ZAC 2016; 20(2): 243–259
Michal Bar-Asher Siegal*
Saying of the desert fathers, Sayings of the rabbinic fathers: Avot deRabbi Natan and the Apophthegmata Patrum DOI 10.1515/zac-2016-0030
Abstract: In this article I wish to present a textual comparison between paragraphs in the rabbinic Avot deRabbi Natan and in the Apophthegmata Patrum, or Sayings of the Desert Fathers. I will argue that these passages in the two anthologies, rabbinic and Christian-monastic, share interesting features which will repay careful literary analysis. In this specific case, the comparison to the Christianmonastic text helps underline the textual process that shaped the two versions of the rabbinic text, a process that without this comparison would be difficult to reconstruct.1 Keywords: Avot deRabbi Natan, Apophthegmata Patrum, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, rabbinics, midrash, Rabbi Akiva
In this article I wish to present a textual comparison between paragraphs in the rabbinic Avot deRabbi Natan and in the Apophthegmata Patrum, or Sayings of the Desert Fathers. I will argue that these passages in the two anthologies, rabbinic and Christian-monastic, share interesting features which will repay careful literary analysis. The analogies between these texts have the power to aid in our understanding of the two texts themselves through the process of “stereoscopic reading,” a term coined by Johan C. Thom for a method of reading that affords
1 This article picks up on a few sources already mentioned very briefly in my book (Michal Bar-Asher Siegal, Early Christian Monastic Literature and the Babylonian Talmud [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013]) and elaborates extensively on them. Rabbinic sources are quoted according to the manuscript version as found in Ma’agarim: The Historical Dictionary Project of the Academy of the Hebrew Language, online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/ Pages/PMain.aspx. The Apophthegmata Patrum is quoted in Greek based on the edition of Jacques P. Migne (PG 65:71–440) based on MS Paris Gr. 1599, and translated according to Benedicta Ward, The Sayings of the Desert Fathers: The Alphabetical Collection (Rev. ed.; Cistercian Studies Series 59; London: Mowbrays, 1981). *Corresponding author: Michal Bar-Asher Siegal, Ben-Gurion University of the Negev, Goldstein-Goren D epartment of Jewish Thought, Be’er Sheva, Israel, e-mail:
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a three-dimensional perspective by creating a dialogue between two texts, both of which are equal partners in the comparison.2 Thus, the comparison between passages from Avot deRabbi Natan and monastic texts has the power to aid in our understanding of the two corpora and to establish the relationship between them. In some cases such comparisons have the potential to aid in the historical quest for evidence of Jewish-Christian interactions in the first centuries C. E. But in this specific case, and not less important in my mind, the comparison to the Christian-monastic text mostly helps underline the textual process that shaped the two versions of the rabbinic text, a process that without this comparison would be hard to reconstruct. Recent research focused on a comparative study of the Babylonian Talmud and the Christian monastic anthology.3 These monastic analogies illuminate the surprisingly inclusive nature of the Talmudic corpus, in line with recent research in the field of Talmudic studies. They suggest various kinds of literary relationships between the rabbinic and monastic texts. The shared historical and cultural background of the Jewish and Christian sources and the numerous literary analogies between the two call attention to the very real possibility of actual contacts between the composers of rabbinic Talmudic material in the Persian Empire and the composers and transmitters of the Christian monastic texts. A number of examples from an additional work—Avot deRabbi Natan— shows a certain similarity to parallel topoi and literary units in the Apophthegmata. Thus, this time, the comparison focuses on a different region—no longer the Persian Empire and the Jewish Babylonian community therein, but rather the geographical area of the land of Israel and its monastic neighbors. First, a few introductory thoughts on the texts under discussion: The Apophthegmata Patrum—Sayings of the Desert Fathers—are one of the compositions that sprouted from the daily life of the eremitic and semi-eremetic community of Scetis in Lower Egypt.4 Like sayings found in wisdom literature, this composition was born of the life experience of ascetics, and it offers practical advice for leading a good life. The Apophthegmata were very popular with ascetics of their time and of later generations, and they contain some of the earliest evidence we have on the monastic Christian world. The sayings they contain spread orally at first, and 2 Johan C. Thom, “Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus and Early Christian Literature,” in Antiquity and Humanity: Essays on Ancient Religion and Philosophy Presented to Hans Dieter Betz on his 70th Birthday (ed. Adela Y. Collins and Margaret M. Mitchell; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001), (477–499) 478. 3 Bar-Asher Siegal, Early Christian Monastic Literature (see note 1). 4 For bibliography on the Apophthegmata Patrum, see William Harmless, Desert Christians: An Introduction to the Literature of Early Monasticism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004) 183–186.
