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Reflections & Two Hespedim: R’ Eliyahu Greensweig & R’ Dovid Kamenetsky

Reflections & Two Hespedim: R’ Eliyahu Greensweig & R’ Dovid Kamenetsky

By Eliezer Brodt

A few months ago, I launched my new podcast, Musings of a Book Collector, a deep dive into the world of rare and fascinating Jewish books (information can be found here). Some episodes are available to enjoy for free (here and here), while exclusive content is reserved for subscribers. You can also purchase individual episodes here. Any form of Sponsorship is helpful and appreciated (here).

Over the past month, the seforim world has lost several remarkable figures, true seforim people. I was privileged to have a personal connection with some of them, and I shared hespedim in their memory. These two episodes are available to listen to for free here. I welcome and appreciate all feedback.

One episode is titled The Quiet Pen of Torah: Reflections on R’ Eliyahu Greensweig.

In this episode, I share a hesped for R’ Eliyahu Greensweig זצ״ל, a hidden talmid chacham, a prolific author, filling notebooks, and pages with his vast Torah knowledge. He wasn’t a public figure, but his sharp mind, careful work on seforim, and constant writing made him truly stand out. I reflect on my personal connection with him and the lessons we can take from his life — humility, precision, generosity, and the discipline of writing Torah every day. His passing is a deep loss for the world of Torah, but his legacy of words and learning continues to inspire. [Available here and here]

Another episode is titled: Remembering R’ Dovid Kamenetsky: His generosity, Legacy, & Seforim

In this episode, I share a hesped for R’ Dovid Kamenetsky זצ״ל, a talmid chacham & prolific author. I reflect on my personal connection with him and the lessons we can learn from his life—especially his generosity and devotion to helping others. I also trace his legacy, highlighting his many significant works on the Vilna Gaon and his Beis Medrash, as well as his more recent focus on the life of R’ Chaim Ozer Grodzinski, including his two monumental volumes on the subject. His passing is a profound loss for the Torah world, but his seforim & articles ensure that his voice and teachings will continue to inspire. [Available here and here]

In addition, for those in Eretz Yisroel Note this coming Tuesday IYH:




This High Holidays: Are we Praying to be Raised or Praying to be Lowered?

This High Holidays:
Are we Praying to be Raised or Praying to be Lowered?

Yaakov Jaffe

The high note of the Yamim Noraim service, both literally and figuratively, growing up, was the two-word phrase “mi yarum,” “who will be raised,” halfway through the U-Netaneh Tokef piyyut. These two words proceed the congregation’s cry of the now-anthem of the day “Repentance, prayer, charity can remove[1] the evil of[2] the decree,” and the two-word phrase carries a special intensity.[3] “Who will be raised” ought to carry a special message for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, [4] although what that message might be requires special consideration.

For the first two paragraphs of this piyyut, the tension builds, leading up to the two words “who will be raised.” The speaker considers the frailty of humanity, and the gravity of the judgment that takes place on the High Holidays. Said tension reaches its climax through a long list of potential passings ending with “mi yarum,” ready to be released with the congregation’s reply. Using word-painting, many Shliach Tzibbur will ominously lower his voice at the words “mi yishafel,” “who will be lowered,” and then raise it both in pitch and in amplification triumphantly asserting “mi yarum,” “who will be raised,” the preferred outcome which ends the paragraph.

Yet, one can ask whether being raised is really the preferred outcome. Do we really pray to be raised and achieve a position of more prominence, power, or dominance instead of being lowered? Inspecting the prayer at length will help us understand the meaning of these words, and whether being raised or lowered is the better result. The question can be answered on two different levels – both investigating what the original author intended, and also what the individual reciting the prayer in synagogue ought to feel today.

Key to answering this question is the unusual order of four words in the center of U-Netaneh Tokef, “who shall become poor and who shall become wealthy; who will be lowered and who will be raised.”  Not all versions of the piyyut feature this order, and understanding the thinking behind the order is crucial to understanding which of those four outcomes we aspire towards and which we prefer to avoid.  Inspection of the piyyut as a whole is vital to understand how the individual at prayer arrives at these key words, and so a brief introduction to U-Netaneh Tokef follows below.

A Piyyut of Human Mortality and Divine Magnificence

U-Netaneh Tokef is of uncertain origin, found in the standard liturgy of today and also as far back as the Cairo Geniza.[5] Serving as an introduction to Kedushah,[6] it consists of four paragraphs, and each of the four find a different way to contrast human mortality and Divine magnificence. For example, the third paragraph contrasts the ephemerality of humanity with God (“And you are, He, King, Living and Everlasting).[7] The fourth paragraph lists many great praises of the name of Hashem who has no limit and no end. Thus, the piyyut is more a praise or description of God, than it is a prayer to God; we ask little from Hashem in these words, mostly describing him, as is fitting for a Siluk piyyut and the start of kedusha.

A dramatic first paragraph describes the day of judgement,[8] comparing humanity to soldiers or sheep, where God determines the decree of each creature, to life or to death.[9] God is judge, arguer, knower, witness, scribe, sealer, counter – without any assistant or rival. Both the shepherd and general determine which of their flock and troop would die, without taking appeals from specific soldiers or sheep. The general and shepherd sometimes might not even have any deep, thoughtful criteria who lives and who dies.[10] In contrast, the profound, novel idea of the high holidays, according to this piyyut, is that Hashem is different in giving the Jew on the high holidays the capacity to change the decree from the negative side of the ledger to the positive side through a direct appeal for a change. The power of the piyyut is how it builds to create the concept of an awesome God, with scurrying fearful angels beside Him,[11] who has full, unchallenged, unappealable control over judgement, only to then later break the model and show that reprentance and prayer provides an alternative option where humanity can change the decree.

The first paragraph is replete with allusions to Biblical verses and to Midrashim that make this core point,[12] using meter and rhythm to build tension. The paragraph consists of 26 phrases, many of which operate as pairs. Some are rhyming pairs (hayom-ayom, malchutekha-kisekha, nishkahot-zichronot, yitaka-yishama, yeichafeizun-yocheizun, edro-shivto), while other pairs use using Biblical Parallelism, and share the same content twice in different words (checking his flock-passing under the rod, cut the endpoint for every creature-inscribe the decree of their judgment, the day of judgment has come-to count all the legions of Heaven in judgment). Everyone’s signature appears in the book of recollections, attesting to the truth of what has happened (Sifri to Devarim 32:4 based on Job 37:7). The book miraculously is even read on its own (recalling Megilah 15b’s interpretation of Esther 6:1). The paragraph ends with three verbs describing God meeting out judgment: counting and measuring each creature, cutting the end for every creation, and then inscribing or writing their decree.

A Dozen Pairs of Life and Death Outcomes

The second paragraph reviews a series of life outcomes in pairs, culminating in the question of who will be raised and who will be lowered.  It is important to recognize that in general, the more negative outcome appears second. This pattern suggests that being raised, second in its pair, might be the more negative of the two outcomes.

The second paragraph begins with three lines that set the stage for this somber section: how many will be die or be born,[13] who will live or die, and whether it will be in the proper time.[14] The second and third of these three lines contain each a pair of outcomes beginning with “mi.” Recalling the paradigm of troops and sheep, the commander or shepherd decides which of the group lives and which dies – not exactly judging each individual on his or her own, just deciding how many will live and how many will die. This introduction is followed by five pairs of types of deaths, with the more negative listed second:

Who by water and who by fire” [water=strangulation; fire is worse, Sanhedrin 37b][15]
Who by sword and by wild animal.” [Animal=stoning is worse, Sanhedrin 37b, Eicha 4:9]
Who by famine and who by thirst (dehydration).” [Thirst is worse, Rashi Bamidbar 20:3]
Who by earthquake and who by plague” [Protracted, painful death of plague is worse]
Who by strangulation and who by stoning” [Stoning is worse, Sanhedrin 49b)

The paragraph ends with five pairs of outcomes, with a more positive outcome juxtaposed with a negative outcome. Here, again, the inferior outcome typically comes second – at least in older versions of the piyyut. Below is a translation of the five pairs, using the verbiage of most Mahzorim but with the negative outcome appearing last, which is how they appear in some Mahzorim.16

Who shall rest and who will move around[17]
Who shall be quieted and who will be torn[18]
Who shall be made serene and who will be rebuked[19]
Who shall be made rich and who shall be made poor[20]
Who shall be raised and who shall be lowered[21]

The second paragraph, in sum, is a litany of a dozen possible outcomes, many of them negative. The listener feels the tension build, waiting for it to be released through the cathartic chant “repentance, prayer, and charity.” One of the numerous bad outcomes seems to be being lowered, and thus we hope instead to be raised; the negative outcome, being lowered, appears last.

Reversing the Last Pair of Outcomes

It is common practice today to reverse the final two outcomes, “raised” and “lowered” to result in a new line “who shall be lowered and who shall be raised.” Some also reverse the penultimate pair, rich and poor.[22] Why reverse the pair and end with what appears to be the positive conclusion and not the negative one? Two answers present themselves, a conventional answer, presented in the paragraphs that follow, and a more speculative answer which will be presented in the following sections. The conventional answer maintains that being “raised” is indeed the preferred outcome, while the more speculative suggestion wonders if being “lowered” is the better outcome.

It is ancient Jewish practice to end units of liturgy with a positive conclusion. Many of the most sad or pessimistic liturgical prayers, including the Kinot and Slichot, often end with a final line that is positive. By rule, the first six Aliyot of Torah reading must end with something positive and readings of the Haftarah, Megilot, and the recitation some chapters of Tehillim (such as Chapter 94 on Wednesdays) are often tweaked to ensure the endings are positive.

It is therefore unsurprising to find that in most congregations the final pair or two pairs in the second paragraph, are each reversed, ostensibly so the paragraph ends positively, at a high note with a positive outcome. Consequently, there are ten pairs where the worst outcome is second, and then in the final one or two pairs, the order is reversed, and the worst outcome is first. Musically, ending positively also allows the prayer leader to end this central moment of the prayers with a dramatic, musical flourish, often not at the cadence point but an octave or two higher than it, thereby readying the congregation to respond.

Yet, in the next section, we speculate whether there is an an alternative reason for reversing the order of the final line prayer, which preserves the pattern of the rest of the paragraph, with the negative outcome appearing second. In this alternative, later publishers argue that the Jew actually prefers the outcome of being lowered before God instead of being raised as a pseudo-rival to Him, so the reversal places the negative choice last as it has been across the entire piyyut: “Who shall be lowered” – a good outcome – instead of “and who shall be raised,” a surely negative result.

This question can be asked on multiple levels:

  1. What the original author think when he composed the pair raised/lowered?
  2. What was the thinking of the publishers or editors who reversed the order and put being lowered first and raised second?
  3. And beyond the history, what should the individual at prayer think when reading these words on the high holidays?

Biblical and Mishnaic Ethical Teachings about being Raised or Lowered

The book of Yeshayahu features a three-chapter prophecy about the greatness of God and the misplaced arrogance of humanity.  Many themes of this chapter are apropos of the high holidays, and indeed Isaiah 5:16 is used to end the blessing of God’s holiness on the high holidays, moments after the conclusion of U-Netaneh Tokef: “And Hashem, Master of Legions, became high through judgment, and the holy God become holy through Tzedakah.”  The section of Yeshayahu commands humanity to change their haughty attitude and lower themselves in the presence of the Almighty.  Indeed, the prior verse (5:15) reads “and a human being is let down and a person is lowered (vayishpal), and the eyes of the high ones shall be lowered (tishpalnah).”  Twice in the verse, the prophet teaches that humanity should conduct itself in a posture of being lowered, ceding the high, exalted space for their Creator.

The root to be lowered, sh-p-l appears fifty-three times in the Tanach in verb and adjective form, in both Biblical Hebrew and Biblical Aramaic; two of the fifty-three appear in the above cited verse. It also can be used as a noun, although with slightly different meaning. The word is often contrasted with height, to be “gavoha,” but at times is also contrasted with being raised, and the root r-v-m.

The plurality of the fifty-three times appears in the Book of Isaiah. A lengthy prophecy at the start of the book is focuses specifically on the idea of lowering the raised, making the “rum” into “shafel” (Isaiah 2:9, 11, 12, 17).[23] The thrust of this prophecy is that a human being should strive to be lowly, not to be haughty and raised, and that any person who is not yet lowly should strive to become so. The chapter makes no mention of any other individuals, righteous or not, who should be raised, because that position is reserved for God. No human should be raised, and being raised is synonymous with sin. This prophecy doesn’t read as a typical description of sin and punishment, where the wicked are lowered for their sins, it reads as amoral argument that all of humanity should be willing to be lowered.

The Haftarah for the morning of Yom Kippur (57:15) is one of two prophecies (also 32:19) where God looks favorably towards those who have already acquired the characteristic of being lowly. Again, being lowly is not a negative social or economic condition to be ameliorated, but a moral condition to be pursued. Some books of the Bible seem to focus on the lowering of the haughty (Isaiah 25:11-12) or the undeservedly raised “ramim” (Isaiah 10:33, 26:5), which leaves open the unstated possibility that certain meritorious individuals do deserve to be raised.  God will occasionally lower something as a punishment (13:11, 29:4, 57:5) or for pragmatic reasons (40:4), but the citations in the Book of Yeshayahu and in the parts of the book that find echoes in the high holiday prayer service, focus exclusively on God lowering humanity to the proper register, without raising anyone in response. 

The ethical books of the Bible convey the same sense. Proverbs 16:19 and 29:23 both recommend that an individual be of lowly spirit, “shafal ru`ach,” rejecting being of a high spirit. Psalms 75:6-8 explains that a human being should not strive to be raised, because God determines the lowly and raised. Psalms 138:6 says that God is raised and looks positively at the lowly. This idea is also echoed in Avot in at least three occasions (4:4, 4:10, 5:19). It would be odd to have intention on Yom Kippur to become something that the ethical teachings recommend against![24] The role models of Judaism are known for their humility and how they lower themselves (see Bamidbar 12:3, Rashi Devarim 32:44 “hishpil atzmo”), and we should act in the same way.

Most people at prayer argue for the reverse, that the author intended “raised” as the positive outcome and “lowered” as the negative outcome. The pair of wealthy/poor and raised/lowered appear in the exact same order in Chanah’s prayer, the Haftarah of Rosh Hashanah (2:7) “Hashem brings poverty and makes wealthy, lowers even raises;” in this context wealth and being raised are both positive outcomes. And there are a minority of Biblical passages which value raising the lowly and set lowliness as a situation to be avoided (Jeremiah 13:18, Ezekiel 17:6, 14, 24; Ezekiel 29:14-15, Malachi 2:9, Psalms 147:6, Job 5:11, Daniel 7:24). With evidence on both sides, we cannot know for certain what the original author intended, or what the editor who swapped the order intended. Still, a majority of Biblical verses, those cited above along with numerous other ones (Shmuel 2:6:22, 2:22:28=Psalms 18:28 [lower the raised], Ezekiel 21:31, Job 22:29, 40:11, Daniel 4:34, 5:19-22,), convey the idea that it is better to be lowly, not to be raised.[25]

Hints in the Piyyut: Supporting Being Lowered

The general sense of the piyyut gives multiple clues that the correct disposition for a human being is lowliness. The entire third paragraph contrasts between God’s greatness and man’s insignificant lowness: flesh and blood which will end as dust (Genesis 3:19), compared to broken pottery (Bereishit Rabbi Loc. Cit. [14:7]), dry grass & wilting sprout (Yeshauahu 40:7), passing shade (Psalms 144:4), ceasing cloud (Job 7:9), blowing breeze (Yeshayahu 40:7), flying dust (Isaiah 5:24), and a dream that flies away (Job 20:8). Human beings shouldn’t be raised, they should recognize how small they are compared to God!

