The legal theorist and classicist James Boyd White argues for an understanding of law as a rhetorical activity through which meaning and communities are created. While law contains rules, its definition should not be limited to those rules. Rather, law is a literary and compositional activity, one of our social modes through which we aim to constitute community. Significantly, for White, law is a cultural activity, a language, one of the ways in which we shape and give meaning to our world.Footnote 1 The written records of classical rabbinic culture, the Talmuds and the midrashim, present us with an example of this world in which law is a cultural and rhetorical mode of expression. In fact, as these texts, and the Talmuds in particular, usually do not present us with codified rules but rather artfully construed discussions, models of “thinking” about a particular legal decision, they are excellent examples of the ways in which the creation of law is the creation of meaning. Classical rabbinic literature presents us with a textual world of law and narrative, a weaving of one genre into the other, and a use of one genre in the service of the other. Rabbinic texts often inform us precisely which stories the rabbis choose to utilize for specific norms. Law does not exist in its own bordered realm, but is part of a larger web of meaning in which it and narrative together create behavioral claims. A claim to legal authority, therefore, is not only a claim about which stories are authoritative, but also a claim to a specific understanding of a tradition, a move toward narratival authority.
All too often, though, within the study of classical rabbinic literature, law and narrative have been approached in isolation from each other. While this tendency toward dichotomy has begun to be challenged,Footnote 2 much work remains to be done on the specific relationship between these two genres. This article aims to further our understanding of the relationship between law and narrative within classical rabbinic literature by examining one understudied area—the uses of biblical narrative for rabbinic law. Specifically, I will examine the use of Genesis 22, known as the binding of Isaac or the ‘akedah, for a law concerning ritual slaughter. By focusing on a narrative from the book of Genesis, considered the least legal of the books of the Pentateuch, I aim to demonstrate the ways in which a primarily nonlegal source can be utilized as a source for behavioral norms.
Two rabbinic sources, one Palestinian and one Babylonian, will form the basis for my exploration of the legal use of the ‘akedah. The first is Bereshit Rabba 56:6,Footnote 3 and the second is B. Ḥullin16a. I argue two main points. First, while rabbinic sources debate the readings of particular verses and larger scriptural narratives, they do not question the use of scriptural narrative for law. Narratives, which I define here as stories that do not contain explicit legal content, are utilized within the process of rabbinic legal norm creation.Footnote 4 Second, and more significantly, rabbinic legal exegesis of a particular verse is often linked to a wider web of aggadic exegesis. In other words, legal exegesis is bound up with both a contextual reading of the larger biblical narrative as well as a larger world of aggadic interpretation that surrounds the particular scriptural narrative. While, at first glance, the use of the ‘akedah for laws concerning ritual slaughter may appear audacious and even shocking, when this legal interpretation is read in the context of a more extensive aggadic interpretation of Genesis 22, its legal use is consonant with that aggadic tradition. Examining Bereshit Rabba 56:6 and B. Ḥullin 16a within the context of aggadic interpretation of the ‘akedah will enable us to see how rabbinic norm creation is part and parcel of the rabbis’ narrative universe. The transformation of narrative scripture into rabbinic law is a powerful example of the fluidity of rabbinic reading and the ways in which stories lie behind and shape norms. This article thus represents a test case of the use of narrative scripture in the process of rabbinic law making.
Biblical narratival foundations
The ‘akedah is not, at least on the surface, a legal text. It is a narrative, a story with a teller and a tale,Footnote 5 that traces the divine test of Abraham,Footnote 6 the near slaughter of Abraham's son Isaac, and the substitution and slaughter of a ram in place of Isaac. The biblical text does not make explicit mention of any legal norms to be derived from this tale; in fact, its very nature as a test can be understood as locating the story outside the realm of establishing behavioral precedent. The fact that scripture does not regularly describe God as demanding that fathers sacrifice their firstborn sons marks the Abrahamic demand as a trial. Asking of Abraham only the ordinary would not mark him as unique and deserving of the divine covenant.Footnote 7 While Abraham does offer a ram in place of Isaac, the narrative does not deem that offering a normative precedent for future generations who may be asked, or might volunteer, to sacrifice their children. For example, in the stories of the daughter of Jephthah (Judges 11) and Mesha, the king of Moab (II Kings 3), no such substitution is either offered or chosen by the two fathers. They give up their daughter and son, respectively, as sacrifices (Judges 11:39; II Kings 3:27).Footnote 8 The ram of the ‘akedah is presented as a particular reprieve to Abraham from God's demand that he sacrifice his son Isaac—the narrative does not formulate a normative command from Abraham's actions.
Additional reasons also call into question the reading of the ‘akedah as an etiological narrative of animal substitution. First, Genesis 22 nowhere explicitly indicates that it is to be read as an etiological story. This is in striking contrast to Genesis 32:33, where the story of Jacob's struggle with the mysterious man and his thigh injury is literarily marked (‘al ken)Footnote 9 as the reason for the Israelite norm of not eating an animal's thigh muscle. Jon D. Levenson convincingly argues,
Such notices being in plentiful evidence in the Hebrew Bible, if Gen 22:1–19 really served as an etiology of animal substitution, it is more than a little curious that none appears there. The absence contrasts with the conclusion of the law of the first-born in Exodus 13:1–15b: “Therefore I sacrifice to the LORD every male issue of the womb, but redeem every first-born among my sons.”Footnote 10
The norm of redeeming the firstborn male is explained in terms of the Passover narrative and, more specifically, the tenth plague, in which God killed the firstborn in the land of Egypt. Exodus 13:11–15 explicitly states the narrative that is to be the basis for the law of substitution. Passover, not the ‘akedah, is that narrative.
