“The Anxiety of Influence”: Rashbam's Approach to Rashi's Commentary on the Torah

Abstract

Rashbam's approach to Rashi's commentary on the Torah is characterized by contrasts: originality and continuity, independence and dependence, open admiration and flagrant aggression. Scholars have clarified various aspects of this complex stance, yet their analyses do not provide a comprehensive explanation for it. This article argues that Rashbam's approach to Rashi's commentary is not based on methodological principles alone, but also includes an emotional element that is in part unconscious. To analyze these complex emotional elements of the text, the article uses a theoretical model that demonstrates that the ambivalence reflected in the text is not unusual, and in fact can be found in relationships between other writers— “the anxiety of influence,” as formulated by Harold Bloom. This conclusion sheds new light on Rashbam's commentary, including several of its more well-known passages.

Rashbam's Approach to Rashi's Commentary on the Torah: Data and Contrasts

A significant part of the Torah commentary of R. Shmuel ben Meir (Rashbam, northern France, ca. 1080/1085–1160) relates, in different ways, to the commentary of Rashi, his grandfather. ¹ According to Martin Lockshin's statistical analysis of the commentary, “approximately fifty percent of the commentaries of Rashbam in his commentary to the Torah are intended to challenge the commentary of Rashi.” ² In most of these cases, the polemic with Rashi is indirect—Rashbam did not mention Rashi, and without comparing the passage to Rashi's commentary the reader cannot know that Rashbam was arguing with him. In dozens of passages the polemic is more transparent—Rashbam posited that his interpretation was “according to the plain meaning of the verse” (lefi peshuto or lefi peshuto shel mikra’, or similar language), ³ suggesting that in the background lies a different commentary, one that, according to Rashbam, does not reflect the plain meaning of the text. ⁴

The polemic with Rashi is reflected in another surprising way: in several places Rashbam attacked Rashi's commentary in sharp, scathing language, and even though he did not mention Rashi by name, there is no doubt that the Rashbam's readers knew very well to whom he was referring. ⁵ Such is the case in the commentary on Genesis 49:9: “Judah is a lion's whelp; from the prey, my son [mi-teref beni], you have gone up. He crouches down, he stretches out like a lion, like a lioness—who dares rouse him up?” ⁶ Rashi, following Bereshit Rabbah, understood Jacob's words to Judah to be the attack on Joseph, while Rashbam assumed that they referred to a prophecy about the future. ⁷ Rashbam added the following comment: “Whoever explains this phrase as referring to the sale of Joseph has no understanding of either the context of the verse or the punctuation of the cantillation signs.” ⁸ The sharpness of this comment has led several scholars to doubt that Rashbam was indeed addressing Rashi. Their arguments are not convincing. ⁹

No less caustic is Rashbam's commentary to Genesis 45:28: “Israel said, ‘Enough! [Rav] My son Joseph is still alive. I must go and see him before I die.’” Rashi, following Targum Onkelos, interpreted the word rav to mean “much” or “great” and added the missing subject, while Rashbam interpreted it as “enough.” ¹⁰ Rashbam also added the following comment: “Other interpretations of this text are contrived and foolish.” This caustic remark led some scholars to argue that it could not have been written by Rashbam but was the addition of a scribe. There is no persuasive argument for this suggestion. ¹¹

In several places Rashbam uses a formula to refute Rashi, by first stating (without mentioning Rashi's name), “[and] he who interprets” (ve-ha-mefarsho or ha-mefaresh), then summarizing Rashi's commentary, sometimes only briefly, and finally sharply criticizing his interpretation. For example:

“he who interprets […] this interpretation is also folly [hevel]” (Genesis 1:1);

“he who interprets […] is mistaken […] and he who interprets […] is mistaken according to the plain meaning” (Genesis 33:18);

“he who interprets […] one should be astonished [litmoha]” (Genesis 36:24);

“he who interprets […] has absolutely no understanding of the profundities of the plain meaning of Scripture” (Genesis 49:16);

“he who interprets […] is false [sheker]” (Exodus 2:2);

“he who interprets […] is mistaken” (Exodus 2:6);

“he who interprets […] must bring a comparable example” (Exodus 12:7);

“he who interprets […] is mistaken” (Exodus 19:23);

“he who interprets […] is, following the plain sense of Scripture, mistaken” (Numbers 30:3);

“he who interprets […] must be mistaken” (Deuteronomy 32:10). ¹²

Also, in a slightly different format:

“he who connects [ha-medamehu, …] is a fool [shoteh]” (Exodus 34:29); ¹³

and in the plural:

“those who interpret […] are mistaken” (Numbers 22:33); and “those who interpret […] they are offering a silly explanation” (Deuteronomy 15:18). ¹⁴

Here too he is referring primarily, if not exclusively, to Rashi. Rashbam used this recurring format in another place, although instead of the generic citation “he who interprets,” there he referred openly to Rashi: ¹⁵

Look at what my grandfather, may the memory of the righteous be for a blessing, explained concerning the verse “Are trees of the field human to withdraw before you into the besieged city” [Deuteronomy 20:19]. [He explained that it means]: “Perhaps [you think that] trees of the field are like people and they should withdraw before you into the besieged city and [should not] stand up against you?” That interpretation is folly. Who would be so idiotic or foolish as to think that the tree has the same powers as human beings? ¹⁶

At the heart of this controversy lies a differing understanding of the syntax of the verse: Rashi had interpreted the verse as a rhetorical question, ¹⁷ whereas Rashbam saw it as an unequivocal statement.