Even the majestic and grand first paragraph still hints that even God’s own true nature is also defined not through His loftiness, but through His modesty. When describing the commotion among the angels on the day of judgment, God’s essence is not captured through thunder, lighting or earthquake, but through the thin, soft voice that Elijah heard (Kings 1:19:11-12). This concept of God’s greatness is implicit in the piyyut’s focus less on the power of God, and more on God’s unwavering truth. The word truth appears three times in the piyyut (twice dramatically beginning sentences); power and exaltedness are less critical than softness, honesty, consistency, and truth.[26]

Though the end of piyyut does mention briefly the unlimitedness[27] of God’s years and our inability to estimate the greatness of God’s chariots, the ecstatic praises that end the poem are also focused more on God’s honesty, kindness, and forbearance than on His power. Thus, though at the start of the piyyut, God is contrasted with humanity in such his way that His all-powerful being leads to fear, at the end, God is contrasted with humanity in a way that leads to optimism; Hashem is unique through a kindness and calmness that makes repentance possible. God’s nature, name, or “Sheim” doesn’t change – in contrast to temporary human beings, and therefore one has a guarantee that God is “slow to anger and easy to be appeased” (Avot 5:11), never wishing for the sinner to die but instead waiting each day for him to repent (Ezekiel 18:22, 32).[28]

Being raised and exalted is of limited value in the logic of this piyyut, but being soft, humble, and truthful is of a significant value. If that is what we expect from God, should we expect any less from people?

Kavanah and Tefilah

On the high holidays, the Jew will recite pages and hours of prayers, inspired and motivated by specific lines, tunes, or moments, but the prayer experience often deprives us of considering the larger outlook or theology of particular prayers. One reciting any piyyut ideally must contend with the original intent of the original author, along with any possible editors that may have exchanged the order of any of the phrases. Yet, even if the original editor had intended one reading, the individual reciting the prayer must select their own an interpretation for the prayers we recite. In this case, do we hope hoping for a year where we are raised, becoming “a head and not a tail” (Rosh Hashanah meal liturgy, based on Devarim 28:13), or a year where we are lucky to develop a lowly affect and personality and to avoid haughty self-concept.

U-Netaneh Tokef ends with the words “our names, you called with Your name” conveying that we have a close relationship with God, representing Him in such a way.[29] In a song that praises God for his patient choice to delay punishment and allow for repentance, eschewing the role of indifferent general and shepherd and instead enwrapping in the cloak of justice and sitting on the throne of truth – should we not try to be the same way? And in that vein, perhaps we should pray this year to have the honor to be inspired to successfully lower ourselves, and to avoid self-aggrandizement and self-raising.

[1] A note on the grammar and word choice: “Remove,” is in the Hebrew “ma`avirin,” using the Hiphil form of the root `-v-r, which literally means to move to the other side, but here means to remove entirely. It is sometimes taken figuratively to mean “to remove” in the Tanach, such as in Esther 8:3. See later note about the repeated use of this root in the piyyut.
[2] The phrase “evil of the decree,” implies that some part of the decree might not be evil and ought to remain. Earlier sources in the Jewish tradition talk instead about removing a “decree” entirely, not specifically “the evil of the decree,” although later sources, particularly the ones composed after U-Netaneh Tokef use the phrase “evil of the decree” as well.

Our text of Avinu Malkeinu also uses this construction, “evil of the decree,” but Rav Amram Gaon’s earlier version of Avinu Malkeinu does not have it, and so it is possible that our Avinu Malkeinu was changed to match this piyyut, or that this piyyut follows a different version of Avinu Malkeinu, as it is not entirely clear which of these tefilot was written first and thus which might have influenced the other – or if they are both influenced by a third source.
[3] Rosh Hashanah 16b lists four things that can remove the negative outcomes of the decree: charity, prayer, changing the name, and changing one’s actions (repentance); these are three of the four.
[4] Though the piyyut mentions both Yom Kippur and Rosh Ha-Shanah, its focus is on Rosh Ha-Shanah, as it includes the words “And write their decree” which reflects the events of the Day of Judgment more than the Day of Atonement when the decree is sealed (Rosh Hashanah 16b). The piyyut also walks through the four parts of the internal blessings of the Rosh Ha-Shanah service (Rosh Hashanah 32a) in order: (1) “And we shall relate the severity of the holiness of the day”….. (2) “And through this (or, on it) your Kingdom shall be elevated”…. (3) “And you will open the book of Remembrance and it shall be read on its own,” (4) “And it shall (be) blown with a great Shofar” [Isaiah 27:13, about the redemptive era].
[5] Isaac of Viena (Ohr Zarua`276), citing Ephraim of Bonn, attributes the Piyut to Amnon of Mainz. As to whether he was the original author or transmitter of the prayer, see Avraham Frankel, “The Historical figure of Rabbi Amnon of Mainz and the development of the Piyyut ‘U-Netaneh Tokef’ in Italy, Germany, and France,” Tzion (2002), 125-132, and sources cited therein.
[6] As a Siluk piyyut, the words “and we shall pronounce Kedusha to you” precedes the beginning of U-Netaneh Tokef. As it functions as a transition to Kedusha, the end of U-Netaneh Tokef asks G-d to sanctify his name, just as the angels and people do using the words of Kedusha.
[7] G-d is called “living and everlasting” in Aramaic in Daniel 6:27.
[8] As noted above, the piyyut refers to the annual day of judgment on Rosh Hashanah, although Wolf Heidenheim, Mahzor Rosh Ha-Shanah (Rodelheim, 1880), 77a was of that view that it refers to the day of judgment at the end of days, instead.
[9] Ranon Katzuf, “U-Netaneh Tokef” Daf Shevui:Bar Ilan 985 (2012), discusses these two elements of the Piyut at length. Rosh Hashanah 16a already established that humanity is judged “Kivnei Maron,” although the meaning of that phrase is unclear. The Talmud (18a) gives a variety of explanations for the phrase, including sheep [who are counted when being tithed (Rashi)], and soldiers [who are counted going out to war (Rashi)].

The first explanation, sheep, takes “Maron” to be Hebrew, cognate with Aramaic “imrana,” while the second explanation, soldiers, believes “Maron” is a loan word from the related Latin word “numerus” which refers to an army formation. The first explanation also takes its cue from the verb “to pass,” found by the animal tithe.

The author of U-Netaneh Tokef clearly has both meanings of the phrase in mind. Before using the phrase of the Mishnah, that all creatures pass before G-d “ki-vnei maron,” the piyyut refers to how the troop of heaven, “tzva marom,” is judged, signaling the second meaning of the phrase, referring to soldiers. Just after using the key phrase “ki-vnei maron,” the author compares G-d’s actions to a shepherd checking his flock (Yechezkel 34:12), passing them under his rod (Leviticus 27:32, Jeremiah 33:13). Thus, both meanings are intended and signaled, one before the use of the ambivalent phrase and one just after.

The meaning of the Aramaic “imrana” is, itself, also unclear. Rashi takes it to be equivalent to “imra,” meaning lamb, in Aramaic, although the words are slightly different from each other.
[10] Katzuf notes that in the case of the animal tithe, which according to some is determined by Rosh Hashanah (Rosh Hashanah 2a), 1 out of every 10 sheep is sentenced to be sacrificed. In the case of the Roman decimatio, 1 out of every 10 soldiers is similarly sentenced to death in punishment for a collective crime. In both cases, 1 out of 10 is killed, but their death is not the result of a unique, specific judgment of each specific subject, rather a certain percentage of the group dies, and the selection of specific ones are arbitrary. Vayikra 27:33 even requires that the shepherd not compare between good and bad when deciding who will die. In that vein, sometimes, the death of human individuals over the course of a year might seem to be similarly arbitrary.

Alternatively, one could distinguish and say that soldiers are evaluated based on their fitness are past record of performance, while specifically sheep are judged as a group and without an eye to specific members of the group as individuals. In any event, the piyyut begins by implying humanity is judged in the same way, before later providing the alternative account, that repentance allows us to be judged uniquely based on our own accomplishments in the past year.[
[11] A note on the Biblical sources for the wording: “u-malachim yeichapheizun,” “and angels will hurry,” is based on Psalms 104:7, where the verb appears although the subject of the verb is unclear; it probably refers to the waters but could be taken to refer to angels which appeared earlier in verse 4. The line ends “ve-chil u-re’adah yocheizun,” fear and dread will grab them,” with a rhyming verb and similar vowel pattern, based on Yeshayahu 13:8. Though the two verbs look the same, they are grammatically different, however. The former is a standard third person plural verb with an added nun for sound with no grammatical importance; the latter is a third person plural verb with a suffix, “grab them.”
[12] A note on the Biblical sources for the wording: sources include: “awesome and frightening” (Habakuk 1:7), “raise your monarchy” (Numbers 24:7), “establishing a throne with kindness and truth” (Isaiah 16:5), judging the “troop of heaven” (Isaiah 24:21), “not clear in Your eyes” (Job 15:15).
[13] A note on the grammar and word choice: The piyyut will later use the convetional root for death, m-t-h, but here uses an alternative “who will pass,” with the root `-v-r, to pass. Normally the word is used literally in the Bible, but can be used to mean to end or cease, such as in Melachim 1:15:12. (It does not refer to death in the Bible, but does in the Mishnah, such as Avot 5:21).

There are four possible poetic reasons for the use of the word in this context: (1) It alliterates nicely with the next clause, how many will be born, “kamah yibarei’un”. (2) It can also be translated “how many will be forgiven,” as G-d passes over the sin, as in Micha 7:18, the final words of the Haftara of Shabbat Shuva. (3) The root had been used earlier in the piyyut twice for the sheep passing before the shepherd and once for G-d’s judgment of humanity, and so it echoes the earlier paragraph; the root will be used later when describing the passing shade. See also note 1. (4) It provides poetic variation from the word for death, used in the next line.[
[14] It is beyond the scope of this essay to consider Judaism’s view if people have set lifespans destined to them or not. This line implies they have a set lifespan that can be shortened in the event of sin. See Rashi to Genesis 5:24, 15:15, 17:14, Iyov 4:18 who describes death before a set time, often using the phrase “before his time” that is not found in the earlier Midrashim.
[15] Rabbi Soloveitchik’s custom was to follow Heidenheim, 77b and to reverse the order of these two clauses, possible preferring to preserve the order of the verse (Tehillim 66:12), over the idea of keeping the worse death second.
[16] See Daniel Goldschmidt, Mahzor Le-Yamim Noraim (Jerusalem: Academy, 1970), 169-172 and the alternative versions cited therein.
[17] A note on the Biblical sources for the wording. The verb “to rest” is found often in the Bible. The verb “to move around,” n-u-`, appears in many occasions in the Bible, meaning to move around but also to be scared or to shake. When the word appears in passive voice (such as Amos 9:9 and Nahum 3:12) it means to be shaken by others. Here, the word is in the standard active form and would mean to move around (as in Tehillim 109:10, 107:27). In Hebrew grammar, to move and to rest are opposites, as they name the two types of Sheva’s: a voiced (na`) and unvoiced (nach) one, though in Biblical and Mishnaic Hebrw they are not opposites. The author is juxtaposing the words based on how they appear in grammar, not in the Bible.
[18] It is not intuitive that these two would be opposites. The verb sh-k-t is often the opposite of going to war (or ironically, the previous verb, to move around, see Isaiah 7:2-4), not being torn.

A note on the grammar and word choice:

Goldschmidt vowelizes the first word in hiphil form, “yashkit,” “make quiet” as in Psalms 15:18, Isaiah 7:4. Heidenheim vowelizes the word in the niphal form, “yishakeit,” but the word never takes that form in the Bible.

Goldschmidt vowelizes the second word in pual form, “yetoraf” as in Genesis 37:33, 44:28.

Heidenheim vowelizes the word in the niphal form, “yitareif” as in Exodus 22:12.
[19] A note on the Biblical sources for the wording: Sh-l-v appears in the Bible in verb form only once (Job 3:26), although it does appear in noun and adjective form a few times. It appears here in the niphal form, “yishaleiv,” be made serene. Y-s-r means to be punished or rebuked. It appears here it hitpael form, see Ezekiel 23:48.
[20] A note on the grammar and word choice: The verb to become wealthy `-sh-r normally appears in the hiphil form in Tanach, and for Goldschmit takes that form here, “ya`ahir” as in Psalms 49:17. Heidenheim vowelizes the word in the niphal form, “yeiasheir.”

The notion G-d causes wealth and poverty also appears in Shmuel 1:2:7 but in slightly different verbiage “Hashem morish u-ma`ashir.” The two Mahzorim also disagree about whether the other word is vowelized yeiani or ya`ani.”
[21] “Yarum” means to rise up, as in Tehilim 27:6 and elsewhere. Heidenheim has “yishapeil” in niphal while Goldschmidt has yeshupal in pual. The Tanach uses a third form, yashpil in hiphil (Tehillim 75:8).
[22] Rabbi Soloveitchik’s custom was only to reverse the final pair.
[23] I discuss this prophecy at length, while also applying it to its historical context, in Isaiah and his Contemporaries, (Kodesh Press, 2023), 44-46.
[24] See also Rashi to Devarim 7:7 for further discussion of this idea.
[25] Ironically, Psalms 136:23 can be read either way, that being lowly is a meritorious condition that led G-d to recall us, or a pathetic condition that similarly caused G-d to recall us. Daniel 4:14 has similar ambivalence.
[26] Truth is God’s signature, Shabbat 55b. Some Chazanim highlight the central role truth plays in the piyyut by beginning to read out loud from this word, the two times it begins a sentence. Ohr Zarua` sees in this line an acceptance of G-d’s true justice that even when the bad decree befalls us, we still deserve what happens to us.
[27] Using the same word, kitzvah, used early to refer to the set time of the lives of the various creatures.
[28] The song ends with praise of G-d’s name, the Tetragrammaton, which captures how God is eternal and does not change. This impacts the process of repentance and punishment in two ways. First, because G-d does not change, the judgment is always truthful; He is not given over to fits of improper anger and the like. Second, because God is eternal, He has no need to hasten to anger and can wait, because there will always be future opportunities for punishment (Rashi Devarim 32:43), and so the individual has time for repentance.

The piyyut says we cannot express the hidden aspects of the name, see Pesahim 50a.
[29] Artscroll connects this line to Rashi Bamidbar 26:5. Heidenheim connects it to Jeremiah 14:9 or Devarim 28:10. It also may be that the line is inspired by none of these sources. Whatever the origin of the phrase, it clearly speaks to our relationship with G-d.




From Medina Raḥamim to Elul Seliḥot: Toward a Prehistory of Nocturnal Penitential Prayer

From Medina Raḥamim to Elul Seliḥot:
Toward a Prehistory of Nocturnal Penitential Prayer

Aton M. Holzer

Shulamit Elizur, the undisputed doyenne of piyyut scholarship, published in 2016 a characteristically magisterial study on the origins of the seliḥot liturgy.[1] This liturgical category – like the prayerbook as a whole – is not attested before the eighth and ninth centuries. The great payyetanim of late antique Eretz Israel – Yose ben Yose, Yannai, and R. Eleazar ha-Qalir – composed qinot, qerovot, and other poetic forms, yet, as Elizur has demonstrated elsewhere,[2] seliḥot cannot be ascribed to this early Eretz-Israeli stratum. Contrary to earlier assumptions that located their genesis in the pre-classical Palestinian milieu, the genre is in fact a Babylonian creation, nurtured in a setting where “primitive” poetic styles persisted well into later centuries. The available evidence indicates that seliḥot entered the liturgical repertoire of the land of Israel only after the late eighth century, and even then only in a limited and sporadic fashion. From Babylonia, the genre subsequently radiated westward, leaving its imprint on Italy, Ashkenaz, and Sefarad.

The seliḥot as they have come down to us consist of two distinct components. The seliḥot proper are payyetanic compositions structured upon the framework of a primordial abecedarian proto-seliḥah preserved in the Seder of R. Saʿadyah Gaon. This early prototype interwove biblical verses drawn alternately from Torah, Writings, and Prophets. Three verses, however – the Thirteen Attributes (Exod. 34:5–6), the Prayer of Moses (Num. 14:19–20), and the Prayer of Daniel (Dan. 9:18–19) – were singled out for repetitive or responsive recitation, while the remaining verses were gradually supplanted by confessional passages (viduy) or thematic prose paragraphs. Elizur contends that the genre most plausibly derives from a pre-classical Palestinian text embedded in the Qedushat ha-Yom blessing for Yom Kippur, where prayers composed entirely of biblical verses were customary. In Babylonia, this early piyyut – and, in due course, the expanding sequence of piyyutim modeled upon it – was transplanted into the Amidah at the selah lanu blessing, thereby establishing the formal locus of the seliḥot within the liturgy.

