In 1965, when I was just 11 years old, I bought my very first Bible. Not the “Jewish” kind, the one my friends made fun of because it opened backwards, but the Official King James Version published by Oxford University Press. I read late at night with a flashlight under the bedcovers, underlining in orange crayon the passages that stirred me. By my 12th birthday, I knew as much about Matthew, Luke and John as I did about Abraham and Moses, and while my parents thought it a bit odd that I preferred the Bible over Barbie, they rewarded my curiosity by buying me more books.
As a Jew, I have always taken great pride in the fact that we are referred to as “The People of the Book.” I assumed the name originated within Jewish circles as a way to identify and connect the Jewish people with the Torah. But surprisingly, the name surfaced during the 7th century as a Muslim reference to Jews and Christians, who were regarded as “infidels with a protected status.” Jews were the people of the book because we possessed a prior revelation from God that was manifest in our Five Books of Moses. As such, in the early years of Islam, we were permitted to live undisturbed among Muslims and observe our faith without interference, although that changed significantly by the 11th century.
The Five Books
The Torah, also called the Five Books of Moses and the Chumash in Hebrew, was expanded into the TaNaKh. The Tanakh is an acronym for 24 books that are divided into three major categories: Torah, Nivi’im (Prophets) and Ketuvim (Writings). In a sense, the Tanakh is the very first consolidated Jewish library: it presents the history and ideas of the first 3,500 years of the Jewish people, written by different authors over many centuries, covering the time period from Creation until about the time of the Bar Kochba revolt in the 2nd century C.E.
In 499 C.E., the second most important Jewish book was codified. The Babylonian Talmud, a compilation of discussions, arguments and analyses of a broad range of subjects by the greatest rabbis of the first four centuries, vastly expanded Jewish literature. It is filled with Jewish law (Halacha), interpretations of Biblical texts (Midrash) and stories that teach moral lessons (Aggadah). For centuries thereafter, Jewish literature was defined as those books that emanated from the Torah and Talmud or found their source in Jewish law and liturgy.
The concept of Jewish literature has been radically augmented since the Middle Ages to include many other types of literature. Sephardic/Ladino ballads, Yiddish stories, European Enlightenment literature, Hebrew poetry and Jewish-American novels are examples of what we designate as Jewish literature today. In its broadest sense, Torah is more than the name of our Jewish Bible; it literally means “teachings” and includes all of the wisdom from Jewish texts and literature.
What does it all mean?
But what exactly does it mean to be the people of the book?
As Jews we are commanded to study the Torah and teach it to our children. It is our spiritual inheritance – the road map for Jewish behavior and guidebook for what God expects of us. But the relationship between study and action is a complex matter, one that intrigued the Talmudic rabbis who attempted to reconcile the tension between these two essential Jewish values. In a sense, the Jewish “chicken or egg” question goes like this: Which is more important, the study of Torah or how we act?
There are conflicting texts about what takes priority: study or action. On Shabbat we read Elu Devarim, a prayer that recites a list of nine mitzvot whose rewards are without measure, such as honoring our parents, doing acts of kindness and visiting the sick. This prayer concludes with the words: “And the study of Torah is equal to them all because it leads to them all.”
But in Ethics of the Fathers (1:17) we read: “It is not study that is essential, but rather action.”
And a frequently cited debate from the Talmud pits Rabbi Akiva against Rabbi Tarfon, who asserts that action is greater than study. The majority sides with Rabbi Akiva however: Study is greater than action because it leads to action.
Bringing this debate into our fast-paced, social media-dominated world may seem antiquated to some, but not to me. The question posed today might be this: How does Jewish study affect us in our own lives? Does it guide us at home, help us at work, inspire us in our community and provide pathways to engage in a spiritual life? Can we employ Jewish wisdom to help us deal with our problems, relationships and choices?
If Jewish study entails digging deeply into our texts so that we can discover and apply meaning and relevancy to our own lives, the kind that will enable us to tackle, resolve and survive the issues and problems of everyday life, then we shall ever remain the people of the book.
Amy Hirshberg Lederman has written more than 300 columns and essays that have been published nationwide. amyhirshberglederman.com