Rashbam knew Rashi's commentary well and thus he certainly knew, as would any unbiased reader, that Rashi had not aspired to interpret every passage according to the principles of peshat (the plain meaning of the text). ¹⁸ On the contrary, Rashi's commentary to the Torah was based primarily on the classical midrashim (rabbinic homilies); his interpretations according to the plain meaning of the text are much less frequent, and sometimes it is not clear if Rashi intended to interpret according to the peshat or according to the derash (homiletic approach). ¹⁹ Perhaps he occasionally interpreted according to a specific midrash because he believed that it reflected the plain meaning of the text. ²⁰ Still, these instances do not alter the general picture—Rashi made relatively limited use of peshat interpretation in his Torah commentary. This clearly should not be seen as an exegetical failure. ²¹

Rashi himself declared openly that he would interpret the Torah both according to the derash and according to the peshat. He wrote in his commentary to Genesis 3:8: “And I have come only for the plain meaning of the Scriptures [peshuto shel mikra’] and for an aggadah [rabbinic homily] that settles [meyashevet] the words of the verses, each word in its proper place” (or: “the words of the verses and their proper meaning”). ²²

Rashbam pointed to Rashi's declaration of methodology in his commentary to Genesis 3:8 to distinguish his own exegetical methodology. ²³ Stating “And I [va-’ani; contrasting wāw ²⁴ ] have come only for peshuto shel mikra’ and for ’aggadah meyashevet,” Rashi differentiated his commentary from rabbinic literature (“Bereshit Rabbah and other midrashim,” ibid.). Rashbam, paraphrasing Rashi, wrote: “And I [va-’ani; contrasting wāw] have come only to explain the straightforward sense of the text [peshutan shel mikra'ot],” ²⁵ and similarly distinguished his commentary from Rashi's by saying “the commentary of R. Solomon, my mother's father, may the mention of the righteous be for blessing” (ibid.). Rashbam's awareness of Rashi's extensive reliance on rabbinic midrashim and the derash method of exegesis is expressed explicitly at the beginning of this passage: “For Jewish law and legend reveal themselves through the superfluous words in the text. Some of the halakhot will be found in the commentary of R. Solomon.” ²⁶

Peshat and derash are two separate exegetical methods, based on different hermeneutical principles, with distinct objectives. A peshat commentator will interpret Scripture on the basis of language and syntactic structure, in keeping with the context and the structure of the narrative unit, with reference to other biblical passages, according to reason and logic and the way of the human world (derekh ’ereẓ). In contrast to the peshat commentator, the commentator using the derash method is not committed to these exegetical principles and is free to ignore all or some of them as he sees fit. ²⁷ Accordingly, there is no logic in comparing a peshat commentary to a derash commentary, and no benefit to assessing a derash commentary by means of the analytical tools of the peshat method. ²⁸ It is possible to construct criteria for assessing derash commentaries—for example, to conclude that a specific derash commentary is more educational, pleasant, brief, and so forth, and on that basis to prefer it to a commentary that is less educational, pleasant, or brief. ²⁹ However, these are external criteria and they indicate nothing about the absolute value of the derash commentary. But a peshat commentary can certainly be compared to another peshat commentary on the basis of their conformity to the principles associated with this exegetical method. Thus one may determine that one peshat commentary is more exact or accurate, than another peshat commentary, because it more successfully considers the information revealed in the text, more fully accounting for the verse's language, syntax, narrative context, and so forth. ³⁰ In his methodological comments Rashbam presents a detailed and sophisticated hermeneutical model that clarifies to his readers that the objectives and underlying principles of the peshat and derash methods are entirely distinct from each other and that each method is important in its own right. ³¹

Since Rashbam was aware that Rashi frequently interpreted according to the derash method, it is not surprising that his comments refuting Rashi's commentary reflect the fundamental differences between the two methods. Sometimes, Rashbam indicates that Rashi interpreted according to derash, while he himself was interpreting according to peshat; alternatively, Rashbam acknowledges that Rashi interpreted according to peshat, but did not pay due attention to one of its exegetical parameters (language, syntax, narrative context, and so forth), and as a result his own peshat interpretation was preferable. But frequently Rashbam's polemical comments regarding Rashi's commentary go beyond these templates of criticism and reflect a more complex methodological perspective. Four representative examples will suffice to illustrate this point:

1. 1. Genesis 28:12: “And he dreamed, and behold a ladder set up on the earth, and the top of it reached to heaven; and behold the angels of God ascending and descending on it.” Rashi, following Bereshit Rabbah, made the fine distinction that the verse first indicated that the angels went up the ladder and only afterwards that they went down it; from this he deduced that the angels were on earth. ³² Rashbam clarified that “according to the plain meaning of Scripture, the fact that ‘going up’ is written before ‘going down’ requires no explanation, because people usually mention ascending before descending.” The words “according to the plain meaning of Scripture” (le-fi ha-peshat) were thus intended to clarify to his readers that Rashi's commentary followed the derash method, not the peshat.

