Hist. Phil. Life Sci., 32 (2010), 21-42
The Embryo in Ancient Rabbinic Literature:
Between Religious Law and Didactic Narratives
An Interpretive Essay1
Etienne Lepicard
La Maison du Pressoir
Bet hagat
Ein Karem D 72
95744 Jerusalem, Israel
ABSTRACT – At a time when bioethical issues are at the top of public and political
agendas, there is a renewed interest in representations of the embryo in various religious
traditions. One of the major traditions that has contributed to Western representations of
the embryo is the Jewish tradition. This tradition poses some difficulties that may deter
scholars, but also presents some invaluable advantages. These derive from two components,
the search for limits and narrativity, both of which are directly connected with the manner
in which Jewish tradition was constructed in Antiquity.
The article accomplishes three goals:
To introduce some central elements in ancient Rabbinic literature on the subject of
the embryo and its representation;
To present this body of literature as clearly as possible, noting some of the difficulties
encountered by scholars who engage in its study;
To explain how the literature’s textuality came about, examining the particular
sociopolitical circumstances of Judaism at that time, including the reasons for the
delay in the production of scientific texts, transmitted as such, as compared to other
philosophical or religious traditions.
The article claims that these circumstances engendered a tradition peculiarly relevant
for the study and teaching of medical ethics today.
KEYWORDS – Embryo, Embryo ensoulment, Fetal development, Rabbinic literature,
Jewish sources, Talmud and Midrash, Seder yetsirat ha-vlad
1 The present article is based on a paper given at the Colloque sur l’embryon (constitution et animation) dans l’Antiquité et au Moyen-âge, organised by Luc Brisson, Marie-Hélène Congourdeau, and
Jean-Luc Solère, on 30 June, 1-2 July 2005 at the Collège de France. It is an expanded version of the
paper, published in French, in the conference proceedings (Brisson, Congourdeau, and Solère 2008,
199-211).
© 2010 Stazione Zoologica Anton Dohrn
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ETIENNE LEPICARD
In light of recent bioethical concerns, there has been renewed interest
in the study of representations of the embryo in different religious
and philosophical traditions.2 The Jewish tradition is certainly one of
the traditions that has helped to shape perceptions of the embryo in
the Western imagination. Although a part of Western history, it has
not been exclusively so and, as a result of its unique relationship with
Christianity, it has also represented an alternative or counterpoint to it.
It goes without saying that every tradition must be accorded its rightful
place in today’s multicultural societies. The Jewish tradition presents
researchers with a number of difficulties, but also offers a number of
advantages. Beyond the difficulties posed by the languages in which they
are written, traditional Jewish sources differ both in form and content
from philosophical, or philosophical-scientific, as well as Christian
traditions.3 On the other hand, the circumstances of their development
and the form they assumed lend them two properties that would appear
especially relevant to the study and teaching of medical ethics; that is,
their legal nature (i.e., the constant attempt to define limits) and their
narrative quality.
In this article, I suggest that the source of this particular form of
textuality, not based on the systematic exposition of given topics,
should be sought in the adverse, if not outrightly hostile, sociopolitical
conditions of Late Antiquity. This also had an effect on the place that the
Jewish tradition later held in the West, in the Middle Ages, and even in
modern scholarship. Although Hebrew, Greek, and Latin were the three
sacred languages in the mediaeval West, only texts written in the latter
two have been the object of studies termed classical. Certainly there has
been an attraction to Greek rationality, but when ethical questions are
2 Bioethical literature on the subject of embryology is as vast and multidisciplinary as bioethics
itself. To mention but a few examples: in the field of theology, see Thévoz 1990, whose 14 tightly-printed pages of bibliographical references in English and French give some idea of the work that has been
done in this area; in the field of sociology see Boltanski 2004; and in the field of jurisprudence Iacub
2002. For a historical perspective, beyond the classic (Needham 1959), see Dunstan 1990; Riddle
1992, and McLaren 1990. For a specific focus on ancient Christian texts, see Congourdeau’s anthology
(Congourdeau 2000) as well as Congourdeau 2007 and Caspar 2005. On Jewish tradition, beyond the
relevant passages in Preuss 1978, see Kottek 1981, and Lepicard 1992.
3 Many studies, throughout the twentieth century, have addressed this topic, showing the interactions between the two not-so-independent worlds. Hezser (2000) offers a current view on the matter.
Naiweld (2009) attempts to show the similarity, as well as the differences, between the two worlds,
based on the conception of ancient philosophy as a way of life and not only speculative reasoning
(Nussbaum 1994; Hadot 1995). Indeed, it is always possible to show, for a given topic, the various
elements common to the two worlds and to discuss the possible influences. On embryology, see Van
der Horst (1994). The point of departure for this paper, however, lies as much in comparing form as
in comparing content.
THE EMBRYO IN ANCIENT RABBINIC LITERATURE
23
brought to the fore by the very success of techno-scientific rationality, I
maintain that the study of the Jewish tradition, or traditions, is of even
greater interest.4 Furthermore, such an interest derives precisely from
the manner in which the Jewish tradition was constructed in Antiquity.
