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Megillat Sefer Translation: A Review By Pini Dunner

Megillat Sefer Translation: A Review
By Pini Dunner

Rabbi Pini Dunner is a scion of one of Europe’s preeminent rabbinic families. He studied at various yeshivot and then graduated University College London with a degree in Jewish History. Best known as the founding rabbi of the trailblazing Saatchi Synagogue in London’s West End, he is also a prominent collector of, and expert on, antiquarian Hebrew books and manuscripts, and is frequently consulted by libraries, book dealers, and private collectors. In Summer 2011, Rabbi Dunner was appointed Mashgiach Ruchani of the prestigious YULA High School in Los Angeles, where he now resides with his wife and 6 children.

One of the most prolific rabbinic authors of the eighteenth-century, who saw many of his many written works published during his own lifetime, was Rabbi Jacob Emden (1697-1776). Rabbinic scholar and polemicist are probably the two most common descriptions used with reference to this enigmatic scholar. However neither description does justice to a man who was a unique polymath of distinguished descent, and who for many decades of the eighteenth-century was of considerable influence well beyond his own circle of friends and supporters.

R. Emden wrote and published novellae and responsa, the majority of which were original in their construction and in the topics they addressed. He wrote extensively, almost comprehensively, on the laws and customs relating to Jewish liturgy and the duty of prayer. He engaged in literary criticism and scientific enquiry in his published works in a way that sets him apart from his contemporaries, and this element of his output remains to this day remarkable in both originality and boldness. His polemics with crypto-Sabbateans – most famously with his nemesis Rabbi Jonathan Eybeschuetz – and with the purveyors or promoters of what R. Emden perceived as a threat to the integrity of Jewish tradition were unyielding in their vehemence, his words cutting like a knife through the humbug of his opponents. And yet, in other instances, R. Emden was a compromiser, open to change and ready to innovate, often in ways that left his contemporaries astounded, and leaves us to wonder what he was all about. All in all his publications reveal a man of many facets, whose brilliance and self-assuredness come across in every page, and whose long-term mark on the development of Judaism must have already been evident in his lifetime, but which remains equally evident to this day.

One book that was not published during R. Emden’s lifetime was his autobiography. Discovered in manuscript at the Bodleian Library in Oxford in the late nineteenth century, it appeared in print for the first time more than 120 years after his death, and then again, in a variant edition, some 80 years later. For those who may have been, or may be, intrigued by the unique personality of R. Emden, his autobiography is an absolute revelation. Candid and brutally honest, about himself as well as about his interlocutors, it opens a door into the life of this rabbi that no other rabbinic autobiography ever has for any other rabbi in history.

Until now, this memoir, entitled Megillat Sefer, has remained somewhat inaccessible to those who are unfamiliar with rabbinic Hebrew [or French – ed.] In particular, R. Emden was fond of using verses from the Bible, or quotes from the Talmud, to illustrate a point in his narrative, and those unfamiliar with either of these two sources in their original Hebrew or Aramaic would struggle with these references and not get the point, or might simply lose the thread of the narrative in question. In general the Hebrew used in Megillat Sefer was of an advanced vocabulary and style, written as it was by a master of Hebrew grammar. So when I heard last year that a translation of Megillat Sefer into English had been finally published I rushed out to get it as soon as I could. The translation project was originally undertaken by Rabbi Dr. Sidney Leperer (1923-1996), Professor of History and Talmud at Jews’ College in London, and following his death, carried forward by his devoted student Rabbi Dr. Meir Wise of London. The book itself is a one-off vanity publication and, sadly, it falls very short of being a useful contribution to the range of academic literature relating to R. Jacob Emden. (It may be purchased in soft-cover here, or hard-cover here – ed.).

The style of the translation is somewhat stiff, in places almost unreadable. Leperer and Wise – who it is asserted used the original Oxford manuscript as the basis for the translation – chose, it would seem, to stick as closely as possible to the original Hebrew when rendering the narrative into English. This does not serve the narrative well, although the narrative, it has to be said, is absorbing enough to overcome any such impediment, except perhaps to the most casual of readers. Each biblical or talmudic reference cited by the author is identified by the translators in brackets within the text of the narrative, and the translators also chose to transliterate all the Hebrew quoted by Emden into English characters. There is very little by way of introduction, and only the first 3 chapters (of 12, and it should be noted that the final 9 chapters consist of 85% of the total autobiography) have endnotes, and these are not very detailed or deeply researched. The publisher’s introduction (penned by Rabbi Wise?) notes that ‘due to its inherent incompleteness this translation is not intended to be an exhaustive academic work, and readers are encouraged to consult other sources for further research on Rabbi Emden and his life’ (p5). Later on he adds: ‘In this edition, no indexes of sources, places and people appears. Readers are encouraged to consult the Bick edition for such information. While a glossary is included in [sic.] the end of the work which explains some of the terminology, it is not intended to be an exhaustive reference’ (p7).