2. 2. Exodus 12:7: “They shall take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and the lintel [ha-mashkof] of the houses in which they eat it.” Rashi derived the word ha-mashkof from the Aramaic root shin-kuf-peh, known from rabbinic Aramaic, whose meaning is parallel to the Hebrew root ḥet-bet-tet (meaning “to bang”): “Ha-mashkof—it is the upper [part] against which the door bangs when they close it, in Old French lintel. [The term] shkifa [means] ‘banging,’ as, ‘the sound of a rustling leaf’ [Leviticus 26:36]—de-shakif [Onkelos].” ³³ Rashbam, in contrast, derived the word mashkof from the Hebrew root shin-kuf-peh (meaning “to look,” lehaskif): “Ha-mashkof—The upper threshold that is visible to all at the entrance of the house [etymologically it means “looking out”], as ‘Abimelech king of the Philistines, looking out of the window’ [Genesis 26:8].” Rashbam also added the following comment: “One who explains it as having the sense of being the part of the frame that ‘butts’ against the door must bring a comparable example with this meaning from the Torah or the Prophets—in Hebrew.” In his comment Rashbam seems to suggest that while Rashi interpreted according to peshat, his interpretation failed to take into account the important distinction between Biblical Hebrew, rabbinic Hebrew, and Aramaic. ³⁴

3. 3. Genesis 49:16: “Dan shall govern his people, as one [ke-’aḥad] of the tribes of Israel.” Rashi identified Jacob's words to Dan with Samson and read the word ke-'aḥad “as one” as part of the predicate—ke-'eḥad: “As one of the tribes of Israel—All Israel will be as one with him, and he will vindicate them all. [Jacob] prophesied this prophecy about Samson.” Rashbam took issue with this interpretation, saying: “He who interprets this verse as referring to Samson has absolutely no understanding of the profundities of the plain meaning of Scripture. Did Jacob intend to prophesy about one single man who fell into the hands of the Philistines and they ‘gouged out his eyes’ [Judges 16:21] and he died among the Philistines in an unhappy manner? God forbid, God forbid!” While it is unclear whether Rashi thought that the verse referred to Samson according to the peshat or the derash, ³⁵ there is little doubt that Rashbam assessed Rashi's interpretation according to the analytical tools of the peshat method, arguing that in Genesis 49 Jacob prophesizes the good fortune of each of the tribes, ³⁶ and therefore he cannot accept the possibility that these words refer to Samson, “one single man” whose fortune is not good.

4. 4. Genesis 33:18: “And Jacob came [to] Shalem [a] city of Shechem, which is in the land of Canaan, on his way from Paddan-aram; and he camped before the city.” Rashi, following the Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 33b, interpreted the word shalem as describing the personal condition of Jacob, and accordingly interpreted the word shechem as the name of a city: “Shalem—intact bodily, for he was cured of his limp, intact regarding his money, for he did not lose anything as a result of that gift [which he gave to Esau], intact in his Torah, that while he was in the house of Laban he did not forget what he had learned. City of Shechem—the word ‘ir [city] is equivalent to le-‘ir [to the city of]. Similarly we have ‘So the two of them went Bethlehem’ [Ruth 1:19]—to Bethlehem.” But Rashbam declared that shalem was the name of the city of the man named Shechem mentioned in Genesis 34: “City of Shechem—Shechem's city, similarly, ‘Now Heshbon was ‘ir Sihon—the city of Sihon king of the Amorites’ [Numbers 21:26], as it is written, ‘Shechem son of Hamor, the Hivite, chief of the country, saw her’ [Genesis 34:2].” Rashbam rejected Rashi's commentary on the basis of a recurring pattern that he discovered in the Bible: “He who interprets shechem as the name of a city is mistaken, for one never finds anywhere a phrase like ‘ir Sihon or ‘ir Yerushalayim; the word ha-‘ir follows the name of the city [cf. e.g. Jonah 1:2: ha-‘ir ha-gedolah].” He also rejected Rashi's interpretation based on one of its components: the idea that Jacob was “intact regarding his money” fits neither with the style of the biblical text nor with the details of the story: “Whoever understands shalem in this verse as meaning ‘with his learning undiminished and his money undiminished’ is mistaken, for that is not proper biblical style. Also, why should the text have to write such a thing? Is it necessary to write this just because of the diminution caused by the present that Jacob gave Esau?” Even if Rashi thought that according to the peshat the purpose of the word shalem was to describe Jacob, ³⁷ it is more difficult to suppose that the three aspects mentioned in the midrash (physical, spiritual, and financial well-being) could all be derived from the straightforward meaning of the text. In this case Rashbam evaluated a derash commentary (or at least various details based on derash) on the basis of the analytical tools of the peshat method.

