The Lighter Side of Talmud

When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time reading (and rereading) Mad magazine.  I picked up that habit from my older brother.  I did not turn out nearly as demented as the editors seemed to promise, but it certainly provided an interesting perspective on reality.

 (There was some homophobia mixed in – I’ll address that in a later post.)

 At some point, I came across a book by one of the writers:  David Berg’s “My Friend G-d”, which I read (and reread) many times.  I haven’t seen it in years. I imagine it wouldn’t seem as compelling to me as it did to my eleven-year-old self, but there was one bit which is as relevant to me now as it ever was. Here’s the story:

 A rabbi was relating to his students a bit of Aggadah pulled out of the Talmud.   It seems that there was this old, impoverished, righteous woodcutter living in the middle of nowhere.  One day, as he was making his way through the forest, he chanced upon a newborn, with no mother in sight. Of course, the woodcutter took the child back to his hovel.  Still, there was barely enough food for himself, and certainly no milk for the child.  What to do?

With all his soul, the woodcutter cried out to the Almighty, begging for help.  His prayers were answered.  When he woke up the next morning, he had grown breasts and was able to nurse the baby himself.  Problem solved!

The rabbi’s students were stunned.  Finally, one of them asked: “Master, why was it necessary for the Almighty to violate the rules of nature?  Wouldn’t it have been simpler to have the woodcutter find a bag of gold?  Then, he could have hired a wet nurse.”

To which the rabbi replied: “Nu, if the Almighty can make a woodcutter grow breasts, why give up the gold?”

Very cute.  But I’m with the student on this one.  Although Hashem could direct events with awesome signs and wonders, I think that He would be more apt to stick with subtlety.  As I frequently tell my Catholic wife, I don’t believe the Nazarene walked on water, but neither do I believe that Moshe Rabbeinu split the sea.

This reminds me of something wonderful I learned from the Koran – I’m not sure which sura I read it in, but I think it was mentioned several times.  The Prophet was castigated by some skeptics: “If you have a direct line to the Divine, where are your miracles?”  To which Mohamed replied: “I’m just the messenger – don’t expect that from me.”  Which is awesome!

There was another Jewish writer I followed as a kid:  Isaac Asimov.  One of his stories was titled "Spell My Name with an S".  It was set during the Cold War when the world was expecting America and the Soviet Union to nuke each other.  There was a Pole named Zebatinsky who had moved to the US, started working for the government, but then found that his career was languishing.  He sought out the advice of a numerologist, who suggested that he legally change the Z in his surname to an S.  Shortly after he did so, his promotion came through.  The End.

Except, not quite.  In those paranoid times, the Feds were surveilling everything.  One of them came across the name change and was stunned by the triviality of the request.  His curiosity piqued; the agent dug a little deeper.  He found out that the guy had some distant relative behind the Iron Curtain who was somehow involved in research that would give the Russians a devastating first strike ability, or something like that.  This allowed the Americans to develop countermeasures, and mutually assured destruction was saved.

And just to keep Sebatinsky nee Zebatinsky from becoming suspicious, they gave him a promotion.

Now for the Tin Foil Hat conclusion.  It turns out that there are space aliens who are pulling all the strings not just on Earth, but all over the galaxy.  Two of the more junior aliens are a little bored.  One of them, who turns out to be the numerologist, claims that he can produce an Alpha response (prevention of a nuclear war) with a Delta stimulus (changing one letter in a name). A bet is placed, and a bet is won.

One last bit of the story – the loser of the bet is now freaked out that their bosses will find out about this unauthorized activity.  “What are you worried about?” asks the numerologist.  “They’ll never notice a Delta stimulus.”

“But they will notice an Alpha response!”

So, another bet is placed. The numerologist will arrange for another single letter change to ensure that Earth experiences a nuclear holocaust just as it was supposed to.  The End.

This reminds me a bit of the Book of Job – the poor guy is put through all sorts of misery for the sake of a bet between Satan and the Almighty.  Seems a bit churlish to me, but neither Job nor I were there when the Earth’s foundation was laid.

There’s a famous story in the Book of Joshua.  The Israelites were avenging themselves on the Amorites, and it was going very well for them.  Unfortunately, the sun would likely set before total victory was achieved.  This would stop the fighting and give the Amorites a chance to regroup.  To prevent this, Joshua prayed that the sun would stay still, and so it did.  The Israelites prevailed!

For what it’s worth, I believe with all my being that the Almighty could keep the sun from setting.  Still, I prefer the explanation that Abraham Malamat puts forth in “A History of the Jewish People”.  The Israelites attacked from the high ground at dawn with the sun at their backs.  This left the Amorites blinded by the glare.  Couldn’t this be remembered as the sun standing still?

Consider some more recent history.  The Six Day War was a huge victory for Israel.  It could have been a devastating defeat, especially considering U Thant’s feckless withdrawal of UN peacekeepers from the Sinai.  Israel won the war in the opening hours with early morning strikes on Arab airfields.  Had the Arabs attacked while the bulk of the Israeli air force was over the Mediterranean, history would be very different.  Couldn’t this also be remembered as the sun standing still, or at least not rising?

