During Iftach Leibovich’s childhood in Jerusalem, the family would play a board game called Havila Higiya (“A Package Arrived”). The premise was this: You receive a letter stating that something reached the post office and to come pick it up. Along the way, you confront obstacles to attaining the package: missing identification papers, needing a new photo for the ID and so on.
The game was all too realistic for Israelis used to the daily struggles of accomplishing basic tasks in a bureaucracy-laden society.
“It was the stupidest game and the most brilliant game,” said Leibovich.
Havila Higiya was created by Ephraim Kishon, still acclaimed as the greatest humorist, satirist and social commentator in Israel’s history. Kishon, who died in 2005, was born 100 years ago this month.
Ephraim Kishon in 1966, photo by Boris Karmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
One of his legacies is that Leibovich is the artistic director of the Israel Comedy Festival in Honor of Ephraim Kishon, a week-long celebration held each August at Jerusalem’s Incubator Theater.
The event includes lectures and stagings of Kishon’s work, along with contemporary comedic plays and stand-up appearances.
Experts tie Kishon’s keen observations of society, from the perspective of an average Israeli, to his being an outsider. Kishon was a Holocaust survivor from Hungary whose name — he was born Ferenc Hoffmann — was Hebraicized by a port official upon immigrating in 1949.
Chaim Topol and Esther Greenberg in the film Sallah Shabati, written and directed by Ephraim Kishon. From the Chaim Topol Archive, courtesy of the family and with the cooperation of the Ministry of Jerusalem and Heritage, the National Library of Israel and the University of Haifa (colorization by MyHeritage)
He quickly learned and mastered Hebrew and soon was penning columns in the language in local newspapers. He went on to write books and screenplays and make films. Two of the five movies he directed, Sallah Shabati (1964) and The Policeman (1971), which he also wrote and co-produced, earned Academy Award nominations as best foreign-language films.
A promotional poster for the 1971 Oscar-nominated Hebrew film The Policeman, written and directed by Ephraim Kishon and starring Shaike Ophir, the Jerusalem Cinematheque – Israel Film Archive Collection, available online via the NLI digital collection
Ephraim Kishon pictured with Shaike Ophir and wife at the premiere of the film The Fox in the Chicken Coop, May, 1978. Photo by Danny Gotfried, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
The Family Book (titled in its English translations as My Family, Right or Wrong), Kishon’s 1977 collection of essays and fiction stories about home life during his early years in Israel, is said to be the second-most-purchased book in Hebrew after the Bible.
Topol and Kishon with the Golden Globe, Maariv, February 19, 1965, the Historical Jewish Press Collection at the National Library of Israel
Both Leibovich and Ziv Hermelin-Shadar — who at the festival hosted podcasts discussing each of the films screened daily, dubbed “Kishoncasts” — cited The Family Book as a key influence.
It was the first book Leibovich’s father gave him — the boy was about 13 — and, “from that, I became a big fan of Kishon,” he said.
Hermelin-Shadar was about 10 when he first read it. “It’s a book that’s very Jewish and very family-oriented,” he said. “It makes me laugh. Kishon, in his stories, is trying to live life, and other people are ruining it for him. He succeeds in capturing the wackiness … of Israeli society.”
Ephraim Kishon with Menachem Begin, Israel’s Prime Minister at the time, at the premiere of the film The Fox in the Chicken Coop, May, 1978. Photo by Danny Gotfried, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
Such wackiness arose recently over a play scheduled for this summer’s festival. The play’s promotional poster unintentionally sparked a controversy Kishon might’ve enjoyed.
The poster shows the faces of three men and the play’s title, Naked. The word is meant as a metaphor for the show’s theme as a behind-the-scenes look at how a circus operates. No one is nude. But some Jerusalem residents presumed indecency and pressured the mayor’s office to withdraw its funding for the festival and to shut down the show. Leibovich wrote a long letter defending the work and stressing that no one appeared naked.
“It’s poetic that this happened at a Kishon festival,” he said. “To make a big deal about it was a farce. There was nothing for me to fight against because there was nothing to censor.”
The show’s three performances proceeded as scheduled.
