These gates will soon usher in an era we’ve been dreaming about for centuries

Photos: Menachem Kalish | Video: Menachem Kalish, Gil Mezuman

Rebbi’s Classroom

Perhaps Hillel Hazakein could teach the entire Torah while standing on one foot, but to cover the entire 120-kilometer Sanhedrin Trail — the various stations of the Sanhedrin in the Galilee after it was forced northward following the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash — takes at least two Mishpacha articles. In Part I, we visited Usha and Shefaram, where the Sanhedrin first moved after the Churban, and davened by the grave of Rebbi Yehuda Ben Bava, who ordained the generation of Tannaim in the aftermath of the debacle of the Bar Kochva revolt.

Today we’re going to move southward to the Sanhedrin’s next station, and start our tour in the quaint yishuv of Kiryat Tivon at the National Park of Beit Shearim. I’ve guided groups to Beit Shearim often (back in the days when tourists actually came to Israel in person), and what not everyone knows is that besides being a UNESCO-recognized World Heritage site — which generally doesn’t interest most tourists anyway — it also served as the central burial place for Klal Yisrael for hundreds of years after the Churban, when the Jews no longer had access to Har Hazeisim. The ancient burial caves are an incredible place to learn about the various ancient minhagei kevurah that are mentioned in the Gemara. As well, the inscriptions on the burial caves of those that came from all over the Middle East, and even Europe, are a testimony to the significance placed on kevurah in Eretz Yisrael even in ancient times.

Accompanying me once again is Dr. Chagi Amitzur, the visionary who developed this trail and, together with the Ministry of Antiquities, brought it to fruition in 2018.

He points out a large complex with bleacher-like seats in a half circle, which some theorize was the meeting place of the Sanhedrin once it moved from Shefaram. The move from Usha and Shefaram to a more central and larger city is a testimony to the changing status from the early days after the revolt, when Jews were on the run, to a community that had rebuilt relationships with its Roman occupiers and had come to accommodations with them. And the credit for that changing relationship goes to the city’s most prestigious resident and chief rabbi: Rabi Yehudah Hanasi — “Rebbi.”

The Gemara tells us that Rebbi lived the majority of his life here. For the last 17 years of life he relocated to Tzippori, bringing the Sanhedrin with him (and drawing a parallel to Yaakov Avinu, who lived in Mitzrayim for his last 17 years). Rebbi was the wealthiest person of his generation, and utilized that wealth to support the Jewish People in times of hunger and in gaining influence with Antoninus, the Roman ruler. Those improved relationships presented an opportunity for Rebbi’s most monumental work: the editing of the Mishnah. Although the writing of what was meant to be exclusively an oral tradition was itself a Torah prohibition, the circumstances were extenuating and indeed, the future of the nation and our connection to Torah depended on it. The Jewish People had dispersed, and there was no longer a central Beis Hamikdash to unify the nation. The future rested on Torah study, and Rebbi became our eternal teacher.

On a hill above the aforementioned burial caves are the ruins of a very large multi-pillared room known as a basilica. This was a community center that was common in larger Roman cities, and the Jewish community of Beit Shearim, in keeping with the times, built one for themselves as well. What’s most fascinating about this complex, Chagi points out to me, is that this basilica is constructed with a colonnade consisting of six pillars that must have held up a roof.  On its own that doesn’t seem to be significant, until you open the Talmud Yerushalmi in Eiruvin that mentions a dispute between Rabi Chiya and Rabi Yosi as to whether there were six or eight pillars in the achsadra, or colonnade, of Beit Shearim. Rabi Yaakov bar Acha explains that this really isn’t a dispute, rather the opinion saying there were eight was also including the two pillars outside of the gate. And sure enough, as we walk out the gate of the basilica, there still stand the remains of these two other famous Talmudic-era pillars.

On the side of the basilica there is a small little classroom. I asked Chagi if it was really here that Rebbi wrote and taught the Mishnah to his sons and students? I don’t know for sure, but I was moved to sit down, crack open a Mishnah, and read Rebbi’s words right here. It doesn’t get much better than that.