As religious law, on the one hand, it was shaped by the idea that a
society cannot exist without laws, including the determination of limits;
and on the other hand, it was constructed from countless stories, each
more alluring than the next, due to the necessity of transmission under
unfavourable conditions. In my opinion, these two components, limits
and narrativity, number among the most promising areas of study in the
field of ethical research.
The article addresses three goals: first, to introduce the main principles
of the Jewish tradition, here limited to ancient Rabbinic literature, on
the subject of the embryo and its representations; second, to present this
body of literature, as clearly as possible, pointing out certain difficulties
encountered by scholars; and, finally, to explain the context of its unique
textuality and, especially, to consider the delay in the appearance of texts
of a specifically scientific nature.
Regarding the embryo and its representations, Rabbinic literature,
like all ancient literature, reflects what Aline Rousselle described as “the
existential angst of the origin of life and its transmission” (Rousselle
1997, 25). In contrast to Greek or Latin literature of the same period,
however, there is an absence of dedicated treatises with titles such as On
the Nature of Man (Nemesius of Emesa), On the Soul (Tertullian), or even
On How Embryos Are Ensouled, as the To Gauros has been also titled.
First attributed to Galen, it has been attributed to Porphyry since the
work of Karl Kalbfleisch in 1895.5 All of these works address a specific
question in a philosophical manner. In ancient Rabbinic literature on
the other hand, it is not until the ninth century that a treatise appears
4 For an example of this attraction that Greek (mainly Aristotelian!) rationality held for Christianity,
to resolve a number of physiological-theological aporia such as embryonic ensoulment, see Bertrand
(2005). The same attraction can be noted in Judaism whith regard to someone like Maimonides, for instance. Today, however, bioethical discussions call for an alternative to the ontologist/techno-scientific
approach and such an alternative can be found in “Rabbinic literature.” For a brief introduction to
the concept of “Rabbinic literature”, see Fonrobert and Jaffee (2007, 3-5). Although this paper is not
based on the work of Handelman (1982), I note certain affinities with it, notably with the first part of
her book, although Handelman does not address the historical dimension of her work, a dimension I
consider critical. For such a critique of Handelman, see Boyarin (1990, 1 and 117, and footnotes there).
5 I have chosen the To Gauros as a point of reference, due in part to the circumstances in which
this essay was written (cf., note 1) and in part to the fact that it is emblematic of the type of textuality
I would like to compare the Jewish tradition, in the sense that it is a relatively systematic philosophical
essay on a given topic. For more on To Gauros, see Porphyre (1953); for its philosophical assessment,
see Brisson, Congourdeau, and Solère (2008) as well as Bertier (1992).
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specifically addressing embryology, extant in two principal versions,
entitled Seder yetsirat ha-vlad (Order of the Creation of the Foetus).6 Like
the cosmological treatise known as Sefer hayetsirah (Book of Creation) and
a number of other texts, this embryological treatise can be considered part
of the earliest Hebrew scientific literature (Langerman 2002).
The claim is not that the content of these treatises is this late nor
that the beginning of Jewish interest in science is this late (Ruderman
2001), but rather, following Tzvi Langermann, that it was only in this
period that such texts appear to have taken on relative independence,
with the primary goal of transmitting scientific knowledge.7 Thus,
there are certain manuscripts in which this treatise on the formation of
the foetus is interspersed with commentary in Judeo-Arabic, creating
a link with contemporary scientific literature (Langermann 1995, 386387).
That which is commonly referred to as Rabbinic literature is a vast
corpus of frequently cryptic and widely varied texts, comparable to a sea.8
Here, it is characterized as resistance literature; that is, as an expression of
cultural resistance to surrounding socio-political hegemony. The product
of many generations of masters, who referred to themselves as “disciples
of sages,” this literature is generally divided into Halakhah (religious
law) and Aggadah (legends, stories, sayings and, in effect, everything
that is not religious law),9 associated with two main periods, that of the
Tannaim (c. 200 BCE-200 CE), and that of the Amoraim (200-500 CE).
Its origins can be traced to the two large centres of Judaism at the time,
the Land of Israel and Babylonia. In a sense, it is proof that following
the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE and, even more so, Hadrian’s
repression of the Bar Kokhba revolt of 135, it was the Pharisaic stream
6 Midrash ha-Gadol to Leviticus (Adani 1976) on “ishah ki tazri’a” (if a woman be delivered) and
Midrash Tanhuma to Exodus, Pekudei 3, for which there is no critical edition. See also Seder yetsirat
ha-vlad in Eisenstein (1915). One might argue that Leviticus Rabbah (Lev. 12) for the period of the
Mishnah and BT Niddah 31b for the Talmudic period, constitute two mini-treatises on the subject.
Both works, however, have been transmitted within codices intended to serve Halakhic rather than
philosophical purposes.
7 These midrashic compilations have long been considered exclusively as a potential source of
information regarding antecedent traditions. The current tendency represented by Langermann
(2002) is to see them as original creations by mediaeval communities, notably in Yemen. See Yemenite
Midrash (Langermann 1996).
8 For this brief characterization of Rabbinic literature, I have drawn, inter alia, upon (Gafni 1994).
In French and English see e.g. (Strack and Stemberger 1986). For a more recent study, including
contemporary interpretive perspectives (anthropology, gender studies, folklore studies, etc.) see
Fonrobert and Jaffee (2007). The attempt at historical interpretation is my own.