Ephraim Kishon with Yitzhak and Leah Rabin, at the premiere of the film The Fox in the Chicken Coop, May, 1978. Photo by Danny Gotfried, the Dan Hadani Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israely
Kishon’s accomplishments went hand-in-hand with insecurity. Alongside placards of his films and plays on his office’s walls appeared articles written by critics.
Ephraim Kishon in his office, 1973. Photo by IPPA staff photgrapher, the Dan Hadani Archive, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
“He felt he wasn’t appreciated. He wanted more love from critics,” said Hermelin-Shadar. “He was a great success, but felt that he wasn’t accepted here as [such].”
Following his father’s death at his summer home in Switzerland, Rafi Kishon was asked to develop a one-man show for Tel Aviv’s Cameri Theater. As a veterinarian, he’d spoken about animals on numerous television programs and was comfortable appearing before the camera. But writing and performing in the show, Ten Things You Didn’t Know About Ephraim Kishon, was extra-gratifying, he said.
He performs it monthly at the Cameri — it’s now titled Ephraim Kishon: Humor, Life and Films — and accepts private bookings from groups. The appearances involve screening movie clips and telling stories about his father.
“What I say is unique about Ephraim Kishon’s humor is that it unites Israelis of all types,” he explained.
“I take it as a compliment when I perform and people say, ‘The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.’ It’s a good feeling to walk in my father’s shoes.”
Ephraim Kishon in his office, 1971, photo by Boris Karmi, the Meitar Collection, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
Leibovich, too, has walking in mind. For a Kishon festival, he’d like to organize an interactive version of Havila Higiya, with participants following the game’s instructions to traipse around Jerusalem in an effort, challenging as it promises to be, to pick up a package at the post office.
“I’ve dreamt of it,” he said, “since the first festival.”
Years after being forced to leave Judaism behind, many of the conversos of Spain and Portugal sought to return to their suppressed roots. The Ferrara Bible, which was printed in the 16th century and revised countless times, helped them rediscover their religion. Dozens of copies of this Bible are still scattered around the world today.
After many years of being cut off from Judaism, the conversos of Spain and Portugal migrated to other countries around the world, with many of them attempting to return to the Jewish faith. They didn’t have much knowledge of Judaism, and they didn’t even know the Hebrew alphabet. However, childhood memories, family stories, and discreetly maintained traditions encouraged these “New Christians” to try to reconnect with their roots in their newly adopted homes.
Throughout the 16th century, converso communities began to print Jewish books in Spanish. Initially, these printed works included the foundational Jewish texts, followed later by works on Jewish philosophy, anti-Christian texts, and books of poetry. A Portuguese grammar book and a play based on the Book of Esther, both printed by conversos during this period, have been preserved. A little later, in the 17th century, conversos published what is considered the world’s first Jewish newspaper, the Gazeta de Amsterdam. The newspaper was published in Amsterdam and was primarily intended for Jewish merchants.
It all began in the city of Ferrara, in northern Italy. Conversos settled there in the 16th century, and established the earliest printing industry dedicated to works of Spanish and Portuguese conversos. The publishing work later moved to Venice, and then in the 17th century to Amsterdam, where it remained for approximately 200 years. During the expulsion from Spain and Portugal in the last decade of the 15th century, there was already a Jewish community living in Ferrara, and the Jewish printing house had been operating there for several years. From 1477 to 1551, it published the Arba’ah Turim (a work dedicated to Jewish religious law) and commentaries on the books of Job and Daniel.
Against this backdrop, Ferrara attracted many conversos wishing to return to their Judaism, since the location offered them such a comfortable environment. Among those who settled there was Abraham Usque, a converso who had printed Latin books in Portugal. In 1543, he came under suspicion of practicing Judaism in secret and fled from Portugal to Ferrara.
Shortly after the arrival of the conversos in Ferrara in 1552, a Spanish member of the community named Yom-Tob Atias published a siddur (prayer book) and later a book of the Selichot penitential prayers. Usque and Atias met each other and in 1553, they published a complete Bible in Spanish together. According to an inscription found on the inside cover, this was done with the approval of the Duke of Ferrara. The full title of the Bible they published was: “The Bible in the Spanish language, translated word for word from the true Hebrew by very excellent scholars, seen and examined by the office of the Inquisition.” To this day, it is commonly known as “The Ferrara Bible.”
