Why I Identify With Radak

Which classical Biblical commentator do YOU identify with? With whom do you connect on a personal or existential level, and why? In this experimental piece I explain why, for me, the answer is: Radak.

Jan 17, 2024

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The Torah content for the remainder of January has been sponsored by someone who would like to remain anonymous, in honor of Hashem and all His kindness!

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Artwork: *Portrait of a Young Radak*, by DALL-E 3 by OpenAI, based on my prompt co-written with ChatGPT 4: “A painting of a medieval Jewish scholar, dressed in traditional attire of the 12th-13th century. He is depicted with a thoughtful expression, holding a quill and an open book, symbolizing his contributions to biblical commentary and Hebrew linguistics. The background is a study room with shelves of ancient books, a candle, and a window showing a glimpse of a medieval European town. The painting style is reminiscent of classical European portraits, with rich, warm colors and detailed textures.”

I’m a little self-conscious about this article because it’s about my own teaching journey, and I have no idea whether it will be of interest to anyone other than myself. I’d love to hear what you think!

Why I Identify With Radak

Rabbi David Kimchi is one of my favorite biblical commentators. His interpretations of Tehilim, Mishlei, and the Neviim are routinely the first I turn to. His exposition of Bereishis embodies what I consider to be the ideal qualities of a Chumash commentary, as I will discuss later. (Regrettably, this was the last work of scriptural exegesis he published; he didn’t live long enough to write on the other four books.)

However, the chief purpose of this article is not merely to extol his works. I wrote this to explain why, out of all the classical Biblical commentators — indeed, of all the Rishonim — I identify most with Radak on a personal level.

My identification with Radak has nothing to do with his life story, of which little is known. The short biographical portion of his entry in the Jewish Encyclopedia (1901-1906 ed.) reads:

David Ḳimḥi (ReDaḲ; surnamed Maistre Petit): French grammarian; born in Narbonne 1160; died there 1235; youngest son of Joseph Ḳimḥi, and brother of Moses Ḳimḥi. His father having died while David was yet a child, the latter was brought up by his elder brother Moses. Later he supported himself by teaching Talmud to the young … In the quarrel between the Maimonists and the anti-Maimonists, Ḳimḥi took a very active part, defending Maimonides. At an advanced age he traveled as a delegate from the cities of Lunel and Narbonne to Spain to induce the Jewish communities there to side with the Maimonists. Having fallen sick in Avila he could not complete his journey, and entered into correspondence with Judah al-Fakhkhar, but with little success.

Likewise, my identification with Radak is not primarily due to his commentary style, although it aligns perfectly with my own learning and teaching predilections. Here’s a summary from Encyclopedia Judaica:

In all of [his Biblical commentaries], Kimḥi endeavored to utilize the methodology of Ibn Ezra and the elder Kimḥis, stressing scientific philological analysis and de-emphasizing homiletical digression. Unlike these predecessors, however, Kimḥi relied heavily on rabbinic literature, distinguishing between perush or interpretation which conformed to his standards of peshat, and purely homiletical interpretations or derashot, many of which he included nonetheless for added interest. In his exegesis too, Kimḥi strove for clarity and readability in an attempt to depart from the compression and obscurity of his predecessors.

The nature of my spiritual kinship with Radak became clear to me this summer, thanks to my chance discovery of an obscure academic work. This monograph, titled The Commentary of Rabbi David Ḳimḥi on Hosea, was authored by Harry Cohen in 1918 as his PhD thesis and later published in 1929 by Columbia University Press. What follows is Cohen’s overview of Radak’s contributions, with my emphases in bold to highlight those aspects of Radak that resonate with me:

In the story of the scientific study of the Bible one name — that of Rabbi David Ḳimḥi — occupies a unique place. In this history which now covers a period of more than a thousand years, he is the only author who left to posterity standard works in exegesis, Hebrew grammar and lexicography, the three chief domains of Biblical study. Neither profoundly original nor attaining to the rank of the early masters Hayyuj and Ibn Janah in grammar and philology or Rashi and Ibn Ezra in exegesis, he nevertheless achieved a remarkable fame and exercised an extraordinary influence.
R. David Ḳimḥi’s claim to greatness rests on the fact that he embodies and sums up, in a remarkably clear and lucid style and in an admirably systematic form, the work of previous generations of scholars, particularly the results of the “golden” age of Hebrew and Biblical studies. As a result of his natural gifts and the circumstances of the age in which he lived, his works exercised a profound influence on later generations, not only of Jews but also of Christians. For a number of centuries, they were the authoritative sources and text-books of the scholars and the popular hand-books of the masses. Furthermore, his writings, especially his commentaries, had great influence on the translation of the Bible into the vernacular of many countries of Europe …
But another important factor was the peculiar fitness of the family of the Ḳimḥis for the work of transmission and dissemination. They were not mere transcribers or compilers, but natural interpreters and expositors, teachers by nature as well as by profession. Especially is this true of R. David, in whom the didactic talents of the family reached their highest stage.
With the union of the scientific thought of Spain and the devotion to traditional studies of northern France which R. David so well embodies, with the thorough assimilation of his material and complete mastery of his subject, which is evident throughout his works, he combined an unusually able power of systemization and popular presentation.