These complex examples reveal that Rashbam was aware of the essential differences between the peshat and derash methods, and knew that Rashi often interpreted according to the derash. In the first example, he was explicit in signaling that Rashi's commentary was according to derash, not peshat, and in the second example, that Rashi's peshat commentary was inadequate because he had not considered all of the textual features of the text. Rashbam sometimes challenged Rashi's commentary in strong language, judging his derash commentary on the basis of peshat criteria, effectively presenting it as a failed attempt to interpret according to peshat (examples 3 and, especially, 4). If all we knew about Rashbam's commentary were polemical comments such as these, we would conclude that Rashbam did not understand Rashi's exegetical methodology at all and was not aware of the futility of assessing a derash commentary on the basis of the principles of peshat. ³⁸

Several additional factors further complicate the picture of Rashbam's approach to Rashi's Torah commentary. At times Rashbam seems to indicate that his commentary was a completion of Rashi's commentary. In his commentary to Exodus 28:6, he wrote: “They shall make the ephod—My grandfather explained [this portion]. However, I will explain the items in ways that were never explained before.” Similarly, in his introduction to his interpretation of Exodus 25 (the weekly Torah portion Terumah): “As to the periscopes of the tabernacle, and breastplate and the ephod—if I am brief there, they may be found in the commentaries of Rabbi Solomon, my maternal grandfather, of blessed memory.” Likewise in the opening of his commentary to the book of Leviticus: “There are many laws [in this book]. Scholars should study the interpretations of my grandfather, for I will elaborate only on passages where the plain meaning of the text requires explanation.” ³⁹ However, a thorough examination of Rashbam's commentary suggests that its purpose, ultimately, was not necessarily to complete Rashi's commentary. Rashbam's commentary is a detailed and integral work that stands on its own. Even though a large part of Rashbam's commentary challenges Rashi's interpretation, it is not dependent on it. In fact, the reader does not need Rashi's commentary to understand Rashbam or to use it to accompany the reading of the Torah. ⁴⁰

Rashbam encouraged his readers to study both his commentary and Rashi's because this simultaneous reading would enable them to understand the meaning of the verse according to both the peshat and the derash. In his words: “Whoever is attentive to the word of our Creator, let him not stray from the explanations of my grandfather Solomon, and not budge from them. For most of the laws and midrashim in them are close to the straightforward meaning of the texts, ⁴¹ or can be derived from superfluous expressions or variations in the language. It is best that you grasp what I have explained without letting go of the other.” ⁴² This passage is problematic in several ways. It will suffice to say that despite Rashi's strong devotion to midrashim (particularly in the legal sections of the Torah) his commentary is not a complete, seamless fusion of the Written and Oral Laws, nor is it possible to see his commentary as a collection of midrashim comprehensively expressing the spirit of the oral tradition. ⁴³ It would have been more logical, and more predictable, for Rashbam to have encouraged his readers to study his commentary along with the midrashim on each verse, a combination that would allow them to reflect on the meaning of the verse from the perspective of both peshat and derash.

These two points raise another difficulty. Rashbam's commentary includes dozens of cases in which his interpretation is identical or strikingly similar to Rashi's. ⁴⁴ If Rashbam's commentary was to be a completion of Rashi's, there would be no benefit or logic to these repetitions. Similarly, the repetitions are of no value if the reader had to read through both commentaries in order to cover all the relevant interpretations of the verse. ⁴⁵ Above all, Rashbam's comments that his intention was to complete Rashi's commentary, or that the reader should read both commentaries, clash with his polemical comments against Rashi, especially those comments that imply that Rashi failed in his exegetical mission.

Previous Attempts to Characterize Rashbam's Approach to Rashi's Commentary

Several scholars have suggested that, in accordance with Rashbam's explicit assertions, his commentary should be viewed as a completion of Rashi's. ⁴⁶ Some scholars even argue that Rashbam's commentary was not an independent work but rather a series of notes in the margins of Rashi's commentary. ⁴⁷

Others have suggested more complex explanations for the relationship between the two scholars, arguing that there was a specific methodology to Rashbam's references to Rashi's commentary—in places where Rashbam wanted to be brief he referred his readers to additional information in Rashi's commentary, or he referred them to Rashi's commentary, because, in his opinion, Rashi connected the verses to Halakhah. ⁴⁸ These suggestions have merit but can explain only some of the passages linking Rashbam's commentary to Rashi's.

What seems to have been most disconcerting to many scholars is Rashbam's sharp comments about Rashi. Some have rejected them outright and suggested that in some cases Rashbam argued with another commentator and not with Rashi, or that scribes had added the comments. ⁴⁹ Others have attempted to minimize the acerbity of the comments by emphasizing that Rashbam valued Rashi's work, and that his critical comments were minor methodological disagreements. ⁵⁰ It is clear that there is no reason for these exaggerated efforts.

Still others have suggested that Rashbam's polemical comments towards Rashi stem from Rashbam's exegetical objective to emphasize that Rashi's commentary does not represent the simple meaning of the biblical text. ⁵¹ Although this theory is correct, it also cannot fully explain the complexity of Rashbam's treatment of Rashi's commentary.

