In terms of printing Seforim I once believed that we need a Vaad HaRabbonim for publishing – a coordinating committee that would approve and recommend who should publish his Sefer and who not. However I quickly rejected this idea as totally undo-able and ill advised. Then I dreamed of a grandiose project which would coordinate authors and tell each Mehaber on what topic to write. Sadly the age of grandiose projects like the Encyclopedia Talmudit has passed and even the Encyclopedia Talmudit which has a good start will need at least another 36 volumes or 75-100 years to reach the end of the aleph-bet!

However it recently dawned on me that there is another approach, an organic approach which is even happening on its own. There is a new Rav Moshe on the horizon,a new star has risen, a new Super Talmid Hachami, and he isn’t even Jewish – his name is Rabbi Google! Before you exclaim
“Rachmane Letzlan” and go on to the next screen let me tell you a story. At a wedding 12 years ago I once asked Hagaon HaRav Shlomo Fisher Shlita if computers are not a “Maase Satan”. His answer shocked me to the core. In his quiet way he dropped a bomb. “There is no such thing as a Maase Satan”. Computers and cell phones and Internet and all of the technology that is driving the world towards distraction are only a Golem. If  we choose to use it for good – Hashem Yaazor, and if we choose to use it for bad -Hashem Yaazor. Let’s step back and look at Limud Torah and the Mesora of Torah from generation to generation and lay down certain premises. 1. No word of Torah that has been thought, spoken, written, or printed, from Har Sinai until today, was in vain. Every single Torah Hiddush, idea, expression or word is intrinsically significant. Of course there are levels and levels and levels of Torah thoughts. There are Torah essays that are fully formed, succinct and encompassing and there are those that are far less – but every Torah thought is significant. No Torah thought should be left to wither. Each thought should be explored and examined and if found true recorded somewhere in the Torah of Klal Yisrael. As the Haffetz Haim wrote technology which records past events is only a Mashal (metaphor) how every deed (or for our purposes word of Torah) is remembered in heaven.

3. Shlomo HaMelech writes that there is no end to books and we all know the adage that not every thing you think should be expressed and not every thing you speak should be written and not everything you write should be printed etc. However I have noticed that almost every Sefer has at least one reader. Among the thousands of Seforim I have handled over the past 40 years invariably someone has become excited and asked me to find that specific Sefer. Even the most unremarkable Sefer in my eyes seems to somehow attract a kindred Jewish spirit somewhere in the world who wants to learn from it. That is not to say that there are no Seforim out there which the groaning bookshelves of the world would prefer not to bear – there are thousands. But nevertheless, at least from the point of view of the author, it was a learning experience – he didn’t waste his time.

So if we posit that the main benefit of publishing Seforim today is for the author and not the reader – how do we restructure Jewish publishing so
that it reflects this new function? The immediate answers are simple:

No matter what we can be sure that printing a “best seller” today on a Torani topic is a major illusion. Today in Jerusalem one only has to pass by one of the Shteiblach to witness the death of  uncontrolled Seforim printing. There out in the elements, in winter’s rain and summer’s heat, hundreds of Seforim sit on tables offered for only 5 shekels each and sadly no one is buying them! However the world of joint publishing is coming into its own. The Torani databases: The use of: Otzar HaHachma and Hebrewbooks.com, Otzrot HaTorah and The Judaica Archival Project are growing by leaps and bounds. I have been told that new authors can now send unprinted works in digital format directly to these databases. Electronic books and electronic readers are not at all suitable for commercial Torani publishing but as learning tools and a place to mine information the electronic media have no comparison. Let’s be frank with ourselves sometimes despite the stigma we may feel the best person to ask is “Rabbi Google”.

Hayyim Angel’s latest book, Peshat Isn’t so Simple,
has just been published. The Seforim Blog is happy to present this excerpt.

The Yeshivah
and the Academy:

How We Can
Learn from One Another in Biblical Scholarship

I

The study of
Tanakh is an awesome undertaking, given its infinite depth. This chapter will
explore the approaches of the yeshivah and the academy to Tanakh study. We will
define the yeshivah broadly to include any traditional religious Jewish
setting, be it the synagogue, study hall, adult education class, seminary, or
personal study. In contrast, the academy is any ostensibly neutral scholarly
setting, primarily universities and colleges, which officially is not committed
to a particular set of beliefs.

In theory, the
text analysis in the yeshivah and the academy could be identical, since both
engage in the quest for truth. The fundamental difference between the two is
that in the yeshivah, we study Tanakh as a means to understanding revelation as
the expression of God’s will. The scholarly conclusions we reach impact
directly on our lives and our religious worldview. In the academy, on the other
hand, truth is pursued as an intellectual activity for its own sake, usually as
an end in itself.

Over the
generations, Jewish commentators have interpreted the texts of Tanakh using
traditional methods and sources. Many also drew from non-traditional sources. To
illustrate, Rabbi Abraham ibn Ezra (twelfth-century Spain, Italy) frequently
cited Karaite scholarship even though he was engaged in an ongoing polemic
against them. Rambam (twelfth-century Spain, Egypt) drew extensively from
Aristotle and other thinkers in his Guide for the Perplexed. Rabbi Isaac
Abarbanel (fifteenth-century Spain, Italy) frequently cites Christian
commentaries and ancient histories. In the nineteenth century, rabbinic
scholars such as Samuel David Luzzatto (Shadal) and Elijah Benamozegh in Italy;
and Meir Leibush ben Yehiel Michel (Malbim) and David Zvi Hoffmann in Germany,
benefited significantly from academic endeavors.

Many other
rabbis, however, have opposed the use of outside sources in explicating Tanakh.[1]
These rabbis did not want assumptions incompatible with Jewish tradition
creeping into our religious worldview. This tension about whether or not to
incorporate outside wisdom into Tanakh study lies at the heart of many of the
great controversies in the history of Jewish tradition.

II

In analyzing
the respective advantages and shortcomings of the approaches of the yeshivah
and the academy, it is appropriate to pinpoint the biases of each. The yeshivah
community studies each word of Tanakh with passionate commitment to God and
humanity, and with a deep awe and reverence of tradition. These are biases
(albeit noble ones) that will affect our scholarship, and it is vital to
acknowledge them. Less favorably, it is possible for chauvinism to enter
religious thought, with an insistence that only we have the truth. Our belief
in the divine revelation of Tanakh should make us recognize that no one person,
or group of people, can fully fathom its infinite glory and depth. Finally, our
commitment to Tanakh and tradition often makes it more difficult to change our
assumptions with new information than if we were detached and studying in a
neutral setting. Thus, academic biblical scholarship gains on the one hand by
its ostensible neutrality. It may be able to see things that one in love with
tradition cannot.

However, those
professing neutrality may not always acknowledge that they too are biased.
There is no such thing as purely objective, or infallible, human thought. For
example, Julius Wellhausen, a liberal Protestant scholar of late
nineteenth-century Germany, is often considered the most important architect of
the so-called Documentary Hypothesis. Building on earlier nineteenth-century
scholarship, he asserted that different sections of the Torah were composed
over several centuries, long after the time of Moses. He argued that some of
the narratives comprise the earliest layers of the Torah. Then came the
classical prophets, and only then were most of the legal sections of the Torah
added. These strands were redacted by later scholars, he believed, into the
Torah as we know it today.