9 According to Gafni, this distinction can be dated at least to the time of Samuel ha-Naggid (9931056). Cf. Gafni (1994, 478).
THE EMBRYO IN ANCIENT RABBINIC LITERATURE
25
that succeeded in rebuilding Jewish life, enabling its survival, at least in
the Land of Israel, despite subsequent persecutions.10
Tannaitic Literature
The literature of the Tannaim (from an Aramaic verb meaning to repeat
or recite, denoting the importance of memory in the fundamentally oral
tradition of the period) comprises three types of texts:
Targumim, “translations” of the Bible into Aramaic, sometimes
relatively literal, but often, veritable commentaries on the text;
Midrashim, commentaries on Scripture, at this stage essentially
Halakhic, on four of the five books of the Pentateuch (Halakhic,
i.e. pertaining to religious law, which explains the fact that there
was no Midrash in this period on the book of Genesis or the
first, primarily narrative part of the book of Exodus);
Mishnah and the Tosefta, thematic anthologies of the Halakhic
precepts.11
The Mishnah is undoubtedly the magnum opus of this body of
literature. The text that has come down to us is a compilation of the
religious laws, covering all aspects of life, divided into six orders: Zera’im
(Seeds) deals with subjects pertaining to agriculture; Mo’ed (Festivals)
with the Sabbath and holy days; Nashim (Women) with family life,
marriage and divorce; Nezikin (Damages) with juridical organization,
penal and civil law; Kodashim (Sancta) with the Temple sacrifices; and
Taharot (Purity) with matters of ritual purity and pollution.
It is generally agreed that this compilation was the work of Rabbi
Judah ha-Nasi (c. 138-220 CE), to this day referred to simply as Rabbi,
who was the spiritual and political leader of the Jewish community at the
time, recognized by Jews and Romans alike. Not all of the content of the
Mishnah can be attributed to Rabbi himself. But it is he, or those under
his authority, who created the Mishnah in its current form. The Mishnah
quickly gained recognition as the sole authoritative code of law and was,
in turn, the object of meticulous commentary in the subsequent period,
that of the Amoraim.
10 On the history of ancient Judaism in the context of the Roman Empire, see Schaefer (1989) and
more recently, albeit less specifically Sartre (2001); Biale (2002) and especially Meyers (2002, 162-169).
On the persecutions and their consequences, see Herr (1972), and more recently Boyarin (1998).
11 Recent scholarship has drawn attention to the “anthological” nature of Rabbinic literature. See
Elman (2004); Segal (2004) and Stern (2004b).
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The Tosefta (Addition) is an anthology of baraitot (elements of religious
law not included in the corpus of the Mishnah), compiled by the disciples
of Rabbi and following the same order as the Mishnah. Although the
date of its final redaction is disputed, the Tosefta has considerable value
from the perspective of cultural history because it often helps to clarify
the context of a given mishnah, providing discussions or opinions that
run counter to those found in the Mishnah.
The literature of this first period is characterized by the fact that
it is essentially Halakhic in nature and by the fact that it was created
primarily in the Land of Israel. Following the two stages of destruction
of the Temple and transformation of Jerusalem into a pagan city, in 70135 CE, we are witness not only to the regrouping of Judaism around the
Pharisaic stream, which placed greater value on study than on the Temple
cult, but above all, to the reconstruction of Jewish life around Halakhah
or religious law.12 The long reign of Judah ha-Nasi as spiritual and
political leader of the Jewish community in Palestine and the relatively
comfortable relations with the Roman authorities at the time, made this
reconstruction possible. This did not preclude confrontation perceived
as a matter of survival. This focus on the publication of a juridical corpus
is the first indication of that which I have termed a literature of cultural
resistance.
The Halakhic origins of the Mishnah, combined with the fact that
it was created in the Land of Israel, are reflected in its language and
style. It is written primarily in Hebrew, although enriched with Aramaic,
Greek, and Latin words. But it is also wonderfully concise, unburdened
by elaborate commentary. This is clearly illustrated in the following
excerpts from the Mishnah, which also serve to present a Mishnaic
approach to the formation of the embryo.
Mishnah Niddah 3 (Albeck 1958)
1.
2.
A woman who aborts (lit. drops) a piece; if it is accompanied by blood, [she
is] impure; if not [she is] pure. Rabbi Judah says either way, [she is] pure.
A woman who aborts something that resembles a husk, a hair, earth, mosquitoes, shall put them in water. If they dissolve, [she is] impure; if not [she is] pure.
A woman who aborts something that resembles fish, grasshoppers, insects and
vermin; if it is accompanied by blood, [she is] impure; if not [she is] pure. A
woman who aborts something that resembles a domestic or wild animal or a
12 Actually, all the tractates of the Mishnah but one are Halakhic in content. The exception is Pirke
Avot, a treatise of ethical maxims which has given birth to a specific current of ethical compilations in
Jewish literature. See Tropper (2004) and Schofer (2007).
THE EMBRYO IN ANCIENT RABBINIC LITERATURE
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
27
bird, whether pure or impure; if it is male, she shall remain [lit. sit] impure
for a male; if it is female, she shall remain [impure] for a female; and if [the
sex] is unknown, she shall remain [impure] for a male and a female. So said
Rabbi Meir. The Sages say anything that lacks human form is not a foetus
(velad).