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scholars of the text presume that they were collected and edited by an anonymous editor (or editors) in the land of Israel in the second half of the fifth century.5 Later, the work was expanded, reorganized, and re-edited in every language in the Christian world. Its anthological character—so called unsophisticated and lacking systematic redaction—stems from the ascetic circles themselves and provides a rare glimpse into their lives. Turning now to the rabbinic literature, Avot deRabbi Natan is a rabbinic midrash which reached us in two close but distinct versions.6 According to Menahem Kister, the origin of the work is early, and it was composed as a commentary on, and expansion of, one of the tractates of the early-second- to third-century rabbinic corpus of the Mishnah, tractate Pirqe Avot, though it appears that its author worked from an earlier version of Avot than is preserved in our Mishnah.7 Contrary to earlier scholars of midrash, like Louis Finkelstein, who tended to emphasize the antiquity of the rabbinic material they researched, including Avot deRabbi Natan, Kister emphasizes the lateness of the text’s reworking.8 Though it preserves early traditions, sometimes the language in the two versions that have come down to us is not original, having undergone many changes and paraphrases at the hands of its editors. Kister determines that the earliest compilation was done in the late-Tannaitic to early-Amoraic period (third century C. E.) and the latest after the end of the Talmudic period, no earlier than the fifth century. Its current version was certainly compiled no later than the eighth century C. E.9 The two versions of the midrash appear to have originated in the land of Israel, though Kister has identified a number of instances where Babylonian characteristics have penetrated version A.10 He notes several unique aspects of the midrash, including the popular character of the work, its theological simplicity, its lack
5 Cf. Lucien Regnault, “Les Apophtegmes des Pères en Palestine aux Ve-VIe siècles,” Irénikon 54 (1981): 319–330, and references in Graham Gould, The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community (Oxford Early Christian Studies; Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), 9–17. 6 Cf. Solomon Schechṭer, Aboth de-Rabbi Nathan: Hujus libri recensiones duas collatis variis apud bibliothecas et publicas et privatas codicibus (Wien: Lippe, 1887; repr., New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1997); Hans-Jürgen Becker, Avot de-Rabbi Natan: Synoptische Edition beider Versionen (Texte und Studien zum antiken Judentum 116; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2006). 7 Menahem Kister, Studies in Avot de-Rabbi Nathan: Text, Redaction and Interpretation (Jerusalem: The Hebrew University and Yad Izhak Ben Zvi, 1998), 123–130. 8 Cf. Kister, Studies (see note 7), 5–6 (note 8). 9 Cf. Kister, Studies (see note 7), 220–221. 10 Cf. Kister, Studies (see note 7), 206–211.
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of attention to halakhic matters (in version A, at least), and what he calls its “strangeness.”11 I now turn to the comparison between these two corpora. The similarity between the titles of the two works—Aphophthegmata Patrum, “sayings of the desert fathers,” and the Mishnaic tractate Pirqe Avot, “sayings of the fathers,” which is the foundation of Avot deRabbi Natan—testifies to their shared literary genre: wisdom literature.12 These are collections of wisdom sayings on various topics, which relate primarily to virtue and moral lessons, as well as to daily matters and advice for good behavior.13 The sayings are mostly short, sometimes organized in a tripartite division.14 The Apophthegmata drew my attention in particular because they are collected, as I mentioned, from different periods and different Abbas, and because they still reflect the diversity of the early theologies of the ascetics who are cited in them. This is in contrast to the majority of early Christian works, which show signs of the unifying hand of a single author or editor. 11 See summary in Kister, Studies (see note 7), 217–222. 12 On tractate Avot as part of the wisdom literature, see Amram Tropper, Wisdom, Politics, and Historiography: Tractate Avot in the Context of the Graeco-Roman Near East (Oxford Oriental Monographs; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). 13 In the words of Robert Alter, “The Poetic and Wisdom Books,” in The Cambridge Companion to Biblical Interpretation (ed. John Barton; Cambridge Companions to Religion; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), (226–240) 233: “ ‘cultivating experiential knowledge’ [a paraphrase on von Rad] in memorable aphoristic utterances was common . . . throughout the ancient Near East.” For more on wisdom literature, see the bibliography in John J. Collins, Jewish Wisdom in the Hellenistic Age (The Old Testament Library; Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox Press, 1997). 14 For example, Apophthegmata Patrum: De abbate Antonio 3 (PG 65:75; trans. Ward, The Sayings of the Desert Fathers [see note 1], 2) and Mishnah Avot 2,1 (Budapest, Magyar Tudomanyos Akademia, MS. Kaufmann A 50; online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/ PMain.aspx?misyzira=31000&mm15=00003900116000 [last access: 01. 06. 2016]). On triadic statements, as well as the entire triadic sugyot in rabbinic literature, see Shamma Friedman, “Some Structural Patterns of Talmudic Sugyot,” Proceedings of the Sixth World Congress of Jewish Studies 3 (1977): (389–402) 391–396 [Hebrew]; idem, “A Critical Study of Yevamot X with a Methodological Introduction,” in Mehkarim Umekorot: Me’asaf Lemada’e Hayahadut (= Text and Studies: Analecta Judaica 1) (ed. Chaim Zalman Dimitrovski; New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1977), (275–441) 316–319; Jeffrey L. Rubenstein, “Some Structural Patterns of Yerushalmi Sugyot,” in The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture 3 (ed. Peter Schäfer; Text und Studien zum Antiken Judentum 93; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2002), 303–313; Richard Hidary, “Classical Rhetorical Arrangement and Reasoning in the Talmud: The Case of Yerushalmi Berakhot,” Association for Jewish Studies Review 34 (2010): (33–64) 53–54, who suggests ibid., 54 (note 79): “The context of classical rhetoric may help explain why tripartite structures are so prevalent.” See more on this in Bar-Asher Siegal, Early Christian Monastic Literature (see note 1), 76–77.