A second, distinct component of the seliḥot service is the raḥamim – the repetitive litanies beginning with ʾEl raḥum shimekha. This section was not initially bound to the fixed liturgy but was instead recited in assemblies convened during the ashmoret ha-boker (“the third watch of the night,” before dawn) throughout the month of Elul, the Ten Days of Repentance, and Yom Kippur. As with seliḥot, this practice finds no precedent in the late antique liturgy of Eretz Israel, but rather emerges within the Babylonian milieu. In the course of time, the raḥamim were often relocated to the taḥanun following the morning prayer, and, once the seliḥot component was excised from the Amidah, the two elements were joined. Thus, on Yom Kippur, only the evening service retained raḥamim, while the other services preserved seliḥot. In Sephardic communities, the seliḥot rites that remained independent of the fixed liturgy – those recited at ashmoret during Elul and the Ten Days of Repentance – developed in a more fluid and less regimented manner: seliḥot-type piyyutim were freely interwoven with raḥamim-litanies, precisely because their origins lay outside the structured framework of the Amidah.

When, then, did these nocturnal gatherings originate? No documentary evidence attests to seliḥot or raḥamim before the eighth century. Nevertheless, there is reason to suspect that Babylonian Jewish communities had already consecrated the month of Elul to penitential supplication by the close of late antiquity. A fascinating recent study by Michael E. Pregill traces the evolution of traditions surrounding the Golden Calf episode across late antique Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. He demonstrates that the ḥet ha-ʿegel was a charged theme in Eastern Christianity from the fourth century onward, generating a distinctive cross-pollination between Jewish and Syriac Christian traditions in the Sasanian orbit.

A striking motif emerges in the writings of Ephrem of Nisibis (306–373) – who integrates certain midrashic elements, such as the murder of Hur and apologetic defenses of Aaron – namely, the portrayal of Israel as an unfaithful bride:

“The Holy One took the Synagogue up to Mount Sinai
He made her shine with pure white garments, though her heart was dark
She whored with the Calf (bĕ-ʿeglâ gārat), and He came to despise her
He smashed the Tablets, the book of her covenant (kĕtābâ da-qyāmāh).”[3]

This imagery appears to have acquired particular resonance in the Aramaic-speaking milieu, aided by the rendering of saru (Exod. 32:8) as satu in the targumim – a translation evocative of sotah – and echoed, albeit in less explicitly sexualized form, in the Peshitta. The motif was subsequently taken up by Syriac Christian theologians and exegetes such as Theodoret of Cyrrhus and Jacob of Serugh. As Pregill persuasively argues, rabbinic sources themselves came to embrace this image, precisely as both a product of and a response to this polemical environment.

It may therefore be that the month of Elul – the period traditionally associated with Moses’ ascent to atone for the sin of the Golden Calf – was observed with particular intensity, at least on an individual level, within the Babylonian milieu, where the Golden Calf served as a focal point of interreligious controversy.[4] A possible allusion to such a practice appears in Seder Eliyahu Zuta, a distinctive rabbinic midrashic work and moral treatise,[5] likely composed in Babylonia between the fifth and ninth centuries:

“Were it not for God’s forbearance toward Israel during the first forty days that Moses was up on Mount Sinai to bring the Torah to his people, the Torah would not have been given to Israel. By what parable may the matter be illustrated? By the parable of a mortal king who wed a woman he loved with utter love. Having sent for a man to act as a go-between between him and his future queen, he showed the emissary all his nuptial chambers, his halls of state, and his private living quarters. The king then said to the go-between: Go and say on my behalf to the lady, ‘I do not require anything from you. You need make for me only a small nuptial chamber where I can come and dwell with you, so that my servants and the members of my household will know that I love you with utter love.’ Yet even while the king was concerning himself with the measurements of the nuptial chamber [she was to make for him] and while he was dispatching a messenger to convey many, many gifts to the lady, people came and told him: ‘Your future wife has committed adultery with another man.’ At once the king put aside all the plans he had in hand. The go-between was expelled and withdrew confounded from the king’s presence, as is said, While the King was thinking [about the measurements] of His nuptial chamber, my spikenard let go [and lost] its fragrance (Song 1:14)… During the last forty days when Moses went up a second time to Mount Sinai to fetch the Torah, Israel decreed for themselves that the daytime hours of each day be set aside for fasting and self-affliction. The last day of the entire period, the last of the forty, they again decreed self-affliction and spent the night also in such self-affliction as would not allow the Inclination to evil to have any power over them. In the morning they rose early and went up before Mount Sinai. They were weeping as they met Moses, and Moses was weeping as he met them, and at length that weeping rose up on high. At once the compassion of the Holy One welled up in their behalf, and the holy spirit gave them good tidings and great consolation, as He said to them: My children, I swear by My great name that this weeping will be a joyous weeping for you because this day will be a day of pardon, atonement, and forgiveness for you – for you, for your children, and for your children’s children until the end of all generations.” (Ch. 4, Braude translation)

The precedent for individual supplications is reflected within the raḥamim-style litanies themselves – for example, “He who answered Abraham our father … to Isaac his son … to Daniel … to Ezra.” Daniel Boyarin has noted that the prayers of the narrator in the extracanonical 4 Ezra (late first century CE) bear striking affinities to the litanies, confessions, and invocations of the divine attributes that later characterize the seliḥot.[6] Even if one remains cautious about retrojecting the fully developed genre – absent from both Talmuds and unattested in the Palestinian West – back to so early a period, and even if many of Boyarin’s textual parallels must undoubtedly be assigned to later strata,[7] the evidence nonetheless suggests the possibility of an early use of penitential litanies in private devotion. This, in turn, stands in contrast to their later employment within the communal ʿAmidah of fast days, as recorded in m. Taʿanit 2:4.

Other, later developments within “Babylonian territory” – regions under the halakhic and tributary jurisdiction of the Babylonian center by the close of late antiquity – may likewise hint at the existence of such practices and illuminate stages in their historical evolution.

Recent scholarship suggests that rabbinic Judaism maintained a significant presence in the Arabian Peninsula, at least in its northern regions – possibly even reflected in the toponym Khaybar (deriving from ḥaver[8]) – as well as in the Jewish city of Yathrib/Medina, which some now identify as a community of halakhah-observant, rabbinic Jews.[9] This line of research is relatively recent, its conclusions necessarily tentative, yet it opens promising avenues for further inquiry.

While the midrashic material drawn upon by the Qurʾan appears to be of Eretz-Israeli provenance[10] – attesting to the earlier dominance of the Eretz-Israeli center – the Arabian Peninsula after 570 was largely under the sway of the Sasanian Empire or its clients, with direct Sasanian control extending as far south as Najrān and Jeddah. The Ḥijāz itself is later described as long having functioned as a “backyard” of the Babylonian academies:[11]

“’Abdur Rahman bin ‘Abdul Qari said, ‘I went out in the company of ‘Umar bin Al-Khattab one night in Ramadan to the mosque and found the people praying in different groups. A man praying alone or a man praying with a little group behind him. So, ‘Umar said, ‘In my opinion I would better collect these (people) under the leadership of one Qari (Reciter) (i.e. let them pray in congregation!).’ So, he made up his mind to congregate them behind Ubai bin Ka’b. Then on another night I went again in his company and the people were praying behind their reciter. On that, ‘Umar remarked, ‘What an excellent Bid’a (i.e. innovation in religion) this is; but the prayer which they do not perform, but sleep at its time is better than the one they are offering.’ He meant the prayer in the last part of the night. (In those days) people used to pray in the early part of the night.’” (Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, Vol. 3, Book 32, Hadith 227)

The “Prophet’s Mosque” of Medina, in its original form, seems to have resembled a synagogue, with the qibla (direction of prayer) even initially facing Jerusalem. In the first decades of the seventh century, before the coalescence of an “Islamic” identity, Jews might actually have been included in the proto-Islamic muʾminūn (“believers”) movement.[12] This hinges, to some extent, on whether the word characterizing the Jews’ relationship to the new movement is umma (“[one] community”), as Fred Donner reads it, or amāna (“secure”), as Michael Lecker would have it.[13]

Regardless, in the early period of Islam Jews and Christians seem to have joined the “community” without having to recant their previous faith or identity, and there was no “conversion” rite or procedure.[14]

The brief “honeymoon” between Muhammad and the Jewish tribes of Yathrib ended abruptly, culminating in the bloody execution of some four hundred men of the Jewish tribe of Banū Qurayẓa.[15] More recent revisionist scholarship, however, tends to regard this episode – attested only in sources written a century or more later – as altered,[16] exaggerated, or even fabricated, serving primarily the purpose of boundary-setting.[17] These retellings were likely shaped by later Muslim conflicts with Jewish communities in Damascus and Baghdad, while the original events, insofar as they occurred, are better understood as a matter of political expediency rather than religious confrontation.[18]

In any case, many Jews appear to have remained in Medina for several decades thereafter. The expulsion of non-Muslims from the Ḥijāz – the western province of Arabia – was long attributed to the second caliph, ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (r. 634–644), who was also credited with the shurūṭ ʿUmar (“Pact of ʿUmar”), the charter assigning dhimmī status to Jews and Christians and thereby marking clear boundaries between them and the emergent Islamic polity. More recent research, however, tends to assign both the expulsion and the Pact not to ʿUmar I, but rather to ʿUmar ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz (r. 717–720).[19]

Jewish sources themselves offer little contemporary testimony datable to this formative period. One exception is an apocalyptic work composed around the mid-eighth century, Nistarot de-Rabbi Shimon bar Yoḥai, pseudepigraphically attributed to R. Shimon bar Yoḥai – cast here as the fiercest rabbinic adversary of Rome.[20] This work strikingly celebrates ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb, conqueror of Jerusalem from the Byzantines, as a beneficent figure whose reign would prepare the ground for Israel’s redemption. The text prophesies that the Ishmaelite regime would vanquish Christendom and create the conditions for the advent of the Messiah:

“The second king who will arise from Ishmael will be a friend of Israel. He will repair their breaches and mend the breaches of the Temple; he will shape Mount Moriah and make the whole of it a level plain. He will build for himself there a place of prayer (hishtaḥavayah) upon the site of the ‘foundation stone’ (ʾeven shetiyyah), as Scripture says: ‘and set your nest on the rock’ (Num. 24:21). He will wage war with the children of Esau, slaughter their troops, and capture a great multitude of them. And in the end, he will die in peace and with great honor.”

ʿUmar acquired the epithet al-Fārūq (“the redeemer”) – from the same root as purqan – most likely through Jewish usage.[21] The early Islamic movement may at first have been perceived in terms akin to contemporary Noahides: strict monotheists who acknowledged Israel’s chosenness and with whom joint prayer posed no obstacle. ʿUmar’s acceptance of the Byzantine surrender in 637 and his subsequent activities in Jerusalem – including the readmission of Jewish residents, the clearing of refuse from the Temple Mount, and the construction of an initial “prayer-house” open to all worshippers, Jews among them[22] – could only have deepened Jewish admiration for him and for the movement he led in its formative environment.

It was during ʿUmar’s caliphate that the month of Ramadan, having been unmoored from the solar calendar after 632, fell successively in Iyyar,[23] then in Tishrei (637–639), and thereafter in Elul (640–642). Jews observing the Babylonian rite of raḥamim by night would naturally have assembled in Medina’s spacious prayer-house during the nights of Tishrei and Elul/Ramadan. Before the incorporation of seliḥot, these supplications were recited individually. ʿUmar evidently regarded the practice as salutary but preferred that it be performed collectively; hence, alongside the adoption of seliḥot, the communal ashmoret service became standard across lands under Babylonian influence. Intriguingly, however, the seliḥot embedded in these ashmoret gatherings retained an individualistic tenor for centuries – most clearly visible in the piyyutim of R. Isaac ibn Ghiyyat, composed especially for the nights of Elul. Thus, even as the ashmoret gatherings assumed a communal form, they continued to be conceptualized as assemblies of individuals.[24]

The Geonic treatment of this custom, preserved in R. Isaac ibn Ghiyyat’s Hilkhot Teshuvah (§58), records that both the ninth-century Gaon R. Kohen Ẓedeq b. Abimai of Sura and the renowned eleventh-century R. Ḥayya Gaon of Pumbeditha restricted the practice to the Ten Days of Repentance in their own locales. Yet R. Ḥayya also concedes that in “some places in Persia” the recitation of taḥanunim extended through the entire month of Elul, and R. Isaac ibn Ghiyyat notes that such was likewise the practice in his native al-Andalus. To one line of speculation, then, another may be added: the custom of seliḥot throughout Elul – attested both in Persia at the eastern edge of the Jewish world and in Spain at its westernmost reach, both within the orbit of Babylonian influence – appears to have “skipped over” the very center itself, namely, the Geonic academies of Babylonia.

As Simcha Gross has demonstrated,[25] the Iggeret of R. Sherira Gaon, in recounting the Geonic academies’ greeting to the Islamic conquerors, reflects the rising prominence of the ʿAlids as the Abbasid caliphate matured; in this recension, it is specifically Caliph ʿAlī whom the Geonim are said to have welcomed with great affection. By the late tenth century, the Shiʿite Būyids had assumed control of Baghdad and much of the Iraq–Iran region. Within Shiʿi circles, the prayer service introduced by ʿUmar – the Tarāwīḥ – was condemned as an illegitimate innovation, and both Fāṭimid and Būyid rulers actively suppressed its observance.[26] Indeed, even today Shiʿi sources continue to enumerate its perceived deficiencies: that it is performed at the wrong time (in the early evening rather than at the close of night), that it diminishes the primacy of individual prayer, and that it is conducted with undue haste.[27] It is not difficult to imagine that similar criticisms contributed to the suppression of month-long nocturnal supererogatory prayer within the Geonic academies of Baghdad and its environs – the very setting in which anti-Tarāwīḥ polemics were most vigorously advanced. Moreover, the month of Elul coincided with the kallah, when vast numbers of students converged upon the Geonic centers for intensive study, thereby directing the academies’ energies away from nocturnal penitential assemblies at precisely this season.

Notes:

Many thanks to Prof. Y. Tzvi Langermann, Prof. Shulamit Elizur, and Prof. Gabriel Said Reynolds, for their valuable comments on several of the ideas discussed in this article. Needless to say, all errors remain the sole responsibility of the author.

