how does the author prove her/his argument? Quote (properly attributed and cited): use the authors own words to illustrate

CREATING JUDAISM History, Tradition,

Practice

Michael L. Satlow

Columbia University Press New York

Creating Judaism

Michael l. Satlow

Creating Judaism

3 History, Tradition, Practice 4

Columbia University Press New York

Columbia University Press

Publishers Since 1893

New York, Chichester, West Sussex

Copyright © 2006 Michael L. Satlow

All rights reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Satlow, Michael L.

Creating Judaism : history, tradition, practice / Michael L. Satlow

p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index.

isBn 0-231-13488-6 (cloth : alk. paper) — isBn 0-231-13489-4 (pbk. : alk. paper) —

isBn 0-231-50911-1 (ebook) 1. Judaism. 2. Jews—Identity. I. Title.

Bm45.s226 2006 296—dc22

2006018056

Casebound editions of Columbia University Press books are printed

on permanent and durable acid-free paper.

Printed in the United States of America

c 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

p 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Jacqueline

r

Acknowledgments  ix

Chronology xi

Introduction 1

1 Promised Lands 22

2 Creating Judaism 69

3 Between Athens and Jerusalem 96

4 The Rabbis 115

5 Rabbinic Concepts 140

6 Mitzvot 164

7 The Rise of Reason 187

8 From Moses to Moses 209

9 Seeing God 229

10 East and West 250

Epilogue: Whither Judaism? 288

Glossary  297 Bibliographical Notes  307

Index  325

contents

W riting this Book has brought me far outside of my usual comfort zone, and I have turned to many colleagues, students, friends, and family for guidance. It is a pleasure for me to ac- knowledge their help and generosity.

The idea for this book, and the intellectual model underlying it, emerged slowly over long and pleasant conversations with former colleagues at In- diana University, especially Robert Orsi and Steven Weitzman. I benefited immensely from the comments that I received when presenting earlier drafts of the introduction at the Jewish Theological Seminary as well as to my colleagues in Judaic Studies at Brown University and the graduate stu- dents in the Department of Religious Studies. My colleague Muhammad Qasim Zaman helped me work through one important problem, and the trenchant comments of Shaul Magid and Charles Mathewes to yet another draft helped me sharpen my thoughts.

Several colleagues read individual chapters. Michah Gottlieb, Hindy Naj- man, and David Novak saved me from numerous mistakes. A series of con- versations with Daniel Abrams was similarly helpful at a critical moment. It was my good fortune, as I began writing this book, to meet Moshe Rosman. Moshe not only read several chapters with extraordinary care, repeatedly correcting errors and pushing me to clarify and refine my arguments, but also has been a valuable dialogue partner. The extensive comments of the anonymous referees for Columbia University Press were extraordinarily useful. For all remaining errors and problems in this book, I have only my- self to thank.

acknowledgments

This book could not have been completed without the support that I have received from numerous institutions, especially the Department of Religious Studies, the Program in Judaic Studies, and the office of the Dean of the Faculty at Brown University. I completed this book while enjoying the hospitality of the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem; my thanks to Adiel Schremer for both his help with logistics as well as good conversation while I was there. Isaiah Gafni facilitated my access to resources at Hebrew University. The wonderful collection at the Jewish National and University Library at Hebrew University was invaluable; my thanks and apologies to the many colleagues in the Judaica Reading Room whom I regularly and frantically pestered.

The ideas in this book gestated in the classroom, and I thank the many students who graciously endured my attempts to make them comprehen- sible. Through their questions, blank stares, and spirited dissents, my stu- dents at the University of Virginia, Indiana University, and Brown Universi- ty—whether they knew it or not—contributed actively to the development of this book. My teaching in the Me’ah program run by Hebrew College provided an additional opportunity for test-driving ideas and drafts, and the comments and critiques of my adult students led to yet another round of rewriting.

I am appreciative of the support of my sister, Vicki Satlow, who led me to Columbia University Press. I have been lucky to find in my editor, Wendy Lochner, an able and encouraging advocate for this project. My copyeditor, Susan Pensak, has been a pleasure to work with. Many individuals, and the institutions that they represent, generously and expeditiously responded to my requests for images and permissions: David Kraemer and David Sclar of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America; Robert Hill and Ruth Paige of Temple Emanu-El in Providence, in which is housed the Abraham and Natalie Percelay Museum; Elka Deitsch of Temple Emanu-El in New York; Rabbi Peretz Scheinerman of the Providence Hebrew Day School; and Tom Gilbert at AP/Accuweather.

