Tales abound of subtle changes, deliberate alterations made for reasons far deeper than simple translation. One such story, laden with intrigue and divine intervention, revolves around the translation of the Torah for King Ptolemy.
The Zohar, that foundational text of Jewish mysticism, along with Mikdash Melech, tells us that something quite extraordinary occurred when seventy-two elders were tasked with rendering the Torah into Greek for the king. As we learn in Chapter 1 of Megillah, King Ptolemy, in a move worthy of a suspense novel, gathered these sages and placed each one in a separate chamber, without revealing his purpose. He then visited each elder individually, requesting that they write out the Torah of Moses.
Now, here’s where the story takes a fascinating turn. The Holy One, blessed be He, intervened. According to the tale, a single plan was placed in the heart of each elder, so that their minds converged upon a unified understanding. The result? Instead of writing, "In the beginning Yahweh created the heavens and the earth," they wrote, "God created in the beginning the heavens and the earth."
Why this change? Rashi, the great medieval commentator, explains that they avoided explicitly writing the name Yahweh at the beginning, fearing it might imply the existence of two authorities, one creating the other. The esteemed Rabbi from the school of the Rosh (Rabbi Asher) echoes Rashi’s interpretation. This was done to preempt any suggestion that there were multiple divine powers at play, thus avoiding contradiction with the teaching found in Sanhedrin.
Think about it: how often do we encounter seemingly plural phrases when referring to God in the Torah? "Let us make man in our image," "and God created," "come, let us go down," "and the Lord descended." These phrases, written in the plural from the beginning, are often seized upon by those who would deny God's singular nature.
Yet, as Rabbi Yochanan explains, these plural forms aren't evidence of multiple gods. Rather, they reflect a divine process of consultation. The Holy One, blessed be He, doesn't act in isolation; He consults with the heavenly assembly. This idea is further elaborated in Midrash Bereishit Rabbah, which, along with Rashi's commentary on the Torah, frames it as an attribute of humility—the greater consulting with the lesser.
So, what are we to make of this intricate narrative? It reveals the delicate balance between preserving the integrity of the divine text and preventing its misinterpretation. It shows us that even in translation, the hand of God, so to speak, is at work, ensuring that the core truths of the Torah remain intact, even as they are rendered into different languages and cultures. And perhaps, it hints at the profound responsibility we each bear in interpreting these sacred words with wisdom and humility.