Since it is a very literal translation, it is a bit of a strange read in Spanish; rather than writing the biblical stories in Spanish, the text is translated word for word, sometimes without syntax, exactly as it is written in the original Hebrew. While the Ferrara Bible was printed in Roman letters, some people consider the translation to be written in the Judeo-Spanish language of Ladino, because it adheres strictly to the original Hebrew text.
The Ferrara Bible, 1553. An inscription reads Iblia en lengua española traduzida palabra por palabra de la verdad hebrayca por muy excelentes letrados vista y examinada por el officio de la Inquisicion (“The Bible in the Spanish language, translated word for word from the true Hebrew by very excellent scholars, seen and examined by the office of the Inquisition.”)
The Ferrara Bible was first and foremost intended for conversos who wanted to study the Bible but did not have sufficient knowledge, if any, of Hebrew. The other target audience included Spanish-speaking Christians.
In the past, certain scholars surmised that in order to serve both types of readers, the Ferrara Bible was printed in two similar versions, with the differences reflecting the two target audiences’ respective expectations. In any case, the National Library of Israel has a copy of each version.
The “Christian” version states that it was printed by Jerónimo de Vargas and Duarte Pinel. The first page includes a long dedication to Duke Ercole II d’Este, who ruled Ferrara at the time of publication and granted Jews equal rights. The Jewish version was printed by the same two publishers, but in this version, they appear under their Hebrew names—Yom-Tob Atias (who some claim was Jerónimo de Vargas’ father) and Abraham Usque. In this version, the dedication is to Doña Gracia Nasi, the famous Portuguese converso and Jewish philanthropist. Doña Gracia may have funded the project or supported it in other ways.
The dedication to Doña Gracia Nasi in the Jewish version of the Ferrara Bible
In the colophon – the final note attached to a book or manuscript summarizing its production process—some copies have the year written as 1553, while others have it written as the corresponding year in the Hebrew calendar, 5313.
In the colophon at the end of this version of the book, the year is written in its Hebrew form – 5313.
However, the differences between the two versions of the Ferrara Bible don’t stop there. For example, they were printed in two different sizes and on different types of paper.
In the 1950s, Professor Stanley Rypins, a scholar of English literature, conducted a thorough examination of the existing copies of the Ferrara Bible. He found 49 different copies around the world and demonstrated that there were many differences among them, though most of these differences were small and insignificant.
Contrary to the assumptions of past scholars that the Ferrara Bible had both a Jewish and a Christian version, Rypins argued that there was in fact no version specifically tailored for Christian readers. On the contrary, over the years, some have even claimed that this Bible is anti-Christian and that the translations of certain verses that have been interpreted as a historical basis for Christianity maintain the original literal text, in an effort to undermine official Christian doctrine.
Nevertheless, in some copies, there is one significant change favoring Christian dogma. One of the verses used in Christianity for missionary purposes appears in the Book of Isaiah, chapter 7, verse 14. In the original, it reads as follows:
“Behold, the young woman is with child, and she shall bear a son, and she shall call his name Immanuel.”
In Christian literature, the verse was translated according to Christian theology, which asserts that Jesus’ mother is the Virgin Mary:
“Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.”
In some copies of the Ferrara Bible, the Hebrew word almah is translated into Spanish as moca (young woman). In others, it is translated as virgen (virgin), and in most cases, the printers simply wrote alma in Roman letters, thus avoiding controversy. In about half of the copies found, the word alma appeared, and Rypins demonstrated that this was how the Bible was originally printed. He claimed that the word was later changed to virgen, likely for political-religious reasons, and after several printings, to moca. Each change required the printer to adjust the font to maintain a uniform length of the row of text. To achieve this, abbreviated words were sometimes expanded to their full forms, and sometimes small spaces were added between words.
The three versions of translations for the word alma (the first word in the verse). From an article by Professor Rypins.
