Pious Irreverence: Confronting God in Rabbinic Judaism

By Dov Weiss

Judaism is often described as a religion that tolerates, even celebrates arguments with God. Unlike Christianity and Islam, it is said, Judaism endorses a tradition of protest as first expressed in the biblical stories of Abraham, Job, and Jeremiah. In Pious Irreverence, Dov Weiss has written the first scholarly study of the premodern roots of this distinctively Jewish theology of protest, examining its origins and development in the rabbinic age.

Weiss argues that this particular Jewish relationship to the divine is rooted in the most canonical of rabbinic texts even as he demonstrates that in ancient Judaism the idea of debating God was itself a matter of debate. By elucidating competing views and exploring their theological assumptions, the book challenges the scholarly claim that the early rabbis conceived of God as a morally perfect being whose goodness had to be defended in the face of biblical accounts of unethical divine action. Pious Irreverence examines the ways in which the rabbis searched the words of the Torah for hidden meanings that could grant them the moral authority to express doubt about, and frustration with, the biblical God. Using characters from the Bible as their mouthpieces, they often challenged God's behavior, even in a few remarkable instances, envisioning God conceding error, declaring to the protestor, "You have taught Me something; I will nullify My decree and accept your word."

• Language: English
• Publisher: University of Pennsylvania Press
• Release date: Jul 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9780812293050

Book preview

Pious Irreverence

DIVINATIONS: REREADING LATE ANCIENT RELIGION

Series Editors: Daniel Boyarin, Virginia Burrus, Derek Krueger

PIOUS IRREVERENCE

Confronting God in Rabbinic Judaism

DOV WEISS

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA PRESS

PHILADELPHIA

Copyright © 2017 University of Pennsylvania Press

All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations used for purposes of review or scholarly citation, none of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without written permission from the publisher.

Published by

University of Pennsylvania Press

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19104-4112

www.upenn.edu/pennpress

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

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A Cataloging-in-Publication record is available from the Library of Congress

ISBN 978-0-8122-4835-7

For Mommy and Abba

CONTENTS

A Note on Manuscripts, Critical Editions, and Translations Used in the Text

Introduction

Chapter 1. Confrontation as Sin

Chapter 2. From Sin to Virtue

Chapter 3. Varieties of Confrontation

Chapter 4. Confrontation as Ethics

Chapter 5. The Humanization of God

Chapter 6. Divine Concessions

Conclusion

Notes

Bibliography

Index

Acknowledgments

MANUSCRIPTS, CRITICAL EDITIONS, AND TRANSLATIONS USED IN THE TEXT

Manuscripts and Critical Editions

All references to the following rabbinic documents are to the critical editions listed here.

Avot de-Rabbi Nathan. Edited by Solomon Schechter. New York: Feldheim, 1967.

Aggadat Bereshit. Edited by Solomon Buber. Krakow: Fisher, 1902.

Mekhilta de-Rabbi Ishmael. Edited by Haim Shaul Horovitz and Israel Rabin. Jerusalem: Bamberger and Wahrman, 1960.

Mekilta de-Rabbi Shimon Bar Yoḥai. Edited by J. N. Epstein and E. Z. Melamed. Jerusalem: Hillel, 1955.

Midrash Aggada. Edited by Solomon Buber. New York: Madah, 1960.

Midrash Leqaḥ Tov. 2 vols. Edited by Solomon Buber. Vilna, 1884.

Midrash Shemot Rabbah, Parashot 1–14. Jerusalem: Devir, 1984.

Midrash Tanḥuma (Buber). Edited by Solomon Buber. Vilna, 1885.

Midrash Tannaim. Edited by David Tzvi Hoffman. Berlin: Itzkowski, 1908.

Midrash Zuta. Edited by Solomon Buber. Berlin, 1894.

Pesiqta de-Rav Kahana. 2 vols. Edited by Bernard Mandelbaum. New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1987.

Pesiqta Zutrata. Edited by Solomon Buber. Vilna 1880.

Sifre Numbers. Edited by Haim Shaul Horovitz. Leipzig, 1917. Reprint, Jerusalem: Shalem, 1992.

Sifre Deuteronomy. Edited by Louis Finkelstein. New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 2001.

For the following rabbinic documents, I have primarily relied on the best manuscripts as selected by the Historical Dictionary Project of the Academy of the Hebrew Language. These manuscripts can be found online (now free of charge): http://maagarim.hebrewacademy.org.il/Pages/PMain.aspx.

