The word sanhedrin is Greek. The institution may be the product of diverse influences external to Judaism. But the text is to be taken as it is given: it is through it that for at least eighteen centuries, Jewish tradition has thought about the supreme institution of justice.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
מתני' סנהדרין היתה כחצי גורן עגולה כדי שיהו רואין זה את זה
MISHNA: The Sanhedrin formed a semi-circle so that its members could see each other.
Our Mishna... teaches us that the Sanhedrin formed a semi-circle “so that its members could see each other.” Thus it was shaped like an amphitheatre. The special feature about it was that no one ever saw anybody else’s back, only full faces or profiles. Never was the interpersonal relationship suspended in this assembly. People saw each other face-to-face. The “dialogue” as they say today, was thus never interrupted, nor did it get lost in an impersonal dialectic. It was an assembly of faces and not a joint stock company.
It is, however, a semi-, or open, circle. Because the point is precisely that the judges who sit on the court remain open to the outside world when they discuss the cases submitted to their jurisdiction or when they give their verdict... Open circle: the judges who are at the heart of Judaism, who are its “navel” and who are even—as you will soon see—at the navel of the world, are open to the world or live in an open world.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
It is, however, a semi-, or open, circle. Because the point is precisely that the judges who sit on the court remain open to the outside world when they discuss the cases submitted to their jurisdiction or when they give their verdict... Open circle: the judges who are at the heart of Judaism, who are its “navel” and who are even—as you will soon see—at the navel of the world, are open to the world or live in an open world.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
גמ׳ מנא הני מילי א"ר אחא בר חנינא דאמר קרא (שיר השירים ז, ג) שררך אגן הסהר אל יחסר המזג וגו'
GEMARA: From which text does this come? Rabbi Aḥa bar Ḥanina says: We learn from the verse: “Your navel is like a round goblet full of fragrant wine; your belly is like a heap of wheat hedged about with roses" (Song of Songs 7:3).
The foundation for the institution of the Sanhedrin that we have just described and commented on in accordance with the Mishna will be sought in such a way as to attest to a seemingly narrow, dishonest, or bizarre mind...
The Sanhedrin, with its magnificent semicircle, making human faces show themselves to each other, with a perfect hierarchy, attesting to an objective and subjective absolute order, will find its basis in an erotic poem, in a verse of the Song of Songs. Of course, the Song of Songs permits of a mystical interpretation, but for those who are forewarned—or, without prior assumptions, for the mysticism of the Song of Songs is not a mystification—it is an erotic text... Let us enjoy this paradox! One may grant, in exceptional cases, that an erotic text can deepen to the point of reaching a mystical meaning. We are in the presence of a stranger enterprise: an erotic text founding a court of law and a system of justice...
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
The Sanhedrin, with its magnificent semicircle, making human faces show themselves to each other, with a perfect hierarchy, attesting to an objective and subjective absolute order, will find its basis in an erotic poem, in a verse of the Song of Songs. Of course, the Song of Songs permits of a mystical interpretation, but for those who are forewarned—or, without prior assumptions, for the mysticism of the Song of Songs is not a mystification—it is an erotic text... Let us enjoy this paradox! One may grant, in exceptional cases, that an erotic text can deepen to the point of reaching a mystical meaning. We are in the presence of a stranger enterprise: an erotic text founding a court of law and a system of justice...
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
שררך זו סנהדרין למה נקרא שמה שררך שהיא יושבת בטיבורו של עולם אגן שהיא מגינה על כל העולם כולו הסהר שהיא דומה לסהר אל יחסר המזג שאם הוצרך אחד מהם לצאת רואין אם יש עשרים ושלשה כנגד סנהדרי קטנה יוצא ואם לאו אינו יוצא: (שיר השירים ז, ג) בטנך ערימת חטים מה ערימת חטים הכל נהנין ממנה אף סנהדרין הכל נהנין מטעמיהן: (שיר השירים ז, ג) סוגה בשושנים שאפילו כסוגה של שושנים לא יפרצו בהן פרצות
“Your navel”: that is the Sanhedrin. Why the navel? For the Sanhedrin is in session at the navel of the universe.