Throughout the period of publication, errors in page order and typos were corrected in the various printed copies that were released. Nevertheless, typographical errors can still be found here and there in some of the copies. Rypins viewed all these issues as proof that the different editions of the Ferrara Bible were indicative of an ongoing process of corrections; it wasn’t that there were two versions, each intended for a different audience, rather – all copies of the Ferrara Bible were intended for Spanish and Portuguese conversos in the mid-16th century. In the copies Rypins found, it was also evident that due to the prohibition against writing or pronouncing the name of God unnecessarily, most copies used the capital letter “A” as a substitute for the name. Some copies also included a list of the weekly Haftarah portions read in the synagogue.
God’s name written as the capital letter “A”, from the beginning of the Va’etchanan portion in the Ferrara Bible
The illustrated title page of the Ferrara Bible includes a drawing of a ship being tossed about by stormy waters at sea. One of its masts is broken, and it is surrounded by waves, gusts of wind, and sea monsters. The illustration alludes to the situation of the Jewish People in general and the conversos of Spain and Portugal in particular. The printers were hinting at the eternal nature of Judaism, which is forced to fight against its spiritual enemies but manages to survive and persevere despite it all.
The title page of the Ferrara Bible. The ship being wrecked at sea symbolizes the Jewish People.
The ship is also depicted with an armillary sphere, an instrument that serves as a model of objects in the sky and which was used in maritime navigation. The armillary sphere was the symbol of Abraham Usque’s printing house and appears in other books he printed as well.
Usque published over 25 books before his printing house was closed in 1558. One of his books, Shiltei Giborim (“The Signs of Heroes”) by Rabbi Yaacov Ben Yoav Elia of Pano, included a lamentation for 24 conversos who were executed in Ancona in 1556. News of this lamentation reached the ears of Bishop Antonio Ghislieri (later, Pope Pius V), who then demanded that the book be burned and Usque be punished.
From the lamentation for the martyrs of Ancona, Shiltei Giborim, Ferrara 1556.
In 1996, literary and theater scholar Moshe Lazar published an accurate facsimile edition (that is, a new print completely identical to the original) of the Ferrara Bible, with a print run of 1,000 copies. Earlier, in 1992, to mark the 500th commemoration of the expulsion of the Jews from Spain, Lazar released a critical edition (one that traces all known editions) of the Ferrara Bible. In the introduction, Lazar wrote that to prepare this edition, he located some 60 copies of the Bible. These copies and others, which might still be circulating and unaccounted for in remote parts of the world, helped the conversos of Spain and Portugal return to Judaism in the 16th century.
Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai’s Choice: Jerusalem or the Jewish People?
Shortly before the destruction of the Second Temple, with Jerusalem under siege by the Romans, Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai made a very difficult decision, leaving his beloved and holy city behind to its fate. Feeling he could not save it, he decided to try something different in an attempt to keep the Jewish People alive.
Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai and Abba Sikra. From the film "Legend of Destruction". Paintings: David Polonsky, Michael Faust
At the end of the Second Temple era, with Jerusalem besieged by the Roman army, the wealthy of the city donated all the food in their warehouses to the public. In doing so, they hoped the Jews of the city would have what they needed to survive the siege.
The Jewish zealots had other plans, and they set fire to the stocks of food. Comfort and convenience do not maintain the spark of rebellion, and so they needed to be snuffed out. The rebels were seeking hunger, anger, rage. These are the things that nourish rebellion.
As hunger began to increase, Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai, a leader of the moderate camp, summoned the leader of the zealots, Abba Sikra, to try and find a solution. The Gemara explains that this happened privately. No-one knew about the meeting but the two of them.
Abba Sikra (or Sikkara) is the name the Jewish sages attached to one of the leaders of the rebellion, who was named Ben Batich (or Batiach). This mysterious person was likely linked to the sect known as the Sicarii. The Gemara tells of his large and exceptionally imposing figure and how his fist was the size of an average man’s head.
The Sicarii were a sect of zealots who fought the Romans and who are primarily famous for their role in the last stand of Jewish rebels at the desert fortress of Masada, where many of them eventually committed suicide.
But Abba Sikra was also a blood relative of Yochanan Ben Zakkai – he was the son of the Rabbi’s sister. Thus did two members of the same family find themselves leading opposite sides in the bitter divide which had torn the Jewish People apart during an existential war. Now they came together in a desperate attempt to salvage what was possible.
