the Jewish people, the more it felt the need of taking refuge in its past. The Scripture, or, to use the Jewish term, the Torah, was the only remnant of its former national independence, and the Torah was the magic means of making a sordid actuality recede before a glorious memory. To the Scripture was assigned the task of supplying nourishment to the mind as well as the soul, to the intellect as well as the imagination, and the result is the Halakah and the Haggadah.
The fancy of the people did not die out in the post-Biblical time, but the bent of its activity was determined by the past. Men craved entertainment in later times as well as in the earlier, only instead of resorting for its subject-matter to what happened under their eyes, they drew from the fountain-head of the past. The events in the ancient history of Israel, which was not only studied, but lived over again daily, stimulated the desire to criticise it. The religious reflections upon nature laid down in the myths of the people, the fairy tales, which have the sole object of pleasing, and the legends, which are the people's verdict upon history—all these were welded into one product. The fancy of the Jewish people was engaged by the past reflected in the Bible, and all its creations wear a Biblical hue for this reason. This explains the peculiar form of the Haggadah.
But what is spontaneously brought forth by the people is often preserved only in the form impressed upon it by the feeling and the thought of the poet, or by the speculations of the learned. Also Jewish legends have rarely been transmitted in their original shape. They have been perpetuated in the form of Midrash, that is, Scriptural exegesis. The teachers of the Haggadah, called Rabbanan d'Aggadta in