Although many
were quick to accept this hypothesis, Professor Jon D. Levenson (Harvard
University) has demonstrated that it is an expression of liberal Protestant
theology that goes far beyond the textual evidence. By arguing that later
scholars and priests added the Torah’s laws, Wellhausen and his followers were
suggesting that those later writers distorted the original religion of the
prophets and patriarchs. According to Wellhausen, then, the Torah’s laws were a
later—and dispensable—aspect of true Israelite religion. Instead of Paul’s related
accusations against the Pharisees, these liberal Protestant German scholars
dissected and reinterpreted the Torah itself in accordance with their own
beliefs.[2]

The foregoing
criticism does not invalidate all of the questions and conclusions suggested by
that school of thought. Many of their observations have proven helpful in later
biblical scholarship. We need to recognize, however, that the suggestions of
Wellhausen’s school reflect powerful underlying biases—some of which go far
beyond the textual evidence.[3]

The traditional
Jewish starting point is rather different: God revealed the Torah to Moses and
Israel as an unparalleled and revolutionary vision for Israel and for all of
humanity. Its laws and narratives mesh as integral components of a
sophisticated, exalted, unified program for life. The later prophets came to
uphold and encourage faithfulness to God and the Torah.

In Tanakh,
people who live by the Torah’s standards are praiseworthy, and people who
violate them are culpable. So, for example, the Book of Samuel extols David for
his exceptional faith in battling Goliath, and then mercilessly condemns him
for the Bathsheba affair. This viewpoint reflects the singular philosophy of
Tanakh—profoundly honest evaluation of people based on their actions. It would
be specious to argue that the first half of the narrative was written by
someone who supported David, whereas the latter account was authored by someone
who hated David. Rather, the entire narrative was written by prophets who loved
God and who demanded that even the greatest and most beloved of our leaders be
faithful to the Torah.

Of course,
truth is infinitely complex and is presented in multiple facets in Tanakh.
Additionally, our understanding is necessarily subject to the limitations of
human interpretation. Nevertheless, the text remains the standard against which
we evaluate all opinions. Religious scholarship admits (or is supposed to
admit!) its shortcomings and biases while relentlessly trying to fathom the
revealed word of God.

III

The ideal
learning framework espouses traditional beliefs and studies as a means to a
religious end, and defines issues carefully, while striving for intellectual
openness and honesty. Reaching this synthesis is difficult, since it requires
passionate commitment alongside an effort to be detached while learning in
order to refine knowledge and understanding. When extolling two of his great
rabbinic heroes—Rabbis Joseph Soloveitchik and Benzion Uziel—Rabbi Marc D.
Angel quotes the Jerusalem Talmud, which states that the path of Torah has fire
to its right and ice to its left. Followers of the Torah must attempt to walk
precisely in middle (J.T. Hagigah 2:1, 77a).[4]

Literary tools,
comparative linguistics, as well as the discovery of a wealth of ancient texts
and artifacts have contributed immensely to our understanding the rich tapestry
and complexity of biblical texts. The groundbreaking work of twentieth-century
scholars such as Umberto (Moshe David) Cassuto, Yehudah Elitzur, Yehoshua Meir
Grintz, Yehezkel Kaufmann, and Nahum Sarna has enhanced our understanding of
the biblical world by combining a mastery of Tanakh with a thorough
understanding of the ancient Near Eastern texts unearthed during the previous
two centuries.

At the same time, it must be recognized that our
knowledge of the ancient world is limited. We have uncovered but a small
fraction of the artifacts and literature of the ancient Near Eastern world, and
much of what we have discovered is subject to multiple interpretations. We
should be thrilled to gain a better sense of the biblical period, but must
approach the evidence with prudent caution as well.[5]

To benefit from
contemporary biblical scholarship properly, we first must understand our own
tradition—to have a grasp of our texts, assumptions, and the range of
traditional interpretations. This educational process points to a much larger
issue. For example, studying comparative religion should be broadening.
However, people unfamiliar with their own tradition, or who know it primarily
from non-traditional teachers or textbooks, will have little more than a
shallow basis for comparison.

Religious
scholarship benefits from contemporary findings—both information and
methodology. Outside perspectives prod us to be more critical in our own
learning. On the other side of the equation, the academy stands to benefit from
those who are heirs to thousands of years of tradition, who approach every word
of Tanakh with awe and reverence, and who care deeply about the intricate
relationship between texts.[6]
The academy also must become more aware of its own underlying biases.

IV

Ultimately, we
must recognize the strengths and weaknesses in the approaches of the yeshivah
and the academy. By doing so, we can study the eternal words of Tanakh using
the best of classical and contemporary scholarship. This process gives us an
ever-refining ability to deepen our relationship with God, the world community,
and ourselves.

Dr. Norman Lamm
has set the tone for this inquiry:

Torah is a
“Torah of truth,” and to hide from the facts is to distort that truth into
myth.… It is this kind of position which honest men, particularly honest
believers in God and Torah, must adopt at all times, and especially in our
times. Conventional dogmas, even if endowed with the authority of an
Aristotle—ancient or modern—must be tested vigorously. If they are found
wanting, we need not bother with them. But if they are found to be
substantially correct, we may not overlook them. We must then use newly
discovered truths the better to understand our Torah—the “Torah of truth.”[7]

Our early morning daily liturgy challenges us: “Ever
shall a person be God-fearing in secret as in public, with truth in his heart
as on his lips.” May we be worthy of pursuing that noble combination.

NOTES

A Response
to Yaakov Rosenes

by  Menachem Lazar

Menachem Lazar is a postdoctoral researcher at the
University of Pennsylvania, studying applied mathematics and materials science.
 He has previously served as editor of Beit Yitzchak, an annual Talmud
publication of the Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary.

In a recent essay at the Seforim blog,
Yaakov Rosenes provides a fascinating window into some unfortunate trends in
the world of Jewish publishing.  In particular, Rosenes highlights how
technology has impacted not only how seforim are printed today, but also what seforim
are printed — today, every Tom, Dick, and Harry can print a sefer, and
increasingly many of them choose to do so.  While much of what he writes
comes as no surprise to those who have even casually followed the printed
literature in recent years, the concrete numbers and anecdotes he provides are
certainly illuminating.  

On one of his points I
would like to suggest a “correction”.  In comparing the secular
and Torani worlds, Yaakov Rosenes focuses more on popular printing than on a
more relevant one: academic.  Like talmidei chachamim, scholars of various
fields attempt to promote their work, and to convince others of its importance;
to appropriate his words, “to open up a dialogue with a readership”.
 Likewise, “we have to concentrate more to understand what we
read” appears similarly true of much academic scholarship as it is of
Torah, much moreso than, say, of the Wall Street Journal or Time magazine.
 It might pay then to contrast that world of publication with that in the
Torah world.

I believe that two major
factors — both largely lacking in the world of Torah publishing — enable the
academic world to succeed in promoting quality of publication far beyond what
we can say for Torah printing.  First, there is a wide-spread appreciation
for the distinction between “old” and “new” material.
 Responsible journals typically aim to print new results and ideas.
 Old material is by no means unimportant, but no research journal will
print a routine review of Lagrange multipliers or differential curves, in the
way that many Torah journals might print your chavrusa’s summary of hilchose
chol hamo’ed or of the sugya of kinyan meshicha.  Of course there is a
wide range in quality in what is printed in both worlds, but the goal, at
least, of high-quality journals in the academic world is to mostly print new
ideas.  This can hardly be said for Torah journals, and by extension Torah
books.  Open a typical Torah journal and merely peruse the table of
contents: b’inyan ptur tamun b’esh, b’din get meuseh, etc.  Very general titles,
which often indicate articles that can be summarized: “Moshe learned this
sugya and here are some of his ha’arose”.  There is a reason why we
can find 90% of the same material in 90% of the printed literature.  Of
course, most readers do not have time or interest to read through hundreds of
pages to find the genuinely original pieces, and so the diamonds get lost in
the rough.  And there’s lots of rough.

