek philosophical tradition, albeit in a form substantially modified in the long course of transmission and translation. While Christian Arab thinkers had inherited many of the problems and arguments of religious philosophy from the patristic literature in Greek and Syriac, the Muslims were exposed to Greek philosophy for the first time in the eighth and ninth centuries, when large portions of this literature were translated into Arabic, generally by Christian translators, who worked sometimes with the Greek originals and sometimes with previous translations into Syriac. Plato and Aristotle were recognized as the outstanding representatives of ancient philosophy, but the works of neither were transmitted in complete and unadulterated form to the Arabic-speaking world of the Middle Ages.∂ A 2. See most recently chap. 1 of E. E. Urbach, HaZaL, Pirqey Emunot we-De‘ot, Jerusalem, 1969 (English translation by I. Abrahams: The Sages: Their Concepts and Beliefs, Jerusalem, 1975). 3. Cf. above, chap. 12 and n. 15. 4. See Fakhry, History of Islamic Philosophy, pp. 1–44.

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Much of the impact of the Greek tradition in the first centuries of Islam was achieved not by those thinkers who identified themselves as ‘‘philosophers’’ ( falasifa) but within the framework of the broad movement of speculative theology known as the Kalam (‘‘Speech’’ or ‘‘Discourse’’). Those who engaged in speculation of this sort were called mutakallimun, that is, ‘‘speakers’’ or ‘‘discoursers.’’ Representatives of all three monotheistic faiths took part in this endeavor to systematize the underlying principles of their religions and to reconcile them, so far as possible, with the conclusions of the Greek philosophers. They shared the basic assumption that both religious and philosophical traditions were custodians of truth, and in the final analysis there could be no contradiction between the truths derived in these varying ways. Such a reconciliation, however, would obviously be out of the question if it were to include all those beliefs which were propounded by either tradition; rather, the claims and arguments of each were to be subjected to criticism in the light of the other and reinterpreted or rejected as necessary, in order to arrive at a reduced and refined core of beliefs compatible both with religion and with reason. In particular, the challenge confronting the mutakallimun of the monotheistic faiths was to arrive at a purified conception of God which could stand up to rational criticism, while retaining as much as possible of the biblical notion of a personal God, concerned for and communicating with mankind, and not degenerating into the philosophers’ Unmoved Mover. To this end, each theologian or theological school made a selection of religious and philosophical ideas which could be synthesized into a more or less coherent whole, which they considered acceptable from both the religious and the rational points of view.∑ The versions of the Kalam associated with the various religions shared a great deal of common ground and were exposed to mutual influences. In particular, recent treatments assign an important role in the development of the Kalam to Christian thinkers, although they were eventually overshadowed by their Muslim counterparts.∏ Contact between adherents of the several faiths was achieved not only, and perhaps not primarily, through literary means, but largely through intellectual salons known as majalis (‘‘sessions’’), which were a feature of cultural life in many major cities and were open not only to monotheists of all persuasions but also to dualists, atheists, and others. In keeping with the (perhaps surprisingly) broad spectrum of participants, the ground rules of debate precluded reliance on the content of any particular religious tradition; discussion was to proceed on the basis of rational notions 5. See Wolfson, Philosophy of the Kalam, pp. 1–79; Fakhry, op. cit., pp. 56–80. 6. See, for example, Wolfson, Philosophy of the Kalam, pp. 48–64, 79–82; Stroumsa, Twenty Chapters, pp. 24–26, 34.

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accepted by all the participants. Much effort was devoted to attempts to demonstrate the correctness of one’s own particular religious traditions and beliefs (in contrast not only to those of other religions but also to those of other sects within a given religious tradition), but this had to be accomplished by rational argumentation and skilled rhetoric rather than by resort to arguments based on Scripture or the tradition of one’s faith. One of the possible consequences of this open-minded approach was the growth of a relativistic, and sometimes even a fundamentally skeptical, attitude towards the idea of religious truth.π In the ninth and tenth centuries, the dominant school in Muslim Kalam was that of the Mu‘tazilites (‘‘Separatists’’). Its foundation is associated with Wasil b. ‘Ata, who was active in the first half of the eighth century, but its later character was largely determined by exposure to the Greek philosophical writings which became available in Arabic translation early in the ninth century. The Mu‘tazilites were known for a number of doctrinal positions which were considered heretical by many other Muslims. The most fundamental of these are their radical interpretations of the fundamental tenets of the unity of God and His justice, as a result of which they were known as ‘‘the advocates of justice and unity’’ (afshab f al-‘adl wa’l-tawhid). f An insistence on the absolute uniqueness of God led to the belief in His complete indivisibility, implying a rejection not only of anthropomorphism but also of the reality of distinct socalled sf ifat (usually translated ‘‘attributes’’) which had been associated with the Godhead in earlier Islam, especially those of Life, Knowledge, and Power; the Mu‘tazilites held that these can only be understood as different aspects under which God’s indissoluble unity is perceived in various contexts. The belief in Divine justice was taken to imply the necessary existence of human free will, since it was unthinkable that a just God could command human beings to undertake or refrain from certain courses of action, let alone reward or punish them, if they were not free to choose between obedience and disobedience. This antideterminist position found support in numerous verses of the Koran but necessitated the reinterpretation of many other verses, which seemed to imply that God is the true author of human actions, as of all other events which occur in the world. It was this school of thought which exercised a profound influence on most of the early Jewish theologians, both Rabbanite and Karaite.∫ A 7. See esp. Sklare, Samuel b. Hofni, pp. 100–122, with references to earlier literature. 8. See Wolfson, Philosophy of the Kalam, pp. 112–234, 601–719; Fakhry, History of Islamic Philosophy, pp. 56–80; Husik, History of Mediaeval Jewish Philosophy, pp. xxi– xxvii, 17–58; Guttmann, Philosophie des Judentums, pp. 55–96. Note, however, that Rabbanite Jewish thinkers generally rejected the physical doctrines of the Kalam, espe-

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Only two of the Jewish theologians who preceded Se‘adyah Gaon are known to us through their writings (which, like the theological treatises of the Geonim, were composed in Arabic). One of these was the noted Rabbanite physician Isaac Israeli, who was active in Egypt and in Qayrawan in the second half of the ninth century and the first half of the tenth. Israeli, unlike the other authors we shall consider, owed much more to the Neoplatonist tradition than to the Kalam; but his thought was eclectic, and included some Aristotelian and Kalamic elements as well.Ω We are informed that Se‘adyah, while still in Egypt, corresponded with Israeli on scientific topics, but no information concerning the contents of their correspondence has been preserved.∞≠ The second author who deserves to be mentioned in this context is the ninth-century David alMuqammas, the first known Jewish mutakallim, who almost certainly lived slightly earlier than Israeli. Very little is known of his life, except for the testimony of Qirqisani that he was born a Jew, converted to Christianity in Nisibis (in northern Mesopotamia) under the influence of a prominent Christian named Nana (Nonnus?), but later, apparently having returned to the Jewish fold, attacked Christian beliefs in two books. Nevertheless, according to the same informant, he composed commentaries on Genesis and Ecclesiastes which were ‘‘translated from the books of the Christians and their commentaries,’’ that is, compiled on the basis of Christian works, presumably written in Syriac.∞∞ Large parts of his major theological work, entitled ‘Ishrun Maqala (Twenty Chapters), have been preserved in the Genizah; these clearly demonstrate the pervasive influence of the Kalam, particularly in its Christian variety, on his thought.∞≤ There were undoubtedly many more Jews, however, who participated in the emerging theological discourse than those whose writings are known to us. cially atomism and the denial of causality (Wolfson, Repercussions of the Kalam, pp. 162–199). 9. See A. Altmann and S. M. Stern, Isaac Israeli, a Neoplatonic Philosopher of the Early Tenth Century, Oxford, 1958 (Institute for Jewish Studies, Manchester, Scripta Judaica, 1). 10. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 47–48; Altmann and Stern, op. cit., pp. xxii–xxiii, n. 1. 11. See Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar, 1:44 (Nemoy, p. 366; Lockwood, p. 137); Stroumsa, Twenty Chapters, p. 15. Whether Muqammas was a Karaite or a Rabbanite is unclear; see most recently Stroumsa, pp. 16–19. 12. See Stroumsa, Twenty Chapters; a thorough analysis of the author’s thought is contained in Stroumsa’s unpublished doctoral dissertation, Hebrew University, 1983. See also Husik, History of Mediaeval Jewish Philosophy, pp. 17–22; Wolfson, Repercussions of the Kalam, pp. 5–8, 47–49.

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Not only is it likely that some theological writings were lost in the course of time, but it is quite probable that numerous intellectuals took part in oral discussions of the sort we have described above, or in less formal conversations, without writing on these subjects.∞≥ Moreover, there were probably a great many relatively passive ‘‘consumers’’ of these discussions, whether their acquaintance was with written works, oral study sessions, or both. By the early tenth century, if not earlier, there were Jews for whom Jewish learning was only one, not necessarily dominant, component of their cultural identity, and whose exposure to the theological currents of the time threatened their loyalty to Jewish belief and practice. Their acquaintance with theological discourse might not be a profound one, but neither, likely enough, was their knowledge of Jewish, and especially of rabbinic, thought.∞∂ Se‘adyah apparently had this sort of audience in mind when he composed his Book of Beliefs and Opinions:∞∑ What has prompted me to preface (the book) with this discussion is my observation of the state of many people in regard to their beliefs and convictions. There is among them the type of person who has attained the truth and is cognizant of it and rejoices in it. . . . Again there is among them he who has attained the truth but is nevertheless in doubt about it, being neither wholly convinced nor holding it firmly in his grasp. . . . There is further among them he who holds to be true what in reality is false, thinking that it is the truth; he thus clings to falsehood and abandons what is right. . . . There is (lastly) among them the type of person who for a while follows one system of thought and then abandons it on account of some flaw that he has noticed in it. So he transfers to another system from which he also withdraws on account of some point in it which he rejects. Then he passes on to still another for a while but gives it up again . . . When, now, I considered these fundamentals and the evil resulting therefrom, my heart was grieved for my species, the species of rational beings, and my soul was stirred on account of our people, the children of Israel. For I saw in this age of mine many believers whose belief was not pure and whose convictions were not sound . . . I saw, furthermore, men who were sunk, as it A 13. See esp. Wolfson, Philosophy of the Kalam, pp. 89–91; Sklare, Samuel b. Hofni, pp. 104–122. A 14. See esp. Sklare, Samuel b. Hofni, pp. 92–95, 120–121 and passim. 15. Landauer, Kitab al-Amanat wa’l-I‘tiqadat, pp. 3–4 (Rosenblatt, pp. 6–7; Qafih, pp. 4–5). I have given a slightly modified version of Rosenblatt’s translation; in the first sentence I have preferred the readings of MS St. Petersburg cited by Landauer. Note also Se‘adyah’s assertion (Landauer, p. 1; Rosenblatt, pp. 3–4; Qafih, p. 2) that he intends to use simple language and give only the principal arguments without entering into their finer points.

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were, in seas of doubt and submerged in the waters of confusion, and there was no diver to bring them up from the depths, nor a swimmer who might take hold of their hands and carry them ashore.

Se‘adyah Gaon as Theologian Se‘adyah inaugurated, in this as in so many other respects, a new era in the history of the Geonate. In his engagement with theological questions and openness to the influence of the Kalam in general, and its Mu‘tazilite version in particular, he blazed a trail followed by numerous Geonim in the succeeding century, whether or not they produced literary works devoted specifically to these concerns.∞∏ Se‘adyah, however, was not only the trailblazer but historically the most important of the Jewish mutakallimun. Even Maimonides’ forcefully expressed strictures were not sufficient to put an end to his influence, partly because Maimonides himself adopted, albeit without explicit acknowledgment, important elements of Se‘adyah’s theology.∞π By far the most comprehensive and influential of Se‘adyah’s theological writings was his Book of Beliefs and Opinions (Kitab al-Amanat wa’l-I‘tiqadat), written (at least partly) in 933, during the course of his conflict with the Exilarch David b. Zakkai.∞∫ This is composed of ten essays, at least some of which may have been written originally as separate short works and later incorporated in the more comprehensive framework. The book has been transmitted in two recensions, known by the names of their current locations as the Oxford and St. Petersburg recensions. Each has as its chief representative a single Judeo-Arabic manuscript. Throughout most of the work the differences between the two versions are restricted to textual variants, but the seventh essay has been transmitted in two substantially different versions, which apparently reflect the author’s own reworking of this section.∞Ω Although the St. Petersburg recension was utilized by Judah ibn Tibbon as the basis of his translation, through which this work entered medieval Hebrew literature, most 16. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 113, n. 241, and pp. 133–134; Sirat, Philosophie A Juive au Moyen Age, pp. 52–53; Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 49–66 and passim. Cf. Maimonides’ unflattering summary, discussed by Wolfson, Philosophy of the Kalam, pp. 82–88. 17. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 278–290; Guttmann, ‘‘Beziehungen’’; Ventura, Philosophie de Saadia Gaon, pp. 298–304. 18. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 193 and n. 455a, and above, chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah’s Career.’’ 19. See Landauer, Kitab al-Amanat wa’l-I‘tiqadat, pp. vi–xii; Bacher, ‘‘Zweite Version’’; Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 359–360.

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modern editors and translators—probably influenced in part by the somewhat damaged condition of the St. Petersburg manuscript and by its inaccessibility during the Soviet era—have depended primarily on the Oxford manuscript. Even the existing ‘‘critical’’ edition of the Arabic text gives only a modest selection of variants from the St. Petersburg manuscript. Both internal evidence and Genizah finds, however, show quite conclusively that the St. Petersburg manuscript provides, on the whole, a more accurate text. Preparations for a new, critical edition are under way.≤≠ The most notable structural characteristics of the book include the massive use of biblical verses, from which the author ingeniously extracts theological propositions by a sensitive and imaginative reading. In contrast, talmudic sources play a limited role throughout most of the work, with the exception of the treatment of eschatology. This may be a function of Se‘adyah’s desire to reach the broadest possible Jewish audience, including readers who might question the authority of the rabbinic sages or might be quite unfamiliar with talmudic literature.≤∞ Another striking feature is the polemical element, which occupies a prominent place in many of the Gaon’s writings. His discussions of central issues in the Book of Beliefs and Opinions generally include long, numbered lists of rejected opinions, accompanied by their refutations, which are sometimes also presented in the form of numbered lists. Some of the rejected opinions are attributed to Jews and others to non-Jews, but most are offered in perfectly anonymous fashion, and a great deal of scholarly effort has been expended in attempts to identify the targets of the Gaon’s criticism.≤≤ Two years before his magnum opus, Se‘adyah had written another wellknown work which is generally considered to belong to the realm of theology, although in fact this characterization is somewhat problematic. This is his Tafsir Kitab al-Mabadi or Commentary on the Book of Creation, that is, on the ancient Hebrew cosmogonic work Sefer Yefsirah.≤≥ Although that gnomic composition was adopted by medieval mystics as a precursor to their own doc20. H. Ben-Shammai, in an unpublished lecture (Jerusalem, 1995); see Landauer, ibid.; Qafih, Ha-Nivhar f ba-Emunot uva-De‘ot, Introduction, pp. 7–10. A 21. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 196–197; Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 92–95. 22. See, for example, Davidson, ‘‘Saadia’s List of Theories,’’ and the earlier literature listed ibid., pp. 75–76; for a skeptical view of this endeavor see Langermann’s essay in Ben-Sasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Ga’on. 23. Edition with French translation: Lambert, Commentaire sur le Séfer Yesira; with Hebrew translation: Qafih, Sefer Yefsirah ‘im Perush Rabbenu Se‘adyah. For a summary of the contents see Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 177–193; for bibliography ibid., pp. 355– 359, and most recently Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Saadya’s Goal in his Commentary,’’ with further bibliography at p. 2, n. 7.

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trines, Se‘adyah was probably more faithful to its original intent in treating it as a ‘‘scientific’’ attempt to understand the origins of the physical universe.≤∂ Despite the fact that Sefer Yefsirah was attributed to the biblical patriarch Abraham, Se‘adyah did not consider it to be a binding authority; his commentary therefore combines interpretation of the ancient text with an exposition of some of his own ideas and a critique of competing conceptions.≤∑ Other works which might be included under the broad heading of theology are devoted to particular aspects of the Divine commandments; these include an essay on the inapplicability of analogical argument to the revealed commandments, and a classificatory work which probably initiated the genre of taxonomies of the commandments. In addition, theological questions occupy a prominent place in others of Se‘adyah’s writings, especially his biblical commentaries.≤∏ We can give here only the briefest overview of some of the central tenets of Se‘adyah’s theology, as presented especially in the Book of Beliefs and Opinions.≤π The introduction is largely concerned with questions of epistemology. Se‘adyah distinguishes between three sources of knowledge which are almost universally recognized to be valid—sense perception, unmediated intellectual perception, and logical reasoning—and a fourth source acknowledged by ‘‘the monotheists,’’ namely authentic tradition. The validity of properly authenticated tradition must, however, be admitted by any reasonable person, and in fact transmitted knowledge is indispensable in our daily lives.≤∫ The content of revelation is thus validated by virtue of an unimpeachable tradition, deriving from a vast community of eyewitnesses and transmitted throughout the generations by an entire nation, so that there can be no question of error or trickery. Nevertheless, rational speculation on theological questions is not only permissible but required from a religious point of view, and actually mandated by scriptural verses such as Isaiah 40:21. Why, then, was revelation necessary? 24. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 177–178; J. Dan, ‘‘Three Phases of the History of the Sefer Yezira,’’ Frankfurter Judaistische Beiträge 21 (1994), pp. 7–29. 25. See Malter, op. cit., pp. 178, 181–182, 187–191; cf. above, p. 146. 26. See Zucker, ‘‘Kitab Tah≠ ≠ sil al-Shara’i‘ al-Sam‘iyya’’; Baneth, ‘‘Hathalat ≠ Sefer haMi≠swot le-Rav Se‘adyah’’; below, with n. 41 (and cf. above, chap. 14, n. 60, and the corresponding text). Se‘adyah even formulated his version of the essential dogmas of Judaism in the context of a biblical commentary; see Ben-Shammai, ‘‘ ‘Aseret ‘Iqqerey ha-’Emunah.’’ 27. The most detailed expositions available are Guttmann, Religionsphilosophie des Saadia; Ventura, La philosophie de Saadia Gaon; Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 177–260. Briefer summaries, and discussions of particular aspects of Se‘adyah’s thought, abound; a detailed bibliography is to be included in Ben-Sasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Ga’on. 28. Cf. above, pp. 244–245.

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The answer is that not all human beings are capable of correct reasoning on such topics, and even those who are require protracted efforts to arrive at correct conclusions; rather than leave them to their own devices, God has graciously transmitted the essential truths through his prophets. Despite this, the confirmation provided by reason is valuable, both for the believers themselves, ‘‘to have confirmed in our intellect what we have learned from the prophets of God theoretically,’’ and in order to enable them to refute the arguments of those who attack their religion.≤Ω The body of the work may be viewed as an extended treatment of the two central themes of Mu‘tazilite thought, namely God’s unity and His justice. The first chapter is devoted to proving the correctness of (what Se‘adyah understands to be) the biblical assertion that the world was created ex nihilo, with the necessary implication of the existence of a Creator. The second chapter concerns the nature of the Creator whose existence was thus demonstrated, in particular (as the title of this chapter indicates) His absolute unity. This is established on the basis of rational arguments as well as scriptural evidence, and its implications clarified: not only does the notion of absolute unity exclude the possibility of corporeality, but it also implies that those qualities or attributes assigned to God—particularly Life, Knowledge, and Power—are not distinct entities but merely aspects under which human beings perceive Him. These are necessary implications of the notion of a Creator and logically inseparable from that notion, and it is only a shortcoming of human language which compels us to use three distinct terms to describe these aspects.≥≠ The next seven chapters treat aspects of the relationship between the Creator and His creation and may be subsumed under the heading of Divine justice. God in His infinite goodness wishes to allow His creatures to achieve perfect bliss; but this can only be accomplished by their own efforts, since the benefits of an unearned bounty cannot compare with the satisfaction felt by one who enjoys a well-earned reward. In order to be capable of earning this reward, mankind must be granted free will and guided towards proper behavior. This guidance takes the form of a revelation mediated by prophets; although human reason would suffice to derive many precepts in a general way (such as the prohibition of robbery or the need to punish sinners), the

29. See Landauer, Kitab al-Amanat wa’l-I‘tiqadat, pp. 22–25 (Rosenblatt, pp. 27–31; Qafih, pp. 24–27; the quotation is from the beginning of this passage; cf. the translation in Rosenblatt, ibid., pp. 27–28); for secondary literature see above, chap. 15, n. 32. 30. Landauer, ibid., pp. 73–112 (Rosenblatt, pp. 87–136; Qafih, pp. 76–115). On the context of this discussion see Wolfson, Philosophy of the Kalam, pp. 112–234; idem, Repercussions of the Kalam, pp. 1–74.

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nuances of even such fundamental principles could not be settled in unambiguous and definitive fashion by the same means. Furthermore, God has granted us not only rational but also revealed precepts. The first category of precepts are designated ‘aqliyyat, ‘‘rational,’’ the latter sam‘iyyat, literally ‘‘auditory,’’ that is, their authority stems from the fact that they are ‘‘dictated’’ by God. Such precepts may serve ends which human reason is able to appreciate; for instance, the prohibition of performing work on certain days allows for relaxation and provides opportunities for social intercourse. God may also, however, arbitrarily enjoin or prohibit the performance of certain actions, in themselves perfectly neutral, merely for the purpose of rewarding His subjects when they obey Him. So long as they are ultimately granted suitable recompense, Se‘adyah argues, there is nothing unjust or logically reprehensible about this; in fact, it is perfectly in keeping with God’s purpose in creating the world, as we have seen.≥∞ The notion that human beings can earn reward necessarily implies, given the fundamental assumption of Divine justice, that they are free moral agents; God’s foreknowledge does not imply predestination and is not the cause of their actions.≥≤ The world in which we live, however, is clearly not the venue in which human beings receive their just deserts, nor was it designed for this purpose. The final reckoning must take place in another world, the existence of which we may surmise, although we have no direct experience of it. This leads into a discussion of the nature of the soul and its fate after death. At the moment of death the soul is separated from the body and set aside, to be ultimately reunited with it in the World to Come. This world will come to be in the Messianic era promised in the Bible, which will be ushered in by the national redemption of Israel, so that the final settling of accounts will apply not only to individuals but also to God’s chosen people as a whole. An attempt is made to explain how it will be possible for every individual to be equitably recompensed in the World to Come. The book ends with a chapter, rather loosely connected to the remainder of the work, on the subject of the ideal way of life. Se‘adyah’s basic contention is that one should strive for a balanced approach, in which many drives—physical, mental, and spiritual—are blended in the 31. See Landauer, ibid., pp. 112–118 (Rosenblatt, pp. 137–145; Qafih, pp. 116–122); Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. xxi–xxiii; Sklare, Samuel ben A Hofni, pp. 148–151. 32. See Landauer, ibid., pp. 150–165 (Rosenblatt, pp. 186–204; Qafih, pp. 155–168). On the context of this discussion see Fakhry, History of Islamic Philosophy, pp. 57–70; Wolfson, Philosophy of the Kalam, pp. 601–719; idem, Repercussions of the Kalam, pp. 199–233. Of course, Se‘adyah’s resolution of this theological crux leaves something to be desired, but the summary in Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 216, seems unduly harsh.