Second, and linked to this etiological point, is Levenson's observation that none of the texts that specify substitution for the sacrifice of the firstborn son (Exodus 13:13–15, 34:20, Numbers 18:15) mentions Abraham or even alludes to the ‘akedah.Footnote 11 Exodus 13:13–15 links substitution of the firstborn son directly to God's killing of the Egyptian firstborn. While it does not construct an explicit etiological link between Passover and substitution, the proximate location of Exodus 34:19 to the commandment to observe the Feast of Unleavened Bread (Exodus 34:18) also argues for a connection between substitution and the Passover festival.Footnote 12 Numbers 18:15–16 does not formulate any link with Passover. Because none of the scriptural laws concerning substitution for the firstborn son is connected with the ‘akedah, and two of them (Exodus 13:13–15, 34:20) do connect substitution with Passover, it appears that if scripture provides an etiological explanation for substitution, that explanation is linked to Passover—not to the binding of Isaac.Footnote 13
Third, following both Exodus 22:28–29 and Micah 6:6–7, neither of which mentions the possibility of substituting an animal for a child, God's demand that Abraham sacrifice Isaac may actually be a remnant of this tradition of firstborn human sacrifice. The ‘akedah would then reflect the permissibility of the sacrifice of a sheep as a substitute, but not the absolute requirement of such an exchange. As Levenson writes, “The most that can be said on this topic is that the story reflects a situation in which the sacrifice of a sheep as a substitute for the favored son can meet with God's approval.”Footnote 14 It would not explain the instantiation of a new law, the substitution of an animal for a child, but instead would tell us of Abraham's test: will he actually be willing to comply with the more original and extreme divine law that demands giving up the firstborn son?
Fourth, in the second-century BCE book of Jubilees, the ‘akedah is read as an etiological story of the origins of Passover (Jubilees 18:17–19). In its retelling of the story, the seven-day Passover festival is linked to the seven-day period of the ‘akedah: the three-day journey to the mountain, the day of the event, and the three-day return. Moreover, as James C. VanderKam observes, saving Isaac from the prince of Mastema parallels God's later saving of the Israelites from Mastema at the time of the Exodus from Egypt.Footnote 15 What this text indicates is that by at least the second century BCE, Genesis 22 had become a norm-generating text—but of the Passover festival, not of the substitution of an animal for the firstborn son.
With all of this said, it is important to observe that while the ‘akedah appears to provide an example of the permissibility of sacrifice of the firstborn male, scripture also presents the narrative as an anomaly. Abraham is a paradigmatic character, the first to establish a covenant with God, and God does not initiate a request for human sacrifice from any other character in scripture. Therefore, while God's demand may be legal, it is also irregular. As such, it is not meant to set a behavioral precedent. However, paradoxically, it is precisely because Abraham is viewed as a paradigmatic character that such a story about God's extreme demand can later become a norm-generating source. To state the point more strongly, the ‘akedah's severity is a central determinant in creating the image of Abraham as a paradigmatic character whose described actions will set a precedent for later Jews. Ironically, precisely because he is willing to meet God's demand to sacrifice his beloved son, Abraham's behavior gains the power to generate law.
Legal terminology within Genesis 22
In the previous section, I argued that within its biblical context, the ‘akedah should not be viewed as an etiological narrative explaining the origins of the legal practice of the substitution of an animal for the firstborn son. However, while the story of the ‘akedah is not primarily a legal story, it does take place within a legal context.Footnote 16 The larger legal world of scripture renders the ‘akedah intelligible. Asked to sacrifice his son, scripture locates Abraham within an already existent complex of laws, laws that render the sacrificial demand understandable as well as terrifying. Rabbinic texts will later frame the ‘akedah within their own complex of sacrificial laws, but the scriptural narrative alerts us to its own legal world.
In the telling of its tale, scripture utilizes the verbal roots “offer up” (.ע.ל.ה) and “slaughter” (.ש.ח.ט), thus linking the ‘akedah to the normative sacrificial laws of the burnt offering and its slaughter that are detailed in Exodus 29 and Leviticus 1.Footnote 17 The words “sheep” (שה),Footnote 18 “altar” (מזבח),Footnote 19 and “ram” (איל)Footnote 20 further act to connect the narrative to the sacrificial cult. However, these normative words serve to highlight the non-normative terms and the non-normative elements of the narrative.
First, the sacrificial order that Abraham follows of laying out the wood on the altar, binding his son, placing him on the wood, and then picking up the knife to slaughter him (Genesis 22:9) does not follow the prescribed Levitical ritual that dictates first slaughtering the offering, then placing the fire and wood on the altar, and only then laying the flayed sacrifice on the altar (Leviticus 1:3–13). Second, the words “knife” (מאכלת) and “bind” (.ע.ק.ד) are both uncommon scriptural terms. Ma'akhelet in its nominal form is found only four times within the Hebrew Bible: twice in our story (Genesis 22:6, 10), once in the brutal narrative of the concubine on the hill (Judges 19:29), and once in Proverbs in a description of those who oppress the poor (Proverbs 30:14).Footnote 21 In both Judges and Proverbs, the word is associated with unsanctioned and transgressive behavior, behavior that violates society's mores. Judges 19:29 uses language similar to that of the ‘akedah—“he took the knife” (ויקח את המאכלת)—in describing the concubine's slaughter, a slaughter that is also linked to sacrificial rites through the phraseology “and he cut her into limbs” (וינתחה לעצמיה). However, in this case, the Benjaminite does not complete the sacrificial ritual by burning the woman on an altar, but instead scatters her twelve body parts over Israel. Scripture, therefore, marks the knife of Abraham's slaughter as the knife of non-normativity, an instrument that signals a person's violation of societal norms.
Genesis 22:9 presents the sole use of the verb “bind” (.ע.ק.ד) as ritual vocabulary, rendering it a term even more unusual than ma'akhelet.Footnote 22 Because scriptural laws do not prescribe the tying of sacrificial animals, the terminology marks Abraham's sacrificial actions once again as a departure from the norm. Abraham's binding of his son, like his use of a special knife, informs us that while he is operating within a cultic norm of sacrifice, he has simultaneously moved beyond it.Footnote 23 The words that mark the story as falling within the cultic norm serve to highlight the words that lie outside that norm. Even more, it is precisely in the heart of the narrative—almost in the middle of the nineteen verses that compose the actual tale of the ‘akedah Footnote 24—that these unusual words are used. While the surrounding paradigm may be normative, Abraham's actions are not, and, as I have remarked, this deviation from the norm of sacrifice grants this story its narratival power.
Therefore, while Genesis 22 is neither an etiology of the substitution of animal for human sacrifice nor an exemplar of a ritual process for sacrifice similar to those described in the book of Leviticus, it is nevertheless a story that functions within the larger legal context of scripture. The narrative does not purposefully declare law, but is a story that reflects a particular society with a particular legal context. Its later rabbinic readers, living within and building a new legal context, will pick up these legal signals and associate them with their new legal context. Simultaneously, their legal readings of Genesis 22 will be informed by their aggadic interpretations of the same passage. In so doing, as the rabbis read the ‘akedah within their own legal and narratival world, they will transform its legal signals in accordance with their legal universe.