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There are a number of analogous passages in the early Mishnah in Pirqe Avot and the Apophthegmata, which are interesting insofar as they indicate that religious societies in similar circumstances produce parallel literary material. For example: Καθεζομένου ποτὲ τοῦ ἀββᾶ Σιλουανοῦ εἰς τὸ ὄρος τὸ Σινὰ, ἀπῆλθεν ὁ μαθητὴς αὐτοῦ Ζαχαρίας εἰς διακονίαν, καὶ λέγει τῷ γέροντι· Ἀπόλυσον τὸ ὕδωρ, καὶ πότισον τὸν κῆπον. Ὁ δὲ ἐξελθὼν ἔσκεπε τὴν ὄψιν αὐτοῦ τῷ κουκουλίῳ, καὶ μόνον τὰ ἴχνη αὐτοῦ ἔβλεπε. Παρέβαλε δὲ ἀδελφὸς αὐτῇ τῇ ὥρᾳ· καὶ ἰδὼν αὐτὸν ἀπὸ μακρόθεν, κατενόει τί ἐποίησεν. Εἰσελθὼν δὲ ὁ ἀδελφὸς πρὸς αὐτόν, εἶπεν· Εἰπέ μοι, ἀββᾶ, τί τὸ πρόσωπόν σου κατεσκέπασας τῷ κουκουλίῳ, καὶ οὕτως τὸν κῆπον ἐπότιζες; Λέγει αὐτῷ ὁ γέρων· Τέκνον, ἵνα μὴ ἴδωσιν οἱ ὀφθαλμοί μου τὰ δένδρα, καὶ ἀπασχοληθῇ ὁ νοῦς μου ἀπὸ τῆς ἐργασίας αὐτοῦ εἰς αὐτά. Abba Silvanus was once living on Mount Sinai. His disciple Zacharias, who was about to go off on some necessary task, said to the old man: “Bring water, and water the garden.” The old man went to draw water. He covered his face with his cowl, so that he could see only his feet. By chance a visitor arrived to see him at that moment and, looking at him from a distance, marveled at the sight. He went up to him and said: “Tell me, Abba, why did you cover your face with your hood, and so water the garden?” The old man said to him: “So that my eyes should not see the trees and my mind should not be disturbed from its work by the sight.”15
Abba Silvanus protects himself by covering his face with a scarf while carrying out a mundane task—watering his vegetable garden. This is a common topos in this type of literature in which the mysterious actions of an admired sage, which appear strange and surprising first, are revealed in the end to have spiritual significance. The elderly Abba worries that seeing nature will distract him from his spiritual work. The tension between the routine of daily life and the desire to maintain perfect spiritual devotion is inherent in any religious society that asks its devotees to dedicate themselves to spiritual work while still attending to their physical needs. Yet, what interests me in this case is that the disruptive element, the distraction, is nature, and trees in particular. Compare this to the saying attributed to Rabbi Ya’akov in Mishnah Avot 3:7, which points out a similar tension between daily routine and study:
15 Apophthegmata Patrum: De abbate Silvano 4 (PG 65:409; trans. 223 W. [modified]).
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מעלין עליו,' 'מה נאה אילן זה ומה נאה ניר זה: "המהלך בדרך ושונה ומפסיק משנתו ואומר:'ר' יעקב או 16".כאילו מתחיב בנפשו Rabbi Ya’akov said: “If a person is walking on the road and recites [his studies], and breaks off from his recitation, saying, ‘how fine is this tree,’ ‘how fine is this newly ploughed field,’ they account it to him as if he had committed a capital offense.”
Rabbi Ya’akov decrees here that a traveler who stops his recitation of religious texts in order to admire the view is liable for punishment. A beautiful tree is singled out here as causing a man to turn from his recitation. This analogy between Jewish and Christian texts is obviously not evidence of textual borrowing. The similarity in this instance is, in my opinion, a literary analogy, which does not necessarily indicate a connection between the authors of the traditions. However, it certainly sheds light on the religious processes that shape a world view which vacillates between total dedication to the spiritual world and encounter with the physical world in which we live. It reveals the concern that the beauty of the natural world, its flora in particular, poses a threat to a religious person’s spiritual world, so much so that he must either take steps to defend himself or be forbidden from engaging with it. A comparison of the later midrash Avot deRabbi Natan with the monastic text is more likely to provide an opportunity to establish a genealogical relationship to the Apophthegmata. However, I wish to stress that such an intertextual comparison, particularly between texts from different religious traditions, can enrich our understanding of the sayings themselves and the societies from which they came, irrespective of any historical conclusions we may draw regarding the relationship between the texts’ authors. In the following instance, I will again argue that the comparison is important in and of itself, as it brings to the forefront the intellectual processes of the texts’ authors. And most importantly, the act of comparison of non-rabbinic and rabbinic literary materials can achieve new insights that cannot be ascertained otherwise.
16 Mishnah Avot 3,7 (MS. Kaufmann A 50; online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/ Pages/PMain.aspx?misyzira=31000&mm15=00003900215000 [last access 01. 06. 2016]). See Bar-Asher Siegal, Early Christian Monastic Literature (see note 1), 85.
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I take as an example the following passage from Avot deRabbi Natan17: 1819 19) א, נ"ב (טו,אבות דרבי נתן יב
18) ב, נ"א (יד,אבות דרבי נתן ו
זה ר' עקיבא. והוי מתאבק בעפר רגליהם.ד'א בן ארבעים. אמרו עליו.מה היה תחילתו של ר' עקיבא הלך וישב לו על באר אחת. פעם אחת היה עומד על פי הבאר שבקש לילמוד תורה.שנה היה ולא למד כלום מי חקק.' אמ. בלוד וראה חוליית הבור חקוקה: אמר.וראה את האבן שהייתה חקוקה ונתונה על פי הבאר ויכול. אמ' להם. החבל. אמרו לו. "חבל של דלי חקקה את החוליא הזו:"מי חקק את האבן הזאת?" אמרו לו . ואמרו לו. מפני שהוא תדיר. הן. אמרו לו. "ואי אתה יודע הוא: ואמרו לו."שת?דיר? [נוטף] עליה כל היום שנ' "אבנים. מים שחקו אבנים. 'אבנים שחקו מים תשטף ספיחיה עפר הארץ ותקות ולכך אתה תמה.וקורא אלך ואלמוד. כי לבי קשה כאבן.' ואמ." באותה שעה היה ר' עקיבא דן קל וחומר שחקו מים." 'אנוש האבדת הלך לו לבית הספר. דברי תורה שהן קשין פרשה (אחת) מן התורה. "רך פסק את הקשה:בדעתו ואמר בן ארבעים. . . הוא ובנו. והתחיל קורא בלוח."כברזל על אחת כמה וכמה !שחקקו! על לבו שהוא בשר בן ארבעים שנה למד את.שנה הלך לו לבית הספר בן ארבעים שנה היה. אמרו. . . מיד חזר ללמוד תורה . הכל וארבעים שנה למד את ישראל.עשר שנים לימד ברבים- לסוף ששה.כשהלך ללמוד תורה Avot deRabbi Natan 12, version B
Avot deRabbi Natan 6, version A
“Suffer yourself to be covered by the dust of their feet.” This is Rabbi Akiva who wanted to study Torah. He went and sat by a well in Lud and saw the stone [by the mouth of the well] hollowed. He said: “Who hollowed out this stone?” They said to him: “It is the rope.” He said: “Can it?” And they said to him: “Yes, because it [moves] continually.” And they said: “And this surprises you? Water wears away stones, as it is said: ‘As water wears away stones’ (Job 14:19).” And he said: “Is my heart harder than stone? I will go and learn on Torah portion.” He went to the study house and started reading the board, he and his son . . . At the age of forty he went to the study house. At the age of forty he studied it all and for forty years he taught Israel.