“A goblet [aggan]”: because it protects [meginna] the entire world.
“Round [hassahar]”: for it resembles the crescent of the moon[sahar].
“Full of drink”: for if one of its members has to absent himself, it is ensured that twenty-three remain (in session), corresponding to the small Sanhedrin. Otherwise, he cannot leave.
“Your belly is like a heap of wheat”: everyone profits from wheat; everyone finds to his taste the reasons adduced for the verdicts of the Sanhedrin.
“Hedged with roses”: even if the separation is only a hedge of roses, they will make no breach in it.
Your navel...
For a very long time, I have mused about this text. When one is not a specialist in the Talmud, one can have musings where others have ideas. I said to myself: How beautiful is this image of the navel of the universe! The creature has been cut off from its source of nourishment but the place where justice is pronounced is in the trace of creation; the coming about of justice recalls this heavenly food. I was pleased with this musing. I sometimes still ask myself whether it was only a musing. A friend brought me back to ordinary reality and to generally held notions. He reminded me that the image of the navel of the world is Greek and that, in Aeschylus’ The Eumenides, Delphi is called the navel of the world...
Is Judaism necessary to the world? Isn’t Aeschylus enough? All the essential problems are broached there... Delphi is called the navel of the world, for it is there that pure and just gods dwell, who know how to interpret the will of Zeus, of a god who, in this tragedy, is an extremely decent god. Our Jewish contribution to the world is therefore in this world as old as the world itself. “As old as the world,” the title I gave this little commentary is thus an exclamation, a cry of despondency. There would be nothing new in our wisdom! The text of The Eumenides is at least five centuries older than the Mishna with which my text opens...
The Sanhedrin believes itself to be at the navel of the world, but every nation believes it is at the center of the world! The very idea of nation arises each time that a human group thinks it dwells at the navel of the world... Where, then, is the difference between Delphi and Jerusalem? Let us be on our guard against facile and rhetorical antitheses: we are justice, they are charity; we love God, they love the world. From authentic spiritualities, no spiritual adventure is withheld. And Hellenism is probably a somewhat authentic spirituality. It is in the nuances of the formulations, in the inflections of the speaking voice, as strange as this may appear, that the abysses which separate the two messages open. I did not come here, after all, to interpret Aeschylus. But, in returning to our text, and in examining it a bit more carefully—and with a bit less mistrust—we may perhaps have occasion to discover in the Sanhedrin an aspect slightly different from the one which emerges when one reflects upon the other navels of the world.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
For a very long time, I have mused about this text. When one is not a specialist in the Talmud, one can have musings where others have ideas. I said to myself: How beautiful is this image of the navel of the universe! The creature has been cut off from its source of nourishment but the place where justice is pronounced is in the trace of creation; the coming about of justice recalls this heavenly food. I was pleased with this musing. I sometimes still ask myself whether it was only a musing. A friend brought me back to ordinary reality and to generally held notions. He reminded me that the image of the navel of the world is Greek and that, in Aeschylus’ The Eumenides, Delphi is called the navel of the world...
Is Judaism necessary to the world? Isn’t Aeschylus enough? All the essential problems are broached there... Delphi is called the navel of the world, for it is there that pure and just gods dwell, who know how to interpret the will of Zeus, of a god who, in this tragedy, is an extremely decent god. Our Jewish contribution to the world is therefore in this world as old as the world itself. “As old as the world,” the title I gave this little commentary is thus an exclamation, a cry of despondency. There would be nothing new in our wisdom! The text of The Eumenides is at least five centuries older than the Mishna with which my text opens...
The Sanhedrin believes itself to be at the navel of the world, but every nation believes it is at the center of the world! The very idea of nation arises each time that a human group thinks it dwells at the navel of the world... Where, then, is the difference between Delphi and Jerusalem? Let us be on our guard against facile and rhetorical antitheses: we are justice, they are charity; we love God, they love the world. From authentic spiritualities, no spiritual adventure is withheld. And Hellenism is probably a somewhat authentic spirituality. It is in the nuances of the formulations, in the inflections of the speaking voice, as strange as this may appear, that the abysses which separate the two messages open. I did not come here, after all, to interpret Aeschylus. But, in returning to our text, and in examining it a bit more carefully—and with a bit less mistrust—we may perhaps have occasion to discover in the Sanhedrin an aspect slightly different from the one which emerges when one reflects upon the other navels of the world.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
Hedged with roses...
