This post is part of a series of posts regarding illustrations adorning manuscript and print Haggadot. Our first post dealt with a new work on the topic and can be viewed here. In this post we will focus upon the some of the Halachik implications of these illustrations. In many Ashkenazic manuscripts, the Passover illustrations begin chronologically earlier than the Seder. Many begin with the preparation of the matzah. For example, in the Second Nuremberg Haggadah[1], (the manuscript is online here) a 15th century Ashkenazic haggadah, contains ten scenes devoted to the matzah process. A similar haggadah, likely illustrated by the same artist, also includes numerous matzah baking scenes. All of these, however, begin with the bringing of the grain to the miller. This is in contrast to today’s practice whereby the matzah producing process begins earlier, with the cutting of the wheat.
(All images may be clicked for larger viewing.)
That is, for many today, matzah shmurah means shmurah (watched) from the time of harvest and not from the time of grinding. But, in reality the reason for the illustrations beginning where these haggadot do, is simply because they reflect the practice in Ashkenaz, based upon the R. Ya’akov ben Asher, the author of the Tur, that only from the time of grinding is it necessary to “watch” the grain. Matzah Shmurah in Ashkenaz in the medieval period meant grain which had been watched from the time of grinding not cutting.[2] Turning to a Sefardic custom, the Barcelona Haggadah, produced after 1350, is the earliest record of the custom to place the Seder Plate on someone’s head during the recitation of Ha Lahma Ania (Ashkenazim remove the plate from the table).Only some three hundred years later is this custom mentioned in printed sources. Additionally, there is a difference between the Sefardic and Ashkenazic haggadot regarding what the Seder Plate actually was, with the Ashkenaz depicting a plate, whereas the Sefardic manuscripts depict a basket.[3]
When it comes to marror and what vegetable that is, we have at least two different types depicted in various manuscripts. In the Brother to the Rylands Haggadah, marror is depicted as an artichoke, as is in the case with the Sarajevo Haggadah.

While in many manuscripts, marror is a leafy vegetable.[4]
Setting aside the issue of what marror is, another custom related to marror can be found in both printed and manuscript haggadot. In the Prague, 1526, the first illustrated printed haggadah, there is a picture of a man pointing at his wife with the legend, “there is a custom that a man points to his wife when mentioning marror based upon the verse Ecclesiastes 7:26 “Now I find woman more bitter than death.”
A.Y. Hyman the scholar of Jewish liturgy was appalled when he came across this. In his autobiography, he claims that there is no basis whatsoever for this “custom.” Hyman is wrong.[5] If you look at the Brother to the Rylands Haggadah you can see that it shows this custom. As does the Washington Haggadah. Likewise, the Rothschild Miscellany shows the same custom.

It’s worth noting that the Rothschild Miscellany shows another custom at the time, mid-14th century, that of mixed dancing.

The mixed dancing is that of couples, husband and wives dancing with each other, and not that of unmarried men and women dancing[6] In Italy, where this manuscript was composed, mixed dancing was apparently common during this period.[7] Returning to the gesturing at one’s wife at marror, in the Hiluq and Biluq Haggadah this custom takes on a somewhat more humorous dialogue with the wife no longer passive but instead returns the compliment. In that haggadah it includes speech balloons and they record the following: The husband states “touching marror I must recall that this one, too is bitter [as gall].” To which the wife replies, “It is you [my husband] is one of the causes of bitterness as well.” After which, we have a play on the 13 attributes of Rabbi Yishmael and the haggadah provides that “the third comes between them [perhaps the marror itself] and makes a stink” – or in Hebrew ve-yavo ha-shlishei ve-yakhriach benehem.[8]

Similarly, in some Ashkenazic haggadot manuscripts, they show the the husband and wife pointing at one another.[9] Finally we get to a halachik error in a manuscript haggadah. The Washington Haggadah was written by a scribe calledJoel ben Simon. This haggadah was first printed as part of the Diskin Orphan House haggadah series in 1965. The Library of Congress didn’t publish its facsimile edition until 1991, and last year another facsimile edition of this haggadah was published as well.[10] Although this haggadah was written close to 300 years prior to Diskin publishing it, until that time a significant scribal error escaped notice. Specifically, in the text for eruv tavshilin rather than just saying “with this eruv I am allowed to cook from Yom Yov for Shabbat,” it continues and says “and on Shabbat for Yom Tov.”

