These are the fixed times of YHWH, sacred convocations which you shall call in their fixed time. Rabbi Benamozegh focuses on the significance of the word “them” (אתם) in this context. He notes that the Talmud (Rosh Hashanah 25a) interprets the word “them” to imply that the festivals (“mo’adim”) can be proclaimed even in cases of error. Rabbi Benamozegh expresses his surprise at discovering that the 10th century Rabbenu Aḥai Gaon derived the same law from alternative words in our verse, the words “convocations” and “you shall call”. He notes his uncertainty about whether Rabbenu Aḥai’s interpretation has its roots in the Talmud or the Baraitot unavailable to us. Rabbi Benamozegh then contemplates the possibility of using Rabbenu Aḥai Gaon’s different part of the verse to support the law, which we have as a matter of tradition, over and against using the Talmud’s source. He writes that if we cannot find the alternative source anywhere else, then we may accept it as long as it makes more sense to us. This approach, he notes, was also followed by other eminent Sepharadi scholars, Rambam and Rabbenu Ḥananel ben Ḥushiel. Rabbi Benamozegh uses this law, that the calendar may be fixed even in error, to highlight the national court’s authority in determining the calendar. This shows that the proclamation of festivals is dependent on human decision-making. In support of this, Rabbi Benamozegh mentions Rabbi Naftali Wessely’s commentary on Sefer Vayiqra, which aligns with Rabbenu Aḥai’s interpretation, but does not acknowledge its source.

In the first month on the fourteenth of the month at twilight a Passover offering to YHWH. Rabbi Benamozegh explains that according to Ḥazal, the term “twilight” (ערבים) commences from the moment the sun starts its descent towards the horizon. Rabbi Benamozegh further reinforces this interpretation by drawing parallels with European linguistic customs. He notes that in many European languages, the term for evening, (‘sera’) is used to denote the time-period starting from midday. This cross-cultural observation adds an additional layer of credibility to the interpretation that ‘twilight’ in the Jewish tradition begins from the afternoon.

And on this very day you shall call a sacred convocation – it will be for you – no task of work shall you do, an everlasting statute in all your dwelling places for your generations. Rabbi Benamozegh delves into the profound connections between the Festival of Harvest and the broader historical and cultural practices surrounding the giving of the Torah. He begins by highlighting a recurring theme in the Written Torah, which subtly suggests that the Festival of Harvest coincides with the day of the giving of the Torah. Rabbi Benamozegh believes that this linkage is not merely a coincidence but is deeply entrenched in ancient traditions. Specifically, he states that this connection between agriculture and lawgiving finds echoes in other cultures. This perception stems from a belief that agriculture’s inventor also laid the foundations of law. An example given is from ancient Greece, where the Festival of Ceres, goddess of agriculture was celebrated during the harvest season and was not just an agricultural festivity. It also commemorated the proclamation of their religious laws. Greeks believed that Ceres, revered as the goddess who bestowed upon mankind the gift of agriculture, was also the legislator for the people of Eleusis and Athens. Consequently, the Greeks referred to these celebratory days as ‘Thesmophoria’, directly translating to the ‘Bearing of the Law’! Further exploring this cultural interplay, Rabbi Benamozegh references the Roman adaptation of this festival, known as ‘palilie’. The term ‘palilie’, according to Noël-Antoine Pluche, originates from ‘pelilim’ or ‘peliliya,’ – Hebrew for ‘law’ or ‘statute’. The Latin term ‘caerimonia,’ commonly used to denote religious services in general (‘ceremony’, in English), is said to be derived from the aforementioned ‘Ceres’, the founder of these harvest festival rituals. Rabbi Benamozegh writes that this aspect is acknowledged by 14th century physician Rabbi Yiṣḥaq ben Moshe HaLevi (also known as Profiat Duran).