The danger preying upon justice is not the temptation of injustice, flattering the instinct of possession, domination, and aggression. The danger which lurks is vice, which, in our Western world, belongs to the private sphere, which is “no one’s business” and does not compromise the generosity and valor of those who struggle “for progress and justice,” if we are to trust the opinion of the intellectual elites...
What are the commentators saying? They are saying the following: these members of the Sanhedrin who hold the fate of the universe in their hands, what do they do with their own transgressions, their own vices? Are they not exposed to all temptations, just like the men they are called upon to judge? No. To be a judge in Israel, one must be an exceptional man: even if only a hedge of roses separates judges from sin, they will make no breach in it... the Sanhedrin, navel of the universe, is possible only with such a human
breed. Otherwise, justice is a mockery.
A hedge of roses is a very thin enclosure. To separate the judges from vice, one need not build a stone wall; it is sufficient to plant a hedge of roses. The enclosure of roses is tempting in itself: the hand spontaneously goes toward the flower. In what separates us from evil resides an equivocal seduction. This enclosure is less than an absence of enclosure. When there is nothing between you and evil, it is possible not to bridge the distance, but when there are roses—all the literature of evil, the flowers of evil—how is one to resist it? But that is how the members of the Sanhedrin are separated from evil... This last trait explains the entire meaning of the text I have commented on until now. There is no justice if the judges do not have virtue in the flatly moral sense of the term. There cannot be a separation between the private life and the public life of the judge. It is in the most intimate area of his private life, in the secret garden—or hell—of his soul that his universal life either blossoms or fades.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
The danger preying upon justice is not the temptation of injustice, flattering the instinct of possession, domination, and aggression. The danger which lurks is vice, which, in our Western world, belongs to the private sphere, which is “no one’s business” and does not compromise the generosity and valor of those who struggle “for progress and justice,” if we are to trust the opinion of the intellectual elites...
What are the commentators saying? They are saying the following: these members of the Sanhedrin who hold the fate of the universe in their hands, what do they do with their own transgressions, their own vices? Are they not exposed to all temptations, just like the men they are called upon to judge? No. To be a judge in Israel, one must be an exceptional man: even if only a hedge of roses separates judges from sin, they will make no breach in it... the Sanhedrin, navel of the universe, is possible only with such a human
breed. Otherwise, justice is a mockery.
A hedge of roses is a very thin enclosure. To separate the judges from vice, one need not build a stone wall; it is sufficient to plant a hedge of roses. The enclosure of roses is tempting in itself: the hand spontaneously goes toward the flower. In what separates us from evil resides an equivocal seduction. This enclosure is less than an absence of enclosure. When there is nothing between you and evil, it is possible not to bridge the distance, but when there are roses—all the literature of evil, the flowers of evil—how is one to resist it? But that is how the members of the Sanhedrin are separated from evil... This last trait explains the entire meaning of the text I have commented on until now. There is no justice if the judges do not have virtue in the flatly moral sense of the term. There cannot be a separation between the private life and the public life of the judge. It is in the most intimate area of his private life, in the secret garden—or hell—of his soul that his universal life either blossoms or fades.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
והיינו דאמר ליה ההוא מינא לרב כהנא אמריתו נדה שרי לייחודי בהדי גברא אפשר אש בנעורת ואינה מהבהבת אמר ליה התורה העידה עלינו סוגה בשושנים שאפילו כסוגה בשושנים לא יפרצו בהן פרצות
About this, a "Min" [heretic] said to Rav Kahana: You claim that during her time of impurity a woman forbidden to her husband nevertheless has the right to be alone with him. Do you think there can be fire in flax without its burning? Rav Kahana answered: The Torah testifies for us through a hedge of roses; for even if the separation is only a hedge of roses, they will make no breach in it.
