Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

In narrative theology, the biblical storyteller’s identity remains a mystery; he stands outside the story and controls it. The narrative reflects his values, which may vary from one biblical book to another, or as the Source critics argue—even within a given biblical book, the narrative bears the unique theological attitude and signature of any number of possible biblical writers.

Over the centuries, the rabbis discovered one of the most important principles that completely led to a radical re-visioning of ancient Judaism: the “Oral Torah.” The early Sages believed that the interpretative approach to Torah is more important than what the Torah actually says. The recognition of this new hermeneutic allowed the community of faith to reinterpret problematical biblical passages from an altogether different light. A 1^st century sage named Ben Bag-bag, once offers a novel way of approaching Torah study: הפוך בה והפוך בה דכולה בה ובה תחזי וסיב ובלה בה ומינה לא תזוע שאין לך מדה טובה הימנה “Turn it over and over because everything is in it and reflect upon it and grow old and worn in it and do not leave it, for you have no better lot than that”[1] (hafok bah dekola bah . . .) (Avot 5:19).

Perhaps Ben Bag-bag’s statement may be read in another way that is equally plausible. The phrase הפוך בה can also mean “invert it”, which may imply an imperative to turn the biblical text inside out by subverting the text’s more obvious contextual meaning. Historically, in practice, the early 1^st century Sages often utilized an eisegetical rather than an exegetical[2] approach in the way their interpreted the Hebrew Scriptures. The Sages utilized this method in how they deduced new Halachic practices, e.g., lex talionis would be one of the most obvious examples.

In this case, the Sages purposely interpreted the “eye for an eye” (Exod. 21:24) law in terms of compensatory damages that took into account pain, psychological suffering, medical bills, disfigurement, and time lost from work[3], rather than insist that the law be carried out with ruthless justice. For the ancients, the Word of God was dynamic, alive, and always communicative. While rabbinic scholars frequently inverted biblical law in order to meet the needs of their era,[4] so too is contemporary society grappling with new and different perspectives on complex issues concerning gender, family, homosexuality, and bio-ethics—to name just a few. Textual interpretive rigidity can lamentably silence the Torah from addressing the challenging problems that confront the present time.

I would argue that just as Ben Bag’s principle is applied to the legal aspects of the Torah, one may apply this approach to the narrative portions of the Torah—especially those portions of the Bible that portray God in less than complementary and positive terms. Some modern scholars, like James Kugel, observe that sometimes the ancient Judaic commentators—both rabbinic and non-rabbinic (i.e., the Pseudepigraphal writings)—grafted their interpretations to the Pentateuchal text; at other times, they purposely took away from the text. Thus, in the rabbinic portrayal of Jacob and Esau, the rabbis painted Esau as villainous and duplicitous, while Jacob is just an “honest” homeboy. The biblical writer tells the story one way, but subsequent generations often inverted the biblical personalities as they saw fit. This approach is at the heart of virtually all midrashic compositions—scholars of all ages embellish the biblical text.

Philo of Alexandria observes, “I have heard from inspired men who take the contents of the Law to be visible symbols of things invisible, expressing the inexpressible.”[5] Put in different terms, Philo warns his readers that the study of the Torah (which he calls, “The Law”) demands that one look beyond the mere surface layer of a biblical text. Philo specifically mentions the early narratives of Genesis as a case in point. These early narratives are both allegorical and symbolic of higher truths. By going beyond the mythos of a biblical passage, only then can a person come to terms with its internal logos and allegorical truth.[6] Whenever a biblical text utilizes anthropomorphic language and imagery (e.g., the talking snake of Genesis 3, or God’s penchant for destroying Creation in the Flood narrative), the text conveys a parabolic meaning that always transcends the narrative’s literalism.[7] There is a deep metaphorical side to biblical language that transcends its literalism. Sometimes it’s not what the Bible says; it’s what the Bible doesn’t say that matters. There is a place for ambiguity and paradox. Tikva Frymer-Kensky once wrote, “An ancient rabbinic tradition teaches that the original Torah was written in black fire upon white fire: the spaces around the words also have power and significance; what is not told can speak to us.”^[8]A good interpreter must read not only what is written, but what is written in between the lines and words as well.