This, of course, is
related to a second difference between the academic and Torah world — quality
control through peer review.  Aside from weak journals, that oftentimes
solicit and even guarantee publication (sometimes for a fee!), academic
journals typically enlist the aid of a network of people in the field to
referee submissions before they are accepted for publication.  Other
researchers, from graduate students and postdocs to Fields medalists and Nobel
laureates, will read a submission and advise the editors of the journals
regarding its suitability for publication: Is it well written?  Does it
appear to be well-researched?  Does it make a valuable contribution to the
field?  Is it readable to a non-specialist?  At the same time, the
referees also provide important feedback to the authors: “The paper’s
central point might be stated more clearly”, “The paper does not
explain the meaning of term x”, “The paper would benefit from
additional discussion of an additional related point”.  The effect of
this review process is thus two-fold.  First, low-quality articles —
those that are poorly written or otherwise bring little to the table — are
filtered out before the printing stage.  Indeed, the acceptance rate at
PRL, a representative first-tier journal from the physics community, is under
35% [1]; in contrast, during my years of editing and printing the Beit
Yitzchok, the rate was closer to 98%.  Second, the articles that are
printed are often made substantially stronger.  The net result is that
readers are not burdened with the significant challenge of extensive searches
through piles of low-quality work, and instead are treated to work befitting of
their time.  It is unfortunate that at this point, no similar
infrastructure exists in the world of Torah publishing.  True, there are
good Torah journals with talented editors, but as far as I can tell, the
editors of a given journal are typically a tiny group of people doing the job
of what can only effectively be done by one much larger.  

Some people will respond
that indeed our most serious talmidei chachamim are too busy with other
responsibilities to contribute to such a task.  To those people I will ask
the following.  Consider a typical academic employed by a typical research
institution.  Aside from their own research, teaching, administrative and
myriads of other responsibilities, he or she also makes time to referee several
articles a year.  Why do they do that?  I don’t believe that the
answer is prestige or academic promotion, as refereeing occurs by and large
anonymously, and is generally of little value to academic advancement.  Instead,
I believe that academics feel a responsibility to their field to ensure that it
is being done “right”, and that random idiots aren’t getting up there
and passing off their bunk as quality scholarship.  In a word, they feel a
responsibility to preserve the “integrity of the mesorah”.  It
seems to me that talmidei chachamim do not, generally speaking, practice this
same level of shmira when it comes to Torah.  Instead, there is a polite
gentility that goes around, under the guise of which any person’s Torah is ok
— anyone can give a shiur, any person can write a Torah article, any person
can write a sefer.  It is the same politeness that leads to haskamose that
read: “I haven’t read this sefer, but I see that this person is a very
qualified talmid chacham, and chazaka ein chaver motzi mtachas yado davar
sh’eino metukan, and yehi ratzon that he should continue to be marbitz
Torah.”  This passive approval is a polite way of avoiding serious
engagement with the Torah of others.  It is certainly not an effective
shmira even if it temporarily avoids some hurt feelings.  

Publishing a quality
journal — the kind that people are genuinely excited to receive and read — is
an admirable and feasible task, and one that would be a very worthwhile
contribution to the world of lomdei and ohavei Torah.  But I believe that
this cannot happen in the current intellectual climate, one that does not seem
to appreciate the distinction between old and new, and in which tacit wholesale
approval of scholarship is interpreted as genuine respect.  When the
climate changes, the publication of high-quality journals — and books — can
become a warmly welcomed reality.

[1]  https://journals.aps.org/prl/authors/editorial-policies-practices.

by Louis Jacobs

Many of the mediaeval Jewish teachers, partly in defence of the Talmud against attack by the Karaites, partly because of their own rationalistic stance, engaged in what Marc Saperstein in a fine study [1] has called ‘decoding the Rabbis’. That is to say, passages, especially in the Talmudic Aggadah, which seemed to them offensive to reason and general religious sensibilities, these teachers interpreted in the light of their own philosophical views, treating the Talmudic Aggadah as if it were a code requiring to be deciphered. Whether or not the ancient Rabbis could have intended to say what these thinkers understood them to have said, whether the Talmudic literature does ever partake of a code, is, of course, quite another matter. Rabbinic thought, whatever else it is, is hardly in the philosophical and systematic vein [2].

This kind of allegorical interpretation of the Talmudic Aggadah, this demythologisation, is found among the Geonim [3], in Maimonides, [4) and even, on occasion, in Rashi [5]. the great French commentator usually indifferent to the philosophical approach. As Solomon Schechter said of the mediaeval French and German schools, they nether neither understood nor misunderstood Aristotle. It is not always appreciated, however, that Menahem Meiri of Perpignan (1249-1316) [6] employs this method throughout his voluminous commentaries to the Talmud as this essay seeks to demonstrate. (The page references are not to the numbers in the various editions of Meiri’s Bet Ha-Behirah but to the pagination of the Talmudic tractates on which he comments).

Without stating it explicitly, Meiri usually allows his readers to see for themselves that his interpretations are intended to avoid attributing to the Talmudic Sages perverse, superstitious or ridiculous notions even though a surface reading of the tests might seem to imply that such notions are acceptable. The following provide examples of Meiri at work in this connection. They are arranged under a number of headings but these are not to be taken too categorically since there is considerable overlapping and do not appear in Meiri’s own writings. Meiri’s chief aim is to explain the Talmudic texts as these appear in the order of the tractates. His methodology has to be assessed by implication.

Anthropomorphism

On the statement (Bava Batra 25a) that the Shekhinah is in the West. Meiri remarks that this in no way implies that God has any spatial location (‘Heaven forbid,’ Meiri adds) but only to indicate that it is preferable not to face East in prayer in order to protest against worshippers of the sun which rises in the East. Nowadays, we do face East in our prayers, adds Meiri, but that is in order to face Jerusalem.

The passage (Berakhot 6a) in which it is stated that the Shekhinah is present when ten assemble in the synagogue for prayer, is interpreted psychologically by Meiri: ‘Whenever a man is able to offer his prayers in the synagogue he should do so since there proper concentration of the heart is possible. They [the Rabbis] have laid down a great principle that communal prayer is desirable and that those who offer their prayers in the synagogue where ten are present the Shekhinah is with them’, This means, presumably, that the ability to concentrate adequately on the prayers is for the worshippers to be nearer to the Shekhinah and hence the Shekhinah is with them.

