I enjoyed studying the Talmud even when my afternoons were spent drawing up banners for an antiwar protest and my evenings were spent at the printer's putting out the next issue of the college paper. The Talmud, compiled five hundred years after Jesus, is a world unto itself, a collection of Jewish law, folklore, history, and mysticism.

It wasn't until years later that I developed a theory about the relationship between the Talmud and journalism, but I think I knew it on some level even in my student days. The Talmud never seems to settle for only one opinion. The famous Hillel makes a statement, and his colleague Shamai takes issue. Rabba disagrees with Abaye, and Rav and Shmuel are always at each other's throats. In short, there are always at least two ways of looking at a situation -- and, remarkable, they can both be right. One of my favorite stories from the Talmud concerns a heavenly voice that is heard in the study hall as two rabbis are engaged in a vigorous academic argument. "Aylu va'aylu divrey elohim chaim," the voice declares. What this one says and what that one says -- both are the words of the living God.

As in the Talmud, there is no opinion that is invalid, all are worth listening to and recording.

The links between journalism and the Talmud even extend to structure. The Talmud begins with a Mishna, a summary statement of law compiled around the year 200, and then expounds on the Mishna in the Gemara. A good Mishna contains the who, what, where, when, and how, and the Gemara fills out the details. For me it has served as a model for news writing in the perfect pyramid style: begin with a good strong summary in the lead, then follow up with the details and lively arguments in the body of the story. With logic and perseverance, the Talmud strives for equality and justice. No part of life is excluded, from business to prayer to sex. To me, it is the ultimate newspaper of Judaism.

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