Tradition (n.) is renewed only when it is received beforehand.
Tradition (n.) is an account without end and without continuity, going from one to the other — history before all historiography.
Tradition (n.) at its most courageous challenges the very texts it hands down, and records the challenge so it is never laid permanently to rest.
Tradition (n.) is the miracle of confluence, as great as a common origin: the text pulled tight over what tradition expands, like strings over a violin's wood.
Tradition (n.) is not a raison d'être, and piety is not a reason: traditionalism and pietism are orthodoxies, not doctrines.
Tradition (n.) is colleagues questioning one another from century to century — commentaries of commentaries crowding every margin of the page.
Tradition (n.) of the Talmud is not always authentically interpreted by Jewish communities, even their Rabbis — most often it already appears decadent, frozen or dead.
Tradition (n.) is the dark miracle we forget: the small flask of pure oil kept sealed in the profaned Temple, without which no light would have been lit — a coded message passed from scholar to scholar, an absurd purity in a world given over to mixing.