In the same Talmudic passage it is stated that where three judges sit together judging a case the Shekhinah is with them and when two scholars study the Torah together, instead of each one on his own, their words are recorded in ‘the book of remembrance’ (Malachi 3:16). Evidently, in order to avoid ascribing a spatial location to the Shekhinah and in order to avoid the suggestion that there is a book ‘up there’, Meiri paraphrases:

Let a man take care not to judge a case on his own and should always be one of
three judges. For wherever there are three judges, two of them will argue it
out while the third one will clarify the matter and weigh it up. In this way they
will avoid error and it will be said of them that the Shekhinah is with them.
And so it is with regard to the study of the Torah. Even though this is
desirable and praiseworthy whenever it occurs, where there are two who study
together it is far better for as a result there will be a greeter clarification
of the truth. Furthermore, since each one debates the subject with the other,
the subjects studied become more firmly fixed in their memory. This is what the
author of the saying meant when he said that where two are present their words
are recorded in the book of remembrance.

Meiri has a similar comment of the passage (Berakhot 6b) that when God comes to the synagogue and does not find the quorum of ten present there at the time of communal prayer He is immediately angry. Meiri remarks:

Let the members of a community be energetic in arriving at the synagogue as soon as
the time of prayer has begins. For when time of prayer has come and there is no
quorum in the synagogue it is most disgraceful, demonstrating that the hearts
of people in that city are distant from God and such distance constitutes the
greatest anger and the worst form of wrath. This is what they [the Rabbis]
intended when they said God is immediately angry.

Meiri is evidently bothered not only by the notion of God coming to the synagogue, another spatial location, but also by the gross anthropomorphism that God becomes immediately angry. Meiri hence understands God’s coming to the synagogue to mean that when the members of the community fail to arrive in the proper time their failure to ‘come’ nearer to God represents His coming to the synagogue, as if to say, He is ever ready to hearken to their prayer but they have missed the opportunity and such lack of care constitutes divine wrath.

Again, Meiri is bothered by the Talmudic statement (Berakhot 32a) in which God is made to say to Moses: ‘You have revived Me with your words.’ In the Introduction to his Commentary to tractate Avot, Meiri states that the meaning is, by Moses’ demonstration that God’s existence is necessary rather than contingent God became a living reality for them.

A particularly interesting interpretation by Meiri is given to the passage (Shabbat 12b) in which it is stated that, except when praying on behalf of a sick person, prayers should not be recited in Aramaic, a language the ministering angels do not understand. Prayers for the sick can be recited in this language since the Shekhinah is already present when a person is sick. On a surface reading, the passage means that the ministering angels who do not understand Aramaic cannot bring the prayers to the Throne of God when the prayers are in Aramaic but, where the prayers are on behalf of the sick the mediation of the angels can be dispensed with since the Shekhinah is already there. Meiri’s interpretation relies on the passage (Berakhot 6a), in which it is stated that the Shekhinah is present when prayers are offered in the synagogue. Thus Meiri writes:

Let not a man ever offer supplication for his needs in Aramaic since this language
is not fluent in the mouths of people and they will fail to concentrate
adequately in prayers offered in a language they do not sufficiently
understand. Nevertheless since with regard to a sick person there is a greater
degree on concentration there is nothing to fear. And so do the Geonim write
with regard to communal prayers that these can be recited in any language since
the Shekhinah is with the community, meaning that the Shekhinah is with them.

Meiri here seems to understand the saying about the ministering angels as it were ironic. The Aramaic language is foreign even to the ministering angels who are good at languages. All the more is it foreign to ordinary folk. Thus Meiri neatly side-steps the notion of the angels having to bring the prayers to God. Just as in communal prayer the Shekhinah is there, namely, the type of concentration expressed by the presence of the Shekhinah (as above) so, too, where prayers are offered for the sick, the degree of concentration is sufficiently intense for it to denote the presence of the Shekhinah. There is adequate concentration even when the prayers are offered in a foreign language

In his commentary to the verse: ‘The simpleton believes everything’ (Proverbs 14:15) Meiri observes that the question whether demons exist is a matter not of faith but of investigation. [7] There is no categorical denial of the existence of demons. Nevertheless, throughout his commentaries Meiri prefers to understand Talmudic references to demons in a non-literal fashion.

In tractate Avot (5:8) an opinion is stated that mazikin were created at twilight of the first Sabbath of Creation. The word mazikin (the ‘harmful ones’) is usually understood as the malevolent demons. But Meiri renders it as ‘things not normally found in the natural order’ and he puts forward a further idea that the term denotes the yetzer ha-ra (evil inclination). This inclination is undoubtedly harmful but also beneficial to human life since it provides humans with life’s driving force. Hence it is a twilight thing, belonging and yet not belonging to the beneficent aspect of creation.

The statement in tractate Eruvin (43a) regarding the vast distances covered on the Sabbath by one Joseph the Demon by flying in the air seems to be understood by Meiri as denoting a skilful acrobat performing devil dare acts flying through the air (on stilts?).[9] On the statement (Berakhot 3a) that one of the reasons why it is forbidden to enter a ruin is because of mazikin, Meiri paraphrases this as ‘anything that may cause harm’. On the statement (Berakhot 4b) regarding the recital of the Shema before retiring to sleep, Meiri quotes the Jerusalem Talmud (Berakhot 1:1, 2d) that the purpose of this recital is to drive away the mazikin. Meiri notes that the definite article is used, ha-mazikin, ‘the mazikin’ which, he says, refers to the known harmful ones, namely, thoughts of unbelief which tend to invade the mind when man is on his bed and against which the recital of the Shema is the antidote. This is why the Talmud exempts a scholar from the recital since such a person is immune, in any event, to heretical or idolatrous thoughts [10].

A well-known Talmudic passage (Bava Kama 21a), dealing with the question of whether a squatter has to pay rent, proved embarrassing to Meiri since the law seems to depend on a belief in demons. The teacher Rav is reported as saying, one who occupies a neighbour’s premises without having an agreement so to do is under no obligation to pay rent. This is because Scripture (Isaiah 24:12) says: ‘Through Sheiyyah even the gate gets smitten’. The usual translation of Sheiyyah is ‘emptiness’ or ‘desolation’. But the Talmud seems to understand Sheiyyah as a demon i.e. the squatter benefits the owner of the premises since by living in the premises he keeps away the demon Sheiyyah who haunts uninhabited houses. The Talmud adds that Mar son of Rav Ashi said: ‘I saw him myself and he resembled a goring ox’. Meiri simply writes that the squatter benefits the owner since an empty house becomes desolate there being no one to take care of it properly, understanding Sheiyyah as ‘desolation’. Meiri ignores the report of Mar son of Rav Ashi, unless he understands this teacher to be saying that the effect of leaving as house empty and desolate is as if a wild ox had been let loose there.

On the famous Talmudic passage (Sukkah 28a), where it is said that Rabban Johanan ben Zakkai knew ‘the speech of the demons, the speech of palm trees, and the speech of the ministering angels’, Meiri offers the explanation that he knew how to talk about these creatures, not that he understood what these creatures were saying. Among some of the Geonim there was a tradition according to which if a sheet was spread between two palm trees it could serve as a means of divination and this is ‘the speech of the palm trees’ which Rabban Johanan ben Zakkai
knew. Meiri prefers to understand the passage in a non-magical way, paraphrasing the whole as: ‘matters of great wisdom regarding the natural order of the universe and the supernatural’.