Judaism conceives the humanity of man as capable of a culture which preserves him from evil by separating him from it by a simple barrier of roses.
But what is new in the lines I am commenting on now, in relation to what preceded them, is considerable. What was said before of the judge is now said of the entire Jewish people. Rav Kahana is no longer speaking of the court. He is speaking of the Jewish people: the excellence demanded earlier of the members of the Sanhedrin is extended to the Jewish people in its entirety...
But Judaism does not affirm any national or racial pride by this: it teaches what, in its opinion, is possible for man. And, it is through this teaching, perhaps, that the world needs Judaism...
[L]et us emphasize one more important thing: morality begins in us and not in institutions which are not always able to protect it. It demands that human honor know how to exist without a flag. The Jew is perhaps the one who—because of the inhuman history he has undergone—understands the suprahuman demand of morality, the necessity of finding within oneself the source of one’s moral certainties. He knows that only a hedge of roses separates him from his own fall. He always suspects thorns beneath those roses: One had to find within oneself the certainty that this barrier was a real obstacle...
What stops us is not at all the unbearable yoke of the Law, which frightened St. Paul, but a hedge of roses. The obligation to follow the commandments—the mitzvot—is not a curse for us. It brings us the first scents of paradise.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
But what is new in the lines I am commenting on now, in relation to what preceded them, is considerable. What was said before of the judge is now said of the entire Jewish people. Rav Kahana is no longer speaking of the court. He is speaking of the Jewish people: the excellence demanded earlier of the members of the Sanhedrin is extended to the Jewish people in its entirety...
But Judaism does not affirm any national or racial pride by this: it teaches what, in its opinion, is possible for man. And, it is through this teaching, perhaps, that the world needs Judaism...
[L]et us emphasize one more important thing: morality begins in us and not in institutions which are not always able to protect it. It demands that human honor know how to exist without a flag. The Jew is perhaps the one who—because of the inhuman history he has undergone—understands the suprahuman demand of morality, the necessity of finding within oneself the source of one’s moral certainties. He knows that only a hedge of roses separates him from his own fall. He always suspects thorns beneath those roses: One had to find within oneself the certainty that this barrier was a real obstacle...
What stops us is not at all the unbearable yoke of the Law, which frightened St. Paul, but a hedge of roses. The obligation to follow the commandments—the mitzvot—is not a curse for us. It brings us the first scents of paradise.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
ריש לקיש אמר מהכא (שיר השירים ו, ז) כפלח הרמון רקתך אפילו ריקנין שבך מלאין מצות כרמון ר' זירא אמר מהכא (בראשית כז, כז) וירח את ריח בגדיו אל תיקרי בגדיו אלא בוגדיו
Reish Lakish says: It can be answered on the basis of the following text: “Your brow [rakkatekh] is like a pomegranate” (Song of Songs 6:7). Even those established as good-for-nothings [reikanin] among you are full of mitzvot, as a pomegranate is full of seeds.
Rav Zera says: That is to be deduced from the following text: “Ah, the smell of my son's clothes is like the smell of a field watered by the Lord” (Genesis 27:27). One should not read “his clothes [begadav]”; rather, read: His rebels [bogedav].
Resh Lakish gives you an answer to the question which arose in your minds as you listened to the praise of those men who are protected from temptation by a hedge of roses. How do such men become reality? By means of mitzvot. The originality of Judaism consists in confining itself to the manner of being[...]: in the least practical endeavor, a pause between us and nature through the fulfilment of a mitzvah, a commandment. The total interiorization of the Law is nothing but its abolition.
Resh Lakish’s expression has no other meaning. Unless one wants to believe in some racial excellence or other of Judaism or in a merit granted by pure grace, one must say with Resh Lakish and with the Jewish tradition: for there to be justice, there must be judges resisting temptation. There must be a community which carries out the mitzvot right here and now...