[1] Shulamit Elizur, “The Origins of the Selihot Piyyutim,” Tarbiz, vol. 84, no. 4 (2016): 503-542 (Hebrew), available here (https://www.academia.edu/36608670).
[2] Shulamit Elizur, “The Character and Influence of the Babylonian Center of Poetic Production: Considerations in the Wake of Tova Beʾeri’s Books,” Tarbiz, vol. 79, no. 2 (2010-2011): 229-248 (Hebrew), available here (https://www.academia.edu/36608504).
[3] Hymns on Faith 14.6, translation in Michael E. Pregill, The Golden Calf between Bible and Qur’an: scripture, polemic, and exegesis from late antiquity to Islam (Oxford University Press, 2020) 216.
[4] Fascinatingly, in Second Temple times the month of Elul appears to have been the season when numerous calves – specifically, since ovine and caprine births occurred earlier in the year, prior to the preceding goren – were brought to the Temple for the tithe of animals (maʿasar behemah). One may wonder whether a symbolic connection was drawn between this practice and the atonement for the sin of the Golden Calf observed at this time of year. See Ze’ev Safrai, Mishnat Eretz Yisrael: Tractate Bekhorot, with Historical and Sociological Commentary (Yavneh: Kvutzat Yavne, 2020), 297–298 (Hebrew).
[5] Lennart Lehmhaus, “‘Were not understanding and knowledge given to you from Heaven?’ Minimal Judaism and the Unlearned ‘Other’ in Seder Eliyahu Zuta,” Jewish Studies Quarterly, vol. 19, no. 3 (2012): 230-258, available here (https://www.academia.edu/1817892).
[6] Daniel Boyarin, “Penitential Liturgy in 4 Ezra,” Journal for the Study of Judaism, vol. 3, no. 1 (January 1972): 30–34, available here (https://www.academia.edu/36253296).
[7] Shulamit Elizur, “The Character and Influence,” p. 243, fn. 54.
[8] See discussion in Raphael Dascalu, “Revisiting the Qur’anic aḥbār in Historical Context,” Journal of Qur’anic Studies, vol. 23, no. 2 (2021): 41-65.‏
[9] See Haggai Mazuz, The Religious and Spiritual Life of the Jews of Medina (Leiden: Brill, 2014).‏
[10] Holger M. Zellentin, “Aḥbār and Ruhbān: Religious Leaders in the Qurʾān in Dialogue with Christian and Jewish Literature,” in Angelika Neuwirth and Michael Sells, eds., Qurʾānic Studies Today (New York: Routledge, 2016), 258-289, available here (https://www.academia.edu/34810735).
[11] See Robert Brody, The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998), 125.
[12] See Fred M. Donner, Muhammad and the Believers: At the Origins of Islam (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010).‏
[13] See summary in Mark R. Cohen, “Islamic Policy Toward Jews from the Prophet Muhammad to the Pact of ‘Umar,” in Abdelwahab Meddeb and Benjamin Stora, eds., A History of Jewish-Muslim Relations: From the origins to the present Day (Princeton University Press, 2013), 58-77, available here (https://www.academia.edu/37423214).
[14] Ilkka Lindstedt, Muḥammad and his followers in context: the religious map of late antique Arabia (Brill, 2024), ‏319.
[15] Meir Jacob Kister, “The Massacre of the Banū Qurayẓa: A Re-Examination of a Tradition,” Society and Religion from Jahiliyya to Islam (Routledge, 2022), VIII 61-VIII 96.‏
[16] JaShong King, “The Message of a Massacre: The Religious Categorization of the Banū Qurayẓa,” Ancient Judaism, vol. 6 (2018): 203-226.‏
[17] See Mohammed Ahmed, “The Literary Role of Jews in Qur’anic Exegesis,” (Ph.D Diss., University of Cambridge, 2025).‏

Gabriel Said Reynolds, who serves as the Jerome J. Crowley and Rosaleen G. Crowley Professor of Theology and Assistant Professor of Islamic Studies at the University of Notre Dame, expresses skepticism regarding the traditional accounts in the Sīra literature about the Jewish tribes of Yathrib and their interactions with Muhammad and his followers. Nonetheless, he emphasizes that the existence of Jewish tribes in the Hijaz is beyond dispute, a fact confirmed by the discovery of rock inscriptions in the region (personal communication).
[18] See e.g. Juan Cole, Muhammad: Prophet of Peace Amid the Clash of Empires (Hachette UK, 2018).‏
[19] Milka Levy-Rubin, Non-Muslims in the Early Islamic Empire: From Surrender to Coexistence (Cambridge University Press, 2011); and Harry Munt, “‘No two religions’: Non-Muslims in the early Islamic Ḥijāz,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, vol. 78, no. 2 (2015): 249-269.‏
[20] See the discussion by John C. Reeves, Trajectories in Near Eastern Apocalyptic: A Postrabbinic Jewish Apocalyptic Reader (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2005), 76-77. Translation in ibid., p. 81-82.
[21] Suliman Bashear, “The Title ‘Fārūq’ and Its Association with Umar I,” Studia Islamica, no. 72 (1990): 47-70.‏
[22] Beatrice St Laurent, “Discovering Jerusalem’s First Mosque on the Haram al-Sharif and Capitalizing Jerusalem in the Seventh Century,” Bridgewater Review, vol. 36, no. 1 (2017): 23-28.‏
[23] Ben Abrahamson and Joseph Katz, “The Islamic Jewish Calendar: How the Pilgrimage of the 9th of Av became the Hajj of the 9th of Dhu’al-Hijjah,” Paper presented at the‏ Jamalullail Chair for Prophetic Sunnah International Conference (JCICI), Malaysia, October, 2020, available online here (https://www.alsadiqin.org/history/The%20Islamic%20Jewish%20Calendar.pdf).
[24] Ariel Zinder, “‘There They Stand at Midnight, Time and Again’: Selihot for Repentance Nights by Yitzhak Ibn Giyyat; A Critical Edition with an Introductory Essay and Literary Analysis,” (Ph.D Diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2014; Hebrew).
[25] Simcha Gross, “When the Jews Greeted Ali: Sherira Gaon’s Epistle in Light of Arabic and Syriac Historiography,” Jewish Studies Quarterly, vol. 24, no. 2 (2017): 122-144, available here (https://www.academia.edu/33854404).
[26] Christine D. Baker, Medieval Islamic Sectarianism (Leeds: Arc Humanities Press, 2019), 55. Incidentally, the Sunni call to the morning fajr prayer – al-ṣalāt khayr min al-nawm (“prayer is better than sleep”) – bears a striking resemblance to the opening of the piyyut of unknown provenance, Ben adam mah lekha nirdam; qum qera be-taḥanunim (“O mortal, why do you slumber? Arise and call out in supplication”)
[27] See, e.g., “Chapter One: The lies, innovations & conjectures behind Tarawih,” available here (https://shiapen.com/comprehensive/tarawih-a-parody-of-prayers/chapter-one-the-lies-innovations-conjectures-behind-tarawih).




Mikra Pashut: A New Reading of the Tanakh

Mikra Pashut: A New Reading of the Tanakh

David Curwin

David Curwin is an independent scholar, who has researched and published widely on Bible, Jewish thought and philosophy, and Hebrew language. His first book, “Kohelet – A Map to Eden” was published by Koren/Maggid in 2023. Other writings, both academic and popular, have appeared in Lehrhaus, Tradition, Hakirah, and Jewish Bible Quarterly. He blogs about Hebrew language topics at www.balashon.com. A technical writer in the software industry, David resides in Efrat with his wife and family.

I have read the Tanakh in many translations. In my youth, I began with the Koren Jerusalem Bible, continued with the 1985 JPS edition, and came to appreciate R. Aryeh Kaplan’s The Living Torah. More recently, I have enjoyed the literary translations produced by Robert Alter, Everett Fox, and the new Koren edition, among others. Each edition, in its own way, makes the Bible a book to be read.

In Hebrew, the situation is different. There is no shortage of Chumash and Tanakh editions  – ranging from traditional to modern – each offering layers of commentary and interpretation. Hebrew speakers have countless tools to learn the Bible, to chant it ritually, to analyze it verse by verse. Even modern commentaries such as Daat Mikra, while aiming to elucidate the peshat, are constructed as learning tools, not as continuous reading experiences. By contrast, readers of translations in other languages can pick up a Bible and read it as a flowing narrative, aided by paragraphs and punctuation that match modern literary conventions.

Mikra Pashut, edited by biblical researcher Dr. Avi Shveka with the guidance of an editorial committee and published by Koren under its Maggid imprint in 2024, seeks to change this. The Hebrew-only edition spans four hardcover volumes- Torah, Prophets I, Prophets II, and Writings – and remains faithful to the Masoretic text while using modern punctuation and layout to create a seamless reading experience. It strips away the tools that have shaped the text for centuries – verse numbers, chapter breaks, parashah divisions, and cantillation marks. That absence may startle traditional readers at first, but once that surprise fades, they may discover how enjoyable and revealing it is to read the Tanakh continuously, uncovering new dimensions in a text they thought they knew.

Opening any volume immediately shows how different this edition is. The layout transforms the Tanakh into something that can be read fluently, without commentary mediating every line. Shveka and his team provide a substantial Hebrew introduction that explains the project’s history and the reasoning behind its editorial decisions. In addition to this general introduction, each biblical book comes with a brief preface focusing on issues specific to its punctuation and layout. While the introduction does not detail every individual punctuation and design choice, it sets out the principles that guided the work. This review draws on the editorial principles outlined in the introduction and how they are reflected in the edition’s design. While Mikra Pashut is entirely in Hebrew, understanding how it was designed and why these choices were made is of interest to anyone concerned with how we encounter the biblical text.

The editor and his context

Avi Shveka’s project continues a family tradition of innovation in access to Jewish texts. His father, Prof. Yaacov Choueka (1936–2020), played a central role in the development of the Bar-Ilan Responsa Project, which transformed rabbinic scholarship by making classical sources digitally searchable. (Mikra Pashut is dedicated to his memory.) Just as Choueka removed technological barriers – developing tools that made rabbinic literature digitally searchable – so his son Avi removes barriers of format, the conventions that have kept Hebrew readers from simply reading the Bible.

To carry out this vision, Shveka assembled an editorial committee representing diverse perspectives and backgrounds. Members included Rabbi Chaim Sabato (Rosh Yeshivat Yeshivat Birkat Moshe, Ma’aleh Adumim), Rabbi Yuval Cherlow (Rosh Yeshivat Yeshivat Orot Shaul, Tel Aviv), Prof. Haggai Misgav (Hebrew University), Prof. Noam Mizrahi (Head of the Bible Department, Hebrew University), Dr. Hillel Gershuni (researcher, editor, translator), Ayal Fishler (director of Machon Maaliyot), and Avishai Magence (Koren Publishers). This collaboration ensured that the edition drew on rabbinic tradition, literary analysis, and academic scholarship, while keeping the biblical text itself untouched.

This edition is deeply rooted in Jewish tradition. It preserves the sanctity of the biblical text and builds on the insights of generations of commentators. At the same time, it reflects that tradition’s awareness that every era must find its own ways to make the text accessible, and it responds to that need with a format that speaks to contemporary Hebrew readers.

A reader’s edition

Mikra Pashut is explicitly a reader’s edition. Its title, meaning “Plain Scripture” (and implying a “simple reading”), reflects its ambition to present the biblical text in a clear, straightforward manner focused on the peshat. Shveka notes that it was designed in a format as similar as possible to a regular modern Hebrew book. It is not a study Bible and not a tool for ritual chanting; it is a text meant to be read from start to finish.

The visual presentation makes this clear. Mikra Pashut begins from the austere model of a Torah scroll, which contains only the unpunctuated, unvocalized words of the text with no divisions between verses. The scroll’s starkness preserves the primacy of the words themselves. Building on that foundation, this edition introduces only what is necessary for modern readability: the traditional vowels are included to make the sometimes archaic or confusing Hebrew words more accessible, but the page remains free of commentary, Targum, and Masoretic notes. Verse numbers are absent from the body of the text. The words appear in justified paragraphs, with clear indentations. Each page header combines two elements: the traditional chapters and verses covered on that page, along with a brief title summarizing the section’s content. These headings function like chapter titles in a modern book, guiding the reader through the narrative without offering commentary.

The re-division of chapters is particularly significant. Shveka chose not to retain the breaks of the weekly Torah portions (parashat hashavua), which were set according to a variety of considerations and not always primarily to separate distinct topics. Nor did he follow the Christian chapter divisions, introduced in the 13th century by Archbishop Stephen Langton, which are often based on thematic reasoning but in many cases are debatable and, in some places, clearly mistaken. Instead, he created a new chapter division based on literary units. This is, as he notes, the first time in roughly eight centuries that a Hebrew Bible has introduced a new division of chapters. 

For example, the traditional Christian division ends Genesis 1 with the sixth day of creation and oddly begins chapter 2 with the description of the seventh day. The Masoretic division, followed in standard Hebrew Bibles, keeps the seventh day together with the other six in the first chapter and starts the second with the verse, “Such is the story of heaven and earth when they were created. On the day that the LORD God made earth and heaven” (Genesis 2:4), which then continues into the Adam narrative. Shveka’s edition instead splits Genesis 2:4 itself: “Such is the story of heaven and earth when they were created” closes the creation account, while “On the day that the LORD God made earth and heaven” opens the story of Adam.

Within these larger sections, the text is further divided into passages and paragraphs that follow shifts in narrative, dialogue, or thematic focus. Lists, such as genealogies or censuses, are arranged with each item on its own line. Poetry – including Psalms, prophetic oracles, and the Song of Songs – is laid out in parallel lines, often in two columns, highlighting the symmetry of biblical verse. Unlike most editions, where all text appears in a uniform block style, this formatting reflects the different genres within the Tanakh and makes their structure immediately visible to the reader.

The decision to omit chapter and verse numbers also follows this logic. These markers were historically created to aid study, allowing readers to locate verses quickly, but they were never intended to serve the experience of reading. Since this edition encourages smooth, uninterrupted reading, such references would only disrupt the flow. For those who still desire them, the chapter and verse ranges are provided discreetly in the page headers without breaking the continuity of the text.

Modern punctuation as parshanut

Shveka’s most radical innovation is the use of modern punctuation. This edition adds all the marks familiar to contemporary readers: commas, periods, colons, question marks, exclamation points, quotation marks, and parentheses. Dialogue appears in quotes, with long speeches indented as block text. Lists begin with colons. Parentheses, never before used in a printed Tanakh, enclose digressions or editorial asides embedded in the text. Unlike in academic editions, their use here does not indicate that the enclosed passage is uncertain or suspected of being a later addition; rather, it highlights material that functions as an aside within the narrative. The aside in Genesis 2:12 about the gold of Havilah – “(And the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there)” – is enclosed in parentheses, signaling its role as a tangential note.

These choices highlight the narrative’s structure and dramatic flow. This edition also makes distinctive use of semicolons, more frequent than in most modern Hebrew texts, because biblical clauses are often only loosely connected to the main sentence. A comma would obscure their near-independence, while a period would separate them too sharply; the semicolon preserves their intermediate status. Exclamation marks, also used more liberally than modern literary norms, reflect the dramatic tone of prophecy and biblical poetry. Shveka notes that he is not editing Isaiah as a modern literary editor might, but seeks to convey the intensity of the original voice. When a sentence functions as a dramatic declaration or impassioned cry, it receives an exclamation point – even if many appear close together on the same page. The prophet or poet, he insists, has the right to cry out, and the punctuation mirrors that urgency.

The omission of ta’amei hamikra (cantillation marks) also reflects this philosophy. Cantillation is invaluable for liturgy, but it was never intended as a full guide to syntax. The accents do not always follow the peshat, and the considerations of those who set them were not purely grammatical; they also reflected musical needs, patterns of symmetry, and even halakhic factors. Moreover, even if the original motives were grammatical, we cannot simply reverse-engineer them to determine how modern punctuation should match their intent.

For similar reasons, the edition could not rely on a single commentary, such as Rashi, to determine punctuation. Rashi does not always adhere to the peshat, and his commentary only addresses select passages and phrases, leaving vast portions of the text without guidance. No commentary answers all the grammatical and structural questions required for punctuating the entire Tanakh. Shveka and his committee therefore made independent editorial decisions, informed by a broad range of traditional and modern interpretations.

Every translation of the Tanakh uses full, modern punctuation. No one would expect a modern reader to engage with a translation that lacks these aids, since punctuation dramatically improves the reading experience. Translations, by their nature, must address every question of grammar and syntax because every word and phrase must be interpreted. This made them a particularly valuable resource for Mikra Pashut: unlike commentaries, translations cover the entire text consistently and reveal how meaning can be clarified through structure. Shveka consulted translations, especially into English, as an important reference point, though never following them mechanically.

Ultimately, this punctuation is not neutral. It is, as Shveka acknowledges, a form of parshanut – interpretation. Every comma, every period is a decision. Genesis 4:8 illustrates this: the Masoretic text leaves Cain’s words hanging –  “And Cain said to Abel his brother” – without reporting what he said. Shveka’s punctuation must choose whether to treat this as a complete sentence or as an introduction to dialogue. This edition chose the former. Such decisions inevitably align with some interpretations and exclude others. While all these editorial choices carry interpretive weight, Shveka presents them as aids to reading, not as claims of authority.

Faithfulness to the Masoretic text

While the layout and punctuation are new, the words themselves remain exactly as the Masoretic tradition preserves them. The editors never considered modernizing spelling or grammar. The sacred text itself is untouched; only its framing has changed. This includes the treatment of ketiv/qere – the traditional system in which a word is written one way (ketiv) but read differently (qere). Unlike in a traditional Tanakh, in this edition, the qere appears in the main body of the text, in a lighter font to indicate its status as the read form, while the key is placed at the bottom of the page. This subtle change emphasizes how the text is encountered in actual reading, while still preserving the integrity of the written tradition.