Most of the scholarly references to the question of Rashbam's approach to Rashi's commentary have focused on describing the relevant passages and presenting them side by side without attempting to provide a comprehensive explanation for them. ⁵² This approach is not surprising. The textual data before us does not lead to a systematic, comprehensive solution. This difficulty is exacerbated by the fact that we are dealing with Rashbam, the greatest of the peshat commentators in the Middle Ages, whose commentary is noted for being exceptionally methodical for its time. ⁵³ As scholars have emphasized, his exegetical solutions and attention to the linguistic and literary features of the text reveal a systematic way of thought and a cohesive analytical approach. His approach to the commentary of Rashi, an approach that among other things has been called “complex,” ⁵⁴ “ambiguous,” ⁵⁵ “multi-faceted,” ⁵⁶ “surprising,” ⁵⁷ “ambivalent,” and “puzzling,” ⁵⁸ is therefore atypical of both his commentary as a whole and his exegetical principles.

In their search for a unifying logic or line of thought (like a hidden key) in Rashbam's complex commentaries, scholars have been hesitant to use extratextual data to explain the texts, except in cases when such factors can be identified historically as having influenced the author. ⁵⁹ For example, various emphases in Rashi's and Rashbam's commentaries, and even certain deviations from their standard methodologies, can be better understood in light of Jewish-Christian polemic. ⁶⁰ The influence of Christian polemic on Rashi and Rashbam's deliberations may reveal a recurring pattern where a system had previously seemed absent.

Very different and much more complicated are those cases in which the external factor influencing the writer cannot be identified historically because it involves personal and emotional aspects. Although the assumption that a scholar is liable to understand the latent and unconscious motives of the writer better than the writer does himself is not a new idea, ⁶¹ scholars hesitate to consider personal aspects and psychological motives as a basis for textual analysis, judging that these are merely reflections of an individual and subjective inner life, rather than concrete factors that have shaped the text. ⁶² To overcome such a reluctance, it may be useful to pursue a theoretical model that demonstrates that the complexity of this case is analogous to other relationships between writers that display a common pattern of behavior, and that the personal and subjective perspective, in part unconscious, ultimately has its own logic.

“Anxiety of Influence”

Rashbam's approach to Rashi's Torah commentary, both along general lines and in most of its details, conforms to the model of “the anxiety of influence” proposed by the American theoretician Harold Bloom, who portrayed the connections between writers as relationships with oedipal characteristics, sometimes using the Freudian expression “family romances.” ⁶³ Several necessary historical details and textual features can be added to this model. Although Bloom dealt primarily with the literary influence between poets, ⁶⁴ his book and subsequent research are filled with quotations and examples from literature, plays, and philosophy, and it is clear that he did not limit the model of the “anxiety of influence” to a specific genre. ⁶⁵ Bloom aspired to create a universal theory of the creative mind and to present a timeless model, independent of historical, social, or cultural factors. ⁶⁶ Bloom's model can successfully explain the network of complex connections between one artist and another, connections between poets, writers, and playwrights, connections between theorists and thinkers, ⁶⁷ and connections between biblical commentators. ⁶⁸

According to Bloom, a later writer (“ephebe”) was recognized by his aggressive and competitive attitude toward an earlier writer (“precursor”) or literary work. The later writer is like a son who challenges his father (or fathers) yet at the same time, against his will, remains in the artistic domain of his father. In reaction to this unbearable state of affairs, the later writer is forced to “misread” the works of the father. ⁶⁹ The “strong father,” from the strength of his position and the fact that he exists earlier in time, restrains, paralyzes, and stifles new voices. The son tries to appropriate the work of the father and to rewrite it, and at the same time to pretend that he is not under his constant influence. He tries to convince others that the words of the father need a new and strengthened realization, his realization. The creation of the son, as it were, contains a process that revises the creation of the father, who had acted properly until a certain point, the point from which the son took over.

The complex relationship of the later writer with the earlier writer or literary work is expressed in several ways (“revisionary movements”) ⁷⁰ that complement each other, sometimes contradict each other, and share an element of self-defense against influence. ⁷¹ Bloom proposed to consolidate these methods into six that “seem to be minimal and essential” ⁷² and he dedicated each of them its own chapter in his book and in subsequent discussions in his other works. ⁷³

“Anxiety of Influence” in Rashbam's Commentary

According to Bloom, the later writer aspires to revise the work of his precursor, to actualize and intensify the direction in which he was going until, for various reasons, he left the correct path. ⁷⁴ This idea is clearly and decisively expressed in Rashbam's commentary to Genesis 37:2:

Rabbi Solomon, my mother's father, who illumined the eyes of all the Diaspora, who wrote commentaries on the Torah, Prophets, and Hagiographa, set out to explain the plain meaning of Scripture. However I, Samuel, son of his son-in-law, Meir—may the memory of the righteous be a blessing—[often] disputed [his interpretations] with him to his face. He admitted to me that, if only he had had the time, he would have written new [revised] commentaries, based on the insights into the plain meaning of Scripture that are newly thought of day by day.