There are too many petty errors in the translation narrative and annotations to cite in a short review such as this, many of them resulting from the choice made by the translators of which transcript to use, about which more below. It would be a pity however not to share some of them, just so that readers of this review can get some sense of the sloppiness of this work. Some typical misreadings include the following:

p. 30, 6 lines from bottom: Uban [read: Ofen] [Strangely, the translator got it right on p. 35, l. 4.]

p. 34, last paragraph, l. 5: The Gaon Ba’al Sha’ar Ephraim [Actually, the reference is to R. Heschel]

p. 41, l. 3: Rabbi Yaakov Reischer [Actually, the reference is to R. Wolf, Av Bet Din of Bohemia]

p. 51, 3 lines from bottom: a certain R… who could [This is censorship in 2011. The original reads: R. Ber Cohen.

p. 60: line 5: Rabbi M. Bron [The Hebrew should be deciphered : R. Mendel ben R. Natan]

p. 92, last line: Rabbi Wolfe Merles [read: Mirels].

p. 107, l. 10: who then presided over… [The Hebrew reads: who now presides over]

p. 114 , 9 lines from bottom: Israel Pirshut [read: Israel Furst]

p. 161, 10 line from bottom: Popros [read: Poppers]

p. 165, l. 15: My eldest son, Shai [ Here, according to the translation, R. Yaakov Emden’s eldest son was called Shai. Actually, R. Yaakov Emden’s eldest son was R. Meir, later rabbi of Konstantin. Indeed, R. Yaakov Emden never had a son named Shai. The translator read the abbreviated form of שיחיה as the name Shai !

What a pity that a work of such significance was published before it had been properly completed. What a disservice to Rabbi Leperer’s memory! This distinguished teacher, who spent decades turning British novice rabbis into professional, scholarly rabbinic leaders, has seen his life’s work turned into an incomplete, poorly edited book which, since it was not published by an international academic publisher (understandably!), is destined to complete obscurity and irrelevance.

As if this is not enough of an indignity, the transcript of the original memoir used as the foundation for the translation is so flawed, that no scholar of Emden takes it seriously. In the introduction (p.6) the publisher/translator informs the reader that: ‘….the [Bodleian] manuscript was used as a primary source for the translation, with the Bick edition used as a secondary. The Kahana edition was used for comparison purposes only, due to its inherent unreliability’. In a footnote the publisher/translator adds that in the introduction to the Bick edition ‘multiple examples are cited of how the Kahana edition embellished certain matters, omitted others and made up some as well’.

The claim that the original Bodleian manuscript was used is too ridiculous to refute, as it is patently untrue. Clearly the source for this translation is the Bick edition. This decision to rely on the Bick edition of Megillat Sefer, on the basis of Bick’s introduction to his version, is so puzzling as to put into question the depth, if any, of Rabbi Wise’s (and Rabbi Leperer’s?) knowledge of contemporary academic research and opinion regarding Rabbi Emden, and in particular his autobiography.

The most noted contemporary expert on the life of Rabbi Jacob Emden is undoubtedly Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter, whose Harvard PhD dissertation was entitled ‘Rabbi Jacob Emden: Life and Major Works’, and is about as comprehensive a treatment of Rabbi Emden’s life as has ever been written. Furthermore, he is in the process of preparing a full-blown academic, critical treatment of Megillat Sefer, to be published by Merkaz Zalman Shazar in Jerusalem, based on years of research and a comprehensive knowledge of everything ever written by and about his protagonist.

In the late 1990s, Schacter wrote an article for the jubilee festschrift honouring his teacher Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi (1932-2009), entitled “History and Memory of Self: The Autobiography of Rabbi Jacob Emden.” The article quotes from and refers liberally throughout to Megillat Sefer, as might be expected, and in a footnote comments as follows:

“Throughout this essay, I refer to the Warsaw, 1896, edition of Megillat Sefer edited by David Kahane even though it is not a fully accurate transcription of the [Bodleian] manuscript (which itself is only a copy of the original). Acknowledging and claiming to correct some of the mistakes to the Kahane edition, Abraham Bick-Shauli reprinted Megillat Sefer in Jerusalem, 1979, but his version is much worse than Kahane’s. He recklessly and irresponsibly added to or deleted from the text, switched its order, and was generally inexcusably sloppy. As a result, his edition is absolutely and totally worthless.”