A woman who aborts an amnion (shafir) filled with water, filled with blood,
filled with a many-coloured substance, shall not consider it a foetus. And
if it is wrought (viz. has human form; following Ps. 139), she shall remain
[impure] for a male and a female.
A woman who aborts a sandal or a placenta (shilyah), shall remain [impure]
for a male and a female. A placenta in the house, the house is impure. Not
that the placenta is a foetus, but there is no placenta without a foetus. Rabbi
Simon says the foetus decomposed before it emerged.
A woman who aborts a tumtum (of indefinite sex) or an androgyne
(androginos) shall remain [impure] for a male and a female. A tumtum and a
male, an androgyne and a male, she shall remain [impure] for a male and a
female. A tumtum and a female, an androgyne and a female, she shall remain
[impure] only for a female. If it emerges cut or backwards, once most of it
has emerged, it is considered a newborn (yelod). If it emerges normally, once
most of the head has emerged [it is considered a newborn]. What is most of
the head? Once the forehead has emerged.
A woman who aborts, but does not know what it is, shall remain [impure]
for a male and a female. If it is not known whether it was a foetus or not,
she shall remain [impure] for a male and a female and for niddah (menstrual
flow).
A woman who aborts up to the fortieth day need not consider it a foetus.
On the forty-first day, she shall remain [impure] for a male and a female
and for niddah. Rabbi Ishmael says, on the forty-first day, she shall remain
[impure] for a male and for niddah, on the eighty-first day for a male and
a female and for niddah, for the male is complete on the forty-first day and
the female is complete on the eighty-first day. The Sages say, whether the
creation of a male or whether the creation of a female, both are [complete]
on the forty-first day.
In seven mishnayot, the above chapter describes the entire
development of the foetus.13 Although there is an order of Mishnah
specifically dedicated to women, the tractate of Niddah is part of the
order of Taharot, translated here as “Purity.” This sets the tone. The
discussion concerns the laws of purity. It is not the transmission of
knowledge regarding the formation of the foetus that is important, but
establishing the purity laws, defining its boundaries.
A woman who experiences a spontaneous abortion (literally causes
something to “drop”) is subject to the laws of purity. The question is,
however, precisely which laws should be applied. In such a case, there
are two possible categories of impurity. The first is menstrual impurity,
13
On foetal development in antiquity, see Hanson (2008).
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a period of seven days following the end of every menstrual cycle, during
which time the woman may not have sexual intercourse with her husband
and may not come into contact with certain objects. This period is called
niddah, which can be translated “excluded.” It is from this concept that
the tractate derives its name, following the definitions established in
Leviticus 15: 19-30. Note here the extremely strong statement, presented
as the prevailing view (citing the Sages, rather than a specific rabbi), with
which the second mishnah concludes: “anything that lacks human form
(tzurat adam) is not a foetus.” Note also the philosophical character of
this formulation. As opposed to the word used to determine the state of
the amnion, taken from Psalms 139: 15 (“when I was made in secret, and
wrought in the lowest parts of the earth”), the expression tzurat adam is
not a biblical term. In fact, the concept of “human form” brings to mind
the Aristotelian concepts of matter and form. The second category is that
of impurity following childbirth and since these laws vary in accordance
with the sex of the child, we must ascertain whether it is possible to
determine the sex of the aborted foetus. The duration of the respective
states of impurity vary and, in case of doubt, are cumulative. In the
process, we come across a number of phrases attesting to the application
of medical knowledge, such as “Not that the placenta is a foetus, but
there is no placenta without a foetus.” Also, we find the Aristotelian
distinction with regard to foetal differentiation between the formation
of male and female embryos (cf. Hist. Anim. VII, 3, 583b).
Mishnah Ohalot 7, 6 (Albeck 1958)
When a woman experiences difficulty in childbirth, we cut the foetus (velad) in
the womb and remove it limb by limb, because her life takes precedence over its
life. If most of it has emerged, it is not touched because one does not cast aside
one soul (nefesh) for another.
This mishnah establishes the rule regarding therapeutic abortion: the
life of the mother takes precedence, until most of the child has emerged.
Interestingly, this mishnah recalls Niddah 3, 5, in which “most” is defined as
the emergence of the infant’s forehead. There are thus two important points
here for the purposes of this discussion. First, like Niddah, the tractate of
Ohalot is part of the Taharot order of the Mishnah, and pertains to the
purity and impurity of habitations. Second, the mishnah here employs the
concept of nefesh, one of the Hebrew words for “soul.”14
14 The Midrash in (Genesis Rabbah 14, 8) notes five Hebrew words for soul (nefesh, ru’ah, neshamah, yehidah, hayyah).
THE EMBRYO IN ANCIENT RABBINIC LITERATURE
29
The word nefesh is the most general of the Hebrew terms for soul,
often translated “being.” It is worth noting here that Genesis 2:7,
cited in To Gauros, reads: “Then the Lord God formed man (adam)
of the dust of the ground (adamah), and breathed into his nostrils
the breath of life (nishmat hayyim); and man became a living being
(nefesh hayyah).” Nefesh hayyah can also be translated “living soul,”
as one might speak of a town of five thousand souls, meaning five
thousand inhabitants, or say that there is not a “living soul,” meaning
there is no one there.
