National Post

The ‘wisdom of crowds’

THE JEWISH DIASPORA OWES ITS IMPROBABLE SURVIVAL TO A CODE DATING BACK NINE CENTURIES

- Tal Keinan

How have the Jewish people survived centuries of exile and dispersion? In a new book, businessma­n and activist Tal Keinan suggests the conditions of Diaspora itself, combined with a deep respect for debate, have allowed the Jews to harness what behavioura­l scientists call the “wisdom of crowds.” In this excerpt from God Is in the Crowd, Keinan recalls a visit to Zippori — the ancient city where the Jews’ culture of questionin­g first emerged.

Morning had already clanked to life when we walked into town. Tractors bouncing down the gravel main street kicked up dust that churned in the day’s first hot breeze, blending with the scents of Galilean summer rosemary, cypress and lavender, a fusion that has since animated Israel in my mind. I can recall it easily, even from the distance of the United States. As we walked past Tsipori’s northern greenhouse­s, contempora­ry and banal, the town gave way, suddenly and unceremoni­ously, to the ancient plateau itself, its magnificen­t Roman-era cardo stretching before us, the central boulevard of Zippori.

Nineteen-hundred years before our walk up the cardo on that hot summer morning, the Roman imperial province of Galilee was convulsed in violence, in the final throes of Jewish dominion in the land of Israel. Three successive revolts against the Roman Empire marked milestones on the road from sovereignt­y to Diaspora. In the first, the Great Revolt of the year 70, the Second Temple of Jerusalem was destroyed and, with it, the capital’s status as the physical centre of Jewish worship. Pinhas ben Samuel, 83rd and last in the line of Jewish High Priests, was killed during the sacking of the temple. The institutio­n of Jewish high priesthood ended with his death, and the structure of Jewish governance was demolished. The outlook for the Jewish people was bleak.

Jews who had survived the Great Revolt were now scattered across Judea and Galilee. Disparate synagogues replaced the Great Temple as hubs of Jewish congregati­on. Local rabbis, in hundreds of small communitie­s, replaced the High Priest. Jewish theology and law until that time had been transmitte­d to successive generation­s through the Tanakh, the Old Testament, and through the Oral Law, the indispensa­ble addendum to the Tanakh, handed down at Sinai. Oral Law was the medium through which written law was translated into practice. In the first generation­s of Judean dispersion, Oral Law, no longer under the singular custody of a high priest, began to evolve in multiple tracks and developed inconsiste­ncies. Independen­t rabbis

handed down individual interpreta­tions, in often isolated synagogues and schools.

The Second Jewish Revolt (115-117CE) and the Bar Kochba (Third) Revolt (132135CE) ultimately failed. Most of the remaining Rabbis of Judea were killed, enslaved or exiled. The yeshivot were destroyed. Even the compromise­d Oral Law’s continuity was now in jeopardy. By the year 135, only a few thousand Jews remained in Galilee. Yehuda Hanassi was among these.

As an adult, Rabbi Yehuda lived in Zippori. He, and the city, had not participat­ed in the revolt. This fact, together with his close relationsh­ips with the Roman leadership, allowed Rabbi Yehuda to live and prosper as a leader of the surviving Jewish community. Yehuda Hanassi’s defining act of Jewish leadership was the compilatio­n of the Oral Law into a singular written work, which would enable it to survive dispersion. He may have envisioned the boundaries of dispersion ending in Babylon in the East and Rome in the West. He may have envisioned dispersion as a fleeting episode in Jewish history. He may have assumed that sovereignt­y could be re-establishe­d within a generation or two. Of course, his “Mishna” would end up serving as a common code for the next 19 centuries, from Siberia to Mumbai, to Casablanca to San Francisco to Buenos Aires.

Yehuda Hanassi’s prominence in the city of Zippori, and throughout Judea and Galilee, ensured that his Mishna would be widely embraced among the remaining rabbis, and among Jews living beyond the boundaries of rabbinic authority. It sparked a new mode of engagement. Its internal contradict­ions and omissions, perhaps intentiona­l, invited dissent, debate, and amendment. Debate would often take place in forums as small as two interlocut­ors, neither of them a rabbi, in a study format which became known as hevruta.

The Mishna, and the generation­s of debate, commentary, and amendment that would come to surround it, were arranged around specific questions of Jewish law, broken into sections, or orders: Zeraim (seeds) mainly deals with agricultur­e, property, and the economic sustenance of community; Moed (festival) deals with Jewish ritual and its observance; Nashim (women) deals with Jewish family life, including marriage and divorce; Nezikin (damages) deals with civil agreements, their enforcemen­t and their abrogation; Kodashim (holy things) deals with the Jewish community’s relationsh­ip with God, including sacrifice, blasphemy, and excommunic­ation; and Toharot (purificati­ons) deals with both physical and spiritual hygiene, or purity.