The pleasures of teaching and research pale against those that my chil- dren give me. Daniel, Penina, and Jeremy enjoy seeing their names in print, and I am only too happy to be able to do this for them as a token of my love.

For reasons known only to her, my wife, Jacqueline, continues to put up with me. The least that I can do is dedicate this book to her.

� d aC k n ow l e d g me n ts

Ca. 1000 BCe The united monarchies of David and Solomon Ca. 1000 BCe–586 BCe Period of the Israelite monarchies 722 BCe Fall of Northern Israelite kingdom 586 BCe First Temple destroyed by Babylonians Ca. 515 BCe Second Temple established Ca. 515 BCe–70 Ce Second Temple period 323 BCe Death of Alexander the Great; beginning of Hellenistic

period Ca. 200 BCe Translation of the Bible into Greek (Septuagint);

Antiochus III conquers Jerusalem 168 BCe–162 BCe Defilement of Temple by Antiochus IV and Maccabean

uprising 63 BCe Entrance of Pompey, the Roman general, to Jerusalem 30 BCe–4 BCe Rule of Herod 70 Ce Destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans 70–640 Rabbinic period 70–Ca. 250: Period of the tannaim 132–135 Bar Kokhba Revolt Ca. 220 Redaction of Mishnah Ca. 250–Ca. 500 Period of the amoraim Ca. 400 Redaction of Palestinian Talmud Ca. 500 Redaction of Babylonian Talmud Ca. 550–1050 Geonic period 640 Muslim conquest of Near East 661–750 Umayyad dynasty

chronology

750–1258 ‘Abbasid dynasty 755 Abd al-Rahman (an Umayyad) declares his emirate in

Cordoba (Andalusia) 928–942 Se‘adyah ben Joseph serves as geon of Sura 929 Abd al-Rahman III declares himself caliph in Andalusia 1086 Rulers of Andalusia call on Almoravids for military aid 1135–1204 Life of Maimonides 1147 Almohads overthrow Almoravids late 1200s Authorship of Zohar 1492 Expulsion of Jews from Spain 1626–1676 Life of Sabbatai Zvi 1654 Portuguese expel Jews from Brazil; a boatload arrives in

New Amsterdam 1656 Excommunication of Spinoza in Amsterdam 1698–1760 Life of Ba’al Shem Tov 1704 Foundation of Kahal Kadosh Shearith Israel, Spanish-

Portuguese synagogue in New York 1729–1786 Life of Moses Mendelssohn 1817 Formation of the New Israelite Temple Association in

Hamburg 1875 Hebrew Union College founded 1881–1914 Over two million Jews immigrate to the United States

from Eastern Europe 1885 Pittsburgh Platform 1887 Foundation of the Jewish Theological Seminary of

America 1894 Dreyfus affair 1897 First Zionist Congress 1898 Foundation of the Orthodox Union 1902 Foundation of Agudath Ha-Rabbanim 1948 Creation of the State of Israel 1967 Six-Day War

� i i d C h r o n o l o g y

Creating Judaism

W hat is Judaism? At first glance, the question itself appears either silly or arcane. Everybody, after all, has some working mental concept that they call “Judaism.” Many committed Jews and Christians can provide a precise and articulate definition, draw- ing a clear bright line between what “counts” as Judaism and what does not. Many more people who cannot or will not provide such a definition nev- ertheless inherently know what Judaism is: “I know it when I see it,” they might reply. For such people, to argue about a precise meaning is a mere academic exercise, an abstruse and meaningless game of words that in no way gets at Judaism’s real meaning.

