Paideia Academic Conference

Hsselby Slott
23.05.2004
Stories
Ruth Anna Putnam
Jewish culture is text centered. One could have said, Jewish culture is God centered or,
Jewish culture is law centered. Each of these adjectives points to something very
important, but we are asked, in this conference, to focus on texts, on the roles note the
plural that texts play in our culture or so I have understood our task. I have chosen to
focus on one small subset of our vast and varied literature, namely what I shall call
stories, and on one role that some stories play.
Stories are narratives but not all narratives are stories in my limited sense. This is partly a
matter of length, but more importantly a matter of focus. Thus we speak of the Joseph
story but not of the Moses story. Although the telling of the Joseph story is interrupted by
the telling of the story of Judah and Tamar, even that interruption can be understood as
contributing to our understanding of the Joseph story. Thus there exists a continuous
series of verses in Genesis that together are about Joseph, verses that begin with Joseph
as an adolescent and end with his death. About this story one can then ask, what is its
point? That question may be answered by seeing the whole Joseph story as an episode in
a larger story the story of the Israelites or, perhaps I should say as a prologue, or part
of the prologue, to that story. But it can also be read as a self-contained story. So taken, it
seems to me to be a morality tale. Its actors, both major and minor, display various
virtues and vices, and the ages thereof. Because it is a relatively long story it extols more
than one virtue, warns against more than one vice.
In contrast, there is no Moses story, although there are various shorter stories about
Moses, for example, the story of his birth and rescue by pharaohs daughter.
Moreover, one could imagine writing a Moses novel based on the information provided
in the Bible, as Thomas Mann wrote a novel about Joseph and his brothers. But the last
four books of the Torah, although they tell of the birth of Moses early on and end by
telling of his death, are not The Moses story. If one wants to think of those four books

as a story, one has to think of them as the story of the Israelites, the story of how a rabble
of liberated slaves became an irresistible fighting army, or, from a different perspective,
how the enslaved descendents of Jacob became a holy people. To be sure, Moses plays a
major role in this story, but it is not his story. But I digress, nothing I want to say hangs
on whether there is or is not a Moses story, or on whether or not one might read the
Chumash as a story.
Stories are aggadot, but not all stories are aggadot; some stories are found in the Bible
itself. Conversely, aggadah refers also to writings (should one say tellings?) that are not
stories. Therefor, I shall speak of stories.
Stories in my sense are self-contained, though their significance may well depend on the
wider context in which they appear. This dependence on context, as I hope to illustrate,
means that the same story may lend itself to different interpretations depending on what
is taken as its context. A story has a beginning, a middle and an end; a story is about
someone or some group of people. More importantly, a story makes a point.
According to its different interpretations, the same story may make different points.
Finally, as far as making its point is concerned, it does not matter whether a story is
literally true or made up in order to make a point.
When asked to explain how talking about stories related to the topic of this conference, I
wrote in what I can now regard only as a moment of hubris, Stories turn a legal code
into living morality (culture). A moment of hubris because, on the one hand, different
stories do different things, they do not all turn a legal code into living morality. On the
other hand, this is the more serious problem, my formulation suggests a dichotomy
between Halakhah Jewish law and morality. There are, of course, many interesting
questions to raise concerning relations between Halakhah and morality, as there are
concerning relations between any legal code and morality, or again concerning relations
between divine will and judgment on the one hand and morality on the other. There are
stories that are relevant to these questions, but I do not intend to raise any of these
questions here; thus, I should not have said what I said. And, indeed, the title of my paper
is simply Stories.
However, I do believe that stories play an indispensable role in teaching and learning
how to lead a moral life, which is not to deny the importance or rules. In any case,

