Levinas and the Talmud

catherine chalier
5 Levinas and the Talmud
Quite a few readers of Levinas’s workeither do not know his
Talmudic readings
1
or relegate them to a secondary position. They
consider that despite the possible interest the exegetical effort exhib-
ited in them might evoke, these readings remain of no major value
for a philosopher. There would be, on the one hand, the philosophical
work– the only workworthy of attention – and, on the other, the
books consecrated to Judaism. The firmness of this line
of demar-
cation seems none the less highly open to question, if one remem-
bers that Levinas defines Europe by a double loyalty, a loyalty made
up of tensions and conflicts between the Bible and the Greeks; the
prophets and the philosophers; the good and the true (
ti
24). But if
borders are also created to be crossed, the one which separates philos-
ophy from the Talmud can be crossed either legally or clandestinely,
as in every crossing of a border. But in the present case, who has
the authority to decide which is which? Given the question marks
attending what is ‘proper’ to the philosopher and what is ‘proper’
to the Talmudic scholar,
it would seem that this authority does not
exist, despite the often violent stands taken by one or the other side
to chase the stranger off its territory. The fact that Levinas himself
wanted to publish his philosophical writings and his Jewish writings
with different publishers should not lead us to thinkthat Jewish
sources were foreign to his philosophy or that his questioning of the
Hebrew word remained free of all contamination by Greekinflu-

ences. If, in his philosophical works, Levinas crosses the border at
crucial moments, without necessarily warning his readers through
explicit references,
it goes without saying that he also does this, in
Translated by Annette Aronowicz
100
Levinas and the Talmud 101
the opposite direction, in his Jewish writings. Within this perspec-
tive, a reflection on Levinas and the Talmud should askitself how
and why the philosopher finds, precisely in the Talmudic tractates,
‘the extraordinary trace that Revelation leaves in a thought that, be-
yond the vision of being, hears the word of God’ (
tn
51). But it must
also askabout how this trace decisively orients Levinas’s thought
without allowing him – and thus not allowing the reader either –
to stand watch constantly over the intangible nature of borders. If
it is true, as Leo Strauss asserts, that the conflict between the Bible
and philosophy ‘is the secret of the vitality of the West’,
2
it
does not
appear as though this thesis concerns the opposition between the
Talmud and philosophy for, because of
the lackof knowledge that
still predominates, rare are those who are able to study the philo-
sophical texts and the Talmudic texts with equal competence. By
disregarding the anathema of those who fear the consequences of
breaching the frontier between the Talmud and philosophy, Levinas
inscribes his thought in the wake of that vitality; he gives it a new

breath of life. None the less, since he makes uneasy those whom a
clear division between the disciplines reassures, those who make a
clear distinction between what comes from the Greeks and what can
be said only in Hebrew, Levinas requires also that we thinkout the
frameworkjustifying this opening of the borders.
the incessant renewal of the letter by
the intellect
If a Jewish reading of the Bible is inseparable from the oral law,
3
the
discussions of the sages hahakhanim in the tractates of the Talmud
none the less do not have as their object a continuation of the Bible;
they do not propose a coherent commentary of it or a fulfilment of its
meaning,
in the sense in which Christians understand commentary
regarding the New Testament. Levinas presents them as going back
to the meanings of Scripture ‘in a rational spirit’, resolutely watchful
and open to the potential of the renewal (hidoush) of the meaning that
the Hebrew letter offers. ‘The life of a Talmudist’, he says, ‘is nothing
but the permanent renewal of the letter through the intelligence’
(
ntr
79). But it is an uneasy life for, if the letter bears meaning, this
meaning never imposes itself as evident. It must be sought for, even
ferreted out, without giving in to the desire to possess definitive
102 the cambridge companion to levinas
truths which, always, ratify the defeat of the intellect. ‘The Oral
Torah speaks “in spirit and in truth”, even when it seems to pulverize
the verses and letters of the Written Torah’, says Levinas. Thus, in
his Talmudic readings, the philosopher sets himself the very taskof

showing this spirit and this truth at work, within the perspective of
what he calls ‘ethical meaning as the ultimate intelligibility of the
human and even of the cosmic’ (
ntr
93).
This frameworkis not self-evident to the person who, wishing to
understand the diverse opinions of the sages on a given topic – a topic
which very often seems limited in scope – and wishing to clarify the
question the sages are trying to address by means of verses cited in
order to shed light upon it – does not perceive the global coherence of
the discussion. But this, according to Levinas, is the essential task: to
seekthat in their ‘sovereign freedom’ (
ntr
55) the sages are borne by
a unique concern to convey the sense of the human as illuminated
by Revelation. But this thought, in contrast to philosophical cate-
gories which are universalist from the start, builds itself patiently
on the basis of the concrete and particular attitudes of those who
confront the question of the legitimacy of this or that attitude, from
the point of view of the Torah. Casuistry thus constitutes an essen-
tial dimension of these debates. Levinas maintains, however, that
this is not an objection to the cogency of a reading concerned with
rationality, for he says: ‘It is doubtful that a philosophical thought
has ever come into the world independent of all attitudes or that
there ever was a category in the world which came before an atti-
tude’ (
ntr
15). Besides, the style of the Talmudic tractates – often
sharp and passionate discussions, opinions always expressed in the
name of their authors – incites us to claim that ‘real thought is not’,