Bereshit Rabba 56:6Footnote 25
וישלח אברהם את ידו ויקח את המאכלת רב בעא קומי ר' חייא רבה מש' ר' מנין לשחיטה שהיא בדבר שהוא מטלטל מן הכא וישלח אברהם וגו' אין מן אגדה אמר לך חזר הוא ביה ואין מן אולפן אמר לך לית הוא חזר ביה דתני לוי היו נעוצים מתחילתן הרי אילו פסולין תלושים ונעצן הרי אילו כשירים דתנינן השוחט במגל יד ובצור ובקנה שחיטתו כשירה
אמר ר' יוסי בר אבין ה' דברים נאמרו בקרומית שלקנה אין שוחטים בה ואין מוהלין בה ואין חותכין בה בשר ואין מקנחין בה את הידים ולא מחצין בה את השינים מפני שרוח רעה שולטת עליה
Abraham sent out his hand and took the knife (Genesis 22:10). RavFootnote 26 saidFootnote 27 before R. Ḥiyya Rabbah in the name of Rabbi: From where is it derived that ritual slaughter must be [performed] with a movable object? From here: Abraham sent out etc. If he said it to you from ’aggadah, then he retracted. But if he said it to you from authoritative tradition (’ulpan),Footnote 28 then he did not retract. As Levi teaches [in a baraita’]: If they were fixed [in the ground] from the beginning, they are invalid.Footnote 29 If they were detached and then fixed [in the ground], they are valid. As we teach: One who slaughters with a hand saw, a rock, or a reed, his slaughter is valid.Footnote 30
Said R. Yosi b. Abin: Five things were said about a reed knife. One does not use it for ritual slaughter; one does not use it for circumcision; one does not use it to cut meat; one does not use it to cleanse one's hands; and one does not use it to pick one's teeth because an evil spirit controls it.Footnote 31
Our first passage, Bereshit Rabba 56:6, takes us into the very heart of the ‘akedah. In this passage, the narrative of the binding of Isaac becomes a resource for a debated law about ritual slaughter and the proper legal use of that narrative. While only one verse is cited in this passage, Genesis 22:10, the midrash, as I will show, does not turn solely on the correct interpretation of this one verse but rather on an understanding of the ‘akedah narrative as a whole and its place in a wider complex of midrashim.
The midrash opens with a rhetorical question that the first-generation Amora Rav states in the name of Rabbi Judah the Prince before his uncle, Rabbi Ḥiyya. Rav (in the name of Rabbi) asks the scriptural source for the requirement that ritual slaughter be performed with a movable object, an object that is not attached to the ground. He answers his own question (in the name of Rabbi) by quoting from Genesis 22:10: “Abraham sent out [his hand and he took the knife to slaughter his son].”Footnote 32 In other words, Abraham did not grasp an object fixed in the ground and then pull it out, but simply sent out his hand toward the ready knife and picked it up. Genesis 22 is deployed in service of the norm that slaughter must be performed with an object detached from the ground.
R. Ḥiyya contests the surety of this tradition. If Rabbi pronounced this tradition from ’aggadah—nonauthoritative scriptural interpretation—then he retracted it. However, if he said it from authoritative tradition (’ulpan), then he continued to uphold this law. The voice of the midrash now shifts to that of the redactor, who cites a baraita’ in the name of Levi, a first-generation Amora and student of Rabbi's. If implements are continuously fixed in the ground—including at the time of slaughter—they are not fit for use in ritual slaughter. However, if they were once detached from the ground and then later stuck back in, the implements are valid for use in ritual slaughter. In other words, a reed that was cut from the earth and then later was reinserted would be considered valid for slaughter. Levi (or the redactor) then cites M. Ḥullin 1:2 in support of this position. These statements of Levi appear to reread Rabbi as requiring implements at least once detached from the ground. Even if the implement is currently fixed in the ground, as it was not permanently attached, its use is permitted. By concluding with a baraita' that seems to support Rabbi's position, Levi upholds Rabbi's use of Genesis 22:10. Ritual slaughter requires a knife (at least once) detached from the ground. Rabbi's reading of “he took the knife” is based on ’ulpan—in this case, legal scriptural exegesis deriving from a prior authoritative tradition. Finally, the section closes with a statement of R. Yosi b. Abin about five prohibited uses of a reed knife.
The authority of Rabbi's reading
As we have seen, when R. Ḥiyya contests Rav's tradition about Rabbi, he utilizes the terms ’aggadah and ’ulpan. For a fuller understanding of this pericope, it is worthwhile to return to these two words and to examine them more closely. On what issue does R. Ḥiyya stake his critique?
’Ulpan is a Palestinian term that is parallel to the Babylonian word gemara’, meaning “tradition” or “teachings received from one's teachers.” Gemara' stands in contrast to sevara', “analytical reasoning.” In Palestinian terminology, the counterpart of ’ulpan is either de'ah or ’aggadah. De'ah refers to learning derived through analytical reasoning or one's own opinion.Footnote 33 The terms ’ulpan and de'ah are used together twice in Palestinian literature, both times in the Yerushalmi (Y. ‘Eruvin 3:8 [21b], 4:1 [21d]). The terms ’ulpan and ’aggadah appear together three times: in our Palestinian Bereshit Rabba 56:6, in Y. Yevamot 12:6 (13a), and, in some manuscript versions, its parallel text in Bereshit Rabba 81:2.Footnote 34
In Y. Yevamot 12:6 (13a), the people of SimoniasFootnote 35 come before Rabbi and request a leader who can fulfill all of their needs by acting as textual interpreter, judge, prayer leader, and teacher. Rabbi presents them with Levi bar Sisi.Footnote 36 Upon Levi bar Sisi's arrival, the people build him a great platform and seat him upon it. They present him with two legal queries about levirate marriage, and in both cases, he is unable to answer their question. The people propose that perhaps he is not a master of ’ulpan but rather of ’aggadah. They then ask him about the meaning of Daniel 10:21 (“But I will tell you what is written in the book of truth . . .”), a question to which, once again, Levi bar Sisi is unable to respond. In despair, they come before Rabbi to complain. Rabbi tests Levi bar Sisi, who is now able to answer each of the questions correctly, those of ’ulpan and those of ’aggadah. Upon being asked why he could not answer the first time, he responds that the people had built him a great stage and placed him upon it, at which point he became proud and lost his ability to remember.Footnote 37 The story is presented as a concrete example of the meaning of Proverbs 30:32, “If you have become scandalously arrogant, / If you have been a schemer, / Then clap your hand to your mouth.”Footnote 38 Levi bar Sisi's arrogant delight in his new exalted station, obtained because of his knowledge, renders him unable to speak that very same knowledge.