Maybe I am just drawn to silly and arcane questions, but the issue that lurks behind this bald and oversimplified question has been nagging me for more than a decade. Its roots, I suspect, are personal. I am a Jew who was raised in a largely nonobservant family that nevertheless emphasized the value of Jewish identity, of belonging to a people. The supplemental school of the Conservative synagogue that we joined shortly before my bar mitzvah reinforced this central message of Jewish identity, of am yisrael, the “People of Israel,” basically a biological notion of an extended family, in which all Jews share the accomplishments, disappointments, and calamities of all other Jews. To a slightly alienated and awkward Jewish youth growing up in a very non-Jewish suburb of Boston, this was a powerful idea. It was also an idea that in college did not stand up very well to the experience of meeting actual Jews.

I was a fickle and eclectic Jew in college. I regularly attended religious services, but never the same one regularly. The Jews that I met in college

introduction

� d i n tr o d u c ti o n

were hardly representative of the American Jewish community, but even this narrow cross section was stunningly diverse. My struggle to integrate this enormous diversity with my notion of am yisrael was further compli- cated by my first trip to Israel. Riding in the middle of a planeload of Satmar Hasidim whose rebbe was making his first trip to the land of Israel—they refuse to recognize the sovereignty of the modern State of Israel, which they regard as a Jewish heresy—in short order I found myself learning Hebrew at Ofra, a settlement of religious Zionists on the West Bank. Soon after I returned to the United States the man who taught me Talmud at Ofra was imprisoned for bombing Palestinian officials. The United Jewish Appeal slogan at the time proclaimed “We Are One!” I, though, found myself in- creasingly wondering, “Are We One?” What actually links divergent Jewish communities?

The question, as I discovered soon after beginning my graduate studies in Jews and Judaism in antiquity, has a distinguished intellectual pedigree. I had come late to a question that has plagued scholars since the discovery in the early twentieth century of the synagogue mosaics from ancient Pal- estine and the wall paintings on the synagogue in Dura Europos, a Roman garrison town in Syria that was evacuated in the third century ce. As the archaeological evidence was making clear, the synagogues of late antiquity were richly decorated with representations of animals, humans, zodiacs, and even, perhaps, Helios and the God of Israel. Seen against rabbinic liter- ature, which is virtually the only extant Jewish literature from late antiquity, these finds were jarring. Rabbinic literature, such as the Babylonian Tal- mud, leaves us totally unprepared to deal with synagogues ornately deco- rated with figurative representations.

In his massive, twelve-volume work, Jewish Symbols in the Greco-Roman Period, a Yale scholar, Erwin Ramsdell Goodenough, attempted to explain the discrepancy between the archaeological and literary data.1 The archae- ological evidence, he argued, is best interpreted against the thought of Philo (ca. 30 bce–30 ce), a Jewish philosopher writing in Greek in Alexandria. Seen together, Philo and the archaeological evidence testify to a mystical, astral Judaism. This mystical Judaism, whose adherents sought direct ex- perience of God, is to be contrasted with the staid Judaism of the Rabbis, with their emphasis on law and Torah as mediating a Jew’s contact with the divine.

Goodenough, it turned out, was wrong. For a number of reasons, his neat division between astral and rabbinic Judaism cannot be sustained. His work, though, brilliantly opened up the field both by heightening awareness

i n tr o d u c ti o n d �

of what had until his time been an unproblematic concept, Judaism, and by putting the issue of Jewish diversity squarely on the scholarly table.

Goodenough’s insistence that in antiquity there were two types of Juda- ism forced scholars to confront the assumptions that inform their use of the category Judaism. The word itself is surprisingly ill-attested in antiq- uity and first appears in Hebrew (as yahadut) only in the Middle Ages. Its origin appears to have been Greek. The author or editor of 2 Maccabees, a history of the Maccabean revolt (which occurred ca. 165 bce) that was written in Greek and then condensed around 100 bce, coined the word. For this writer, Judaism stood in opposition to Hellenism as the true religion of Israel. It was, above all, a normative definition, to be held by a community in order to define itself against other “outside” groups, customs, and beliefs. It is an insider’s definition, meant to differentiate “us” not only from “them” but even from different groups of “us.” Some groups of Jews thus become true defenders of “Judaism,” against not only some outside enemy but even other Jews who in some way are seen as attacking the authentic religion.

This earliest understanding of Judaism, which continues to some extent to today, ultimately is an essentialist one. Essentialist definitions assert that there is an essence to the thing, usually marked by a set of defining characteristics. This might be a set of beliefs or practices or a supernatural essence. Without this essence—whatever it is—it is no longer considered Judaism. Essentialist definitions usually have a normative dimension. They are created and used by a community to define itself and thus also to set its boundaries.