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proper proportion; none of these, however elevated, should be pursued to the exclusion of all others.≥≥

A Samuel b. Hofni and Other Geonim Se‘adyah’s most enthusiastic disciple among the later Geonim, in this as A in several other areas, was Samuel b. Hofni, head of the Sura academy at the turn of the eleventh century. Although he produced no single, comprehensive work comparable in scope to the Book of Beliefs and Opinions,≥∂ Samuel, who was an extremely prolific author, wrote approximately ten books on theological topics. The study of these works is still in its infancy. Apart from a single treatise, which was originally published anonymously and later recognized as one of Samuel’s writings, the identification and publication of Genizah fragments containing substantial portions of his theological works has occurred only in the last few years.≥∑ The first of Samuel’s theological works to be published deals with the subject of Divine names and attributes. As we have seen, questions touching on the nature of God’s uniqueness and the metaphysical status of His attributes were a major focus of Mu‘tazilite thought and occupied a place of honor in Se‘adyah’s Book of Beliefs and Opinions.≥∏ Another important issue, hotly debated in the context of competition between Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, was the possibility that God would abrogate a prophetic dispensation. The Jews held that the Torah represented an irrevocable Divine message; Christians and Muslims, while not denying its Divine origin, claimed that it had been superseded by later revelations. In response to this claim, Jewish Kalamists were also anxious to demonstrate that the law of the Torah was internally consistent and that earlier laws had not been revoked in favor of later ones. If, for example, the precept of levirate marriage (Deuteronomy 25:5) appeared to contradict the prohibition against marrying one’s sister-inlaw (Leviticus 18:16), this prohibition was never meant to apply to the circum33. For a recent discussion see L. E. Goodman, ‘‘Saadiah’s Ethical Pluralism,’’ Journal of the American Oriental Society 100 (1980), pp. 407–419. 34. The most comprehensive of his theological works, so far as we know, was a work in one hundred short chapters, tentatively identified by Sklare as his Book of Guidance A (Kitab al-Hidaya, possibly identical with Kitab al-Irshad). See Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 26–27. 35. The bulk of this material was discovered by Sklare and much of it is published in A Samuel ben Hofni. 36. See Goldziher, ‘‘Ein anonymer Traktat zur Attributenlehre’’; Abramson, ‘‘Sefer A A Hadash shel Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni.’’

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stances in which levirate marriage was required. On the other hand, Muslim theologians applied the approach of ‘‘abrogation’’ (naskh) to the Koran itself and resolved many of its internal contradictions by asserting that God had given Muhammad certain instructions which were valid for a limited period and were later supplanted by others; this gave rise to a large literature on subjects such as the means by which the chronological order of the various revelations might be established.≥π Se‘adyah Gaon had dealt with this topic A quite briefly in his Book of Beliefs and Opinions, but Samuel b. Hofni devoted to it a work in ten chapters, the Kitab Naskh al-Shar‘ (Book on the Abrogation of the Law). According to its introduction, this work was written at the request of an unnamed dignitary; it seems that its first edition was included in a series of responsa on theological questions, and a second edition was later circulated as an independent work.≥∫ A Another work of Samuel b. Hofni’s, similar to that in which the treatise on the subject of abrogation was first published, was known as ‘Ashar Masa’il (Ten Questions) and dealt with an assortment of questions of a theological nature, including whether the Torah was binding only on the Jewish people or, in one fashion or another, on the world at large.≥Ω The unnamed questioner was a Jew with a considerable proficiency in the Kalam, who participated in majalis at which some of these topics had been discussed.∂≠ Strictly speaking, such a work might be considered to belong to the genre of responsa, but in view of the scope and style of the questions and the essays devoted to them, we may perhaps think of this rather as a theological work written to order. A different sort of work, of which large portions have survived, is the Kitab fi al-Shara’i‘ (Book on the Commandments).∂∞ We have seen that Se‘adyah Gaon wrote a work of the same title, devoted to a classification of the comA mandments; Samuel b. Hofni relates explicitly to his predecessor’s work, but 37. See Wansbrough, Quranic Studies, pp. 192–202. 38. For Se‘adyah’s treatment see Landauer, Kitab al-Amanat wa’l-I‘tiqadat, pp. 128– 132 (Rosenblatt, pp. 157–163; Qafih, pp. 131–135). For the literary history of Samuel’s A work see Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 28–29; for a preliminary publication of substantial fragments of the work see ibid., n. 120. 39. See ibid., pp. 237–249. The question mentioned in the text is discussed at pp. 246– 248, where Sklare raises a difficulty which seems to me illusory: the second question was whether Gentiles are obligated to convert to Judaism, the third whether they are obligated, so long as they remain Gentiles, to observe the Torah. 40. See ibid., pp. 245–246, and above, at the beginning of this chapter, with n. 7. 41. The following description is based on the discussion by Sklare, ibid., pp. 167–191; the surviving fragments of the text are translated at pp. 195–236 and published at pp. 3– 34 of the Arabic section.

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can hardly be said to have taken it as a model. Samuel’s work was apparently divided into three parts, each of which was further divided into numbered chapters, although nothing is known of the contents of the third part. The first part deals with a variety of theological questions connected with the commandments, while the second is devoted to a classification of the commandments. However, in contrast to Se‘adyah’s approach, Samuel divides the commandments into overlapping categories rather than mutually exclusive ones; pending further manuscript discoveries, we can only speculate as to his reasons for doing so.∂≤ Little or nothing of Samuel’s other theological writings has been published to date, and even the titles and subjects of some of these works have yet to be firmly established; we know, at any rate, of a work on the ‘‘roots and branches’’ of religion and another on reward and punishment.∂≥ In addition to works wholly devoted to theological topics, we find a considerable quantity of theological material in other writings by Samuel. As in the case of Se‘adyah, these include his biblical commentaries and the introductions to his halakhic monographs.∂∂ In addition, Samuel began his Introduction to the Science of the Mishnah and Talmud with a large section devoted to an analysis of the nature of tradition and the assessment of its reliability.∂∑ Most of this material, however, is also unpublished, so that it is premature to attempt any comprehensive discussion of Samuel as theologian. Like Se‘adyah, Samuel b. A Hofni operated within the framework of Kalamic, and specifically Mu‘tazilite, thought. The principles underlying his approach were very similar to those utilized by Se‘adyah, but in some respects he was willing to go further in imposing the results of his theological speculation on the interpretation of canonical texts and in rejecting traditional notions. Despite the honorable precedent provided by Se‘adyah, Samuel’s boldness as a theologian was such that he acquired a bad name in more conservative circles; one thirteenthcentury rabbinic historian sums him up by saying that he wrote many books, ‘‘but these are not so reliable.’’∂∏ Samuel’s radicalism is particularly noticeable in connection with the question of miracles. Not only those designated ‘‘philosophers’’ but also main42. See ibid., pp. 184–189. 43. See ibid., pp. 27, 30. 44. See ibid., pp. 63–64 and passim; above, chap. 16, ‘‘General Characteristics of the Monographs’’; and below, chap. 19,’’Theological and Polemical Dimensions.’’ 45. See above, p. 280. 46. See Seder ha-Qabbalah le-Rabbenu Menahem f ha-Me’iri [History of the Oral Law and of Early Rabbinic Scholarship by Rabbi Menahem ha-Meiri], ed. Sh. Z. Havlin, Jerusalem and Cleveland, 1992, pp. 119–120. Cf. also the responsum of Hayya Gaon, quoted below.

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stream Kalamists allocated to miracles a strictly limited, albeit important, role: they were reserved for prophets and served to authenticate their prophetic mission.∂π Se‘adyah rejected this restriction of the scope of miracles and attempted to weaken the link between miracles and prophecy for other reasons as well.∂∫ Nevertheless, his rationalist approach led him to impose on the miraculous a philosophical framework, which necessitated interpreting the details of various miraculous accounts nonliterally. For instance, Balaam’s ass did not really speak (Numbers 22); rather, God created a voice which originated in the air near her mouth, so that Balaam was deceived into thinking that the ass had spoken. Similarly, the witch of Endor could not possibly have brought Samuel back to life at Saul’s behest (1 Samuel 28); it was God who did so, whereas she had intended to practice the tricks of her trade and fool A Saul.∂Ω For Samuel b. Hofni, on the other hand, it was unthinkable that God should have performed a miracle for a witch; nothing had actually occurred but fraudulent witchcraft. For this interpretation he was roundly criticized by a number of authors.∑≠ The well-known responsum of Hayya Gaon concerning the talmudic account of ‘‘the four who entered Paradise’’ sheds light on this topic:∑∞ And know that this was accepted unanimously by the earlier (scholars), all together, and there was not one of them who denied it, that the Holy One, Blessed be He, works signs and wonders by means of the righteous just as He does by means of the prophets, and shows the righteous awesome sights just as he shows the prophets, for there are benefits to the world in these things 47. See Wolfson, Philosophy of the Kalam, p. 571; Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 156–157 (for parallels to this source see Groner, Reshimat Teshuvot Rav Hai Ga’on, p. 58, no. 758). 48. See esp. Landauer, Kitab al-Amanat wa’l-I‘tiqadat, pp. 132–133 (Rosenblatt, pp. 163–164; Qafih, pp. 136–137). 49. See Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 50, 69–70 (Arabic A original), 251, 283–285 (Hebrew translation); Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Hagigah, nos. 4–5 (and Addenda, p. 47); Sirat, Philosophie Juive au Moyen Age, pp. 51–52; and compare the discussion of these and related topics in the responsum of Hayya Gaon, Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 155–159 (parallels as in n. 47 above). 50. See Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 158–159 and n. 3; Sirat, Philosophie Juive au A Moyen Age, p. 52; Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, p. 42. In this case the Gaon’s reading is less forced, since the biblical text does not state explicitly that the witch had actually raised Samuel. A 51. The talmudic account is found in Tosefta Hagigah 2:3 and parallels. Hayya’s A responsum is reprinted in Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Hagigah, no. 20 (the passage quoted is from p. 15), and has been widely discussed; see, for example, M. Idel, Kabbalah: New Perspectives, New Haven, 1988, pp. 318–319.

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Se‘adyah Gaon and After and there is no harm whatsoever in them . . . But Mar Rav Samuel Gaon of blessed memory, and others like him who read a great deal in the books of the Gentiles, say that these visions are not seen except by prophets, and that no miracle is performed except for prophets, and deny any account which states that a miracle was performed for the righteous, and say that it is not halakhah. And also the account of R. ‘Aqiva who saw the (Heavenly) palaces . . . they say that all these are not halakhah. But we are of the opinion that the Holy One, Blessed be He, performs miracles and great wonders for the righteous, and it is not far-fetched (to believe) that He shows them . . . the appearances of His palaces and the array of His angels.

Several other Geonim of the tenth and eleventh centuries can be shown to A have belonged to the same theological milieu as Se‘adyah and Samuel b. Hofni, but none, so far as we know, wrote independent works on theological topics. The extant source material clearly derives either from responsa or from biblical commentaries, and some vague additional references may well pertain to sources of this sort.∑≤ Of these, we will touch briefly on the writings of Hayya Gaon, both because of the relative abundance of the available source material and because of that material’s intrinsic interest. At least a dozen of Hayya’s surviving responsa, some of them quite lengthy, are devoted to theological issues.∑≥ As intimated by the passage cited above, Hayya looked askance on A Samuel b. Hofni’s far-reaching rationalism and was inclined to uphold more traditional views against the innovations introduced as a result of excessive indulgence in ‘‘the books of the Gentiles.’’ In fact, even Se‘adyah’s rationalism was too thoroughgoing for Hayya’s taste; he insisted, for instance, that God had in fact granted Balaam’s ass the power of speech.∑∂ On one occasion Hayya was asked, in connection with God’s promise to grant Hezehiah an additional fifteen years of life (Isaiah 38:5), about the notion of an appointed term for a person’s life (ajal ). This notion and its theological ramifications were much discussed in the Kalam, in the context of the seeming contradiction between Divine foreknowledge and human freedom of action. How is it possible, for example, for one man to murder another, if the victim’s appointed lifespan is thereby curtailed? Hayya began the corresponding section of his responsum by chiding the questioner: ‘‘As for the ajal which you mention in your question, whether the ajal is added to or subtracted from, we do not know what this ajal which you mentioned is . . . and the ajal is well known only outside Israel (i.e., 52. See the sources listed in n. 16 above. A 53. For references see Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, pp. 64–65, n. 91; further details may be found scattered throughout Groner, Reshimat Teshuvot Rav Hai Ga’on, pp. 58–78. 54. See Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 157–158 (parallels as above, n. 47).

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among Muslims). . . .’’∑∑ On another occasion, the Gaon wrote at length of the dangers of philosophy and instructed his correspondent to abjure this discipline and concentrate exclusively on talmudic learning.∑∏ Nevertheless, his responsa leave no doubt that Hayya Gaon operated within the framework of Kalamic thought.∑π Ideas such as the incorporeality of God and the freedom of the human will are, for him, established beyond a doubt, and any talmudic opinion which contradicts them must either be interpreted figuratively or rejected.∑∫ Hayya Gaon may actually be a more significant example of the pervasive influence of the Kalam than his predecessors who shared a predilection for theology and a real taste for Muslim literature. By the end of the Geonic period, even a scholar of conservative temperament, whose interests were overwhelmingly in the field of Talmud and halakhah, could hardly remain unaffected by the new trends.∑Ω 55. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 7, Yevamot, no. 288. This responsum was treated at length by Weil, ‘‘Teshuvato shel Rav Hai Ga’on.’’ A 56. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Hagigah, Addenda, pp. 65–66. 57. See Sklare, op. cit., pp. 64–67 and n. 91; Sirat, Philosophie Juive au Moyen Age, p. 52. I see no grounds for Sirat’s suggestion that Hayya and other Geonim, in their belief in ‘‘le monde angélique . . . semblent être influencés par le néo-platonisme’’ (ibid., p. 53, and cf. ibid., p. 80). A 58. See Lewin, Ofsar ha-Ge’onim, vol. 4, Hagigah, no. 16, and above, chap. 17 and n. A 25. Hayya was no stranger to Arabic literature himself; see Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, p. 52 and nn. 45–46 (and cf. below, chap. 20, n. 59). 59. Cf. above, chap. 16 and n. 6. An interesting example (pointed out by Sh. Abramson in lectures) is the characterization of an object which may be sold as one possessing three dimensions, found at the beginning of chap. 2 of Hayya b. Sherira, Sefer ha-Meqqahf weha-Mimkar.

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Biblical Exegesis

Throughout the earlier part of the Geonic period, the literary activity of the Geonim was restricted to a single genre: the responsum. The overwhelming majority of the questions addressed to the Geonic academies (or at least of those which survive) are devoted to the areas of talmudic exegesis and Jewish law (halakhah). While questions concerning biblical exegesis are found already in the middle of the eighth century c.e., the earliest period from which we have significant numbers of responsa, these are few and far between.∞ Although the choice of topics was dictated by the questioners and not by the respondents, biblical study probably played only a minor role in advanced Jewish education in the Geonic milieu. In any event, the material surviving from this early period is hardly sufficient to permit the reconstruction of exegetical themes or approaches. In this, as in so many other matters relating to the Geonic period, the turning point is the tenure of Se‘adyah Gaon. Se‘adyah’s lead was followed, in this area as in others, by some later Geonim: Aaron Sarjado, Gaon of PumA bedita in the mid-tenth century, and Samuel b. Hofni, Gaon of Sura at the end 1. See Mussafia, Teshuvot ha-Ge’onim, no. 45: of the forty-two responsa abstracted here, two deal purely with biblical issues and three are devoted in large measure to biblical topics but reflect talmudic concerns as well.

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of the tenth and beginning of the eleventh centuries. Others, including such leading figures as Hayya Gaon, followed the traditional pattern in this respect, writing on biblical topics only in the context of responsa. Despite evidence of his interest in biblical exegesis, including an account of his consultation with the Nestorian Catholicos (Patriarch) concerning a difficult verse in Psalms, there is very little documentation of Hayya’s approach.≤ Our analysis will therefore concentrate on the exegetical writings of the three Geonim mentioned previously and in particular (since almost none of Aaron Sarjado’s commentaries have yet been published)≥ on the commentaries of Se‘adyah and Samuel, of which large portions have been published, although much additional material still remains in manuscript.

The Scope of Geonic Exegesis In addition to numerous interpretations of biblical verses scattered throughout his other writings—especially his philosophical magnum opus, the Book of Beliefs and Opinions—Se‘adyah wrote a number of works, in Judeo-Arabic, devoted exclusively to biblical interpretation. These include a translation of the entire Pentateuch, a commentary on at least half of it, and works combining translation and commentary on a number of additional books, including Isaiah, Proverbs, Psalms, Job, and Daniel.∂ Se‘adyah assigned special titles to the various biblical books and his commentaries on them, in accordance with what he perceived to be their central themes: the commentary on Isaiah is entitled The Book of Striving for Improvement in Worship, that on Job The Book of Theodicy, that on Proverbs The Book of the Search for Wisdom, and that on Psalms The Book of Praise.∑ In this context we may draw attention to Se‘adyah’s surprising characterization of the book of Psalms as a 2. For the source of this story, which has been cited by numerous scholars (worth A noting is Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, pp. 316–317, n. 34), see Josephi b. Judah b. Jacob ibn ‘Akn¯ f ın, Divulgatio Mysteriorum Luminumque Apparentia: Commentarius in Canticum Canticorum, ed. A. S. Halkin, Jerusalem, 1964, p. 494 (Hebrew translation: ibid., p. 495). For Hayya’s responsa on biblical topics see Groner, Reshimat Teshuvot Rav Hai Ga’on, p. 58. 3. For exceptions see Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 113, n. 241; Zucker, ‘Al Targum Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on la-Torah, pp. 255, 427–430 (nn. 159, 160, 162), and cf. p. 28, n. 57. 4. See the listings in the bibliography under Derenbourg, Leveen, Qafih, Ratzaby, and Zucker. Commentaries on other biblical books have been attributed to Se‘adyah with varying degrees of plausibility; see, e.g., Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 316–327. 5. See ibid.; Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Haqdamat R. Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Yesha‘yah,’’ pp. 372– 376. Ben-Shammai argues convincingly, against Qafih and others, that Se‘adyah meant these titles to refer to the biblical books themselves (ibid., p. 373 and n. 10).

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collection of prophecies rather than a group of prayers of human authorship. This position, the defense of which required considerable exegetical gymnastics, is probably rooted in the attempt of early Karaite authorities to delegitimize the Rabbanite liturgy; they claimed that the inspired book of Psalms represented the only acceptable text for liturgical use, while Se‘adyah argued that it was ludicrous and unacceptable to address God in the same words which He had addressed to humankind.∏ The commentary on the Pentateuch was called Kitab al-Azhar, which should probably be translated The Book of Splendor (or Radiance).π These works, like Se‘adyah’s monographs on other subjects (and their Islamic models), have fairly elaborate introductions. In the case of the biblical commentaries, they provide an overview of the biblical book in question and its principal themes, and sometimes (as in the introduction to the commentary on the Pentateuch) contain extensive methodological discussions. In this respect, too, Se‘adyah served as a model for Samuel A b. Hofni. Samuel translated (independently of Se‘adyah’s earlier translation!) and commented on at least three books of the Pentateuch.∫ The characteristic form of these translation/commentaries comprises alternating sections: a group of verses is first translated into Arabic and then discussed at greater or lesser length. These works are known generically by the Arabic term tafsir (explication), which may be applied to either a translation or a commentary. Two vexed questions with regard to the work of the various Geonim on the Pentateuch must be mentioned here. The first concerns the relationship between Se‘adyah’s commentary and his translation, which was transmitted as a separate work in Arabic-speaking Jewish communities. Se‘adyah, in the foreword to his translation, describes the relationship between these two works:Ω I only composed this book because a petitioner asked me to isolate the simple meaning of the Torah text in a separate work, containing nothing of the 6. See Simon, Arba‘ Gishot le-Sefer Tehillim, pp. 13–54, esp. 17–24 (English translation: 1–57, esp. 5–11); Sokolow, ‘‘Prolegomenon.’’ On the centrality of polemics in Se‘adyah’s oeuvre see above, chap. 6, ‘‘The Rabbanite Response,’’ and chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah as the Champion of Tradition.’’ 7. Following Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 316 (pace Qafih, Perushey Rabbenu Se‘adyah Ga’on ‘al ha-Torah, Introduction, p. 6, who suggests ‘‘Book of Blossoms’’). 8. See Bacher, ‘‘Le commentaire de Samuel,’’ 15:279–283; Greenbaum, Perush haA Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, pp. 442–443 and n. 12. For surviving portions of the text see Greenbaum, op. cit.; idem, ‘‘Perush Be-Ha‘alotkha’’; idem, ‘‘Perush Ha’azinu’’; Zucker, ‘Al Targum Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on la-Torah, pp. 409–412, n. 140 (and passim, according to the index); idem, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 448–456; Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Me≠si’ah.’’ 9. J. Derenbourg, Oeuvres Complètes, 1:4 (with Hebrew translation).

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discussions of language . . . (nor) of the questions of the heretics, nor of their refutation; nor of the ‘‘branches’’ of the rational commandments or the mode of performance of the revealed ones;∞≠ but extracting the matters of the Torah text alone. And I saw that what he had requested (that I do) concerning this would be advantageous, in order that the audience might hear the matters of the Torah regarding narrative and command concisely, and the labor of someone seeking a particular story would not be protracted because of the admixture of demonstrations of every aspect, which would be burdensome. (And if) he later wants to investigate the legislation of the rational commandments and the mode of performance of the revealed ones, and the refutation of the claims of those who attack the biblical stories, let him seek it in the other book (i.e., the commentary) . . . And when I saw this I composed this book, the tafsir of the simple meaning of the Torah text alone, clarified by knowledge of the intellect and the tradition; and when I was able to add a word or a letter which would make the desired intention clear . . . I did so.