Meiri is certainly not unaware that there are passages in the Talmud based on superstitious beliefs. Unwilling to accuse the Talmudic Rabbis of really entertaining such beliefs, Meiri has recourse to the idea that, while the Rabbis themselves did not believe in the superstitions, they were prepared to tolerate them as a sop to the ignorant masses for whom certain ideas has become so firmly fixed in their minds that nothing could be done to eradicate them. A good example of this attitude is Meiri’s comment to the Talmudic passage (Pesahim 109b-110b) on the avoidance of zuggot (‘pairs’), things that come in even numbers. Here the Talmud states that one should not eat an even number of items of food or drink an even number of cups of wine at the same meal. In that case, the Talmud asks, why do we drink four cups of wine on Passover at the Seder? The reply is that Scripture says of this night: ‘It is a night of guarding’ (Exodus 12:42), which verse is taken to mean: ‘lt is a night of guarding from the mazikin’.

Here Meiri could hardly ignore the fact that the Rabbis must mean understand the term mazikin as harmful spirits who attack those who eat or drink by ‘pairs’ who are powerless to carry out their nefarious designs on this single night. Meiri’s comment should be quoted in full as indicative of his opposition to superstition while acknowledging that superstitions are found frequently, especially in the Babylonian Talmud.

We have often explained that in those times people were attracted to vulgar things
such as incantations, divinations, and other such base practices. For as these
did not partake of the ways of the Amorites [the Talmudic term for illegal;
practices with pagan associations] the Sages did not bother to eradicate them,
still less those which had become too deeply fixed in their [the masses’] minds
whether their belief be strong or weak. As this very passage attests: ‘One who
takes it seriously it has an effect. One who refuses to take it seriously it
has no effect’ Belonging to these topics is that which comes in pairs. Now when
the Sages ordained the drinking of the four cups and refused to tolerate either
diminution nor addition because of such ridiculous notions, they were obliged
to state a reason for a departure from that to which they [the masses] had
become accustomed. So they gave the reason that this night is one of protection
from the demons.

Meiri adopts a similar line in many of his commentaries.

Another striking example of Meiri avoiding a too stark and crude invocation of the supernatural is his comment to the passage (Kiddushin 70a) that when a man marries a woman unfit for him ‘Elijah binds him and the Holy One, blessed be He, flagellates him.’ Meiri understands this to refer to a woman unfit to be married to the man because she is of base ancestry, though her actual legal status is uncertain. Since she comes from a disreputable family this might be an indication that she is legally unfit. Meiri continues:

lt is with this in mind that they [the Rabbis] say that Elijah binds him. That is
to say, philologically and in popular usage Elijah denotes the clarification of
doubtful cases [11] so that her doubtful status will cause him constant
anxiety, this being expressed by him being bound, until he will eventually come
to realise that he will never enjoy any blessing from her and he will come to
appreciate that she is really legally unfit for him. This is the meaning of
‘the Holy One, blessed be He, flagellates him’. This is a parable for the
punishment he deserves.

Meiri, in his major extant work, the Bet Ha-Behirah, generally confines his detailed comments to the Halakhic passages, though he frequently quotes the Aggadah where this has practical consequences and thus becomes Halakhah in a sense. He does not explore in any depth lengthy Aggadic passages which have no practical application.

It is, consequently, not surprising that he has only one comment on the famous passage on dreams in tractate Berakhot (55a-57b). The passage contains the formula for ‘making good’ a bad dream (Berakhot 55b). If a man has had a bad dream he should assemble three men and say to them: ‘l have had a good dream’ and they should say to him: ‘Good it is and let it be good. May the All-Merciful turn it to good: seven times may it be decreed concerning thee from Heaven that it be good and may it be good.’ They should then recite three Scriptural verses in which the word ‘turn’ occurs; three verses in which the word ‘redeem’ occurs; and three verses in which the word ‘peace’ occurs. The passage continues that if as man has had a dream the true nature of which he does not know, he should stand in front of the priests when they recite the Priestly Blessing and offer a prayer, given in the passage and later incorporated into various liturgies that his dream be turned to good (i.e. if it is really a bad omen).

All this, obviously partaking of the magical, proved extremely puzzling to the philosophical mind. Meiri does, in fact, refer to the formula as a lahash (‘incantation’) but proceeds to soften the starker magical elements in the procedure, by, as his wont, understanding the procedure more for the psychological than the magical effect. Meiri writes: ‘Whenever a man is troubled, even by a very minor thing, he should scrutinise his deeds and allow it to bring him to repentance. Even when all that happens to him is no more than the fright caused by a bad dream, he should examine [his deeds] and should worry about it so that it moves him to repentance. If it [the dream] has made him very anxious he should go to three men and say to them . . .’ Meiri continues with the formula given in the Talmudic passage.

Interestingly he reads the ‘incantation’ as actually saying: ‘seven times may it be decreed’ and he rejects the version according to which the formula be recited seven times, presumably because a sevenfold repetition would smack too much of the magical. Meiri also seeks to avoid the magical element in the resort to the Priestly Blessing: ‘If he saw a dream the nature of which he cannot fathom, not knowing whether it is good or bad so that his soul is disturbed, he should arrange [to present his special prayer] for the time when the congregation has particularly strong intention, namely at the time of prayer, and certainly at the time when the priests raise their hands and the congregation responds with Amen with special concentration, and he should then offer his own prayer.’ Meiri is obviously concerned lest the Priestly Blessing itself be used as a form of incantation.

The time of the Priestly Blessing is a time when the congregation is especially attuned to concentration and this will help the individual to concentrate on his plight causing him to repent. Here, again, Meiri’s stress on the psychological benefits, on the subjective rather than the objective. lt is not a question of a man removing his anxieties by the utterance of certain words but by removing his anxieties by improving his character. As Evelyn Underhill has put it, the difference between magic and mysticism is that magic takes while mysticism gives.

Meiri frequently states explicitly that, in his opinion, the Rabbis say this or that only as a parable or a hint at some good practice and that they never intended that what they say be taken literally. On the statement in the Talmud (Kiddushin 50b) that God created the Torah as an antidote to the yetzer ha-ra (‘evil inclination’) just as a human king who has wounded his son will provide the son with a plaster to keep on the would to prevent it festering, Meiri comments: ‘Whosoever is diligent in his study of the Torah, even if he has sinned because of the power over him of the evil inclination and he has grown up with evil defects of character, the Torah will shield him. That is to say, it is impossible for the Torah not to train him to overcome them [the evil defects of character] and not to prevent him from becoming submerged in them.’ Meiri them quotes the parable of the king and his son and says: ‘They said ‘by way of note.’” Clearly, Meiri is anxious, as always, to avoid attributing quasi-magical powers to the study of the Torah. The study of the Torah enables the student himself to become a better person.

A similar interpretation by Meiri is of the Talmudic passage (Rosh Ha-Shanah 16b) which states that when a man is in trouble he should change the place where he resides and change his name. A surface reading might convey the thought, totally unacceptable to a thinker like Meiri, that a man can prevent God’s judgment by escaping to another place where God cannot find him (reminiscent of Jonah) or by changing his name. Meiri sees in the change of place and of name as no more than devices through which a man becomes another person i.e. by causing him to give up his former bad ways, repenting and making a new start in life [12].

Similarly, on the statement (Berakhot 7b) that when a man has a fixed place in which to offer his prayers, his enemies fall before him, Meiri (evidently having the reading ‘fixed place for his studies’, not ‘for his prayers’ as in the current edition) paraphrases it as:

Even if a man finds himself broad of heart, with a quick grasp and a good memory, he
should not be soft on himself by failing to have a fixed place [a permanent
place in which to study]. Whoever does have a fixed place will be successful in
his studies and obtain the victory over those who disagree with him. This is
the meaning of ‘his enemies will fall before him’.