How did Rabbi Akiva begin? It was said concerning him: When he was forty years of age he had not yet studied a thing. One time he stood by the mouth of a well and saw the stone by the mouth of the well hollowed. He said: “Who hollowed out this stone?” They said to him: “It is the rope of the bucket [sic!], which drips upon it every day, continually.” And they said to him: “Do you not know and read that, ‘As water wears away stones and torrents wash away the soil, so you destroy man’s hope’ (Job 14:19)?” Thereupon Rabbi Akiva drew the inference with regard to himself and said: “If what is soft wears down the hard, all the more shall the words of Torah, which are hard as iron, hollow out my heart, which is flesh.” Forthwith he turned to the study of Torah . . . They said: At the age of forty he went to study Torah; at the end of sixteen years he taught Torah to multitudes.
17 See Bar-Asher Siegal, Early Christian Monastic Literature (see note 1), 102–103. 18 Avot deRabbi Natan 6, version A (New York, Jewish Theological Seminary [JTS], Rab. 25; online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/PMain.aspx?misyzira=622000&mm15= 00000000422000 [last access 01. 06. 2016]; trans. Judah Goldin, The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan [Yale Judaica Series 10; New Haven, Ct.: Yale University Press, 1955], 41–42 [modified]); cf. Schechter, Aboth de-Rabbi Nathan (see note 6), 28. 19 Avot deRabbi Natan 12, version B (Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica ebr., 303; online: http://maa garim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/PMain.aspx?misyzira=623000&mm15=00000001104001 [last access 01. 06. 2016]; trans. Goldin, The Fathers According to Rabbi Natan [see note 19], 41–42 [modified]); cf. Schechter, Aboth de-Rabbi Nathan (see note 6), 29.
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This text presents a well-known story about the origin of Rabbi Akiva, perhaps the most well-known sage in rabbinic literature. Rabbi Akiva sees a hollowed stone, which leads him to learn by analogy from water which, though soft, wears down stone—compared by analogy to Torah learning and its possible effects on his own heart. From this, Rabbi Akiva concludes that he must pursue a life of Torah study. In world literature, these “origin” or “childhood stories” comprise an important literary genre that forms part of the character development of the hero, and they often share similar characteristics that transcend the framework in which they were created.20 Descriptions of Rabbi Akiva’s origin in post-Tannaitic sources vary widely and the descriptions of the poverty that befell him as a consequence of learning Torah, or descriptions of his financial situation prior to his decision to study, also change from source to source.21 Here in Avot deRabbi Natan, he is a 40-year-old father who goes to school with his son. Yaakov Elbaum has already shown the different earlier sources for the literary components of the story in Avot deRabbi Natan.22 The traditions about Rabbi Akiva’s beginnings as an ignoramus ‘am
20 See Dina Stein, Maxims, Magic, Myth: A Folkloristic Perspective of Pirkei deRabbi Eliezer (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2004), 116–121 (Hebrew), and her references there. I thank Haim Weiss for his help with this reference. 21 In Jerusalem Talmud Nazir 56a (Leiden, Bibliotheek der Rijksuniversiteit, Scaliger, 3; online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/PMain.aspx?misyzira=90027&mm15= 00700100106000 [last access 01. 06. 2016]), he carries a corpse on his back without any understanding of ritual purity; in Babylonian Talmud Pesaḥim 49b (New York, Jewish Theological Seminary [JTS], EMC, 271; online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/PMain.aspx?misy zira=80014&mm15=00300700112100 [last access 01. 06. 2016]) he presents himself as an ignoramus (‘am ha’arets); and in the famous story in Babylonian Talmud Ketubot 62b (Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica ebr., 130; online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/PMain.aspx ?misyzira=80025&mm15=00500600201001 [last access 01. 06. 2016]) and Nedarim 50a (Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 95; online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/PMain. aspx?misyzira=80026&mm15=00600100301108 [last access 01. 06. 2016]), he was a shepherd and ignoramus who left his wife in order to learn Torah. See Yaakov Elbaum, “Linguistic and Conceptual Patterns,” Proceedings of the Seventh World Congress of Jewish Studies 3 (1981): 71–77 (Hebrew). 22 Like the stories of Hillel the Elder in Babylonian Talmud Yoma 35b (Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, 6; online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/PMain.aspx?misy zira=80016&mm15=00300400317000 [last access: 01. 06. 2016]) and Babylonian Talmud Shabbat 31a (Oxford, Bodleian Library, 366; online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/ PMain.aspx?misyzira=80012&mm15=00200500116000 [last access: 01. 06. 2016]) attributing to him the saying, “what is hateful unto you, do not do to your fellow person” (דעלך סני לחבריך לא )תעבידand his distribution of his earnings to members of his household.