Needless to say this did not escape the eagle eyes of some who feared that someone may use this haggadah (we note that contrary to the other reproductions mentioned, the Diskin version is a poor copy) and inadvertently think it is permissible to cook on Shabbat. So, the ever wise Aggudat ha-Rabbonim took out ads in the Yiddish daily, Der Tag, and the Forward to let its readers know of this error. The publishers took this one step further and mailed out a letter, with the provocative title, “Heresy or Blunder,” after Passover indicating the error and also included a letter from Cecil Roth, who had written about manuscript haggadot.

In his letter he indicates that indeed this was most likely inadvertent and that Joel did not have a different tradition regarding eruv tavshilin. Indeed, we know from Joel’s other manuscripts, where he records the correct blessing, that the Washington Haggadah’s version was simply a scribal error.

This is not the only error related to halakha and haggadah illustrations. R. S.H. Kook, criticizes two aspects of illustrations that appear in the Prague 1526 Haggadah. Both of these issues center around how the wine glass is depicted. Specifically, he takes issue with the fact that in many of the illustrations show the wine glass in the left hand and not the right. Additionally, he complains that the illustration show the holder grasping the glass at the stem and not at with his fingers cupping the bottom of the glass.
Regarding the first issue, that of left handedness, this anomaly may be attributed to the fact that this was the first completely illustrated woodcut haggadah. And, as it was the first, it was not necessarily perfectly executed. But, before we continue we must digress and explain about woodcuts in order to get to the left handedness. A woodcut when inked and put on paper produces a mirror image of whatever the woodcut depicts. Thus, if the woodcut was of a right hand, when pressed on paper would produce a left handed image. Additionally, when copies were made, the copyist were not careful and would reverse the images. That is, they were working off the printed image and would copy it directly rather than accounting for reversing the image to ensure that when it was used it would produce the same and not a mirror image. So, as has been explained, during the early history of woodcuts “copies [of woodcuts] were constantly being made, with or without leave, for copyright hardly existed, and the same printer would often have to replace worn cuts by new blocks in successive editions. It is not always an easy task to distinguish copy from original. Immediately recognizable as from different blocks are subjects which appear in reverse directions, for the copyist who does not take the trouble to reverse his drawing from the original print, will make a block that will print the subject reversed.”[11] We can now explain why the images are left handed, presumably, they were copied and the woodcutter was not careful to reverse the image, thus producing a left handed image. As an aside, another example of copying which reverses the images may be seen when the Prague 1526 Haggadah was itself used as a model for a woodcut. The border surrounding Shefokh was reused in the Levush. As is apparent, the images are that appear on the right in the Prague 1526 Haggadah appear on the left in the Levush. And, those on the left appear on the right.