As noted above, the literature of the Tannaitic period was essentially
Halakhic in nature. So, the Midrash of this period, commentaries on
Scripture, following the order of the books of the Bible, was also
primarily Halakhic in content. We are thus able to compare the
sources arranged according to subject (Mishnah, Tosefta) with those
arranged according to the order of the biblical verses. The Sifra,
Halakhic Midrash on the book of Leviticus, thus offers a parallel to
the discussion in Niddah 3, “published” in the same Tannaitic period.
In Leviticus 12, we find the same discussion of the periods of impurity
in case of spontaneous abortion, determined by their association with
menstruation or childbirth, respectively. An additional element in
the Midrash states on the eighth day after birth, the day on which a
male child is circumcised, he is deemed “worthy of the creation of
the breath” (the “breath of life,” mentioned in Genesis 2:7). Sifra,
Tazri’a 1,8 (Weiss 1862). This creative event thus occurs either at
the moment of birth, or eight days later. Although contrary to the
previously noted usage of the word nefesh, this midrash presents “the
creation of the breath” as an explanation rather than a determinant
of Halakhah, in terms of purity or impurity. Before leaving the
Tannaitic period, there is another context in which the foetus appears
and that is in the laws of levirate marriage (Deut. 25:5-10). When
a man dies without issue, his brother is obligated to provide him
with issue, by marrying his wife. If he does not wish to do so, he
must “release” the widow in a ceremony during the course of which
the widow removes the levir’s shoe and spits before him. Since the
obligation is to perpetuate the brother’s name, the legal questions
raised by this situation, e.g. which of the levir’s relatives may marry
his brother’s widow and whether she may marry a Kohen (a member
of the priestly caste), are contingent upon whether a child has been
born posthumously, even stillborn (see e.g. Mishnah, Yevamot, 4).
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Amoraic Literature
What does Rabbinic literature of the Amoraic period (200-500
CE) comprise? In Palestine as in Babylonia, the magnum opus of this
period is incontrovertibly the Talmud (from the root lmd, to study). The
corpus known as the Jerusalem Talmud was “published” in Palestine
in the early fifth century and the Babylonian Talmud in the early sixth
century in Babylonia. What do they consist of? As noted above, the
Mishnah quickly became the canonical text of Judaism, studied and
interpreted in every detail, in the batei midrash (academies, houses of
study) of the Sages.15 The two Talmuds are the anthologies of this study
and these commentaries, arranged according to the six orders of the
Mishnah. A portion of the Mishnah is cited at the beginning of each
section, followed by commentary, called Gemara, from an Aramaic word
meaning deduce or conclude. Neither of the Talmuds covers the entire
Mishnah. The Babylonian Talmud, for example, lacks commentary on
the order of Zera’im (Seeds), which concerns agricultural life in the
Holy Land, with the exception of the first tractate, on the subject of
blessings and prayers. The Jerusalem Talmud, on the other hand, lacks
commentary on the final two orders of the Mishnah, which address
laws of the Temple and ritual purity. Was this the result of historical
circumstances? The question has been discussed, particularly in light of
the fact that the Jerusalem Talmud is the less edited of the Talmuds.16
In terms of language, the Jerusalem Talmud is written in Hebrew
and primarily Galilean Aramaic, while the Babylonian Talmud is part
Hebrew and part Eastern Aramaic.17
The method employed in the Gemara is highly associative, often
resulting in commentary that is significantly longer than the Mishnaic
text on which it is based. The Gemara, for example, might tell the
story of a conversation between Rabbi, the redactor of the Mishnah,
and the Roman Emperor Antoninus, leading into a series of exchanges
completely unrelated to the Mishnah that precipitated the entire
discussion.18 Similarly, a Halakhic decision in the Mishnah might lead to
a long reflection in the Gemara, citing philosophical arguments, customs,
15 To form an idea of the importance of the house of study in Jewish life of the Talmudic period,
see the three chapters dedicated to this subject in Fraenkel (1996). See also Rubenstein (2007, 58-74)
16 The Jerusalem Talmud shows clear signs of less editing: repetition of pericopes, absence of commentary on numerous tractates of the Mishnah, etc. See Strack and Stemberger (1986, 209).
17 Here too I have drawn upon Isaiah Gafni’s comprehensive essay (Gafni 1994). On the subject of
language in the Talmud, see Fraade (1992); Schwartz (1995), and Greenfield (1995).
18 BT Sanhedrin 91a-b.
THE EMBRYO IN ANCIENT RABBINIC LITERATURE
31
folk tales, or anecdotes about a certain rabbi. On the other hand, this
type of commentary gives voice to disputes between the various schools,
including those of previous generations. Thus, we find in the Gemara
the opinions of a number of rabbis of the Tannaitic period, including
elements of earlier medical knowledge that are difficult to date. With
regard to foetal development, this refers in particular to a number of
commentaries about a certain Cleopatra, queen of Alexandria, and the
experiments she is said to have conducted on female slaves condemned
to death. These are cited in support of the prevailing position, attributed
the Sages in Niddah 3,7, which asserts that both male and female foetuses
are fully formed at 41 days, contrary to the opinion of Rabbi Ishmael
that a male foetus is fully formed at 41 days and a female foetus at 81
days.19 Talmudic discussion can thus differ greatly from, if not actually
run contrary to, the kind of discussion we find in the Mishnah. Neither
method however, is in any way similar to the analytical treatment of a
given topic that we find, for example, in To Gauros.