For our purposes, this passage is not significant so much for what it teaches us about rabbinic ethics of humility, but rather for the way in which it contrasts ’ulpan with ’aggadah. The first two questions that the people pose to Levi bar Sisi are about law—on the status of an act done as part of ḥalitzah, a ceremonial release from the obligation of levirate marriage, which does not conform to the normative paradigm. How should a woman without a hand perform ḥalitzah? What is the status of a woman who spits blood during ḥalitzah? While the rituals surrounding levirate marriage are grounded in scripture (Deuteronomy 25:5–10), the questions neither reference scripture nor require a scriptural response. When Levi bar Sisi cannot answer, the people, thinking that perhaps he is not a master of ’ulpan, consider the possibility that he could be a master of an alternative mode of interpretation—that of ’aggadah. As a result, they then ask him about the meaning of a particular nonlegal verse. It is clear that in this passage, legal knowledge and nonlegal knowledge are considered two contrasting categories. A person who knows ’ulpan is one who can answer concrete questions about law that are not explicitly linked to scripture, while a person who knows ’aggadah is one who can answer nonlegal questions about scriptural exegesis. In addition, ’ulpan is the preferred, or more authoritative, category. Only when the people see that Levi bar Sisi cannot answer a question about ’ulpan do they ask about ’aggadah.
In contrast to Y. Yevamot 12:6 (13a), our Bereshit Rabba pericope associates both ’ulpan and ’aggadah with scriptural exegesis. This exegesis is performed on a narratival, not a legal, text. Common to both passages, though, is the impression that ’ulpan is the more authoritative mode of interpretation. As Bereshit Rabba 56:6 informs us, if Rabbi spoke from ’ulpan, he did not change his answer. However, if he spoke from ’aggadah, he changed his position.
From this analysis, we can state some hypotheses about ’ulpan. First, the word ’ulpan conveys authority. That authority can derive from excellence in the art of exegesis, whether in the realm of narrative or law. Second, ’ulpan, when used together with the term ’aggadah, refers to law. In Y. Yevamot 12:6 (13a), the legal question is asked, and ultimately answered, without explicit scriptural references. In Bereshit Rabba 56:6, Rabbi's legal question is asked and answered in reference to scripture. The baraita’ taught in the name of Levi is brought to confirm that Rabbi's exegesis is in fact based on a prior authoritative tradition—'ulpan. While Rabbi's choice of verse may be innovative, the law he produces is not.
The other possibility that our midrashic pericope offers, that Rabbi's ruling derives from ’aggadah, also references a process of scriptural exegesis. In this instance, the law would be sui generis—resulting from Rabbi's own exegetical creativity and not based on an earlier authoritative legal tradition. When Rabbi Ḥiyya questions Rabbi's position, he presents these two options: if Rabbi's exegesis was founded on a prior tradition, then he stood by his position. If, however, it derived from his own exegetical creativity, then it is likely that he retracted his ruling. Law derived from an individual's reason is more tenuous than that founded on a previous ruling, even if that older ruling is now grounded in innovative interpretation. Whether the law is in fact an older authoritative tradition or a new one, both options utilize a narrative verse from the midst of the longer tale of Genesis 22. Narrative is an ingredient of making law.
In forming a picture of R. Ḥiyya's critique, one other textual ingredient is worthy of mention, T. Ḥullin 1:5:
One can perform ritual slaughter even with a rock, even with glass, even with the envelope of a reed.Footnote 39 One can perform ritual slaughter with an implement whether attached to the ground or detached from the ground, whether one passes the knife against the neck or the neck against the knife and slaughters—his slaughter is valid.
In contrast to Rabbi's ruling, T. Ḥullin 1:5 permits ritual slaughter to be performed with an implement that is attached to the ground. Traditionally, redaction of the Tosefta is attributed to R. Ḥiyya.Footnote 40 While I am not claiming that R. Ḥiyya actually did redact the Tosefta, it is striking that Rabbi's ruling contradicts that of the Tosefta. This would strengthen my contention that when R. Ḥiyya questions the basis of Rabbi's ruling, at least in the eyes of the midrash's redactor, he challenges him because he does in fact possess an alternative tradition. From this vantage point, Rabbi does not have a valid ruling: he uses his exegetical abilities to contradict an established teaching. His ruling, then, would truly derive from ’aggadah—nonauthoritative scriptural exegesis.
The toseftan disagreement with Rabbi lends support to the possibility that R. Ḥiyya contests, at the least, Rabbi's legal claim. But does R. Ḥiyya also question the accuracy of the exegesis, even if derived from ’aggadah? This version of the midrash does not give us an alternative interpretative proposal for the verse. If Rabbi is wrong, R. Ḥiyya is silent on how he would read Genesis 22:10. He does not, though, critique the concept of using narrative scripture for law. For R. Ḥiyya, as much as for Rabbi, narrative scripture can be and is a basis for law. The question is not whether narrative scripture can be utilized for legal purposes, but under what circumstances scripture can serve rabbinic law. While Rabbi's reading of Genesis 22:10 may be innovative, if it stems from an authoritative legal tradition, then both his ruling and his reading can be deemed correct. However, if his reading has no basis in a tradition, then both the law and the reading are invalid. That the midrash does not provide an alternative reading of Genesis 22:10 results in a midrashic focus on methodology more than content. At issue in this midrash is not whether narrative scripture can serve as a basis for norm creation, but under what circumstances scripture can properly be deployed.