Regarding the second point, the failure to cup the glass rather than grasp the stem, this can be attributed to an error on R. Kook’s part and not the woodcutter. While today it may be commonplace to cup the glass, this was only popularized by R. Yeshaya Horowitz, in his book, Shnei Luchot ha-Brit, (Shelah). R. Horowitz wasn’t born when the Prague 1526 Haggadah was printed – he lived between 1565-1630. Moreover, his book was published posthumously, in 1648, more than 120 after the Prague 1526 Haggadah was published. Thus, it is unremarkable that the Prague 1526 Haggadah failed to account for a custom that didn’t exist at that time. This is another example of why bibliography is important, for other examples see here. Finally, we conclude this part of the series regarding halachot and Passover in general, and specifically, the notion that on Passover we are stricter than normal. At times it appears that some go overboard with the various humrot on Passover as well as cleaning all sorts of items that seemingly don’t require cleaning. But, from the evidence of manuscript illustrations, this notion of stringency is not a new one. The Golden Haggadah, circa 1320, includes this very nice image of cleaning and searching for leaven. If one looks closely they will note that the woman on the left is apparently sweeping the ceiling! Thus, indicating that perhaps going overboard has been the case for some while. Also of note is that the father is performing bedikat hametz and he is bareheaded (as is the son).[12]
[1] Its title is a reference to the fact that from the mid-nineteenth century until 1957 it was housed in Nuremberg, after which it moved to the Schocken Library, and then to a private collector. The reason it is the the Second, is because Nuremberg also had another manuscript haggadah – now known as the First Nuremberg Haggadah. It too is no longer in Nuremberg. Today it is in the Israel Museum.
[2] See Steven Fine, “The Halakhic Motif in Jewish Iconography: The Matzah-Baking Cycles of the Yahuda and Second Nurnberg Haggadahs,” in A Crown for a King, Gefen, Jerusalem-New York: 2000, pp. 106-07. [3] See Evelyn M. Cohen, “Seder Foods & Customs in Illuminated Medieval Haggadot,” in The Experience of Jewish Liturgy, D.R. Blank ed., Brill, Leiden:2011, 24-25. We note that while this article provides a summary of some of the images and text accompanying medieval haggadot, the article provides little context for various practices. Indeed, the article fails to provide sources which support many of the illustrations and texts and instead merely parrots what the the manuscripts say or depict. [4] On this issue of which vegetable is preferable for marror see Zohar Amar, Merorim, n.p., 2008. [5] His comments appear in the Misrad Hasikon 1965 reprint of the Prague 1526 Haggadah at pp. 14-15. [6] See Therese & Mendel Metzger, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, Chartwell Books, Inc.:1982, 216-17. [7] See the sources collected by R. Henkin, Shu”t Benei Banim, vol. 1, Jerusalem: 1998, no. 37, esp. section 5 where he discusses Italian sources. Thanks to R. Weinfeld for bring this source to our attention. [8] See Bezalel Narkiss, “Art of the Washington Haggadah,” in The Washington Haggadah, Commentary, M. Weinstein, ed., Washington D.C.: 1991, pp. 73-75, discussing manuscripts that contain the marror/wife images, as well as the source in the following note. [9] See R. Yisrael Mordechi Peles, “Controversies Regarding Customs That Can Be Gleaned from Haggadot,” in HaMaayan, Nissan: 5771 (51,3), pp. 13-14, available here. [10] The 1991 edition was accompanied by a commentary volume. The 2011 edition also includes some articles with the color reproduction of the haggadah. [11] Arthur M. Hind, An Introduction to the History of Woodcut, Boston: 1935, vol. 1, pp. 284-85, quoted in R. Charles Wengrov, Haggadah and Woodcut, New York: 1967, pp. 87-88. In general Wengrov’s book provides a wealth of information regarding the images contained in the Prague 1526 Haggadah.[12] Mendel Metzger, Jewish Life in the Middle Ages, supra, p. 148 discussing generally medieval manuscripts and depictions of headcovering or lack thereof.