Once again, I consider this type of literature as a response to the
socio-political circumstances facing Judaism during this period. In 313,
Christianity became a religio licita; in 380 the state religion of the Roman
Empire; in 425, the Jewish patriarchate was abolished in the Land of
Israel (Strack and Stemberger 1986, 22-23).20 Initially, Judaism reacted
to Christian interpretations of the Bible, more so in the literary works
produced in Palestine (the Jerusalem Talmud and certain exegetical
Midrashim, such as Genesis Rabbah), but subsequently withdrew into
Babylonian culture, Hebrew and Babylonian Aramaic, beyond the
sphere of influence of the Christianized Roman Empire (Gafni 2002,
233). As the centre of Jewish life shifted eastward, the Babylonian
academies assumed increasing importance. From a literary perspective,
this phenomenon, observed in numerous examples in Jewish religious
literature, can be regarded as a response to political and cultural
hegemonies. This is evident in the apocalyptic literature, in the book
of Daniel for example or the Apocalypse of John, which exhibit a
sort of typical cryptic writing or “metalanguage,” created in order to
facilitate continued freedom of thought.21 A similar phenomenon can be
observed in the thirteenth century, in the Zohar and the Kabbalah. It is
not that such difficulties necessarily produce a certain kind of literature,
BT Niddah 30b.
For a cultural approach to this phenomenon, see Irshai (2002).
21 Oded Irshai refers repeatedly to this apocalyptic aspect and its connection to the existential
angst induced by oppressive subjugation, but associates it with the expansion of mystical literature,
which he sees as an expression of the priestly current that stood in opposition to the Rabbis. I believe
there is also a connection, less in terms of content than in terms of thought structure developed during
19
20
32
ETIENNE LEPICARD
but it is the way in which Judaism has responded to this kind of adversity.
The types of literature this response has produced vary greatly, ranging
from apocalyptic works to Talmudic discussion to Kabbalistic esoterica.
Once again, it is not only the content that is important, but also the
manner in which it is expressed, which must be taken into consideration
when studying a given topic.
Thus understood, if we wish to adopt an objective point of view,
like that of the historian, there is considerable cause for confusion.
The narratives can parallel one another, yet serve completely different
purposes, requiring certain “adjustments” to reconcile them with one
another. The discussion between Rabbi and Antoninus, cited below,
regarding the ensoulment of the embryo, is a good example of a single
story employed to two different ends. This phenomenon is typical of
oral culture in general, but especially Jewish oral culture, allowing us to
observe many different aspects of Rabbinic literary activity. The above
examples from the Tannaitic literature represent legal discussions,
reflected in their use of clear, concise language (Alexander 2007). The
same period also saw the development of a type of commentary that is
generally termed exegetical, inasmuch as it explicates Scripture, verseby-verse. The need arose also, to “convey the message from the bottom
up,” and so an entire body of homiletical literature developed, aimed
less at understanding the precise meaning of the biblical text, than at the
moral and spiritual lessons that could be derived from them and applied
to daily life.22
Although both of these literary genres, exegesis and homily, can
be found throughout the Talmudic commentary, they are particularly
evident in the Midrashic works of this period, which, contrary to the
previous period, are essentially Aggadic. The best-known exegetical
Midrashim are Genesis Rabbah, a verse-by-verse commentary on the book
of Genesis, and Lamentations Rabbah, on the book of Lamentations.
the Talmudic period and the unique literary form based on the association of ideas (cf. Irshai 2002,
183, 197f., 208f.). See also Irshai (2000). For a philosophical appraisal of the associative structure of
thought of the Rabbinic literature and a claim for a contemporary revival of such a way of reasoning
which goes much further than my own claim here, see Handelman, (1982).
22 In the aforementioned article, written from a cultural perspective, Oded Irshai contrasts the
synagogue and the house of study, recognizing however the fact that the relationship between them,
both in terms of physical space and in terms of their respective communal roles, is very unclear. Should
the synagogue be seen as a recuperation of the role of the priestly caste, following the disappearance
of public worship precipitated by the destruction of the Temple, or as a transformation of the communal role of the rabbi into that of a preacher. Irshai offers no opinion on the matter, choosing rather
to focus on the appearance of liturgical poetry (piyyutim) and the development of homiletics (Irshai
2002, 193-199, esp. nn. 62, 83).
THE EMBRYO IN ANCIENT RABBINIC LITERATURE
33
Leviticus Rabbah is probably the best-known of the homiletic Midrashim,
arranged by portion, rather than by verse, following the triennial weekly
cycle of public reading of the Torah (and homilies), common in this
period.
The following are a series of (fictive?) exchanges between Rabbi, the
redactor of the Mishnah, and some Roman Emperor called Antoninus,
cited in both the Babylonian Talmud and Genesis Rabbah, which
illustrate the instability of such narratives and some of the difficulties
they present to scholars. They begin with a series of four questions posed
by Antoninus to Rabbi, cited in the Babylonian Talmud.
