Neziqin (literally “damages,” the laws of contract, tort, civil and criminal law); Qedoshim, “holy things” (the laws of sacrifice); and Tohorot (the laws of purity). The orders are subdivided into 63 tractates (massekhtot) whose titles alone offer a fair representation of the Rabbinic legal agenda as a whole: this is set out in compressed formulations and often terse language which evidently assumes a fair degree of prior knowledge on the student’s part. Apparent digressions from what may be taken to be the main topics of the tractates are by no means unknown; but concern to establish correct legal norms to be put into practice (halakhah) is foregrounded, even though recorded disputes between legal authorities do not always conclude with clear, unambiguous decisions on particular points. The Mishnah’s digressions and mini-narratives appear from time to time to illustrate and discuss an event or series of events in the life of a Rabbi, or to pass comment on some practice or institution; and such information, taken along with the technical legal discussions, suggests that the Mishnah has a broad vision of Jewish life and culture as a whole (Neusner 1981; Avery-Peck and Neusner 2006).
Closely associated with the Mishnah is the Tosefta (English translation Neusner 2002), which it closely resembles in outward form: its six orders are those of the Mishnah, and of the Mishnah’s 63 tractates it lacks only four. The texts of the Mishnah and Tosefta overlap in many places; but the Tosefta presents much extra information not present in the Mishnah, and has traditionally been understood as a supplement (Tosefta, indeed, means “addition”) to the latter. On this view, the Tosefta would have been completed a little later than the Mishnah, say in the early decades of the third century CE; but there is compelling evidence to suggest that at least some parts of the Mishnah may be dependent on the Tosefta. The relationship between the two texts is thus complex, and is certainly a subject of continuing debate in modern research (Cohen 2000); it may be noted, however, that the Tosefta itself never cites as authorities Rabbis who lived later than the early third century CE, so that its final date of redaction is unlikely to lie outside the third century. With rather more in the way of narrative information than the Mishnah, the Tosefta is often investigated as a source for historical information about Palestine in the Roman period up to the third century. While it must always be borne in mind that this text, like the Mishnah, is addressed to teachers and students in Rabbinic society in order to promote, inform, and sustain the continuing aspirations of the Rabbis, judicious, critical analysis of both the Mishnah and the Tosefta can inform the modern reader about Rabbinic attitudes to the Roman authorities and their culture. It also allows us to appreciate Jewish responses to a world imbued with Greco-Roman ideas and aspirations very different from those entertained by many Jews, and to observe how those responses may involve apparent acceptance of Greco-Roman notions “for the sake of peace,” but with an underlying reticence betokening a deeply questioning stance.
Following the adoption of the Mishnah as the basic text for discussion, it was inevitable that a text of such complexity should evoke commentaries. In the West, the Talmud of the Land of Israel, or the Jerusalem Talmud (the “Jerushalmi”) was the first to supply this need. Completed around 400 CE, this massive undertaking discusses most of the Mishnah except for the last two orders (although part of tractate Niddah is discussed). The Mishnah is quoted, and commentary to it supplied from older, Tannaitic sources, interspersed with statements, disputes, and information from the authorities who are creating the commentary (these Rabbis are known as the Amoraim, the “interpreters” or “speakers”). All these are worked together by editors whose identity is unknown to us, the Talmud itself using a combination of Hebrew and Western Aramaic to set forth its predominantly halakhic discussion. This Talmud, however, incorporates frequent short narratives and other non-legal information (haggadah) which includes ethical teaching, prayers, wise sayings, and folk memories. There is much here which, with due scholarly caution, can be used to provide access to details of religious, social, and economic life in Palestine in the second and third centuries CE; with due critical analysis, sections of this Talmud may also cast light on historical events in the Late Roman period. As was the case with the Mishnah and the Tosefta, however, the Talmud is not primarily concerned with history; and its use as a source for political events by both Jews and non-Jews remains severely hampered by the lack of a critical edition of its text (Stern 2010). This last point has, in its turn, meant that much less scholarly attention has been devoted to it than to the Babylonian Talmud, which enjoys an unparalleled status within Rabbinic Judaism. This massive document was redacted in places outside Roman control, in the domains of the Parthians and Sasanians. It thus lies outside the general remit of this essay, although it does mention “the West” (which would signify lands under Roman rule) and indicates frequent contact with it. The complexity of the Babylonian Talmud’s redaction, however, creates considerable difficulties for the historian who attempts to discern authentic references to the political situation in Palestine. While some abandon the attempt altogether, others are more sanguine, and argue that detailed literary analysis of individual portions of the text might provide historical material (Kalmin 2005: 205–206).