whatever some philosophers may say, we in particular we Jews, but anyone living in
any kind of society have laws, rules and commandments by which we are to live.
Laws, rules or commandments are more or less abstract; to apply them to concrete
situations requires interpretation. While there may be hermeneutic principles to which
one might appeal, those principles need themselves interpretation; thus the chain of rules
must come to a stop. Ultimately one must use, as philosophers as diverse as Kant and
Wittgenstein have pointed out, ones own good sense. That good sense is honed by
stories. The great moral philosophers understood, I think, the importance of stories. Even
Kant, in the Groundwork for a Metaphysics of Morals, for all his emphasis on universal
moral laws, provided illustrations of his principles. We raise our children by giving them
some rules, by being exemplars, and by explaining in particular cases why the child (or
whoever the relevant actor may be) acted well or badly. Finally, in law we have both
statutes and case law. Thus stories, or story-like texts, seem to be important. What I want
to do then in this talk is two-fold: First, I want to show that our Sages appreciated the
importance of stories, that they recognized that stories enable us to live by them
(Leviticus 18:5) that is, by the laws and statutes that make up Halakhah. Secondly, I want
to offer some examples of stories that do just that.
An appreciation of stories is expressed, I think, in Song of Songs Rabbah, where we read,
Do not let the parable appear of little worth to you. Through a parable a man can fathom
words of Torah. The midrashist then illustrates his own saying by this parable,
Consider the king who has lost a gold coin or a precious pearl in his house. May he not
find it by the light of a wick worth no more than in issar. 1 The parable recognizes that
what makes us a distinct civilization, or culture, is the unique set of laws by which we try
to live. In that sense the Halakhah is our most precious, because our most defining,
cultural possession. But, as the parable points out, the Halakhah, or more precisely some
particular law (one gold coin; surely a king has more than one!) may become obscure or
lost, and something much more modest a mere story may be needed to bring it to
light.
Consider a king Many parables concern a king, and generally the king stands for, is
likened to God. So, we read in Agnons Days of Awe, quoting from Pesikhta Rabbati,
1

Sefer Ha-Aggadah, page 3

Another interpretation: Return, O Isreal, unto the Lord thy God. A kings son was at a
distance of a hundred days journey from his father. Said his friends to him, Return to
your father. He said to them, I cannot. His father sent to him and said, Go as far as
you are able, and I shall come the rest of the way to you. Thus, the Holy One, blessed be
He, said to Israel (Malaki 3:7): Return unto Me, and I will return unto you
Notice, by the way, how this story illustrates the claim made earlier, Through a parable a
man can fathom words of Torah. For this parable enables persons overwhelmed by the
sense of their own inadequacy the son cannot return because the distance is too great
to understand that return onto Me does not require more of them than they are able to
do. Making the attempt will not be in vain because I shall come the rest of the way to
you.
In this parable it is clear that the king represents God. But, if so, what about the king who
lost a gold coin? Surely, He Holy One, blessed be He, does not ever fail to understand
His own Torah? Indeed in other stories comparing Gemara to gold or precious stones and
Aggadah to small change or to sundry notions, we hear about merchants rather than
kings. Thus, Two men come into a city one with gold bars and the other with small
change. The man with gold bars cannot use it to pay for his daily needs (and may starve
to death), while the man with small change can easily spend it and keep alive.2 So why
does the Song of Songs Rabbah speak of a king? And, a very different question, what are
we to make of the suggestion that the merchant who has only gold bars will starve? I
shall return to the second question later.
For now let us consider the king who lost one gold coin; how can that king be likened to
the ruler of the universe? And if not, to whom is he likened? Let us try and indirect
approach. Ephraim E. Urbach wrote in his monumental The Halakha: Its Sources and
Development, it cannot be doubted that the laws and commandments as they are
formulated in the Torah presuppose implicitly or explicitly that not all the
information necessary for their observance has been stated and that they require
interpretation and supplementation. 3 If so, we may liken the lost gold coin not to the
Halakhah in its entirety but to and interpretation that is needed. Perhaps the emphasis

