French words in his works. Scholars still study him today for the light he sheds on the French language in the early Middle Ages: some terms aren’t found anywhere else.
In general, intent on finding the right word and the suitable literary style to explain a biblical or Talmudic expression or law, when he is free to choose among different approaches, he opts for the simplest, most reasonable, most accessible one.
In delving into Rashi’s commentaries on the Babylonian Talmud one sometimes comes across contradictions. Tosafists and researchers have stated it unambiguously: there is no doubt that Rashi changed his mind on some particular points. For what reason? Was this due to the erroneous judgments of copyists, or Rashi’s own intellectual honesty? After all, over the years, going from one discovery to next, one can admit to having made a mistake. Ultimately, as in all real spiritual and scholarly quests, all assumptions of sudden reversals are permissible.
Let us listen to his grandson, the Rashbam:
“Rabbi Shlomo, my grandfather, the Light of the Exile, who interpreted the Torah, the Prophets, and the Writings, made every effort to elucidate the natural meaning of the text, and I, Shmuel ben Meir, often discussed his commentaries with him or in his presence. And he admitted to me that, if he had the time, he would revise his work taking into account explanations that are revealed day after day.”
Let us repeat it:
In his writings, he never hesitates to admit that he doesn’t know the answer to a question, or the solution to a difficulty. For example: in the book of Genesis (28:5), the text says Isaac sent Jacob “to Padan-aram unto Laban, son of Bethuel the Syrian, the brother of Rebecca, Jacob’s and Esau’s mother.” The sentence is long and unwieldy, and full of superfluous details: at this point in the narrative is there anyone who doesn’t know who Rebecca is? Rashi’s commentary: “I admit that I don’t know what this verse wants to tell us.” The author of
Sifrei Hakhamim
responded with blunt words: “There are some among us who are surprised that Rashi feels compelled to tell us he doesn’t know; if he doesn’t know, let him be silent.” But Rashi believes in being frank and truthful. If he doesn’t know, he feels he should tell us.
Is it due to the breadth of his knowledge? To the luminous quality of his style, clear and captivating, always tight, precise, sober, attracting the reader’s allegiance? His desire to have a dialogue with students? Sometimes students havethe joyful feeling that they are learning not
from
Rashi but by his side.
Except for a few tractates (On Fasting, Vows, Asceticism), his commentary covers the entire Talmudic world. Admittedly, certain questions continue to preoccupy the experts: who authored the commentary on those passages he himself did not complete? Did he himself, orally, and then they were transcribed by his heirs and disciples? That seems a fair presumption.
On page 29 of the Venice edition of Tractate Baba Batra (literally, “the Third Gate,” it covers property laws) we read: “Here Rashi died blessed in memory…. From now on it is the commentary of (his grandson) Rabbi Shmuel ben Meir.”
But on page 19 of Tractate Makkot, on criminal punishments (also printed in Venice), we find this note: “The purified soul of our Teacher left his pure body here. And he stopped commenting. From this point on, it is the language of his disciple Rabbi Yehuda ben Nathan.”
A contradiction? Was Rashi writing and working on two tractates at the same time?
Opinions differ. But all are unanimous about one thing: pamphlets circulated before, in the Orient and in Europe, and were passed on by known and anonymous travelers, but Rashi’s greatness remains unique; the companion of aging teachers and the friend of young beginners, his authority has remained indisputable and his help indispensable throughout an entire millennium.
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Biblical Commentaries
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