In a much more recent article, “Sefer Megillat Sefer,” penned by Rabbi Menachem Mendel Goldstein of Kiryas Joel for the Etz Hayim journal published by the Bobov Hasidim, the same sentiment of disdain for Bick’s edition is expressed, this time in the main text of the article:

‘In the year 5657 (1896) the book [Megillat Sefer] was published in full for the first time in Warsaw by David Kahane, based on the aforementioned [Bodleian] manuscript. He [Kahane] omitted anything that he believed appeared twice in R. Emden’s text, [in terms of] narrative text and subjects, as he explained in his introduction: “I found it necessary to omit any repetition so that his [R. Emden’s] words should not be burdensome for the reader, and I have indicated any such omission in the body of the narrative text itself.” Notwithstanding this admission, his work is defective through [both] inclusion and omission. The latest version is that of Bick-Shauli, the last person to publish the book [Megillat Sefer] (Jerusalem, 5739), who besides for including all the errors of David Kahane[’s edition], added insult to injury and was fraudulent in his work, brazenly including things which do not appear at all in the [Bodleian] manuscript, and it is therefore not possible to rely on this edition at all.’

Another contemporary scholar who has written extensively on the Emden-Eybeschuetz controversy is the frequent contributor to the Seforim Blog, Professor Shnayer Z. Leiman. When he was shown the introduction to this new translation of Megillat Sefer by the editors of the Seforim Blog he responded by email as follows:

“Alas, the pages you sent suffice to indicate that the editors did not act wisely. Bik’s edition is an unmitigated disaster. He inserted materials that appear nowhere in the one extant manuscript, and skewed the remainder of the text beyond repair. Kahana’s edition is infinitely superior, though not without error. If anything, the editors should have relied only on the manuscript, and when in doubt, consulted Kahana. Relying on Bik is like relying on R. Shlomo Yehuda Friedlander for establishing the correct text of a Yerushalmi passage, or like asking R. Yaakov Emden for a letter of recommendation on behalf of R. Yonasan Eibeshuetz. Why didn’t the editors consult someone who knows something about Megillat Sefer, like Jacob J. Schacter?”

A very good question indeed, and one that is more rhetorical than worthy of further investigation or discussion.

Finally, this month, a new edition of Megillat Sefer has been published in the original Hebrew, with extensive annotations by the noted Emden scholar, R. Avraham Yakov Bombach. He is scathing about the Bick edition, about which he writes (p.3, my translation from the Hebrew):

“In [1979] a new edition of Megillat Sefer was published in Jerusalem by R. Abraham Bick-Shauli….This edition is absolutely terrible. It contains numerous omissions and errors. Not only was he sloppy in transcribing the original manuscript, but he also added pieces from his own imagination as if they were written by [Emden].”

Despite these considerable – and frankly unforgivable! – drawbacks, the new translation is a nonetheless interesting addition to the copious published literature concerning R. Emden. As a result of the publisher’s desire for the book to be taken seriously as a full translation, he has deliberately not edited out any embarrassing passages. Incidents which could be deemed controversial by the familiar array of orthodox propagandists and publicists, and perhaps even rather unseemly to those less inclined to hagiography as a literary desideratum, are candidly recounted through this translation into the English vernacular, and are not airbrushed out of the narrative as they might have been in other hands. Countless references to R. Emden’s personal health and unflattering illnesses appear in the text (e.g. p. 123), as does the episode of his unfulfilled marriage hopes to the daughter of a German lay leader known as R. Leib of Emden, following his father’s unequivocal rejection of the match (pp.125-126).

The notorious episode in the narrative where R. Emden overcame his passion for a female cousin appears in full (pp. 162-163), an excerpt of which reads as follows:

‘In Prague I experienced a challenge similar to that of the (Biblical) saintly Joseph, in fact mine was somewhat more challenging. I was then a passionate young individual who had been separated from his spouse for a considerable period. I therefore longed for female company which I had the opportunity of fulfilling in the person of a lovely young lady viz. my cousin, who kept me company and who was audacious enough to evince a special affection for me, in fact she almost embraced me. Indeed when I was resting in my bed she came to see if I was well covered, in other words, she wanted me to embrace her. Had I yielded to my baser instinct she would not have denied me anything. On several occasions I almost succumbed, just as a flame is attracted to stubble, but the Almighty granted me strong willpower as well as an abundance of dignity and courage (cf.Gen.49:3) to prevail over my burning passion.’

