On the Passing of Yeshayahu Vinograd, the Bibliographer and the Man

Moshe Dovid Chechik

Yeshayahu Vinograd (1933–2020), the renowned scholar and bibliographer, passed away on Thursday, 7 May 2020. He authored Otzar ha-Sefer ha-‘Ivri (Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book), Otzar Sifrei ha-Gra (Thesaurus of the Books of the Vilna Gaon), and (published) Siddur Ezor Eliyahu. The following reminiscences were written by Moshe Dovid Chechik at the request of the editors of The Seforim Blog, and translated from the Hebrew by Daniel Tabak.

While most frontmatter is forgettable, one of the most amazing prefaces that I will never forget is the one composed by Reb Shaya of blessed memory for his magnum opus, Otzar ha-Sefer ha-‘Ivri (Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book). If there were an anthology of prefaces, an entire section would be dedicated to this one, as it is truly sui generis. Its heading reads “Preface and Acknowledgments,” but only the latter is accurate. Spanning nearly four folio-sized pages is a list of every institution and individual who assisted in the writing of the book. Considering that this was a labor of many years, it was only natural that a goodly number of people would make contributions, and so Reb Shaya, a bibliographer through and through, remembered each and every one of them, dedicating a line or two or three to mark their efforts.

This preface encapsulates some of Reb Shaya’s most beloved attributes. First and foremost, he was a diligent collector of all things. In this introductory frontmatter—as in his writings themselves—he amassed all of the relevant particulars, because the omission of even one would mar the final product. Naturally, this was inextricably bound up with Reb Shaya’s characteristically phenomenal memory, as well as his drive to be as precise as possible—not to over- or understate matters, but to delineate precisely what we know and what we do not. Finally, it reflects his good-heartedness, how he found joy in sharing in the success of others and in sharing of himself with others.

In the preface, Reb Shaya did not forget about himself and so provided us with a rough self-eulogy:

The National and University Library [of Israel] served as my home and as my primary source of information and bibliographical data. […] The catalogue room [today, the computer lab] served as my main office for years, and many visitors to the library considered me staff, addressing their questions and even complaints to me… [points of ellipsis in the original].

These are the wonderful qualities that made Reb Shaya who he was. He could not have been further from the stereotype of the stodgy bibliographer who lives in a world of dry facts.

Reb Shaya’s sarcastic wit was ever-present. Thirteen years ago, a few months after I moved into his neighborhood, I ran into him on his way to the Mahane Yehuda market. At the time, we didn’t know each other. I stopped him with some hesitation and asked him when the new edition of the siddur Ezor Eliyahu would be printed. In response he asked, “Are you Chechik?” I nodded, bewildered, as if I had been caught red-handed. In an undertone I remarked that I really hope he didn’t ask every passerby if they are Chechik. He gave a hearty laugh and quickly reassured me that he bore me no grudge for the critical review I had penned two years earlier on the siddur. Quite the contrary, he added, he thought the criticism was well placed. Faced with his grin and bright eyes, I couldn’t help but believe him. We were friends ever since, and recently he reminded me of our first encounter, making sure I remembered my amusing retort.

R. Shaya’s daily route to and from the market passed under my window, allowing him to grab me for a chat when he liked. And since the stop for the 7 bus to the National Library was located under the window to his office on Bezalel Street opposite Hagidem, it gave me a chance to engage him in conversation. He would beam when reporting on the progress of every edition of the siddur, which he never ceased updating and improving, and he insisted on gifting me a copy of every edition, paying no mind to my protests.

He spoke to everyone as an equal. The age gap of fifty years that separated us never surfaced in our conversations. Neither did the immense store of knowledge he carried around. I was always astounded by his insatiable curiosity for new fields or unfamiliar topics. This was no passing interest, as he always remembered to press me about whether I had looked into something or had found a balm for some burning question of his.

R. Shaya’s trademark was his constant smile. As a neighbor, I can say that I never saw him get angry at anyone.

In recent years, when R. Shaya was already in his eighties, his main efforts were expended on a work that he unfortunately never completed. This was the Otzar ha-Ziyyufim, a compendium intended to document every instance of a Hebrew press mentioning an incorrect imprint—for whatever reason—on a title page. This painstaking work demanded a detective’s perceptive hunch, a historian’s vast knowledge, a bibliophile’s intimate familiarity with countless volumes, and, of course, a taxonomist’s complex classification scheme, which he himself had to devise and define. The illness and passing of his wife brought his work to a full stop, but recently he informed me on several occasions that his work was nearing its conclusion, even if, as we had come to expect, he would find new cases for inclusion on a daily basis. His perfectionism confined his final work to a drawer.

It is difficult to capture R. Shaya’s enormous contribution to the world of Hebrew bibliography, for which we owe him a tremendous debt. Who knows how many hours and days he saved us with the meticulously written and organized Otzar ha-Sefer ha-‘Ivri. More than twenty-five years since its publication, and in spite of the impressive technological advances of recent decades, this colossal work of Reb Shaya the bibliographer has yet to be superseded. But for his colleagues, friends, and loved ones, there is none who can replace R. Shaya the man, with his wonderful personality, good humor, and wit.