Again Meiri is anxious to avoid any suggestion that the Torah is a magical weapon by means of which the student’s foes are vanquished. The ‘enemies’ are colleagues of whom the student will get the better when thy argue things out since, as a result of him having a fixed place for his studies, he has become more proficient in learning.

Meiri takes in a non-literal fashion [13] the teachings about the neshamah yeterah (‘additional soul’) with which man is endowed on the Sabbath (Beitzah 15a). This has to be understood not that a man has more than one soul on the Sabbath but that his soul is enlarged. Free from material concerns on the Sabbath, man devotes himself to spiritual things in a manner of which he incapable on the ordinary days of the week The neshamah yeterah refers to greater soulfulness, a more powerful experience of the spiritual life.

Meiri. in his commentary [14] to tractate Avot, quotes the Midrash (Genesis Rabbah, chapter 1) in which it is stated that the Holy One, blessed be He, looked into the Torah and then created the world. The surface meaning of this is that God used the Torah as an architect uses his blueprint! This is how the Midrash is conventionally and undoubtedly correctly understood. But Meiri finds it more in line with philosophical thinking to understand the saying to mean that God foresaw that He was to give the Torah that would keep mankind on the right path and He therefore created the world. Similarly, in his comment on the statement (Avot 2:1) ‘All thy deeds are written in a book.’ Meiri refuses to treat this as a kind of divine book-keeping but understands it to mean that a man should see his sins as if they were written in a book and which therefore cannot be erased except by resentence.

On the statement (Avot 2:14) ‘Warm thyself by the fire of the sages; but beware of their glowing coals’, Meiri is at pains to point out that this does not mean that the sages have a kind of death ray with which they harm those who come too near to them. According to Meiri the meaning is that one should be warmed through the nearness of the sages but should not become too familiar with them. The saying expresses the need to draw a balance between the familiarity that breeds contempt and the remoteness that is conducive to respect.

Meiri belongs firmly in both the Halakhic and the philosophical traditions, with the emphasis on the former. Or rather he explains both the Halakhah and the Aggadah of the Talmud in such a way as to satisfy both the Halakhic and the philosophical mind. Yet every student of this master’s works knows that his style is all his own, a skillful and harmonious blend of the various trends of thought in his age which has a not inconsiderable attractiveness to modernists as well. This explains why, though the majority of his works have only seen the light of publication in comparatively recent times, they have been republished many times and have won such popularity that they now take their place beside Rashi and the Tosafists as essential guides to the Talmud.

[1] Marc Saperstein, Decoding the Rabbis: A Thirteenth Century Commentary on the Aggadah, Harvard University Press, 1980. The ‘Thirteenth Century Commentary’ is that of the hitherto unknown, Provencal scholar, Isaac ben Yedaiah, a contemporary of Meiri.

[2] On the problem of the Rabbinic Aggadah see Krochmal, Moreh Nevukhey Ha-Zeman, chapter 14, in The Writings of Nachman Krochmal, ed. S. Rawidowicz, London, 1961, pp. 238-256. On Rabbinic thinking as ‘organic’ rather than systematic, see Max Kadushin, The Rabbinic Mind. New York, 1965.

[3] See e.g. Otzar Ha-Geonim, ed. B.M. Lewin, vol. I, Berakhot, Haifa, 1928, pp. 2-3, on Elijah’s conversation with R. Jose, and pp. 130-132 on earth rumblings. See my Theology in the Responsa, London, 1975, pp. 6-10.

[4] See Maimonides’ Commentary to the Mishnah, Shabbat 2:5. that the ‘evil spirit’ mentioned in the Mishnah means a form of melancholia and Maimonides’ strong approval (Guide, III, 22) of the saying of R. Simeon ben Lakish (Bava Batra 16a): ‘Satan, the evil inclination and the angel of death are one and the same.’

[5] See Rashi’s comment on the story of the Rabbi who challenged Satan (Sukkah 38a) which Rashi understands as a challenge to man’s own evil inclination rather an external force. Cf R. Nissim of Gerona, the Ran, to Rosh Ha-Shanah 16b that blowing the shofar to confuse Satan means to confuse the evil inclination.

[6] For the little known about the life of Meiri see the article by I. Ta-Shema in the Encyclopedia Judaica, vol. 11, pp. 1257-1260 and Saperstein. op. cit., index ‘Menahem Meiri’.

[7] This reference is given in Sefer Ha-Middot Le-Ha-Meiri, ed. M. M. Meshi-Zahav, Jerusalem, 1967, p. 100, based on a Vatican manuscript of Meiri’s Commentary to Proverbs. There is a comprehensive examination of Meiri’s view on superstition in Marc Shapiro, ‘Maimonidean Halakhah and Supersition,’ in Maimonidean Studies, ed. Arthur Hyman, vol. 4, New York, 2000, pp. 61-108.

[8] Cf. Meiri to Makkot 6b on a warning given by a demon (shed) which Meiri understands as pure hyperbole (derekh mashal) and Meiri on the statement (Hullin 91a) that a scholar should not go out alone at night because the mazikin might harm him, paraphrased by Meiri as: ‘people may be envious of him and harm him’. In his comment to Taanit 22b Meiri understands a man afflicted by an evil spirit to be a man suffering from hallucinations.

[9] Meiri adds that the report in the passage about Elijah travelling vast distances refers to a skilful acrobat who, like Elijah, covers huge distance at one go and that Joseph the Demon was such an acrobat.

[10] In all probability Meiri is hinting here at Christian doctrines.

[11] Elijah is associated with the resolving of doubt in the Mishnah (Eduyot 8:7) and see my TEYKU: The Unsolved Problem in the Babylonian Talmud, London, New York, 1981, p. 235.

[12] This comment of Meiri is based on Maimonides. Yad, Teshuvah 2:4 but Meiri stresses the psychological effect to a greater degree.

 [13] Hibbur Ha-Teshuvah, ed. Abraham Schreiber, Jerusalem, 1976, II, 12, p. 531.

[14] ed. B. Z. Prag, Jerusalem, 1964, Avot 1:1, ed. Prag p. 5.

Fixing a Typesetting Error in Order to Understand

The View of the Mishnah Berurah on Women Wearing Tefillin

by Michael J. Broyde

mbroyde@emory.edu

While there has been considerable recent discussion regarding women wearing tefillin, I will not review here the general topic but rather focus specifically only the view of the Mishnah Berurah.  I believe the view of the Mishnah Berurah has been widely misunderstood due to two identical typesetting errors in the text, one in the Mishnah Berurah itself and one in the Biur Halacha.  It is not my intent to address the normative halacha in this article.

Background Sources

Rabbi Karo (OC 38:3) states simply:

נשים ועבדים פטורים מתפילין, מפני שהוא מצות עשה שהזמן גרמא.

Women and slaves are exempt from the mitzvah of tefillin since it is a positive time bound commandment.

Rema adds to his exemption, noting:

 הגה: ואם הנשים רוצין להחמיר על עצמן, מוחין בידם.

If women wish to be strict for themselves, we protest.

is adopting the view of Tosafot and the Pesikta Rabati that we ought to protest such conduct, essentially prohibiting it.