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ha’arets and his joining the world of Torah at a more advanced age do not appear in the early Tannaitic literature, but rather in post-Tannaitic literature.23 Azzan Yadin-Israel deals with the question: why do later, post-Tannaitic sources, Avot deRabbi Natan among them, choose to present the rabbinic figure that represents the midrashic process most clearly as someone who started out as an ‘am ha’arets and ignoramus in matters of Torah? Yadin-Israel believes that these traditions fit with the historical progression of rabbinic exegesis, which he describes in his books.24 According to Yadin-Israel, Rabbi Akiva as a latecomer to the world of Torah represents a paradigm shift toward a notion of authority based in exegesis of biblical verses rather than in independent laws, not dependent on scripture (which is Rabbi Ishmael’s way). According to Yadin-Israel, it is likely that these traditions on Rabbi Akiva’s late arrival to rabbinic circles derive from a need to present Rabbi Akiva as a new type of exegete, one who could not have come from elite rabbinic circles but only from outside, bearing new insights: “They sought a tannaitic figure who could bear the standard of midrash without being associated with the priestly elite.”25 The literary topos of the shepherd who joins the spiritual and religious leadership at a late age, age forty, and succeeds in becoming one of its guiding lights, will benefit from a comparison to Christian ascetic texts. I refer to a text from the Apophthegmata Patrum, Apollo 2: Ἔλεγον περί τινος ἀββᾶ Ἀπολλὼ εἰς Σκῆτιν, ὅτι ποιμὴν ἦν ἄγροικος . . . ἦλθεν εἰς Σκῆτιν, καὶ ἀνήγγειλε τοῖς Πατράσιν ὃ ἐποίησεν . . . Καὶ εἶπεν αὐτοῖς· Εἰμὶ τεσσαράκοντα ἐτῶν, μίαν εὐχὴν μὴ ποιήσας καὶ νῦν ἐὰν ζήσω ἄλλα τεσσαράκοντα ἔτη, οὐ παύομαι εὐχόμενος τῷ Θεῷ, ἵνα συγχωρήσῃ μοι τὰς ἁμαρτίας μου. It was said of a certain Abba Apollo of Scetis that he had been a shepherd and was very uncouth . . . he went to Scetis and told the Fathers what he had done . . . He said to them, 23 With the exception of one difficult passage in the midrash Sifre Deuteronomy 357 (ed. Louis Finkelstein, Sifre Deuteronomy [Berlin, 1939; repr., New York: The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 2001], 429,6–14), which appears to discuss Rabbi Akiva’s turn to Torah study at age forty. However, Azzan Yadin-Israel has shown that the version of MS London (Mazgoliouth 341) preserves evidence that contradicts traditions like these and demonstrates that Rabbi Akiva did not begin to study at age forty, but rather learned Torah for forty years, served the sages for forty years, and provided for Israel for forty years. See Azzan Yadin-Israel, “Rabbi Aqiva’s Youth,” Jewish Quarterly Review 100 (2010): 573–597, and idem, Scripture and Tradition: Rabbi Akiva and the Triumph of Midrash (Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2014), 141–160. 24 Cf. Yadin-Israel, Scripture and Tradition (see note 23), and idem, Scripture as Logos:Rabbi Ishmael and the Origins of Midrash (Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004). 25 Yadin-Israel, Scripture and Tradition (see note 23), 211.
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“I am forty years old and I have not made one prayer; and now, if I live another year, I shall not cease to pray God that he may pardon my sins.”26
This ascetic source describes the origin of Abba Apollo, who decides, at an advanced age, to repent of his evil ways and join the important ascetic community at Scetis, becoming one of its Abbas. This source is particularly interesting for our purposes, beyond the topos of late entry into religious leadership, as Abba Apollo is described as a shepherd who decides at age forty to change his life. In other places in rabbinic literature being a shepherd is described as a lowly profession whose practitioners are disqualified from serving as witnesses.27 It is clear that Rabbi Akiva in Avot deRabbi Natan, like Abba Apollo in the Christian source, is someone who chose to return from the most debased profession—and in Apollo’s case, a life of sin—to a spiritual life. In line with previous scholars reading biographical traditions in rabbinic literature as “exempla,”28 I suggest that this combination of shared motifs—the shepherd and the specific age of forty years old—should call our attention to the bigger picture in comparing details in literary analogies in the rabbinic and the monastic sources. In one sense at least, we see both religious societies portraying their great spiritual leaders’ beginning in similar ways. Both depict their leaders as latecomers, and as those who rose from the lowliest position to the highest spiritual ones. They use the same age mark and same profession to express this, and we, as readers who recognize this similarity, need to ask ourselves: What did this signify to the composer, transmitter, and reader of these shared stories, in both religious communities? The attainability of the spiritual standing in every age, at every socio-economic level, as a lesson to all. But an even more beneficial comparison to monastic sources is revealed if we turn our attention back to the details of the Avot DeRabbi Natan source and compare the two versions of the midrash. According to the shorter text in version B, words of Torah are analogous to water, the soft element in the analogy. Soft water erodes the hard stone but the human heart is softer still than the hard stone, which leads Rabbi Akiva to hope for a positive result from the experience of Torah study. In version A, on the other hand, which is often thought to be more heavily edited, the analogy is more complex: soft water wears down hard stone; 26 Apophthegmata Patrum: De abbate Apollo 2 (PG 65:133–136; trans. 36 W.). See Bar-Asher Siegal, Early Christian Monastic Literature (see note 1), 108–109. 27 See for example, Babylonian Talmud Bava Metsi’a 5b (Hamburg, Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, 165; online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/PMain.aspx?misyzira= 80032&mm15=00100100139000 [last access: 01. 06. 2016]). 28 See Stein, Maxims, Magic, Myth (see note 20), 116–121, and her discussion of Elboim there.