While the Mishnah, the Tosefta, and the two Talmuds certainly utilize the written Torah, the writings of the Hebrew Bible, in their discussions and debates about the Oral Torah, it is in the collections of writings known as the Midrashim that commentary upon, and exegesis of, Scripture in and of itself makes up the primary subject of discourse. Although a few students would date it to the Islamic period, most scholars of Rabbinic Literature are still of the opinion that the Mekhilta of Rabbi Ishmael, a commentary on parts of the book Exodus, is to be dated to the fourth century CE, and originated in the land of Israel. Along with the commentary on Leviticus called Sifra, those on Numbers and Deuteronomy named Sifre, and a second commentary on Exodus known as the Mekhilta of R. Simeon bar Yohai, it makes up a group of writings commonly designated the Tannaitic Midrashim, or the Halakhic Midrashim. These texts present themselves as reports of Rabbinic discussion of quoted segments of Scripture, the majority of named authorities in the texts belonging to the period of the Tannaim, or to a generation or so later. Discussion of particular points of law, disputes about the correct interpretation of Scripture, particularly as it affects halakhic decisions, and provision of Scriptural support for the correct execution of individual commandments is prominent in these texts. They do, however, contain haggadic material and some mini-narratives, suggesting a concern with a broader agenda (Schremer 2007). There is no doubting the capital importance of the Midrashim for our understanding of the early Rabbinic movement, and its stances on the meaning and application of Scripture, and its own distinctive attitudes toward Roman power and authority, and the effect which these things may have exercised on decisions taken about halakhic matters. That said, Günther Stemberger speaks for those who engage in research on these texts when he writes: “There is much less that we can learn regarding the political, economic, and social history of Palestine in the tannaitic and early amoraic periods” (Stemberger 2010: 133). Noting that only two Roman emperors (Titus and Trajan) are named in these Midrashim, and that the only other named figure representing Roman authority is an elusive character named Antoninus, Stemberger emphasizes the indirect character of the historical information which these texts may yield: details about the daily workings of Roman administration; Roman officials and their relative positions in the administrative chain of command; the military presence in the Roman district of Palestine, and Rabbinic reactions to it; and, above all, Rabbinic reaction to the impact of Roman culture on Jewish social and domestic life. Indeed, much the same must be said of the Mishnah, the Tosefta, and the Jerusalem Talmud: they convey little in the way of direct, “hard” historical information in the area of politics (and when they do, evidence from other sources is often required to verify or corroborate it). At the same time, however, they provide invaluable insight into the growth and development of Rabbinic Judaism; the various stances it adopts toward the ruling power; and the strategies which it employs for effectively dealing with Roman incursions in daily life and maintaining the survival, identity, and integrity of the Jewish people (S. Schwarz 2005).
Later Midrashim, most especially Genesis Rabbah (fifth–sixth century CE) and Leviticus Rabbah (c. fifth century CE) also furnish indirect historical information about Jews in later Roman Palestine. Assessment of their significance as historical sources, however, is greatly complicated by their relationship to the Jerusalem Talmud (a matter of considerable dispute among scholars) and other rabbinic texts. With rather less legal contents