Rashbam cited the words of Rashi because he realized that his own exegetical method, which was innovative and very different from Rashi's approach, needed legitimization. ⁷⁵ In fact, Rashbam's exegetical method was not always understood properly and his commentary was seen as a challenge to the Jewish legal tradition. ⁷⁶ From Rashi's words to Rashbam, it is possible to conclude that Rashi himself was unable to realize his exegetical goals and that it was he, Rashbam, who realized and fulfilled them.

The phrase “the plain meanings of Scripture that are newly thought of day by day” expresses with utmost clarity the peshat method's “principle of relativity”: the rules of the peshat method do not change, but the knowledge of the commentators becomes more sophisticated and therefore there is a reason to go back and interpret the Bible again and again. ⁷⁷ As we have noted, peshat is only one aspect, sometimes marginal, of Rashi's Torah commentary, and it is clear that Rashi's exegetical aim was not to interpret according to peshat alone. However, in his words to Rashbam (if in fact he said them) there is no hint that a significant part of his commentary is based on classical midrashim and, in fact, on the derash method. If one were to evaluate Rashi's commentary in light of the words that Rashbam quotes him as saying, one would conclude that Rashi began to interpret according the peshat method, but, for some reason, constantly deviated from it. Rashbam's commentary would therefore be viewed as the natural and desired extension of Rashi's commentary, because it continues, as it were, from the point at which Rashi deviated from the correct path.

It is possible to understand Rashbam's declarations that he intended only to complete Rashi's commentary in the same line of thought. At the heart of these declarations stands the feeling of the “son” who remains at all times, against his will, in the domain of the “forefather,” with no way of escape. This is a psychological point of departure rather than a structured methodological principle, as suggested by several scholars, and therefore it is not surprising that it left a clear mark on the commentary, although this mark is not systematic or consistent.

According to Bloom, the strong tension in the relationship of the later writer to his precursor is intricately expressed in two slightly contradictory stages. The later writer appropriates and rewrites the words of his precursor, but at the same time, the later writer does not acknowledge that he is under the constant influence of the precursor (and possibly is not entirely aware how much he is influenced by him). This complexity is clearly expressed in Rashbam's attitude to Rashi. Appropriation and rewriting are apparent in his extensive use of Rashi's language without declaring its source. I do not refer to the dozens of cases in which Rashbam's commentary is identical or strikingly similar to Rashi's, but rather to the tens, and perhaps hundreds, of instances in which Rashbam's commentary is entirely original and yet composed of Rashi's idiomatic choice of words. ⁷⁸ This appropriation and rewriting reach their apogee in those places in which Rashbam uses Rashi's language in order to present a conclusion contrary to Rashi's, sometimes in an openly polemical manner. This is the case in several of the examples mentioned earlier. In his commentary to Genesis 49:16 Rashbam writes: “Dan shall govern his people—will exact the vengeance of his people […] as it is written ‘The LORD will exact vengeance [yadin] for His people … He will avenge the blood of his servants and wreak vengeance on his foes’ [Deuteronomy 32:36, 43].” These words are a paraphrase of Rashi's commentary on the verse: “Dan shall govern his people—he will avenge the vengeance of his people from the Philistines, as ‘For the LORD will vindicate His people’ [Deuteronomy 32:36].” However, in his commentary, Rashbam expresses his disagreement with Rashi in strong language. Similarly, in his commentary to Genesis 33:18, Rashbam cites the following prooftext: “Similarly, ‘So the two of them went [to] Bethlehem’ [Ruth 1:19].” These words are taken from Rashi's commentary: “Similarly we have ‘So the two of them went Bethlehem’ [Ruth 1:19]—to Bethlehem.” As we have seen, also in this case, Rashbam strongly disagrees with Rashi and explains the root of the argument using Rashi's language: “for he did not lose anything as a result of that doron [i.e. gift which he gave to Esau]”—“Is it necessary to write this just because of the diminution caused by the doron that Jacob gave Esau?” This phenomenon reveals exactly that tension described by Bloom, in which the later writer adopts and rewrites the words of his predecessor, and yet remains all the while under his influence.

The appropriation and the rewriting are expressed in the later writer's use of his precursor's terminology, while giving it a different meaning, purportedly more precise and accurate. ⁷⁹ The extensive use that Rashbam makes of the linguistic root peh-shin-tet [the root of the word peshat] in its various declensions can serve as an example of this fascinating phenomenon. As scholars have concluded, in contrast to Rashi, for whom the meaning of the term peshat is not yet “defined and formulated in his mind,” “in the commentary of Rashbam, the grandson of Rashi, we find […] the use of exact terminology in all that belongs to the category of peshat.” ⁸⁰ The identical terminology serves as a touchstone for scholars in comparing between Rashi and Rashbam. Thus, that which was “unripe,” “unclear,” and “intuitive” in the grandfather's commentary became “defined” and “formulated” in the grandson's commentary. ⁸¹ These assessments correspond to the pattern of activity of the “son” in Bloom's model, who attempts to revise the work of the “father” in order to actualize and intensify the direction in which the father was progressing until, for various reasons, he deviated from the correct path.