B. Ḥullin 16aFootnote 41
יתיב רב אחוריה דרבי חייא ורבי חייא קמיה דרבי ויתיב רבי וקאמר מנין לשחיטה שהוא בתלוש שנאמר ויקח את המאכלת לשחוט א"ל רב לרבי חייא מאי קאמר א"ל וי"ו דכתיב אאופתא קאמר והא קרא קאמר קרא זריזותיה דאברהם קמ″ל
Rav sat behind Rabbi Ḥiyya and Rabbi Ḥiyya Footnote 42 before Rabbi. And Rabbi sat and said: From where is it derived that ritual slaughter must be [performed] with a detached object? As it is written: And he took the knife to slaughter (Genesis 22:10).Footnote 43 Said Rav to Rabbi Ḥiyya: What did he say? He said to him: He said the letter vav written on a tree trunk.Footnote 44 But he said a verse! The verse teaches us about the zealousness of Abraham.
Our passage concerns a conversation about a law of ritual slaughter: does ritual slaughter require the use of an implement that is not attached to the ground? The pericope opens with three generations of rabbis. In this version, both question and answer are clearly attributed to Rabbi.Footnote 45 What is the biblical source for the law that ritual slaughter must be carried out using a detached implement? Genesis 22:10, “and he took the knife to slaughter.” In other words, Abraham did not have to uproot a reed or dig up a rock in order to prepare to sacrifice his son. Rather, he simply reached out his hand and took hold of something that was ready for immediate use. Rabbi's question and answer serve two purposes. He both states his legal opinion—ritual slaughter necessitates a detached implement—and provides the scriptural source for that position.
Rav then asks Rabbi Ḥiyya about the status of Rabbi's teaching.Footnote 46 Is Rabbi correct about the law? R. Ḥiyya replies that Rabbi spoke nonsense. The gemara, though, questions R. Ḥiyya's response.Footnote 47 Rabbi, after all, cited a scriptural verse as proof for his law, so how could his ruling be incorrect? The objection is answered with the reply that Genesis 22:10 does not teach us about ritual slaughter, as Rabbi contends, but instead about Abraham's zealousness in performing the commandments. The immediate availability of the knife does not teach us anything about the status of the knife, but rather about the intention of the person using it. Because Abraham wanted to ensure that he carried out God's commandment to slaughter his son as efficiently as possible, he brought the knife with him instead of trusting that another implement would be available. Therefore, Genesis 22:10 is midrashically accounted for, but in a different way than Rabbi had originally proposed.
In contrast to the Palestinian version, at issue here is not so much methodological soundness—does Rabbi rely on a previous tradition?—but rather, is his reading the best one of the scriptural lemma? The gemara provides another way to account for the verse, calling into question both exegesis and resultant law. The two contrasting readings not only rely on a circumscribed understanding of one verse, but also imply different understandings of the entire ‘akedah narrative. Rabbi is challenged over precisely what kind of behavioral paradigm Abraham sets.Footnote 48
Points of comparison
As I have mentioned, the debate in Bereshit Rabba 56:6 revolves around the methodology of legal decision making and authoritative sources for the law. Is Rabbi's ruling based on a prior tradition or not? In contrast, B. Ḥullin 16a focuses on the methodology of reading. Does Rabbi read Genesis 22:10—and even the whole ‘akedah narrative—correctly? However, granted this distinction between the Palestinian and Babylonian parallels, neither version questions the use of a narrative exemplum for law. At issue is either whether the reading is based on a prior tradition or whether it is exegetically sound. But the ability of Genesis 22 to serve as a potential source for law is not brought into question.
Legal exegesis, therefore, is not confined to those texts that we define as part of a legal corpus. Such a clean distinction between the genres of law and narrative—both for biblical and classical rabbinic texts—cannot, in fact, be sustained. Features of narrative, as we have seen, can be activated for law and even become a legal text. The next question to pursue, though, is how? How and why does the interweaving of narrative and law take place? What may stimulate such a transformation? And, more specifically, why is this text of the ‘akedah utilized for laws about ritual slaughter? Why not, for example, use the opening chapters of Leviticus, which describe the rituals of the sacrificial cult? Why this text and this verse for this law? In other words, interpretation always contains an element of choice. The rabbis do not have to link particular laws with particular stories. The choices that they make should challenge us to ask why.Footnote 49
The knife for ritual slaughter must be detached
While the pericope focuses its attention on one verse, I contend that the debate does not revolve only around Genesis 22:10, but rather around a rabbinic understanding of the ‘akedah narrative as a whole. As I asked earlier, why not use Leviticus as a legal source for ritual slaughter? For example, Leviticus 1:3–13 describes the procedure for making a burnt offering of cattle, sheep, or goats. The slaughter, dashing of blood upon the altar, and dismemberment of the animal are all detailed. Although these verses do not explicitly mention the use of a knife, surely rabbinic tradition could easily infer one from the fact that the animals are both slaughtered and dismembered. Instead, though, rabbinic tradition turns away from scriptural descriptions of ritual animal sacrifice to a scriptural description of human sacrifice.
We begin to open the lens that will enable us to view the ‘akedah as a legal source with the Mishnah. M. Tamid 4:1 utilizes the verb .ע.ק.ד in order to describe the method of tying the Tamid sacrifice: foreleg to hind leg.Footnote 50 The verb that in the biblical narrative marked Abraham's actions as outside the normative procedure for animal sacrifices is used here to prescribe the methodology for sacrifice. What was outside has moved inside and become written into law. The twice-daily sacrifice has become verbally linked to the binding of Isaac, a connection that will be further strengthened when we turn to later amoraic sources.