as Plato would have it, ‘the silent dialogue of the soul with itself’ but
rather ‘a discussion between thinkers’. Thinkers who keep their own
names for ‘the totality of the true is made up of multiple persons:
the uniqueness of each way of hearing bearing the secret of the text;
the voice of Revelation, precisely insofar as it is inflected by the ear
of each person, would be necessary to the All of truth’ (
bv
49 and
133–4). These discussions, finally, are inseparable from a reflection
on the spiritual relation that binds the master and his disciple, a re-
lation so deep that Levinas describes it as ‘as strong as the conjugal
relation’ (
bv
43). But, unless it wants to destroy itself as such, this
relation is forever irreducible to a fusion or a communion because its
Levinas and the Talmud 103
meaning – almost always full of pathos – doesn’t consist in neutral-
izing the alterity of the other but in joining oneself to it, against
the background of an unbreachable duality. As a result, thanks
to the fruitfulness of this relation, the perspective of a future opens
for the human being as well. He becomes capable of transcending the
irremediable finitude of his time (see
to
85–94). Understood within
this perspective, the relation master–disciple can thus not be fulfilled
without standing guard over the irreducible plurality of the persons
gathered to study under the leadership of a master. Fertile study –
a study that doesn’t sterilize through the dogmatism or intolerance
of a master – depends on an incessant questioning, filled with the
queries of all, of both the master and the disciples. ‘When I give an-

swers instead of deepening the questions, I take away from my text’
(
ntr
62), Levinas says. This points out how much the quest for truth
and the concern for universality, in the context of the Talmud, re-
main inseparable from the light shed upon it by each person. This
light conditions the fertility of study, that is to say, its passage into
the time of future generations. One must watch over this light for,
in contrast to the Platonic idea in which particular opinions must
be given up in order to accede to the truth–atruthwhose brilliance
attracts the philosopher but at the expense of its separation from the
multiplicity of opinions, always denounced as blind to the truth –
Talmudic thought settles itself at the heart of this multiplicity, not
to delight in relativism but because the Word it asks questions of
has an infinite density, a density which requires the multiplicity of
persons in order to express itself and unfold in the course of time.
Talmudic discussions make sense, in fact, only in relation to a
prior text – the Torah – of which they askparticular questions, often
very practical and concrete ones, with which human beings are faced.
For a Jew, this density of the Bible letter – ‘the folded wings of the
spirit’ – unfolds only as a result of the power
and insistence of hu-
man questions. The Bible breathes thanks to the oral tradition, and
the Talmud, through its discussions, is thus essential to the task
of giving breath. Moreover, in several instances, it teaches that ‘the
Bible speaks the language of human beings’ which means, accord-
ing to Levinas, that the Word of God has contracted itself within
Scripture, thus giving it that
infinite density, lying in wait for the
questions of human beings who, by enquiring of it, will make it

meaningful for today’s lives. No erudition, no critical or historical
104 the cambridge companion to levinas
knowledge can substitute for the unceasing work of asking questions
of the letter, unless it wishes to dry up the living source from which
this letter proceeds. Or, more precisely, this is the feeling the human
being will have, the feeling of a dead letter. He will then close a
bookwhose letter has rigidified into a knowledge and will see in the
Talmud only obscurities without interest. On the other hand, he who
is convinced of the ‘prophetic dignity of language, always capable of
meaning more than it says, of the marvel of an inspiration in which
the human being listens, surprised by what it says, in which, already,
he reads what is said and interprets it, in which human speech is al-
ready writing’ (
bv
x–xi), will turn to the Talmud as the site in which
this dignity continues to challenge human beings.
In order to stay alive, the linkof the modern interpreter with the
harmonics of Talmudic discussions implies the effort of constantly
demythologizing Scripture and the concern of the whole (
bv
136).
This is crucial to Levinas’s Talmudic readings. The temptation to
approach the texts as if they were mythological would be, according
to the philosopher, that of modernity. Since modernity cannot speak
directly with the masters of the Talmud – which is exactly what is
required for a living learning – it looks for myths. Forgetfulness of the
uninterrupted tradition of reading, in favour solely of a knowledge
transmitted by the university, makes difficult, if not impossible, for
most Jews of the modern era, to see in the Talmud anything else but
an anthology, now without any interest other than that of erudition,