Speak to the Israelite people saying, in the seventh month on the first of the month, you shall have a sabbath, a commemoration with horn blast, a sacred convocation. The verse is interpreted as a symbolic act commemorating the creation of the world. Rabbi Benamozegh draws a parallel with Passover, where remembrance is centred on the Exodus from Egypt (Shemot 12:14), a stage which he refers to as “the creation of Israel”. This connection is crucial as it links the act of remembrance to foundational historical events. Rabbi Benamozegh addresses a key question: why are certain fundamental concepts, like the creation of the world, not explicitly mentioned in the Written Torah? He provides a compelling answer rooted in the purpose and audience of the Torah. He explains that the Written Torah is primarily oriented towards the people of Israel, focusing on their national story and identity. This focus means that universal themes, such as the creation narrative, are not the central subjects of the Written Torah. Instead, these themes find their place in the Oral Torah, which encompasses both the main beliefs that were known to people before Moshe, and those that Moshe himself received directly from God. Delving deeper, Rabbi Benamozegh highlights that the Written Torah is not just about the story of Israel, but it is also a practical guide for the nation in terms of deeds and actions. This is a crucial point because it underscores the Torah’s emphasis on practical observance over theoretical knowledge. In this vein, he references the work of 19th century French politician and philosopher, Pierre-Joseph Proudon, regarding Moshe’s intent behind the Torah. According to Proudon, Moshe did not aim to create a theoretical or philosophical doctrine. Rather, his goal was to establish a practical and actionable guide for living, a manual of sorts for the Israelites. This perspective is significant because it positions the Torah as a living document, meant to guide the daily lives and practices of the people of Israel, rather than to serve as a theoretical discourse for the broader nations. The commentary then considers how the Torah does not explicitly link Rosh Hashana to judgement, but Ḥazal do. He delves into the idea that Rosh Hashanah, like Yom Kippur and Shemini Aṣeret, is fundamentally a day of judgement and forgiveness, illustrated by the unique nature of the sacrifices offered on these days, which differs significantly from those offered on other occasions. He further draws a parallel between the following verse in Sefer Bemidbar, “and if you go to war in your land against the enemy that oppresses you, then you shall blow with the horn blast; and you shall be remembered before the Lord your God” (10:9) and the observance of Rosh Hashanah, which is described in our verse as “a commemoration with horn blast”. This comparison underscores the significance of the shofar’s sound on Rosh Hashanah – it is not merely a ritual act, but a powerful invocation for remembrance before God, both for the community’s external enemies and for their internal spiritual struggles. Delving into the Torah’s structure, Rabbi Benamozegh discusses the calendar and its spiritual implications. Now that we have connected Rosh Hashanahh and Yom Kippur, by means of the qorbanot, what are their individual, specific purposes? One of them may indeed be the new year, and Yom Kippur of the yobel (Jubilee) year has a shofar blast, so perhaps the start of the year is on Yom Kippur. However, he questions the logic of the tenth day being the start of the year, instead of the new moon, noting that no other culture or language starts their year in the middle of a month. Thus the ‘new year’ is Rosh Hashana, rather than Yom Kippur. Further, he argues that the gap between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur server as a transitional period between the end of servitude (brought about by the yobel) and the beginning of freedom. These days are seen as a time for spiritual transition, moving from the slavery of physical drives to the freedom of servitude under divine authority. This concept, he notes, is hinted at in the word ‘yobel’, which derives from the root יבל, and connotes movement; in this case, the movement is returning to God. In other words, the Jubilee symbolised a societal reset, where both land and people were released from the bonds of prior transactions and servitude, emphasising restoration, and a return to an original state. Rabbi Benamozegh then touches upon the dual nature of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. While these days have physical purposes related to national life, they also hold profound spiritual significance. The Written Torah, he explains, focuses on the physical aspects of Rosh Hashana, while the Oral Torah delves into its spiritual and ethical dimensions. On Yom Kippur, both aspects are combined in the written Torah, as it discusses the kappara achieved, which Rabbi Benamozegh views as the return of the soul to its Creator, as well as the return of lands and slaves to their original state. Rabbi Benamozegh emphasises the Prophets’ use of tangible metaphors to convey spiritual truths, exemplified by the metaphor of the “redeemer” (גואל). In the Torah, a “redeemer” is a relative who buys back land or frees an individual from servitude, embodying familial loyalty and responsibility. This physical concept of redemption is used metaphorically in the Prophets’ writings, where God is often depicted as Israel’s “redeemer”. This metaphorical usage can allow us to grasp the closeness, immediacy, and tangibility of God’s relationship with us, and is thus another example of the physical description serving as a metaphor for the spiritual events. Rabbi Benamozegh goes on to reference Sefer Melakhim (1:8), which uniquely mentions the seventh month by its original Canaanite, non-Babylonian name: ‘Etanim’. This is equivalent to the Babylonian month of Tishre, and means ‘strong’ or ‘perennial’, in reference to the rivers that still flow with water during Tishre. Ḥazal made a derasha that the ‘strong ones’ of this month refers to the abot, our forefathers. This time, Rabbi Benamozegh states, is thus characterised as an opportunity for individuals to return to their primal, untainted state, which was perceived by the ancients as pure and free from transgression. Rabbi Benamozegh also links the word ‘Etanim’ to the root אתא, meaning to come in Aramaic, and thus encouraging a return to both ancestral heritage and a deeper connection with God. This is in the same way that ‘yobel’ was connected to the root יבל. He notes that the Targum Yonatan further elucidates this period, referring to this month as the “month of the ancients”, signifying its paramount importance before the Exodus and the establishment of Nissan as the beginning of the Jewish calendar. He quotes the 12th century Rabbi David Qimḥi (Radaq), who notes the unique position of this month in the Jewish calendar. He contrasts it with other cultures where Tishre is the exclusive start of the year, and this power is preserved in its special status in Judaism. However, the use of Nissan as the start of the year is a uniquely Jewish idea.