Babylonian Talmud (BT)

Deuteronomy Rabbah

Ecclesiastes Rabbah

Esther Rabbah

Exodus Rabbah I (1–14)

Exodus Rabbah II (15–52)

Genesis Rabbah

Jerusalem Talmud (JT)

Lamentations Rabbah

Leviticus Rabbah

Midrash Psalms

Mishnah (M)

Numbers Rabbah I (1–14)

Pesiqta Rabbati

Pirqe de-Rabbi Eliezer

Ruth Rabbah

Seder Eliyahu Rabbah

Song of Songs Rabbah

Tanḥuma (Standard Recension)

Tosefta

However, on occasion, I cite variant manuscripts or quote the aforementioned works from the following critical editions (these instances are noted in the book):

Midrash Bereshit Rabbah. Edited by Julius Theodor and Chanoch Albeck. Jerusalem: Shalem Books, 1996.

Midrash Devarim Rabbah. Edited by Saul Lieberman. Jerusalem: Shalem, 1992.

Midrash Proverbs. Edited by Solomon Buber. Vilna: Ha-Almana weha-Aḥim Reʾam, 1893.

Midrash Psalms. Edited by Solomon Buber. Vilna: Ha-Almana weha-Aḥim Reʾam, 1891.

Midrash Shemot Rabbah, Parashot 1–14. Edited by Avigdor Shinan. Jerusalem: Devir, 1984.

Vayikra Rabbah. 5 vols. Edited by Moshe Margaliot. Jerusalem: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1953–1960.

I have obtained variant textual witnesses for the Babylonian Talmud from the online Lieberman database: http://www.lieberman-institute.com/.

I have relied on manuscripts for Pesiqta Rabbati from the following source:

Ulmer, Rivka. Pesiqta Rabbati: A Synoptic Edition of Pesiqta Rabbati Based upon All Extant Manuscripts and the Editio Princeps. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997.

Currently, no manuscripts or critical editions are readily accessible for Numbers Rabbah II (15–23). Thus, citations of this work are taken from Numbers Rabbah according to MS Oxford-Bodleian 147 (microfilm obtained from the National Library of Israel, Jerusalem).

Translations

While taking full responsibility for the translations that appear herein, I have relied on the following works, freely making changes to them as deemed necessary:

The Babylonian Talmud. Translated by Israel Slotki et al. Edited by Isidore Epstein. 18 vols. New York: Soncino, 1961.

Berlin, Adele, Marc Zvi Brettler, and Michael A. Fishbane. The Jewish Study Bible. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004.

Berman, Samuel A. Midrash Tanhuma-Yelammedenu: An English Translation of Genesis and Exodus. Hoboken, N.J.: KTAV, 1996.

Braude, William G. The Midrash on Psalms. Yale Judaica Series, vol. 13. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1959.

Braude, William G. Pesiqta Rabbati: Discourses for Feasts, Fasts, and Special Sabbaths. Yale Judaica Series, vol 18. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1968.

Braude, William G., and Israel J. Kapstein. Pesikta de-Rab Kahana. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1975.

Braude, William G., and Israel J. Kapstein. The Lore of the School of Elijah. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1981.

Friedlander, Gerald. Midrash. Pirke De Rabbi Eliezer According to the Text of the Manuscript Belonging to Abraham Epstein of Vienna. London: Bloch Publishing Company, 1916.

Hammer, Reuven. Sifre: A Tannaitic Commentary on the Book of Deuteronomy. Yale Judaica

Series. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1986.

Lauterbach, Jacob Z. Mekhilta de-Rabbi Ishmael: A Critical Edition, Based on the Manuscripts and Early Editions. 3 vols. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1976.

Midrash Rabbah. Edited by H. Freedman and Maurice Simon. 13 vols. London: Soncino, 1939.

Neusner, Jacob. Sifre to Numbers: An American Translation and Explanation. Brown Judaic Studies no. 118–119. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1986.

Neusner, Jacob. The Talmud of the Land of Israel: A Preliminary Translation and Explanation. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982.

Townsend, John T. Midrash Tanḥuma. Hoboken, N.J.: Ktav, 1989.

INTRODUCTION

She bought her first new car and You hit her with a drunk driver. What, was that supposed to be funny? … What did I ever do to [Your Son] except praise His glory and praise His name? … Have I displeased You, You feckless thug? …

haec credam a deo pio, a deo justo, a deo scito? cruciatus in crucem! tuus in terra servus, nuntius fui; officium perfeci. cruciatus in crucem. eas in crucem [should I believe that these things are from a benevolent God, from a just God, from a knowing God?? To hell with Your torments (lit., crucifixions)! On earth, I was your servant, your messenger; I did my duty. To hell with Your torments. To hell with you (lit., may You go to the cross)].