2
3

Sefer Ha-Aggadah, p. 5
E.E. Urbach, p. 3

should be put not on the gold coin being lost but on the finding of the gold coin by means
of the light of a wick. We cannot say that the ruler of the universe does not know, or has
forgotten, a law; we can say that He chooses to reveal some laws later than others. Or we
might say that He has given us reason the wick worth an issar by which to interpret
and supplement the laws that He has given us explicitly. This last suggests an answer to
my question. We may understand the king to represent not God but the legal authority of
the time, the priests, the Levites and the judge who will be in those days, to whom one
is ordered to turn when the need for a judgment arises (Deuteronomy 17:9). As a king has
a treasure house full of gold coins, so the priests, the Levites and the judge have the
Halakhah. Yet at a particular moment they need an interpretation, which they will find by
means of a story.
Urbach points out that the process of interpretation and supplementation of Halakhah
begins in the Torah itself. He cites four cases, but I shall deal with just one of them,
namely the case of the daughters of Zelophehad. As you will recall the daughters of
Zelophehad appear before Moses, Eliezer the Priest, the princes and all the people; they
explain that their father died leaving no son, and they ask to be given property among
their tribe and clan. This story raises a number of questions. First, why are we given the
names of all the daughters and the genealogy of Zelophehad all the way back to Joseph?
It is as if the Torah itself by its manner of telling the story responds to part of the
daughters plea, namely, Why should the name of our father be done away with from
among his family because he had no son? (Numbers 27:4) A second and third question
arise. Why are we told this incident? And why exactly at his place? The incident is
recounted immediately after the census of all the men of a fighting age and, separately, of
all the Levites. After counting the former, Moses is commanded, Unto these the land
shall be divided for and inheritance according to the number of names (Numbers
26:53). There are some additional instructions, but nothing is said about inheritance from
one generation to another. However the use of the word inheritance (nahalot) indicates
that the land allocated will be passed on as an inheritance; it will not revert back to some
form of common or national ownership. In other words, the daughters of Zelophehad
want to be included in the division of the land as if they were sons of their father, who
died in the wilderness, as did all the fathers of that generation. The daughters would be

left out of that division of the land because they are not men of fighting age, hence they
have not been counted. They object because they have no brothers; because they have no
brothers their fathers share will be so-to-speak dispersed among the members of their
tribe. Now from a 21st century feminist point of view one might say, What difference
does it make that these women had no brothers? Should not all women be counted along
with the men? But that question, or objection, is anachronistic, so I shall not pursue it.
After women have made their plea, Moses seeks Gods advice, and God says that the
daughters of Zelophehad are correct in their contention, that they are to be given an
inheritance among their fathers brethren, (Numbers 27:7) and then He continues, And
thou shalt speak to the children of Israel saying, If a man die and have no son, then ye
shall cause his inheritance to pass to his daughter. And if he has no daughter, then
(Numbers 27:8-9). There follows a longish list of provisions. In other words, the
complaint of the daughters of Zelophehad prompts not only their inclusion in the division
of the land but a general provision that daughters shall inherit if there is no son. In fact, it
prompts the complete inheritance code (which leaves unsaid, but clearly understood, that
if there are sons, the sons inherit). Urbach points out that speak to the children of Israel
was taken by later commentators as indicating a shift from a judgment in the particular
case the daughters speak right to general legislation when a man dies The
story leads to the legislation, the wick worth mere pennies helps to find the gold coin.
But not all legislation is introduced by a story; why is this legislation so introduced? Or,
although legislation concerning how the Priest is to approach the Holy of Holies is
revealed after the death of Nadav and Abihu and may be taken to be Gods response to
this tragic event, why is it not mentioned by Urbach as an example of interpretation and
supplementation? I surmise that the answer to the latter question is that the legislation
concerning the priests is not prompted by an explicit inquiry by Moses.
I do not know why the legislation concerning inheritance is introduced by a story, but the
commentators answer a closely related question, namely, why is the story told here, that
is to say right after the conclusion of the census. They note that after the conclusion of the
census, we read the following verses. These are they that were numbered by Moses and
Eleazar the priestBut among these there was not a man of them that were numbered by
Moses and Aaron the priest, who numbered the children of Israel in the wilderness of

Sinaithere was not a man left of them, save Caleb the son of Jephune, and Joshua the
son on Nun. (Numbers 26:63-65). The commentators pick up on the phrase not a man.
Thus Rashi writes, But against the women there was not decreed the decree of the spies,
for they cherished the Land. The men said (Numbers 14:4): Let us make a captain, and
let us return to Egypt, and the women said (Numbers 27:4): Give unto us a possession.
Therefore was the section of the daughters of Zelophehad adjoined here.4 The midrash
uses the story of the daughters of Zelophehad not to speak of laws of inheritance but to
extol the virtues of the daughters of Israel. Once the story has been told, the laws of
inheritance follow as a matter of course.
Stories may motivate us to observe a particular mitzvah or set of mitzvoth. Thus: Rabbi
Zeira said: This scroll (of Ruth) tells us nothing either of cleanliness or of uncleanliness,
either of prohibition or of permission. For what purpose then was it written? To teach
how great are the rewards of those who do deeds of kindness. (Ruth Rabba 2:14)
In fact, I am inclined to say that by modeling a variety of acts of loving kindness, this
story teaches both how to love our neighbor and how to love the stranger in our midst.