No task shall you do, an everlasting statute for your generations in all your dwelling places. Rabbi Benamozegh elucidates that the Hebrew word for “generation” (דור) is etymologically linked to the word דירה (‘live’, ‘dwell’, ‘abode’). This connection implies that a ‘generation’ is defined by the span of time during which people live or dwell in the world. The concept of ‘generation’ thus becomes a measure of human existence and presence in the world. Further exploring this notion, Rabbi Benamozegh references the works of the 12th century Rabbi David Qimḥi (Radaq) and the 13th century Rabbi Shimon ben Ṣemah Duran (Rashbaṣ), who both delve into the root of the word ‘generation’.

And you shall take you on the first day the fruit of a majestic tree, fronds of palm trees, and a branch of a leafy tree and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before YHWH your God seven days. Rabbi Benamozegh explores the linguistic and philosophical underpinnings of a key phrase in Jewish law, “fruit of a majestic tree” (פרי עץ הדר). This is commonly understood to refer to the etrog (citron) used during the festival of Sukkot. Rabbi Benamozegh begins by referencing interpretations from the Talmud Babli, the Talmud Yerushalmi, and Midrash Rabba. In these texts, the interpretation of “hadar” is aligned with the Greek word ‘hudor’, meaning ‘water’. For example, Rabbi Shimon Ben Azzai in the Talmud makes this connection to the Greek language, identifying the fact that the etrog is a fruit that needs constant watering to grow. Rabbi Benamozegh notes that the 18th century scholar Rabbi Yiṣḥaq ben Yehuda Rapoport is sceptical about the possibility of deriving halakha from a Greek reading of a Hebrew word, as this would usually only be reserved for non-legal elements such as midrash (Biblical exegesis) or aggada (narrative literature). However, Rabbi Benamozegh asserts that Jewish law often incorporates insights from Greek linguistics, among other languages. This assertion is not trivial; it underscores the dynamic and inclusive nature of Jewish legal interpretation, which extends beyond the confines of a single language or culture. To illustrate this point, Rabbi Benamozegh references the interpretation of a phrase related to capital law, highlighting the Greek linguistic roots that inform Jewish law. The example he uses is based on Vayiqra 20:14 “If a man marries a woman and her mother, it is depravity; both he and they [ואתהן] shall be burned with fire, so that there will be no depravity among you”, where the Greek word ‘hen’ (meaning ‘one’) plays a critical role in its interpretation. He notes that this is expressed in Yalkut Shimoni on the same verse, *“The Rabbis taught: ‘They shall be burned with fire, both he and they’ - this refers to him and one of them, as in the Greek language they call one of them ‘hen’.”* Rabbi Benamozegh then shifts to a philosophical discussion, focusing on the efforts of the Greek philosopher Plato. He recounts Plato’s attempt in Cratylus to find a Greek origin for the word for water, believing that the term ‘hudor’ likely originated from another language. Plato supports this by referencing the presence of a similar word to ‘hudor’ among the Phrygian people of Asia.