Marc Michael Epstein, The Medieval Haggadah, Art, Narrative & Religious Imagination, Yale University Press, New Haven & London: 2011, 12, 324 pp. Most discussions regarding the Haggadah begin with the tired canard that the Haggadah is one of the most popular books in Jewish literature, if not the most popular, and has been treasured as such throughout the centuries. Over sixty years ago, Isaac Rivkin noted that as a matter of fact, only since the 19th century has the Haggadah become one of the most printed Jewish books. Prior to the 19th century, the Haggadah is neither the most printed nor most written about work in the Jewish cannon.[1] Epstein does not fall prey to this canard nor any other of the many associated with the Haggadah. Dr. Epstein’s survey of four Jewish medieval manuscripts is novel, vibrant, and sheds new light on these manuscripts, as well as Jewish manuscripts and the Haggadah generally. Epstein covers four well-known medieval Haggadah manuscripts:[2] The Birds’ Head Haggadah, The Golden Haggadah,[3] The Rylands Haggadah,[4] and the Brother to the Rylands Haggadah. First, a word about manuscript titles. Sometimes manuscripts are referred to by the city or institution that houses or housed the manuscript, while in other instances, especially when a manuscript contains a unique marking or the like, that unique identifier may be used to describe the manuscript. The Rylands Haggadah (currently housed at the John Rylands Museum, Manchester, UK), is an example of the former, and the Birds’ Head Haggadah is an example of the latter. In the case of the Birds’ Head, most of the figures depicted in the manuscript are drawn not with human heads, but with birds’ heads. Similarly, the Golden Haggadah is another example which gets its title due to the proliferation of gold borders and filler. Finally, the Brother to the Rylands, gets its title from the similarly of its illustrations to that of the Rylands, indicating some connection or modeling between the two manuscripts. As alluded to above, Epstein is not the first to discuss these manuscripts. Indeed, in the case of both the Birds’ Head and the Golden Haggadah, book length surveys have already been published.[5] Epstein, however, differs with his predecessors both in terms of his method as well as what he is willing to assume. Regarding assumptions, previously, many would take the path of least resistance in explaining difficult images and attribute confusing or complex illustrations to errors or lack of precision of the illustrator. Rather than assume error, Epstein gives the illustrations and illustrators their due and, in so far as possible assumes that the images are “both coherent and intentional.” As an extension of his “humility in the face of iconography,” Epstein attempts “to understand how the authors understood it rather than assume that [he] must know better than they did.” He does “not fault the authorship for what” he, “as a twenty-first century viewer, might fail to notice or understand concerning the structure or details of the iconography.” Furthermore, engaging with illustrations not only from tracing the history of how the image came into being but, more importantly, how that image was interpreted and what meaning it carried for its audience throughout its transmission is also one of Epstein’s goals. In furtherance of these goals, Epstein is all too aware of his own limitations and throughout the book, Epstein willingly admits both where the evidence can lead and, what is pure speculation. All of this translates into a highly satisfying and illuminating (no pun intended) perspective on these and Jewish manuscripts in general. The book is divided among the four manuscripts, with each getting its own section, with the exception of the Rylands and its Brother that are included in a single section. At the beginning of each section, all of the relevant pages from the manuscript are reproduced. The reproductions are excellent. This is not always the case in other books that reproduce these images. Indeed, in Narkiss, et al. who compiled an Index of Jewish Art that includes detailed discussions regarding a variety of medieval Haggadah manuscripts, only reproduce the images in black and white.[6] Similarly, Metzger, in her La Haggada Enluminée, also only reproduces the images in black and white (and many times the images are of poor quality). Here, each page containing an image is reproduced in full, in a high quality format that allows the reader to fully appreciate the image under discussion. Appreciating that to obtain similar high quality images requires the purchase of an authorized facsimile edition, which in some instances can be cost prohibitive highlights the importance and attention to detail that characterizes Epstein’s work on the whole. The Birds’ Head Haggadah is the oldest illustrated Haggadah text, dated to around the early 1300s. This manuscript is not the only Jewish manuscript to use zoophilic (the combination of man and beast) images. Zoophilic images can be found in a variety of contexts in Jewish manuscripts. For example, in the manuscript known as Tripartite Machzor, men are drawn normally while the women are drawn with animal heads.[7] Or, the well-known manuscript illustrator Joel ben Simon playfully illustrates the prayer God should save both man and beast, which can be read as God should save the man/beast, with a half human-half beast:
When it comes to the Birds’ Head manuscript, a variety of reasons have been offered for its imagery, running the gamut from halachik concerns to the rather incredible notion that the images are actually anti-Semitic with a bird’s beak standing in for the Jewish nose trope. Epstein ably summarizes the positions and based upon a close examination of the illustrations as well as his stated methodology, dismisses much of the prior theories. His ultimate conclusion, which builds upon the halachik position, is more nuanced and, hence, more believable, than his predecessors. The Birds’ Head provides a striking example where Epstein’s unwillingness to simply ignore complexity by claiming error, demonstrates the interpretative rewards offered to a close reader of the illustrations. While most of the images carry a bird’s head, there are a few exceptions. Most notably, non-Jews, both corporal and spiritual do not. Instead, non-Jewish humans as well as angels have blank circles instead of faces. But, there is one scene that poses a problem. One illustration shows the Jews fleeing Egypt (all with birds’ heads), being pursued by Pharaoh and his army. But, unlike the rest of the figures in Pharaoh’s army, two figures appear with birds’ heads. Some write this off to carelessness on the illustrator’s part. Epstein, who credits his (then) ten-year old son for a novel explanation, offers that these two figures are Datan and Aviram, two prominent members of the erev rav, those Jews who elected to remain behind. The inclusion of these persons, and allowing them to remain with their “Jewish” bird’s head, may be a statement regarding sin, and specifically, the Jewish view that even when a Jew sins, they still retain their Jewish identity. Sin, and including sinners as Jews, are motifs that are highlighted on Pesach with the mention of the wicked son and perhaps is also indicated with this illustration. The illustrator could have left Datan and Aviram out entirely or decided to mark them some other way rather than the Birds’ head. Thus, utilizing this explanation allows for the illustrator to enable a broader discussion about not only the exodus and the Egyptian army’s chase, but expands the discussion to sin, repentance, Jewish identity, inclusiveness and exclusiveness and other related themes.
(click to enlarge)
Epstein’s discussions of the other manuscripts are similarly eye-opening. For instance, the Golden Haggadah is an example of the Sefard manuscript Haggadah genre. Manuscript haggadahs are placed in two broad categories, Ashkenaz and Sefard. The former’s illustrations appear in the margins and generally explain the text or refer to Pesach scenes such as baking matzo or looking for hametz. The latter’s illustrations appear before the text and are a series of illustrations, appearing either in two or four panels on a single page, depicting the beginning of Jewish history with Adam and Eve, or in the case of the Sarajevo haggadah, the actual creation sequence. The illustrations culminate with the exodus. But, unlike the Ashkenaz examples, the Sefard manuscripts generally do not illustrate the Haggadah text (with the exception of HaLachmanya, a picture of matzo or the like). The Golden Haggadah follows the Sefard conventions and includes the Jewish history scenes. Epstein demonstrates, however, that the images should not just be read chronologically. Rather, the Golden Haggadah illustrator subtly linked events that did not necessarily follow in time. For example, the placement of the water in a scene depicting Jacob’s blessing to Pharaoh is linked to the scene, occurring much later, to the boys being thrown in the Nile and is similarly linked by imagery to Moses being saved from the Nile, as well as Moses rescuing Jethro’s daughters. Epstein connects all of these scenes by noting the unique method and placement of the water in the scenes. But the linkage is not merely water, instead, this interpretation affords insight into God’s blessings, promises, the parameters and methods of His divine punishment of “measure for measure,” gratitude, and salvation. Again, this is but one example where close examination of the illustrations enriches the Haggadah discussion. All of Epstein’s discussions display his keen awareness and erudition regarding illustrations appearing in both the manuscript as well as print Haggadahs. Although the work employs end notes, which we find generally to indicate that the notes are unnecessary for the text, the notes should not be ignored. They are full of interesting sidebars as well as additional information on the illustrations discussed and the history of Haggadah illustration.[8] As a testament to the importance of this work, as well as its accessibility, the book was originally published after Pesach last year (hence our belated review) and, already, before even a single Pesach, its publisher is sold out. The work has already received numerous accolades from numerous others to which we add our small voice. This is an incredible work in terms of its insights, methods, and production values that is a welcome breath of fresh air to stale and repetitive Haggadah genre.