Earlier I wondered what we could make of the merchant who has gold bars but starves to
death. How are we to understand that? It cannot mean that it is deadly to try to live by the
Halakhah. My puzzle is due to the fact that I took the parable out of its larger context.
Here it is in full, as given in Sefer Ha-Aggadah (page 5)
The verse usually read, The rich man is wise in his own eyes; but the poor man that has
understanding searches him through (Proverbs 28:11), R. Samuel son of R. Yose son of
R. Bun read differently, taking it to imply: The man wise in comprehension of Gemara
may in his own eyes appear to be rich; but he who understands Aggadah may, through
his small change, outdo him. (R. Samuels reading of the verse can be illustrated by)
the parable of two men who come into a city one with gold bars and the other with
small change. The man with gold bars cannot use them to pay for his daily needs (and
may starve to death), while the man with small change can easily spend it and keep
alive.

Rashi on Numbers 26:64

Possessing gold bars is here equated not to living by the Law but to understanding
Gemara, that is the arguments of our Sages about the Law. That presupposes the study of
Gemara. If so, our story may be understood to say that one cannot live by the study of
Gemara alone. Yet do we not recite every Shabbat morning that the study of Torah is
equivalent to them all 5, where all refers to a long list of mitzvoth, many of which are,
incidentally, acts of loving kindness? Does that not suggest that the study of Gemara is
enough? Perhaps we are to understand that the study of Torah is more inclusive than the
study of Gemara, that it includes the study of Aggadot as well. No doubt this is so, but I
am not satisfied. We need another wick worth an issar, another story.
The story in question is found in the Babylonian Talmud, and I shall follow the analysis
offered by Jeffrey L. Rubinstein in his Talmudic Stories. It is also one of the stories
Moshe Halbertal taught us 6 a few years ago; it is rather long, so I shall present only the
part that is relevant to our present concern. The Romans wanted to kill Rabbi Shimon bar
Yohai. So he and his son Eleazar hid in a cave for 13 years. They sat up to their necks in
sand and studied all day. They got dressed only to pray. When they were informed by
Elijah that the emperor had died and the decree was annulled and now I quote, They
went out and saw men plowing and sowing. They said, They forsake eternal life and busy
themselves with temporal life! Everywhere they turned their eyes was immediately
burned. A heavenly voice went out and said to them, Did you go out to destroy my
world? Return to your cave. After twelve months a heavenly voice tells them to leave
the cave. Apparently Rabbi Eleazar has learned nothing, he still smites those he considers
sinners, but Rabbi Shimon has learned; he heals those that Rabbi Eleazar smites. Now I
quote again, They saw a certain old man who was holding two bunches of myrtle
running at twilight. They said to him, Why do you need these? He said to them, To
honor the Sabbath. (They said) Would not one suffice for you? He said, One for
Remember (the Sabbath)7 and one for Observe (the Sabbath) 8. Rabbi Shimon said to his
son, See how dear is a commandment to Israel. Their minds were set at rest. 9

Part of the Shabbat liturgy

At the opening conference of Paideia in 2001
7
Exodus 20:8
8
Deuteronomy 5:12
9
Rubinstein, pp 106-107
6