The question is, did Se‘adyah simply extract the portions of translation from the compound framework in which they had originally been included, or did he produce a revised translation, to be read separately from the commentary? Scholarly opinion is divided. There are certainly differences between the separate translation and that embedded within the commentary as transmitted, but these might be attributable to scribal errors or emendations. On the whole it seems more likely that Se‘adyah did prepare a revised translation, adhering more closely to the literal meaning of the biblical text than he had in the context of the commentary, where he could explain at length his reasons for deviating from the literal meaning. (In fact it might be said that Se‘adyah’s commentary is to a large extent an annotated translation, with numerous passages beginning, ‘‘I translated X because the word Y has Z meanings in Hebrew’’—one instance among many of the author’s penchant for enumeration.) One example of this phenomenon concerns the ‘efs ha-hayyim, f the Tree of Life, in Genesis 2–3: in his commentary Se‘adyah translates this as ‘‘The Tree of Health (or Well-Being),’’ supplying philological arguments in support of this rendering, while his separate translation renders the simple sense of the text.∞∞ Another outstanding question, which has implications for the previous question as well and which has occasioned frequent and sometimes acrimonious scholarly discussion, concerns the scope of the Pentateuchal commentaries of A Se‘adyah, Aaron Sarjado, and Samuel b. Hofni. A twelfth-century author, Joseph b. Jacob Rosh Ha-Seder, states that he was inspired to write a commentary 10. For the ‘‘branches’’ see above, chap. 15, n. 38; for the categorization of the commandments as rational or revealed see above, pp. 292–293. 11. See Abramson, ‘Inyanot be-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, pp. 40–43; for the text see Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, p. 78 (Hebrew translation: ibid., p. 296).

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on the hafftarot after studying ‘‘the threefold commentary on the Torah: from Bereshit to Wayefse (Genesis 1:1–28:9) and from Exodus to Numbers by Rabbi Se‘adyah; from Wayefse to Exodus and from Numbers until Shofeftim (DeuterA onomy 16:18) by Rabbi Samuel b. Hofni; and from Shofeftim until the end of the Torah by Rabbi Aaron b. Sarjado.’’∞≤ On the face of it, this would seem to imply that it required the combined efforts of all three Geonim to produce a commentary covering the entire Pentateuch: Se‘adyah commented on the first half of Genesis and on the books of Exodus and Leviticus in their entirety; Aaron on the second half of Deuteronomy; and Samuel on those portions not treated by his predecessors—the second half of Genesis, the first half of Deuteronomy, and the entire book of Numbers.∞≥ This picture finds support in various early booklists, especially a list ( fihrist) of works by Se‘adyah compiled by his sons; the vast majority of citations in later literature also conform to it. On the other hand, it is possible that someone in the eleventh or twelfth century had put together a ‘‘threefold commentary’’ comprising selected portions of commentaries by the three Geonim and excluding others. Some support for this hypothesis may be found in occasional citations from commentaries of Se‘adyah or Samuel on portions of the Torah outside the framework suggested above.∞∂ It has been argued, however, that these Geonim may have commented on selected pericopes, either at the request of correspondents or on their own initiative, in addition to their commentaries on entire books or half-books. Final resolution of this question must await the publication of additional manuscript material.∞∑

Exegetical Principles The methodological guidelines which the Geonim laid down in the introductions to their commentaries are of particular importance for an appre12. See Mann, ‘‘Fihrist,’’ pp. 426–427 and n. 10 (misunderstood by Malter, Saadia A Gaon, pp. 427–428); Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, p. 424, n. 409. 13. On the practice of division of the Pentateuch into half-books, see Mann, ‘‘ ’Anan’s Liturgy,’’ pp. 348–349, n. 6. 14. The evidence of cross-references must be evaluated cautiously, bearing in mind differences between references to completed commentaries and those to commentaries planned for the future, and between references to actual commentaries and those to discussions of a given passage, which may have been incorporated in other contexts. Cf. A Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, Introduction, p. 31. A 15. See Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, Introduction, pp. 24–33; idem, ‘‘Perush Ha’azinu,’’ pp. 275–276; Sokolow, ‘‘Perush R. Shemu’el ben A Hofni’’; Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. xi–xii and n. 7; BenA Shammai, ‘‘Me≠si’ah’’; Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, 1:12–15.

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ciation of their methods and aspirations as biblical exegetes. Perhaps the clearest exposition of the philosophical and hermeneutic underpinnings of this school of exegesis is to be found in Se‘adyah’s introduction to his commentary on the Pentateuch:∞∏ Now that I have finished explaining these three types of knowledge (rational, scriptural, and traditional), which are necessary for the commentator on the Torah, I see fit to preface (a description of) the (proper) method of expounding the Torah and the other books of the Prophets. I say: Since these three sorts of knowledge are the foundations of the meanings of Scripture, and since every speech includes perforce both unambiguous and ambiguous (expressions, Arabic muhkam f and mutashabih) . . . the exegete must consider all words which are in accordance with the prior dictates of reason and the later dictates of tradition as unambiguous words, and all those words which are in conflict with one of these two as ambiguous words. To explain further: A reasonable person must always understand the Torah according to the outward meaning of its words, i.e., that which is well known and widespread among the speakers of the language—since the purpose of composing any book is to convey its meaning perfectly to the reader’s heart—except for those places in which sense perception or intellectual perception contradicts the well-known understanding of an expression, or where the well-known understanding of an expression contradicts another, unequivocal verse or a tradition. But if the exegete sees that retaining the simple meaning of an expression will cause him to profess one of these four things which I have mentioned, let him know that this expression is not to be understood according to its simple meaning, but contains one or more metaphors∞π (majaz); and when he knows which type of metaphor is involved . . . in order to bring (the expression) to (agree with) its unambiguous (equivalent, Arabic muhkam), f this Scripture will be brought into accord with the senses and the intellect, with other verses and with tradition.

This programmatic statement is followed by a series of illustrations, one for each of the four types of contradiction to be resolved by the exegete. The description of Eve in Genesis 3:20 as ‘‘the mother of all living things’’ cannot be interpreted literally, for to do so would be to contradict the evidence of our senses, which inform us that lions, oxen, and other animals are not born of human mothers; we must assume that the verse contains another word which is suppressed in its surface structure and translate: ‘‘the mother of all speaking 16. Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 17–18 (Hebrew translation, p. 191); I am indebted to H. Ban-Shammai for corrections of Zucker’s text, based on a new collation of the manuscripts. 17. I have adopted this ‘‘literal’’ translation (see ibid., p. xliii) for the sake of convenience, although the semantic range of majaz is much wider (see ibid., pp. xliii–xlvi; BenShammai, ‘‘Haqdamat R. Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Yesha‘yah,’’ pp. 380–382).

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living things,’’ that is, of all humans. The statement (Deuteronomy 4:24) that God is ‘‘a consuming fire’’ must be interpreted metaphorically, since reason establishes that fire is contingent and mutable, while God is not. Malachi 3:10 must be interpreted so as not to contradict Deuteronomy 6:16, which is considered to be unambiguous. The prohibition (Exodus 23:19, 34:26; Deuteronomy 14:21) to ‘‘seethe a kid in its mother’s milk’’ must be interpreted more broadly, in keeping with rabbinic tradition, to prohibit consumption of any mixture of meat and milk, ‘‘since the tradition was transmitted by eyewitnesses.’’∞∫ Parallels for these categories of circumstances which call for nonliteral interpretation may also be found without difficulty in the commentaries of Samuel A b. Hofni. As an instance of nonliteral interpretation required by what might be described as the evidence of the senses, we may cite Samuel’s comments on Genesis 41:54, in which he points out that it is implausible to understand the reference to a famine in ‘‘all the lands’’ literally, or to imagine that the denizens of the entire world came to Egypt to seek food (Genesis 41:57), ‘‘for the distant lands of the East and those at the ends of the West are not dependent on the produce of Egypt’’; all the references in this passage are to be understood as referring exclusively to ‘‘the lands of the people of Egypt and the cities of Syria and their environs.’’∞Ω As an example of theologically motivated interpretation, we may mention his commentary on Numbers 11:19–20: ‘‘Not one day shall you eat, nor two . . . but a month.’’ Arguing that it is inconceivable that God should brag of His generosity in the manner of misers (despite the continuation of verse 20!), he proposes a novel interpretation of these verses as an explicit threat: those most deserving of punishment will die after a single day of eating meat, those slightly less deserving of punishment will enjoy two days of meat-eating before suffering their fate, and so on.≤≠ In Genesis 48:8, ‘‘Israel saw’’ is to be interpreted as ‘‘became aware—by means of their voices or some other trait,’’ in order to avoid contradiction with verse 10 of the same chapter, which states that Israel was unable to see, ‘‘and because of this I translated it ‘knowledge’ rather than ‘sight,’ so that there should be no contradiction between the two statements.’’≤∞ (Note that Se‘adyah translated literally in this 18. See Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 17–18 (Hebrew translation, pp. 191; and cf. p. 78, with Hebrew translation on p. 296), with parallels in the Book of Beliefs and Opinions (Landauer, Kitab al-’Amanat wa’l-I‘tiqadat, pp. 212–213; Qafih, pp. 221–224; Rosenblatt, pp. 265–267) and elsewhere (see Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Haqdamat R. Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Yesha‘yah,’’ p. 379, with bibliography in n. 38). It is not clear just what these eyewitnesses are supposed to have observed (Moses’ behavior?). A 19. See Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, pp. 156–159 (including Hebrew translation). 20. See ibid., p. 445 (Hebrew translation, p. 444). 21. See ibid., p. 325 (Hebrew translation, p. 324).

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instance, presumably accepting the interpretation offered by most commentators that Israel’s vision was impaired but he was not completely blind.) Finally, the reference in 1 Samuel 31:12 to the cremation of the bodies of Saul and his sons is not to be understood literally, since such behavior would not have been in keeping with Jewish law; rather, this must refer to the custom of burning goods in honor of deceased kings.≤≤ In Se‘adyah’s introduction, the classification of cases in which the text is to be interpreted nonliterally is followed by a list of linguistic and stylistic phenomena to be borne in mind by the commentator; similar lists are contained in Samuel’s introductions to the various portions of his commentary. In the fragments of Se‘adyah’s list which have survived, we find such phenomena as a single verb governing two clauses, asyndetic constructions and others in which ‘‘missing’’ words are to be supplied by the reader, and the substitution of one consonant for another.≤≥ In a similar list, which has survived almost intact, Samuel demands of the commentator extensive linguistic expertise, which he describes under twenty-two headings, for example, ‘‘the fourth sort, that he should know all the nouns, whether common or rare, found in Scripture, such as the stones of the breastplate . . . the eighth sort, that he should know the past which is expressed as the future, such as ‘they will make a calf in Horeb’ (Psalms 106:19) . . . the tenth sort, that he should know the plural which is expressed as singular, such as ‘and Israel encamped’ (Exodus 19:2).’’≤∂ Most of Se‘adyah’s literary innovations are deeply rooted in contemporary Arabic culture, and his work in the field of biblical exegesis is no exception. The very centrality of biblical studies in Se‘adyah’s agenda very likely reflects this influence.≤∑ Moreover, both the broad outlines of the philological program pursued by the Geonim (including such linchpins of their system as the muhkam/mutashabih f dichotomy adumbrated in the Koran itself) and many of its specific techniques for analyzing linguistic and stylistic phenomena have close parallels in Islamic discussions of hermeneutics.≤∏ Perhaps even closer parallels are to be found in Oriental Christian exegetical literature, where some of these themes may be traced back to discussions in patristic writings of 22. See ibid., p. 315 (Hebrew translation, p. 314). This example is actually more extreme in that the Gaon avoids attributing non-halakhic behavior to biblical characters; cf. below, ‘‘Theological and Polemical Dimensions,’’ with n. 35. 23. See Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 19–20 (Hebrew translation, pp. 192–195). 24. See ibid., pp. 448–450. 25. See esp. Drory, Reshit ha-Maga‘im, pp. 162–164. 26. See esp. Zucker, ‘Al Targum Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on la-Torah, pp. 229–236; idem, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. xxxv–lxix.

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literal versus allegorical meaning.≤π We have also seen that the theological positions of the Geonim, which play an important role in shaping their biblical exegesis, place these authors well within the framework of contemporary Christian and Islamic thought.

Theological and Polemical Dimensions The philosophical training and sensitivities of the Geonic authors find expression in many contexts. For instance, Samuel paraphrases accepted philosophical opinions in his discussions of topics such as the nature of beauty or the interpretation of dreams.≤∫ The theory of the ‘‘four elements’’ was so well established in Se‘adyah’s mind that he found it necessary to explain why the biblical account of creation makes no explicit mention of the creation of fire.≤Ω Ingenious interpretations of biblical verses, designed to avoid such theologically objectionable elements as anthropomorphism or mythic motifs, are to be found fairly frequently. We shall mention two examples of verses from elsewhere in the Bible which Se‘adyah cites and interprets in the course of his commentary on the first chapter of Genesis. Psalms 104:26 is interpreted to mean not that Leviathan was created to be God’s plaything but that he was created to play in the ocean,≥≠ and when God is said in Genesis 2:15 to have taken Adam and placed him in the Garden of Eden, this was ‘‘not (done by) coercion, because He has no (direct) entry to the actions of speaking creatures (i.e., human beings), but by command.’’≥∞ The Geonim found it necessary to uphold the indispensability of the Bible in philosophical terms, both on a global level and in terms of its specific contents. Se‘adyah explains that the Torah comprises three major components, which complement each other in achieving the central aim of motivating the reader to obey the Divine commands:≥≤ For it is a book which teaches obedience (to God), and the essence of obedience (to God) is performance of the commandments. And we have found 27. See B. Chiesa’s essay in Ben-Sasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Ga’on. A 28. See Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, pp. 88–89 and n. 50*, 104–107 and n. 35, and cf. ibid., Introduction, pp. 87–90. 29. See Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, p. 62 (Hebrew translation, p. 272; cf. n. 355 ad loc.). Even prophecy is mediated, according to Se‘adyah, by the four elements; see Ben-Shammai, ‘‘ ‘Al Yesod Polemosi be-Torat ha-Nevu’ah,’’ pp. 144–146. 30. See Zucker, op. cit., p. 242 (in Hebrew translation; the transcription of the corresponding manuscript page is mistakenly omitted on p. 43), and n. 178 ad loc. 31. See ibid., p. 50 (Hebrew translation, p. 251). Se‘adyah was attacked for this interpretation; see ibid., p. 251, n. 257. 32. See ibid., pp. 7–8 (Hebrew translation, pp. 171–172).

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that the best preparation [for] human acceptance of the commandments is threefold: commandment, (notification of) reward, and (examples for) consideration. Commandment: ‘‘Do’’ and ‘‘Do not.’’ (Notification of) reward: exposition of the consequences and recompense of actions which have been mandated or prohibited. (Examples for) consideration: accounts of the affairs of people who kept this (scil. God’s commandments) and flourished, and those who ignored it and perished. . . . And because the All-Wise knew that we should derive the greatest benefit from the conjunction of these three types, He made these three foundations the basis of His Torah.

In keeping with this approach, Se‘adyah proceeds to discuss the benefits to be gained from other sorts of material contained in the Torah, including genealogies and accounts of journeys, ‘‘for it is inadmissible that the Torah contains things which are of no benefit.’’≥≥ In his commentary on the account of Creation, he reiterates several times (even commenting on the repetition himself) a fourfold explanation of the significance of this account. Its purposes are (1) to move us to worship the Creator, (2) to prevent us from worshipping His creatures, (3) to engender belief in the biblical accounts of miracles involving His creatures, and (4) to foster obedience to those commandments connected with these creatures.≥∂ A related concern is the desire to justify the actions of the forefathers, so that they may serve as fitting models of behavior. The Geonim seem much less willing than the talmudic rabbis to criticize the actions of biblical figures and more determined to justify their behavior.≥∑ For instance, Samuel refuses to interpret Numbers 11:22 as indicating that Moses questioned God’s omnipotence. In lieu of this he offers two interpretations: either Moses means to say that the rebels will never be satisfied, even if they are offered all the meat in the world, or else he means that since God had said (in verse 20) that ‘‘it will be loathsome to you,’’ all the meat in the world would not suffice to benefit them.≥∏ Linguistic arguments of one sort or another frequently serve to resolve theological difficulties, as indicated in the passage from Se‘adyah’s introduction cited earlier: ‘‘If the exegete sees that retaining the simple meaning of an expression will cause him to profess one of these four things which I have mentioned, let him know that this expression is not to be understood according to its simple meaning, but contains one or more metaphors; and when he 33. See ibid., p. 9 (Hebrew translation, p. 175). 34. See ibid., pp. 32, 35, 40–41, 46, 50 (the corresponding Hebrew translations are at pp. 221, 225–226, 236–237, 246, 251). 35. The motivation for this is probably partly polemical and partly theological, reflecting a reluctance to attribute human frailties to heroic figures. Cf. n. 22. A 36. See Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, p. 447 (Hebrew translation, p. 446).

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knows which type of metaphor is involved . . . in order to bring (the expression) to (agree with) its unambiguous (equivalent), this Scripture will be brought into accord with the senses and the intellect.’’ A clear example of theologically motivated lexicographical (and syntactical) discussion may be found in Se‘adyah’s commentary on Genesis 6:6. Se‘adyah justifies his translation of the verb wa-yinnahem, f of which God is the subject, as ‘‘warned’’ (rather than ‘‘regretted’’ or the like) by distinguishing seven different meanings which he attributes to this root,≥π and adds that in keeping with this interpretation, ‘‘he was saddened to his heart’’ should be taken as referring to (Every)man. This explanation, however, is followed by an alternative one, in which the words are interpreted according to their obvious sense and the theological difficulties presented by the verse are resolved by philosophical arguments. But linguistic observations, almost invariably documented by reference to other biblical verses, comprise a major component of the Geonic commentaries and are not employed exclusively (and perhaps not even primarily) in the pursuit of theological or philosophical objectives. We may mention, as one instance among many, Samuel’s comment on Genesis 41:56, in which he argues that peney ha-arefs are ‘‘the prominent people and rulers of the land,’’ buttressing this interpretation by reference to Job 22:8.≥∫ The linguistic aspect, we may recall, is one of three which Se‘adyah singled out in characterizing his commentary—or, more precisely, in noting what has been omitted from this commentary in his translation: ‘‘a separate work, containing nothing of the discussions of language . . . (nor) of the questions of the heretics, nor of their refutation; nor of the ‘branches’ of the rational commandments or the mode of performance of the revealed ones.’’ Let us now turn to the remaining two elements emphasized by the Gaon: the polemical aspect and what might be termed ‘‘the rabbinic connection.’’ As we have seen, polemics occupy a central place in Se‘adyah’s oeuvre.≥Ω 37. In this instance Se‘adyah’s analysis is fraught with grammatical difficulties, some of which derive from confusion of distinct roots (see chap. 20, ‘‘Se‘adyah Gaon as Linguist,’’ with n. 28) and others from the joint treatment of various forms of a single root. See Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 100–101 (Hebrew translation, pp. 333–335). 38. In this instance (as noted by Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben A Hofni, p. 167, n. 230) the basic interpretation, without the supporting verse, is to be found in Genesis Rabba 91:5 (ed. Theodor-Albeck, pp. 1120–1121). For the linguistic techniques of the Geonim, see esp. Bacher, ‘‘Le commentaire de Samuel,’’ 16:106–110; Zucker, ‘Al Targum Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on la-Torah, pp. 237- 266. 39. See above, chap. 6, ‘‘Rabbanite Reactions,’’ and chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah as the Champion of Tradition.’’

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Polemical comments, whether implicit or explicit, are scattered in great profusion throughout Se‘adyah’s writings on other subjects and are particularly prominent in his biblical commentaries, especially—for obvious reasons—in his commentaries on the Pentateuch.∂≠ In fact, one of his reasons for engaging in systematic biblical commentary is likely to have been the undesirability of leaving a clear field to schismatics and freethinkers, who had been writing on biblical topics for several decades.∂∞ One striking passage, in the commentary on Genesis 1:14–19, deals at some length with nine or ten different calendrical systems which Se‘adyah rejects in favor of the traditional Rabbanite calendar; several proponents of these competing systems are named, while others remain anonymous.∂≤ In the context of his commentary on Genesis 1:26, Se‘adyah notes that the verse is used by Christians as an argument for the Trinitarian doctrine, because of the plural form of the verb na‘aseh (‘‘Let us make’’); he interprets this as an instance of the ‘‘royal we,’’ and proceeds to argue at some length that since the Christians agree that various expressions in this passage are not to be taken literally, they cannot legitimately insist on a literal interpretation of this particular verb.∂≥ In Samuel’s commentary the polemical dimension is less pronounced, but not altogether lacking. We find a number of brief passages devoted to refuting attacks by unnamed opponents on the veracity or plausibility of the biblical account or on the behavior of biblical heroes, as well as a refutation of an argument adduced in favor of a non-Rabbanite calendar.∂∂ It is interesting to note in this context that Samuel criticizes ‘‘the Christian translator’’ 40. See Malter, Saadia Gaon, p. 262; Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, p. xvii; for some examples in other works see Qafih, Mishley, p. 38 and n. 8; Assaf et al., Siddur Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, p. 10 (cf. above, chap. 6, n. 64); and below, chap. 20, at the end of the section ‘‘Se‘adyah Gaon as Linguist.’’ 41. See above, chap. 6, esp. ‘‘ ‘Anan and the Origins of Karaism’’ and ‘‘Rabbanite Reactions,’’ and chap. 15, towards the end of the section ‘‘Se‘adyah as Revolutionary.’’ A Cf. Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, p. 126, n. 84, and p. 127. 42. The groups discussed include ‘‘Zadokites,’’ ‘‘Boethusians,’’ ‘‘Badarites,’’ and the disciples of Benjamin (al-Nihawandi) and (Abu ‘Imran al-)Tiflisi; see Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 41–42 (Hebrew translation, pp. 237–238; and cf. pp. 436–447). For other discussions of this subject by Se‘adyah see Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 168–171, 351–353. 43. See Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. 50–51 (Hebrew translation, p. 252). Cf. Landauer, Kitab al-’Amanat wa’l-I‘tiqadat, pp. 89–90 (Qafih, pp. 93– 94; Rosenblatt, pp. 107–108). Cf. S. Stroumsa, ‘‘ ‘What Is Man’: Psalm 8:4–5 in Jewish, Christian and Muslim Exegesis in Arabic,’’ Henoch 14 (1992), pp. 283–291. A 44. See Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, pp. 47, 153, 445 (corresponding Hebrew translations, pp. 46, 152, 444); cf. ibid., Introduction, pp. 91– 92; Bacher, ‘‘Le commentaire de Samuel,’’ 15:287–288.

