According to a well-known talmudic tale, the 2nd-century sage Simon bar Yohai, wanted by the Romans for seditious comments, spent thirteen years hiding in a cave with his son Elazar. The two buried themselves in sand up to their necks and spent all their time studying Torah, nourished by a spring and a carob tree. Their emergence from the cave was celebrated on Sunday on the holiday of Lag ba-Omer, but in the Talmud’s telling it was a difficult transition, and Elazar’s subsequent life was far from one of straightforward saintliness.
Kate Rozansky examines the stories surrounding this father and son, and the three unnamed women who appear therein: Simon’s mother, his wife, and his daughter-in-law.
In rabbinic texts, Simon’s reputation for spiritual excellence is almost unparalleled, but [in legal disputes], he is often sidelined in favor of his more worldly peers. As Rabbi Binyamin Lau writes, this phenomenon “reminds us that halakhah is decided by those who are most rooted in the reality of this world.” Rabbi Simon rejects “the reality of this world” which, to him, is the realm of women and other distractions from Torah. Even when he reconciles himself to the world of the mundane, he only sees human beings―Jews―as valuable because they teach him Torah.
Elazar, on the other hand, vacillates wildly between the corporeal and the transcendent, between self-aggrandizement and self-mortification. This struggle causes him great suffering. It is only when he is close to death that he seems to find a kind of balance. Rather than forsake life in the world to come for temporal life, or temporal life for eternal life, Elazar, with the help of his wife finds a way to partake―if only briefly―of both worlds at the same time.
The tradition that grows from this assertion―that is, the halakhic world that the sages built―is doubtless messier and inconstant than the one Simon would seem to prefer. And yet rather than scorn the mundane, the Talmud adores it, bringing us back again and again to places where the holy and the temporal meet and our gross, corruptible selves brush up against eternity.