Rashbam's frequent use of the root peh-shin-tet reflects a further stage described by Bloom: the later writer adopts a certain characteristic of his precursor but traces this characteristic to some vague ancient source, rather than to the earlier writer. In this way the later writer minimizes the accomplishments and unique contributions of the precursor, thus cutting himself off from his influence. ⁸² As it is known, the root peh-shin-tet is repeated only a few times in rabbinic literature and its methodological meaning there is unclear. ⁸³ In both of his more detailed and significant methodological comments, Rashbam conditions the importance of a peshat commentary, and in fact the very legitimacy of his own commentary, on the principle that “a verse never departs from its plain meaning [peshuto],” mentioned in the words of Rav Kahana in tractate Shabbat of the Babylonian Talmud (63a). ⁸⁴ In his commentary to Genesis 1:1: “Let the wise understand that all of our rabbis’ words and midrashic explanations are honest and true. So it is written in tractate Shabbat, ‘I was eighteen years old [and I had studied the entire Talmud], and I had never realized that a verse never departs from its plain meaning.’” Similarly, in his commentary to Genesis 37:2: “Let those who love reason know and understand that which our sages taught us, ‘A verse never departs from its meaning.’” From these comments it would appear that the peshat method was known and understood by the rabbis of the talmudic period, ⁸⁵ although Rav Kahana's statement clearly shows that the method of peshat and the principle “a verse never departs from its plain meaning” were not known to him at all. Rashbam's presentation suggests that the method and principles of peshat are an eternal truth known to all since ancient times, and has reached its realization in his own commentary. ⁸⁶ Thus he obscures and perhaps even deliberately conceals the fact that it was Rashi who made the root peh-shin-tet current in biblical commentary and gave it its clearly defined methodological meaning. ⁸⁷

Bloom noticed another very interesting phenomenon: the later writer weakens himself, even humbles himself, in an act of “self-emptying” or “self-crippling” and thus, as it were, cuts himself off from the influence of the precursor in “a movement towards discontinuity with the precursor.” ⁸⁸ It would appear that this sophisticated act is expressed in Rashbam's candid declaration in his commentary to Genesis 37:2: “Due to their piety, the earliest scholars tended to devote their time to midrashic explanations, which are the essence of Torah.” If the disregard of peshat by the “earliest scholars” (ha-rishonim), that is Rashi, is testimony to their great piety, what can be deduced about the character of Rashbam himself, who focused on peshat? Rashbam's language implies that his area of activity, the discovery of the simple meaning of the text, is an indication of a certain stain on his character. ⁸⁹

As Bloom noted, in the stage of self-weakening there is also some fascinating revisionist logic. As we have seen, self-weakening severs the later writer from the influence of the precursor. However, this stance cannot completely cancel out such a strong influence. The result is that the precursor is also hurt and weakened, because it is he who paved the controversial way in which the later writer followed. ⁹⁰ Rashi's admission that if he had been able to he would have written new commentaries, in other words, written Rashbam's commentary, ⁹¹ and the comment that Rashi devoted a certain amount of attention to peshat ⁹² were intended to grant legitimacy to Rashbam's choice of the peshat method. At the same time, in keeping with the complexity pointed out by Bloom, these details also raise a question about Rashi's own level of piety.

For Rashbam, and in fact also for other medieval Jewish biblical commentators, Rashi corresponds completely to what Bloom called a “strong father.” The works of a “strong father” are the basic and fundamental point of departure for the “son,” the later writer. Rashbam's sources have not yet been fully revealed ⁹³ and it is entirely possible that in time additional sources that shaped his work will come to light. However, these sources will not challenge our impression that Rashbam remained always in Rashi's realm of influence. It appears that Rashbam continuously read Rashi's commentary as he worked on writing his own commentary. ⁹⁴ His dependence on Rashi is accentuated by the methodological differences between the commentaries. As we have seen, Rashbam held fast to the peshat method (almost) without exception, whereas peshat played a relatively small role in Rashi's Torah commentary. Therefore, there is no methodological imperative to conclude that it was only natural that Rashbam saw Rashi's commentary as his first point of reference. Further, the fact that Rashbam was Rashi's grandson would not necessarily have led him to regard Rashi's commentary as a necessary point of departure. There are examples from the world of medieval biblical commentary that demonstrate that family ties do not in every circumstance lead to the clinging dependence of the later exegete on his precursor. ⁹⁵

This complex situation may explain the scholarly debate over the question of Rashbam's approach to Rashi's Torah commentary. On the one hand, scholars who focus on the idea that Rashi was the starting point for Rashbam's commentary naturally conclude from Rashbam's declarations of intent to complete Rashi's commentary that this was in fact his primary goal. On the other hand, scholars who focus their research on Rashi's and Rashbam's differing exegetical methodologies naturally emphasize Rashbam's independence and conclude that his statements of intent cannot be used to correctly define his objectives.