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(Septuagint = Peshitta) of Genesis 47:31, for reading the consonantal text A as mafttf eh (staff) rather than the Masoretic mifttf ah (bed).∂∑ MTH

The Relationship between Talmudic and Geonic Exegesis The attitude of the Geonim to the classic rabbinic tradition, as transmitted in talmudic and midrashic literature, is a complex one. The tradition unquestionably retained their complete allegiance with regard to matters of law in the broadest possible sense (halakhah); and one notable component of their commentaries, as emphasized by Se‘adyah, is the incorporation of legal material, including quotations from talmudic sources and occasional references to post-talmudic developments.∂∏ This is particularly noteworthy in view of the fact that practically all of the Geonic commentaries published to date are devoted to nonlegal portions of the Bible, so that the legal discussions in question have been introduced into a narrative context. One reason for this was undoubtedly the desire of the Geonim to emphasize the connection between rabbinic tradition and the Bible as part of their struggle against Karaism.∂π But there are other reasons as well; we may cite in this connection Samuel’s commentary on Genesis 41:49, where he remarks, ‘‘We saw fit to dwell here at length on hoarding, because it is relevant to the story and most of the grain merchants in our time do hoard.’’∂∫ The status of rabbinic statements on nonlegal matters is much more complicated. The Geonim accepted numerous rabbinic traditions of an aggadic nature as authoritative and based their commentaries on them, whether explicitly or implicitly. For instance, Samuel’s account of biblical chronology depends explicitly on that of Seder ‘Olam.∂Ω On the other hand, both Se‘adyah and Samuel feel free to reject rabbinic statements of a nonlegal nature and sometimes use surprisingly harsh language to describe these rejected opinions. Perhaps the most striking instance is one in which Se‘adyah states that ‘‘one of A 45. See Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, pp. 316–317 and n. 34. 46. See ibid., Introduction, pp. 65–75; Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on liBereshit, pp. xiii–xviii; and cf. Bacher, ‘‘Le commentaire de Samuel,’’ 16:112, 119–120. For an example of post-talmudic legal development see Zucker, p. 149 (Hebrew translation, p. 412). 47. See above, chap. 6, ‘‘Rabbanite Reactions,’’ and the end of the preceding section. A 48. See Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, p. 153 (Hebrew translation, p. 152). 49. See ibid., pp. 42–43, 46–47, 70–71, 88- 89, 98–101, 188–191 and n. 306; and cf. pp. 172–173, 198–199 and nn. 336–337.

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our nation imagined’’ that Palestine was not inundated in the Flood, and goes on to say that ‘‘we must explain his error.’’∑≠ It seems clear that these Geonim considered many (perhaps most) aggadic comments to represent individual interpretations rather than authoritative traditions, although it is difficult to define the criteria which guided them in differentiating between these two categories, aside from a subjective assessment of the extent to which these comments represent serious attempts at exegesis rather than fanciful homiletics.∑∞ An explicit methodological statement on this point is to be found in a fragment of Samuel’s introduction to his commentary on the second half of Genesis:∑≤ The eighth matter: that whatever belongs to the eight categories of the commandments—valid, invalid, forbidden, permitted, unclean, clean, guilty, or innocent—he should explain with precision and clarity, without any deviation from what is laid down by Scripture and the tradition. The ninth matter: that whatever is established by an explicit verse or clarified by Scripture or established by rational demonstration, he should state unreservedly and decisively; but whatever pertains to those interpretations (tafasir, pl. of tafsir) which the Sages call midrashot and aggadot . . . in matters other than the commandments, with which he embellishes his discourse, he should say, ‘‘It may be’’ or ‘‘It is suitable.’’

Geonic exegesis in general may be characterized as more disciplined and less fanciful than earlier rabbinic exegesis, and more concerned with a close, systematic reading of the biblical text, in which attention is devoted both to the smallest textual units and to the integrity of larger narratives. Some differences in this area between the Geonim are, however, worth noting. Se‘adyah Gaon seems to have retained something of the homiletical mentality of the talmudic rabbis; this finds expression both in interpretations which attribute significance to minor variations in spelling and in his willingness to offer a number of interpretations for a single verse, of which one is said to be the simple or literal meaning of the text while the others are obviously and admittedly homiletical 50. This example is found in Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, p. 109; for a Hebrew translation see pp. 349–350, with the important discussion in n. 77 ad loc. Zucker discusses further examples in Se‘adyah’s commentary at p. 267, n. 323; p. 276, n. 380; p. 286, n. 422; p. 300, n. 505. 51. See above, chap. 10, ‘‘Interpretation and Application of the Talmud,’’ with n. 36. Cf. Ben-Shammai, ‘‘Ha-Sifrut ha-Midrashit-Rabbanit be-Perushey RaSaG.’’ 52. See Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, p. 448; and cf. Greenbaum, A Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, p. 521 (Hebrew translation, p. 520; disA cussed by Sklare, Samuel ben Hofni, p. 41).

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A in nature.∑≥ Samuel b. Hofni appears to focus more closely on straightforward interpretations; when he offers multiple interpretations, these are presented as alternatives, only one of which is presumed to be the true explanation.∑∂ Although Samuel’s commentary contains numerous passages of a homiletical or hortatory nature, these do not purport to derive their message from textual clues such as variant spellings or ‘‘superfluous’’ words, but rather from the thrust of the biblical account as a whole, and especially from the actions of exemplary figures, such as the Patriarchs and Jacob’s sons.∑∑ On the other hand, Samuel is fond of introducing lengthy digressions having only a tenuous connection with the biblical text on which he is commenting, a practice for which he was roundly criticized by Abraham Ibn Ezra.∑∏ For instance, the account of Jacob’s departure from Beersheba in Genesis 28:10 occasions a disquisition on journeys and their purposes, including a survey of those mentioned throughout the Bible; while the account of Joseph’s storing up grain in preparation for the famine in Egypt provides the opportunity for a lengthy discussion of factors to be considered in grain storage, ending: ‘‘And the masters of agriculture have mentioned many things of this sort which I do not see fit to mention, but I have no doubt that Joseph exercised care for the grain of Egypt and guarded it in such fashion or in even more effective ways.’’∑π The pioneering work of the Geonim exercised considerable influence on succeeding generations of Jewish biblical exegetes, both Rabbanites and Karaites. This influence is especially prominent in the works of authors who wrote in Arabic, including Judah Ibn Balaam and Abraham Maimonides, and in the linguistic and lexicographical writings of Jonah Ibn Janah. European authors writing in Hebrew, however, also made extensive use of Geonic exegesis; this is probably most noticeable in the works of Abraham Ibn Ezra. A number of Geonic interpretations were incorporated in late works of a midrashic nature, especially in those written in Arabic. The Midrash ha-Gadol, a Yemenite com53. With regard to homiletic interpretations see Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. xv–xvi; for some examples see ibid., pp. 53, 127, 134–135 (corresponding Hebrew translations, pp. 258, 381–382, 393); for examples of multiple interpretations, see ibid., pp. 107, 118, 144 (Hebrew translations, pp. 345–346, 366, 403–404). A 54. See Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, pp. 136–137, 140– 143, 324–325, 332–333, 336–339. But the difference is perhaps one of degree; cf. ibid., pp. 80–81 and Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, p. li. 55. See Greenbaum, op. cit., pp. 44–45, 64–65, 90–93, 156–157, 182–183, 242–245, 284–285, and cf. pp. 310–313. 56. See ibid., pp. 2–8 (Ibn Ezra’s criticism is cited at p. 3, n. 5). 57. See ibid., p. 153 (Hebrew translation, p. 152); cf. Bacher, ‘‘Le commentaire de Samuel,’’ 15:283–288.

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pilation written in Hebrew, also contains a very rich vein of Geonic exegesis.∑∫ Moreover, in a broader sense, the Geonim established a precedent within the Rabbanite tradition for writing systematic biblical commentaries in a form essentially different from that of classical rabbinic midrash and doubtless provided inspiration and a sense of legitimacy to many commentators who had no direct access to their works. A 58. See Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, Introduction, pp. 34–50; Zucker, Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, pp. xxv–xxxiii.

20

Linguistics and Poetry

A concern with language was one of the intellectual factors which united legal scholars and Talmudists, theologians and biblical exegetes. Legal authorities and theologians were concerned primarily with semantic questions and devoted considerable efforts to the analysis of such terms as ‘‘gift’’ or ‘‘unity.’’∞ Biblical exegesis included a much more prominent linguistic component. A good deal of Geonic exegesis turned on the analysis of biblical words and expressions, and the Geonic commentaries frequently incorporate fairly lengthy discussions of the various meanings of a given word, with appropriate biblical citations. This sort of exegetical endeavor demanded not only semantic but also morphological—and, to a lesser extent, syntactical—analysis, but the exegete’s relationship to Biblical Hebrew remained passive, as the fruits of his analysis were expressed in Judeo-Arabic. Creative writing in Hebrew was restricted to other genres which were distinguished by the predominance of their aesthetic, as opposed to their communicative, dimensions; probably the most fruitful of these was the genre of liturgical poetry ( piyyu ft), which ancient tradition restricted almost exclusively to Hebrew.≤ Linguistics was generally 1. See, for example, chap. 16 passim and p. 292; Assaf, Mi-Sifrut ha-Ge’onim, p. 5; and cf. Hayya b. Sherira, Sefer ha-Meqafh weha-Mimkar, chap. 1. 2. See Drory, Reshit ha-Maga‘im, pp. 46–80. (A limited quantity of quasi-liturgical poetry was, however, written in Aramaic.)

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not pursued as an independent field of study but as an ancillary discipline to other, more central intellectual concerns. Since the connection between linguistics and poetics was especially close, the requirements of poets were an important stimulus to the development of Hebrew linguistics.

Se‘adyah Gaon as Linguist As usual with Se‘adyah, his treatment of linguistic matters is not confined to works specifically dedicated to this subject. They play a prominent role in his exegetical writings and a lesser role in his works on theology and halakhah; particularly noteworthy are the extensive discussions of linguistic matters, especially in the area of phonology, included in his commentary on the Book of Creation.≥ But Se‘adyah devoted at least three works, including what was probably his earliest published writing, specifically to linguistics. The work which apparently represents Se‘adyah’s first literary venture is his Egron (Gatherer), or, more precisely, its first edition, which, as the author informs us in the preface to the second edition, he had published at the ripe old age of twenty.∂ This first edition was written in Hebrew and consisted of an introduction and two word-lists, the first arranged (with some relatively minor exceptions) in alphabetical order, and the second arranged alphabetically according to the ends of the words rather than their beginnings. The introduction begins with an encomium of the Hebrew language, which is both the language of the angels and the primordial language of humankind. Later this constituted an essential part of the cultural heritage of Israel, but, as a result of repeated exiles and mingling with other peoples, the knowledge of Hebrew had become increasingly restricted and faulty. Se‘adyah now took it upon himself to write this work, in the hope that it would not only facilitate poetic composition but also contribute to a revival of the use of Hebrew in daily life.∑ This is followed by a grammatical section, apparently intended to enable the reader to use the body of the book efficiently; the introduction ends with some guidelines on poetic technique.∏ Like some of Se‘adyah’s later works, the entire introduction 3. Cf. above, chap. 15, n. 7. Note that Se‘adyah’s commentary on the Mishnah lies on the border of lexicography. A 4. The major publication is Allony, Egron. Dotan, ‘‘Qeta‘ Hadash mi-Sefer Egron,’’ demonstrated that some of the fragments published by Allony actually belong to a similar work by another author. For the dating of this work and the conjecture that it was the first of Se‘adyah’s published writings, see Allony, p. 23 (with references to earlier discussions). 5. See Allony, Egron, pp. 156–160; above, pp. 247–248. 6. See ibid., pp. 32–39, 75–85; Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 37:284, 38:86– 87. Unfortunately, these portions of the introduction are very badly damaged; see Allony, pp. 160–162.

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is written in an imitation of biblical style. It is even provided with cantillation signs which were used primarily for the biblical text—a novelty which laid the author open to severe criticism, his antagonists claiming that he attempted to arrogate to himself the stature of a prophet. Se‘adyah’s introduction was probably intended to serve as the model for a new sort of elevated Hebrew prose.π As Se‘adyah himself explains, his purpose in compiling the two word-lists was to facilitate the composition of poetry. The poet could use the first list to find words which would satisfy the requirements of acrostic structures, and the second list to find words which would supply the required rhymes.∫ Although the book is frequently described as a dictionary, this is rather misleading. To judge by the surviving fragments, many words were not defined or annotated at all; others were accompanied only by brief biblical citations or glosses, frequently adduced in order to distinguish between homonyms.Ω For example, the first two entries are as follows: ‘‘Av, progenitor (i.e., father), from ‘your father and your mother’; Av, (name of a) month’’;∞≠ it is hardly plausible that any potential user would be unaware of the meaning of these two Hebrew words, or that anyone unfamiliar with the word for ‘‘father’’ would be greatly enlightened by the definition ‘‘progenitor’’ (yoled). The lists of words given, although they contained thousands of items, were not intended to be exhaustive; on the other hand, the author made a practice of noting (sometimes incorrectly, as pointed out by his critics) that certain combinations of letters are not represented by Hebrew words.∞∞ Most of the entries belong (at least according to the author’s understanding) to Biblical Hebrew, whether they are actually attested in the Bible or constructed by analogy on the basis of biblical data;∞≤ but there are also a substantial number of entries with no claim to biblical status, chiefly Aramaisms and lexical items drawn from Rabbinic Hebrew.∞≥

7. See Allony, Egron, pp. 25–30, 102–103 (and 156–161); Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 37:121–124; Drory, Reshit ha-Maga‘im, pp. 173–178 (stressing the innovative nature of Se‘adyah’s belletristic prose); and cf. Harkavy, Ha-Sarid weha-Palift, pp. 160–163. 8. See Allony, Egron, pp. 25, 152–153, 159. Hebrew poets did not yet labor under metrical constraints. 9. See ibid., pp. 52–56. Most of the surviving fragments of these sections are from the second edition, but they nevertheless enable us to draw conclusions concerning the first edition, which was incorporated in the later one; see ibid., pp. 19–22. 10. Ibid., p. 164. 11. Most of these omissions were probably the result of oversights, but some of these entries may have been omitted as a matter of policy; see ibid., pp. 90–93. 12. See Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 37:134–135. 13. See Allony, Egron, pp. 63, 70–75; cf. Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 37:131– 133.

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According to the classification found elsewhere in Se‘adyah’s writings, in which the three parts of speech are nouns, verbs, and particles, the entries in his Egron are restricted for the most part to nouns (including many proper nouns). We must bear in mind, however, that this category includes not only what we call adjectives and verbal nouns but also certain forms which in later treatments of Hebrew grammar are considered to be parts of the verbal system, especially participles (which in fact behave as nouns in Biblical Hebrew) and infinitives. Rather than attempting to isolate ‘‘roots,’’ the author seeks to determine a basic form (Hebrew yesod or yesodet, Arabic afsl ) from which other forms may be derived by one or more operations, including not only the addition of letters according to certain patterns (construction and declension of nouns, conjugation of verbs) but also the deletion of certain letters. Thus even forms which, according to our notions, contain various nominal affixes may be considered ‘‘basic’’ forms, which can be used to generate the conjugations of the corresponding verbs—the noun maqom (‘‘place’’), for example, is treated as the basic form, from which may be derived the various forms of the verb qam (or what we would call the weak verb QWM, ‘‘to stand’’).∞∂ After an unknown number of years, Se‘adyah decided to reissue this work in an expanded edition, in which the original Hebrew text was supplemented by substantial quantities of new material in Judeo-Arabic. This edition was given the name Kitab Ufsul al-Shi‘r al-‘Ibrani (The Book of the Roots of Hebrew Poetics). It included a new Judeo-Arabic introduction (alongside which the earlier Hebrew introduction was retained), brief Arabic glosses of almost all the words listed, and a greatly amplified treatment of the elements of poetics; of the discussion of poetics, however, very little has survived.∞∑ The themes of the Arabic introduction are similar but not identical to those of the earlier, Hebrew introduction; the shift in language appears to have been paralleled by a shift in the author’s emphases and modes of expression.∞∏ Rather than emphasizing the unique sanctity of the Hebrew language, for example, Se‘adyah now speaks in general terms of the dangers of losing knowledge which is not actively exercised and cultivated. Furthermore, he states explicitly that he was moved to compose the first edition of this work in emulation of an Arabic model:∞π

14. See Allony, Egron, pp. 160–161, and cf. ibid., pp. 45–51. This paragraph is based on the penetrating analysis by Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 37:275–289. 15. Or, at least, been identified. See Allony, Egron, pp. 19, 152–155, 386–389. 16. This was pointed out by R. Drory in an unpublished lecture (Cairo, 1995). The texts may be compared in Allony, Egron, pp. 148–163. 17. Allony, Egron, pp. 150–153; cf. pp. 30–31.

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Se‘adyah Gaon and After As the children of Ishmael recount that one of their notables saw that people did not speak Arabic eloquently and this distressed him, and he composed for them a brief discourse . . . so I saw that many of the children of Israel do not know the basic eloquence of our language, let alone its (rarer) alternatives; and when they speak, much of what they utter is ungrammatical; and when they compose poetry, the primary elements which they elaborate are in the minority, and those which they neglect are the majority . . . (and so) I was compelled to compose a book in which I would collect most of the words.

Here we encounter the notion of eloquence (Arabic fafsaha), which played a central role in Arabic culture and for which Se‘adyah chose the Biblical Hebrew sf ahot f (Isaiah 32:4) as a loan translation. This concept includes the requirements of grammatical correctness, fluency, and clarity of expression. It was to enjoy a place of honor not only in Se‘adyah’s scheme of things but for centuries afterwards among the Jews of Islamic lands, although the specific grammatical conceptions which they developed were to differ significantly from those of the Gaon.∞∫ This theme is at the forefront in Se‘adyah’s major grammatical work, the full title of which was Kitab Fafsih Lughat Al-‘Ibraniyyin (The Book of the Eloquence of the Language of the Hebrews).∞Ω This work was divided into twelve parts, sometimes referred to as books, and seems to have undergone a complex literary evolution. To judge from the fragmentary evidence at our disposal, at least some of these sections circulated not only within the more comprehensive framework but also as independent works; furthermore, at least some of them circulated in different recensions. Over half of the book has now been recovered from the Genizah, but certain chapters are still completely unaccounted for.≤≠ The author states that the first four parts deal with various aspects of the consonants.≤∞ The first deals with the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alpha18. See Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 37:121–124, 128–132, and compare Allony, Egron, 26–30. 19. The work is also known, in Arabic and Hebrew, by a variety of shorter titles; see Skoss, ‘‘Saadia Gaon, Hebrew Grammarian,’’ 21:75–76; Dotan, Or Rishon, Introduction, B, chap. 2. 20. For a preliminary account see Skoss, ‘‘Saadia Gaon, Hebrew Grammarian’’; a comprehensive edition with Hebrew translation and detailed introduction is to appear shortly: Dotan, Or Rishon. In his introduction (B, chap. 5) Dotan shows that the comprehensive work came first, and certain sections were later detached from it and circulated independently. 21. The relevant passage was explained imprecisely by Skoss, ‘‘Saadia Gaon, Hebrew Grammarian,’’ 21:77–78; see Dotan, Or Rishon, Introduction, F, and ibid., the beginning of chap. 5.

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bet and their combinations; apparently this part also included a discussion of the division of the consonants according to the organs of speech, and the statement that homo-organic consonants rarely occupy adjoining positions in Hebrew words. The second part treats augmentation (under which heading are included geminate and reduplicated verbs) and elision; as we have seen, Se‘adyah’s approach allows him to treat as ‘‘basic’’ many nominal forms containing affixes, which in his view are elided in order to derive from them the corresponding finite verbal forms.≤≤ An appendix to this section contains a guide to the conjugation of the verb; the basic form for this purpose is taken to be the third-person masculine singular perfect, and rules are given for constructing the other forms of perfect, participle, and imperfect, using the techniques of augmentation and elision as necessary. This analysis makes no use of the concept of the verbal root, nor of the distinction between the various conjugations of the Hebrew verb. Thus, for example, shibber and hikkah are treated as members of the same class because their second radicals are doubled, although modern grammarians would analyze this doubling as resulting from distinct causes: in the first case this is the mark of the pi‘el conjugation, while in the second it results from the assimilation of the nun which is the first radical of the root.≤≥ The third part deals with inflection, according to the basic division, into the categories of nouns, verbs, and particles. In terminology borrowed from philosophical discourse, ‘‘pure’’ nouns are considered substances, while those containing a verbal element are treated as accidents; these, when conjugated, become verbs. A complete table for the qal and hif‘il conjugations of a sample verb, together with all possible objective suffixes, is included. The fourth part treats the rules governing dagesh and rafeh, and includes a discussion of the six consonants which have a spirantized pronunciation when rafeh.≤∂ The next four parts deal with various aspects of vocalization, beginning with a phonological treatment of the vowels and their possible modifications, and a separate part devoted to the shewa. These are followed by treatments of the rules of vocalization of the various parts of speech, and the ways in which the normal rules are modified under the influence of laryngeal consonants. Se‘adyah’s grammatical writings represented a great advance over those of his predecessors, which had been confined to Masoretic studies and rules governing the reading of the Bible, with very little attempt at linguistic analysis. There is little doubt that his interests and ways of thinking about linguistic 22. See Skoss, op. cit., pp. 79–85; Dotan, Or Rishon, Introduction, D, chap. 2. 23. See Skoss, op. cit., p. 84; Dotan, ibid. 24. See Skoss, op. cit., pp. 85–100; Dotan, Or Rishon, Introduction, F. Se‘adyah reverted to this topic in his commentary on Sefer Yefsirah; see above, chap. 15, n. 7.

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questions were shaped by the writings of Arab grammarians.≤∑ Se‘adyah also draws explicit comparisons between Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic, and groups the three Semitic languages together under the heading ‘‘all the languages which we know.’’≤∏ His assertion of the conventional nature of language is worth noting:≤π It is inappropriate to inquire about things like this (a point of vocalization): Why is it so . . . ? . . . And this is because, when we investigated the greatest principle, the assignment of the basic words for nouns, we found that the proof . . . is consensus . . . and (people) assigned a name to every existent thing, in order that knowledge of the existent things (could) be conveyed to us . . . not because of anything which necessitates (giving) each thing its name, which is unique and exclusive to it. For if it were so, the entire world would have to turn to a single language, and true speech could not be achieved in any other; and what is called even (i.e., a stone) in Hebrew could not be called hajar f in Arabic . . . and since it is otherwise, this proves that the names are merely conventional. And similarly, if they had agreed on something else, it would have been permissible for nahar (Arabic: day) to be called duhn (oil) and duhn nahar, just the reverse, and yom (Hebrew: day) yam (sea), and so on.