—President Josiah Bartlett, Two Cathedrals

(episode 44, May 16, 2001), The West Wing

Described as one of the best episodes in the history of American television,¹ the finale of the second season of The West Wing revolves around the tragic and untimely death of Mrs. Landingham, the personal secretary of President Bartlett (Martin Sheen). After the funeral, the president emptied the church of his security personnel and, approaching the altar, angrily rebukes God: "cruciatus in crucem. eas in crucem." (To hell with Your torments. To hell with You).² This unexpected and irreverent diatribe from America’s most beloved fictional president stunned West Wing viewers. How could the hit TV show portray a highly ethical and faithful Christian castigating God in such brazen fashion? Noting that the episode’s writer, Aaron Sorkin, is Jewish, one TV analyst offered this explanation: Sure, [the scene] was in a church, the actor and characters were both Catholic, and the final words were in Latin. But it was a uniquely Jewish religious experience…. This may have been the most Jewish scene ever written (mostly) in English.³

Scholars often describe Judaism as a religion that tolerates, even celebrates, arguing with God. Unlike Christianity and Islam, it is said, Judaism endorses the tradition of protest as first expressed in the biblical stories of Abraham, Job, and Jeremiah.⁴ Bible scholar Carol Newsom, for example, argues that [while] both Judaism and Christianity have retained the notion of a personal God … only Judaism has developed the Joban piety of argument with God.⁵ Similarly, literary scholar Bernard Schweitzer notes that what sets Judaism apart is the liberty with which Jews express their doubts, their quarrels, and their rebellions against God.⁶ And, in light of the horrors of the twentieth century, progressive theologians Johann Baptist Metz and John K. Roth have called on the Christian community to affirm the distinctively Jewish theodicies of protest.⁷

Surprisingly, however, despite its centrality in contemporary Jewish thought,⁸ no work has comprehensively analyzed the ancient roots of this Jewish protest theology. While scholars have treated such expression as it emerged in Hasidic thought⁹ and the post-Holocaust theology of Elie Wiesel,¹⁰ little has been done to trace the origins and development of this distinctive feature of Judaism.¹¹ In fact, Ephraim Urbach, Arthur Marmorstein, and Max Kadushin, the leading scholars of rabbinic theology of the past generation, ignore the theme of protest altogether in their books on ancient Jewish theology.¹² Indeed, as we shall see, when these scholars discuss theological protest they do so only as it relates to other topics such as prayer, parables, or suffering; because of their circumscribed focus, they do not analyze this religious expression in depth.¹³ Consequently, the tradition of arguing with God is often assumed in contemporary literature without understanding and appreciating its roots in the rabbinic age (70 CE–800 CE). This neglect is due in part to the unsystematic and fragmentary nature of its earliest expressions in the foundational texts of Judaism—the works of Midrash and Talmud—which were produced by rabbis in Hebrew and Aramaic more than fifteen hundred years ago.¹⁴ Without careful consideration of the complex history of the confrontational idea in these formative religious documents, however, simplistic celebrations of the Jewish protest tradition are of limited value. Utilizing diverse lenses, including the conceptual, historical, ethical, and theological, this study produces a comprehensive analysis of this bold religious tradition. In doing so, it provides greater nuance and sheds crucial light on an understudied yet central theme in Judaism. Most significantly, it demonstrates that the Jewish protest tradition is not simply the result of horrific recent historical events but is rooted in the most canonical of Jewish works: Midrash and Talmud.

Defining Confrontation

Before I present the major themes and arguments of this work and provide a brief chapter overview, our topic needs to be defined. The criteria of inclusion are quite flexible and broad in this study, incorporating all sorts of thinking, verbal and demonstrative communications, and expressions with or about the divine that highlight a moral or rational problem with God’s conduct or lack of conduct. This entails moderate challenges to God, including simple questions, as well as more radical expressions of protest, such as critiquing God’s past actions, whether directly communicated to God or to a third party. It also includes future-oriented challenges or aggressive demands that seek to have God reverse His prior decisions. Of course, since we have only a written record of these protest expressions it is often difficult to ascertain whether the author imagined a submissive or aggressive tone to the confronter’s challenge. Thus, I have adopted a maximal definition of confrontation.