The translation retains in vivid detail every episode recorded in the original Hebrew, with R. Emden’s numerous business tribulations, petty disputes, strong opinions and blunt observations presented to us in his own words, through the English rendition. His own personal account of the initial stages of his dispute with R. Eybeschuetz are here, as well as his critical comments regarding R. Ezekiel Katzenellenbogen, author of Knesset Yehezkel and the rabbi of the Triple Community (Altona-Hamburg-Wandsbeck), along with a critique of his fellow-campaigner against crypto-Sabbatean, R. Moses Hagiz.

Take this example of his strident views with reference to R. Katzenellenbogen (p.241):

‘What can one say about R. Ezekiel’s novellae, his interpretations of texts and his sermons? (Except) that they were objects of derision. Even if one were told about them one would hardly believe the foolish statements, the inane observations and ideas that provoked excessive laughter from all who listened to them.’

And this about his father’s erstwhile friend and primary supporter in the infamous Nehemiah Hayun episode of 1713, R. Moshe Hagiz (p.212):

‘His excessive prattling in synagogue also annoyed me for this amounted to a profanation of God in the presence of the general congregation. Much worse was his neglect of praying with a minyan on six days of the week and, this despite the pressing requests of his Shabbat and Yom Tov minyan to meet (for prayer) during the rest of the week.’

These vignettes make the new translation a refreshing read for those English readers interested in a candid account of eighteenth century Jewish life. Perhaps for this reason, and this reason alone, R. Wise can be commended for bringing this work to press. No doubt he overcame many hurdles to see the publishing project to fruition and despite its uselessness as an academic work, or as a fitting tribute to Rabbi Leperer, this book has at least some limited value as an access point for anyone who is curious to gain insight into the life story of R. Jacob Emden, but for whom the Hebrew original is too difficult a read. Through this translation, with all its flaws, you will learn something about the life of R. Jacob Emden, and how he perceived the world around him and those with whom he came into contact and conflict.

[I offer special thanks to Professor Shnayer Z. Leiman and Mr. Menachem Butler for their assistance in preparation of this review essay. P.D.]




Between the lines of the Bible by Yitzchak Etshalom – book review

Between the lines of the Bible: Exodus:
A study from the new school of Orthodox Torah Commentary
by Yitzchak Etshalom
a review by Ben Zion Katz, Northwestern University

Ben Zion Katz is the author of the forthcoming book A Journey Through Torah: A Critique of the Documentary Hypothesis (Urim Publications, Fall 2012)

Between the lines of the Bible: Exodus: A study from the new school of Orthodox Torah Commentary, by Yitzchak Etshalom (Urim/OU Press, NY 2012) is a thought-provoking look at the second book of the Torah. One can tell that its author, a Rabbi and Tanakh educator in North America, is a dynamic teacher, because the book is quite engaging. The “new school” of the book’s subtitle seems to refer to a mainly literary approach to Torah, familiar to those who study midrash, and popularized by figures such as Robert Alter, beginning with the Art of Biblical Narrative (Basic Books, NY 1981). Etshalom also seems to be clearly in the “modern” Orthodox camp, as he is not afraid to criticize the patriarchs (eg Jacob for his lack of parenting skills [p. 29], or Joseph indirectly leading to the enslavement of the Israelites [p. 31]), to say that the Bible needs to be interpreted in the context of its time (p. 139) or to be unhappy with an explanation of Rashi and offer his own (chapter 13).

The book begins with a chapter on methodology and then marches through the book of Exodus, with 13 chapters covering Exodus 1-24 and the last 5 chapters dealing with the Tabernacle (Exodus 25-40). Some of the best chapters in the book, which make excellent exegetical observations, include chapter 2 where the author compares Joseph’s brothers casting him into the pit with Pharaoh’s casting the Israelite infant boys into the Nile; how Moses, who was pulled out of the water will pull the Israelites out of Egypt (chapter 3); how Pharoah’s wizards (the hartumim) are foils to both Joseph and Moses (chapter 6); the connections between the paschal offering, tefillin and the brit bein habitarim (covenant between the pieces; chapter 8); the contrasts between the Israelites crossing the Re(e)d Sea with their war against Amalek, and the first plague of blood with the sweetening of the waters at Marah (chapter 10); explaining why the term “a priestly kingdom” is rarely used to refer to the Israelites later in the Bible after its first appearance in Exodus 19 (chapter 11); and explaining the theme of the book of Exodus in the final chapter.

