What it means to be ‘The People of the Book’

AMY HIRSHBERG LEDERMAN
Special to the AJP

In 1965, when I was just 11 years old, I bought my very first Bible. Not the “Jewish” kind, the one my friends made fun of because it opened backwards, but the Official King James Version published by Oxford University Press. I read late at night with a flashlight under the bedcovers, underlining in orange crayon the passages that stirred me. By my 12th  birthday, I knew as much about Matthew, Luke and John as I did about Abraham and Moses, and while my parents thought it a bit odd that I preferred Bible over Barbie, they rewarded my curiosity by buying me more books.
Since then, I have collected Bibles like Celine Dion collects shoes. (At last count, she had over 3,000 pairs; I, on the other hand, only own 14 — Bibles, not shoes!)  Unlike shoes, however, I have never thrown a single one away because each version of the Bible offers slightly different interpretations of the events, stories and wisdom found within its   Books.
As a Jew, I have always taken great pride in the fact that we are referred to as the “People of the Book.”  I assumed the name originated within Jewish circles as a way to identify and connect the Jewish people with the Torah, the quintessential blueprint for Jewish behavior and belief. But surprisingly, the name surfaced during the 7th century as a Muslim reference to Jews and Christians who were regarded as “infidels with a protected status.”  Jews were the “people of the book” because we possessed a prior revelation from God, which was manifest in our Five Books of Moses. As such, in the early years of Islam, we were permitted to live undisturbed among Muslims and observe our faith without interference, although that changed significantly by the 11th century. 
The Torah, also called the Five Books of Moses and the Chumash in Hebrew, was    expanded into the TaNaK. Tanakh is an acronym for 24 books that are divided into three major categories: Torah, Nivi’im (Prophets) and Ketuvim (Writings). In a sense, the Tanakh is the first consolidated Jewish library. It presents the history and ideas of the first 3,500 years of the Jewish people, written by different authors over many centuries, covering the time period from Creation until the building of the second Temple in Jerusalem in 20 B.C.E.
      In 499 C.E., the second most important Jewish book was codified. The Babylonian Talmud, a compilation of discussions, arguments and analyses of a broad range of subjects by the greatest rabbis of the first four centuries, vastly expanded Jewish literature. It is filled with Jewish law (halachah), interpretations of Biblical texts (midrash) and stories that teach moral lessons (aggadah). For centuries thereafter, Jewish literature was defined as those books that emanated from the Torah and Talmud or found their source in Jewish law and liturgy.
The concept of Jewish literature has been radically augmented since the Middle Ages to include many other types of literature. Sephardic/Ladino ballads, Yiddish stories, European Enlightenment literature, Hebrew poetry, and Jewish-American novels are examples of what we designate as Jewish literature today. In its broadest sense, Torah is more than the name of our Jewish Bible; it literally means “teachings” and includes all of the wisdom from Jewish texts and literature.
But what exactly does it mean to be “the People of the Book?”  To answer this question, I turn to the traditional mode of Jewish learning by asking more questions, such as: Do we have an obligation to study the Torah? Will studying Torah affect our behavior? Will it lead to a life of good deeds and justice? Which is more important —study or action, learning or doing?
As Jews we are commanded to study the Torah and teach it to our children. It is our spiritual inheritance — the roadmap for Jewish living and guidebook for what God expects of us. But the relationship between the study of Torah and our behavior is a complex matter, one that intrigued the Talmudic rabbis who attempted to balance and reconcile the tension between these two essential values in Judaism.
There are conflicting texts about what takes priority: study or action. On Shabbat we read Elu Devarim, a prayer that recites a list of nine mitzvot whose rewards are without measure, such as honoring our parents and doing acts of kindness. This prayer concludes with the words: “And the study of Torah is equal to them all because it leads to them all.”
But in Ethics of the Fathers (1:17) we read, “It is not study that is essential, but rather action.”
And a frequently cited passage from the Talmud pits Rabbi Akiva against Rabbi Tarfon in a heated debate on this issue. Rabbi Tarfon asserts that action is greater than study but Rabbi Akiva disagrees. The majority sides with Rabbi Akiva: Study is greater than action because it leads to action.
Does the study of Torah necessarily lead to a life of good deeds and meaning? For some, the answer is a resounding yes; for others, clearly not.  That difference may depend upon how we engage in “study.” If study entails digging deeply into our texts to discover meaning and relevancy, the kind that will enable us to tackle, resolve and survive the issues and problems of everyday life, then I believe it will.
Amy Hirshberg Lederman is an author, Jewish educator, public speaker and attorney who lives in Tucson. Visit her website at amyhirshberglederman.com.