BT Sanhedrin 91a-b
Antoninus said to Rabbi: [Both] the body and the soul can escape judgement.
How? The body says it is the soul that has sinned; since the day it departed from
me I am as a cast stone in the grave. The soul says it is the body; since the day I
departed from it, I fly in the air like a bird. He said to him [Rabbi to Antoninus]:
I will give you an example. What is it like? Like a mortal king who had a beautiful
orchard (pardes), in which [91b] he had beautiful first fruits, and he placed there
two guardians, one lame (higer) and the other blind (suma). The lame man said
to the blind: I see beautiful first fruits in the orchard, come let me ride on your
back and we will bring them to eat. The lame man rode on the back of the blind
and they brought them and ate them. Later, the owner of the orchard came and
said to them: where are the beautiful first fruits? The lame man said: have I legs
to walk to them? The blind man said: have I eyes to see them? What did he do?
He placed the lame man on the back of the blind and judged them as one. So
God brings the soul and casts it into the body and judges them as one. As it is
written: “He calls to the heavens above and to the earth to judge His people”
(Ps. 50:4). “He calls to the heavens above” is the soul, “and to the earth to judge
his people” is the body.
Antoninus said to Rabbi: Why does the sun rise in the east and set in the west?
He said to him [Rabbi to Antoninus]: had it been the opposite you would have
said the same thing! He said to him [Antoninus to Rabbi]: what I am asking is
why it sets in the west (Rashi explains that Antoninus’s question pertains not to
the direction but to the fact that the sun does not set in the same place that it
rises). He said to him [Rabbi to Antoninus]: to pay respect to the Creator (lit.
give peace to the “Acquirer,” [Koneh] one of God’s names). As it is written:
“And the hosts of heaven bow to You” (Neh. 9:6). He said to him [Antoninus to
Rabbi]: Let it go to halfway in the sky, pay respect and re-ascend. [Rabbi said to
Antoninus:] On account of labourers and travellers.
Antoninus said to Rabbi: when is the soul placed in man: at the time of conception
(pekidah – lit. order) or at the time of formation? He said to him [Rabbi to
Antoninus]: at the time of formation. He said to him [Antoninus to Rabbi]: can
a piece of flesh stand unsalted for [even] three days without rotting? It is rather
at the time of conception. Rabbi said: Antoninus has taught me this thing, and
Scripture supports his [view]. As it is written: “Your order (pekudatkha) has
preserved my spirit” (Job 10:12).
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ETIENNE LEPICARD
Antoninus said to Rabbi: When does man’s domination by the evil inclination
begin: at the time of formation or at the time of birth? He said to him [Rabbi
to Antoninus]: at the time of formation. He said to him [Antoninus to Rabbi]:
Then he would kick his mother’s womb and emerge. It is rather from the time of
birth. Rabbi said: Antoninus has taught me this thing, and Scripture supports his
[view]. As it is written: “Sin couches at the door” (Gen. 4:7).
In the first exchange, Antoninus is concerned with the fact that if
the human whole comprises body and soul, moral judgement is without
basis. Rabbi, without disputing man’s dual origin, declares that in the
eyes of He who has power over judgement, it is duality that is without
basis. Note the wording, “brings the soul and casts it into the body,”
developed further in the third exchange. When does this occur, at the
time of the decree or at the time of the formation of the foetus (viz. at the
moment of conception or after 40 days)?
If any one of these exchanges is surprising, it is the second one, regarding
the rising and setting of the sun. What can this possibly have to do with
human formation? The Mishnah, on which the above passage comments,
Sanhedrin 10,1, concerns the question of who will have a share in the world
to come and who will not. A number of foreign kings are mentioned,
offering a good reason for presenting these conversations between Rabbi
and Antoninus, all the more so because the final two exchanges cited
here, in which Rabbi not only concedes the argument to Antoninus, but
recognizes the fact that Antoninus’s position is upheld by Scripture. But what
connection is there between the rising and setting of the sun and questions
of human formation? Is it because the first exchange ends with a biblical
citation concerning heaven and earth? It would then be a simple matter
of association. We could also say that the first and last exchanges concern
morality, and the middle two exchanges concern natural determinism of the
macro- and the microcosm, as believed in the Middle Ages. Be that as it may,
this is a perfect illustration of the difficulty entailed in interpreting a text of
this kind, assuming one considers it to be more than just the statement of
random ideas and seeks to understand its internal coherence.
Also worth noting, with regard to the final two exchanges,
is how “circular” this literature is, that is to say it presumes
familiarity with other sources.23 We see in one of the versions of
the later treatise, Order of the Creation of the Foetus, mentioned
at the beginning of this article (note 6 above), that the wording of
Antoninus’s third question, “When is the soul placed in man: at the
23 I am using the term “circular” to allude to the “Hermeneutic circle” from the point of view of the
reader. See Iser (2000) and the discussion of “intertextuality” by Boyarin (1990, 12-19). Hezser (2000, 181183) also deals with this concept.