Taken together, these choices highlight that Mikra Pashut’s only “commentary” is the formatting itself. Its headings, paragraphs, and punctuation serve to guide the reader without adding explanation.

Reading Instead of learning

As Shveka notes in the introduction, “the Mikra, as its name implies, was intended for kri’ah – reading.” The editorial choices all serve the edition’s central purpose: to make the Tanakh readable in Hebrew. While commentaries can be valuable, they inevitably create a barrier to continuous reading, breaking the flow of the text and steering attention toward interpretation rather than the words themselves. Mikra Pashut removes that barrier by presenting the text in clear, uninterrupted form, with layout and punctuation that guide the reading without reliance on additional commentary. It is not an edition for traditional study, liturgical use, or verse-by-verse analysis with commentary. Instead, it invites readers to experience the Tanakh as narrative and poetry – an experience long available through translations in other languages but now offered to Hebrew readers in the original.

In this sense, the project parallels Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz’s Talmud edition, which made the text’s language and structure accessible while still demanding intellectual engagement. Shveka’s formatting likewise enables comprehension and contemplation, freeing readers to think about the content.

The distinction is not between Mikra Pashut and any single edition such as Mikra’ot Gedolot. It is between editions for learning – which dominate in Hebrew – and editions for reading, which Hebrew readers have lacked. As Shveka argues, in every other language the Bible can be read as a book; Hebrew readers should not be denied that.

Impact of format

The format itself shapes meaning. Traditional printings – with their verses, chapters, and commentaries – frame the Bible as a text to be dissected. Mikra Pashut frames it as a text to be absorbed. Its use of white space between textual units recalls the Torah’s gaps between sections, giving the reader room to pause and reflect. The layout draws attention to patterns, structures, and nuances that might otherwise be lost.

For serious students, this edition will not replace traditional formats. In practice, many will use both: a standard Tanakh for learning and Mikra Pashut for reading. The two serve different, complementary purposes.

Reception

So far, the edition has been met with curiosity and praise. Educators value how it allows students to read without technical distractions. Readers report discovering new details in familiar passages. Some have expressed discomfort with the removal of verse numbers or the interpretive nature of punctuation. Yet no major public condemnation has emerged. One online commenter quipped that “until a sharp pashkevil is issued – either by the Eidah Chareidis or by Har Hamor – the book won’t get the proper publicity.”

The lack of controversy may be because, despite its innovations, this edition does not threaten the sanctity of the text. The Tanakh Ram project, edited by biblical scholar Avraham Ahuvya and first published in 2010, translated the Bible into Modern Hebrew and quickly became the subject of heated debate. Many critics argued that replacing the biblical language with contemporary phrasing undermined the sacred character of the text. Mikra Pashut, by contrast, leaves the Masoretic text entirely unchanged. It does not translate or paraphrase the Bible but merely reframes it typographically, preserving its language while making it easier to read.

Conclusion

Mikra Pashut offers something unprecedented: a Tanakh that Hebrew readers can read with the same ease that others experience through translation. It preserves the Masoretic text unchanged while reimagining its form through modern punctuation, literary divisions, and thoughtful design.

This edition does not aim to replace traditional bibles for study. It stands alongside them, offering a complementary way to engage with Scripture. By lowering the barriers to reading, it allows the biblical text to speak for itself – clearly, directly, and continuously.

In doing so, Avi Shveka and his team have created more than a new edition: they have opened a new path to encountering the words of the Tanakh, one that begins with reading and only afterward moves to interpretation.




The Aderet (part 2); Sonya Diskin and R. Yitzhak Yeruham Diskin; Zvi Glatt; and a New Letter from R. Herzog

The Aderet (part 2); Sonya Diskin and R. Yitzhak Yeruham Diskin; Zvi Glatt; and a New Letter from R. Herzog

Marc B. Shapiro

Continued from here

1. Regarding R. Kook and the Aderet (R. Eliyahu Rabinowitz-Teomim), we find that R. Kook omitted something that the Aderet wrote. I don’t know if, strictly speaking, we can call this censorship, but R. Kook definitely omitted something that he was not comfortable with. Here is the Aderet speaking about himself in Nefesh David, p. 113, published by a leading student of R. Kook, R. Moshe Zvi Neriah (and printed together with the Aderet’s autobiography, Seder Eliyahu.[1a]).

Look at the second paragraph of section 5 and section 6. The Aderet first speaks of his great love for Torah scholars. In the next paragraph, the first one of section 6, he speaks of his hatred for sinners. Finally, in the second paragraph of section 6, he says that he has no ill feelings toward non-Jews who do not hate Jews, and that he only hates those whom the Sages commanded us to hate.

Now, look at R. Kook’s Eder ha-Yekar, published in 1906, beginning with the last line on p. 71 and continuing to the end of the paragraph on p. 72.

 

If you compare this to Nefesh David, sections 5-6, you will find that R. Kook leaves out the three paragraphs I mention above. I can see why he would leave out the second paragraph, about sinners, as it would not be in line with his own understanding of the irreligious in the Land of Israel. But why also leave out the first and third paragraphs? The only explanation I can think of is that he figured that by removing the entire section—where the Aderet speaks of his love for Torah scholars, hatred for sinners, and his lack of negative feelings toward non-Jews—this would not be regarded as censorship, as he is removing the whole section, even the non-objectionable parts. If anyone has a better idea, I would love to hear it.

Speaking of the Aderet and censorship, see the article by Yaakov Fuchs here which shows how the Aderet’s strong criticism of the Rogochover was censored. Fuchs has also found that when the Aderet’s book Shema Eliyahu was published (under the title Over Orah [Jerusalem, 2003]) there was also censorship of the Aderet’s negative judgment of the Rogochover, whom he saw as disrespecting great sages of the past. The original manuscript of the Aderet can be seen here, and below is a transcription of the missing passages as prepared by Fuchs, which can be compared with the censored version that appears in Over Orah, pp. 43-44.

The Aderet’s words are very sharp and align with how he spoke about other rabbis whom, for one reason or another, he had a negative view of. Regarding the Rogochover, while recognizing his unbelievable knowledge, the Aderet could not accept what he saw as the Rogochover’s disregard for the accepted conventions of halakhic procedure and his disrespect for prior sages. He goes so far as to state that if we lived in a time of great rabbis—rabbis who had real authority—they would not allow the Rogochover to issue halakhic rulings.

Eliezer Brodt called my attention to another sharp comment by the Aderet against the Rogochover, found in Shmuel Kol, Ehad be-Doro, vol. 1, p. 202. Brodt also noted that this was censored when reprinted in a footnote in the Mossad ha-Rav Kook edition of the Aderet’s Seder Eliyahu, p. 122, and the Rogochover’s name was omitted when the passage was included in an article in Etz Hayyim 19 (5773), p. 55.

The Aderet, who was older than the Rogochover, can be forgiven for speaking the way he did, and he was not the only contemporary of the Rogochover who had these feelings.[1b] But just as we can find negative statements by great rabbis about other rabbis who were their contemporaries, and now we can see how misguided these negative statements were,[2] I think it is the same with regard to the Aderet and the Rogochover. The rabbis of the generation after the Aderet all related to the Rogochover with enormous respect, even if they did not accept his halakhic rulings.

Regarding the Aderet’s book Shema Eliyahu, one thing that was not censored when it was published appears on p. 223, and I thank Yosef Ginsberg for calling it to my attention.

We see that the Aderet and his interlocutor, R. Getzel Horowitz, assumed that the concept of Tikkunei Soferim is to be taken literally, meaning that the text of the Torah was changed from its original version given to Moses. The Aderet suggests that the Tikkunei Soferim are actually halakhah le-Moshe mi-Sinai.

For more concerning the Aderet and censorship, or rather non-censorship, I must recall my very first post on the Seforim Blog, from January 25, 2007, found here. It is titled “Uncensored Books”. I provide two examples where I state that had the publishers known who was being spoken of, they would have censored the text. Regarding the Aderet, I wrote as follows:

Recently many books by the Gaon R. Eliyahu Rabinowitz-Teomim (the Aderet) have appeared, by publishers with very different hashkafot. The volume of teshuvotMa’aneh Eliyahu, was published by Yeshivat Or Etzion in Israel, whose Rosh Yeshivah is R. Hayyim Druckman. It is obvious that the editors have no knowledge of American Jewish history, otherwise, the words I quote (from p. 352) would never have been allowed to appear. The editors no doubt assumed that the Aderet was attacking some phony. The name Jacob Joseph [called Jacob Harif by the Aderet] means nothing to them.

וידענו היטב היטב את האיש ואת שיחו תהלוכותוי ותחבולותיו מתחילה ועד סוף . . . ואותו הרב ה’ יעקב, שלא שמש תלמידי, חכמים ומלך מעצמו, ע”פ תבונתו כי פקח גדול הוא אינו מגיע לקרסולי תלמידי תלמידיו של הגאון חתם סופר ז”ל, לא בתורה ולא במעשים טובים, והרי לפנינו שעזב עיר ווילנא תפארת ליטא, והלך לנוע אל ארצות אמעריקא להיות שם רב ראשון בנויארק כחלומו אשר חלם. והרואה דברי הר”מ פ”ו ה”א מדיעות, יעוי’ שם היטב בלשונו, יראה עד כמה מלאה לבו יראת שמים לעשות כן

He goes on demeaning the Chief Rabbi of New York, but you get the picture.[3]

Ad kan what I wrote in the post. After the post’s appearance it was pointed out to me that the index to Ma’aneh Eliyahu properly identifies R. Jacob Joseph (Harif). So perhaps I was mistaken, or it is also possible that the people who put the sefer together did not know who R. Jacob Joseph was, and the person who put together the index was someone else entirely.

Returning to haskamot, let me mention another interesting point. Someone recently sent me a picture of a haskamah to the newly published book by the late R. Dov Yaffe, Ha-Va’adim shel Motzaei Shabbat.

What makes the haskamah (mikhtav berakhah) so significant is that it is by a woman, namely, his widow. I was also surprised that she is identified by her first name, something not always seen in haredi circles in Israel.

This is actually not the first published letter of this sort by a woman. R. Yehoshua Zev Zissenwein’s Tzir Ne’eman was published in Jerusalem at the end of the nineteenth century.[4]

After a group of haskamot from a wide range of rabbis whom he got to know in his work as a meshulah (including R. Jacob Joseph and R. Hillel Klein of New York and R. Abraham Abba Werner of London), comes what is called Mikhtevei Tehillah. This is a list of people who signed up to receive the book and positive comments they made. On the last page the names of three women are given, including Sonya (Sarah) Diskin,[5] the widow of R. Joshua Leib Diskin.[6]

Sonya Diskin was a very influential person in the Old Yishuv community of Jerusalem, because she had a great deal of influence on her husband. After her passing, the following letter appeared in Eliezer Ben Yehuda’s newspaper Hashkafah,[7] signed by someone who called himself a student of the Brisker Rebbetzin (i.e., Sonya Diskin, whose husband was rav of Brisk before moving to Jerusalem).[8]

There is a lengthy and fascinating Wikipedia entry on Sonya Diskin here, from which I learned that her marriage to R. Diskin, which was a second marriage for both and did not produce any children, even made its way into an Agnon story. For other stories told about her, see Yitzchak’s Seforim Blog post here, and the כבר היה לעולמים blog here. You can definitely say she “made it”, as she had a pashkevil directed against her in Jerusalem, which I am certain makes her the first woman to be given this honor. Also of note is that the pashkevil dates from when her husband was still alive. (In later years, Golda Meir and Aliza Bloch, the mayor of Beit Shemesh, also had paskevilim directed at them.)

The pashkevil is found in Binyamin Kluger, Min ha-Makor, vol. 3, p. 46, and in what it regards as fake piety, it refers to how Sonya Diskin wore tzitzit and that she put socks on her cat, so that the cat would not move crumbs of hametz from room to room. (Elsewhere it is reported that she did this on Passover and her fear was that the cat would bring in hametz from the street on its feet.[9] According to Pesahim 9a we need not be concerned for this.) Regarding Passover, it is also reported that Sonya Diskin told her husband, after he scolded her for her humrot, “If I rely on you and your Shulhan Arukh, we’ll be eating chametz on Passover.”[10]

The latter story is very similar to a story told about Mrs. Tonya Soloveitchik, the wife of R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik. The way I heard the story, in the name of Prof. Haym Soloveitchik, is that when Mrs. Soloveitchik came home from the hospital and saw milk and meat plates in the sink, she started rebuking her husband. The Rav defended himself: “According to the Shulhan Arukh, this is OK.” To this, Mrs. Soloveitchik replied: “Your Shulhan Arukh is going to treif up my kitchen.”

After seeing what Sonya Diskin told her husband, I found it too much of a coincidence that two great rebbitzens would have expressed themselves in the same fashion. I turned to Prof. Soloveitchik, presented him the story with his mother as I heard it, and asked if it is true. He replied as follows: “The story is half-true. My mother said: ‘You are making my kitchen treif.’ My father said nothing and neither did I. People have prettied-up the story by fusing it with the well-known story of Sonya the rebbetzin, the wife of R. Yehoshua Leib Diskin.”

There is another Passover story told about Sonya and her husband: R. Diskin saw Sonya working very hard to clean the house of hametz. Exasperated, he jokingly said to her that the only hametz in the house is her. To this, she replied bitingly: “Don’t worry about me. A long time ago my father sold me to a goy [i.e., R. Diskin].”[11] This is actually an old Yiddish joke, see here, that was apocryphally connected to Sonya.

Returning to Zissenwein’s book, the introduction is noteworthy as it reveals that Zissenwein was one of the founders of the early settlement Yesud ha-Ma’ala, and that this was done at the direction of R. Diskin.

Regarding R. Diskin, it is notable that R. Jacob Moses Harlap wrote to R. Kook about a dream he had in which R. Diskin requested that R. Harlap ask R. Kook not to hold anything against his son, R. Yitzhak Yeruham, and not to degrade him. R. Diskin explained that his son is his only child, and his mistake did not come from a bad place.[12] What this alludes to is that R. Yitzhak Yeruham was opposed to R. Kook being appointed rav of Jerusalem. In fact, there is a letter from R. Zvi Pesah Frank to R. Kook explaining that R. Yitzhak Yeruham wanted to be appointed rav himself, and he was upset with R. Frank for not supporting him in this matter.[13] (R. Frank was a big backer of R. Kook.[14])

Innocent mistake or not, in later years, R. Yitzhak Yeruham, together with R. Joseph Hayyim Sonnefeld, would give cover to those who continuously degraded R. Kook in the most objectionable ways imaginable. Yet for the sake of the Yishuv in Eretz Yisrael, R. Kook told R. Diskin and R. Sonnenfeld that he forgave everyone who attacked him and wanted to work together with R. Diskin and R. Sonnenfeld. Here is his open letter in Iggerot ha-Re’iyah, vol. 4, no. 274, where he is very direct in telling R. Yitzhak Yeruham and R. Sonnenfeld that they have not behaved in a manner befitting Torah scholars.

 

 

See also this letter in Iggerot ha-Re’iyah, vol. 4, no. 201, where R. Kook mentions that R. Yitzhak wanted to be appointed rav of Jerusalem, and that out of respect for him and his late father, R. Diskin, R. Kook delayed accepting the offer to become rav of Jerusalem.

 

Regarding R. Yitzhak Yeruham, it is worth noting that when he was still in Europe, he was regarded as a very modern person who dressed in European fashion, knew French, and valued secular studies. It is even reported that he identified as a Zionist. This all changed when he came to Eretz Yisrael.[15]

Since this post has dealt with the Aderet as well as various women, it is a good place to note that R. Baruch Epstein mentions that the sister of the Aderet was quite learned and that a comment of hers was published in the Odessa Torah journal Yagdil Torah.[16] I searched Yagdil Torah on Otzar ha-Hokhmah but could not find what Epstein referenced. I thank Eliezer Brodt for solving this mystery, as he called my attention to where the Aderet mentions his sister, in Yagdil Torah, vol. 9, no. 128. This issue is not found on Otzar ha-Hokhmah, and must be what Epstein was referring to.