For the sake of literary flow, I use a number of words to denote confrontation with God, such as complaint, protest, critique, challenge, rebuke, and confrontation. As these terms are fluid in the English language, I use them interchangeably. That said, on occasion, when seeking to distinguish between various types of confrontation (as I do in Chapter 3), I alert the reader that I am deliberately using a specific English term over another one. This decision—to adopt an expansive and non-rigid definition toward the category of confrontation—is borne out of a conceptual concern to test the relational contours of the human-divine dynamic. In this regard, all types of bold communication with or toward God can be instructive. And the decision to use confrontational English terms interchangeably is informed by the fact that the rabbis themselves—from the early tannaitic period onward—employ a variety of Hebrew terms to denote challenge or critique without defining them or distinguishing between them. In my research, I have not found any cogent explanation to account for why, in specific contexts, the rabbis employ certain words over others. The most common rabbinic verbs used to denote protests against God are leharher (to criticize; lit., to think), lehashiv (to challenge; lit., to respond), limḥot (to protest), lekro tagar (to reproach; lit., to call out as partial), and lehatiaḥ devarim (to hurl words). The rabbis also at times use biblical nouns to denote a challenge to God such as tokheḥah (rebuke) and riv (argument). I should also note that I include within this study any rabbinic narrative that uses these protest terms even if the details of the human-divine communication reflect a slightly different concern.

Theological Protest in Pre-Rabbinic Literature

Rabbinic endorsement of theological protest is, of course, informed by many passages in the Hebrew Bible where challenging God is not foreclosed as a legitimate response to suffering or unethical divine behavior. Alongside moments of pious submission to the divine will, such as the story of Abraham and the aqedah (Genesis 22), biblical texts are replete with instances in which individuals protest against God without any repercussions. The motif appears in the Pentateuchal narratives (Abraham regarding Sodom and Gomorrah; and Moses in Egypt, at Mount Sinai, and in the Wilderness), the prophetic writings (Jeremiah and Habakkuk), and wisdom literature (Job and numerous Psalms).¹⁵ After none of these challenges does God castigate or punish the challenger. Regarding Jeremiah’s rhetorical lawsuits against God, B. Gemser remarks: "The fact that Jeremiah has allowed, or even caused, these most intimate and intrepid disputes with God to be put in writing and preserved for posterity reveals the prophet’s … innermost conviction that God finally does not reject but tolerates and vindicates even his ‘revolting prophets.’¹⁶ Similarly, Yochanan Muffs posits that biblical religion does not seem to require the man of faith to repress his doubts in silent resignation. Abraham, Jeremiah and Job, all men who question God’s ways, are hardly numbered among the wicked. There is even some evidence that God demands such criticism, at least from His prophets (cf. Ezek. 22:3)."¹⁷

Despite my general agreement with these sentiments, Muffs’s description of Job as a man of faith whose religion does not require him to repress his doubts should be qualified. To be sure, Muffs bases his view on the following points: God praises Job’s speeches at the book’s close, declaring that, contrary to his friends, only Job has spoken the truth (42:7). Moreover, God doubles Job’s fortunes that he had lost (42:10). And, as the book concludes with divine praise and reward, one gets the impression that Job’s protests are not regarded by God as sinful or rebellious. However, Muffs and other scholars ignore chapter 38 where God reprimands Job for his protests: Who is this who darkens counsel speaking without knowledge? … Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundations? Speak if you have understanding (Job 38:2, 4). Following these verses, God cites numerous examples of His unparalleled knowledge and awesome power. These are invoked to strengthen God’s primary claim that Job’s accusations lack foundation because human beings have insufficient knowledge of the world; Job’s challenge to the divine is by its very nature deficient and thus unacceptable.¹⁸ Job, in return, concedes his error, telling God: Indeed I spoke without understanding of things beyond me, which I did not know…. Therefore, I recant and relent, being but dust and ashes (Job 42:3, 6).¹⁹ Read plainly, then, God’s attitude toward Job’s protests is inconsistent: God both reprimands (chapter 38) and defends (chapter 42) Job’s challenges. Naturally, later exegetes and scholars will have to reconcile this seeming inconsistency.²⁰

The only biblical text that unequivocally opposes the right of an individual to challenge God is found in Deutero-Isaiah. After God tells the Persian king, Cyrus, that his victories are for the purposes of bringing the Israelites back to Zion, God laments those who would critique Him for bringing about Israel’s redemption through the nonconventional means of a gentile king. God proclaims: Shame on him [הוי] who argues [רב] with his Maker [יצרו]. Though naught but a potsherd of earth! Shall the clay say to the potter, ‘What are you doing? Your work has no handles?’ Shame on him who asks his father, ‘What are you bearing?’ (Isaiah 45:9–10). As it would be absurd for clay to critique its potter, so too would it be absurd for a human to critique his Maker. Hence, with the exception of Isaiah 45 (and possibly Job 38), the authors of the Hebrew Bible legitimize individual challenges leveled at God.