“Why do you act in such a manner? Will you kill us by famine?” Ben Zakkai asked Abba Sikra in their secret meeting (Gittin 56a). The rebel leader suddenly didn’t seem so tough. He shrugged his shoulders and replied “What shall I do? If I tell them anything of the kind, they will slay me.”
The rebel leader admitted to his uncle that he had little sway over his soldiers, who were so caught up in the fight that even he couldn’t get them to think of doing otherwise.
With the hope of saving Jerusalem gone, Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai understood that he had no choice but to leave the city. Consulting his nephew, the rebel leader, he asked him to think of some solution, some way to get him out. The only way out, Abba Sikra explained, was death.
And this is exactly what Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai did. He disguised himself as a shrouded corpse, asking his two faithful students – Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabbi Eliezer – to take him outside the walls, ostensibly to bury him there. Once out, he met with the Roman general and future emperor Vespasian, who was besieging the city. Ben Zakkai asked the general to give him the town of Yavneh and its sages, guaranteeing the survival of a remnant of a glorious nation whose world had been destroyed.
Grave of Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai in Tiberias. Photo: Rudi Weissenstein, all rights reserved for the Photohouse, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, National Library of Israel
There, at Yavneh, Yochanan Ben Zakkai created the Jewish world as it would continue to exist for the next two thousand years. He rebuilt Judaism after the destruction. Some say the Jewish People still exists thanks to him.
But some judge him more harshly, and Ben Zakkai’s actions have been the subject of much criticism over the generations. Should he not have fought harder for Jerusalem and the Holy Temple? Maybe he shouldn’t have given up, instead working to convince the Roman general to not destroy his city? For all the criticism, though, there was widespread recognition among the Jewish sages that Judaism was still alive and kicking thanks to him.
A 19th century photo of the entrance to a burial cave in what is today Sanhedria Park, in the heart of the neighborhood of Sanhedria in north Jerusalem. From the Lenkin Family Collection at the University of Pennsylvania Library, the Pritzker Family National Photography Collection, the National Library of Israel
Generations of Israelis have been raised on the story of Masada, which tells of how the rebels resisted to the last drop of blood, and preferred to take their own lives rather than surrender. But even as these zealots and extremists were taking drastic action which would be mythologized for centuries, Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai and his students were sitting in Yavneh and studying. They chose a different option, one which exalts moderation and the ability to find solutions, even in the midst of an existential conflict.
What can we learn from Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai? He teaches us that even if reality is complex and difficult, one can always find a solution, regardless of what side you’re on.
The 9th of Av (Tisha B’Av), the day of the Hebrew calendar on which the Holy Temple was destroyed, is an appropriate day for placing faith in the Jewish People, who survived the destruction and pogroms and always managed to continue marching forward.
What We Do Isn’t Written, What Is Written Isn’t Done: The Story of the Oral Torah
The Bible may be the Book of Books, but when you look closely, you can see there’s an enormous gap between what is written in it and what the Jews actually practiced. This gap is part of the basic operating system of Judaism. How exactly does it work?
These are all the things Halakha (Jewish religious law) says Jews are not allowed to do on Shabbat.
Credit: Anshie Kagan, anshie.com
Actually, these aren’t all the prohibitions – just the categories, under which innumerable additional prohibitions are gathered.
But the Torah simply says general things like “Observe the Shabbat day to sanctify it.” How did we go from such a simple verse to the enormous and unreasonable pile of laws we know today?
Here’s how:
Mount Sinai, by Ephraim Moses Lilien
Desert. Sand stretching out for miles and blowing in the wind. Under a small, nondescript mountain a loud group of people, children, and livestock gather. These are the Children of Israel, who have been wandering this place for close to two months.
While everyone’s getting ready below, Moses ascends the mountain.
Clouds, lightning, fire, drama!
It’s not entirely clear what’s going on but when Moses comes back down, he’s holding the Torah.
Sorry – the Torahs. Both of them.
The Jewish sages tell us that at Mount Sinai, two Torahs were brought down from on high: the one we’re familiar with from Bible class, and the Oral Torah.
They are described as bride and groom, salt and pepper, wheat and flour…you get the idea.
In other words – they complement each other, or at least one serves as the raw material from which a finished product is made.