The practice of defining Judaism both normatively and essentially has had a remarkable staying power. Paul, himself a Jew, turned this normative definition on its head. Judaism indeed had an essence, but that essence was the static, dead “law” against which Christianity would come to define itself as a religion of the spirit. In these formulations, Judaism became a Christian theological category that Christians could use for their own self-definition: We are not Jews.

The term Judaism never shed this theological baggage. As used com- monly and academically in nineteenth-century Germany, there was always a defining essence to Judaism. Judaism had an essential core, a feature with- out which it was no longer Judaism. Only true Judaism contains that es- sential core; groups that claim to practice Judaism, but that appear to an outside observer to lack the essential characteristic of Judaism, can now safely be characterized as “inauthentic,” “heretical,” or simply not Jewish. This highlights both the normative nature of essentialist definitions as well

� d i n tr o d u c ti o n

as the importance of perspective. Those Jews that one essentialist definition of Judaism might classify as heretics rarely see themselves as anything but authentic.

Essentialist and normative definitions are useful for communal self- definition. Communities, of course, regularly define themselves in what- ever manner they see fit. One Jewish group that wants to define itself against both non-Jews and other, competing Jewish groups will naturally try to cast itself as more “authentic.” It will draw upon history to create a definition of Judaism to which it is the true heir and other claimants are not. Judaism’s essence, not very coincidentally, becomes identical with that of the particu- lar claimant. Such essentialist self-definitions help to reinforce group cohe- sion by giving its members an opportunity to unite as participants in some transcendent essence.

As good as they are for the creation and maintenance of group boundar- ies, essentialist definitions of Judaism have more limited usefulness outside the specific groups that use them. They are interesting to study as “first- order” definitions, the ways in which specific groups define themselves, but they fail to explain anything “real” about Judaism. Essentialist definitions of Judaism can never explain or account for the diversity of Jewish religious life, both today and through history. Those forms of Jewish life, practice, and belief that are thought to be in accord with the essentialist definition are the only data that are considered relevant, thus reinforcing the original definition. Such definitions of all religious traditions create circles that tend to put an objective academic imprimatur on one subgroup’s self-definition.

The problem, as the study of Judaism in antiquity has made clear in the wake of Goodenough’s opus, is that there were many Jewish subgroups, and that they were frequently at odds with each other. Until Goodenough, scholars almost uncritically considered the Judaism of antiquity to be that of the Pharisees, as imaginatively reconstructed by modern scholars. Goodenough forced scholars to take contemporary “renegade” and “mar- ginal” Jewish groups more seriously, especially the group documented by the Dead Sea scrolls, which were just beginning to be published. The cumulative effect of this scholarly activity was to decenter the Pharisees; they did not represent “mainstream” Judaism, but rather were just one of many Jewish groups (albeit one that at certain times may have had more in- fluence than others) competing for adherents until the slow rise of the Rab- bis that began after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 ce. Jacob Neusner, a professor then at Brown University, saw such diversity in this

i n tr o d u c ti o n d �

period that he tended to speak of the “Judaisms” of antiquity rather than of a single Judaism.

The term Judaisms seems to solve the problem created by Judaism. It implicitly assumes that there are many Judaisms, each one of which has integrity in its own right, thus rejecting a single normative definition. Ju- daisms became appealing to some scholars of modern Judaism, who use it to describe the enormous variety of modern and contemporary Jewish life. Jewish thinkers throughout history have offered theological positions that are at times mutually exclusive, and Jewish communities have at times differed so fundamentally from each other in practice that their members would not eat in the houses of, or marry, members of other Jewish groups. How can all of these groups, claiming to be Jewish, really constitute a single religious tradition? Judaisms usefully shifts our focus from essentialist defi- nitions that classify some forms of Jewish life as more authentic than others to the tremendous diversity of Jewish practice and belief.