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therefore, words of Torah, parallel to the water, which are actually hard as iron, would all the more so wear down the heart, which is made of flesh and softer than stone. As for version A, notice that the Hebrew version reads: חבל של דלי חקקה “( שת?דיר? [נוטף] עליה כל היוםthe rope of the bucket which [drips] upon it every day, continually.”) The word “drip” as well as the continuation of the sentence in which we find the quotation of the Job verse makes clear that “water” would have fit better here than “rope,” similarly to the version in Avot deRabbi Natan, version B. But the rope in the text in version A might signal an editorial stitch of two originally different parables which left its mark only in this version. According to this, one parable discussed the indentation made in the stone by constant rubbing of the rope of the bucket, and the other the water eroding the stone from its constant dripping. Notice that if one omits the Job quote, the rest of the passage still works with the rope metaphor as well: “There upon Rabbi Akiva drew the inference with regard to himself and said: ‘If what is soft wears down the hard, all the more shall the words of Torah, which are hard as iron, hollow out my heart, which is flesh.’ ” Just as the soft (relative to stone) rope, when continuously rubbing against the stone can erode it, so can the constant study of Torah. However, the addition of the Job verse (missing in version B), as well as the word “drip” combines the rope metaphor with the water one found seamlessly in version B. Both the water and the rope metaphors discuss the effects of Torah learning on one’s heart as the result of constant contact. These two versions of the well-known story of Rabbi Akiva’s origin as a rabbinic figure, and the textual processes that shaped them, are further illuminated by comparison to early Christian monastic sources. We read in Apophthegmata Patrum, Poemen 183: Ἔλεγεν ὁ ἀββᾶς Ἰωάννης, ὅτι Παρεβάλομέν ποτε ἀπὸ Συρίας τῷ ἀββᾷ Ποιμένι, καὶ ἠθέλομεν αὐτὸν ἐρωτῆσαι περὶ τῆς σκληρότητος τῆς καρδίας· ὁ δὲ γέρων οὐκ ᾔδει Ἑλληνιστί, οὐδὲ ὁ ἑρμηνεὺς εὐκαίρησεν. Ἰδὼν δὲ ἡμᾶς θλιβομένους ὁ γέρων, ἤρξατο λαλεῖν τῇ Ἑλληνίδι φωνῇ, λέγων· Ἡ φύσις τοῦ ὕδατος ἁπαλή ἐστιν, ἡ δὲ τοῦ λίθου σκληρά, τὸ δὲ βαυκάλιον ἐπάνω κρεμάμενον τοῦ λίθου, στάζον στάζον τιτρᾷ τὸν λίθον. Οὕτως καὶ ὁ λόγος τοῦ Θεοῦ ἁπαλός ἐστιν, ἡ δὲ καρδία ἡμῶν σκληρά· ἀκούων δὲ ὁ ἄνθρωπος πολλάκις τὸν λόγον τοῦ Θεοῦ, ἀνοίγεται ἡ καρδία αὐτοῦ τοῦ φοβεῖσθαι τὸν Θεόν.29 Abba John (who had been exiled by the emperor Marcian) said, “We went to Syria one day to see Abba Poemen and desired to question him concerning purity of the heart. But the old man did not know Greek, and no interpreter was to be found. And then, seeing how embarrassed we were, the old man began to speak Greek, saying, ‘The nature of water is 29 Apophthegmata Patrum: De abbate Poemene, seu Pastore 183 (PG 65:365–368; trans. 192–193 W. [modified]).
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soft, and the nature of stone is hard; but if a bottle is hung above the stone, allowing the water to fall down drop by drop, it wears away the stone. So it is with the Word of God: it is soft and our heart is hard, but the man who hears the Word of God often opens his heart to the fear of God.’ ”
By its nature, a comparison of parallel texts from different religious and theological contexts carries with it certain potential pitfalls, from the very assumption that it is possible to speak of similar texts to the lack of a clear methodology to move from textual analysis to conclusions regarding the historical circumstances of a text’s composition.30 But the greatest of these pitfalls, identified by Jonathan Z. Smith as inherent in the comparative study of religions, is the temptation to disregard the content of the texts under comparison in an attempt to determine which of them influenced the other.31 This move is too often motivated by scholars’ preconceived assumptions and their preferences for certain texts over others. Smith proposes that we abandon this direction and concentrate instead on a complex description of the texts’ similarities and differences while taking into account the rich historical and theological background of each text, with no attempt to make a genealogical determination. In this instance, Abba Poemen in the Apophthegmata uses an identical allegory to the one found in Avot deRabbi Natan: water, which erodes stone, is compared to the word of God, which has influence over the human heart. Both phenomena require constant contact between the elements for the process to take effect. The comparison to water eroding stone is similar to the simple logical move in Avot deRabbi Natan B: words of Torah are analogous to water, the soft element in the analogy, which is capable of influencing the human heart. However, in the rabbinic story the scenery is placed near a water-well, while the monastic story posits a water bottle dripping on stone. Another difference is that while in both rabbinic texts the heart is said to be softer than stone, in the Christian text, the heart is perfectly analogous to stone: it is hard, but just as the soft water erodes the hard stone, the “soft” word of God can influence the hard human heart. These differences in the metaphor can be summed up in the following table:
30 See my extended discussion and bibliographic references in Bar-Asher Siegal, Early Christian Monastic Literature (see note 1), 25–34. 31 Jonathan Z. Smith, Drudgery Divine: On the Comparison of Early Christianities and the Religions of Late Antiquity (Jordan Lectures in Comparative Religion 14; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990).
