This is an ugly week for politics. Prime Minister Olmert's head is on the block (figuratively), and Defense Minister Peretz is next in line. Both are accused of failure in Lebanon II. The airwaves are filled with speculation and planning for mass demonstrations.
It is a good time for classical music and other things.
My routine on Shabbat at 11 AM, for an hour or so, is to study Talmud with a religious friend. I get ready for it in mid-week, going through material first in English, and then the text's mixture of Aramaic and Hebrew. I have been doing it for several years, somewhat to the concern of friends and relatives. "Why is a nice Jewish boy doing that? Are you becoming religious?"
They can relax. The Talmud does not drive me to the rituals of a synagogue. It does give me a sense of participating in arguments that have gone on for more than 2000 years.
The Talmud presents its text in the center of each page, and around the edges are commentaries about its cryptic discussions. The commentaries are by revered sages of the early Middle Ages, and by rabbis who are still working. My teacher explains other things, which he learned from his teachers. They learned from their teachers, and backward for generations.
The beauty of the Talmud is its concern for the detailed application of law. The commandments found in the Torah are important, but no less so are what they mean in practice. When the Torah commands Jews to pray "when you lie down and when you rise" (Deuteronomy 6), what does that mean? When, exactly, are the appropriate times? How to define precisely liability for harm caused by the sources of damage mentioned in the Torah.
Some disputes seem both endless and trivial, as rabbis debate various points concerning how close one can pray to a latrine, or to a place on the ground where someone has relieved himself. The dangers of oxen are considerable, and each variety imaginable has provoked argument. It is easy to understand the statement of Paul, "Doth God care for oxen?" (I Corinthians 9:9)
The Talmud documents the evolution of Jewish law on points of modern relevance. It includes arguments recalled from long before the Talmud itself came into being, when the rabbis decided that "an eye for an eye" meant monetary compensation for damages, and defined numerous ways of evading the death penalties indicated in the Torah.
Discussions also show roots of law dealing with traffic accidents. There are principles of sharing liability when several parties have participated in the damage, and an assumption that the damaged parties have some responsibility for avoiding trouble,
Here and there I wonder if the rabbis were having fun at the expense of their students, and their students' students over the generations.
One item deals with Chanan the wicked. He stood before a court for striking a man on his ear. His fine was equivalent to a certain coin. His only coin had a face value twice as much as the penalty. His coin was faulty, and no one would give him two smaller coins in exchange. What to do? Chanan the wicked was not about to pay a greater fine than necessary. He struck his victim on the other ear and surrendered his coin (Bava Kamma, Chapter 4, page 37a).
In another argument, a rabbi raises the question, "What if a man falls from a roof, and penetrates (sexually) a woman on the ground?" Is such a man liable for compensations for the full range of items applicable to ancient (and modern) claims: pain, healing, loss of employment, and humiliation? Not for humiliation, because (according to the rabbis) he did not intend to inflict the injury (Bava Kamma, Chapter 2, page 27a).
This week's political commentary is no more enlightening.