James Carrol describes something similar in “Constantine’s Sword”.  Matthew and Mark relate the Nazarene crying out from the cross a line from Psalm 22: “My G-d, my G-d, why hast thou forsaken me?”  It seems reasonable to Carrol (and to me) that this is historically accurate.  Carrol goes on to discuss the Romans casting lots for the condemned’s garments and suggests that this might have been merged into the story decades later.  This would have been inspired by a subsequent line in Psalm 22: “For my raiment they cast lots”.  Carrol describes this as “prophesy historicized”, as opposed to “history remembered”.  (Both phrases are credited to John Dominic Crossan’s “Who Killed Jesus?”)  This appears to oppose the traditional Christian understanding, which sees a fulfillment of a prophesy embedded in Psalm 22, and not the other way around.  Obviously, I’m on shaky ground when it comes to anything Gospel related, but Carrol’s reasoning appeals to me.

Does this make me a Deist?  The Almighty created the world and just walked away?  He’s interested enough to observe like some cosmic channel surfer, but not quite invested enough to perform miracles. This leads to all sorts of philosophical questions.  What’s the sound of one hand clapping? When a man speaks in the forest, and there’s no woman to hear, is he still wrong?  And most importantly, what about the set of all sets that don’t include themselves as members?

(Sorry about that last one – I majored in math, and I’ve been waiting forty years to refer to Bertrand Russell’s Paradox.)

Those types of questions hurt my head. I don’t have any original or helpful answers to them, so let me get back to my stories.

This next one takes us back to the Soviet Union.  One of my more observant and learned cousins told it to me.  It’s not Talmud, but it’s close enough.

Before the Iron Curtain fell, the Russians were doing everything to suppress Judaism within their borders.  There was one righteous Jew named Avraham who tried to keep the traditions.  Obviously, this was very difficult:  no easy access to kosher food; chumashim, siddurim, and other holy writings were impossible to find; and all the rabbis had been sent to Siberia.  Still, Avraham did the best he could.

When he died, he was immediately greeted by Eliyahu Hanavi, aka Elijah. The prophet heaped blessings and praises on Avraham and offered to show him around the World to Come.  The first thing Avraham wanted to do was meet Moses.  Elijah brought him to a beautiful field with trees, flowers, streams, and Moses was sitting right in the middle.  Of course, Moses was surrounded by all sort of sages, tzaddikim, and chasidim.  The more righteous and learned, the closer to Moses.  Directly by Moses’s right arm, there was a very undistinguished looking Jew named Henoch who was intently reading a newspaper.

Mordechai walked up to Henoch and asked: “What did you do in life that you earned such an honored place in heaven?”

Henoch answered: “I’m not sure. I also lived in the Soviet Union, and our family was not able to educate any of us in religion.  But I noticed that every Friday night, my grandfather would read out of some book with a bunch of strange letters.  I couldn’t understand any of it, but after my grandfather died, I honored his memory by reading every Friday night.  Of course, I couldn’t read the book with the strange letters, so I picked up a newspaper.  And here I am.”

My cousin was making the point that mere mortals can’t be completely sure what the Almighty want,s but it’s a good start to remember our ancestors.

At least that’s the point he said he was trying to make.  The real reason he told me the story was I had asked too many ridiculous questions, and he was trying to shut me up.  Which is awesome!

I’m going to conclude with another story from “My Friend G-d”.  It should give this post a chiastic structure and make me look smart.  Or at least pompous.

An old teacher was telling the children in his cheder a bible story about Joab, who was the mightiest of all King David’s warriors. Joab was holding his father’s lifeless body in his arms.  He could not believe what his brother had done. Then his brother threw their father’s sword into the sea, saying that if he could not possess it, neither could Joab. This was the last time the brothers would speak.  Joab looked into the ocean and wept, for the sword was all he had left of his father.  And the sea filled with his tears and flooded beyond the shore.  The people begged Joab to stop his weeping, and he did.  Joab walked into the water to find the lost sword. He searched and searched the murky ocean bottom, holding his breath for three days and three nights, and Joab recovered the sword.

At this point, one of the older children cries out: “That is impossible!”

To which the teacher responds patiently: “Impossible for you perhaps.  Not for Joab.  He was a great tzaddik.”

Not satisfied, the child continues: “You’re making it up!  Why are you telling us these stories?”

To which the teacher responds just as patiently: “These are our stories.  They tell us who we are.”

The child tried one last time: “But are they true?”

After the slightest pause, the teacher reflects: “I have studied these stories all my life and find new truths in them every time.”

Okay, you got me.  That’s not really a bible story.  It’s from “Deep Space Nine”. Worf is telling some culturally disadvantaged Klingon children about Kahless. I am amazed at how much of my Jewish experience is reflected in Star Trek.  Which is awesome!

These indeed are our stories and are the greatest treasure any Jew could ask for.  If you want to know how our ancestors thought about their lives and the world around them, this is the place to start.  If you want to know how we should think about our lives and the world around us, this is the place to start.

But it doesn’t really matter to me whether the woodcutter grew breasts, or if Moses raised his hands to split the sea.  If you’re looking to any of the scriptures to show that the world was created in six days, to prove that it really did rain for forty days and nights, or even to see if Kahless held his breath for three days, then you’re probably wasting your time.