But Judaisms actually does not solve anything. Remarkably, and despite its common use by scholars, there is little extensive scholarly defense of the term; it has been used, but only thinly explained or argued. If Judaism suffers from its neglect of diversity, Judaisms neglects the aspect of unity. However diverse, Jewish religious communities understand themselves to be part of the same “tradition,” and often recognize (sometimes reluctant- ly) some legitimacy to the claims of other Jewish communities. Even when wide theological or ritual gulfs separate Jewish communities, there often remain social relations, justified under the principle of am yisrael. There is a border, however fuzzy it might sometimes be, between religious com- munities that identify themselves as Jewish and those that see themselves as Muslim, Christian, or Hindu. Like Goodenough’s pioneering work, Juda- isms raises awareness to a problem without providing a clear solution to it.

The debate between Judaism and Judaisms is largely a matter of seman- tic emphasis, but points to a much more interesting and complex problem. How are we, not necessarily as participants within a religious community but as human beings who seek to understand and learn something from and about religion, to explain the enormous diversity of Jewish religious com- munities—or, for that matter, any group of religious communities—without losing sight of their unity?

This was the question that was very much on my mind when, a year out of graduate school, I was assigned to teach “Introduction to Judaism.” I had never taken such a course in college and was at first overwhelmed by the

� d i n tr o d u c ti o n

quantity of the material that I felt I needed to cram into the semester. How could I possibly cover everything? This concern, however, soon gave way to the more pressing intellectual one: What is “Judaism”? What is the sub- ject matter of such a course? The common textbooks turned out to be little help. Despite the wide scholarly recognition of the deficiencies of a unitary approach to Judaism, most modern discussions of Judaism tend to stay closely in line with the older, canonical model: Judaism traces a straight line from the Bible to the Pharisees to the Rabbis to their heirs. Judaism, in this model, is the textual tradition of the Rabbis, sometimes called “rabbinic Judaism.”

This standard approach to the study of Judaism is to make exactly this division, between the “normative” tradition of rabbinic Judaism and all oth- ers. It assumes there is a single normative Judaism that unfolds like an in- dependent living organism. It also requires some parochial preconceptions about what is truly “Jewish.” Thus, Reform Jews might reject a congregation of humanistic Jews—a community that identifies itself as a Jewish religious community and yet explicitly rejects the existence of God—as inauthentic, just as some Orthodox Jews, especially in Israel, have rejected Reform Ju- daism—which does not accept Jewish law, or halakhah, as binding on all Jews—as an authentic expression of Judaism.

There is, however, another way to look at Judaism that avoids the inher- ent parochialism of first-order definitions. This book will argue for a defi- nition of Judaism that can better account both for its immense diversity and its unifying features. More important, it will show how changing the way we approach the “problem” of Judaism can give us a much richer and deeper understanding of Jewish religious life and tradition.

Judaism, I will argue, is best seen not as a single organismlike tradition but as a family of traditions. Ludwig Wittgenstein, a twentieth-century phi- losopher, advanced the idea of “familial resemblance.” He noted that family members can resemble each other in a variety of ways or not at all. I might have my mother’s nose, and my mother might have her mother’s chin, but I might not look at all like my grandmother. Wittgenstein is interested in the nature of this relationship for philosophical reasons, but it can profitably be applied to religion. Jonathan Z. Smith, a professor of religion at the Univer- sity of Chicago, put the problem somewhat differently but, I think, drove at the same point when he argued for a polythetic definition of early Judaism (and, by extension, other religious traditions).2 Polythetic definitions differ from essentialist ones in that they focus on sets of overlapping characteris- tics. Out of a list of characteristics that all members of a class might share,

i n tr o d u c ti o n d �

there will be large overlaps of shared characteristics, but some members will have nothing in common with others. There is no single shared compo- nent that is essential to a member’s inclusion.

Biological metaphors for religion should not be pushed too far. Judaism is not a tangible living thing that inexorably unfolds over time. Judaism has no genes; it is the creation and recreation of human beings working in history. Each community of Jews creates its Judaism anew, reading and understand- ing their traditions through their own peculiar and historically specific worldviews.