Relatedly, not only does the character of God in the biblical narratives tolerate irreverent acts of protest, but biblical law does as well. Although Scripture prohibits cursing God (Leviticus 24:13–16) and mentioning God’s name in vain (Exodus 20:7), it never proscribes challenging or critiquing the divine. Even the opposition found in Isaiah 45 is only formulated as a lament (shame, הוי), rather than a proscription. While never stated explicitly, individual complaints against God appear in Scripture as a legitimate method to communicate with the creator of the world.²¹ Not surprisingly, as we shall see, these narratives occupy a central place in the debate between anti-protest and pro-protest rabbis (and church fathers).

Following the biblical view, some of the writings of the (nonbiblical) Second Temple literature depict confronting God as a legitimate, if not virtuous, human act in response to a perceived divine injustice. In the immediate aftermath of the Second Temple’s destruction, the apocalyptic works 2 Baruch and 4 Ezra contain Baruch and Ezra’s protests against God. In these narratives, the protagonists are not chastised for violating any theological principle.²² We also have a few protests in the genre of rewritten Bibles of the period, such as in Pseudo-Philo’s Liber antiquitatum biblicarum (LAB), the Genesis Apocryphon from the Dead Sea Scrolls, and the pseudepigrahic work Joseph and Aseneth.²³ And, as we shall soon see, Philo of Alexandria (20 BCE–40 CE) celebrates, albeit under strict conditions, the act of challenging God.

Biblical Virtue of Tokheḥah

In the aforementioned biblical narratives, challenging God emerges, for the most part, as a legitimate method to engage the divine. But could one go further and even regard theological protest as a positive expression? In both ancient Israel and in the Greco-Roman world, critiquing a friend was deemed a virtue. To denote this act, the Bible frequently uses the term tokheḥah (rebuke) while Greco-Roman writings tend to use the term parrhesia (frank speech). Accordingly, one question posed by this study is whether, and to what extent, these positive and meritorious dimensions of rebuke or frank speech might still be relevant when applied to God. I propose that the answer to this question depends on a variety of issues, most prominently what one’s conception is of (1) God, (2) the appropriate relationship between God and humanity, and (3) the nature of critique itself.

While the first two issues are dealt with at length in the body of the book, I touch on the last issue now: the nature of critique. The classical Jewish tradition provides two basic models to understand the obligation of tokheḥah.²⁴ The first one emerges from a simple reading of Leviticus 19:17: You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart. Reprove your kinsman [הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך] but incur no guilt because of him. As many scholars have noted, Leviticus here connects the commandment to reprove your kinsman with the commandment not to hate: if one has been offended by another, he should not allow negative feelings (for the offender) to fester, but rather openly confront the offender as a method to expunge hatred from his or her heart. Given this linkage, the purpose of rebuke (for Leviticus 19) seems to be driven by an interpersonal concern. According to Zvi Zohar, this view regards repressed hostility and hatred as a recipe for interpersonal disaster…. The Torah … [is concerned with] the emotional quality of immediate interpersonal relationships … [and regards] suppressed hatred/enmity [as possibly leading] to serious social problems.²⁵

In this dimension of rebuke, what some have coined the interpersonal approach, the aim of rebuke is to improve relations between members of society. And, according to Leviticus 19, rebuke serves, more specifically, as a method to remove hatred from the offended parties’ heart. However, there is no claim, at least from Leviticus 19, that critiquing another would, in a positive fashion, engender feelings of love. This more ambitious claim for the powers of critique appears in Proverbs 9:8: Reprove a wise man, and he will love you [לחכם הוכח ויאהבך]. But note that in this passage the positive emotional affects of rebuke occur to the reproached, and not to the reproacher (as in Leviticus 19). Apparently, this passage from Proverbs posits that as long those who are reproached are wise they will recognize the advantages of being critiqued.

Connected to the interpersonal element but distinct from it is the pedagogical dimension, which, in most discussions of the biblical notion of tokheḥah, assumes center stage. According to this model, the purpose of critique is primarily to teach and to persuade the one reproached to change her or his ways. In other words, the object of the act is not conceived as strengthening an interpersonal bond or as inducing greater intimacy, as in our last model, but as a method to discourage others from sinning. Zvi Zohar calls this the intrapersonal dimension of rebuke.²⁶ This responsibility, to educate the other, is often assumed by a loving superior who has greater knowledge and authority, as is the case in Proverbs 3:11–12: Do not reject the discipline of the Lord, my son; Do not abhor His rebuke [בתוכחתו]. For whom the Lord loves He rebukes [יוכיח], as a father the son whom he favors. A father rebukes a child in order to educate him in the proper path, just as God rebukes Israel to help her do the same. According to this approach, rebuke is regarded not as a means to achieve love (or remove enmity), as love is already present, but rebuke is now an expression of that abiding and unconditional love. When you love someone, you want to help that person make the correct choices. And, contrary to Leviticus 19, its virtue no longer primarily resides in its capacity to remove hatred or, as in Proverbs 9, to intensify love, but in its ability to steer the other in the right direction.