Brodt also mentioned to me that in his Zekhor le-David, pp. 69-71, the Aderet has a list of learned women mentioned in rabbinic literature.

2. In the prior post I mentioned that, while studying in Israel, the first sefer I read was written by R. Moshe Zuriel. Not that anyone is wondering, but the second book I read was Zvi Glatt’s posthumously published Me-Afar Kumi.

This book focuses on the importance of living in Eretz Yisrael and is divided into halakhic and aggadic sections. For those who don’t know, Glatt, who was a student at Merkaz ha-Rav, was killed in a terrorist attack in Chevron. Of particular interest is the chapter where Glatt takes issue with R. Moshe Feinstein’s position that living in Israel is a mitzvah kiyumit rather than an obligatory mitzvah. R. Moshe wrote a haskamah to Me-Afar Kumi and responds to Glatt’s discussion, stating that he thinks that Glatt went too far (הפריז על המדה) and that he sees no reason to retract his view.

Also of note are the approbations from R. Avraham Shapiro and R. Shaul Yisraeli, roshei yeshiva at Merkaz ha-Rav. R. Yisraeli notes that Glatt, who could have studied at great yeshivot in the U.S., chose to come to Israel. Glatt could not understand why religious Jews in the Diaspora, by and large, choose to ignore the very important mitzvah of settling the Land of Israel, and it was this focus on Eretz Yisrael that led him to write the sefer.

From a halakhic perspective, the most important aspect of the sefer is the appendix by R. Avraham Shapiro, in which he takes issue with R. Moshe’s opinion. According to R. Shapiro, when it comes to mitzvot mentioned in the Torah, there is no concept of a mitzvah kiyumit as advocated by R. Moshe (namely, that there is no obligation to live in Eretz Yisrael, but if you do, you fulfill a mitzvah and receive reward). Some have compared R. Moshe’s view to the wearing of tzitzit, where there is no obligation to wear them unless you choose to wear a four-cornered garment. Yet R. Shapiro states that tzitzit is absolutely a mitzvah hiyuvit (an obligatory mitzvah). True, one can choose whether to wear a four-cornered garment, but once one puts it on, tzitzit is now an obligation. My question to the learned readers is: Is R. Shapiro correct in saying that there is no concept of a mitzvah kiyumit about one of the 613 mitzvot? Isn’t shehitah an example of a mitzvah kiyumit? You don’t have to eat meat, but if you choose to, you can fulfill the mitzvah of shehitah. Furthermore, in criticizing R. Moshe’s position, R. Shapiro refers to the mitzvah of living in Eretz Yisrael as one of the 613 mitzvot, which makes the concept of it being a mitzvah kiyumit problematic. Yet there is no reason to think that R. Moshe regarded living in Eretz Yisrael as one of the 613 mitzvot, and that is precisely why it could be regarded as a mitzvah kiyumit.

It appears that the Vilna Gaon has the concept of mitzvah kiyumit in mind when he speaks of eating matzah on all days of Passover as a mitzvah but not an obligation, as only on the first night is there an obligation. It seems that he regards the eating of matzah after the first night as a mitzvah kiyumit. Here is how his view is described in Ma’aseh Rav, no. 185:

“שבעת ימים תאכל מצות”, כל שבעה מצוה, ואינו קורא לה רשות אלא לגבי לילה ראשונה שהיא חובה, ומצוה לגבי חובה רשות קרי לה. אעפ”כ מצוה מדאורייתא הוא

Hizkuni makes a similar point in his commentary to Ex. 12:18:

יש לך דברים שמקבלין שכר בעשייתן ועונש כשאין עושין אותן, כגון מצה בלילה הראשון, ויש לך דברים שאין מקבלין שכר בעשייתן ועונש כשאין עושין אותן, כגון מצה מליל ראשון ואילך, ומ”מ מצות תאכלו שבעת ימים כתיב, כלומר אם אכל מצה כל שבעת הימים מכל מקום קיים הוא הפסוק זה של: שבעת ימים מצות תאכלו

3. In my new book on Rav Kook, available here, I discuss how R. Isaac Herzog struggles with the conflict between the biblical record of how long humanity has been on earth and the historical record accepted in the academic world. I cite several of his letters on this topic, in which he suggests that it could be that the Torah’s “history” at the beginning of Genesis is not meant to be regarded as factual.

Only after the book was already near publication did I find another letter from R. Herzog on this very issue, which I share with you now.[17]

The original letter, which R. Herzog would have signed, was sent to R. Zev Gold and is dated December 30, 1952. R. Herzog made copies of the letter, which he must have also distributed, and that is how it made its way to R. Moshe Zvi Neriah, where I found it among his papers.

R. Herzog focuses on his often-discussed—but never realized—plan to write a modernGuide of the Perplexed, addressing new intellectual problems that have arisen for traditional Jews. Without a proper response to these issues, people might be led to deny the doctrine of Torah from heaven. R. Herzog tells R. Gold that his approach in dealing with conflicts between what appears in the Torah and the historical record as established in the academic world is based on two principles:

  1. The Torah speaks in the language of man. What this means is that the Torah can describe matters in the way they were generally understood by people at the time the Torah was given, even if this is not strictly factual. In Renewing the Old, Sanctifying the New, I cite a letter from R. Herzog to Aron Barth where he makes the same point.
  2. Maimonides’ statement in Guide for the Perplexed 2:25, where he asserts that he would be able to explain the Torah in accord with the doctrine of the eternity of the world, should this idea be proven.[18] In other words, if there is a proven fact in contradiction to the Torah’s simple meaning, then the Torah needs to be reinterpreted.

R. Herzog tells us that the most pressing intellectual challenge to Jewish traditional faith comes from archaeology. So, for instance, if we know from archaeology that there were communities of humans 10,000 or 100,000 years ago, and this is a fact—not just a theory—then, in line with Maimonides’ guidance, we would have to reinterpret the Torah’s chronology which puts humanity on earth for under 6000 years. While in R. Herzog’s time, people in the religious world were focused on the scientific view of a universe billions of years old versus the Torah’s record of when creation occurred, or what to do with dinosaurs that predate the Torah’s account of creation, R. Herzog was focused on a more problematic matter which, for some reason, did not get the same attention: If the historical record shows that people have been living continuously all over the world for a lot longer than 6000 years, what are we to do with the biblical record that places humanity in the world for less than 6000 years? What are we to make of the biblical idea that everyone is descended from Adam and Eve, and also descended from Noah? How are we to understand the stories of the Flood and Tower of Babel?

These are issues that cannot be answered with the famous Midrash that God created worlds and destroyed them, because R. Herzog is concerned with the current world and how long humanity has been part of it. He recognizes that there are passages in the Torah that might need to be reinterpreted in a non-literal fashion. What he is struggling with is what the religious boundaries are, beyond which one cannot go. In other words, when can you interpret the Torah in a non-literal fashion, and when not? Or, to put the matter differently, beginning with which chapter in Genesis must we assume that the Torah is speaking historically and, therefore, non-literal interpretation is not permitted? This was to be a major focus in R. Herzog’s planned work, which, to our great misfortune, was never authored.

He adds that philosophy will also have to be a part of this book. Knowing that this was not one of his many areas of specialty, he points to R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik as the only person in the generation who could make a vital contribution to his project from the philosophical side. While R. Herzog would focus on the historical problems I have just mentioned, R. Soloveitchik would provide a Jewish response to philosophical challenges.

2. In the last post I noted how the Chafetz Chaim wondered how he could eat at inns if the owners did not tovel their dishes. He did not question the kashrut of the food, and we see both then, and today, that one can be regarded as strict in matters of kashrut while not toveling one’s dishes, which for some reason has not always been regarded by all as an important halakhah.[19] We also find regarding other halakhic matters that people who are strict in one sphere do not necessarily lose their halakhic reliability if in a different area their halakhic observance leaves something to be desired.[20]

Based on this notion, we can understand the following 1955 letter from R. David Grunwald, rav of Santiago, to R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg.[21]

R. Grunwald wanted to know whether one can rely on the kashrut of the owner of an inn if the man also serves non-kosher wine to the guests. Today, people would find the question incomprehensible, but it wasn’t that long ago when many otherwise observant Jews were not careful about kosher wine.[22] It is also important to note that R. Grunwald was referring to the old type of inns where people ate there because they trusted the kashrut of the owner. These establishments did not have any official hashgachah.

R. Grunwald refers to a famous responsum of R. Akiva Eiger, no. 96, where R. Eiger notes that Jews who shave with a razor are still able to be accepted as witnesses in a beit din. This is because shaving with a razor was so common in the Orthodox world, that people who did so did not realize how serious the prohibition is.

י”ל דהשחתה בתער דנתפשט בעו”ה אצל הרבה לא חשב שזהו איסור כ”כ דלא משמע להו לאינשי דאסור, וכאשר באמת נזכר בג”ע דהשיב להמוכיח שהרבה אנשים חשובים עושים כן, וכיון דבאמת פשתה המספחת בזמנינו גם לאותן הנזהרים בשאר דברים נדמה להם דאינו איסור כ”כ

If R. Eiger adopted this approach with the Torah prohibition of shaving with a razor, all the more so, R. Grunwald suggests, that it should apply to the rabbinic prohibition of non-kosher wine. This would mean that religious Jews could stay at the inn in question, enjoy the food, and simply avoid the non-kosher wine. Yet not willing to make this decision on his own. R. Grunwald turned to R. Weinberg, and unfortunately we do not know if R. Weinberg replied.[23]

Related to R. Grunwald’s question, I was told that in its final years, Grossinger’s hotel offered non-kosher wine in the dining room. I don’t know if this was after R. Chavel’s passing in 1982. (The hotel continued until 1986). There used to be a restaurant in a major European city that was kosher, but the bar in the restaurant served non-kosher wine. The philosophy of the hashgachah (which was not a weak hashgachah) was that they are giving a hashgachah on the food. What happens at the bar is not their concern, and if someone brings a glass of non-kosher wine to the table that also is not their concern. This is not something that would ever be allowed by mainstream hashgachot in America, but in places without large observant Jewish populations, sometimes the rabbis feel they have to adopt a different approach in order to enable a kosher restaurant to be viable. Some years ago, there was a kosher Indian restaurant under the hashgachah of the late R. Yaakov Spivak. This restaurant allowed people to bring their own bottles of wine (maybe because it didn’t have a liquor license and thus couldn’t provide kosher wine). I asked R. Spivak why he allowed this, and he replied simply that there is no halakhic issue if people bring their own non-kosher wine. Again, this is not something that a mainstream U.S. hashgachah would allow.

Returning to the Aderet’s report of the Chafetz Chaim asking about eating in kosher inns where the dishes were not toveled, when I read that I thought of something similar. In the past, I have written about various kosher establishments that were not under hashgachah, but people ate there because they trusted the owners. Perhaps the most famous of these places was Sam Schechter’s and Leo Gartenberg’s Pioneer Country Club in Greenfield, N.Y. The kashrut there was trusted by all, and Agudath Israel held its annual conventions there. Here is a picture I published some years ago.[24]

The picture was taken at the wedding of R. Moshe Dovid Tendler’s daughter, Rivka, to R. Shabtai Rappaport. The man on the left is R. Isaac Tendler, R. Moshe Dovid’s father. The wedding took place at the Pioneer on June 17, 1971. I thank Jack Prince who was at the wedding for allowing me to make a copy of the picture in his possession.

Regarding the Pioneer Country Club, I think the younger readers will have a hard time understanding not only how even the most religious would stay at a hotel without a hashgachah, but the Pioneer also had mixed swimming and evening entertainment, including mixed dancing and women singers. (I wonder if out of respect, these things did not take place during the Agudah conventions.) It was a different era and people of different religious levels were happy to stay together in one resort.[25] I am sure many readers from my generation and older remember Grossinger’s which was the same sort of place, although, as mentioned, Grossinger’s was under R. Chavel’s hashgachah.

I bring all this up because of a fascinating tape of R. Fabian Schonfeld discussing R. Aharon Kotler available here. At minute 22:25 he tells how R. Aharon was at the Torah u-Mesorah convention which was held at the Pioneer. R. Aharon learned that the kitchen was not careful with having a Jew light the pilot light. R. Aharon explained to Gartenberg what the halakhah required in this matter. and he trusted Gartenberg that from that point on there would be no bishul akum issues. Today, such a scene would be unimaginable, as the mashgiach would be careful about this matter, but as mentioned already, we are talking about a different era.

I wonder if the general practice among Orthodox Jews in America in those days was to rely on either the view of R. Abraham ben David that there is no bishul akum when a non-Jew cooks in a Jew’s home, or the view held by others that there is no bishul akum with hired help.[26] According to R. Moses Isserles, although the halakhah is not in accord with R. Abraham ben David’s view, bediavad, food cooked by a non-Jew in a Jew’s home can be eaten. He then adds the following which might explain how a more lenient approach to bishul akum developed than what is standard today:

ואפילו לכתחלה נוהגין להקל בבית ישראל שהשפחות והעבדים מבשלים בבית ישראל כי אי אפשר שלא יחתה אחד מבני הבית מעט

See also here where R. Schonfeld recollects about the early history of Jewish Kew Gardens Hills. He recounts that the only halakhically reliable kosher butcher was the Main Street Kosher Meat Market owned by Mr. Herman. This was not under hashgachah, but since, R. Schonfeld tells us, Mr. Herman was known as a pious Jew, “this was the only one [butcher] at that time that we could tell people you can buy [from]”

* * * * * * *

[1a] Regarding censorship of Seder Eliyahu, see Dan’s earlier post here and also the discussion here.
[1b] See R. Raphael Mordechai Barishansky, Mikhtavim Mehutavim, pp. 167ff., where he responds to the Rogochover’s demeaning comment about the Vilna Gaon. I published the Rogochover’s interview, which so upset Barishansky, in the Jewish Review of Books, Summer 2017, available here.
[2] Readers will probably be thinking about how great rabbis spoke of the early hasidic leaders, R. Moses Hayyim Luzzatto, and R. Jonathan Eybschuetz. Another example is how great rabbis spoke about the leaders of the Mussar movement. My 19-part series on the Mussar Dispute is available on youtube here.
[3] Interestingly, in R. Jacob Joseph’s haskamah to R. Shalom Israelson, Neveh Shalom (Chicago, 1905), he refers to the Aderet as his friend. This point is also mentioned here.
[4] The first title page has the year 1897, but the second title page has 1898. Rabbi Mendel Moinster’s haskamah is dated Nov. 28, 1898, so it is possible that the book was only published in 1899.
[5] Regarding her, see most recently Menachem Keren-Kratz and Motti Inbari, “The Sociological Model of Haredi Rebbetzins: ‘Two-Person Single Career’ vs. ‘Parallel-Life Family,’” AJS Review 46 (2022), pp. 270-290.
[6] I have not been able to determine when the name “Moses” was added to his first names.
[7] Nov. 2, 1906, p. 3 (Issue 8:10). See also the eulogy for her in Hashkafah, Oct. 19, 1906, pp. 2-3 (Issue 8:6). There is something very unusual about this paper. Here is the first page of the November 2, 1906, issue.

Look at the date: 14 Heshvan 1838. Rather than using the date from Creation, Ben Yehuda used the years since the destruction of the Temple, which he assumed to be the year 68.
[8] In this regard, I would like to call attention to another interesting reference to a woman that I learned about from R. Dov Katz, Tenuat ha-Mussar, vol. 2, pp. 107–108. In 1938, R. Moshe Rosenstein, the mashgiach of the Lomza Yeshiva, published the second volume of his work Yesodei ha-Da’at. In the introduction, he mentions three teachers to whom he owes so much: R. Zvi Braude, R. Yerucham Levovitz, and R. Shimon Shkop. He then refers to his fourth “teacher,” Nechama Liba, the daughter of R. Simhah Zissel of Kelm, describing her as a great student of her father and emphasizing how much he learned from her.