From the perspective of later theories of Hebrew grammar, which developed in the course of the tenth century and are associated especially with the A names of Dunash b. Labrat and Judah Hayyuj, the most striking weakness of Se‘adyah’s linguistic analysis is the limited understanding of the behavior of weak verbs. Although Se‘adyah does not speak the language of verbal roots, his approach leads to results not very different from those obtained by authors who considered the weak verbs to have biliteral stems. Forms of different verbs which have two radicals in common are frequently analyzed, especially in the Gaon’s biblical commentaries, as deriving from a single etymon.≤∫ The last of Se‘adyah’s avowedly linguistic works is his Tafsir al-Sab‘in Laffza min Mufradat al-Qur’an (Explanation of the Seventy Isolated Biblical Words). 25. See Skoss, ‘‘Saadia Gaon, Hebrew Grammarian,’’ 23:64–67; Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 37:121–123, 280–281; Dotan, Or Rishon, Introduction, C; and cf. Allony, Egron, pp. 26–30, 85–89. 26. See Dotan, Or Rishon, Introduction, C; cf. above, chap. 9, ‘‘Knowledge of Languages.’’ 27. This passage is taken from Dotan, ‘‘Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on ‘al Hithawwut haLashon,’’ pp. 241–242; the manuscript text is somewhat corrupt, and I have incorporated several emendations (most of them suggested by Dotan) in the translation. Cf. Skoss, ‘‘Saadia Gaon, Hebrew Grammarian,’’ 21:92–93. 28. See above, n. 14, and chap. 19, n. 37; Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, 1:397, n. 56; and cf. Yahalom, Sefat ha-Shir, pp. 67–96.

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It contains at least ninety entries, which include explanations of a slightly larger number of rare biblical words, not all of them strictly speaking hapax legomena.≤Ω The common denominator of all the entries is that the rare biblical usage is illuminated by parallels in Rabbinic Hebrew (or, occasionally, Aramaic). The author’s aim is obviously to demonstrate that a knowledge of talmudic literature is indispensable for biblical interpretation, even on the purely linguistic level, and to argue from the linguistic continuity which he demonstrates for the authenticity of the legal traditions embodied in this literature. Thus he means to expose as untenable the Karaite attempt to treat Scripture as a self-contained and self-explanatory corpus, in isolation from postbiblical tradition.≥≠ Although the author mentions a number of additional motives, this is clearly the essential one:≥∞ And I saw people of the Hebrews who reject whatever is transmitted from the prophets by way of precepts and laws and is not written (in Scripture), and similarly some of them reject whatever they have heard by way of language in the speech of the nation and have not found in Scripture. And I found many words in Scripture which cannot be understood except by means of the speech which the nation has received, and, when it was intended to establish the Law (i.e., when it became necessary to compose works of rabbinic literature), it introduced whatever of that (extrabiblical speech) was needful . . . and it may be that some of those who have deviated from their (the Rabbis’) interpretation, this book will bring about their return to it, as it is demonstrated that one cannot understand the truth of what is in Scripture without recourse to their speech and their words.

Se‘adyah as Poet The composition of liturgical poetry was an ancient and central component of the Palestinian Jewish cultural tradition, which only gradually won acceptance in Babylonian Geonic circles. The fact that Se‘adyah wrote a sort of poetic manual at the age of twenty undoubtedly reflects the powerful Palestinian influence on the Egyptian cultural environment in which he was raised. It is very likely that Se‘adyah’s own career as a poet began quite early as well, 29. On this discrepancy see Klar, Mehqarim f we-‘Iyyunim, p. 265, n. 26 (my thanks to A. Dotan for this reference). For the text see Allony, Mehqerey f Lashon we-Sifrut, 1:27– 74 (with an index of biblical and rabbinic sources on pp. 67–71); Dotan, ‘‘A New Fragment.’’ 30. See above, at the end of chap. 6. Compare the famous story of Hillel and the proselyte (BT Shabbat 31a). 31. Allony, Mehqerey f Lashon we-Sifrut, 1:40–42.

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although there is no explicit evidence for this. The only items in his poetic corpus which can be dated fairly accurately are two poems in which his acrostic signature includes the title alluf or resh kallah, which would almost certainly place them between 921 and 928; one of these enumerates the 613 biblical precepts, while the other is a nonliturgical poem devoted to a refutation of the critique of the Bible by Hiwi al-Balkhi.≥≤ Various scholars have suggested that Se‘adyah’s career as a poet was in fact limited to the earlier part of his life, and that his attitude towards poetry became much more reserved after he joined the Babylonian Jewish community; but the evidence for this is far from conclusive.≥≥ Perhaps the strongest argument in favor of this hypothesis is based on Se‘adyah’s prayer book. Not only does the author present liturgical poems in a very limited number of contexts (teqi‘atot for Rosh Hashanah, ‘avodot for Yom Kippur, hosha‘not for Sukkot, azharot for Shavuot, selihot f for fast days), but he sometimes even seems to apologize for doing so. Furthermore, he criticizes recent poets, and the poems which he incorporates in his prayer book are either preclassical ones, written hundreds of years earlier, or his own creations.≥∂ One should, however, bear in mind that the avowed aim of this prayer book was to present the basic canon of the prayers in their pristine form, and that the author’s perspective was explicitly cosmopolitan. It may well be that, without having turned his back on liturgical poetry, he felt that the core of a prayer book intended for a worldwide Jewish community should be the prose liturgy, which in its essentials was common to the entire Rabbanite community. Moreover, this liturgy was of hoary antiquity, much greater than that of the earliest known liturgical poets, and for Se‘adyah’s polemical purposes this was a significant factor; not content with attributing the prose prayers to the talmudic sages, he dates them to Temple times.≥∑ It would seem that the few genres of piyyu≠t which found their way into his prayer book were more or less universally accepted by his time, even in congregations which restricted themselves in general to the ancient prose liturgy.≥∏ 32. See Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, 1:224; and above, chap. 6 and n. 62, and chap. 15, ‘‘Se‘adyah’s Career.’’ 33. The arguments offered are based in large part on the continuity, in terms of liturgical customs and linguistic usage, between early piyyu≠tim and Se‘adyah’s creations. See Fleischer, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim be-Shirato shel Rav Hayya Ga’on,’’ p. 247, n. 29; Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 37:128 (where others who took this approach are noted, and the alternative explanation adopted here is suggested), and cf. ibid., 38:84–85. 34. See Drory, Reshit ha-Maga‘im, pp. 168–170; Tobi, ‘‘Yahaso ≠ shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on la-Piyyu≠t.’’ For descriptions of the genres mentioned, see Fleischer, Shirat haQodesh, esp. pp. 71–73, 173–175, 177–179, 254–256. 35. See above, at the end of chap. 6. 36. This has to do with the relatively late practice of abstracting poems from their

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Se‘adyah was not only one of the most gifted authors in the history of Hebrew liturgical poetry but also one of the most versatile. His poetic oeuvre includes examples of a variety of classical genres, including shiv‘atot for festivals (and, perhaps, for distinguished Sabbaths as well), selihot, f hosha‘not, and ma‘arivim. So far as we know, he did not produce any complete compositions in what had been the most prestigious genre of the classical piyyu≠t, namely the qedushta, but he did create many shorter poems which were to be incorporated in the framework of broader poetic compositions for the additional service of Yom Kippur. These include a monumental composition based on Psalms 104:1–4 and several different versions of the ‘avodah (the poetic account of the Temple service for the Day of Atonement), one of which the author saw fit to include in his prayer book.≥π The largest component of Se‘adyah’s poetic legacy, however, belongs to another genre, which characterizes later Oriental religious poetry as opposed to the earlier, classical period. This was the yofser, a composition which provided a poetic alternative to the prose version of the benedictions preceding and following the recitation of the Shema‘ in the morning service. Although this type of composition has classical and even preclassical precedents, it was intensively cultivated for the first time in the postclassical period of Oriental piyyu≠t (tenth–eleventh centuries), in compensation for the decline in productivity in such genres as the qedushta, which may have come about as a result of the ‘‘canonization’’ of earlier works belonging to these genres. Se‘adyah was one of the first to write a cycle of yo≠serot for all the Sabbaths of the year, according to the Babylonian custom of concluding the reading of the Torah annually.≥∫ Such a cycle would presumably have contained fifty-four compositions, one for each of the Babylonian parashot, although the full number would not have been needed except in certain leap years. To date, greater or lesser parts of half this number of compositions have been identified and published.≥Ω The identification of these original contexts within comprehensive poetic compositions and inserting them into prose frameworks, see e.g. Fleischer, Shirat ha-Qodesh, pp. 55–56, 279–280, 425–426. Cf. above, chap. 16, at the end of the section ‘‘The Monographic Writings of Se‘adyah Gaon.’’ 37. See esp. Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, 1:58–159; many of the texts are included in Assaf et al., Siddur Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, and in Zulay, Ha-Askolah haPayyeftanit shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on. For the genre of shiv‘ata, see Fleischer, Shirat haQodesh, pp. 182–198; for the ma‘ariv, see ibid., pp. 243–245. 38. See Fleischer, Ha-Yofserot be-Hithawwutam we-Hitpathutam, f pp. 190–192. 39. For the latest critical edition see Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, vol. 2; for a thorough discussion of their various aspects see ibid., 1:160–205. (For a brief summary of outstanding features see Fleischer, Ha-Yofserot be-Hithawwutam we-Hitpathutam, f pp. 194–195.) Note the allegiance to Babylonian custom, which seems to show that the

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compositions was delayed for many years because Se‘adyah, deviating from the usual practice of the payyeftanim (and from his own practice in some other poems), used the acrostics of portions of these compositions to sign, not his own name, but that of one Solomon, sometimes also giving the Arabic equivalent Suleiman. It has been conjectured that this was the name of the cantor for whose performance the poems were written. Such a practice is also known from the writings of Hayya Gaon and may be a function of the elevated social position of these authors, who, unlike most liturgical poets, were not expected to perform their own works in the synagogue.∂≠ In addition to liturgical poetry, Se‘adyah expanded the scope of Hebrew belletristic writing in a number of directions. On the one hand, he wrote poems which were not intended to be incorporated in the synagogue liturgy. One of these represents a borderline case: it is a long poem on the theme of human frailty (a so-called tokhehah), f which was apparently intended for private re∂∞ citation on Yom Kippur. Poems which are further removed from the liturgical context include two substantial polemical compositions, Essa Meshali and the refutation of Haywayhi al-Balkhi, and a poem which encodes the number of times each letter of the Hebrew alphabet appears in the Bible.∂≤ On the other hand, Se‘adyah was an enthusiastic supporter of elevated prose of various sorts and may even have been the first in the history of Jewish literature to cultivate prose composition as a form of literary art.∂≥ Here, too, Se‘adyah wrote in a variety of styles. We have already mentioned his quasi-biblical style, complete with verse division and cantillation signs, which characterizes the Hebrew introduction to the Egron as well as the polemical Sefer ha-Galuy. In the latter

author was no longer dominated by Palestinian influence. (However, S. Elizur informs me that many of Se‘adyah’s poems do contain allusions, albeit subordinate, to the Palestinian reading tradition). 40. See Zulay, Ha-Askolah ha-Payyeftanit shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, pp. 142–145 (cf. Fleischer, ‘‘Ha-Askolah ha-Payye≠tanit,’’ pp. 388–390); Fleischer, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim be-Shirato shel Rav Hayya Ga’on,’’ pp. 246–249; Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, 1:207–216. I find it difficult to reconcile Fleischer’s conjecture that this practice is a function of the true authors’ exalted positions with his confident assertion that Se‘adyah’s poetic career preceded his elevation to the Geonate. 41. A critical edition of this composition is Zulay, Ha-Askolah ha-Payyeftanit shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, pp. 65–77; for discussion see Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se’adyah Ga’on, 1:32–40. 42. For a detailed bibliography of these poems see Fleischer, ‘‘Meqomo shel RaSaG,’’ p. 11, n. 28. Precedents for the poem on the number of letters in the Bible are discussed in Zulay, Ha-Askolah ha-Payyeftanit shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, pp. 280–288. 43. See n. 7 above.

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case the author states explicitly that among the aims of this work are ‘‘to teach the nation eloquence in Hebrew speech . . . the composition of speech . . . (and) conjunction, for the knowledge of any (type of) speech is perfected only by means of conjunction,’’ and the same almost certainly applies to the introduction to the Egron, as well as to Sefer ha-Mo‘adim, which was written in the context of the Palestinian-Babylonian calendar debate.∂∂ Se‘adyah also wrote a number of private prayers in a more straightforward style, which is heavily influenced by biblical models but does not aspire to a display of linguistic virtuosity. The most famous of these are his two baqqashot, one for use on weekdays and the other for use on Sabbaths and other occasions when lamentation was inappropriate. Se‘adyah included both of these in his prayer book and recommended them for use as optional prayers, in addition to the mandatory prayers which are included in the public liturgy. There is ample evidence that these prayers were immensely popular; they have also been praised repeatedly, by medieval as well as modern authors, as supreme expressions of religious feeling in language at once beautiful, elevated, and intelligible.∂∑ Se‘adyah, with the exception of one partial precedent, was the creator of this genre of personal prayer, which became extremely popular and underwent considerable development at the hands of later Spanish authors.∂∏ The baqqashot, while treating many themes which feature in the canonical prayers, depart completely from their structure and do not contain any of the formulaic benedictions which are the hallmark of the canonical ‘Amidah prayer. However, it is nearly certain that Se‘adyah also wrote at least two alternative versions of the ‘Amidah itself; it seems that one of these was intended for communal prayer on fast days, and the other for individual prayer.∂π

44. See Harkavy, Ha-Sarid weha-Palift, pp. 154–157 (including a Hebrew translation). For the interpretation of this passage see most recently Fleischer, ‘‘Meqomo shel RaSaG,’’ pp. 7–10. 45. The texts are in Assaf et al., Siddur Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, pp. 47–81; these are accompanied in the manuscripts by Judeo-Arabic translations, one of which is by Se‘adyah himself, but these were probably not included in the original (see ibid., Introduction, pp. 43–44 and n. 5). For discussion see Malter, Saadia Gaon, pp. 153–154; Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, 1:14–22. 46. See Tobi, ibid., p. 15; for the Spanish metrical baqqashot see H. Schirmann, Toledot ha-Shirah ha-‘Ivrit bi-Sefarad ha-Muslamit [The History of Hebrew Poetry in Muslim Spain], ed. E. Fleischer, Jerusalem, 1995, pp. 148–149, 379, 504–505. (I am indebted to S. Elizur for this reference.) 47. For the texts see Zulay, Ha-Askolah ha-Payyeftanit shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, pp. 211–268; for discussion see Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, 1:23–31. The second prayer especially presents a number of halakhic problems which cannot be discussed here

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In his prose writings Se‘adyah operated in what was almost virgin territory; but his dynamism and creativity found ample room for expression even in the realm of liturgical poetry, in which he worked within existing genres with established conventions. One of the most striking facets of his poetry—or, more precisely, of large parts of his poetry, including the cycle of yofserot—is the creation of a new variety of Hebrew, which is characterized by an extravagant application of the method of analogy to the source material of Biblical Hebrew.∂∫ We have already seen Se‘adyah lament the fact that when his contemporaries compose poetry, ‘‘the primary elements which they elaborate are in the minority, and those which they neglect are the majority’’; in his view it was imperative that poets (and others) not content themselves with a modest selection of linguistic elements but fully exploit the resources of the Hebrew language. The means by which this potential was to be realized were twofold: a conscious attempt to legitimize the use of unusual and exotic elements of biblical language, including rare words and exceptional morphological and syntactical structures, and the systematic application of analogy. The theoretical basis of this approach is to be found in others of his writings, especially the Book on the Eloquence of the Language of the Hebrews, but its practical application is demonstrated in Se‘adyah’s Hebrew writing, and especially in his poetry.∂Ω According to Se‘adyah, any morphological structure attested in Biblical Hebrew might legitimately be applied to any Hebrew root, to create a dazzling array of forms unattested in the Bible but which, according to his understanding, were at least latent in Biblical Hebrew. The abundance of new nominal formations is especially noticeable: in Se‘adyah’s opinion, there could be several alternative forms for a given noun, with no difference in meaning, and he delighted in creating such forms and using them in his poems. He was especially fond of creating feminine forms of nouns attested in masculine patterns, segolate nouns from verbs, and nouns of the pattern qiftlon, often from segolate nouns. Augmented forms, both nominal and verbal, also feature prominently.∑≠ Se‘adyah’s innovations as a poet, however, are far from exhausted by the (cf. Brody, ‘‘Limits of Liturgical Flexibility,’’ esp. p. 40), but its attribution to Se‘adyah rests on fairly solid ground (see Tobi, pp. 29–30). 48. See Zulay, Ha-Askolah ha-Payyeftanit shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, pp. 13–40; Fleischer, ‘‘Ha-Askolah ha-Payye≠tanit,’’ pp. 385–386 and n. 7 (with emphasis on distinctions between genres); Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, 1:270–284, esp. 272–273; and cf. Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 37:125–130. 49. See Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 37:125–128, and Morag’s essay in BenSasson and Brody, Se‘adyah Ga’on. 50. See esp. Zulay, Ha-Askolah ha-Payyeftanit shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, pp. 31–40.

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application of his linguistic theories. He was prepared to break with hallowed tradition in terms of the themes which were considered appropriate to particular types of poem and with regard to technical features such as strophic patterns and rhyme schemes. He even went so far in several of his compositions as to completely forgo rhyme, which had been an immutable feature of piyyuft for hundreds of years.∑∞ By his frequent use of metonymy he introduced new vitality into the shopworn system of allusive appellations (kinnuyim), one of the central stylistic features of piyyuft. As in other areas, Se‘adyah seems to take special pleasure in seeking his allusions in obscure corners of the Bible; for instance, an entire tribe might be represented by a single individual who appears once, in a genealogical list in the Book of Chronicles.∑≤ He also incorporates in his poems biblical phrases which assume entirely novel meanings in their new contexts.∑≥ While Se‘adyah cannot be said to have founded a poetic school, and his successors adopted his specific innovations quite selectively, his work as a whole had a profound impact on them. His willingness to loosen the straitjacket of time-honored poetic tradition provided a crucial precedent for the Jewish poets of Spain, whose compositions elaborated many new approaches, primarily under the influence of Arabic poetry. And while the Spanish poets rejected the far-reaching use of analogy which played such an important part in Se‘adyah’s language, and restricted themselves to the use of words actually attested in Biblical Hebrew, Se‘adyah probably deserves a great deal of the credit for their resolve to abandon the traditional language of the payyeftanim and bring Biblical Hebrew back to life.∑∂

Hayya Gaon as Linguist and Poet At first glance it is perhaps surprising that Se‘adyah’s only noteworthy successor among the Geonim in the fields of linguistics and poetry was Hayya Gaon, who did not follow his precedent in other areas such as biblical exegesis A and theology. While Samuel b. Hofni wrote at least one elegy in memory of his 51. See Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, 1:251–269 and passim; Fleischer, ‘‘Meqomo shel RaSaG,’’ pp. 12–15 and n. 33. 52. See Zulay, Ha-Askolah ha-Payyeftanit shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, p. 152, note to line 36, and cf. ibid., pp. 20–21; Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, 1:281. 53. See Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, 1:262–264. 54. See Zulay, Ha-Askolah ha-Payyeftanit shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, passim (e.g., pp. 29, 34–35), corrected by Fleischer, ‘‘Ha-Askolah ha-Payye≠tanit,’’ 386–387, 391–393, and idem, ‘‘Meqomo shel RaSaG,’’ pp. 6–15; Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 37: 123–124; Tobi, Piyyuftey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on, 1:298–304.

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father,∑∑ he does not seem to have made his mark as a poet, and neither he nor Aaron Sarjado, to the best of our knowledge, turned their hands to systematic works on any aspect of linguistics. This may perhaps confirm the close connection between the two disciplines. Hayya Gaon, with his reservations about the new-fangled ‘‘foreign’’ theology, was more attracted to the traditional Jewish genre of piyyuft (although some of his activities in this field were quite revolutionary), and his poetic sensibilities may have contributed to his interest in linguistic matters. Be that as it may, Hayya was one of the fathers of Hebrew lexicography. In fact, if we exclude Se‘adyah’s Egron from this category, Hayya may even have been the first author of a Hebrew dictionary.∑∏ His dictionary, entitled Kitab A al-Hawi (The Comprehensive Book), is cited by a number of medieval authors; substantial portions of this work have survived in the Genizah, but very little has been published to date.∑π Pending further publications, we may offer a few preliminary observations. The dictionary is written in Judeo-Arabic, with citations in Hebrew and Aramaic. The words defined include proper nouns, such as Leah and (Tel) Aviv.∑∫ On the face of it this is a dictionary of Hebrew, both biblical and rabbinic, and the author speaks of Hebrew as ‘‘the language’’ as opposed to ‘‘(the language of) Targum,’’ that is, Aramaic;∑Ω but in fact there are some entries which define words found in Babylonian Jewish Aramaic, apparently because the author considered them to derive from roots which are attested in Hebrew as well.∏≠ The principle of arrangement is anagrammatic; under a heading consisting of two or three letters (in alphabetical 55. See Greenbaum, Perush ha-Torah le-Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni, Introduction, pp. 17–18, and pp. 396–397 in the body of the book. 56. Several Hebrew dictionaries were written by Hayya’s approximate contemporaries but none of these works, including Hayya’s, are dated; see Allony, Egron, pp. 103–108, and cf. pp. 85–89. (Menahem ≠ ibn Saruq’s Mahberet f is probably earlier than Hayya’s dictionary, but even that is not certain.) 57. For bibliography see Groner, Reshimat Teshuvot Rav Hai Ga’on, p. 93. This list, however, does not include certain places in which portions of the text were published, A e.g., Harkavy, Hadashim Gam Yeshanim, pp. 3–5. It may now be possible to locate in St. Petersburg the Genizah fragment of twenty-one pages used by Harkavy, which for many A years was inaccessible to Western scholars (cf. Abramson, ‘‘Min Kitab al-Hawi,’’ p. 108). A A 58. See Harkavy, Hadashim Gam Yeshanim, p. 4; Abramson, ‘‘Min Kitab al-Hawi,’’ pp. 109–110, 112–113, 116. A 59. See Harkavy, Hadashim Gam Yeshanim, p. 4; for an example of an entry based only on Rabbinic Hebrew see ibid., p. 5. This is actually a Greek loan word, as Hayya suspected, although the derivation which he bases on Alfarabi is mistaken; cf. above, chap. 9, ‘‘Knowledge of Languages.’’ A 60. See Abramson, ‘‘Min Kitab al-Hawi,’’ pp. 112 (Arabic original), 114–115 (Hebrew translation).

