What Do the Stammaim Want?

At SVARA, we often assert a belief that the Talmud was woven together. The metaphor of weaving implies both the presence of different pieces, as well as the presence of a deliberate intention to layer those different pieces to become whole.

When, at SVARA, we say we believe the Talmud was woven together, we are naming the stammaim, or the anonymous editors, as critical parts of the rabbinic project. The tannaim of the mishna wanted to retell the Torah. The ammoraim continued this retelling in various batei midrash throughout their generations until, finally, the stammaim wove their conversations together into what we now call the Talmud.

This weaving “does work” on the mishna through one (or more) of the “Five Agendas of Gemara,” which we find named in SVARA’s Bet Midrash Reference guide as the “ACCeSS” acronym:

“The gemara always has one of five agendas with respect to the mishnah or, rarely, about a claim raised earlier in the gemara. (These concepts can be found in A Living Tree: The Roots and Growth of Jewish Law, a textbook Rabbi Elliott Dorff wrote for a course on Jewish law he taught at UCLA Law School. After reading this book, Benay came up with this snazzy acronym of ACCeSS: Author, Clarification, Conflict, Scope, and Source!).”

In ACCeSS, we are reminded of the five ways that the gemara “deals” with the mishna–it seeks out the Author, points out a Conflict, looks for Clarification, or tries to determine Scope or Source of a mishnaic teaching. 

When we remember this acronym, we’re able to look for certain key rhetorical words that can shape our understanding of the text. To expand on a metaphor that also appears in our Bet Midrash Reference Guide, if we’re trying to understand a recipe by reading a nutritional label, we’re going to have an incomplete understanding. When we know what kind of work the gemara is doing, we understand more clearly the moves the Rabbis make toward innovation. The content isn’t the only formative tool in the gemara; the tradition is formed through the literal rhetoric and grammar of the document.

Take “mai shna…u’mai shna…?” for example. In Daf Shenati, we’re learning Bava Batra 21, but began the year with a mishna at the bottom of 20b. 

בבא בתרא כ׳ ב  

מַתְנִי׳ חֲנוּת שֶׁבְּחָצֵר יָכוֹל לִמְחוֹת בְּיָדוֹ וְלוֹמַר לוֹ אֵינִי יָכוֹל לִישַׁן מִקּוֹל הַנִּכְנָסִין וּמִקּוֹל הַיּוֹצְאִין אֲבָל עוֹשֶׂה כֵּלִים יוֹצֵא וּמוֹכֵר בְּתוֹךְ הַשּׁוּק וְאֵינוֹ יָכוֹל לִמְחוֹת בְּיָדוֹ וְלוֹמַר לוֹ אֵינִי יָכוֹל לִישַׁן לֹא מִקּוֹל הַפַּטִּישׁ וְלֹא מִקּוֹל הָרֵיחַיִם וְלֹא מִקּוֹל הַתִּינוֹקוֹת

Bava Batra 20b

MISHNA: A shop that is in a shared courtyard: one may protest it and say “I can’t sleep because of the comings and goings!” But, the noise of a vessel-maker’s hammer or millstone cannot be protested. And the noise of children in an apartment cannot be protested.

The gemara then begins: מַאי שְׁנָא רֵישָׁא וּמַאי שְׁנָא סֵיפָא “What is the difference between the first case in the mishna and the last case in the mishna?” In its inside and most pshat–literal–understanding, “מַאי שְׁנָא…וּמַאי שְׁנָא” is a question about differences. Frank defines this phrase, “What is the difference between…and…?”. It’s helpful to note that there is a unique entry in Frank specifically for “מַאי שְׁנָא” on its own, without the doubling of “וּמַאי שְׁנָא”. On its own, we’d read it as “[for] what [reason] did it differ?” And is a phrase used to present a difficulty between two inherited traditions. What flavor does repeating add to the question? I can’t help but have Rabbi Yishmael’s exegesis whispering in our ear: if HaShem “isn’t a blabbermouth,” (to quote SVARA’s Rosh Yeshiva), and the gemara is part of a tradition to retell the torah, I think we can glean that the repetition is worth paying attention to. “Mai shna…u’mai shna…?” becomes a shining red beacon saying, “Look! There’s something important happening here!”

Back to the content on the daf: The gemara wants to know how the first case in the mishna is different from the last case. Why can noise from a shop in a shared courtyard be protested but not noise from children? When I first learned this with a chevruta, it felt like a strange question because the gemara doesn’t typically ask obvious questions with a simple answer. Which means that in asking us “what is different?” the stammaim expect us to think the similarities in these two cases are obvious enough not to warrant discussion, but that when we think about their differences, we begin to understand more clearly the innovative work being done on the gemara, and even more so, the innovative project that is the gemara.

Another example of this is found in one of my favorite talmudic words, דִּלְמָא. A translation of “perhaps” sells דִּלְמָא short. Frank defines דִּלְמָא by saying, “…this word is often used in the following three contexts– (a) a halachic problem (b) a difficulty (c) a refutation of a difficulty” (70). Frank’s definition highlights the expansive nature of דִּלְמָא: it is at once a word to point out difficulties and resolve them. In the Talmud Reference Guide, Steinsaltz explains, “this term introduces a mild form of objection to a previously stated statement, indicating that a possibility exists which could invalidate the argument” (110, italics my own). The word seems to act as a term on which to bridge immediate connections with less obvious ones. In this sense, דִּלְמָא becomes linked to one’s svara, or moral intuition, because it recognizes what one’s prior knowledge contributes to one’s interpretation of the tradition, and rather than discouraging using one’s svara, it encourages the learner to deepen their well of moral intuition through new connections.