Such a description would never appear in haredi literature today. First of all, the very notion that a yeshiva leader mentions learning so many things from a woman—והרבה הרבה למדנו ממנה— would not be allowed to appear in print. Also, look at his description of how he observed her wisdom and piety:

והיה לי ההזדמנות להתבונן על דרכיה ומנהגיה ותהלוכתיה בחכמה ויראת ה’ ומעשיה הטובים

I believe that today such a description would be regarded as lacking in tzeniut, as it showed that he paid attention to the actions of a woman.
[9] See Margalit Shilo, Princess or Prisoner, trans. David Louvish (Waltham, 2005), p. 78, and here.
[10] Elimelekh Weissblum, Havai Tzefat (Tel Aviv, 1969), p. 34, translated in Shilo, Princess or Prisoner, p. 78. See also here.
[11] See R. Michael Abraham’s post here. Regarding women cleaning for Passover, in a comment to Abraham’s post, a reader referred to the following fascinating passages in R. Moses Sofer’s responsa.

She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, vol. 1, Orah Hayyim, no. 136:

והיותי חוץ לחדר לימודי כי גרשוני נשים צדקניות המכבדים ליום טוב של פסח על כן לא יכולתי להאריך ככל הצורך

She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, vol. 6, no. 30:

יקרת מכתבו הגיעני בימים האלו ימי טלטולא דגברא דהני נשי דידן מפנים חפצים מזוית לזוית אפילו ספרים אינם מוכנים לי לעיין

[12] Harlap, Hed Harim (Elon Moreh, 1997), pp. 94-95.
[13] Kook, Iggerot ha-Re’iyah, vol. 3, p. 306.
[14] See R. Frank’s letter in R. Hayyim Hirschensohn, Malki ba-Kodesh, vol. 4, pp. 22-23, where he explains the situation in Jerusalem, and how the extremists controlled Rabbis Sonnenfeld and Yitzhak Yeruham Diskin.
[15] See Menahem Mendel Porush, Be-Tokh ha-Homot (Jerusalem, 1948), pp. 199ff., Or Hadash 17 (2012), pp. 68ff. R. Yitzhak Yeruham’s father, R. Diskin, was also more open-minded before he moved to Eretz Yisrael. See the valuable post by Zerachya Licht here and his earlier post here.
[16] Mekor Barukh, vol. 4, pp. 1957-1958.
[17] The letter is found in the Moshe Zvi Neriah Archive, Israel National Library, ARC.4*21300411.
[18] For my understanding of Maimonides, which diverges from that of R. Herzog and what seems to be the standard approach, see my Seforim Blog post here. I argue that Maimonides was only prepared to accept Plato’s view of eternal matter, but not Aristotle’s view of the eternity of the universe, though Maimonides acknowledges that the biblical verses can be read in accord with Aristotle’s approach.
[19] Perhaps there is a limud zekhut for these people in that the Rogochover held that utensils produced by non-Jews for commercial purposes do not require tevilah. See Tzafnat Paneah, Ma’akhalot Asurot 17:3 (called to my attention by Rabbi Sholom Berger). R. Abraham Price reacted with shock at this radical ruling which completely abolishes the whole concept of tevilat kelim in the modern world. See his edition of the Sefer Mitzvot Gadol, vol. 2, p. 444:

ונדהמתי לראות דברים כאלו כתובים מידי גאון אדיר, כי לפי דבריו בזמנינו בטל כל דין של טבילת כלים, שיש הרבה ראשונים הסוברים שהוא דאורייתא כדלעיל. שהרי כמעט כולנו קונים רק כלים הנעשים בבית תוצרות של נכרים ואין אחד מן רבבה שיקנה כלים ממה שהנכרי עשה בשביל עצמו. ודברים הנ”ל של הצ”פ הם כנגד דברי הש”ע וכנגד כל הראשונים

R. Price says that the Rogochover’s view is against “all therishonim.” Yet see R. Yehoshua Ben-Meir,Mi-Pekudekha Etbonen, pp. 276-277, who argues that the Rogochover’s view is also held by Rashi, Rashba, and Ritva.

See also R. Menasheh Klein, Mishneh Halakhot, vol 5, no. 110 (end), who mentions the Rogochover’s view and is not prepared to accept it. However, he raises the question about utensils that are produced by machine, and all the non-Jew does it touch a button. R. Klein think that it is possible that in such a case tevilah is not required, although he does not rule this way in practice.

Even as we continue to tovel dishes produced by non-Jews for commercial purposes and also by use of machine, I wonder if the doubts that have been raised mean that all toveling should be done without a berakhah. I have not seen any posek make this point.
[20] See R. Shmuel Khoshkerman’s responsum in Sefer Zikaron Penei Moshe, pp. 289ff., where he permits a man who is careful about Shabbat, kashrut and tefillah, but does not observe taharat ha-mishpahah, to serve as a kashrut mashgiach. Among the sources he cites is Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh Deah 2:7: מומר לערלות דינו כמומר לעבירה אחת

He also cites Yoreh Deah 119:7:

מי שהוא מפורסם בא’ מעבירות שבתורה חוץ מעבודת כוכבים וחלול שבת בפרהסיא או שאינו מאמין בדברי רבותינו ז”ל נאמן בשאר איסורים ובשל אחרים נאמן אפילו על אותו דבר לומר מותר הוא

He further cites R. Yitzhak Zilberstein, Hashukei Hemed, Bekhorot 30b, who thinks that someone who does not wash before eating bread is not to be disqualified from serving as a mashgiach. This is because his personal sins do not affect his feeling of responsibility to the community, and there is no reason to think that he would allow others to eat non-kosher just because he is not careful with netilat yadayim. R. Zilberstein does, however, cite his brother-in-law R. Chaim Kanievsky, who disagreed.

R. Khoshkerman explains his own lenient view:

והנה עינינו הרואות שהרבה אנשים זהירים בכשרות יותר מטהרת המשפחה, כיון שהוא יודע שאם הוא לא יהיה זהיר בכשרות הוא חוטא ומחטיא את הרבים, אבל בדיני טהרת המשפחה רק הוא חוטא. לפיכך נראה שיכולים לסמוך עליו. ועוד שאינם יודעים גודל חומרת האיסור של טהרת המשפחה, אבל על כשרות המטבח הם מקפידים, וכן על מצוות אחרות כגון שבת טלית ותפילין

R. Khoshkerman concludes:

המורם מכל האמור: שאדם שחשוד על טהרת המשפחה, אינו חשוד על כשרות, ולכן יכולים לסמוך עליו בתור משגיח כשרות. אבל רק בתנאי שהוא שומר מצוות אחרות כמו תפלה, טלית ותפילין ושבת, ורק על ענין טהרת המשפחה הוא עובר, או מפני שאינו יודע שזה דבר חמור, או מסיבות אחרות

R. Shalom Mordechai Schwadron, She’elot u-Teshuvot Maharsham, vol. 2, no. 62, already wrote as follows (and R. Khoshkerman will no doubt see this as support for his conclusion):

 די”ל שמ”מ לאינשי חמיר טפי איסורי מאכלות ועינינו רואות בכמה נשים שאין טובלות לנדתן ועוד כהנה ובכ”ז נזהרין מאיסורי מאכלות

I would also add that R. Moses Isserles’s words in Yoreh Deah 119:7 are relevant:

מי שהוא חשוד בדבר דלא משמע לאינשי שהוא עבירה לא מקרי חשוד

[21] The letter is found in Ganzach Kiddush ha-Shem in Bnei Brak.
[22] R. Aharon Rakeffet has often told about his shock in discovering, soon after being hired in 1961, that congregants at the Lower Merion Synagogue, his first rabbinic pulpit, drank non-kosher wine. He would have found the same thing at Modern Orthodox synagogues across the country. Rakeffet has also recorded his story in From Washington Avenue to Washington Street (Jerusalem, 2011), pp. 167-168. I discuss Jews drinking non-kosher wine in Changing the Immutable, and will return to it in a future post
[23] Jews shaving with a razor is also mentioned by R. Ezekiel Landau, Noda bi-Yehudah, Orah Hayyim Tinyana, no. 101, and R. Moses Sofer, She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, Orah Hayyim, no. 154: בעו”ה רבו המשחיתים בעם בתער

This was a such a problem among otherwise observant Jews in early twentieth-century America that R. Hayyim Hirschensohn tried to come up with a heter for shaving with the modern T-shaped razors. See Hiddushei Ha-Rav Hayyim Hirschensohn, vol. 3, no. 12. R. Hirschensohn’s position is discussed by R. Nachum Rabinovitch, Melumdei Milhamah, pp. 283-284.
[24] For stories of R. Moshe Feinstein and the Pioneer Country Club, see R. Yaakov Heftler (Leo Gartenberg’s son-in-law), “Zikhronot,” Kol ha-Torah 54 (2003), pp. 67ff. One story Hetfler describes is how his father passed away on the Shabbat of his aufruf, which took place at the Pioneer with some 250 guests in attendance. The wedding was supposed to be on Sunday. However, R. Moshe Feinstein, who was at the hotel in honor of the simhah, ruled that the funeral should be postponed to Monday and the wedding should take place on Sunday, when Heftler was an onen.

Here is the report about the wedding in Ha-Pardes, Tishrei 5720, p. 47.

[25] There was a well-known askan named Julius Steinfeld. You can read about him here. He did amazing things during the Holocaust and was responsible for saving thousands of Jews. I mention him here because he was very upset that the Agudah had their convention at the Pioneer and wrote a very sharp letter of protest. He even rejects the entire concept of a convention in which both men and women are in attendance.

[26] See Tosafot, Avodah Zarah 38a, s.v. Ela mi-de-Rabbanan, and the wide discussion of R. Ovadiah Yosef, Yehaveh Da’at, vol. 5, no. 54.




Can Orthodoxy Decide Its Own History?

Can Orthodoxy Decide Its Own History?

Rabbi Shmuel Lesher 

The Making of a Godol

In his 2004 review of Rabbi Nosson Kamenetsky’s controversy-sparking Making of a Godol,[1] Professor Mordechai Breuer notes a marked change happening within haredi culture, specifically book culture:

The contents of the traditional Haredi bookshelf have expanded and transformed beyond recognition in recent generations. Alongside … the rabbinic classics … the shelves are now filled with books of types our ancestors could not have imagined.[2]

Breuer is referring to the proliferation of a new form of biography, or hagiography, of gedolim, or “Torah scholars” sometimes referred to as “Shivhei Tzaddikim” (Praises of the Righteous).

To be sure, historically, the practice of telling stories of praise and piety about gedolim is not new. Records of this literature can be found as early as the 19th century.[3] However, the recent proliferation and high demand for these works within contemporary haredi society is a fairly recent phenomenon.

It is against this backdrop that, in his review, Breuer celebrates R. Kamenetsky’s publication of Making of a Godol. He correctly notes that this book is not just another routine addition to the existing genre of hagiography. Quite the contrary, employing the rigorous research of an academic, the book makes a serious effort to depict the lives of Lithuanian yeshiva personalities as they truly were, without embellishment or distortion. In stark contrast to those who advocate for the idealized and sanitized portrayal of gedolim as saintly individuals devoid of human flaws or weakness, R. Kamenetsky authored a book whose content was subject to a single test: the test of truth.[4]

It is for this very reason that others did not celebrate the publication of Making of a Godol. In fact, shortly after the book was published in 2002, it was subject to a ban and removed from bookstores.

Breuer has his own critiques of the book. In addition to a number of serious methodological issues he raises with the book from an academic historical perspective, Breuer takes issue with a number of passages from a religious perspective, some of which may have been the reasons why it was banned within parts of the haredi community:

It is unfortunate that the author did not refrain from delving into minutiae that lack historical significance, including the personal weaknesses of Torah scholars… Yet, the author makes no effort to reconcile this phenomenon with the ideal of shemirat halashon (guarding one’s speech) …. The extensive treatment of such topics, without any attempt to analyze or integrate them into a cohesive picture of the “Making of a Godol” borders on gossip for its own sake. It would have been better to omit such material altogether.[5]

Jewish History: Lashon Harah?

Although Breuer categorizes the inclusion of some trivial and negative descriptions of gedolim in R. Kamenetsky’s book as “bordering on gossip for its own sake,” someone who levels the claim of actual lashon harah (prohibited negative speech) against any and all accurate history-keeping is Rabbi Shimon Schwab.

R. Schwab correctly notes that history must be accurate:

History must be truthful, otherwise it does not deserve its name. A book of history must report the bad with the good, the ugly with the beautiful, the difficulties and the victories, the guilt and the virtue. Since it is supposed to be truthful, it cannot spare the righteous if he fails, and it cannot skip the virtues of the villain. For such is truth, all is told the way it happened.[6]

Clearly, there is little use for inaccurate history books. 

R. Schwab further notes that since the canonization of Tanakh, no works of Jewish history were composed by our Sages. It appears that when prophecy ceased, the recording of Jewish history stopped at the same time.[7]

This phenomenon was noted by historian Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi. He writes that after the canonization of the Bible, it appears that Jewish historiography abruptly stopped:

After the close of the biblical canon the Jews virtually stopped writing history…. It is as though, abruptly, the impulse to historiography had ceased.[8]

This, Yerushalmi writes, is remarkable. Biblical Jewry and subsequent generations of Jews drew deep meaning from history. Their people’s history was deeply wedded to their sacred scripture. They came together weekly to read aloud from these passages in synagogues for thousands of years. Generation of scribes would copy and transmit these texts to the next generation with the utmost care and concern for their sacred task.[9]

Moreover, the Torah itself commands the Jewish people to remember “the days of old and to contemplate the years of every generation”:

זכר ימות עולם בינו שנות דור ודור שאל אביך ויגדך זקניך ויאמרו לך

Remember world history, study the generational epochs. Ask your father and he will relate to you, your elders and they will tell you (Devarim 32:7).

Therefore, R. Schwab asks: Why did our great Torah leaders not deem it necessary to register in detail all the events of their period just as the Torah and the prophets had done before them? 

R. Schwab’s answer will likely be shocking to all those who love history:

Only a prophet mandated by his Divine calling has the ability to report history as it really happened, unbiased and without prejudice….An historian has no right to take sides. He must report the stark truth and nothing but the truth…if an historian would report truthfully what he witnessed…He would violate the prohibition against spreading loshon harah which does not only apply to the living, but also to those who sleep in the dust and cannot defend themselves any more. What ethical purpose is served by preserving a realistic historic picture? Nothing but the satisfaction of curiosity. [10]

Using the imagery of Shem and Yefet who covered the nakedness of their father Noah when he became intoxicated, preserving their saintly memory of their father (Bereishit 9:23), R. Schwab argues for a more synthetic and sterilized version of Jewish history:

We should tell ourselves and our children the good memories of the good people, their unshakeable faith, their staunch defense of tradition, their life of truth, their impeccable honesty, their boundless charity and their great reverence for Torah and Torah sages. What is gained by pointing out their inadequacies and their contradictions? We want to be inspired by their example and learn from their experience. Rather than write the history of our forebears, every generation has to put a veil over the human failings of its elders and glorify all the rest which is great and beautiful. That means we have to do without a real history book….We do not need realism, we need inspiration from our forefathers in order to pass it on to posterity. 

Because a historian must record the facts, and the facts remain lashon harah and therefore forbidden, R. Schwab argues that Torah-true “historians” should engage in the genre of “story-telling” rather than truthful history focusing on telling the stories that will inspire, leaving out the truth if unflattering.

Is R. Schwab correct in asserting that the reading or writing of all accurate history is in violation of the formal prohibition(s) of lashon harah and therefore renders the field of Jewish history decidedly quite “un-Jewish”? Any serious student of history must respond to this question.[11]

It appears from the literature that the standard prohibition of lashon harah only applies to the living. The Gemara in Berakhot (19a) cites Rabbi Yitzhak who states, “Anyone who speaks negatively about the deceased is as if he speaks about a stone. Some say this is because the dead do not know, and some say that they know, but they do not care [about such speech].