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Avot deRabbi Natan A
Avot deRabbi Natan B
Apophthegmata Patrum
Soft Hard Hard Soft
Soft Hard Soft Soft
Soft Hard Soft Hard
Despite the differences between these sources, the basic analogy at their center is nearly identical. It describes a natural phenomenon which is surprising at first glance: the geological process of abrasion, by which water is able to alter the shape of rock. Small particles found naturally in flowing water break off sharp corners from large blocks of stone with which they come into contact, causing them, for example, to become rounded and turn into pebbles. Water’s erosive ability is very powerful and stems from its gravity, its mass, and the angle of the stream. Its force is amplified as the presence of erosive particles in the stream increases. The magnitude of the erosion depends on the hardness of the affected rock, the length of time the particles act upon it, and the quantity of water flowing along it.32 The seemingly surprising result of this natural phenomenon is mentioned in rabbinic literature in several places. For example, the verse, “I will blot out man” (Gen 6:7) is discussed in Genesis Rabbah 28,3: “Rabbi Levi said in Rabbi Yonatan’s name: Even the nether stone of a millstone was dissolved.”33 Here, the natural phenomenon of stone erosion is brought to the extreme: even millstones were dissolved, in order to demonstrate God’s powers in the flood. The erosion of stone by water was also used for allegorical purposes by other ancient writers such as the biblical author of Job 14:18–19: “But as a mountain erodes and crumbles and as a rock is moved from its place, as water wears away stones and torrents wash away the soil, so you destroy a person’s hope.”34 And Plutarch in the first century C. E. likened the hard work of education of young children to a series of natural phenomena:
32 See John Collinson, “Erosional Sedimentary structures,” Encyclopedia of Geology 4 (Amsterdam: Elsevier Academic Press, 2005), (587–593) 588. 33 Genesis Rabbah 28,3 (MS Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica ebr., 30; ed. Judah Theodor and Chanokh Albeck, Midrash Bereschit Rabba 1 [Berlin, 1912; repr., Jerusalem: Shalem Books, 1996], 261,2–3): . אפילו איסטרובלין שלריחיים נמחה.ר' לוי בש' ר' יונתן 34 Job 14:18–19: ואולם הר נופל יבול וצור יעתק ממקמו אבנים שחקו מים תשטף ספיחיה עפר ארץ ותקות .אנוש האבדת
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καταμάθοις δ᾿ ἂν ὡς ἀνύσιμον πρᾶγμα καὶ τελεσιουργὸν ἐπιμέλεια καὶ πόνος ἐστίν, ἐπὶ πολλὰ τῶν γιγνομένων ἐπιβλέψας. σταγόνες μὲν γὰρ ὕδατος πέτρας κοιλαίνουσι, σίδηρος δὲ καὶ χαλκὸς ταῖς ἐπαφαῖς τῶν χειρῶν ἐκτρίβονται, οἱ δ᾿ ἁρμάτειοι τροχοὶ πόνῳ καμφθέντες οὐδ᾿ ἂν εἴ τι γένοιτο τὴν ἐξ ἀρχῆς δύναιντο ἀναλαβεῖν εὐθυωρίαν· One may understand how effective and how productive a thing is application and hard work, if he only directs his attention to many effects that are daily observed. For drops of water make hollows in rocks, steel and bronze are worn away by the touch of hands, and rims of chariot-wheels once bent by dint of labor, cannot, no matter what be done, recover their original lines.35
In the Babylonian Talmud36 we see a closer parallel to the Avot deRabbi Natan passage, in which the study of Torah is likened to water: אם אבן הוא נימוח ואם ברזל הוא. אם פגע בך מנוול זה משכיהו לבית המדרש. בני.תנא דבי ר' ישמעאל דכת' "הלא כה דברי." אם ברזל הוא מתפוצץ. דכת' "הוי כל צמא לכו למים. אם אבן הוא נימוח.מתפוצץ ."כאש נאם יי'י וכפטיש יפוצץ סלע The school of Rabbi Ishmael taught: My son, if this villain [i. e. the evil inclination] meets you, drag him to the bet midrash. If he is of stone, he will dissolve, if of iron he will break into pieces. If he is of stone he will dissolve, for it is written, “Ho, every one who thirsts come to the water” (Is 55:1).37 . . . If he is of iron, he will break into pieces, for it is written, “Is not my word like as fire? Says the Lord, and like a hammer that breaks a rock in pieces?” (Jer 23:29).38
Here the effect of the study of Torah on one’s evil inclination is likened, in some cases, to the effect of the water on stone. All these last sources are similar to our 35 Plutarch, De liberis educandis 4 (BSGRT Plutarchi Moralia 1, 3,18–26 Paton). I am grateful to Matthew Thiessen for this reference. 36 Babylonian Talmud Sukkah 52b (MS Oxford, Bodleian Library, e.51 [2677]; online: http://maa garim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/PMain.aspx?misyzira=80017&mm15=00500200113000; last access: 02. 06. 2016). See also Babylonian Talmud Kiddushin 30b (Vatican, Biblioteca Apostolica ebr., 111; online: http://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/PMain.aspx?misyzira=80 030&mm15=00100700123000; last access: 02. 06. 2016). 37 Some manuscripts here (for example, MS Vatican 134) and in the parallel sugya in Babylonian Talmud Kiddushin have here, “—דכתיב אבנים שחקו מים ואין מים אלא תורהAnd it is written, ‘The waters wear the stones.’ Water is the Torah.” See Raphael Nathan Rabbinowicz, Dikduke Soferim 3 (Munich, 1870), 168 (note 50), where he proposes that this sentence is an addition based on Rashi ad loc. 38 Ishay Rosen-Zvi, Demonic Desires: Yetzer Hara and the Problem of Evil in Late Antiquity (Divinations: Rereading the Late Ancient Religion; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 23: “The sages present their own craft as the ultimate talisman against the yetzer.” On this Bavli sugya as a whole and its Palestinian parallel, see Elizabeth Shanks Alexander, “Art, Argument, and Ambiguity in the Talmud: Conflicting Conceptions of the Evil Impulse in b. Sukkah 51b-52a,” Hebrew Union College Annual 73 (2002): 97–132.