I have told the middle of a longer story. We learn in the beginning how Rabbi Shimon
enrages the Romans, and we learn at the end of some of his activities after he returns to
the everyday world. But for my purposes, to understand the parable of the two merchants,
one with the gold bars, the other with the small change, we need only this central portion.
The merchant with the gold bars, we already know, does not represent a person who
observes the commandment joyously or even beyond what is strictly required, as does the
old men with the myrtles. Rather this merchant represents someone who observes
exclusively the command to study (or perhaps the command to pray), as did Rabbi
Shimon and Rabbi Eleazar while they were in the cave. Such a person would have to be
fed by a miracle, as were Rabbi Shimon and Rabbi Eleazar. But we are not supposed to
count on being saved by a miracle. In any case, Rabbi Shimons and Rabbi Eleazars total
devotion to study made them unfit to live in the world. They burned up the world in anger
because people in the world were providing for their bodily needs (they were plowing
and sowing) and not counting on a miracle! So, they were sent back to the cave. But their
second dwelling in the cave has a different meaning from the first. For thirteen years, the
cave was their refuge; for twelve months the cave is their prison their place of
punishment. They themselves say at the end of twelve months, The sentence of the
wicked in hell is twelve months, acknowledging that they sinned. According to
Rubinstein even during the first thirteen years they were supposed to learn that the views
of Rabbi Shimon that provoked the anger of the Romans were too extreme. Rubinstein
writes, The purpose of that sojourn (the first sojourn in the cave) was not only to
preserve their lives and study Torah, but to moderate their extreme views. The second
stint then serves not only to expiate their sin and preserve the lives of others, but to teach
them that complete disengagement from the world is not desired by God, despite the
possibility of incessant Torah study. 10
In terms of our parable, there is nothing wrong with gold bars or having gold bars,
nothing wrong with Torah study, what is wrong is having only gold bars, engaging only
in Torah study. This interpretation is confirmed by the saying of Rabban Gamliel son of
Judah HaNasi, who said, An excellent thing is the study of Torah combined with some

10

Rubinstein, p. 115

worldly occupation, for the labor demanded by them both makes sin to be forgotten. All
study of the Torah without work must in the end be futile and become the cause of sin. 11
With this in mind, let us go back to the Mishnah that says of Torah study that it is
equivalent to a carefully enumerated list of mitzvoth. Here is how it begins. In the
fulfillment of the following mitzvoth, no fixed measure is imposed: leaving the corner of
the field for the poor, the gift of first fruits, the pilgrimage offering at the sanctuary on
the three festivals, deeds of loving kindness and the study of the Torah. Notice that one
could not leave the corners of ones field unless one had first plowed and sowed and later
was harvesting, that one could not have any first fruits to bring unless one was tending
ones fruit trees, and so on. There is a second list of mitzvoth, concerning the fulfillment
of these it is said that one enjoys their fruits in this life while the principal remains for all
eternity. The list is again an interesting mix, honoring ones father and mother,
performing deeds of loving kindness, attending the house of study morning and evening,
hospitality to wayfarers, visiting the sick, dowering the bride, attending the dead to the
grave, devotion in prayer, and the making of peace between man and his fellow. This is
the list that concludes with the words, but the study of Torah is equivalent to them all.
Equivalent in the fruits we enjoy in this life and the principal laid up for all eternity?
Equivalent in that no fixed measure is imposed? Yes and Yes. But can the study of Torah
be substituted for these other mitzvoth? No. And notice that in the second list as in the
first, there are mitzvoth that can be fulfilled only if one has worked to acquire the
necessities of life, namely, hospitality to the wayfarer and dowering the bride. Moreover,
visiting the sick and honoring ones parents may also require some worldly goods. Yet
we are also commanded to study and to pray. While one may be tempted to sum up the
lesson of the story of Rabbi Shimon ben Yohai and his son as everything in
moderation, I think that this would be a mistake. The point of stories, as I see it, is not to
give us more principles but the help us live by the principles we already have.
Hanina Ben-Menachem in a recent paper (Some introductory remarks on Genesis
Rabbah and the law) refers to what I call stories as hypothetical precedents and
suggests that At least three different relations can obtain between the said precedents
and rules: (1) the precedent may narrate the origin of the rule, or put forward a legal
11

Pirkei Avot 2:2

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foundation for it; (2) the precedent may illustrate the application of the rule, and thus
demarcate its limits; (3) the precedent may challenge the rule. It seems to me that the
story of the daughters of Zelophehad provides an example of the first type of relationship.
The story of Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai and his son may be taken as an example of the
second type, not as challenging the often repeated injunction to study Torah but to
demarcate its limits.
What then might we take to be an example of the third type? It happens that BenMenachem uses a rule and story that I have thought about in a different context. Here is
the rule as stated in Genesis Rabbah 94, If a company of people are threatened by
heathens, Surrender one of you and we will kill him, and if not we will kill all of you,
they should all be killed and not surrender one soul of Israel. But if they specified one
particular person, as in the case of Sheba the son of Bichri, they should surrender him and
should not all be killed. The first part of the rule is quite clear, but the second part is
quite problematic. Sheba ben Bichri was not demanded by heathens, he was demanded by
King David because he (Sheba) had rebelled against David. Moreover, the people in the
city did not hand him over alive; they beheaded him themselves, and then handed over
his head. The case, it seems to me, does not exemplify the rule it is adduced to illustrate.