of particular ideas of the Jewish sages. Levinas thinks, however, that
despite its scientific pedigree, this approach toward the text misses
the spirit and the truth of Tamudic discussions, without even sus-
pecting it, so great is its self-confidence. In fact these Talmudic dis-
cussions aim not at ensuring a meaning beyond myth – the Biblical
letter – but at ‘establishing a relation between the human being and
the sanctity of God and at maintening the human being in this rela-
tion’. Whether they concern prescriptive debates (halakha) or purely
narrative ones (aggadah), rabbinic discussions, seemingly so com-
monplace, so concerned with insignificant or strange details, make
sense only within this perspective. None the less, the ‘sanctity of
God’ in relation to which human life must be thought, is foreign to
all mythological conceptions – the numinous, enthusiasm, posses-
sion by the sacred – all of which, according to Levinas, have to do
with idolatry. Idolatry means to thinkGod in terms of the fears and
Levinas and the Talmud 105
expectations of human beings. The philosopher thinks that the par-
ticular way of the Jewish sages consists precisely in breaking with
this ancient conception of the sacred and in teaching how to seekGod
on the basis of a separation or even atheism. This means that this
God has nothing to do with the need of man. He is not proportional
to his fears and expectations, an attitude which despite its extreme
exigency, has a universal value. This is why Levinas constantly in-
sists upon the non-particularistic features of the Talmud: a pagan
who has studied the Torah is declared the equal of the Great Priest,
‘to such a degree does the notion of Israel let itself be separated – in
the Talmud – from all
historical, national, local and racial notions
’
(

df
14 and 22). Israel means, in these texts, an ideal of humanity
chosen to bear the responsibility for the world – as an individual
and as a people – ‘but humanity includes what is inhuman and so
Israel refers to the Jewish people, its language, its books, its land’
(
df
223–4). This means that despite all its shortcomings in the course
of history, carnal Israel – denounced by the apostle Paul and his innu-
merable followers – remains through its language, its books, its law
and its land, the guarantor precisely of this original and universal
responsibility toward the other which, according
to Levinas, gives
its full meaning to chosenness. This responsibility is older than free-
dom and sin. No one can abandon it without failing in his or her
human vocation.
It is within this perspective that we must now approach certain
major themes of Levinas’s Talmudic readings. The philosopher says,
in fact, that the only faith he is willing to profess publicly has to do
with ‘this confidence in the wisdom of the Sages’, preceding knowl-
edge and history, which he received from his masters. These Talmu-
dic readings constitute precisely a public testimony to this faith. But
they do not not presuppose an adherence of the intellect to unprov-
able or irrational propositions. Such an adherence would contradict
in its very principle any search for wisdom, whether it be that of the
philosopher (sophia) which Levinas always wanted to be, or that of
the Talmudic scholar (hokhna) whose art he practised with modesty.
On the other hand, this act of faith leads to one’s own participation
in ‘the millenial effort whose aim is to go beyond the letter of the
text and even its apparent dogma in order to bring backto a truth of

the spirit, even those passages of Scripture considered historical or
ritual or ceremonial or thaumaturgical’ (
df
116).
4
This act of faith is
106 the cambridge companion to levinas
therefore tied to the ‘prophetic dignity of Biblical language’, whose
harmonics the sages make audible.
the curvature of space
The figure of Abraham, contrasted to that of Ulysses, is often found
in Levinas’s work. While the latter dreams at the end of his heroic
adventures, of coming backhome, to celebrate his reunion with his
people and perhaps to forget the time of his long separation from
his native land, the former must rise and go without looking back,
without hope of coming back. He also knows
that this going away
involves all his descendants, since he forbids his servant to bring
his son backto this land, even if only to find a wife (Genesis 24:6).
‘Lekh lekha’, ‘go towards yourself’ (Genesis 12:1), this command-
ment uproots Abraham from his native realm. It forbids him to be-
lieve that he can find himself by cultivating a nostalgia for his past.
Abraham discovers his integrity as a
man called to be a blessing to
all families of the earth, only on condition that he loses himself, that
is, only on condition that he gets rid of all that which, by keeping
him prisoner of his past – words, images, possessions – would make
impossible for him the going forward to the Promised Land. It is a
land to which he none the less proceeds, day after day, for his en-
tire humanity lies in his answer to the call he heard. But it is a land

which he has no certainty of entering and settling.
In one of his Talmudic readings, Judaism and Revolution (
ntr
95–
119), Levinas interprets a passage of the tractate Baba Metsia (83a–
83b), asking himself in particular about the expression ‘the lineage of
Abraham’, present in the Mishna (second century ce) preceding the
discussion about it in the Guemara. The Mishna had recalled that
he who hires workers immediately has obligations towards them. He
must watch over their physical needs (rest, food), according to the
custom of the place. The freedom of the master is thus limited by
their needs, which are described as rights and thus as duties for him.
The Mishna then evokes the case of workers who are of ‘the lineage
of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob’. Levinas interprets this passage to mean
‘a human nature which has reached the fulness of its responsibilities
and self-consciousness’. A human nature present in the lowest of
social statuses – here, the workers – and toward whom ‘our duties
are without limits’. The lineage of Abraham thus has nothing to do