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331

order) are grouped all the extant roots which may be obtained by permutation of these letters, so that a single heading may include as many as six different triliteral combinations. This approach was popular with contemporary Arabic lexicographers.∏∞ Various weak verbs are listed under the corresponding biliteral stems; thus ’BB appears under ’B and BW’ under B’. A single entry, such as ’BL, may include a number of homonymic roots; the conjunction aval, however, is given a separate entry. Within the listing for a single root the author sometimes illustrates several forms, both verbal and nominal, as in the case of ’BL, ‘‘to mourn.’’∏≤ Each form listed in the dictionary is accompanied by an Arabic gloss, and frequently by one or more illustrative citations. The literary corpus on which the work is based is quite broad: the few fragments published to date include citations from the Mishnah, Tosefta, Babylonian Talmud, Palestinian midrash (Genesis Rabbah), and the Targum.∏≥ Hayya Gaon was also no mean poet, although his contributions to this genre are more limited than Se‘adyah’s, both in quantity and in quality. To date, a few dozen poems which may confidently be assigned to Hayya have been published; there are also a number of poems, including the lengthy Musar Haskel, whose authorship is uncertain.∏∂ As with Se‘adyah Gaon, and perhaps for the same reasons, we find that many of Hayya’s poems contain names other than the author’s in their acrostic ‘‘signatures.’’ The acrostics provide us with an additional bit of information: some of them are signed ‘‘Gaon,’’ meaning that at least these poems were written after Hayya’s accession to the Geonate. Aside from this, however, we have no hard evidence for the dating of his poetic compositions.∏∑ Although the number of Hayya’s known compositions is not large, they display an impressive variety. His secular poetry includes two poems of praise addressed to North African dignitaries, at least one of whom A 61. See Harkavy, Hadashim Gam Yeshanim, p. 3; Goldenberg, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim ba-’Egron,’’ 38:78–81. A 62. See Abramson, ‘‘Min Kitab al-Hawi,’’ pp. 110–112 (Arabic original), 113–116 (Hebrew translation). A A 63. See Harkavy, Hadashim Gam Yeshanim, p. 5; Abramson, ‘‘Min Kitab al-Hawi,’’ pp. 110–112 (Arabic original), 113–116 (Hebrew translation). Cf. above, chap. 10, ‘‘Other Sources.’’ 64. The first attempt to collect Hayya’s poems, which includes about half of those published to date, was Brody, ‘‘Piyyu≠tim we-Shirey Tehillah me-Rav Hayya Ga’on’’; the attribution of Musar Haskel is defended, and the relevant literature reviewed, ibid., pp. A 5–10. For an updated listing of Hayya’s published poems see Fleischer, ‘‘Siyyunim,’’ p. 662, n. 2. Fleischer’s article is dedicated to proving that Hayya Gaon was the author of the series of poems bearing the acrostic Hayya included in a midrashic anthology known as Pitron Torah, but his arguments seem to me inconclusive. 65. See Fleischer, ‘‘ ‘Iyyunim be-Shirato shel Rav Hayya Ga’on,’’ pp. 249–260, and cf. above, with n. 40.

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Se‘adyah Gaon and After

was expected to provide financial support to the Gaon. His religious poetry includes no large-scale compositions like Se‘adyah’s yofserot; it may be that certain yofserot had become canonized by Hayya’s time, and so he and his contemporaries contented themselves with individual poems or series of poems, which could be incorporated within the existing frameworks.∏∏ One of the noteworthy features of Hayya’s liturgical poetry is the rebellion against accepted rhyme schemes, in which he followed Se‘adyah’s lead. Several of his poems lack the rhyming patterns which had become obligatory in classical piyyuft, while, on the other hand, some of these introduce new types of rhyme or near-rhyme.∏π In other liturgical poems, as well as in his secular poetry, Hayya breaks with the classical tradition of Oriental piyyuft and adopts one of the trademark innovations of the emerging school of Spanish Hebrew poetry: the use of quantitative meters based on the model of Arabic poetry.∏∫ The rapid diffusion of this new technique, which developed only during Hayya’s own lifetime, is impressive, but even more remarkable is the direction of this diffusion—from Spain, which had marked the western extreme of the Jewish world, to Babylonia, near its eastern edge, which had been its spiritual center. There is at least symbolic significance in the ease with which the innovations of the Spanish poets make their way to the very center of Babylonian Jewish culture and win the adherence of Hayya Gaon, who combined great personal distinction with the dignity of the Geonate of Pumbedita. This foreshadows the developments of the coming centuries, in which Babylonia itself became a provincial backwater while the Babylonian tradition was carried on by the scholars of Spain and North Africa. 66. See ibid., pp. 240–249. 67. See ibid., pp. 255–256. 68. His adaptation of Spanish innovations was, however, quite selective, as may be seen in his idiosyncratic use of syllabic meter and his modifications of new rhyme schemes; see ibid., pp. 262–266.

Epilogue

The Geonic period was a crucial, though often underrated, stage in the development of Jewish religion and culture. Because virtually the entire Jewish population of the world at this time was united under Islamic sovereignty, and largely subordinate to the leadership provided by the ancient centers of Babylonia and Palestine, developments which had their roots in these centers profoundly influenced the later course of Jewish history and culture. One might say that this was the last formative age of a unified (Rabbanite) Jewish culture, before the growth of relatively independent regional traditions, each of which was to develop according to its own pattern. Those who have written on this period have rightly emphasized two related phenomena: the transformation of the Babylonian Talmud from a literary corpus to a legal ‘‘code,’’ which (with appropriate interpretation and occasional modification) could serve as an authoritative guide to religious practice; and the triumph of this Babylonian legal tradition over the competing Palestinian tradition. In addition, the Geonim and their contemporaries were engaged in a bitter and ultimately successful struggle against an even more fundamental challenge or series of challenges to Rabbinic Judaism, mounted by a variety of sectarian movements, most prominently the Karaites, and individuals, such as Haywayhi al-Balkhi. By the time the balance of power in the Jewish world shifted westward at the end of the

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Geonic period, the physiognomy of medieval and later Judaism as an offshoot of the Babylonian branch of rabbinic tradition had been largely determined. Such a description, however, does not do full justice to the rich tapestry of the Geonic period. First, Babylonian tradition itself, even in the earlier part of the period, was far from monolithic. The talmudic material did not lend itself to straightforward and unequivocal application; nor were the Geonic academies, with all their reverence for tradition, mere conduits for the transmission of a petrified version of that tradition. Despite the reticence of our sources, we may discern traces of an ongoing intellectual discourse, in which neither synchronic nor diachronic dictatorship was acknowledged. Second, by the end of the Geonic period the Babylonian tradition had absorbed many other elements, both from the ambient non-Jewish milieu (Muslim and Christian) and from other strands of Jewish tradition—chiefly from Palestinian Jewish tradition, but we have seen that in the matter of piyyuft even Spanish innovations were absorbed at the very end of the period. The outstanding figure in the reshaping of Babylonian tradition was Se‘adyah Gaon, whose personality and background uniquely equipped him for this role, but larger-scale developments clearly contributed as well. On the one hand, the new openness may have been facilitated by the inexorable progress of the Babylonian tradition in its struggle for hegemony within the Jewish world: Once the Palestinian center had virtually admitted Babylonian superiority in the sphere of halakhah which was at the very center of their universe, the Babylonians no longer felt threatened by their erstwhile competitors and could allow themselves to incorporate elements of Palestinian tradition within their own cultural complex. On the other hand, the Babylonians now saw themselves as the guardians of the spiritual welfare of the entire Jewish people, which was increasingly exposed to new challenges: religious polemic, scientific thought, and the concomitant growth of a rationalistic approach to religious matters. The new self-image of the Babylonian leadership made it inevitable that they would take up the gauntlet of these challenges. Furthermore, the Geonim were locked in a struggle against centrifugal forces which could not be held at bay indefinitely. Although the influence of the Palestinian center had been greatly weakened, Jewish communities in North Africa and Spain were reaching a point in their development at which they no longer felt the need to subordinate themselves to a distant cultural center. The desperate struggle to retain their ancient position in changing circumstances probably contributed to the willingness of the later Geonim to engage in intellectual and literary tasks which had hardly been contemplated by their predecessors, a crucial aspect of this development being the revolu-

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tionary shift from collective responsibility to individual authorship. Thus, when the maturing communities of the West ultimately asserted their independence from the ancient centers, it was a greatly enriched and diversified tradition which they inherited from Geonic Babylonia, and which was to form the foundation for the later development of medieval Jewish culture.

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Appendix A: Did the Geonim Enjoy Governmental Recognition?

As we saw in chapter 3, there were very important differences between the academies of the Geonic period and their predecessors (if any such existed) in Amoraic times. The Geonic academy, in contrast to anything known from the earlier period, was a well-developed institution, with a hierarchical structure and considerable powers over a substantial portion of the Jewish world (its reshut). Several scholars have attempted to explain these far-reaching differences by hypothesizing that the Geonim and their academies had achieved governmental recognition, from which they derived their powers. The only occasion which suggested itself for such a dramatic development—in fact, the only known meeting between a leading rabbinic sage and a caliph during the Geonic period—is the one described in Sherira’s Epistle:∞ ‘‘. . . and Mar Rav Isaac, and it was he who was in Piruz Shabur at the time that A ‘Ali ben Abu Talib conquered it, and Mar Rav Isaac went out of Piruz Shabur towards him and received him—and there were in Piruz Shabur at that time ninety A thousand men of Israel—and ‘Ali ben Abu Talib received him≤ with a cheerful countenance.’’ On the basis of this passage H. Graetz constructed a fantastic edifice, according to which the ninety thousand Jews of Piruz Shabur had fought on ‘Ali’s side in a great

1. Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 101 (Rabinowich, p. 125; Schlüter, p. 245). A 2. According to other manuscripts: ‘‘and they (or: he) received ‘Ali ben Abu Talib’’; but the context supports the majority reading adopted here.

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Appendix A

battle, and in return their leader was able to request of the victorious caliph official recognition for the academy of Sura and to gain appointment as the first Gaon, ‘‘d. h. das erste Schulhaupt von Sura, dessen Würde und Stellung vom Chalifate privilegirt waren’’ (’’i.e., the first head of the academy of Sura whose rank and position were privileged by the caliphate’’). Among other things, Graetz is obliged to insert the word ‘‘Sura’’ in the text, without the slightest manuscript support; this allows him to speculate further that Sherira neglects to mention this momentous event because of his partiality for Pumbedita.≥ I. Halevy attacked this reconstruction, pointing out that the alleged battle of Piruz Shabur never occurred, and that Mar R. Isaac was apparently associated with Pumbedita and would hardly have sought special privileges specifically for Sura.∂ L. Ginzberg attempts to preserve Graetz’s theory, in modified form:∑ Hence the transition from the schools of the time of the Amoraim and Saboraim to the Academies of the Geonic period requires an explanation that concerns itself with more than the merely Jewish conditions prevailing in Babylonia. It is in some way connected with the political situation. It must be conceded that we possess no direct historical information naming the Gaonate as an institution of the early Califate, but no other political change took place during the centuries following the redaction of the Talmud capable of producing an institution of the character of the Gaonate. The supposition made by Graetz . . . that the Gaonate arose under Ali (657), remains the only plausible hypothesis, the more so if one remembers what Sherira says regarding the kind reception which Ali accorded a great Jewish scholar, Rabbi Isaac, of Firuz-Shabur. Graetz, however, can hardly be right when he supposes that this Rabbi Isaac obtained special privileges for Sura. . . . It seems rather that what the spiritual leaders of the people secured from the new rulers was the permission to call into being, by the side of the Exilarchate, a religious authority with definite powers and competence. If this was so, it was natural that the chief of the old and venerable Academy at Sura should be placed at the head of the new board.

3. H. Graetz, Geschichte der Juden, vol. 5≥, Leipzig, 1895, p. 396; cf. pp. 115, 395. This is also connected with Graetz’s belief that only the head of Sura was designated Gaon in the early period; this is, in my opinion, an unwarranted conclusion from the list of the privileges of this academy (see above, chap. 2, at the end of the section ‘‘The Account of Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian’’). Cf. Poznanski, ‘Inyanim Shonim, pp. 65–66, as opposed to Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:46–49 (the subscription given on p. 47 is unconvincingly reconstructed and incorrectly translated; it appears, rather, that R. Jacob’s responsum was referred by someone else to the academy of Pumbedita, and the citation gives the beginning of a Pumbeditan responsum reacting to the Suran one). 4. See I. Halevy, Dorot ha-Rishonim, vol. 3, Pressburg, 1897, pp. 164–179. 5. Ginzberg, Geonica, 1:53.

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According to Ginzberg’s reconstruction, the academy of Sura was at first the only recognized one, and this is exactly why the Exilarchs interfered in its affairs so frequently (according to Sherira) in the seventh century. Eventually, though, they realized they would have to come to terms with this competition. Meanwhile the status of the Pumbeditan academy had been on the rise, and this academy did not enjoy governmental recognition, so the Exilarchs now turned their energies to interfering in Pumbeditan affairs. Only with the reforms of al-Ma’mun, which seriously weakened the standing of the Exilarch vis-à-vis the academies, did Pumbedita come into it own.∏ It hardly needs saying that there is no evidence to support this reconstruction, which suffers from logical inconsistencies as well. First the Exilarchs attack just that institution which is recognized by the government, which apparently does nothing to defend it; then they realize that this institution cannot be attacked (why?) and instead turn on the unrecognized academy. Furthermore, there is absolutely no reason, on this view of things, why Sherira would have overlooked this momentous event, the founding of the Geonate, and made do with a mere mention of a cordial meeting between a sage (never called Gaon)π and the caliph. The only bit of evidence which might be adduced in favor of the Graetz-Ginzberg hypothesis, and which was unknown when those authors wrote, is the writ of appointment of a thirteenthcentury Gaon; but this reflects conditions more than a century after the end of the Geonic period, when the Exilarchate had lost virtually all its powers, and can hardly be taken as evidence of the situation during the Geonic period and certainly not at its beginning.∫ On the other hand, there are a number of considerations which seem to militate against this theory, in addition to the weaknesses already mentioned. These include the fact that we know of no meeting between a Gaon and a caliph, and when Se‘adyah offers to advance the interests of his correspondents, he proposes to do so indirectly, by asking the Jewish bankers of Baghdad to approach the Muslim authorities;Ω that Muslim and Christian authorities speak at considerable length about the Exilarchate but never about the Geonate, and some of them depict the Exilarchs and their intimates as being referred to even on cultural and religious matters;∞≠ and that 6. Ibid., pp. 54–55. On the reforms of al-Ma’mun in 825 see above, chap. 5, ‘‘The Decline of the Exilarchate,’’ with n. 51. 7. Except in the version of Sherira’s Epistle printed in Sefer ha-Yuhasin f and the closely related MS Halberstamm (see Lewin’s apparatus ad loc.). 8. See Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, p. 57 and n. 40; a HeA brew translation of the text was published by A. Ben-Jacob, ‘‘Meqorot Hadashim leToledot Yehudey Bavel ba-Me’ot ha-YodBet weha-YodGimel’’ [New Sources with Regard to the History of the Jews in Babylon in the 12th and 13th Centuries], Zion 15 (1950), pp. 66–67 (see n. 61 ad loc. for details of earlier publications). 9. See above, at the end of chap. 4. 10. See above, chap. 5, n. 25.

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the Geonim were at a disadvantage in their conflicts with the Exilarchs prior to alMa’mun’s reforms.∞∞ All these considerations point in another direction. Only the Exilarch was recognized by the Muslim authorities as an official representative of the Jewish populace; this continued the situation which had prevailed in the Sasanian period. The powers of the Geonim probably developed as a result of an internal redistribution of power within the Jewish community reflecting the growing esteem in which their academies were held. This was probably a gradual process, which may have begun already under the Sasanians. In this context it is suggestive that (with the possible exception of parts of the Arabian peninsula) the combined territories of the reshuyot belonging to the academies and the Exilarch were restricted to the lands of Iraq and Iran, that is, to the borders of the Sasanian empire. Had ‘Ali in fact created a new, officially sanctioned Jewish leadership in 657, we might have expected it to be granted authority over the Jewish populace of additional territories which had come under Muslim control by this time.∞≤ Only the last step in this process, when the academies gained the upper hand over the Exilarch as a result of al-Ma’mun’s actions, is documented; but it seems quite clear that the academies had existed, and had developed many of their characteristic features, long before this time.∞≥ 11. See above, pp. 79–82, with nn. 45, 48. Sherira’s descriptions of the Exilarch’s intervention also seem to presuppose that he could interfere directly in the affairs of the academies, although this is not conclusive. Note also the rather frequent occurrence of splits within the Geonic academies; it is rather difficult to imagine that this sort of situation would have been tolerated as a matter of course in an institution whose head was appointed by the caliph. 12. See above, chap. 8, ‘‘The Sphere of Babylonian Hegemony’’; Hodgson, Venture of Islam, 1:200–205 (with map on p. 202). 13. See the passages from Sherira’s Epistle and the letter of Samuel b. Eli quoted above, chap. 5, ‘‘The Decline of the Exilarchate’’; and note that the oligarchic nature of the Geonate, considered one of the outstanding innovations of this period, was already in evidence (see Appendix B). The hypothesis I have suggested might go some way towards explaining the fact that (according to Sherira) Exilarchic interference in the affairs of the academies declined sharply after the seventh century. For similarly skeptical assessments of Graetz’s theory see Grossman, Rashut ha-Golah bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, p. 57 and n. 40; Gil, Be-Malkhut Yishma‘’el bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim, §88.

Appendix B: Chronology of the Geonim

Before presenting our version of Geonic chronology in tabular form, we must discuss some methodological problems. Our primary source for the period prior to 987 is the Epistle of Sherira Gaon,∞ but this source presents a number of difficulties (aside from doubtful readings)≤ when we attempt to construct a chronology. To begin with, Sherira begins his systematic treatment of the Pumbeditan Geonim only in 900 of the Seleucid era (Sel.), although (as we have seen in chapter 1) he seems to have considered the Geonic period to have begun somewhat earlier. For the tenth Seleucid century, even the dates of the Pumbeditan Geonim are mostly not given, while the Geonim of Sura are not treated systematically at all; rather, several of them are inserted within the framework provided by the list of Pumbeditans, with the observation that a particular Suran was contemporaneous with a certain Pumbeditan Gaon. There are also several pronouns with unclear referents, so that a number of interpretations are possible. The following translation reflects my reading of the relevant passage, with explanations added in parentheses:≥

1. For the period after 987 we rely on other documentary sources. For Sura see esp. Mann, ‘‘The Last Geonim of Sura’’; idem, ‘‘Gaonic Studies,’’ pp. 227–237; for Pumbedita see idem, Texts and Studies, 1:109, n. 2. 2. Doubts concerning readings are especially common when letters are used to represent numerals, as in the manuscripts of Sherira’s Epistle; because these letters are not parts of meaningful words, they are easily confused with other, graphically similar letters. 3. Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, pp. 99–102; for other interpretations cf. Lewin’s

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Appendix B These are the Geonim who were in our city, Pumbedita, after these events, at A the end of the Persian kingdom, from the year 900: Mar Rav Hanan of Ashiqiyya. And after him reigned Rav Mari . . . and in his days there was in Sura Mar Rav Mar b. Mar Rav Huna Gaon, and he (Rav Mari) died in 920 (some MSS read: 902). And after our ancestor Mar Rav Mari Gaon, there A reigned in Nehardea Mar Rav Hanina of Be-Gihara, and in his days the madman (i.e., Muhammad) went out to the world (possibly a reference to the A Hijra, 622 c.e.). And they say that at that time there were Rav Hannania in A Sura and Mar Rav Hana Gaon in Pumbedita, and Mar Rav Isaac. . . . And after him (Mar Rav Hanina) Mar Rav Rabbah, in whose days they ordained that a woman should be given a divorce immediately (651 c.e.) . . . , and in his days there was Mar Rav Huna in Sura. And after Mar Rav Rabbah, Rav Busai; and there was in Sura (in his time) Mar Rav Sheshna. And after Mar Rav Busai in Pumbedita, Mar Rav Huna Mari b. Mar Rav Joseph, and he was (or: became) Gaon in the year 1000.

The eleventh Seleucid century is relatively unproblematic. By that time dates of accession are provided for most of the Geonim of Pumbedita, and lengths of tenure are supplied for the Surans.∂ From 1100 Sel. onward Sherira provides dates of accession for all the Pumbeditan Geonim and often gives the lengths of their service as well.∑ For Suran Geonim, however, we are given only lengths of tenure, without dates, and there is a serious problem with regard to the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries Sel. (789–928 c.e.; only with the appointment of Se‘adyah, the date of which is confirmed by other sources, are we once again on firm ground). The total of the terms attributed to the individual Geonim is substantially more than the length

notes ad loc.; the translations by Rabinowich (pp. 124–126) and Schlüter (pp. 243–246); and the chronological table accompanying the article ‘‘Gaon’’ in the Enfsiqlopedia ‘Ivrit and Encyclopedia Judaica (prepared by S. Assaf and J. Brand). See also Brody, ‘‘Kelum Hayu ha-Ge’onim Mehoqeqim?’’ ≠ pp. 290–295. 4. There is, prima facie, a slight discrepancy: the terms listed for the various Suran Geonim add up to only ninety-eight years. It could be that Sherira ended his account of this century with the last Gaon whose term was included entirely within the century, but it seems more likely, both in view of his emphatic wording and in terms of the overlap between the Geonim Moses of Sura and Joseph of Pumbedita, that this discrepancy is a result of the terms of office having been rounded off. There is also a problem concerning the name of the Suran Gaon appointed in 730, which we give as Mar b. Samuel; see Lewin, Iggeret Rav Sherira Ga’on, p. 106, n. 2. 5. In several cases there are discrepancies of a year in either direction, almost certainly caused by rounding off the terms of office (in almost all cases, to whole numbers of years). Since the Gaon might take office at any point during the year, a few days’ service might suffice to enter another calendar year; conversely, eleven months’ service might fall within a single year.

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of the entire period. I have argued at length elsewhere∏ that the crucial step towards resolving this contradiction is to deny that ‘Amram b. Sheshna ever succeeded Na≠tronai as head of the ‘‘official’’ Suran academy. Having said this, a more limited problem remains. Our sources indicate that Moses Gaon of Sura overlapped with Joseph b. Rabbi of Pumbedita, who was appointed in 1150 Sel., and Na≠tronai b. Hilai of Sura overlapped with Pal≠toy Gaon, who served until 1169 Sel., while, at least according to existing editions, the interim period lasted twenty-two and a half A years—two years’ interregnum, followed by ten and a half years for Kohen Sedeq Gaon and ten years for Sar Shalom Gaon. The likeliest solution is to read ‘‘6’’ (waw) A rather than ‘‘10’’ (yod) years for either Kohen Sedeq or Sar Shalom, since the two letters are virtually indistinguishable in many manuscripts. Such a procedure leaves a surplus of approximately five years unaccounted for; on the other hand, Sherira describes several periods of interregnum during this time. In the following table I have arbitrarily assigned two years to the period following Shalom b. Misha’el (‘‘after this matters deteriorated greatly in Sura and no sages remained there, and afterwards they appointed Mar Rav Jacob’’) and three years to the period preceding the appointment of Se‘adyah (‘‘Afterwards it was suggested among the rabbis that Mehasia ≠ be disbanded, and those remaining there be brought to Pumbedita, but in the end they agreed to appoint Mar Rav Nathan . . . but meanwhile he died’’). A number of alternative solutions are possible, but the differences between them amount to three years at most.π I have introduced in the table several simplifications and abbreviations. All Seleucid dates have been converted to common-era equivalents by subtracting 311, although the Seleucid year began in the fall, so that the correspondence between the two systems is imperfect. The precise readings and vocalizations of several names of people and places are uncertain. Priestly lineage is indicated by (K) and Levitical lineage by (L). The notation (disputed) indicates that the next Gaon listed challenged the legitimacy of the current Gaon and set up a rival establishment, either at the time of his appointment or later.

