One of the perennial questions asked by scholars of the great 17th-century philosopher Benedict Spinoza is what, and how much, to make of the Jewish upbringing he thoroughly rejected. Yitzhak Melamed, a philosophy professor who has similarly distanced himself from his ultra-Orthodox upbringing, has written a forceful reinterpretation of Spinoza’s thought that seeks to overturn much 20th-century scholarship on the subject. His special target is the late Harry Austryn Wolfson, himself a “talmudic prodigy turned unbeliever,” who discerned a talmudic mind at work in Spinoza’s thought processes. In his review of Melamed’s book, Michah Gottlieb wonders if the two former yeshiva students turned scholars have something in common (free registration required):

While Melamed rejects Wolfson’s interpretation of Spinoza, . . . he does intimate that he shares a kinship with Wolfson in a different respect. In his acknowledgments, [for instance], Melamed refers to his own numerous discussions of [Spinoza] since emigrating from the ultra-Orthodox “holy city of Bnei Brak.” . . .

On close inspection, one can discern a talmudic sensibility that informs Melamed’s approach to Spinoza, albeit one that differs from Wolfson’s. Like Wolfson, Melamed explores how Spinoza uses key philosophical sources through careful textual analysis and dialectical argument. But while Wolfson’s dialectic was more internal to Spinoza and his purported sources—asking why and how Spinoza departed from his medieval predecessors—Melamed’s dialectic is usually directed at a prominent modern interpretation of Spinoza. . . .

If Wolfson’s approach was akin to that of the [latter] talmudic sages in relation to their mishnaic predecessors, Melamed’s is more like tertiary medieval Jewish commentators such as Tosafot who defended their interpretations by refuting such prior commentators as Rashi. . . . [T]he level of Melamed’s attention to detail combined with his logical acuity is unusual even among Spinoza scholars and may owe something to his talmudic training.

Concluded in 1979, the Israeli-Egyptian peace treaty ended nearly 30 years of intermittent warfare, and proved one of the most enduring and beneficial products of Middle East diplomacy. But Egypt may not have been upholding its end of the bargain, write Jonathan Schanzer and Mariam Wahba:

Article III, subsection two of the peace agreement’s preamble explicitly requires both parties “to ensure that that acts or threats of belligerency, hostility, or violence do not originate from and are not committed from within its territory.” This clause also mandates both parties to hold accountable any perpetrators of such acts.

Recent Israeli operations along the Philadelphi Corridor, the narrow strip of land bordering Egypt and Gaza, have uncovered multiple tunnels and access points used by Hamas—some in plain sight of Egyptian guard towers. While it could be argued that Egypt has lacked the capacity to tackle this problem, it is equally plausible that it lacks the will. Either way, it’s a serious problem.

Was Egypt motivated by money, amidst a steep and protracted economic decline in recent years? Did Cairo get paid off by Hamas, or its wealthy patron, Qatar? Did the Iranians play a role? Was Egypt threatened with violence and unrest by the Sinai’s Bedouin Union of Tribes, who are the primary profiteers of smuggling, if it did not allow the tunnels to operate? Or did the Sisi regime take part in this operation because of an ideological hatred of Israel?