Simply understood, R. Yitzhak’s statement means that just as there is no formal prohibition of lashon harah for slandering inanimate objects, there is no lashon harah when speaking negatively about the dead.[12]

Although the Raavya[13] and the Mordekhai[14] quote an ancient heirem (ban) against falsely libeling the deceased which is codified in Shulhan Arukh,[15] this would not constitute formal lashon harah.[16]

Interestingly, the father of the aforementioned R. Nosson Kamenetsky, Rabbi Yaakov Kamenetsky, writes that even this ban, which reaches beyond the scope of normative lashon harah, only forbids false libel. Whereas lashon harah is forbidden when speaking about living persons even when true,[17] one is permitted, according to the elder R. Kamenetsky, to tell negative stories about people from the past as long as they are true. R. Gil Student notes that when applied to history, this principle would provide a heter (allowance) for the accurate, albeit occasionally negative, recording of facts.[18]

On the other hand, R. Binyamin Yehoshua Zilber argues, contrary to the simple reading of the Gemara cited above, the dead do, in fact, know about and are affected by what is said about them. Therefore, he rules that one may not say anything bad about the dead, false or true.[19]

The Allowance of “Toelet

Either approach one takes to lashon harah about the dead, the allowances to permitted lashon harah would seem to apply to the dead just as it applies to the living. Regarding history, two allowances outlined by the Hafetz Haim seem particularly relevant: one permitting the “sharing of public knowledge”[20] and another based on “toelet” — having a legitimate or constructive purpose.[21] If something is already public knowledge, its inclusion in history books is permitted under the category of “sharing public knowledge.” If it is not already known, I would argue that documenting it for posterity, when it serves a constructive purpose for the historical record, should also be allowed.

Returning to Making of a Godol, R. Kamenetsky was aware of the potential for Breuer’s critique of lashon harah. In defense of his choice to include some less than savory passages in his book apparently for the sake of the historical record, R. Kamenetsky appears to utilize the “toelet argument”:

It goes without saying that R. Mordekhai Schwab [brother of R. Shimon Schwab who supported the study of accurate Jewish history] did not approve of revealing faults in any man without constructive purpose; and neither do I.[22]

R. Kamenetsky makes another argument to support disclosing even unsavory information. He claims there is some form of halakhic statute of limitations on people’s embarrassment. Things that transpired over a century ago are no longer subject to the rules of lashon harah:

I did not give much consideration to concealing then-sensitive matters for the reason that when my father talked about these long-past episodes he specifically applied the verse גם שנאתם גם קנאתם כבר אבדה (Both their [the principals’] enmity and their envy are already bygone)[23]…. In fact, my father considered the passage of only 50 years – a יובל (which the Torah labels ” לעולם [forever]”) – to have enough of a cumulative effect to erase one world and bring a new society in its stead.[24]

This rationale goes well beyond the toelet allowance or limiting lashon harah to the living. If one accepts this contention, any information that is at least 50 years old can be written even if the individual would not want this information shared.

Whatever the assumed allowance is, in recent years, it appears that many, even within the haredi community, have taken a more open approach to the study of Jewish history. 

Although Making of a Godol was banned, this did not impede the public’s interest in historical scholarship. Over twenty years after the Making of a Godol ban, interest in the academic study of Jewish history has only grown. Today, there is a new wave of Jewish historians, writers, and podcast hosts who are engaged in rigorous study and writing of Jewish history. In their weekly column in Mishpacha magazine “For the Record,” Yehuda Geberer and Dovi Safier cite directly from historical documents and materials from Jewish history. Geberer hosts a popular podcast entitled “Jewish History Soundbites (here).”Nachi Weinstein of Lakewood, New Jersey, the host of the Seforim Chatter podcast (here), routinely interviews academic historians and professors well outside the typical sources found in the more insulated Yeshiva community.

Although there is still a strong presence of the typical biographical or hagiographical, any careful observer of the Jewish community can discern a largely different approach being taken to the study of Jewish history.

The Ethical Imperative of Accurate Historiography

I have shown that, although debated, there is a halakhic basis for the study of accurate and truthful Jewish history. However, is there a moral imperative to study Jewish history? It may be permitted halakhically, but is there inherent value in the recording of history?

According to Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, we can derive from the Torah itself that there is an ethical value in preserving history. R. Hirsch notes that the Torah “does not hide from us the faults, errors, and weaknesses of our great men” and narrates events simply “because they took place”:

The Torah never hides from us the faults, errors, and weaknesses of our great men. Just by that it gives a stamp of veracity to what it relates . . . The Torah never presents our great men as being perfect, it deifies no man, says of none ‘here you have the ideal, in this man the divine became human’ . . . The Torah is no collection of examples of saints. It relates what occurred, not because it was exemplary, but because it did occur.[25]

In fact, recording the mistakes of our biblical heroes provides more credibility to the Torah.

R.Yehuda Leib Bloch, the Rosh Yeshiva of Telshe, Lithuania makes a similar point:

At the very moment it describes the greatness and holiness of the Patriarchs, [the Torah] does not remain silent about their shortcomings. It does not conceal their flaws, nor does it portray them as divine beings possessing every virtue without defects or shortcomings….Our Torah is a Torah of truth, a Torah of life. It teaches us that a person, by virtue of being human, cannot be divine.[26]

Aside from the lesson of our Patriarchs’ and Matriarchs’ humanity and the credibility gained by the Torah, the fact that the Torah records events simply “because they took place” is significant for R. Hirsch. The very notion that something occurred, in and of itself merits being recorded in the Torah because the Torah values the truth of history. Throughout many of his works, R. Hirsch emphasizes the importance of historical awareness and the necessity of the study of history.[27] One citation will suffice:

To obtain knowledge of Nature and History…is not only something permitted but something which is desirable to the fullest extent, for only a mind armed with such a wide panoramic view on all matters can draw the right conclusions of the Jewish position in the world, in the whole of its speciality.[28]

Censoring the “Inconvenient Truths” of History 

Rabbi Dr. Jacob J. Schacter has argued in a number of important essays that there is an ethical imperative to preserving historical truth about our past and “facing the truths of history.”[29]

In support of his position, which he notes has historically been the minority one, R. Schacter draws from R. Yaakov Emden,[30] R. Hirsch,[31] and the Hazon Ish.[32] Critical of hagiographic works that censor or remove “inconvenient truths” about gedolim, R. Schacter writes:

Is overlooking part of the truth, in fact, any less of a lie than actively distorting it? Do not both result in a less than true—let us call it what it really is, i. e., false—picture of the facts or figure being presented? W. E. B. Du Bois wrote: “One is astonished in the study of history at the recurrence of the idea that evil must be forgotten, distorted, skimmed over.”[33]

R. Schacter also responds to R. Schwab’s rationalization for omitting parts of history:

It is interesting that Rabbi Schwab does not deny that “important people” and “good people” have failings and inadequacies. Rather, he suggests that they are best overlooked and forgotten. However, even this…explains only the neglect and disregard of history; it does not justify the distorting of history. While it may explain why one should not write about the past, it does not justify distorting the past when one does write about it. Inventing the past is as foolish as foretelling the future, but more scandalous.[34]

Suffice it to say, although “facing the truths of history” may be difficult, even prohibitive according to some, according to R. Schacter and those of his school, it is imperative.

The Miracle of Jewish Survival 

There may be yet another reason to study Jewish history from a religious perspective. In an often-cited passage, R. Yaakov Emden writes that Jewish history very well may be the repository of the greatest miracle known to man:

Who is so blind as to not see the divine providence?… We the exiled nation, a dispersed sheep. After all the troubles and shifts for two thousand years. No nation in the world is as pursued as us….[Our enemies] have brought on us great sufferings but were never able to triumph over us…All these ancient, powerful nations have gone by, their strength has withered, their protection has eroded. But we who cling to G-d are all alive today…Can the hand of chance do all this? I swear by my soul that…these ideas are greater [miracles] in my eyes than all the great open miracles G-d has performed for our forefathers in Egypt, the Sinai Desert, and in the land of Israel. The longer the exile lasts, the more the miracle is confirmed…[35]

If, as R. Emden argues, the story of Jewish people’s survival is even more miraculous and contributes more to our faith than the Exodus, it would follow that the study of the Jewish people’s history and its survival would be a critical part of Jewish education and faith-building.

In fact, R. Emden’s theory of the significance of the Jewish story of survival and its place within history, was felt by Catholic historian Paul Johnson. In the prologue to his A History of the Jews, Johnson gives his fourth and final reason why he chose to write this book and to study the Jewish people:

The book gave me the chance to reconsider objectively…the most intractable of all human questions: what are we on earth for? Is history merely a series of events whose sum is meaningless?….No people has ever insisted more firmly than the Jews that history has a purpose and humanity a destiny. At a very early stage in their collective existence they believed they had detected a divine scheme for the human race, of which their own society was to be a pilot. They worked out their role in immense detail. They clung to it with heroic persistence in the face of savage suffering. Many of them believe it still….The Jews, therefore, stand right at the centre of the perennial attempt to give human life the dignity of a purpose.[36]

For Johnson, the Jews stand at the centre of the very question of history and of human existence itself. Believing and arguing, by their very existence, that mankind does matter, and that there is moral significance to the history of the human race. 

In sum, the value of the rigorous and accurate study of Jewish history has been the subject of debate. From the standpoint of halakhah, I have argued that even negative information that can provide a greater understanding of our history is permitted to be recorded if it serves a constructive purpose for the historical record. However, more fundamentally, I believe that the proper study of Jewish history is not only a moral imperative ensuring an accurate picture of the past, it provides us with a deep sense of memory and Jewish identity. 

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks notes that although Jews were the first people to write history, biblical Hebrew has no word for “history.” Instead it uses the root zakhor, meaning “memory.”[37] History and memory are not the same thing. History is about facts, memory is about identity. History is about something that happened to someone else. It is “his story.” Memory is my story, the past that made me who I am, of whose legacy I am the guardian for the sake of generations yet to come. While, as I have argued, the study of history is crucial, without memory, there is no identity, and without identity, we are “mere dust on the surface of infinity.”[38]

[1] R. Nosson Kameneksty, Making of a Godol: A Study of Episodes in the Lives of Great Torah Personalities (Mesorah, 2002).
[2]
 Mordechai Breuer, “Gidulo Shel Gadol (Making of a Godol)” Hamayan 44:2 Teves 5764, pp. 81-82. For more reviews of Making of a Godol see Zev Lev, “Al Gidulo shel Gadol,” Hamayan 50:1 (Tishrei 5770) , pp. 100-104; “Teguvah le-divrei Prof. Lev z”l al ha-sefer Gidulo shel GadolHamayan 50:7 (Tishrei 5770), pp. 77-104.
[3]
See Immanuel Etkes, “On Shaping the Image of ‘the Gedolim’ in Ultra-Orthodox Lithuanian Hagiographic Literature,” in Benjamin Brown and Nissim Leon, eds., The Gedolim: Leaders Who Shaped the Israeli Haredi Jewry (Magnes, 2017), p. 26 (Hebrew). I was introduced to this and several other sources referenced in this article through R. Dovid Bashevkin. See his “Is Jewish History Lashon Harah,” Reading Jewish History in the Parsha (April 10, 2024) (available here).
[4]
 Breuer, “Gidulo Shel Gadol,” p. 81.
[5]
 Breuer, “Gidulo Shel Gadol,” pp. 83-84. For more on Making of a Godol and the ban on it see R. Nosson Kameneksty, “Anatomy of a Ban: the Story of the Ban on the Book Making of a Godol; R. Nosson Kamenetsky, “Making of a Ban: A Look At the Banning of Making of A Godol,” YUTorah.org (March 12, 2005) (available here); Marc B. Shapiro, “Of Books and Bans,” The Edah Journal 3:2 (2003) (available here) and his “On Re-Reading a Banned Book: Nathan Kamenetsky’s Making of a Godol,” Jewish Review of Books (Spring 2022); Dovid Lichtenstein, “Supermen or Super Men: Acknowledging the Faults and Mistakes of Gedolim,” Headlines 3: Halachic Debates of Current Events (Mekor, 2021), pp. 385-413 and his Halacha Headlines podcast on the topic.
[6] R.
Shimon Schwab, Selected Writings, (1988), p. 233.
[7] Ibid.
[8]
 Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi, Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory (Seattle and London, 1982), 15-16.
[9]
 Yerushalmi’s thesis has been the subject of much debate in academic circles. See perhaps most notably,  Robert Bonfil, “How Golden was the ‘Golden Age’ of Jewish Historiography?” History and Theory, Vol. 27, No. 4, Beiheft 27: Essays in Jewish Historiography (Dec., 1988), pp. 78-102. Also see Amos Funkenstein’s Perceptions of Jewish History (University of California Press, Berkeley, 1993); David N. Myers and Amos Funkenstein, “Remembering “Zakhor”: A Super-Commentary [with Response], History and Memory, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Fall – Winter, 1992), pp. 129-148; David Berger, “Identity, Ideology and Faith: Some Personal Reflections on the Social, Cultural and Spiritual Value of the Academic Study of Judaism,” in Howard Kreisel (ed.), Study and Knowledge in Jewish Thought (Ben-Gurion University, 2006), pp. 15-16. Thanks to Dr. Marc Herman and Dr. Tamar Ron Marvin for these sources.
[10] R.
Schwab, p. 234.
[11]
 For a discussion of the position of the Rambam on this question see R. Zev Eleff, “The Intersection of Halakhah and History,” Beit Yitzhak, Vol. 42 (5770), p. 425n4.
[12]
It should be noted that R. Yosef Shalom Elyashiv is cited as reading this Gemara differently and thereby prohibits lashon harah spoken of the dead the same as the living. See R. Benzion Kook (ed.), Shiurei Maran HaGrish Elyashiv, Berakhot 19a, with nn. 53-54.
[13]
Yoma, no. 531.
[14]
Yoma, no. 724.
[15]
 Orah Hayim 606:4.
[16]
 Mishnah Berurah 606:16.
[17]
Emet Liyaakov al Hatorah, Vayeishev, p. 194.
[18] R.
Gil Student, “Toward a Halakhic Philosophy of History,” Torah Musings (March 15, 2011).
[19]
 Shu”t Az Nidberu 14:68. For more see R. Daniel Feldman, False Facts and True Rumors: Lashon Hara in Contemporary Society, (2015), pp. 228-230 and R. Eleff, pp. 422-431.
[20]
 Hafetz Hayim 1:2:2.
[21]
 Ibid. 1:10:2.
[22] R.
Nathan Kamenetsky, Making of a Godol, Vol. 1 (Improved Edition, 2004), p. xxv.
[23]
Kohelet 9:6.
[24] R.
Kamenetsky, Making of a Godol, pp. xxiii-xxiv.
[25] R.
Samson Raphael Hirsch, The Pentateuch, Genesis 12:10-13.
[26] R.
Yosef Yehuda Leib Bloch, Shiurei Daat, Vayikra Bishem Hashem, p. 157.
[27]
 See R. Hirsch, “On Hebrew Instruction As Part of General Education,” Judaism Eternal, Vol. 1 (Soncino, 1956), p. 199; The Nineteen Letters, Letter Eighteen (Feldheim, 1995), p. 273; Pentateuch, Devarim 4:32, 6:4, and 16:1. I am indebted to Professor Yehuda (Leo) Levi for many of these citations. See his “Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch: Myth and Fact,” Tradition (Spring 1997), 31.3, p. 7 and 18.
[28]
 Pentateuch, Devarim 4:32.
[29]
See his “Haskalah, Secular Studies and the Close of the Yeshiva in Volozhin in 1892,” The Torah u-Madda Journal, vol. 2 (1990), pp. 76-133 (available here) and “Facing the Truths of History,” The Torah u-Madda Journal, vol. 8 (1998-1999), pp. 200-276 (available here).
[30]
 “Facing the Truths of History,” pp. 203-204.
[31] R.
Jacob J. Schacter, “On the Morality of the Patriarchs: Must Biblical Heroes be Perfect?” in Zvi Grumet, ed., Jewish Education in Transition (2007), p. 5.
[32] Koveitz Iggerot Meiet Hahazon Ish, Vol. 2, no. 133.
[33]
 “Facing the Truths of History,” pp. 230-231.
[34] “Haskalah, Secular Studies,” pp. 111-112.
[35]
Siddur Yavetz, Vol. 1, Introduction.
[36]
 Paul Johnson, A History of the Jews (1988), p. 2.
[37] R.
Jonathan Sacks, “A Nation of Storytellers,” (Ki Tavo), Lessons in Leadership (2015), p. 278.
[38] R.
Sacks, Morality (2020), p. 15.