But what’s wrong with the written Torah? Why do we need another one?
Well, the Torah on its own is not entirely practical and not entirely clear.
The Oral Torah is there to bridge those gaps.
Moses, by Ephraim Moses Lilien
Let’s examine this concept with the help of a well-known verse:
“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a hand for a hand, a foot for a foot.”
To understand what the Oral Torah does, we need to do a little thought experiment:
It’s a strange question, sure, but try and think of the advantages of “an eye for an eye”.
From my perspective: The principle of “an eye for an eye” contains an element of justice. Revenge is a powerful human emotion, one that is best regulated by authority, with this sort of practice likely to deter wrongdoers.
Bu that about the drawbacks?
In my view, the justice achieved here is not true justice. A person who has just lost an eye gains nothing from taking another eye out, and revenge does not generally lead to a better society.
So perhaps…this specific commandment should be changed?
Maybe, but if you look at the Torah from a traditional point of view, you’ve got a problem.
After all, according to Jewish tradition, everything written in the Torah is sacred, and the rules of the game mean no changes are allowed.
What can be done? – Interpret the heck out of the verse!
And that’s precisely what the Oral Torah does.
Since this verse was written, Jews have never literally practiced “an eye for an eye”. Never. It doesn’t exist. Not in reality or in written Halakha.
The transition appears to happen in the Mishnah – a sort of screenshot of the Oral Torah at a particular moment in time. The sages of the Mishnah state that if you took someone’s eye out, that person doesn’t get to take yours out, too. Your obligation as the one causing harm is to pay *monetary compensation* to the one you harmed. Or as the sages put it: “An eye for an eye – [means] money.”
This is one of the starker examples of the gap between the Written and Oral Torah. But there are also many simpler cases of issues which are simply not understood. Which takes us back to the question of observing Shabbat.
In all, we have but a few fairly simple verses speaking about Shabbat. But when you examine them closely, they’re not actually all that clear.
What does it mean to “observe” Shabbat? Seriously – what does that mean?
We as modern people have a general idea, but there was a moment in history where this wasn’t so clear.
To answer this question, the sages would use a technique that can be translated as “a matter learned from its subject” (דבר הלמד מעניינו). They looked at the verses dealing with observing Shabbat and when the verses weren’t clear they did what any bright student does: attempt to understand the context.
Take a look at the verses below:
“Six days work may be done, but on the seventh day is a Sabbath of complete rest, holy to the Lord; whoever performs work on the Sabbath day shall be put to death.”
“You shall not kindle fire in any of your dwelling places on the Sabbath day.”
These verses reside within a Torah portion dealing entirely in the matters of the Mishkan or Tabernacle, the earlier and mobile version of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.
So the sages took a look at the surrounding verses and said “Hey! Maybe it’s not clear exactly what observing Shabbat means, but it’s certainly related to the Mishkan.”
How is it related? While English translations of the above verse have often used the word “work”, the text of the Hebrew commandment regarding Shabbat uses the word melacha (מלאכה) , which generally indicates “craft”.
The verses covering the Mishkan use the same term – melacha (craft) – in reference to all the things done in order to keep the Mishkan in operation – sowing, sewing, writing, lighting a fire, etc. The sages concluded that these were the crafts (or “work”) referred to in the commandment, and that what was done in the Mishkan is precisely what may *not* be done on Shabbat.
The Mishkan, by Ephraim Moses Lilien
Sound credible? Hmmm… I’m not sure about that. But this was acceptable logic for the sages.
Sound exaggerated? They also thought so. In a moment of self-awareness, they said: “The rules of the Sabbath […] are like mountains hanging on a hair, few verses and many rules.” In other words, not much is actually written here and a very large number of Halakhic rulings came out of it.
So what do we have here? Unclear or impractical verses, alongside an Oral Torah clarifying the unclear, adapting what needs to be adapted and maintaining dynamism. And it does all that without breaking the rules.
The books documenting the Oral Torah are the Mishnah, Tosefta, Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmud, midrashic books like the Mekhilta, the Sifre, Midrash Rabbah, and Midrash Tanhuma. You can also add the responsa literature which continues to be written to this day as part of the Oral Torah.