Notwithstanding the plain reading of Leviticus 19 and Proverbs 3, the notion that the biblical command of rebuke applies even outside a distinct relationship—whether this be fractured, neutral, or loving—emerges explicitly in the Babylonian Talmud.²⁷ Here, the obligation to rebuke another applies not only to offenses against the rebuker himself (as Leviticus 19 suggests) but to all types of offenses, even those perpetrated against God.²⁸ In other words, the rebuker need not be the offended party. Hence, the primary aim of rebuke is not to strengthen the interpersonal ties between members of society, but to help bring the erring person back to the right path. It is a religio-educational act, not a social one. Along these lines, Proverbs 25:12 conceives rebuke as a method to impart, more specifically, wisdom: Like a ring of gold, a golden ornament, is a wise man’s reproof in a receptive ear. Because rebuke aims to educate, it should be embraced so long as the rebuker is wise and his teachings are sound. Thus, whereas for the first model rebuke serves to repair or strengthen a relationship, for the second model it serves to repair error.

Will the rabbis apply either of these positive dimensions of tokheḥah to the human-divine realm? Would having an open and even critical dialogue with God repair a fractured relationship as Leviticus 19 seems to posit, or lead to greater love from God, the reproached, as Proverbs 9:8 suggests? Could human beings really serve as God’s pedagogues? Would admonishing God steer God in the right direction and correct His mistakes? These are some of the questions the present work seeks to answer.

Philo of Alexandria and Theological Parrhesia

In addition to the biblical commandment of tokheḥah, the rabbis were likely aware of the classical Greco-Roman virtue of parrhesia (παρρησια; lit., all speech), which, in late antiquity, referred to speaking frankly and candidly toward others.²⁹ The notion is prominently found in a number of ancient Greek texts, including the writings of the rhetorician Isocrates (436–338 BCE) and the cynic philosopher Diogenes of Sinope (410–323 BCE).³⁰ But as Arnold Momigliano has shown, this usage of the term parrhesia was rare at that time (the fifth and fourth centuries BCE), as it then primarily, but not exclusively, carried a public and political sense: every Greek citizen in a democracy should have the freedom to express his opinions.³¹ By the turn of the millennium, however, the term carried more of a personal and moral connotation: it expressed the virtuous idea that a person should be frank and honest with a friend, even to the point of criticism. Here, the act of parrhesia expressed and defined a relationship of privileged intimacy and true friendship. As a result, in Greek culture, flatterers and sycophants were avoided, and those embodying parrhesia were sought. Most famously, in this period, the Epicurean philosopher Philodemus (110–40 BCE) authored an entire book on the subject, On Frank Criticism,³² and Plutarch, the well-known Middle Platonist (46–120 CE), devoted thirteen chapters of his magnum opus Moralia to the proper way to admonish others.³³

Tellingly, these secular Greek thinkers do not valorize the exercise of parrhesia—in the sense of critique—in relation to God; the virtue only appears in the context of interhuman relations. By contrast, Jewish-Hellenistic sources appropriate the term in relation to God.³⁴ For example, the Septuagint uses the term parrhesia when referring to a human-divine encounter (Job 22:26). This source, however, is not particularly relevant for us as the term in that context connotes a sense of confidence and joy rather than critique or challenge.³⁵ Parrhesia before God also appears a few times in the New Testament (e.g., in 1 John and Hebrews), but, as in the Septuagint, these examples are not relevant to the issue of challenging God: the term is stripped of its aggressive or critical valence and describes, as Stanley Marrow puts it, nothing more than an inner disposition of Christian confidence and ready access to God through the blood of Christ.³⁶

The first Jewish-Hellenistic source to use the virtuous term parrhesia both in the sense of challenge or critique and also in the context of a humandivine encounter is the Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria (20 BCE–40 CE). Predictably, Philo synthesizes elements of both the philosophical as well as Jewish traditions. On the one hand, echoing the Septuagint, he uses the term in the context of a human-divine encounter, and, on the other hand, echoing Philodemus, he uses parrhesia in the sense of a complaint or challenge (and not merely speaking with confidence or without fear). Interestingly, no previous Greek source used parrhesia in both senses.³⁷ Philo, however, limits the applicability of this bold act by placing specific conditions on who can exercise theological parrhesia:

When therefore is it proper for the servant of God to use freedom of speech to the ruler and master of himself, and of the whole word [i.e., God]? Is it not when he is free from all sins, and is aware in his conscience that he loves his master, feeling more joy at the fact of being a servant of God, than he would if he were sovereign over the whole race of mankind, and were invested without any effort on his part with the supreme authority over land and sea.³⁸

Philo posits that one can speak frankly with God only when the following conditions are met: a person (1) is free from sin, (2) loves God, and (3) would rather be a servant of God than rule the whole world. Later in that section, Philo adds another condition: (4) the confronter must be counted among the wise.³⁹ These requirements emphasize the confronter’s unique qualities in the realm of action, emotion, and intellect. For Philo, Moses is the quintessential biblical personality who embodies these admirable traits and, thus, has the right, or even privilege, to confront God. This allows Moses, like other virtuous biblical characters, to use freedom of speech [παρρησίᾳ] not only to speak and cry out [toward God], but even to bring charges or complain (to Him) [καταβοᾶν] with true confidence and courageous feeling.⁴⁰ According to Philo, Moses uses parrhesia toward God for the first time in Exodus 5:22–23 when Moses calls out: Lord, why have you afflicted this people [Israel]? Why have you sent me? From the time that I went forth to speak to Pharaoh in your name, he has [only] afflicted the people. You have not delivered you people.⁴¹

Notwithstanding the aforementioned conditions, with Philo we encounter something new and bold within the Greco-Roman world: an explicit monotheistic endorsement of questioning or challenging God. While the Hebrew Bible and Second Temple literature envision theological protest in most circumstances as a justified response to problematic divine behavior, we do not witness this level of explicit celebration as we have in Philo’s writings.⁴² Notably, following Philo, Flavius Josephus (35–70 CE) also applies the Greco-Roman virtue of parrhesia to biblical characters who challenge God.⁴³

Rabbinic Debate over Debating God

We have no evidence that the rabbis were aware of Philo; in fact, this famous Greek Jew is never mentioned in rabbinic literature.⁴⁴ As contemporary scholars of Judaism have noticed, that did not prevent many rabbis—probably unknowingly—from supporting Philo’s general positive view toward confronting God. Most of these same scholars, however, have ignored or not given sufficient attention to the fact that in rabbinic Judaism the idea of debating God was itself a matter of debate: not every rabbi embraced this theological expression. As this book argues, during the early rabbinic period (often referred to as the tannaitic period, the second and third centuries CE) the sages explicitly opposed challenging God. Some late rabbinic passages even accompany this proscription with specific punishments, such as lashes or excommunication, should a Jew defy this ban. Describing the biblical character of Job as a sinner for his brazenness toward God, these voices emphasize the absurdity of challenging a morally perfect deity or, alternatively, decry the disrespect shown to the Creator with such a defiant act.

In contrast to these explicit rabbinic denunciations against arguing with God, rabbis in the post-tannaitic period validated or even encouraged arguing with God. Their support, unlike Philo, is generally not explicit at all. They do not use their own voices to express their views. Rather, they use biblical characters to camouflage their arguments. It is well known that the Jewish sages retold biblical stories in the Talmud and Midrash.⁴⁵ But scholars have largely overlooked the rabbinic tendency, widespread by the late rabbinic period, to put complaints against God into the mouths of biblical figures in their literary elaborations.⁴⁶ Later rabbinic works contain over one hundred and fifty such instances. In the majority of these instances, the rabbis do not portray God admonishing the challenger. Indeed, at times God even welcomes the challenge, implying that the rabbis sanction such daring confrontations. This act of ventriloquism provides a safe space for the rabbis to generate their critiques with impunity as they present themselves not as originators of the confrontation but only as their transmitters. Moreover, the sages did not base their expanded narratives of theological protest upon their own human authority. Rather, they claimed that these bold scenes had long been hidden within the divine words of the Torah. As good exegetes, they were merely discovering them. In this way, the rabbis cleverly justified an innovative and religiously risky project.

As I show throughout this book, this late rabbinic legitimation of confrontation intensifies over time. Whereas pro-protest traditions begin to emerge in amoraic texts, such as Genesis Rabbah and Lamentations Rabbah (Palestine, ca. fifth century), and are intensified in the post-amoraic writings of the Babylonian Talmud (ca. seventh century), they reach their fullest expression in the midrashim of Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu (ca. seventh century).⁴⁷