6. Brody, ‘‘Rav ‘Amram bar Sheshna.’’ 7. One possibility is to adopt the reading, found in some manuscripts, according to A Gaon served for seven (rather than four) years; another (which does not which Yom Tov exclude the first) is that part of the discrepancy arises from rounding off terms of office.

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Appendix B Pumbedita

∑∫Ω ∏≠Ω [fl. ∏∑∞] ∏∫Ω

π∞Ω π≥Ω π∂∫

π∏∞ π∏∂ or π∏π ππ∞ ππ≥

A Hanan of Ashiqiyya Mari b. Dimi A Hanina of Be-Gihara A (in Nehardea; Hana in Pumbedita) Rabbah Busai Huna Mari b. Joseph ∏∫Ω A Hiyya of Mesene ∏Ω∂ Ravya π∞≤ Na≠tronai b. Nehemiah ≠ Judah π≥≠ Joseph (‘‘bar Kutnai’’) Samuel b. Mar of Iqqari π∂∫ Na≠tronai b. Emunah (K) π∑∏ Abraham π∑π Dodai b. Nahman ≠ π∏∞ A Hanania b. Mesharsheya π∏Ω Malkah b. Aha ≠ Abba b. Dodai ππ∂ Shinoi (briefly) ππ∫

π∫≤ π∫∏ π∫∫ πΩ∏ πΩ∫ ∫≠∂ ∫∞≠ ∫∞∂ ∫∞∏

A Haninai b. Abraham (K) Huna b. Isaac (L) Menasheh b. Joseph Isaiah b. Abba (L) Joseph b. Shila of Shilhi ≠ A Revai b. Haninai (K) Ikkomai b. Abraham Joseph b. Abba Abraham b. Sherira

∫≤∫

A Joseph b. Hiyya A Isaac b. Hunai Joseph b. Rabbi Paltoy b. Abbayey

∫≥Ω ∫∂≤

Sura

∫∑∫ ∫∑∫

Aha ≠ b. Rav (∞⁄≤ year) Menahem ≠ b. Joseph (disputed)

∫∏≠

Mattatyah b. Rabbi

∫∏Ω ∫π≤

Rabbah b. Ami A Semah b. Paltoy

∫Ω≠

Hayyey b. David

Mar b. Huna A Hanania Huna Sheshna A Hanina of Nehar-Peqod Hilai of Naresh (L) Jacob of Nehar-Peqod (K) Mar b. Samuel Mari of Nehar-Peqod (K) Aha ≠ Yehudai b. Nahman ≠ Ahunai b. Papa (K) A Haninai b. Huna (K) Mari b. Mesharsheya (L) Biboi b. Abba of NeharPeqod (L)

π∫Ω

Hilai b. Mari

πΩ∫

Jacob b. Mordecai (K)

∫∞≤

Ikkomai b. Mordecai (K)

∫≤≠ ∫≤≤ ∫≤∏ ∫≤Ω

A Sadoq b. Jesse A Hilai b. Hanania Qimoi b. Ashi Moses b. Jacob (K)

∫∂∞ ∫∂π or ∫∑∞ ∫∑π

[interregnum of two years] A Kohen Sedeq b. Ikkomai (K?) Sar Shalom b. Bo‘az Na≠tronai b. Hilai [‘Amram b. Sheshna headed a splinter academy, approximately ∫∑π–∫π∑]

∫∏∑

Nahshon ≠ b. Isaac

∫π≥ ∫∫≠

A A Semah b. Hayyim Malkah (one month; plague?) Hayya b. Nahshon ≠ Hilai b. Na≠tronai

∫∫∞ ∫Ω∞

Appendix B Pumbedita ∫Ωπ Ω≠∏

Qimoi b. Ahi ≠ Judah b. Samuel

Ω∞π

Mevasser b. Qimoi (disputed) A Kohen Sedeq b. Joseph (K?)

Ω≤∏ Ω≥∑ Ω≥∫ Ω∂≥

A Sema h≠ b. Kafnai A Hananiah b. Judah Aaron b. Joseph (K; disputed)

Ω∏≠

A Nehemiah ≠ b. Kohen Sedeq (K?) A Sherira b. Hananiah

Ω∏∫ ∞≠≠∂

Hayya b. Sherira [died ∞≠≥∫; position filled by Exilarch Hezekiah b. David]

345

Sura ∫ΩΩ Ω≠∫ Ω≤∞

Shalom b. Misha’el [interregnum] Jacob b. Na≠tronai Yom Tov b. Jacob (K)

Ω≤∫

[interregnum] Se‘adyah b. Joseph

Ω∂≤

Joseph b. Jacob [resigned after Ω∂≥; academy closed]

After Ω∫π Before ΩΩΩ

A Sema h≠ b. Isaac A Samuel b. Hofni (K)

∞≠∞≥ ∞≠∞π ∞≠≥∂

Dosa b. Se‘adyah Israel b. Samuel (K) ‘Azaryah (K; died before Hayya) Isaac (died after Hayya)

∞≠≥π

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Glossary

Aggadah: nonlegal rabbinic material, often of a homiletical or legendary nature. Alluf: (1) one of several members of a Babylonian academy ranking just below the Av Bet Din; (2) honorary title for a distinguished friend of such an academy. ‘Amidah: the central prayer of the Jewish liturgy. There are a number of versions for use on different occasions, each of which is comprised of a series of benedictions. Amora (pl. Amora’im): (1) a rabbinic sage of the period extending approximately from the third to the fifth century c.e.; (2) a specialist (in a later period) in the recitation of the Talmud. Av Bet Din: vice-principal of one of the central academies of the Geonic period. Baraita (pl. Baraitot): a unit of (ostensibly) Tannaitic teaching not included in the Mishnah. Catholicos: the head of the Christian (especially Nestorian) community recognized by the caliph. Exilarch: the recognized political head of the Jewish community in the Sasanian empire and later in the Muslim caliphate. Gaon (pl. Geonim): head of one of the central academies of Babylonia or Palestine during the period extending approximately from the mid-sixth to the mid-eleventh century. The use of this title continued, in degenerate form, for several centuries afterward. Genizah: a repository for sacred objects, especially writings, too badly damaged to be used. The Genizah of Cairo is especially important as a treasure trove of ancient manuscripts. Gezerah, Gezerta: a sort of conditional curse substituted for earlier forms of oath during the Geonic period. A Hadith: a tradition attributed to Muhammad or his immediate circle, and cited as an authoritative precedent.

347

348

Glossary

Haggadah: equivalent to aggadah. Halakhah: (1) rabbinic material of a legal nature, as opposed to aggadah; (2) normative (generally, but not always, used with regard to legal material). Havdalah: ceremony marking the end of the Sabbath or a holiday. A Haver: a Palestinian title comparable to the Babylonian alluf. Hora’ah: authoritative instruction, conceived as the distinctive activity of Amora’im as opposed to later sages. Ifriqiyah: a territory corresponding approximately to modern Tunisia. Ijma‘: in Islamic legal doctrine, consensus as an authoritative source of law. Kalam: a type of rationalist theology cultivated by Muslims, Christians, and Jews. Kalla(h): (1) a month-long gathering of students at one of the Babylonian academies, in the Geonic period and perhaps also earlier; (2) a row in one of these academies. Karaite: pertaining to, or a member of, the largest non-Rabbanite Jewish sect. Kashrut: suitability according to ritual law (used especially of the permissibility of foodstuffs). Kohen: a man of Aaronide (‘‘priestly’’) lineage. Kosher: conforming to the rules of kashrut. Maghreb: northwest Africa (in the broader sense, extending as far east as Barqa in Libya; in a narrower sense, corresponds approximately to modern Algeria and Morocco). Mar: Master. Masorah: a genre of scholarship devoted to the establishment of an authoritative text and pronunciation of the Bible, fixed in the smallest details. Masoretic: having to do with, or (of a biblical text) approved by, the masorah. Mezuzah (pl. Mezuzot): parchment, containing the texts of Deuteronomy 6:4–8, 11:13–21, affixed to a doorpost. Midrash: (1) a type of rabbinic biblical exegesis; (2) a literary work incorporating exegesis of this sort; (3) a house of study (more usually, in this sense, bet midrash). Mishnah: (1) the central text of rabbinic, and especially Tannaitic, literature; (2) a unit of tradition, in a particular formulation (ostensibly), belonging to this period. Mutakallim (pl. mutakallimun): a practitioner of kalam. Mu‘tazilite: belonging to a particularly influential school of kalam, which laid great emphasis on the themes of Divine unity and justice. Payyeftan: liturgical poet. Piyyuft: liturgical poetry. Qaddish: a doxology which is one of the central components of Jewish liturgy; it has a number of variant forms and is recited on a variety of occasions. Qedushah: a prayer recited responsively by the congregation and precentor, during the latter’s repetition of the ‘amidah. Qunftres: quire; used especially of a batch of questions addressed to a Geonic academy, or of the answers to such questions. Rabbanite: pertaining to, or an adherent of, rabbinic tradition. Rav: Rabbi (Babylonian pronunciation). Resh Kalla(h): ‘‘head of a row,’’ a title synonymous with alluf. Reshut (pl. reshuyot): the territory subject to the authority of a Gaon or Exilarch. Rigla: an assembly convened by the Exilarch. Sanhedrin: the supreme council of the Jews of Palestine in the later Second Temple period.

Glossary

349

Savora (pl. Savora’im): a Babylonian rabbinic sage of the period immediately after that of the Amora’im. Seder ‘Olam: the classic work of rabbinic chronography. Seleucid era: a chronological era, widely used in the Middle East, beginning in 312 b.c.e.. She’ilta: a homily constructed according to a certain pattern, popular in Geonic Babylonia. Shema‘: a central component of Jewish liturgy, consisting of the passages Deuteronomy 6:4–8, 11:13–21, and Numbers 15:37–41. Sifra: an early rabbinic commentary (halakhic midrash) on the book of Leviticus. Sifrey: an early rabbinic commentary (halakhic midrash) on the books of Numbers and Deuteronomy. A sit: fringes attached to the corners of a rectangular garment, in accordance with Numbers Sif 15:37–40. Talmud: one of two major compilations (Palestinian and Babylonian) of the teachings of the Amora’im, structured as a commentary on the Mishnah. Tanna (pl. Tanna’im): (1) a rabbinic sage of approximately 70–230 c.e.; (2) a specialist, in a later era, in the recitation of the texts attributed to this period. Targum: Aramaic translation of one or more biblical books. Torah: the Pentateuch. Tosefta: a compilation similar to, and slightly later than, the Mishnah (def. 1). Yeshivah: rabbinic academy.

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Bibliography

The writings of the Geonim were collected and studied by many of their contemporaries, and continued to engage the interest of rabbinic scholars in succeeding generations, without any real interruption. We will here devote a few words to outstanding milestones in the study of Geonic writings, especially in the talmudic and halakhic fields, in the period following the invention of printing. The sixteenth century saw the publication of a number of significant texts. The most important literary works to be published were the She’iltot (Venice, 1546) and the Halakhot Gedolot (Venice, 1548), as well as the first two collections of Geonic responsa to appear in print (Constantinople, 1516 and 1575). Our two most important sources for the history of the Geonic period, the Epistle of Sherira Gaon and the account of Rabbi Nathan the Babylonian, were also published in this century, as appendices to Rabbi Abraham Zacuto’s Sefer Ha-Yuhasin ≠ (Constantinople 1566). A hiatus of over two centuries ensued, until the publication of another collection of Geonic responsa, entitled A Sha’arey Sedeq, at Salonika in 1792. The nineteenth century saw intensified activity in the Geonic field, largely as a result of the nascent critical approach known as Wissenschaft des Judentums. A number of additional collections of Geonic responsa were published, several of which reflect the new scholarly trends, especially in the editors’ introductions and notes to the text. Particularly noteworthy is the collection published in 1887 by A. E. Harkavy, which is the first to be based on fragments from the Cairo Genizah (although the editor was not aware of their provenance). Furthermore, the latter half of the century saw new editions of the two major works published in the sixteenth century: the She’iltot (by N. Z. Y. Berlin, with an

351

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Bibliography

erudite commentary and some manuscript readings) and the Halakhot Gedolot (by E. Hildesheimer, in a recension different from that previously published, and accompanied by learned notes). At approximately the same time, J. Müller made important contributions to the study of Geonic responsa: Not only did he publish new responsa and re-edit the earliest published collection, but he made a pioneering effort to index the responsa available at the time, whether found in collections devoted specifically to these texts or in medieval citations. The late nineteenth century also saw a number of pioneering publications in non-talmudic fields, including S. Landauer’s edition of Se‘adyah’s Book of Beliefs A and Opinions and editions of Se‘adyah’s and Samuel b. Hofni’s commentaries on several biblical books. The first half of the twentieth century saw a dramatic burst of scholarly activity in the Geonic field. Many collections of Geonic responsa—and, to a lesser extent, other Geonic writings—were published, most of them on the basis of Genizah fragments. The outstanding participants in this scholarly endeavor were L. Ginzberg and S. Assaf—each of whom also contributed a survey of the period and its literature—and B. M. Lewin, who not only edited previously unpublished responsa, but also collected and collated thousands of published responsa, in order to republish them in more accessible form in his monumental O≠sar Ha-Ge’onim. J. N. Epstein contributed a number of important studies, in several areas. The understanding of various historical aspects of the Geonic period was also significantly advanced during this period, especially as a result of the work of J. Mann. The second half of the century has seen a number of major bibliographic milestones, beginning with the publication of Halakhot Pesuqot by S. Sassoon, and continuing with the first critical editions of Geonic texts: the She’iltot (by S. K. Mirsky) and the Halakhot Gedolot (by E. Hildesheimer, whose grandfather had published an edition of this work a century earlier). In terms of analytic study, the field was dominated by Sh. Abramson, whose investigations of the transmission of Geonic responsa and bibliographic clarifications regarding the monographic writings of the last Geonim were particularly outstanding. During his lifetime he made only modest contributions to the publication of these texts, but he left behind a large number of publication projects in varying stages of completion, some of which will be prepared for posthumous publication, while others will be made available to other scholars working in the field, most of whom were his students. The last half-century has also seen great advances in the study of additional areas which were cultivated by the later Geonim. For outstanding developments in these fields, the reader is referred to the notes accompanying the last three chapters of this book. Abraham Ibn Daud. Sefer ha-Qabbalah. See G. D. Cohen. Abramson, Sh. ‘‘Ahat ≠ She’elah u-Shetayyim Teshuvot’’ [One Question and Two Answers]. Shenaton ha-Mishpat ha-Ivri 11–12 (1984–86), pp. 1–40. ———. ‘‘ ‘Al Sefer Darkhey ha-Talmud she-Meyuhas ≠ le-Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on’’ [On ‘‘Darkei ha-Talmud,’’ Attributed to R. Saadya Gaon]. Kiryat Sefer 52 (1977), pp. 381–382. ———. Ba-Merkazim uva-Tefufsot bi-Tequfat ha-Ge’onim [Center and Periphery in the Geonic Period]. Jerusalem, 1965. A ———. ‘‘Hamishah She‘arim min Sefer ha-Meqah≠ weha-Mimkar le-Rav Hayya Ga’on

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A Weil, G. ‘‘Teshuvato shel Rav Hai Ga’on ‘al ha-Qe≠s ha-Qa≠suv la-Hayyim’’ [The Responsum of Rav Hai Gaon Concerning the Allotted Lifespan]. In Sefer Assaf: Qovefs Ma’amarey Mehqar f . . . [The Assaf Volume: A Collection of Scholarly Articles], ed. M. D. Cassuto, J. Klausner, and J. Guttmann. Jerusalem, 1953, pp. 261–279. Weinberg, R. S., ed. Teshuvot Rav Sar Shalom Ga’on, Kunsu mi-tokh Kitvey Yad weA Sifrey Ge’onim we-Rishonim be-Seruf Mavo He‘arot u-Be’urim [The Responsa of Rav Sar Shalom Gaon, Collected from Manuscripts and the Books of Geonim and Early Authorities, with an Introduction, Notes and Explanations]. Jerusalem, 1975. A Weiss, A. Ha-Yefsirah shel ha-Savora’im (Helqam bi-Yefsirat ha-Talmud) [The Literary Activities of the Saboraim]. Jerusalem, 1953. Wertheimer, Sh. A., and Wertheimer, A. J., eds. Kitvey-Yad ha-Genizah: Ginzey Yerushalayyim . . . [The Genizah Fragments ‘‘Ginzei Jerusalem’’]. Jerusalem, 1981 (new edition combining several publications of Geonic and other Genizah texts). Wieder, N. ‘‘Fourteen New Genizah-Fragments of Saadya’s Siddur Together with a Reproduction of a Missing Part.’’ In E. I. J. Rosenthal, ed., Saadya Studies, pp. 245–283. ———. ‘‘Hashlamot we-Tiqqunim le-Seder Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on’’ [Supplements and Corrections to the Prayerbook of Rav Se‘adyah Gaon]. In Sefer Assaf: Qovefs Ma’amarey Mehqar f . . . [The Assaf Volume: A Collection of Scholarly Articles], ed. M. D. Cassuto, J. Klausner, and J. Guttmann. Jerusalem, 1953, pp. 237–260. ———. The Judean Scrolls and Karaism. London, 1962. Wolfson, H. A. The Philosophy of the Kalam. Cambridge, Mass., 1976. ———. Repercussions of the Kalam in Jewish Philosophy. Cambridge, Mass., 1979. Yahalom, Y. Sefat ha-Shir shel ha-Piyyuft ha-Erefs-Yisre’eli ha-Qadum [Poetic Language in the Early Piyyut]. Jerusalem, 1985. Yeivin, Y. Mesoret ha-Lashon ha-‘Ivrit ha-Mishtaqqefet ba-Niqqud ha-Bavli [The Hebrew Language Tradition as Reflected in the Babylonian Vocalization]. Jerusalem, 1985. Yuval, Y. Y. ‘‘Rishonim we-Aharonim, ≠ Antiqui et Moderni (Toda‘at Zeman we-Toda‘ah ‘A≠smit be-Ashkenaz)’’ [Rishonim and Aharonim, Antiqui et Moderni (Periodization and Self-Awareness in Ashkenaz)]. Zion 57 (1992), pp. 369–394. Zucker, M. ‘Al Targum Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on la-Torah: Parshanut, Halakhah u-Polemikah be-Tirgum ha-Torah shel R. Se‘adyah Ga’on [Rav Saadya Gaon’s Translation of the Torah: Exegesis, Halakha and Polemics in R. Saadya’s Translation of the Pentateuch]. Michael Higger Memorial Publications, vol. 3. New York, 1959. A ———. ‘‘Mi-Perushey ha-Ge’onim R. Se‘adyah we-R. Shemu’el ben Hofni be-Midrash haGadol’’ [Pentateuchal Exegeses of Saadia Gaon and Samuel ben Chofni Incorporated into the Midrash ha-Gadol]. In The Abraham Weiss Jubilee Volume. New York, 1964, Hebrew Section, pp. 461–481. ———. ‘‘Mi-Perusho shel RaSaG la-Torah’’ [Fragments from Rav Saadya Gaon’s Commentary to the Pentateuch from Mss.]. Sura 2 (1955–1956), pp. 313–355. ———. ‘‘Qeta‘im mi-Kitab Tah≠ ≠ sil al-Shara’i‘ al-Sam‘iyya le-RaSaG’’ [Fragments of the Kitab ¯ Tahf f s¯ıl al-Shara’i‘ ¯ al-Sama‘¯ ¯ ıyah]. Tarbiz 41 (1972), pp. 373–410. A ———. ‘‘Qeta‘im mi-Perush ha-Ga’on Rav Shemu’el ben Hofni ‘al Parashat wa-Ethanan’’ ≠ A [Fragments from Samuel ben Hofni Gaon’s commentary to ‘‘Va’etchanan’’]. ‘Alei Sefer 5 (1978), pp. 5–24.

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Zucker, M., ed. and trans. Kitab Istadrak al-Sahw al-Mawjud fi Kutub Ras al-Mathiba alFayyumi, Ta’lif Mevasser ha-Lewi ben Nisi al-Baghdadi . . . [A Critique against the Writings of R. Saadya Gaon by R. Mubashshir Halevi]. New York, 1955. A ———. Perushey Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on li-Bereshit, Hofsi la-’Or be-Seruf Mavo we-Tirgum we-He‘arot [Saadya’s Commentary on Genesis, Edited with Introduction, Translation and Notes]. New York, 1984. Zulay, M. Ha-Askolah ha-Payyeftanit shel Rav Se‘adyah Ga’on [The Liturgical Poetry of Sa’adya Gaon and His School]. Jerusalem, 1964.