Bloom compares the precursor, the strong father, to the “covering cherub” ⁹⁶ who guards the entrance to the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3:24) (to which the artist, as it were, aspires to penetrate by means of his works) or to the “shielding cherub” from Ezekiel's prophecy (28:13). ⁹⁷ This strong father, from the force of his very essence, stifles new voices. It is possible that this limiting and paralyzing influence is one explanation (and perhaps the primary one) for the fact that Rashbam wrote his commentary to the Torah at a very late stage in his life, between the years 1145–53, many years after Rashi's death. The terminus a quo is determined by the approximate date of the death of his father, Rabbi Meir, whom Rashbam refers to as deceased, ⁹⁸ and by the time of the composition of the work Midrash sekhel tov by Menachem ben Shlomo and the “short commentary” of Abraham Ibn Ezra, traces of which appear in Rashbam's commentary. ⁹⁹ The terminus ad quem is determined by the time of the composition of another Torah commentary by Ibn Ezra, in which traces of Rashbam's commentary appear. ¹⁰⁰ In other words, Rashbam wrote his commentary to the Torah over forty years after Rashi's death, and about seventy years after Rashi wrote his commentary. ¹⁰¹ However, it would appear that Rashbam worked on his commentary for many years before its final composition. Indirect evidence for this is found his commentary to Genesis 37:2, quoted above, according to which Rashbam discussed exegetical issues with Rashi. ¹⁰² Further evidence can be found in the commentary to the Pentateuch of Hugh of Saint-Victor, which he wrote before 1125, several passages of which indicate a connection to Rashbam's commentaries, which can be explained by Hugh's specific interest in the Jewish exegetical tradition and Rashbam's connection to Christian scholars of his time. ¹⁰³ It is very plausible, as certain scholars surmise, that the two men actually met. ¹⁰⁴ If this hypothesis is correct, it may also indicate that Rashbam worked on his commentary to the Torah for many years, yet for an unknown reason did not commit it to writing. This behavior corresponds to the influence of the “covering cherub,” who paralyzes the son and prevents him from creating.

The later writer thus remains against his will in his precursor's realm of influence, and, this “strong father” restrains and paralyzes him. This unbearable situation drives the later writer to develop an aggressive approach to the precursor and to “misread” his work. ¹⁰⁵ Those instances in which Rashbam strongly and offensively rejects Rashi's commentary may be understood as expressions of this phenomenon. There is no logic or benefit to assessing exegetical solutions arrived at by the derash method according to the criteria of the peshat method. Assessing Rashi's Torah commentary on the basis of the assumption that he held to the peshat in every case reflects a basic, fundamental lack of understanding of his exegetical objectives. Only someone who misread Rashi's derash commentaries, which are based on midrashim, could conclude that Rashi tried to interpret according to peshat but failed. Only an exegete whose relationship with the earlier exegete was particularly complicated—so complicated that the later exegete remained in an almost pathological way in the creative sphere of the earlier exegete—could express aggression as strong as that revealed in Rashbam's scathing comments about Rashi.

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Rashbam's attitude towards Rashi's Torah commentary reveals an intriguingly complex and contradictory approach, atypical of Rashbam's commentary as a whole, a work characterized by systematic methodology and great clarity. His literary relationship with his precursor is marked by innovation and continuity, methodological independence and linguistic dependence, open esteem and flagrant aggression, admiration and refutation. As scholars have previously argued, Rashbam referred his readers to Rashi's commentary in several places in which he chose to be brief, and he referred them to Rashi's commentary in other places in which he thought that Rashi connected the verses to halakhot. He sought to emphasize that Rashi's commentary was not a faithful representation of the peshat method and therefore frequently challenged Rashi's interpretations. ¹⁰⁶ However, these explanations can account for only a part of the relationship between Rashbam's and Rashi's commentaries.

A theoretical, extratextual model, such as Harold Bloom's “anxiety of influence,” demonstrates that the complexity revealed in the textual data, rather than an isolated phenomenon, is characteristic of the connections between other writers. Although it does not simplify Rashbam's relationship to Rashi, it helps us understand that this fraught relationship expresses a pattern of creative human behavior and thus explain more easily what appear to be inherent contradictions and astonishing statements. Most important, it allows us to comprehend those comments in which Rashbam presents himself as intending to complete Rashi's commentary, and yet attacks him with offensive language.

This is not to say that Rashbam's relationship to Rashi's commentary solely reflects emotional dimensions. The emotional aspect, the Bloomian “anxiety of influence,” is integrally connected to Rashbam's methodological awareness, to the systematic principles of his work, and to his own recognition that his commentary is fundamentally different from Rashi's. The complexity of Rashbam's connection to his grandfather's commentary can be understood only as a combination of these two disparate elements, the fundamental-methodological on one hand and the emotional on the other hand.

An entirely different question is to what extent the “anxiety of influence” model is revealed in Rashbam's other works, the commentary to the Talmud (of which only a small part has survived), which is believed to have been written before the commentary on the Torah, and the commentaries to the books of Job, Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Songs, which apparently were written after the commentary to the Torah. In the Talmud commentary, which is not different methodologically from Rashi's commentary, it is possible to identify revisionist stages, although it is not always clear if the “strong father” with whom Rashbam struggles is Rashi alone. ¹⁰⁷ Rashbam's commentaries to other books of the Bible reveal a very interesting development in his approach to Rashi, which corresponds along general lines to the development of the relationship of the later writer to the precursor as formulated by Bloom. ¹⁰⁸ This matter requires extensive analysis in its own right.