The tannaitic Mekhilta de-Rabbi Ishmael also associates the ‘akedah with sacrifice, in this case not the Tamid but the Passover sacrifice. Commenting on the phrase “[God] will see the blood” (Exodus 12:23), the Mekhilta states,
He sees the blood of the binding of Isaac, as it says: “And Abraham called the name of that place ‘God will see’ (Genesis 22:14), and it is written, “In destroying God saw” (I Chronicles 21:15). What did [God] see (ראה)? [God] saw (ראה) the blood of the binding of Isaac. As it is written, “God will see for himselfFootnote 51 (יראה לו) the sheep (השה) for the burnt offering (Genesis 22:8).”Footnote 52
Exodus 12:23 informs us that when God sees the blood of the Passover sacrifice on the Israelite lintels and doorposts, God will skip over the Israelite houses and not permit the destroyer (המשחית) to attack those houses and kill the firstborn. The midrash links God's sight at the time of the Exodus to God's sight both during the ‘akedah and when the destroying angel is about to begin his work of annihilating Jerusalem. What does God see that prevents the deaths of the firstborn and the destruction of Jerusalem? God sees “the blood of the binding of Isaac.”Footnote 53 The sheep (שה) of the Passover sacrifice is paralleled by the sheep (שה) that God shows Abraham. In the way the ram was offered in place of Isaac, the blood of the Passover sacrifice becomes a substitute for Isaac's blood.Footnote 54 This association of the binding of Isaac with the Passover sacrifice should also remind us of the link that the nonrabbinic book of Jubilees construes between the two events.Footnote 55
In another thematic link between the ‘akedah and the Exodus, the Mekhilta de-Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai posits the Israelite redemption from Egypt as God's reward for the fourth of a log of blood (approximately one-eighth of a liter) that Isaac shed on the altar.Footnote 56 Noteworthy is not only the imagery of the sacrificial shedding of Isaac's blood, but also the framing of that bloodshed in the rabbinic terminology of measurements. Isaac sheds blood, but he does so in a rabbinic manner. This fourth of a log is also the minimum amount of blood from a dead person that is necessary to render a dwelling in which the body is located ritually impure.Footnote 57 This pericope, then, not only ties the ‘akedah to the Exodus and to explicit sacrifice, but also locates it within the larger rabbinic world of ritual impurity and of death. It is not sufficient, therefore, to point only to the fact that the ‘akedah is “rabbinized.” We must also search out the specific ways in which it is “rabbinized”—in other words, the cultural world in which the ‘akedah is reframed.
As a prooftext for loving God with one's whole being, Sifrei DevarimFootnote 58 utilizes Genesis 22:10, the same verse as our Bereshit Rabba and B. Ḥullin pericopes. In this midrash, Isaac binds himself to the altar in preparation for his father's taking the knife. Such an action is viewed as the paradigmatic example of loving God. The focus shifts from Abraham to Isaac, where Abraham's reaching out to take the knife enables Isaac's potential martyrdom. Genesis 22:10 becomes a narrative about self-sacrifice as a form of ritual slaughter.Footnote 59
Because the named authorities in my main texts are liminal figures who straddle the boundaries between the tannaitic and amoraic worlds, the midrashim I have chosen to explore are primarily tannaitic. However, it is also important to turn our attention to a selection of amoraic midrashim. Because both the Bavli and Bereshit Rabba are redacted texts, the statements of earlier authorities are of necessity shaped and recontextualized through their presentation by the later redactors. Therefore, it is appropriate to turn to a few amoraic texts that emphasize this connection between the ‘akedah and ritual sacrifice.
Explaining why God commands Isaac to remain in Canaan during a famine and not to journey to Egypt in search of food, as did his father (Genesis 26:1–3), Bereshit Rabba 64:3, citing R. Hosha'ya, categorizes Isaac as an unblemished burnt offering (עולה תמימה).Footnote 60 Just as a Temple burnt offering is rendered unfit for sacrifice by being offered outside of the Temple curtains, so, too, would Isaac be rendered unfit if he traveled outside the Land of Israel. The midrash thus establishes a correspondence between the laws of Temple (animal) sacrifice and Isaac. Isaac is a burnt offering, and therefore he must take the same care with himself as one must with a Temple sacrifice. The laws of the Temple apply to the person of Isaac. Again, we can see that the biblical narrative of Isaac is framed, in rabbinic eyes, within the sacrificial system.
Bereshit Rabba 56:9 presents us with yet another instance of the binding of Isaac operating within the sacrificial cult—in this case, the laws concerning the substitution of one sacrificial animal for another (תמורה). When Abraham offers the ram in place of Isaac, he proclaims, “‘Lord of the Universe, see the blood of this ram as if it were the blood of Isaac my son, the portions offered on the altar as if they were the portions of Isaac my son.’ Like that which we teach: This is in place of this, in substitution for this, in exchange for this—it is a valid substitution (M. Temurah 5:5).”Footnote 61 Abraham's offering of the ram has, like his other actions, become a rabbinic action. Because the midrash views Abraham and Isaac's story through the lens of rabbinic Judaism, it justifies his substitution of the ram for his son through mishnaic law. In so doing, the midrash reshapes the biblical narrative in accordance with rabbinic law. While this is not a novel observation in and of itself, what I am newly observing is that the rabbis cannot reread this story apart from rabbinic law. Rabbinic law helps them read and make sense of Genesis 22. Because the story already contains words that link it with the Levitical sacrificial system, their choice to read the ‘akedah in accordance with rabbinic interpretations of that system is not far-fetched. They do not leave Genesis 22 as a narrative unconnected with normative law precisely because the word choice of the biblical text already triggers a legal association. In addition, this tradition concerning substitution is cited by R. Yudan in the name of R. Benayah, active in the transitional generation of Tannaim and Amoraim and so possibly locating this pericope, at least in its attribution, within the same generation as R. Ḥiyya and Rav. If this is accurate, their debate falls not only within a tannaitic association of Genesis 22 and the rabbinic laws of sacrifice, but also suggests a continuing, and perhaps even growing, amoraic connection between the two.
The Bavli cites Genesis 22:10 in two other parallel passages: B. Zevaḥim 97b and B. Menaḥot 82b. The pericopes convey a tradition stated by the first-generation Babylonian Amora Samuel in the name of the Tanna R. Eliezer. Each consists of an explication of Leviticus 7:37 broken up by numerous later anonymous interpolations.Footnote 62 B. Zevaḥim brings the tradition as an answer to the question, “We find that a sin offering sanctifies through absorption. But from where do we derive this in regard to other sacrifices (קדשין)?” The B. Menaḥot version, in turn, answers the question, “Rabbi Akiva—from where does he derive that the Passover sacrifice can only be brought from nonsacrificial animals (חולין)?” Discussing the meaning of “burnt offering” in Leviticus 7:37, the two parallel texts cite Genesis 22:10. Samuel, in the name of R. Eliezer, proposes that the term “burnt offering” comes to teach the requirement that just as a burnt offering requires a vessel specially consecrated for Temple use, so too do all sacrifices. The anonymous redactor then interrupts the lemma to explore the nature of this vessel. It proposes and then rejects the contention that the vessel refers to the bowl used for sprinkling the sacrificial blood (מזרק). It suggests and accepts the proposition that the vessel referred to in Samuel/R. Eliezer's statement is a knife (סכין). With this point established, the redactor then asks for the scriptural source that mandates the use of a special vessel for a burnt offering. In answer, the gemara cites our verse, understanding the rare word ma'akhelet to refer to an unusual type of knife. Genesis 22:13 is then brought to prove that the passage refers to a burnt offering: “And he [Abraham] offered him up as a burnt offering [ויעלהו לעולה תחת בנו] in place of his son.” While these texts do not derive the same law from Genesis 22:10 as do the two main passages of this article, it is clear, once again, that this narrative verse is used for law. Further, as the explication references both 22:10 and 22:13 in building its case, the Talmud is not simply reading one verse, but reading the narrative. Even more significant for my argument is the fact that the ‘akedah is also cited here within a rabbinic sacrificial context. The narrative is used as a prooftext about the necessity of a specific vessel for the burnt offering, from which is generalized the requirement for this knife within the sacrificial system as a whole. Unlike our two main pericopes from B. Ḥullin and Bereshit Rabba, these sugyot do not debate whether the proposed law is the correct exegesis of 22:10. However, as later anonymous interpolations into a tannaitic substratum, they leave us with the impression that, at the very least, the ‘akedah has retained its association with sacrifice.