Judaism, then, has no history. Jewish communities have local histories (I will leave it to the historians to debate whether Jewish history is a term that has meaning), and some patterns of thought and tradition have intellectual histories. Because Judaism, however, is not a single phenomenon that can be captured in a single, predominant narrative, it is misleading to talk of the “history of Judaism.” Judaism, as a whole, does not have a story; any master narrative obscures the dynamic process by which communities con- tinually recreate their Judaism. Indeed, even those elements of Judaism that can be traced historically infrequently develop in any kind of linear way. Jewish communities do not typically adhere piously to the ideas and rituals of the generations immediately before them, particularly when they live in different social and cultural traditions. Rather, they often skip back to pre- vious texts and rituals in order to lend authority to practices that they find more concordant with their own society. A history of Judaism creates a his- tory where none truly existed, drawing a straight line through a tangled web and thus almost arbitrarily declaring some things central to its story and others marginal.

Judaism’s diversity is easier to explain than its unity. Although there may not be a singular tradition called Judaism, not every religious com- munity can be called Jewish. This, of course, is obvious: Roman Catholics and Muslims do not identify themselves as practitioners of Judaism, and any definition that attempts to consider them as Jews against their will is ill-advised. More complex are the cases of contested self-identification, in which a group considers itself to be a Jewish community when other Jewish groups reject them. What of Messianic Jews (those who claim to be Jewish believers that Jesus was the messiah) or Black Hebrews? Without making normative judgments based on unjustified essentialist assumptions of what is to “count” as evidence for “authentic” Judaism, is it possible to explain the overlapping characteristics that unite these different religious communities into “Judaism”?

� d i n tr o d u c ti o n

The fundamental argument of this book is that Judaism can be charted, polythetically, onto three maps. Here I use another metaphor drawn from Jonathan Z. Smith. A “map” is a scholarly, or second-order, rendering of a territory; it is a representation. Essentialist and normative definitions are appealing; they can usually be stated in just a few sentences, and the norma- tive question they seek to answer—Does it or does it not “count” as Juda- ism?—is immediate. Maps are messier and the question that they seek to answer is inherently different. This book makes no normative claims about what is or should be considered Judaism by a religious community. Rather, its goal is to create and apply a non-normative model of Judaism that might help us to better understand how Jewish communities throughout history have been so diverse and yet considered themselves to be members of the same family.

The three maps onto which Judaism can be plotted are Israel, textual tra- dition, and religious practice. By Israel I refer to self-identity, the act of iden- tifying as a member of am yisrael and the particular self-understanding of what that identification means. All groups that self-identify as Jews “count,” and, however much other Jewish communities contest their identity, their own self-characterization puts them on the map. These communities iden- tify themselves as Jews, locating themselves (or not) within a sacred narra- tive and a bloodline. The objective truth of this claim is less important in this case than the community’s self-perception; being part of Israel begins with the claim to be, not with some outsider judging whether that claim is correct. At the same time, though, Jewish self-perception is hardly consis- tent or static. Different communities, and their individual members, use different strategies for identifying as Jews.

The second map charts the communities’ canonical texts. Jewish com- munities throughout history have tended to ascribe authority of some type to a bounded and largely similar set of texts. Nearly every community from late antiquity to the present that identifies itself as Jewish has held in high regard the Hebrew Bible and the rabbinic textual tradition, although the precise nature of that regard and of the authority given to these texts is complex, contested, and varies from community to community. These texts constitute an ongoing dialogue that has been remarkably consistent, providing a set of resources upon which Jewish communities have drawn in order to authorize their understandings of Judaism.

Texts, however, are not the only vehicles of tradition. Jewish communi- ties also transmit religious practices, some of which coexist uneasily with the textual tradition. On the one hand, by absorbing traditional practices

i n tr o d u c ti o n d �

and at times converting these ad hoc practices into scripted and meaningful rituals, rabbinic texts preserve them for later generations; even when the practices themselves fall out of use, later communities can recover them from the texts. Yet, on the other hand, these texts tend to structure the practices and ascribe meanings to them that do not always survive the test of time, and frequently a practice breaks from the texts that attempt to ritu- alize and interpret it.

In the following pages I flesh out and illustrate this polythetic model. It is worth noting, though, how this approach differs from the conven- tional one. Typically, Judaism is described in terms of its core beliefs and normative practices. This focus on belief arose from modern Western no- tions of “religion” that locate the value and function of religion in mean- ing and intention. The modern anthropologist Clifford Geertz drew upon this tradition when he offered his highly influential definition of religion as a system of meaning.3 In this book the subordination of belief to tradi- tion (as

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