The aforementioned Jewish Encyclopedia article provides a similar assessment:

In these works Ḳimḥi, while not original, cannot be considered a mere compiler. He digested and assimilated his material most thoroughly; and everywhere there is evident the remodeling and rearranging hand of one who is conversant with the entire range of his science and who surveys the whole with the glance of an adept. Above all he possesses in a high degree the power of systematization and of popular exposition. He excerpted from his predecessors copiously and circumspectly, and arranged his material with such comprehensiveness, clearness, and lucidity of exposition that, while he popularized the opinions of his illustrious forerunners, he at the same time made their works superfluous and helped to sink them into an oblivion from which they were not rescued until the nineteenth century.

This seems like the appropriate time for a succinct formulation of my thesis: I identify with Radak because I view myself not as an original thinker or intellectual pioneer, but rather as an expositor and disseminator of “the Golden Age” of Jewish thinkers and biblical commentators.

This self-conception began to form early on in my teaching career. Students often remarked on the clarity and organization of my presentations. I initially considered this to be part of my skill set, not a core aspect of my identity as a teacher. When I expanded my teaching scope beyond high school in Fall 2020, giving shiur to my community and sharing recordings of all my shiurim publicly, the feedback I received reinforced this realization. While I appreciated this positive reinforcement, I’d often think to myself: “All I’m doing is repackaging the words of the Rishonim!” That’s when it began to dawn on me that my idiosyncratic approach to distilling the ideas of the Rishonim might be less common than I perceived.

It wasn’t until this past summer, while recording my second episode of Judaism Demystified (“Episode 63: Can God Do the Impossible?"), that I explicitly defined the role I’ve embraced throughout my 15-year career as a Jewish educator: I am an ambassador for the Rishonim.

An ambassador’s job is not to be an originator or an innovator in the sense of creating new principles or policies. Rather, their duty is to faithfully represent and convey the perspectives and values of their nation, aiming to establish and nurture positive international relationships. Within these confines, however, there is ample room for originality and innovation in how the ambassador communicates what their country has to offer the world. This is essentially what Radak achieved with the contributions of the “golden age” masters he revered, and it reflects what I do as a teacher: introducing my students, readers, and listeners to a vision of Judaism that may be new to them, and guiding them to appreciate how the timeless insights of the Rishonim can enhance their lives — both in their practice of Judaism and in their overall happiness and fulfillment in life.

Unfortunately, a prevalent sentiment among many of my fellow educators is that the Judaism of the Rishonim is outdated and irrelevant, especially for today’s youth. The views of Rashi, Ramban, Rambam, and other Rishonim are presented in our schools not as a derech ha’chayim (way of living), but as dry doctrines. They are imparted to students in a way that emphasizes rote learning over real-world application. This approach is reminiscent of the educational malpractice eloquently described by Mortimer J. Adler in the introduction to his book, Ten Philosophical Mistakes (1985), where he critiques the methods of the scholastic teachers during the Late Renaissance:

These teachers did not pass on the philosophical tradition as a living thing by recourse to the writings of the great philosophers of the past. They did not read and comment on the works of Aristotle, for example, as the great teachers of the thirteenth century did.
Instead, the decadent scholastics who occupied teaching posts in the universities of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries fossilized the tradition by presenting it in a deadly, dogmatic fashion, using a jargon that concealed rather than conveyed the insights it contained. Their lectures must have been as wooden and uninspiring as most textbooks or manuals are; their examinations must have called for a verbal parroting of the letter of ancient doctrines rather than for an understanding of their spirit.
It is no wonder that early modern thinkers, thus mistaught, recoiled. Their repugnance, though certainly explicable, may not be wholly pardonable, for they could have repaired the damage by turning to the texts of Aristotle or Aquinas in their mature years and by reading them perceptively and critically.
That they did not do this can be ascertained from an examination of their major works and from their intellectual biographies. When they reject certain points of doctrine inherited from the past, it is perfectly clear that they do not properly understand them; in addition, they make mistakes that arise from ignorance of distinctions and insights highly relevant to problems they attempt to solve.

It is my firm conviction that the Judaism of the Rishonim remains as relevant as ever, provided it is taught with clarity, accuracy, and depth, while also being sensitive to the minds, hearts, and lived experiences of students.

I currently teach in a variety of venues and media — high school classes, shiurim in yeshiva, personal tutoring, Substack articles, podcast episodes, YouTube videos, and Instagram posts. Across all these platforms, my objective remains the same: to distill the teachings of the Rishonim for a modern audience, illuminating our understanding of Torah and enhancing our avodas Hashem (service of God).

Much like Cohen's description of Radak, who “achieved a remarkable fame and exercised an extraordinary influence” without being profoundly original, my aim is not fame but to have a meaningful impact on my students. I aspire to introduce them to the joy of discovering Judaism through the eyes of the Rishonim and to share with them the enlightenment that the Rishonim provide.

I’m genuinely curious: Which classical Biblical commentator or Rishon do YOU identify with, and why?

The Rabbi Schneeweiss Substack

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