Tanna de-vei ’Eliyahu, a text whose date is difficult to fix precisely,Footnote 63 makes this point even more explicitly:
The bull shall be slaughtered before God (Leviticus 1:5). And in the case of a ram it says, “ . . . on the north side [of the altar] before God ('צפונה לפני ה)” (Leviticus 1:11). They said: The day when Abraham our father bound Isaac his son on the altar, the Holy Blessed One fixed two sheep [as sacrifices]—one for the morning [offering] and one for the evening [offering]. And all of this why? So that when Israel raises a tamid sacrifice on the altar and reads this verse “hidden before God ('צפונה לפני ה),” God will remember the binding of Isaac son of Abraham.Footnote 64
In constructing its narrative, this midrash plays on the literal translation of the phrase, “on the north side of the altar” (Leviticus 1:11). Isolating the word for “north” (צפונה), the midrash reads it with another meaning: “hidden.” Leviticus 1:11 is now understood as “hidden before God.” Isaac, bound on the altar, is hidden or preserved before God as a permanent reminder of the long-ago trial. Abraham's binding of Isaac on the altar is not simply framed in rabbinic terms—that Abraham followed rabbinic law in carrying out the divine command. Rather, Abraham's actions are viewed as the very basis for the twice-daily Temple sacrifice, the tamid. When Israel in the future performs this sacrifice, the recitation of Leviticus 1:11 will activate this hidden reminder and remind God of Israel's merit.Footnote 65 The ‘akedah assumes, again, apotropaic properties. The two performative actions of offering the daily sacrifice and reading Leviticus 1:11 act to recall the ‘akedah before the divine. I do not think it is too far-fetched to propose that, in this later text at least, the daily sacrifice becomes, in effect, a reenactment of the ‘akedah.Footnote 66
It is important to state that while I am not arguing that seeing Isaac and the ‘akedah within the sacrificial system is the only way the rabbis viewed this episode, I am contending that it is one of the major ways in which they created an interpretive framework for this episode. As I observed earlier, the language of Genesis 22 opens the path to such a reading of the ‘akedah. However the rabbis, instead of treating Genesis 22 as anomalous, recast it as the very paradigm of piety. Instead of Abraham inverting the sacrificial order, his actions are now interpreted as functioning within the rabbinic laws of substitution and, in a later text, even as the basis for its most regular sacrifice, the performance of which must follow a precise ritual that includes the recitation of a verse designed to recall the narrative of Genesis 22.
The use of Genesis 22:10 as a justificatory text for ritual slaughter necessitating a knife that is detached from the ground should no longer surprise. The ‘akedah is, as we have seen, a text that classical rabbinic literature profoundly and deeply associates with Temple sacrifice. Abraham's actions have been transformed from abnormal to paradigmatic. In fact, it is precisely because God's demand to Abraham is so striking—beyond what the law normatively demands—and that Abraham (and Isaac) obey God's extraordinary command, that Abraham's actions can later become precedent setting. Abraham moves from being representative of a unique demand to embodying the ways in which Jews should perform both Temple sacrifice and everyday ritual slaughter. Rabbi's use of Genesis 22:10 falls well within the midrashic reading of the ‘akedah. As a story about sacrifice, it can be utilized for laws about sacrifice. Significantly, with the Temple no longer in existence, everyday ritual slaughter can be viewed as assuming even greater significance: a potential replacement for what can no longer be performed.Footnote 67 What, then, to do, at least in the Bavli, with R. Ḥiyya's rejection of Rabbi and with the Talmud's explanation of that rejection?
The verse teaches us about the zealousness of Abraham
In this section, I will argue that as much as sacrifice is a trope in the retelling of the ‘akedah, so, too, is the concept of Abraham's zealousness in the performance of commandments. As does Rabbi's position, the Talmud's justification of R. Ḥiyya's rejection operates within a normative midrashic framework. Reading the narrative as being concerned with the fulfillment of commandments locates it within another legal discourse about Abraham. Instead of Genesis 22:10 triggering a link with the sacrificial system, now it triggers a link with the ideal behavioral model of obeying law. In this reading, Genesis 22:10 does not teach about the specifics of sacrifice, but rather suggests a wider paradigm about how a Jew should ideally follow God's norms, a model that extends beyond that of the sacrificial cult and eating practices.