Jews throughout the vast, disconnect­ed Diaspora would be debating the same questions, and refining their answers for millennia. In order to prepare for this engagement, Jewish boys would, of course, be taught to read. They would be taught to debate. They would be encouraged to question. In one generation, at Zippori, Rabbi Yehuda Hanassi transforme­d Jewish identity. It would no longer be defined in territoria­l terms. It would not depend on any individual’s leadership. It would be imprinted in a code, distribute­d among all of its adherents. I was not the first to have searched in vain for some sort of identity in the ancient stones. Our identity has really resided in Rabbi Yehuda’s code. Its medium is not physical. It runs in the nation itself, and it has followed us everywhere. This code has a name.

Originally coined as “Vox Populi,” by Francis Galton in a 1907 issue of Nature, the Wisdom of Crowds has been applied successful­ly to many real-world problems, like predicting election results, profession­al sports scores, and the commercial success of Hollywood movie releases. It has been used to make complex decisions in large organizati­ons. In his 2004 dissertati­on on Galton’s insight, The Wisdom of Crowds: Why the Many Are Smarter than the Few and How Collective Wisdom Shapes Business, Economies, Societies and Nations, The New Yorker science writer James Surowiecki asserts three prerequisi­tes to achieving wisdom in crowds: intellectu­al diversity, independen­ce of contributi­on, and a mechanism for aggregatio­n and reconcilia­tion. Of course, for the crowd to even function as an intelligen­t organism, it must be trying to answer a common question, or set of questions.

When considerin­g the unlikely story of Jewish survival in the Diaspora, it is difficult to ignore the neatness of the theory that Crowd Wisdom served as Diaspora Jewry’s method of governance. This was the code. The questions that form the framework of Jewish governance were first drafted intentiona­lly, by Yehuda Hanassi, at Zippori. Dispersion created the condition of independen­ce. Communitie­s in the Russian Pale, for example, were cut off from the ghettos of Western Europe, or the coastal cities of North Africa, or the colonies of the New World. Each interprete­d its Talmud independen­tly. Each amended its interpreta­tions independen­tly.

Jewish communitie­s in the Diaspora were culturally diverse, each influenced by its particular surroundin­gs. Bankers in the Venetian ghetto were influenced by their interactio­ns with the Venetian business community, and by the language of those interactio­ns, making their experience distinct from that of Ottoman Jews, for example, or from that of the Jewish communitie­s of Yemen or India. Together, these separated communitie­s formed a mosaic of diversity.

Periodic migrations and expulsions over the centuries forced the aggregatio­n and reconcilia­tion of ideas that had diverged in isolation. Jewish communitie­s from Castilla, Aragon, and Granada, for example, each with its separately evolved traditions, were expelled from their lands in 1492. They converged in Amsterdam, in Istanbul, or in the outposts of the Americas in the first decades of the sixteenth century. Together with the Jews of Portugal, expelled soon after, they were forced to reconcile traditions in their newlymerge­d communitie­s. If a Jewish community in Amsterdam was to accommodat­e the refugees of these once-distinct communitie­s, it would have to reconcile their divergent traditions. Five hundred years later, East European Jews of divergent traditions converged on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, beginning a reconcilia­tion among themselves. Within two generation­s, these communitie­s almost completely merged with the establishe­d German Jewish community of New York, which, itself, was still reconcilin­g its traditions with the city’s original Sephardic community.

If the model of Jewish history as an exercise in the Wisdom of Crowds had occurred to me as a teenager admiring the mosaic floors of Zippori, it was only as a vague intuition. I had never heard of Crowd Wisdom. But looking out over the yellow hills of Galilee, from Rabbi Yehuda’s vantage point, I could imagine the moment those hills would become foreign to us for 18 centuries. Even as a teenager, I was overwhelme­d by the improbabil­ity of surviving exile and dispersion for so long. It could not be arbitrary. The Jewish population was too small. It had never been centrally led. There was no Pope. Too many generation­s had passed, there had been too many opportunit­ies to evolve separately, to assimilate, or to just die out. We had evolved dramatical­ly, but we had evolved together. Somehow, we still had a coherent identity after 1,800 years. There had to have been a code. As we had evolved in exile, it could not have been in the stones. It was written, instead, in the dispersed nation’s soul.

Excerpted from God is in the Crowd by Tal Keinan. Copyright © 2018 Tal Keinan. Published by Signal/ McClelland & Stewart, a division of Penguin Random House Canada Limited. Reproduced by arrangemen­t with the Publisher. All rights reserved.

 ?? MIGUEL RIOPA / AFP / GETTY IMAGES FILES ?? Jonathan Rideau at the Museum of The Kadoorie Mekor Haim Synagogue in Porto, Portugal. Every Friday at the start of the Sabbath Porto’s synagogue buzzes with the sound of chatter — in Portuguese, English, French and Spanish.
MIGUEL RIOPA / AFP / GETTY IMAGES FILES Jonathan Rideau at the Museum of The Kadoorie Mekor Haim Synagogue in Porto, Portugal. Every Friday at the start of the Sabbath Porto’s synagogue buzzes with the sound of chatter — in Portuguese, English, French and Spanish.

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