THE EMBRYO IN ANCIENT RABBINIC LITERATURE
35
time of conception or at the time of formation?” is far from neutral
and the verse cited in Rabbi’s response, “Your order has preserved
my spirit,” if it relates to the literary meaning of conception (pekidah
– lit. order) also evokes the idea of God “ordering” an angel to cast
a soul into the “fetid drop” that will become a foetus. The fourth
question also pertains to a subject addressed in the treatise: whether the
formation of the foetus begins from within or without. In other words,
is it the bones, tendons, etc. that are formed first, or the skin? And the
answer is the same as here: were it the bones and tendons, the foetus
could kill the mother from the womb. The very same response given
here to resolve a moral question is given there to resolve a physiologicalembryological question. The flexibility of these narratives is remarkable
(Jaffee 2007, 34).
In the same vein, there is another version of the final two exchanges
between Antoninus and Rabbi, from a Midrash on Genesis.
Genesis Rabbah 34,10 (Mirkin 1971), on the verse “for the inclination of man’s
heart is evil from his youth” (Gn. 8, 21, in the context of God’s affirmation that he
will not inflict another flood).
Antoninus asked Rabbi: when is the evil inclination placed in man: when he emerges
from his mother’s womb or before he emerges from his mother’s womb? He said to
him [Rabbi to Antoninus]: before he emerges from his mother’s womb. He said to
him [Antoninus to Rabbi]: no, for if it were placed in him while he is in his mother’s
womb, he would scratch at her viscera and emerge. And Rabbi conceded to him,
comparing his view to that of Scripture. As it is written: “for the inclination of man’s
heart is evil from his youth (mine’urav)” (Gen. 8:21). Rabbi Judan said: it is written
“mine’urav” (from his youth), from the time at which nin’ar (he stirs; from the same
or homographic root na’ar) to leave his mother’s womb.
Antoninus further asked Rabbi: when is the soul placed in man, when he emerges
from his mother’s womb or before he emerges from his mother’s womb? He said to
him [Rabbi to Antoninus]: when he emerges from his mother’s womb. He said to
him [Antoninus to Rabbi]: no, for if you leave an unsalted piece of meat [even] for
three days, it will rot immediately. And Rabbi conceded to him, comparing his view
to that of Scripture. As it is written: “You have granted me life and favour, and Your
order has preserved my spirit” (Job 10:12). When did you place the soul in me?
When you ordered me (viz. at the time of conception).
How does this version of Rabbi’s exchanges with Antoninus compare
with that of the Talmud? First of all, the order is reversed. This makes
sense, considering the fact that the verse on which the Midrash
comments corresponds to the final exchange in the Talmud concerning
the evil inclination. We then note that the verses cited in each of the
36
ETIENNE LEPICARD
two versions of the exchange are not the same. Here, the verse cited
is, of course, the one on which the Midrash comments (Gen. 8:21),
whereas the verse cited in the Talmud is “sin couches at the door”
(Gen. 4:7). Nevertheless, both versions reach the same conclusion: that
the evil inclination does not begin to dominate (Talmud) or is not placed
(Midrash) in man until birth.
With regard to the embryo’s ensoulment, although the conclusion is
the same, the difference in the wording of the questions is considerable,
which would appear to explain the need of the Midrash to specify that
ensoulment occurs at the moment of conception. While the Talmud in
the wording of the question affords only two options, at conception or
at 41 days, the wording in the Midrash encompasses three different
possibilities, conception, the 41 days of formation, or birth. Hence, the
need to clarify this point.
Conclusion
To the extent that ancient Rabbinic literature “published” during the same
period as the To Gauros shows an interest in the origins of human life, it does
not present them in the form of a philosophical exposition.24 The propositions
on which such texts are based certainly indicate medical knowledge, but
the primary purpose of the texts themselves was of an entirely different
nature, essentially prescriptive, particularly in the realm of ritual purity and
pollution; namely, to serve religious ends. I intentionally say “published”
during the same period as the To Gauros. As I have noted, opinions presented
in later Rabbinic works may, in fact, date to the Tannaitic period but the
redaction of these texts occurred much later. For the scholar, it is extremely
difficult to know whether the opinions expressed are contemporary or
later reconstructions. The fact remains that there is no equivalent to the To
Gauros in the Rabbinic literature published in that period. The reasons for
this can be found in the sociopolitical conditions of the time, which gave this
body of work its character as literature of resistance, created to meet other
needs; that is, construction of Jewish communal life (including the need to
establish limits, even welcoming a variety of opinions) on the one hand25
24 It goes without saying that a critical edition of Seder yetzirat ha-vlad examining earlier sources,
such as Leviticus Rabbah on Lev. 12 and Niddah 31b would be a welcome addition. Further study, particularly a comparison of the structures of these treatises to those of philosophical as well as Christian
works is certainly required.
25 On this subject, see Meyers (2002, 168), in which he notes that to the extent that there is a culture of
“disputation” in the Talmuds, it excludes those barred from the circle of the “students of the sages.”
THE EMBRYO IN ANCIENT RABBINIC LITERATURE
37
and the transmission of a living cultural heritage through narratives and
anecdotes which are easy to remember, on the other.26 I suggest that this
character corresponds to two important areas of current ethical research,
determining boundaries in such a fashion as to foster communal life, while
heeding the narratives that allow each individual to imbue her or his own life
with meaning.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Devora Kamrat-Lang and Yuval Blankovsky
for many conversations that helped me clarify my ideas at various stages
of the work. I also thank Shmuel Sermoneta-Gertel for the English
translation of this article.
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