The linking of Abraham with zealousness in the performance of commandments appears in the tannaitic midrash Sifra. On the word “day” in Leviticus 12:3—commanding the circumcision of a male child on the eighth day of his life—the Sifra teaches, “The day: This teaches that the entire day is fit for circumcision, but that those who are zealous hasten to the commandments, as it is said, ‘Abraham rose early in the morning and saddled his donkey’ (Genesis 22:3).”Footnote 68 The midrash understands Abraham's morning departure not simply as a marker of convenient time, but rather as a signal of his willingness to fulfill God's command to take his son Isaac and to offer him as a burnt offering as quickly as possible. Abraham's behavior becomes paradigmatic of the way in which all divine commandments should be fulfilled—and not only a narrative description of Abraham's response to this one particular command directed solely at him. The biblical story sets the standard for idealized normative rabbinic religious behavior.Footnote 69
In a discussion of whether Abraham's actions can serve as normative behavioral precedent, B. Yoma 28b cites as a baraita' this midrash of the Sifra. R. Safra proposes that Abraham recited the afternoon prayer from the time when the walls darkenedFootnote 70—implying that this is supposed to be a behavioral model. R. Yosef then objects to deriving precedent from Abraham's behavior. “Do we stand and learn from Abraham?”Footnote 71 Rava replies, “A Tanna learned from Abraham, and we do not learn from him?!” The Talmud (or Rava) then cites the baraita' as proof that there is in fact precedent for deriving legal models from Abraham. Rava tries to sidestep R. Yosef's question about precedent by reinterpreting it as a purely legal question of a contradiction between a mishnah (M. Pesaḥim 5:1) that states that when the eve of Passover falls on the Sabbath eve the tamid is sacrificed at six and a half rabbinic hours, and R. Safra's statement, which implies that the tamid could be sacrificed even from the time walls darken, presumably at midday. If Abraham sets normative precedent, then the mishnah should read six hours and not six and a half. While Rava elides the starkness of R. Yosef's question, the sugya's presentation of Abraham's actions as possibly paradigmatic remains. Moreover, again, it is Abraham's zealousness in the fulfillment of commandments that is cited.Footnote 72
In the context of a discussion about the proper time to check for leaven before Passover, the Bavli cites the Sifra baraita’ once more (B. Pesaḥim 4a). Here the baraita' is brought by the anonymous redactor.Footnote 73 In contrast, though, to the use of the Sifra text in Babylonian literature, I have not found a source in Palestinian amoraic literature that cites this text. The idea of Abraham as the exemplar of zealousness seems to have been carried from (Palestinian) tannaitic literature into Babylonian amoraic and anonymous literature.Footnote 74 The linking of the ‘akedah with Abraham's norm-setting behavior appears to have become a particularly Babylonian trope. While the Sifra, B. Yoma, and B. Pesaḥim link the ideal of zealousness in the performance of commandments to Genesis 22:3, B. Ḥullin 16a links that same motif to Genesis 22:10.
It is appropriate, then, that B. Ḥullin 16a utilizes this conception of Abraham's zealousness to dismiss one exegetical claim about the normative reading of Genesis 22:10. Rabbi's reading of Genesis 22:10 is challenged by another existent legal reading of the ‘akedah narrative. The claim that Genesis 22:10 does not reflect a norm about ritual slaughter but rather a norm about the way in which Abraham behaves is not, therefore, a random and opportunistic reading of the verse. Rather, like Rabbi's reading, it is part of a larger midrashic web. Whereas Rabbi's reading is interwoven with a greater sacrificial narrative about the ‘akedah, the response associated with R. Ḥiyya is interwoven with another narrative about the paradigmatic nature of Abraham's behavior in relationship to the commandments—his zealousness in the face of divine command. Therefore, the Bavli presents us with, in much shortened form, competing texts of two larger midrashic tropes. Neither argument nor exegesis is sui generis.
Conclusion
In contrast to our Bavli text, our Bereshit Rabba text is much more concerned with the issue of interpretive authority than with proposing alternative exegetical explanations. While Rabbi's statement in Bereshit Rabba is part of this larger interpretive web of the ‘akedah and sacrifice, the objection there does not derive from another midrashic trope. Rather, it emphasizes the origins of Rabbi's tradition: does it derive from his own exegetical authority or from that of an earlier authoritative tradition? The reply is not an exegetical one, but one that weaves in tannaitic traditions to try to decide an issue of authority. B. Ḥullin 16a, however, is focused on two alternative understandings of the ‘akedah narrative: in one, Genesis 22:10 teaches about a specific commandment—ritual slaughter—and in the other, the verse and its place within Genesis 22 teaches about the way in which Jews should, ideally, perform all commandments—zealously.
In both cases, the texts function within a larger midrashic understanding of the ‘akedah that frames the story within the terms of the sacrificial cult. The narrative is reframed within the legal world of sacrifice—the Passover and the tamid sacrifices. Once viewed within this reframed world, it is no surprise that a verse about Abraham preparing to slaughter his son Isaac can then be seen as teaching a law about ritual slaughter. The narrative of the ‘akedah has become part of the rabbinic world where sacrifice affects atonement and where contemporaneous ritual reminds of much earlier ritual.
Michael Fishbane describes the ways in which the ancient rabbis “reinterpreted and reenacted the old Temple sacrifices as instances of ritual piety for personal benefit.”Footnote 75 He cites a passage from B. Berakhot 17a, in which the third-century Babylonian Amora R. Sheshet prays that God will view his fasting as a replacement for the way in which a sinner used to bring a sacrifice to the Temple. Although the person would only offer the sacrifice's fat and blood, it still atoned for his sin. Similarly, R. Sheshet asks that God see the fat and blood he has lost though fasting as an atonement offering and, as a consequence, forgive him. Fishbane writes,
But the striking point here is that a new personal ritual is offered as substitute for an older divine norm (presently inoperative). It is presented as a formal equivalent for the old (because of the fleshly substance consumed), along with the request that this similarity be regarded “as if” (ke'ilu) the original sacrifice had been performed. The anxiety and urgency of the prayer make it unlikely that Rav Sheshet is merely projecting a rhetorical trope—for his whole concern is to be simultaneously the officiant, the offering, and the beneficiary of his bodily sacrifice. Indeed, the absence of the Temple gives rise to a paradoxical situation in which the ancient substitution of an animal for the sinner (whose link to the animal is marked by a ritual leaning of his hand upon it) is reversed, and the sinner sacrifices himself—ke'ilu, “as if.” His own diminishment seeks to mediate heavenly favor.Footnote 76
In our case, the ritual slaughterer does not offer himself. Instead, in a post-Temple world, his slaughter of an animal enables a twofold link, to the Temple sacrifices and back even to the ancient story of Abraham and Isaac. It is the legal act of ritual slaughter that becomes a bridge to the ancient biblical and rabbinic narrative of the ‘akedah. The reenactment is a legal one, but that legal act connects that person to the whole complex of meaning the ancient rabbis gave the binding of Isaac. Following law—whether with a detached knife or zealously—has become a way of reaching back into the story of Genesis 22 and its narrative accretions and then bringing that story into the present.