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Apophthegmata Patrum and Avot deRabbi Natan passages in that they all use the water erosion as an allegory, and this Talmudic source even names the “word of Torah” as the water in this metaphor, though, in comparison, it is specifically designated as a talisman against evil inclination and the process is not fully articulated. Therefore, the specific phrasing of the water allegory, both in the Avot deRabbi Natan and in the Apophthegmata Patrum parallels, puts them in a literary proximity which allows for parallel study of these sources. The description of the scene in which the slow erosion process is described—at the well and by the bottle, as an allegory for the slow process of God’s words on one’s heart is analogous in both. In both Avot deRabbi Natan and the Apophthegmata Patrum, the water eroding the stone is compared to the effect of the word of God on the human heart. As I have noted, the different manifestations of the comparison range from a perfect analogy between the surprising process of erosion and an identical process in the human heart in the Christian text to Avot deRabbi Natan A’s a fortiori argument (kal vaḥomer), which teaches that the word of God, which is hard as iron and not soft like water, will certainly influence the human heart, given the weaker argument provided by the surprising natural process. What, in this case, can we learn from a comparison between these sources? As mentioned above, I intended to demonstrate here Johan C. Thom’s “stereoscopic reading,” for understanding the texts in a three-dimensional perspective by creating a “dialogue between two texts,”39 while keeping in mind Smith’s warning regarding the ultimate purpose of such reading. The differences that arise from the process of comparing the two versions of the analogy in Avot deRabbi Natan and the version in the Apophthegmata are revealing. First, the version of Avot deRabbi Natan A, in which the allegory involves a more complicated comparison—that the word of God, which is hard, unlike the soft water, therefore is even more certain to influence the human heart—, points to a certain discomfort with the underlying comparison to the process of water eroding stone. According to the Apophthegmata and Avot deRabbi Natan B, the words of God are exactly like water: they are soft, and it is therefore surprising that they have such great influence on the human heart. According to the author of the tradition in Avot deRabbi Natan A, however, the words of God are not soft but hard, and their power is thus unsurprising. The creation of the a fortiori argument stems from this discomfort, and the version in Avot deRabbi Natan A weakens, in fact, the lesson learned from the rope and water scene. The surprising natural phenomenon only teaches on the
39 Thom, “Cleanthes’ Hymn to Zeus” (see note 2), 478.
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probability of a less surprising phenomenon in the human heart. What we are seeing here are fundamentally differing understandings of the Word of God and its impact on the human heart: is the Word of God strong and therefore easily effective, or is it soft but still surprisingly powerful in its impact on one’s heart? The authors of the traditions in the Apophthegmata and Avot deRabbi Natan B are on one side of this discussion, while Avot deRabbi Natan A stands on the other. Secondly, we can detect another fundamental difference: the perception of the nature of the human heart in this process. The monastic text portrays the heart as a perfect parallel to the water metaphor. The heart is hard like a stone. Men are in need of such a surprising phenomenon in order to influence it, and God’s words are capable to perform such task, given enough time. In comparison, both rabbinic traditions of this metaphor describe the human heart as softer than rock. The phrasing implies that the process is easier than water erosion of stone, since the heart is easier to influence than stone by water. Again, when comparing the rabbinic and monastic traditions, we can now ask: What is the perception of a human heart as revealed by these sources? How is the probability of change of heart portrayed in the different texts? In this case, the rabbinic traditions are grouped together compared to the monastic one. When looking at the metaphor of water erosion and its application on the human heart, the Christian monastic text appears much more linear and straight (water=Word of God: soft; stone=heart: hard), while the rabbinic traditions of the water metaphor are more complicated in their application to the human heart, as described above. I wish to claim that the comparison between the rabbinic traditions themselves, and between them and the monastic tradition, reveals the textual processes that shaped all three. According to the analysis I offered, the comparison to the more linear and straightforward analogy in the monastic text makes clear the reworking this analogy went through in the rabbinic traditions. Putting all three side by side allows for schematic description of the development of these traditions: from the simple analogy to water erosion of stone, to a more complex analogy effected by theological considerations regarding the nature of God’s words and the human heart. The suggestion of a more complicated theological reworking of the metaphor in the rabbinic traditions can be made because of its positioning in comparison to the non-rabbinic, monastic text. In addition to these observations, gleaned from the mere endeavor of parallel study of these texts side by side, it stands to reason that it might also be possible for us to suggest that the authors of these traditions are connected to one another in a more genealogical manner. Did the authors of these traditions have mutual knowledge of these literary traditions, thereby suggesting another little piece to the puzzle that is Jewish-Christian interactions in the first centuries C. E., and maybe even to the methodological question of “the parting of the ways”? It is
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certainly difficult in this type of situation to determine whether we are talking about direct borrowing or a shared tradition of the time, especially given the wide use of water in an allegorical way in ancient texts. But it is important to note that given the location and date of composition of the two works, this type of relationship is certainly possible. As we noted earlier, the Apophthegmata were edited in the land of Israel by ascetic circles in the middle of the fifth century, though the traditions they contain derive from an earlier period. So, too, Avot deRabbi Natan, which has early-second- to third-century Tannaitic roots but apparently continued being edited many generations later. The direction of literary contacts, if there were such, still needs further study. Following this line of inquiry, the recent research on parallels between Syrian translations of the Apophthegmata and the Babylonian Talmud suggests that there are two central tools to determine the direction of textual contacts. The first is the identification of local extraordinary content in the context of only one of the two texts—in other words, identifying something that simply does not fit in its overall literary surroundings—and second, support from additional evidence that points to borrowing in the same direction. That is, a number of examples together strengthen each example in and of itself. Even in the case of Avot deRabbi Natan, this particular example must be gathered together with other parallels in order to be strengthened in its own right and to be able to provide real evidence of borrowing between two religious texts from the same region and period. For now, I do not feel that we can make a determination in this case. Instead, I claim, we must be satisfied for now with the identification and study of the analogies themselves, collected from the different religious traditions, which offer us new, external tools for examining the texts themselves and the communities from which they were created. The monastic text, in this case, serves as a key for constructing the development of the analogy in the two rabbinic traditions. And the comparison of all three demonstrates the evolution of a theological idea in both religious contexts. I strongly believe that the endeavor to collect these analogous traditions is a worthy scholarly pursuit regardless of the ability to reach concrete conclusions concerning the historical connections between the composers of these literary traditions. In conclusion, the monastic literary parallels presented here create an intriguing opening to discuss the literary treatment of the character development of Rabbi Akiva in the rabbinic midrash of Avot deRabbi Natan, against the background of similar literatures of the same period. It also creates the opportunity to compare three different takes on one analogous metaphor, rooted in different portrayal of the mechanism of the effect of God’s words on one’s heart. Collecting such analogies and using parallel study of these texts surely enhance our understanding of both.
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