The privilege of Israel resides not in its race but in the mitzvot which educate it.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
Resh Lakish’s expression has no other meaning. Unless one wants to believe in some racial excellence or other of Judaism or in a merit granted by pure grace, one must say with Resh Lakish and with the Jewish tradition: for there to be justice, there must be judges resisting temptation. There must be a community which carries out the mitzvot right here and now...
The privilege of Israel resides not in its race but in the mitzvot which educate it.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
Rav Zera’s answer opens up a new perspective on the excellence of Israel for us, on the human excellence able to preserve from sin, from vice, from temptation. Doesn’t Jacob, in putting on the violent Esau’s clothes, take on his brother’s responsibilities? How to preserve oneself from evil? By each taking upon himself the responsibility of the others...
The scent of Paradise is Jacob bearing the weight of all that he will not do and that others will do. For the human world to be possible—justice, the Sanhedrin—at each moment there must be someone who can be responsible for the others... Responsibility that Job, searching in his own impeccable past, could not find. “Where were you when I created the World?” the Holy One asks him. You are a self, certainly. Beginning, freedom, certainly. But even if you are free, you are not the absolute beginning. You come after many things and many people. You are not just free; you are also bound to others beyond your freedom. You are responsible for all. Your liberty is also fraternity.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
The scent of Paradise is Jacob bearing the weight of all that he will not do and that others will do. For the human world to be possible—justice, the Sanhedrin—at each moment there must be someone who can be responsible for the others... Responsibility that Job, searching in his own impeccable past, could not find. “Where were you when I created the World?” the Holy One asks him. You are a self, certainly. Beginning, freedom, certainly. But even if you are free, you are not the absolute beginning. You come after many things and many people. You are not just free; you are also bound to others beyond your freedom. You are responsible for all. Your liberty is also fraternity.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
הנהו בריוני דהוה בשיבבותיה דר' זירא דהוה מקרב להו כי היכי דניהדרו להו בתיובתא והוו קפדי רבנן כי נח נפשיה דר' זירא אמרי עד האידנא הוה חריכא קטין שקיה דהוה בעי עלן רחמי השתא מאן בעי עלן רחמי הרהרו בלבייהו ועבדו תשובה:
About this it is told: Some good-for-nothings lived in the neighbourhood of Rav Zera. He brought them close to himself so that they could do Teshuvah (the return to the good). This irritated the Sages. When Rav Zera died, the good-for-nothings said: Until now, the little-man-with-the-burned-thighs prayed for us. Who is going to pray for us now? They thought about it and did Teshuvah.
Rav Zera wished that the fire of hell no longer have a hold on him. Already very close to success, he would sit by a burning stove without being affected by the flames. Except on the day the sages of the Talmud, his colleagues, looked at him. The moment their gazes were directed at him, the fire regained its power over Rav Zera and burned his thighs. I think that, when the eyes of our colleagues are upon us, the fire of hell always regains its rights over us. I think also that the sages of the Talmud opposed practices which encroached upon the rights of hell: for whatever the rights of charity may be, a place had to be foreseen and kept warm for all eternity for Hitler and his followers. Without a hell for evil, nothing in the world would make sense any longer. I think, above all, that personal perfection and personal salvation are, despite their nobility, still selfishness, and that the purity of man which the hedge of roses protects is not an end in itself. But Rav Zera, in the text commented on here, tries to save others from hell—and by a means other than fasting—other men who are probably not followers of Hitler. They can find the way back if someone takes their distress and their fault upon himself. In the world, we are not free in the presence of others and simply their witnesses. We are their hostages. A notion through which, beyond freedom, the self is defined.
Rav Zera is responsible for all those who are not Hitler. That may be something that we would not find in Aeschylus. The man who is hostage to all others is needed by men, for without him morality would have no place to start. The little bit of generosity that occurs in the world requires no less. The Jewish tradition has taught this.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas
Rav Zera is responsible for all those who are not Hitler. That may be something that we would not find in Aeschylus. The man who is hostage to all others is needed by men, for without him morality would have no place to start. The little bit of generosity that occurs in the world requires no less. The Jewish tradition has taught this.
— Nine Talmudic Readings by Emmanuel Levinas