The Talmud has a famously distinctive page layout: the text itself resides in the center, and it is flanked by the medieval commentary of Rabbi Isaac ben Solomon (Rashi) on one side and that of his disciples (known as Tosafot) on the other, with various reference apparatuses in the margins, and then other commentaries in the outer margins. Introduced by Gentile printers of Judaica in 16th-century Italy, this format has been followed with minimal variation in almost every subsequent edition.

Yoel Finkelman delves into the origins of this format, and argues that its durability is rooted in unique features of Talmud study and pedagogy:

Rabbinic literature is layered. The entire discourse is dependent on this layered authority, in which earlier textual layers are formally more authoritative than later ones. Who is conceptually in an earlier layer than whom is central to understanding everything about how the Talmud serves as a grounding for later Jewish law. [The Talmud’s early stratum], the Mishnah, authored by tanna’im, is the foundational text, the bedrock. The Gemara, [the later stratum], is structured as a commentary on the Mishnah and is based on the principle that the post-mishnaic authorities, the amora’im, may not disagree with the earlier authorities. At most, amora’im can choose to agree with one tanna over another, . . . but structurally they do not argue with those who are in the layer above them on the hierarchy.

The same holds true regarding later commentators. Medieval rabbis don’t argue with the Gemara; they explain it. Both Rashi and Tosafot work with the assumption that the Talmud is the authoritative groundwork of their understanding. Their task is to explain it. . . . Placing Rashi and Tosafot on opposite sides visually matches the regular and consistent disagreements between the commentaries, both about specific readings and about their reading strategies and methods. Having these texts and commentaries on the same page allow not only for multiple texts and commentaries, but represent a dialogue that is occurring over real, chronological time and over conceptual, layered time.

Two weeks ago, a terrorist—most likely working for Hizballah—managed to cross into Israel from Lebanon and plant an explosive device near Megiddo that wounded a civilian. The attack, according to Matthew Levitt, is a sign of the Iran-backed militia’s increasing willingness to challenge the tacit understanding it has had with the IDF for over a decade. Such renewed aggression can also be found in the rhetoric of the group’s leaders:

In the lead-up to the 2006 war, [Hizballah’s] Secretary-General Hassan Nasrallah famously miscalculated how Israel would respond to the cross-border abduction of its soldiers. According to Israeli analysts, however, he now believes he can predict the enemy’s behavior more accurately, leading him to sharpen his rhetoric and approve a series of increasingly aggressive actions over the past three years.

Nasrallah’s willingness to risk conflict with Israel was partly driven by domestic economic and political pressures. . . . Yet he also seemed to believe that Israel was unlikely to respond in a serious way to his threats given Hizballah’s enlarged precision-missile arsenal and air-defense systems.

In addition to the bombing, this month has seen increased reports of cross-border harassment against Israelis, such as aiming laser beams at drivers and homes, setting off loud explosions on the Lebanese frontier, and pouring sewage toward Israeli towns. Hizballah has also disrupted Israeli efforts to reinforce the security barrier in several spots along the Blue Line, [which serves as the de-facto border between Lebanon and the Jewish state].

This creeping aggressiveness—coupled with Nasrallah’s sense of having deterred Israel and weakened its military posture—indicate that Hizballah will continue trying to move the goalposts.