Be that as it may, the case of interest to Ben-Menachem is the case of Ulla the son of
Kosher, who was indeed wanted by the Romans, i.e. by heathens. Ulla fled to Lydda and
sought refuge with Rabbi Joshua ben Levi. The latter persuaded Ulla to surrender to the
Romans that is to act in the spirit of the second part of the rule. I shall now quote the
midrash, Elija used to speak with him (Rabbi Joshua), but when he acted thus, the
ceased to visit him. He fasted thirty days, after which he came to him, and asked him,
Why did you absent yourself? Am I then the companion of informers? he retorted.
But is this not a mathnita 12, If a company of people etc And is that a teaching for
the pious? he retorted. This should have been done through others and not through
you.
Ben-Menachem points out that the last sentence, This should have been done through
others and not through you is not found in the parallel passage in the Jerusalem Talmud,
12

a teaching from a Beraita (contemporary source to a Mishna)

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and appears to be a later addition. If one ignores this tradition, Ben-Menachem points out,
Thus, the jurisprudential policy reflected in this Midrash seems to be a two-tiered
approach to the law the rule should remain on the books, but de facto should not serve
as a basis for judicial decisions. For Ben-Menachem the point of such internal
challenges of the law is to provoke active engagement in critical evaluation of the law,
and as such has epistemic and educational value, in that it necessitates ongoing
participation in study of the law, and fosters sensitivity to alternative understandings.

Since I am not a professor of law, I want to look at this story from a slightly different
perspective. I became familiar with the story of Ulla bar Kosher some years ago and in a
different context. In that context I asked myself why it is prohibited to hand one Jew out
of then to a murderous enemy in order to save the lives of the other nine. It seemed to me
then, and still seems to me now, that to do that would be to collaborate in the crime, to
undermine all possibilities of mutual trust, to destroy the community. The case of Sheba
ben Bichri makes sense on this interpretation. Since he had rebelled against the Jewish
King David (not against some heathen conqueror), he had already threatened the
community, had put himself outside the community. No Jewish community is obliged to
risk its survival for the sake of someone who himself attacks that very community.
With this understanding let us consider again the story of Ulla bar Kosher and Rabbi
Joshua ben Levi. The Rabbi persuades Ulla to give himself up and thus save the city. But
it is made clear in the rest of the story that the Rabbi did not act well. Why didnt he? We
are not told whether the deed committed by Ulla was a capital crime only in the eyes of
the Roman authorities or also according to Jewish law. If his crime was a crime only by
Roman law, then his case was not like that of Sheba ben Bichri, he did not in any sense
attempt to destroy the Jewish community. The fact that he allowed himself to be
persuaded to give himself up to certain execution in order to save the city suggests to me
that he did not transgress any Jewish law. If so, one can well understand that Rabbi
Joshuas conscience would be troubled.
If, on the other hand, Ulla bar Kosher committed a capital crime also in Jewish eyes, then
by that very act the threatened the Jewish community from within and brought the
external threat of the Romans upon it. In this case Rabbi Joshuas appeal to the Mishna

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seems to be entirely legitimate. Yet the story seems to call into question any appeal to the
case of Sheba ben Bichri.
I want to conclude by returning to the first case, the case where Ulla bar Kosher is
innocent by Jewish law. Indeed, perhaps his only crime was being a Jew. For most of our
history from the time of the writing of Midrash Rabbah most Jews have lived in more or
less hostile surroundings. The central point to be made is, I believe, that Jews are not to
betray their fellow Jews to hostile non-Jewish authorities. However, the second part of
the rule if he is asked for by name allows us to think about a situation that has arisen
since there is again a State of Israel. I am thinking of the fact that from time to time a Jew
will commit a crime in some other country and then flee to Israel. I do not know what
current Israeli law has to say about such cases, but surely they deserve to be thought
upon.

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