But this blanket statement of the Rema does not sit well with some commentators.  The Olat Tamid[1] (38:4) writes:

ואם הנשים רוצין וכו׳: הטעם כתב בכלבו משום שאינו יודעת לשמור את עצמן בנקיות עכ”ל ואני תמה אם כן למאי הצריכו בגמרא פרק מי שמיתו לפרש מפני שהוא מצות עשה שהזמן גרמא הנשים פוטרות מן התפילין ת”ל דאפילו אס רוצים להחמיר אסורין להניח תפילין, שהרי אינן ידעת לשמרם בטהרה! אלא ודאי דליתא להאי טעמא לפי סוגיות הגמרא וכן אמרינן בר”פ המוצא תפילין דמיכל בת כושי היתה מנחת תפילין ולא מיחו בה חכמים אע”ג דבפסיקתא א’ להיפך דמיחו בה חכמים מ”מ אנן אגמרא דידן סמכינן. מיהו יש  לדחות, הא דלא מפרש גמרא הטעם זה משום שרוצה ליתן טעם גם לעבדים דפטורות ואי משום טעם זה לבד היה נראה דעבדים חייבים שהרי בודאי הם יודעים לשמרם בטהרה ולפיכך מפרש מפני שהוא מצות עשה שהזמן גרמא • דמש”ה גם עבדים פטורים מיהא מהא דאמרנן דלא מיחו בה חכמים משמע דאם האשה זקנה וידעינן בה שיודעת לשמור את עצמה דאין למחות בה ובה”ג מיירי התם:

The Kolbo writes that the reason is because women do not know how to guard themselves with cleanliness.  I was amazed at this, as if that is the case, why does the Talmud in chapter me shemeto need to explain that women are exempt from tefillin because it is a time bound positive commandment?  Wouldn’t it be true [according to Kolbo] that [whether they are exempt or not and] even if they wish to be strict on themselves, it is prohibited from them to don tefillin since they do not know how to watch themselves with purity!  Rather, it must be that this reason [i.e., that women may not wear tefillin due to cleanliness issues] is not correct according to the Talmudic text.  So too, it says in the beginning of the chapter Hamotzee tefillin that Michal Bat Shaul donned tefillin and the Rabbis did not rebuke her; even though one Pesikta says the opposite, that they did rebuke her, nonetheless, we follow our Talmudic source.  However, one could rebut the [previous] proof, [because perhaps] our Talmud [in me shemeto] does not give this explanation [cleanliness] since it wants to offer a reason why slaves are also exempt.  And if it were for this reason [cleanliness] alone, it would appear that slaves are obligated in donning tefillin, since they certainly know to keep themselves clean.  Therefore the Talmud explains [that women are exempt from tefillin] because of the principle of time bound positive commandments, since it is for this reason that slaves are also exempt. Nevertheless, the source that says the Rabbis did not rebuke Michal does imply that if a woman is elderly [i.e., post-menopausal] and we know that she is capable of watching herself [to stay clean], one should not rebuke her.  And it is such a case that the Talmud has in mind there [i.e. in me shemeto, where women are said to be exempt from wearing tefillin, not categorically forbidden from doing so]. 

The Magen Avraham does not agree with this Olat Tamid.  Magen Avraham (38:3) states:

מוחין כו’ – מפני שצריכין גוף נקי ונשים אינם זריזות להזהר אבל אם היו חייבים לא היו פטורין מה”ט דהוי רמי אנפשייהו ומזדהרי כנ”ל דלא כע”ת:

We protest: Since they need a clean body and women are not particularly careful with cleanliness; but if they were obligated, they would not be exempt for this reason since they would accept the mitzvah upon themselves and they would thus be conscientious.  Such appears to me to be the rule, and not like the Olat Tamid.

The whole thrust of the Magen Avraham is to reject the approach of the Olat Tamid) who permits women to wear tefillin when they are clean). Magen Avraham accepts that once one is not obligated to wear tefillin, one is not careful to be clean and only those obligated are careful, whereas Olat Tamid thinks cleanliness is unrelated to obligation. [2]

Now consider whether one ought to rebuke a [male] slave who wishes to wear tefillin.  Like a woman, he is not obligated in the mitzvah of tefillin, but yet he seems to have no practical issue with guf naki factually. If he were to don tefillin (which he is not obligated to at all) should we rebuke him?  One could claim that the Rama (and the Taz for that matter) both implicitly agrees that a slave is not rebuked since only women (and not slaves) are mentioned as subject to rebuke. Pre Megadim (Mishbatzot 38:2) [3] disagrees and states:

מוחין. עיין ט”ז. ומ”א [ס”ק] ג’. ומשמע עבדים אין מוחין שיכולין להזהר. וזה אינו, דגם כן אין זהירים דפטורים, וגם גריעי תו מנשים דעד א’ נאמן באיסורים וספרה לה [ויקרא טו, כח]. ועבדים בסתמן לא [נאמנים] עיין ש”ך יו”ד סימן א’ [ס”ק ב]. גם על כרחך פשיטא אין מניחין שלא יעלו אותו ליוחסין וכדומה:

We Object:  See Taz.  See Magen Avraham 3. And this implies that when a slave dons tefillin one does not object, since they can be careful [about cleanliness].  This is wrong, because they are not careful since they are exempt.  Furthermore, slaves are worse than women [in this mitzvah] since “one witness is believed regarding ritual matters” (as it says in Lev 15:28) “she counts” but slaves are not believed; see Shach YD 1:2.  One must also adopt the obvious position that slaves do not wear tefillin [even though they can keep clean] so that we should not mistake them as full Jews.

We protest: since they need a clean body and women are not particular to be conscientious about being careful [to be clean].

The Mishnah Berurah thus explains why women do not don tefillin by quoting only the rationale that is consistent with the Olat Tamid’s understanding of the Rama, namely: this halacha is fundamentally about cleanliness, and not necessarily obligation (which categorically excludes all women and all slaves, no matter how clean).  Thus, in contrast to Pre Megadim and Magen Avraham, the Mishnah Berurah leaves out the idea that “אבל אם היו חייבים לא היו פטורין מה”ט דהוי רמי אנפשייהו ומזדהרי” (“but if they were obligated, they would not be exempt for reasons of cleanliness”) since that is not consistent with the Olat Tamid, and the Mishnah Berurah holds the Olat Tamid is correct about even a slave.[6] In other words, slaves should be rebuked because they are not meticulously careful to be clean independent of their lack of obligation to put on tefillin.

