Baruch J. Schwartz, Funeral of Jacob Milgrom, June 7, 2010 1 ל"ז JACOB MILGROM RABBI, PROFESSOR, TEACHER AND MENTOR My master and teacher, Jacob: After thirty years together, it’s time to say good-bye. Each year, on a Shabbat morning towards the end of the winter, the cycle of Torah reading arrives at the words, “The LORD called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying” (Leviticus 1:1). Customarily, at this point the congregation begins to doze off and finally to fall asleep. You, however, came awake. In the sacrificial offerings, in the bodily impurities and the abhorrent acts, in the lesions on skin, garments and walls, in the minutiae of prohibited fowl and in the precise definitions of forbidden sexual acts, in Aaron’s annual ritual of atonement and in the unauthorized fire of Nadab and Abihu, in assessments, proscriptions and tithes, you discovered an intriguing and inspiring world. In the details, you found perfection. You found internal logic, you found a comprehensive and systematic Torah, and you found God Himself. Throughout the greater part of your life you applied yourself to the sacred task of revealing the hidden light in the priestly writings, meticulously building of its prescriptions and prohibitions a structure certain to withstand the test of time. No longer do the worshipers fall asleep when they arrive at the book of Leviticus, and this they – all of us – owe to you alone. Your work – your books, commentaries and essays – have not only paved a new way; they have shown the way for the rest of us, bequeathing a lasting legacy to future generations as well. Your learning, Jacob, was your life. This was true not only in the sense that you devoted your heart and soul to the study of Torah, but also in a more profound and far rarer sense. Theological insights and practical considerations that emerged from your research became part of your own belief system and lifestyle. You did not view the results of your scholarship as though looking in on them from the outside; when you arrived at the historical, critical truth, it became an existential truth as well, a truth that you sought to incorporate in practice. Your devotion to your students was unsurpassed. You identified our talents and enabled us to cultivate and develop them; you were aware of our limitations and prodded us – always gently – to overcome them. You were the model of scholarly persona to which we aspired, and you, instead of giving us the sense that we would never come close to emulating you (which was certainly the truth), empowered us to believe that this aim was within our reach. You were our teacher, but you became our partner and our friend. 2 Always curious, always interested, always willing to change your own mind, you listened with sincere openness to your students’ ideas. You incorporated in your own writings hundreds of their suggestions, taking care always to credit them by name. Your concern for your students’ academic progress and welfare knew no bounds; you were always available to consult and commiserate. When necessary, you were prepared to do battle on their behalf, expecting nothing in return. You trained an entire generation of scholars who see you as their teacher par excellence, and your disciples, and today their own disciples as well, occupy leading positions in biblical and Jewish scholarship throughout North America and Israel. The Torah we received from you has indeed become our own. When you supposedly went into retirement you actually began to work your hardest. Time tried to take its merciless toll on you, but you refused to allow it. Neither illness nor injury ever kept you down for long; when back pain made sitting at your desk impossible, you worked standing up. You continued to participate in scholarly conferences, questioning and commenting in your piercing but loving way, and you wrote, wrote, wrote. When Leviticus and Numbers, in their several versions, were finally complete, you took upon yourself to complete the Ezekiel commentary begun by your friend and colleague, Moshe Greenberg z”l . This was not only a gesture of friendship; it was a labor of love that you carried out with the same enthusiasm and thrill that characterized your own work, and you loved every second. You, Jacob, were indefatigable. You never slowed down, and it never occurred to you that time was running out. After each injury, you simply returned to your desk and kept going. Earlier this year, you asked me whether we should attempt to plan an SBL session devoted to your Ezekiel commentary one year hence, or whether perhaps it would be better to delay it until 2011 in order to give the participants enough time to digest it fully. The possibility that you might not make it never crossed your mind. You were a descendant of the tribe of Levi. You began your academic work with the Levitical laws in Numbers, most of which are contained in this week’s Torah reading: “They shall be attached to you and discharge the duties of the Tent of Meeting, but no outsider shall encroach upon you. I have taken your fellow Levites from among the Israelites in dedication to the LORD ; they shall bear their sin, but they shall have no territorial share among the Israelites. Do not profane the sacred donations of the Israelites, lest you die” (Numbers 18). You transformed these passages from unintelligible, tedious words on a boring page into a living reality and an exciting world of ideas. You also filled the ancient role of the Levites in your own life, skillfully and expertly inspiring others as you led them in the Shabbat and Festival prayer services. What was said of 3 the Levites of old can surely be said of you as well: “The LORD is their portion”; “they teach your laws to Jacob and your Torah to Israel” (Deuteronomy 18:2; 33:10). How fitting that you began your career with the biblical passages to be heard throughout the world this Shabbat, and that you ended it last Shabbat, as the law of the tassels on the garments (Numbers 15: 37–41) was being read. Surely no one today is unaware that this text, perhaps more than any other, will forever be associated with your work. You elucidated once and for all the significance of the tassels, the corners of the garment, the wool, the linen, the fringe and, most of all, the royal blue-purple. This command can scarcely be mentioned, let alone performed, without your name coming to mind. With the law of the tassels, last Shabbat’s Torah reading, and with it, your Torah, came to a close. You devoted your life to the study of holiness and purity, and you returned your pure soul to its Maker with the words “In order that you be reminded to observe all My commandments and to be holy to your God” (Numbers 15:40) still ringing in our ears. “Jacob went on his way, and messengers of God encountered him” (Genesis 32:2): Jacob – go now on your way. Go in peace, certain in the knowledge that your Torah will indeed remain “a heritage for the congregation of Jacob” (Deuteronomy 33:4). .