The Midrashim of Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu

Because texts from the Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu (TY) literature appear prominently in this book and are less known even to scholars of Midrash who tend to focus on the earlier tannaitic and amoraic strata of rabbinic literature, an introduction to this literary family is in order. The term Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu should best be understood as a genre or group of rabbinic texts that share the same general form and characteristics, rather than as referring to a specific set of books.⁴⁸ Texts from this genre can be found in the following midrashic works: (1) Midrash Tanḥuma, both the standard and Buber editions; (2) Exodus Rabbah II, chapters 15–52; (3) Numbers Rabbah II, chapters 15–23;⁴⁹ (4) Deuteronomy Rabbah, both the standard and Lieberman editions; (5) Pesiqta Rabbati, chapters 1–14, 19, 25, 29, 31, 33, 38–45, 47, and supplements 1 and 2;⁵⁰ and (6) hundreds of TY fragments found in the Cairo Genizah.⁵¹ Indeed, the plethora of TY texts and manuscripts testifies to its popularity in late antique Palestine of the Common Era—and explains why so few Midrash scholars have dared to produce a critical edition.⁵²

In the past, scholars have dated TY literature from as early as the fourth century CE to as late as the ninth century.⁵³ Most contemporary scholars, however, rely on the recent findings of Marc Bregman, who argues for a more complex dating of the TY corpus. According to him, we can divide the TY midrashic material into several developmental strata:

(1)  The early stratum of TY, produced in Palestine around the fifth century CE, contains a large amount of Galilean Aramaic as well as Greek and Latin loan words, and is roughly contemporaneous with the Jerusalem Talmud and the classical midrashim such as Leviticus Rabbah and Genesis Rabbah.

(2)  The middle stratum developed toward the end of Byzantine rule in Palestine (sixth and early seventh century) and represents the vast majority of the TY material we have today. Unlike the early stratum, it avoids Galilean Aramaic wherever possible, replacing it with Hebrew. TY works produced in this period include Exodus Rabbah II, Numbers Rabbah II, both versions of Deuteronomy Rabbah, and portions of Pesiqta Rabbati.

(3)  The late stratum includes minor accretions to the TY material added after the Islamic conquest. In contrast to the earlier strata, it seeks to eliminate all Greek and Latin loan words. TY texts of this period consist of the standard edition of Midrash Tanḥuma (probably redacted in Babylonia), and the Buber edition of Midrash Tanḥuma (probably redacted in Europe).⁵⁴

Tanḥuma-Yelammedenu texts generally commence with a halakhic proem that poses a simple question of Jewish law, often introduced with the phrase Let our master teach us (ילמדנו רבנו). (Yelammedenu is Hebrew for let teach us. Since these teachings often cite Rabbi Tanhuma, a fourth-century sage, they are also designated as the Tanhuma midrashim.) A TY midrash will typically begin the answer with the statement "thus have our rabbis taught us (רבותינו כך שנו ) or thus have the sages taught us (כך שנו חכמים)." After the specific query has been solved by quoting a tannaitic legal text, the midrash connects the legal issue to a nonlegal teaching and then links the entire discussion to a verse from the beginning of the weekly Torah portion. Usually, the legal proem is followed by one or more nonlegal proems, similar to those found in the earlier fifth-century homiletical midrashim, such as Leviticus Rabbah and Pesiqta de-Rav Kahana. These nonlegal proems begin by citing a remote passage from the Hagiographa and then creatively connecting it again to a local passage from the weekly Torah lection. Finally, the peroration usually contains a statement about the redemption and the coming of the Messiah.

One of the ways that the TY midrashim differ from the earlier homiletical amoraic midrashim (ca. fifth century CE) is in their choice of language. Whereas earlier texts like Leviticus Rabbah and Pesiqta de-Rav Kahana contain a mix of Hebrew and Aramaic with a sprinkling of Greek terms, TY texts tend to use Hebrew.⁵⁵ Furthermore, Leopold Zunz recognized already in 1832 that TY midrashim have the tendency to record teachings anonymously by dropping the name of the tradent, or sometimes even forging the names of certain earlier sages.⁵⁶ Marc Bregman has also shown that TY texts tend to add "honorific titles, such as ‘Ha-Levi’ and ‘Be-rabbi’ to the names of sages."⁵⁷ These characteristics seemingly express a desire on the part of the TY authors to present their work as an earlier rabbinic commentary.

In recent years, scholars have noticed that the literary style of the TY represents a watershed moment in the history of rabbinic literature. Whereas early Midrash tends to designate a biblical passage and then comment on it, late Midrash, beginning with the TY, tends to integrate the passage and its interpretation into its own retelling of the biblical narrative. In these texts, there is little to no transition between the biblical passage and its interpretation, as the biblical passage is often embedded within the interpretation. At times, the biblical proof text is even omitted altogether. In other words, while early Midrash presents itself as an explicit commentary on the Bible, late Midrash is an attempt to re-narrate the Bible, blending together