The Typographical Error in Biur Halacha 39:3

Chapter Thirty Nine of the Shulchan Aruch addresses who can write tefillin, which is a different question than who can don them, although somewhat related.  This is made clear by the comments of the Mishnah Berurah writing in the Biur Halacha in 39:3 which even more forcefully adopts the view of the Olat Shabbat.  The Shulchan Aruch notes that a convert may write tefillin and the Mishnah Berurah continues in the Biur Halacha 39:3 by stating directly:

כשר לכתוב תפילין – כ”ז איירי בגר צדק. ולענין גר תושב הסכימו הפמ”ג ול”ש ומחה”ש [ועוד הרבה] דפסול מטעם דהא אינו בקשירה והשע”ת[7] המציא דבר חדש דאיירי הד”מ דמכשיר בגר תושב דקיבל עליו כל המצות חוץ מאיסור נבילה וא”כ הלא ישנו בקשירה ובאמת נלענ”ד שגם זה אינו דהלא עכ”פ אינו מוזהר על הקשירה ותדע דאטו אם אשה ועבד יקבלו עליהן מצות תפילין יהיו כשרים לכתיבת תפילין ואם תדחה משום דמוחין לנשים על הנחת תפילין וכדלעיל בסימן ל”ח ז”א דכל זה רק מחמת חומרא בעלמא שחוששין להפסיקתא אבל ש”ס דילן סובר דאין מוחין ע”ז וכדאיתא שם בב”י ועוד עבדים יוכיחו דאין מוחין בהן וכמו שכתבתי לעיל במ”ב בשם התו”ש:

A convert may write tefillin: All this is discussing a proper convert, but as to a ger toshav, the Pre Megadim Levushai Serad, and Machatzit Hashekel [as well as many others] all agree may not write tefillin since they are not obligated to don tefillin.  Sharai Teshuva finds another novel matter here when he notes that the Darchai Moshe permits a ger toshav [to write tefillin] since he accepted all the mitzvot other than eating not kosher meat, since he is permitted to don tefillin.  In truth in my opinion even this is not correct, since such a person is also not obligated in donning tefillin.  And you should know that concerning even a woman and a slave who accept upon themselves to the mitzvah to don tefillin could they write tefillin?[8]  And if you push this off, since we rebuke women on donning tefillin as noted in chapter 38, that is wrong, since this pushing off is only a mere stricture grounded in being fearful of the Pesikta, but our Talmud rules that one does not rebuke on this as is noted by the Bet Yosef, and even further, we do not rebuke slaves as I noted in the Mishnah Berurah there in the name of the Tosafot Shabbat.

And of course, as the standard new editions of the Mishnah Berurah now note, there is a typographical error — the last words in the Mishnah Berurah should read Olat Shabbat here also, changing the ת to an ע, making it clear that the Mishnah Berurah has a consistent preference for the approach of the Olat Shabbat-Olat Tamid over the approach of the Magen Avraham and the Pre Megadim, as a better explanation of the Rama.  (The Mishnah Berurah then continues to explain why women and slaves – who can put on tefillin as a matter of tefillin law – still cannot write them.[9])

According to the Mishnah Berurah, the Rama directs rebuke of women in 38:3 for donning tefillin not as a matter of the minimal technical halacha, but only as a chumra bealma since he is of the view that the Pesikta’s formulation is inconsistent with the Bavli and thus not the formal mandatory rule of halacha ever (just like the Olat Tamid notes).[10] Furthermore, the Mishnah Berurah makes it clear here that he is ruling against the Pre Megadim on the matter of rebuking slaves who don tefillin which he left as an open dispute in 38:12.

A Test Case: The Cheresh

Consider a test case: Should we rebuke a cheresh (fully mentally incapacitated man) who wishes to wear tefillin, if he is competent to maintain cleanliness?  This is an excellent test case.  He is Jewish (like a women is), but exempt from all mitzvot, including tefillin, and he lacks the basic credibility that even a Jewish woman has to label food items as prohibited or permissible, so two of the three reasons of the Pre Megadim apply to him, mandating rebuke.  For our present purposes, his “risk profile” vis-à-vis wearing tefillin thus falls in between a slave and a woman: he is riskier than a (post-menopausal) clean woman and less risky than a slave.

Olat Tamid states (37:1) that since a cheresh can maintain cleanliness, he should not be rebuked for donning tefillin.  The Mishnah Berurah (37:12) rules that way and he cites as precedent for this the classical work Baer Hatev, who in turn cites the classical work Olat Tamid![11]

חרש המדבר ואינו שומע או שומע ואינו מדבר חייב להניח תפילין אבל אין שומע ואין מדבר אין מוחין בידו מלהניחם אם רוצה [בה”ט]:

A cheresh who speak but cannot hear, or hear but cannot speak is obligated in tefillin, but one who can neither listen nor speak one does not rebuke them when they don tefillin if they wish. [Baer Hatev]

Thus, from the Mishnah Berurah’s ruling regarding a cheresh, we see that he clearly rejects the view that “one is not obligated may not don tefillin since such a person will not be particularly careful to be clean.” Rather, Mishnah Berurah only cites the Pre Megadim’s view about slaves apparently in deference to the Pre Megadim’s other concern: since slaves are not full Jews, permitting them to wear tefillin might confuse others about their personal status as full-fledged Jews.[12]  Otherwise, Mishnah Berurah adopts the Olat Tamid’s explanation of the Rama in this halachic area – i.e. focusing on cleanliness, and not automatically deeming exempt individuals as incapable of maintaining proper cleanliness.

Conclusion

The Mishnah Berurah does not address the question of whether a carefully clean woman who wants to don tefillin may do so. Such a radical break with tradition would never be raised or considered in a completely hypothetical vacuum by the Mishnah Berurah.  The Mishnah Berurah simply never discusses the matter and he is silent.  How should we understand his silence?  Did he think we ought to rebuke such a woman as a matter of tefillin law[13]?

With all of this data in hand – most importantly, the proper text of the Mishnah Berurah – it is reasonable to conclude that the best way of interpreting the Mishnah Berurah is that he does not think that a woman who is sufficiently careful about guf naki[14] needs be rebuked – as a matter of tefillin law – if she does don tefillin.  Proof to this can be found from: (1) his citation of the Olat Tamid in the case of a cheresh and a slave and (2) the Mishnah Berurah’s referral to the view of the Pesikta as a חומרא בעלמא, a mere stricture, [15] and (3) his focus on cleanliness as the reason for rebuke of women, like the Taz and the Olat Tamid.

Further proof of this is the unstated view of the Mishnah Berurah can be found from: (4) the Mishnah Berurah’s rejection of the formulation of the Magen Avraham that all those who are exempt are prohibited as a matter of tefillin law and (5) the Mishnah Berurah’s sub-silento rejection of the Gra’s view that the Pesikta and the normative Bavli both agree that women ought to be rebuked and (6) the Mishnah Berurah’s implicit rejection of the view of the Levush (and others) that while Michal bat Shaul could put on tefillin because she was unique, no one else can.[16]

There is no other viable theory left other than to accept that — to the Mishnah Berurah — the proper way to understand the Rama’s rule that one should rebuke a tefillin donning woman is limited to one who either is not clean, which is the base line view of the Talmud Bavli or, as chumra be’alma, to rebuke any woman who is “not particular to be conscientious about being careful [to be clean]” as he states in 38:13.

Thus, the purpose of this article is to make an intellectually honest point which hopes to contributes to reasoned discussion: those who have acknowledged the view of the Olat Tamid as permitting slaves, clean women and chereshim to don tefillin, and yet dismiss that view as supposedly rejected by all normative poskim, are mistaken, once the correct text of the Mishnah Berurah is established.

To what extent this has any practical halachic application is for a different discussion.  For example, there might very well be other excellent rationales outside of technical tefillin law prohibiting such conduct,[17] or one could look to the view of the Magen Avraham and Pre Megadim and object to women wearing tefillin due simply to their lack of obligation or one could note that even without the rebuke obligation, tefillin are still no better than tzitzit and our rule is that women do not wear them either as a matter of very old custom. None of this practical halacha is the focus of this paper. [18]

The attached six pages are copies of the front matter and relevant pages from two modern editions of the Mishnah Berurah which note the typographical errors mentioned and correct them.