On Bava Batra 47b-48a we’re given an example of the rhetorical work of דִּלְמָא: 

בבא בתרא מ״ז: – מ״ח.

אָמַר רַב הוּנָא תַּלְיוּהוּ וְזַבֵּין – זְבִינֵיהּ זְבִינֵי מַאי טַעְמָא כֹּל דִּמְזַבֵּין אִינִישׁ אִי לָאו דַּאֲנִיס – לָא הֲוָה מְזַבֵּין וַאֲפִילּוּ הָכִי זְבִינֵיהּ זְבִינֵי וְדִילְמָא שָׁאנֵי אוּנְסָא דְנַפְשֵׁיהּ מֵאוּנְסָא דְאַחֲרִינֵי אֶלָּא כִּדְתַנְיָא יַקְרִיב אֹתוֹ – מְלַמֵּד שֶׁכּוֹפִין אוֹתוֹ יָכוֹל בְּעַל כׇּרְחוֹ תַּלְמוּד לוֹמַר לִרְצוֹנוֹ הָא כֵּיצַד כּוֹפִין אוֹתוֹ עַד שֶׁיֹּאמַר רוֹצֶה אֲנִי וְדִלְמָא שָׁאנֵי הָתָם דְּנִיחָא לֵיהּ דְּתִיהְוֵי לֵיהּ כַּפָּרָה וְאֶלָּא מִסֵּיפָא וְכֵן אַתָּה אוֹמֵר בְּגִיטֵּי נָשִׁים – כּוֹפִין אוֹתוֹ עַד שֶׁיֹּאמַר רוֹצֶה אֲנִי וְדִלְמָא שָׁאנֵי הָתָם דְּמִצְוָה לִשְׁמוֹעַ דִּבְרֵי חֲכָמִים אֶלָּא סְבָרָא הוּא – אַגַּב אוּנְסֵיהּ גָּמַר וּמַקְנֵה

Bava Batra 47b – 48a

Rav Huna said: If one is coerced and sells something because of the coercion, the sale is valid. The gemara discusses this: What is the reason? A person only makes a sale when it’s unavoidable; and even so we consider it valid. But perhaps it’s different [perhaps there’s a difficulty to this reasoning because] internal force is different from external force. Rather, let’s say the reason is like it is taught “he will bring it close” which teaches that others force him. Can it be that he makes an offering against his will? [No!] The scripture says “For his desire”. How can this be? They force him until he says “I desire it!” But perhaps that case raises a different difficulty because one prefers to be atoned for, and therefore could be forced to give an offering. Tather, let’s say the reason is like we learn from the end of the teaching, “and therefore you say with gitei nashim, they force him until he says “I desire it!” But perhaps that case raises a different difficulty in that it’s a mitzvah to listen to the words of the wise ones. Rather, Rav Huna’s ruling is common sense! Coercion led to a willing sale.

In this structure the gemara introduces various possibilities to void Rav Huna’s teaching that one coerced into selling something makes a valid sale. In the midst of various challenges, דִּלְמָא functions to narrow the scope of the questions asked, aiding learners to clarify what kind of situation Rav Huna is discussing. Rather than responding with outright refutation we are reminded that “a possibility exists” (Steinsaltz) that might render that argument null. דִּלְמָא reminds the learner to avoid generalizing and be specific–this case might be like that case, but that case has a specific flavor that this case doesn’t have. Here, דִּלְמָא is useful in getting the learner to think outside of their own experiences and to think closely about what Rav Huna means in the context of the corpus of the tradition. This section of the sugya ends with a common sense ruling. !סְבָרָא הוּא – It is logical!  However, without refuting these earlier possibilities Rav Huna’s ruling wouldn’t be logical or obvious, reminding us that the process used to make a ruling matters to the rabbis as much as the ruling itself. The process also creates a new power structure–דִּלְמָא shows us a tradition concerned with building a process that can be replicated by our students in the new and unique situations their lives will inevitably create, rather than right thinkers. Which, thousands of years later, we’re trying to do here at SVARA–teach you how to pay attention so that you can become a shaper of the tradition, and how the project has always wanted that of you.

ACCeSS is useful in our learning because it clues us in to pay attention to the different ways the Talmud is forming us into certain types of thinkers in order for us to become players in our tradition. I find myself wondering if at their best, the stammaim are teachers, how do we think about their work in a way that allows us to continue their work? Does talking about their editing as an “agenda” hide or clarify that it was also a pedagogic orientation? When I think about an agenda, I think about what needs to get done, but when I think about a pedagogic orientation, I think about what learning or skills I want to foster. 

The stammaim’s editorial voices ask, “What aren’t you paying close enough attention to?” The question is expansive and exciting because there are endless possibilities. Do you need to cite your sources more? Are you avoiding conflict? Are you speaking clearly? What’s your source? What’s the scope? In their editing of the talmud, the stammaim become like a thesis advisor: they have a wider knowledge base than we do to pull from, and they piece things together that you and I may not have thought about. The stammaim know that our projects might not be theirs, but they have done similar intellectual and creative work before and are eager to guide the way. They show us their work so that we can do our work, unimaginable to them. They shape our thinking so that we, in turn, will shape our tradition.

So, what will you pay closer attention to this week?