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Supplemental Bibliography

Since the publication of the first edition of this book, most of the items listed as ‘‘forthcoming’’ in the original bibliography have appeared in print (for Libson’s book see below). The Ben-Sasson–Brody edition of Sefer ha-Sheftarot and the Blau-Hopkins Corpus are (incredibly enough) still in press, and the planned collection of essays on Se‘adyah Gaon edited by Ben Sasson and Brody has reluctantly been abandoned; to some extent this is replaced by my biography listed below. Corrected and expanded editions of Danzig’s book on Halakhot Pesuqot and Fleischer’s introduction to medieval Jewish liturgical poetry have also appeared in the interim, as have English translations of Drory’s book on early contacts between Jewish and Islamic literature and Gil’s book on the history of the Jews in Islamic lands in the Middle Ages. Abramson, Sh., ed. Rav Hayya ben Sherira Ga’on: Sefer Mishpeftey Shevu‘ot [Rabbi Hai b. Sherira Gaon: The Laws of Oaths]. Jerusalem, 2012. Ackerman-Lieberman, P. I. A Partnership Culture: Jewish Economic and Social Life Seen Through the Legal Documents of the Cairo Geniza. Princeton, 2007. Bar-Asher, M., Chiesa, B., Hopkins, S., and Stroumsa, S., eds. Davar Davur ‘al Ofanav: Mehqarim f be-Parshanut ha-Miqra weha-Qur’an bi-Yemey ha-Beinayyim Muggashim A le-Haggai Ben-Shammai [A Word Fitly Spoken: Studies in Mediaeval Exegesis of the Hebrew Bible and the Qur’an Presented to Haggai Ben-Shammai]. Jerusalem, 2007. Becker, A. Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom: The School of Nisibis and Christian Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia. Philadelphia, 2006. A A Beeri, T. Ha-Hazan ha-Gadol asher be-Bagdad: Piyyuftey Yosef ben Hayyim al-Baradani

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Supplemental Bibliography

A [The ‘‘Great Cantor’’ of Baghdad: The Liturgical Poems of Joseph ben Hayyim AlBaradani]. Jerusalem, 2002. ———. Le-David Mizmor: Piyyuftey David ha-Nasi ben Yehizqiyahu f Rosh ha-Golah [LeDavid Mizmor: The Liturgical Poems of David ha-Nasi Son of Hezekiah the Exilarch]. Jerusalem, 2009. ———. ‘‘Tefillah u-Piyyu≠t be-Bavel ba-Me’ah ha-‘Asirit uva-Me’ah ha-‘Ahat ≠ ‘Esrey’’ [Liturgy and Piyyut in Tenth-and Eleventh-Century Babylon]. Masoret ha-Piyyut. 2 (2000), pp. 85–96. Ben-Sasson, M. ‘‘Ha-hanhagah ha-‘Atzmit shel ha-Yehudim be-Artzot ha-Islam ba-Me’ot ha-7 ‘ad ha-12’’ [The Self-Government of the Jews in Muslim Countries in the 7th–12th Centuries]. In Kehal Yisra’el: Ha-Shilfton ha-‘Afsmi ha-Yehudi le-Dorotav [Kehal Yisrael: Jewish Self-Rule Through the Ages], 2.,ed. A. Grossman and Y. Kaplan. Jerusalem, 2004, pp. 11–55. A Ben-Shammai, H. ‘‘Hadashim Gam Yeshanim: ‘Ha-Haqdamah ha-Gedolah’ weha‘Haqdamah ha-Qe≠tanah’ le-Targum RSG la-Torah’’ [New and Old: Saadya’s Two Introductions to His Translation of the Pentateuch]. Tarbiz 69 (2006), pp. 199–210. A ———. ‘‘Haqdamat Rav Se‘adyah Gaon le-Daniel: Massah ‘al Hishuv ha-Qe≠s ‘al pi haNevua’ah ke-neged Nihush ≠ ha-Qe≠s shel ha-As≠trologim weha-Qosmim’’ [Sa‘adya’s Introduction to Daniel: An Essay on the Calculation of the End of Days according to Prophecy against the Speculation of Astrologers and Magicians]. Sefunot 8 [23] (2003), pp. 13–59. ———. ‘‘Midrash Prognos≠ti be-Kitvey RSG: Petihat ≠ Perusho le-Shirat David (Shemuel II 22) ke-Dugmah Meya≠ss≠egget’’ [Prognostic Midrash in the Works of Se‘adya Gaon as Exemplified in His Introduction to the Song of David (2 Sam. 22)]. In Me’ah She‘arim [Studies in Medieval Jewish Spiritual Life in Memory of Isadore Twersky], ed. E. Fleischer, G. Blidstein, C. Horowitz, and B. Septimus. Jerusalem, 2001, pp. 1–19. ———. ‘‘Ribbuy Mashma‘uyot shel ha-Ketuvim be-Shitato ha-Parshanit shel Rav Se‘adyah Gaon’’ [Scriptural Polysemy in Rav Se‘adyah Gaon’s Exegetical System]. In Minhah leMicha’el: Mehqarim f be-Hagut Yehudit u-Muslamit Muggashim le-Professor Micha’el Shwarfs [Tribute to Michael: Studies in Jewish and Muslim Thought Presented to Professor Michael Schwarz], ed. S. Klein-Braslavy, B. Abrahamov, and J. Sadan. Tel Aviv, 2009, pp. 21–44. ———. ‘‘‘Ru’ah≠ Qadim’ min ha-Darom: Ha-Metzi’ut ha-Sevivatit ke-Shiqul be-Targumey RSG uve-Perushav’’ [ An ‘East Wind’ from the South: Environmental Considerations in the Translations and Commentaries of R. Sa‘adia Gaon]. In We-zot li-Yehudah: Mehf qarim be-Toledot Erefs Yisra’el Muggashim li-Yehudah Ben Porat [Studies in the History of Eretz Israel Presented to Yehuda Ben Porat], ed. Y. Ben-Arieh and E. Reiner. Jerusalem, 2003, pp. 288–307. Ben-Shammai, H., and Chiesa, B. ‘‘Qe≠ta‘im mi-Perush RSG li-Megillat Eichah’’ [Fragments of Sa‘adya Gaon’s Commentary on Lamentations]. Ginzei Qedem 3 (2007), pp. 29–87. A Boyarin, D., Friedman, Sh., Schmelzer, M., and Tashma, I. M., eds. ‘Aftarah Le-Hayyim: A Mehqarim f ba-Sifrut ha-Talmudit weha-Rabbanit li-Kevod Professor Hayyim Zalman Dimitrovsky [Atara L’Haim: Studies in the Talmudic and Medieval Rabbinic Literature in Honor of Professor Haim Zalman Dimitrovsky]. Jerusalem, 1999.

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379

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Index

Aaron (Khalaf) Sarjado Gaon, 14, 157, 238–239, 242, 270, 300–304 passim Aaron b. Me’ir, Palestinian Gaon, 118 Abbasid dynasty, xix, 17–18, 185 Abraham b. Sahlan, Egyptian Jewish leader, 128 Abraham Gaon, 142 Abraham Ibn Daud, historian, 11–14, 31, 133 Abu ‘Isa of Isfahan, sectarian, 84 Abu Kathir, Se‘adyah’s teacher, 236– 237 Academies, Babylonian: contributions to, 13–17, 29, 39–40; records of, 23n13, 24; operation of, 38–41 passim, 43– 48, 55–56; traditions of, 183–184 Afrangah, 133n35 Aggadah: attitudes toward, 166, 312– 313 Ahai ≠ of Shavha, ≠ 79n43, 202, 203,07– 209 Aleppo, Syria, 237

A Ali ibn Abu Talib, caliph, 65, 337, 338, 340 Alluf, 50, 129, 237, 324 Al-Ma’mun, caliph, 80–81, 339, 340 Amora’im (Geonic period), 50 ‘Amram b. Mishoi, Babylonian scholar, 14 ‘Amram b. Sheshna ‘‘Gaon,’’ 40–41, 132, 167, 191–193, 275, 343 ‘Anan b. David, sectarian, 85–89, 93, 102 Anthropomorphism, 91–92 Apostasy, xxi, 141n13 Arabia, 125–126 Arabic language, 138, 139, 188–189, 222–223, 251, 269 Arabic script, 189n18 Aramaic, 138, 164, 188, 203–204, 222– 223, 259; mentioned, 216, 330 Archives, 193 Authorship, individual, as innovation, 241, 250–251

383

384

Index

Av Bet Din, 49, 51, 53 A Aveley Siyyon, 95

David b. Zakkai, Exilarch, 27, 57, 76, 77, 79, 80, 82, 238

Babylonia, antiquity of Jewish settlement, 25 Baghdad, Iraq, 13, 31, 36, 38, 42, 237, 258; mentioned, xx, 26, 339 Bahlul, N. African scholar, 16 Ban, expanded use of, 64n51 Bankers, Jewish, xx, 65–66, 77, 238, 339 Basra, Iraq, 125, 223 Benjamin al-Nihawandi, sectarian, 88, 230, 257n32 Bet Din ha-Gadol. See Courts Bet Rabbenu shebbe-Bavel, 42 Bills of exchange, 262n51 Bishr b. Aaron, Baghdadi Jewish leader, 238–239 Bustanai, Exilarch, 70–71

Edom, land of, 133n35, 144, 145 Egron, 236, 317–320, 326–327 Egypt, Jewish community of, 103, 127–129 El‘azar Alluf, 60n33, 132–133 El‘azar Ha-Qallir, poet, 107 Eldad the Danite, 230 Elhanan ≠ b. Shemaryah, Egyptian Jewish leader, 128 Elijah ha-Kohen, Palestinian Gaon, 104 Ephraim b. Shemaryah, Egyptian Jewish leader, 128 Essa Meshali, 97n58, 326 Evyatar b. Elijah, Palestinian Gaon, 104 Exilarch: head of academy, 41–42; social standing of, 48–49; involved in selecting Gaon, 52–53; Davidic lineage of, 69–70; dignities, 69, 74–75, 76; representative of Jews, 74; conflicts over appointment of, 79, 80; reshut, 125; interference with Geonim, 339

Cairo. See Fustat Calendar, 118–120, 127, 237, 243 Catholicos, 67–72 passim, 301 Christian culture, exposure to, 141, 242, 284, 287, 301, 307–308 Christian exegesis criticized, 311–312 Commandments, classification of, 229– 230, 291, 295–296 Communications, difficulties in, 101, 186–187 Constantinople (Byzantium), 133 Courts, 56–58, 59, 63–64, 73, 111, 147, 152–153 Custom, attitudes toward, 38, 64, 116– 117, 120–121, 153–154 Damascus, Syria, 104, 126 Daniel, candidate for Exilarch, 79, 80 Daniel al-Qumisi, sectarian, 89 Daniel b. ‘Azaryah, Palestinian Gaon, 104 David al-Muqammas, philosopher, 287 David b. Daniel, Egyptian Jewish leader, 104–105 David b. Judah, Exilarch, 80–81

Fars, Iran, 125 Fas, N. Africa, 129 Fatimid dynasty, xxi, 17, 102, 103 Fayyum, district in Egypt, 235–236 Franco-Germany, 120, 121n72, 158 Frangah, 133–134 Fustat, Egypt, 32, 105, 127–129 Gaon: social standing, 48–49; selection, 52–53; deposition, 79; standing within academy, 148–149 Gaon, title of, 7n15, 49, 54n1 Genizah, 32, 196 Great Court, 147 Greece, 133n34 Greek culture, xxi, 251–252, 284–285 Greek language, 140, 269 Haifa, Palestine, 104 Halakhot Gedolot, 110, 149, 169, 170, 213–214, 224–232 passim

Index Halakhot Pesuqot, 111, 117, 149, 214, 220, 231–232 Halakhot Qefsuvot, 220n15 Halakhot Qefsuvot de-Beney Ma‘arva, 274, 276 Halakhot Qeftanot, 231 A Haninai Gaon, 60, 193 A Haver, 102–103, 129 Haywayhi of Balkh, freethinker, 97–98 Hayya, name, 11n35 Hayya b. David Gaon, 31, 36, 38 Hayya b. Nahshon ≠ Gaon, 241n22 Hayya b. Sherira Gaon: ‘‘last’’ Gaon, 11– 13; cooperation with Sherira, 15, 52n74, 60–61; ties with diaspora, 16, 128–131 passim; relations with SamA uel b. Hofni, 40, 125n4, 263–264; as teacher, 55–56, 120; attitude toward heresies, 98, 99; knowledge of Persian, 140; attitude toward supernatural, 142, 143; attitude toward custom, 154; attitude toward talmudic text, 157–158; attitude toward Hekhalot literature, 170n55; quotes traditions, 172, 174; as Talmudist, 190, 272; knowledge of earlier responsa, 193; attitude toward halakhic codes, 231, 232; author of monographs, 263–266; attitude toward Se‘adyah, 264; talmudic commentator, 270, 271–274; author of methodological work, 279; as theologian, 297–299; exposure to Islamic culture, 299n58; interest in Bible, 301; as lexicographer, 330–331; as poet, 331–332 Hebrew, 138–139, 188, 216, 259, 317, 330 Hekhalot literature, 143–147 passim, 170 Hezekiah, Exilarch, 12, 82 Hilkhot Re’u, 117, 217, 221–222, 230 A Hillufey Minhagim, 112–113 A Hisdai, Exilarch, 41 A Hushiel b. Elhanan, ≠ Egyptian scholar, 16, 131

385

Ibn ‘Awkal family, merchants, 128 Ifriqiya, 129, 130 Inheritance of rank, 51–52 Introduction, as feature of monographs, 252 Isaac, seventh-century Babylonian scholar, 65, 337 Isaac b. Hunai Gaon, 78 Isaac b. Na≠tira, Baghdadi Jewish leader, 65 Isaac Ben Sakri, head of academy, 13 Isaac Israeli, philosopher, 236, 287 Islamic culture, exposure to, xxi, 141, 251–252, 262 Israel Gaon, 262 Italy, 103, 120, 121n72, 215 Jacob al-Qirqisani, Karaite author, 90, 112 Jacob b. Nissim, scholar of Qayrawan, 20 Jacob Gaon, 60, 148–149, 228 Jerusalem, Palestine, 103–104 A Joseph b. Hiyya, Av Bet Din, 79 Joseph b. Jacob, counter-Gaon, 238–239 Joseph b. Phineas, Baghdadi Jewish leader, 65 Joseph b. Rabbi Gaon, 78, 343 A Josiah (Hasan) b. Zakkai, counterExilarch, 238 Judah b. Barzilai, Spanish author, 133n33 Kalam, 285–299 passim. See also Mu‘tazilites Kallah month, 28, 43–44, 203, 272 Karaites: meaning of name, 88; emergence of movement, 88–89; acquaintance with Second Temple writings, 89–90; doctrine of consensus, 90–91; not literalists, 91n34; use of analogy, 93; calendar laws, 94; liturgy, 94–95; ritual stringencies, 95; mourning for Temple, 95; cursed by Rabbanites, 103; role in intellectual life, 106; active in Biblical studies, 109; polemics against Rabbanites, 112, 142n15, 245

386

Index

Kashrut, handbooks concerning, 259– 260 Khurasan, 27, 76, 125 A Kohen Sedeq Gaon, 15, 29, 79, 343 Legal innovations, 31, 41, 62–64 Lexicography, 322–323, 330–331 Local autonomy, Geonic attitudes toward, 151–153 Lucca, Italy, 133 Ma‘asim literature, 110–111 Magic, attitudes toward, 144–145 Majalis, 285–286 Malkah Gaon, 77 Masorah, 109, 122 Mata Mehasia, ≠ 12, 35, 36, 81. See also Sura Mattatyah Gaon, 48 Me’ir, Palestinian Gaon, 118 Meshullam b. Qalonymus, Italian scholar, 133 Messianism, 84 Mevasser b. Qimoi Gaon, 79 Mevorakh b. Se‘adyah, Egyptian Jewish leader, 105 Midrash, 108, 108n27, 182, 211 Minor tractates, 109–110, 169–170, 227 Miracles, Geonic attitudes toward, 297– 298 Mishnah, subsumed in Talmud, 155 Money, value of, 39n19 Moses Gaon, 142, 343 Muslim conquest, xix, 9, 10n30, 113, 185 Muslim culture, exposure to, 239, 242, 298–299, 307, 308 Mu‘tazilites, 286, 292, 294, 296 Mystical praxis, 145–146, 147 Nafusa, N. Africa, 129 Nahshon ≠ Gaon, 198 Nasi, title, 70, 89 A Nathan b. Hananiah, scholar of Qayrawan, 198

Nathan the Babylonian, 26–28 Na≠tira, Baghdadi Jewish leader, 65, 66 Na≠tira family, 238 A Na≠tronai b. Havivai, Exilarch, 77, 132, 143n17, 163 Na≠tronai b. Hilai Gaon, 9–10, 87, 96, 142–143, 153, 191, 343; cited, 58, 60, 133–134, 141, 166, 180 Na≠tronai b. Nehemiah Gaon, 78, 84 Na≠tronai Gaon, 142n17 Nehardea, Iraq, 8, 35, 36 A Nehemiah b. Kohen Sedeq Gaon, 14 Neoplatonism, 287, 299n57 New Year, second day of, 117–118 Nihawand, Iran, 88 Nisi al-Nahrawani, Baghdadi Jewish leader, 238 Oaths, annulment of, 64n53 Oligarchy in academies, 52 Oral Law, 83–84, 92–93 Orality, 22, 46n48, 156–160 Palestinian culture, influence of, in Babylonia, 121–122, 127, 169–170, 239 Palestinian Talmud, 22, 131, 168–169, 211, 227, 240–241, 272 Pal≠toy Gaon, 134, 163, 174–175, 231, 343 Paris, France, 134 Persecution of Jews, 8–9, 113, 114–116 Persian language, 140, 269 A Perush Seder Teharot, 269–270 Pirqa, 8, 56 Pirqoy b. Baboy, Babylonian propagandist, 113–117, 129, 132, 168–169, 179 Piruz Shabur, Iraq, 8, 65, 337 Pitron Torah, 241n22 Poetics, 319 Poetry, liturgical, 38n10, 106–108, 121– 122, 316, 318, 323–326, 331–332 Poetry, secular, 326, 331–332 Precedent, attitude toward, 149–150, 175, 204, 272

Index Pum, abbreviation of Pumbedita, 42n31 Pumbedita, 125. See also Nehardea Qabes, N. Africa, 129 Qayrawan, N. Africa, 16, 20, 129, 130– 132, 198 Qedushah, 115, 117 Qirqisani. See Jacob al-Qirqisani Qunftres, 187, 194, 195 Rebellious wife, subject of legislation, 9, 10n32, 62–63 Reshuyot, 39, 58–59, 72–73, 102, 123, 125–126. See also Khurasan Rigla, 81 Rosh kallah, 49–50 Sabbath lights, blessing on, 96n55 A Sadoq Gaon, 57, 64 Sahl b. Na≠tira, Baghdadi Jewish leader, 65 Sahlan b. Abraham, Egyptian Jewish leader, 128 Samuel b. Eli ‘‘Gaon,’’ 81–82 A Samuel b. Hofni Gaon: ‘‘last’’ Gaon of Sura, 12; ties with diaspora, 18; fatherin-law of Hayya, 40, 125n4; as polemicist, 98–99, 281n53, 311–312; attitude toward Halakhot Gedolot, 232; attitude toward Karaism, 242n28; author of halakhic monographs, 256n29, 257n30, 261–262; as talmudic commentator, 271; quotes Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, 276; author of introduction to talmudic literature, 280– 282; attitude toward tradition, 280, 296; as theologian, 294–298; as Biblical commentator, 302–314 passim; as poet, 329–330 Samuel b. Hosha‘na, Palestinian scholar, 108 Samuel ha-Nagid, Spanish scholar, 133nn32,33 Samuel Rosh Kallah, Babylonian scholar, 207

387

San‘a, Yemen, 126 Sanctions, 58, 59, 73 Sanhedrin, 49–50, 51, 147 Sar Shalom Gaon, 55, 150, 163–164, 343 Savora’im, 4–10, 31–32, 173, 174, 179, 209, 275 Se‘adyah Gaon: ties with diaspora, 18; relations with David b. Zakkai, 27, 57, 76, 79, 82, 238–239, 243; involvement in political affairs, 65–66, 82; appointment, 78; apologist for Rabbinic Judaism, 93, 96–98, 99, 242–243, 302, 310–311; as lexicographer, 98, 322– 323; Refutation of Haywayhi, 98n62, 324, 326; ignorance of Persian, 140; attitude toward custom, 153–154; style of writing, 191, 318, 326–327; attitude toward Halakhot Gedolot, 232; Refutation of ‘Anan, 236; as Biblical commentator, 241–242, 301–313 passim; as polemicist, 242–243; attitude toward tradition, 244–246, 291; attitude toward liturgical poetry, 248, 260; author of halakhic monographs, 255–260; Book of Religious Law, 258–259; Commentary on the Mishnah, 268–269; Commentary on the Baraita of R. Yishma‘’el, 277; correspondence with Isaac Israeli, 287; Book of Beliefs and Opinions, 289– 290, 291–294; Commentary on Sefer Yefsirah, 290–291; on abrogation, 295n38; on miracles, 297; attitude toward Psalms, 301–302; as grammarian, 320–322, 328 Seder ‘Olam, 246n37, 247n46, 312 Seder Rav ‘Amram, 192–193 Seder Tanna’im we-Amora’im, 23, 274– 277 Sefer ha-Galuy, 243, 246n36, 326 Sefer Ha-Ma‘asim, 110–111, 227 Sefer ha-Mo‘adim, 327 Sefer we-Hizhir, 117, 214, 230 A Sema h≠ b. Pal≠toy Gaon, 15, 41, 60–61, 150

388

Index

Shemaryah b. Elhanan, ≠ Egyptian scholar, 128 Sherira Gaon: ties with diaspora, 15–16, 128, 130, 131; Epistle of, 20–25, 341– 343; partisan attitudes, 25; difficulties in academy, 48; cooperation with Hayya, 51–52; attitude toward supernatural, 142n15; use of halakhic traditions, 173; attitude toward earlier authorities, 174–175; knowledge of academic history, 183; as Talmudist, 190; attitude toward halakhic codes, 225, 232; as talmudic commentator, 271–274; as historian of talmudic literature, 278–279 Shi‘ur Qomah, 146 Sicily, ties with Palestine, 103 Sijilmassa, N. Africa, 129 Simeon Qayyara, 223–228 passim Simunai, Babylonian scholar, 60 Sofer ha-yeshivah, 50 Soferim, 112, 118n61 Solomon b. Judah, Palestinian Gaon, 120, 128–129 Spain, 12–13, 14–15, 132–133 St. Denis, France, 134 Stipends for students, 46–47, 51 Sura: crisis in tenth century, 17, 28, 30; prerogatives of, 25n23, 29–30, 76–77, 338n3, 339; foundation of, 35; income estimated, 39; reshut, 125; ties with Qayrawan, 130; attitudes toward supernatural, 142–143. See also Mata Mehasia ≠ Syria, 126–127 Tahert, N. Africa, 129 Talmud: in curriculum, 45, 156; authority of, 161–162, 164–166, 178–180, 273–274; rules for application of, 164–165, 181, 227–228, 275–276 Talmudic text, 158–161, 180, 212 Tanna’im (Geonic period), 42, 48, 50, 166, 170

Tannaitic literature, 166–168, 211 Targum, 170 Taxation, internal Jewish, 39, 59, 72– 73 Taxation, Muslim, 71–72 A Terefot, 85, 95n48 Tiberias, Palestine, 101, 109, 236 Tilimsan, N. Africa, 129 Timotheus, patriarch, 89 Torah reading, competing traditions concerning, 117n59 A Tov, Babylonian scholar, 15 Traditions: of academies, 22–23; used in She’iltot, 211–212; used in Halakhot Pesuqot, 220–221 ‘‘Two academies,’’ 41–42, 77n37 Tyre, Lebanon, 104 Umayyad dynasty, xx, 132 ‘Uqba, Exilarch, 26–27, 65, 76, 77, 82 Vows, annulment of, 45n44, 64n53 Wasit, Iraq, 125 Yehudai Gaon, attributions to, 10n32, 31–32, 218–220, 223–231 passim; refusal to annul vows, 45n44; appointment, 78; critic of Palestinian tradition, 115–116, 127; attitude toward tradition, 179; image, 219; mentioned, 45, 113, 140–141, 156, 174 Yelamdenu midrashim, 205, 205n15 Yemamah, 125–126 Yemen, 125–126 Yeshivah. See Academies Yeshivah shel golah, 36n5 Yeshivah shel yamin, 36n5, 76–77 Yudghan of Hamadan, sectarian, 84 Zakkai b. Ahunai, Exilarch, 77 Zion, identified with Babylonia, 114 Zirid dynasty, 18