Yesterday, we learned that in capital cases new evidence can’t overturn an acquittal. Today’s daf describes rabbinic measures that make conviction difficult from the get-go. For example, if the court of 23 judges is nearly deadlocked (12 to 11) as they search for a verdict, they cannot convict on this slim margin. Rather, they should continue deliberations until one of them is persuaded to move to the side of acquittal.
The rabbis also explain, in the course of difficult deliberations, court scribes are instructed to write down all the statements for conviction and all those for acquittal. This list is then reexamined the next day, and if those who find the accused liable have come up with new reasons to convict, the trial must be suspended for a day, to avoid a hasty conviction.
Then the rabbis give another reason entirely for recording the arguments of those who want to acquit:
No, the reason they write their statements is so that two of the judges should not say one explanation from two different verses. As Rabbi Asi asked of Rabbi Yohanan: “If two of the judges say one explanation from two different verses, what is the halakhah?” Rabbi Yohanan said to him: “We count them only as one, as it is clear that one of the derivations is in error.”
The rabbinic view is that the Torah doesn’t have extraneous words, so two verses never hold the exact same meaning. In court, the rabbis search for certainty before conviction. But in their study of Torah, they insist that every verse has a distinct meaning, so proof of conviction from two different verses is suspect.
But wait a minute, you might be thinking, surely decisions in court are made on the basis of evidence and testimony, not Torah verses? Hold that thought as we read on:
From where is this matter derived? Abbaye said: The verse says, “Once God has spoken, but twice I have heard.” (Psalms 62:12) A single verse has several senses, but no two verses ever hold the same meaning. It was taught in the School of Rabbi Ishmael: Behold, My word is like fire, declares the Lord, and like a hammer that shatters rock. (Jeremiah 23:29) Just as this hammer produces many sparks (when it strikes the rock), so a single verse has many meanings.
This translation is based on the one given by David Stern in his wonderful book, Midrash and Theory: Ancient Jewish Exegesis and Contemporary Literary Studies. The sages harmonize Jeremiah’s mixed metaphor of fire and hammer by imagining the fire represents sparks of meaning, like the sparks that fly when a sledgehammer hits a hard stone. This short passage encapsulates one of the most enduring cornerstones of rabbinic interpretation: the idea that there are multiple meanings to be found in God’s word.
We seem to have left the courtroom entirely only to find ourselves back in the rabbinic bet midrash, house of study. Rather than discussing courtroom procedures, we now find ourselves in the realm of scriptural interpretation. This interpretation of Jeremiah’s words seems far from the prophet’s original intent. A prophet is focused on conveying a powerful (and probably singular) divine message, not on exploring the multiple possible meanings of God’s word. But rabbinic Judaism transformed that prophetic ideal of scripture as the fiery power of God’s word entering a prophet’s bones into the sage’s determination to embrace the multiple meanings and interpretations that derive from cool reflection and thought.
The sages made no secret of their belief that the age of prophecy was over and that their way of study had replaced it. As we read back on Sanhedrin 11a:
The sages taught: After the last of the prophets, Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi, died, the divine spirit of prophetic revelation departed from the Jewish people.
The two models of approaching Torah are alive and available for Jews today. Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz, probably best known for his accessible translation of the Talmud, gave an interview in which he urged his fellow Israelis, brought up steeped in the prophetic traditions of the Bible, to be careful of becoming “little prophets” who feel that they already know the truth. Instead, he advocated the study of Talmud because it “deals with and is connected to dialectic” — a thoughtful give-and-take that can lead to more nuanced public dialogue. The ideal of a sage is one who is able to see the many aspects of truth, to understand and defend many positions, and who honors those with whom they disagree. Rather than using words as fire to burn or hammers to beat home our points, we can use them as tools to break open, discover and discuss the multiple aspects of sacred texts and important issues.
Read all of Sanhedrin 34 on Sefaria.
This piece originally appeared in a My Jewish Learning Daf Yomi email newsletter sent on January 20, 2025. If you are interested in receiving the newsletter, sign up here.
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