The book is not without its flaws or omissions, however. For example, Ibn Ezra, one of the greatest p’shat (straightforward interpreting) Bible commentators would not agree with Etshalom (see Ibn Ezra’s comments on Exodus 20:1) regarding the differences between the Sabbath commandment as it appears in Exodus and Deuteronomy that “shamor (keep) … and zachor (remember) were said in one voice” is p’shat (p. 141). Defining melakhah as a creative act would go a long way to explaining why these acts are prohibited on Shabbat and derived from the building of the Tabernacle (p. 193). Etshalom argues that Moshe was the first prophet (p. 51) even though the Bible itself refers to Abraham as a prophet (Gen. 20:7). In chapter 9, the author tries to explain one of the most difficult questions in the Exodus narrative: why Moses (and ultimately God) deceived Pharaoh (and perhaps the Israelites themselves) into thinking the Israelites would only be leaving Egypt for 3 days? Etshalom posits that “[t]hey had to see how he (Pharaoh) would respond to their fleeing …to understand that they had no future [in Egypt]…” But how would anyone expect Pharaoh to react when he realized that he had been deceived? Only if Pharaoh had attacked the Israelites after agreeing to let them go permanently would his hypocrisy be self-evident. I am also not sure it is correct to say with Etshalom that the Tabernacle was meant to be “clothed in the mystery of seclusion and private revelation” (p. 190) for then why have it be the locus of the sacrificial service and why make it look like a house with lights (the menorah) and food (the showbread)? Finally, the reason huchal has a negative connotation according to Rashi and Sadia Gaon (but see the comments of Seforno and especially Ibn Ezra) in Gen. 4:26 (p. 206) is because they associate it with the root for “unholy” (hol or hll).

Despite the issues raised in the previous paragraph, however, I learned a lot from the book and it is a pleasure to read. I recommend it to anyone who wishes to gain a deeper understanding of the book of Exodus and look forward to future books in the series.




A Picture is Worth a Thousand Questions – Part II

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND QUESTIONS – PART II (Part I)
by Eli Genauer

The classic Vilna Shas, published by the firm of the Widow and Brothers Romm, was completed during the years 1880-86. It was the most complete and accurate edition of the Talmud printed until that time, containing many new Peirushim and using new sources to ensure the accuracy of text. This fact was not lost on the chief editor Shmuel Shraga Feiginsohn as he states in the famous Achris Davar at the end of Maseches Nidah.

“We did not print a Shas like every other Shas,… by copying what came before us like a monkey. We wanted to create something entirely new and to illuminate it with an entirely new light”

My purpose here is to concentrate on one small Sugya in Shas , the commentary of Rashi on it, with the accompanying diagrams in the Vilna edition. I will then show diagrams from some previous editions of the Talmud that are more illustrative and more accurate. Perhaps the reader will then conclude that there were some portions of previous editions that the Vilna Shas should have copied rather than the one that it did.

The Gemara on Yoma 11b discusses doorways that are or not required to have a Mezuzah. It then discusses one type of doorway for which there is a Machlokes between Rav Meier and the Rabbanan and that is the so called Shaar Madai. As Rashi there explains it, a Shaar Madai is a gate in the wall of a city which has within it an arched doorway (Kipah) and was used commonly in Madai. For our own purposes, think of the Shaar Yafo which is substantive structure in itself and within it is the actual doorway into the old city.

As a bit of background, for a doorway to require a Mezuza it needs to have three elements. It has to be at least four Tefachim wide on the bottom and the top, it’s side posts ( Raglayim) have to be ten tefachim high, and it has to have a lintel on top. The Gemara states that the only case of Shaar HaMadia where there is disagreement in Halacha between Rav Meier and the Rabbanan is this: The doorway starts with a width of 4 Tefachim on the bottom, each side of the doorway ( Regel) rises up straight at least 3 Tefachim so that at that point there are still 4 Tefachim between them, but then the doorway starts curving inwards, rising on each side to a height of 10 Tefachim. However, at that point, there is no longer 4 Tefachim in width between the two sides. Rav Meier says that if the gate structure( the Chomah) itself is at least 4 Tefachim wide at a height of at least 10 Tefachim, we apply the concept of “Chokekin L’Hashlim” to this case. Chokekin L’Hashlim is a Halachic concept which literally means that we “excavate to complete ( the required measurement)”.Rav Meier says that if the walls surrounding the archway are thick enough that had they been excavated, the doorway could be made 4 Tefachim wide for a height of ten Tefachim, then the doorway requires a Mezuzah. The Rabbanan disagree and say that even this type of Shaar Madai does not require a Mezuzah.

Let’s go through the Rashi: “V’Yaish B’Ragleha Shlosha” “The sides of the doorway rise up ( at least) three (Tefachim)”….still maintaining a width between them of four Tefachim….but the width between them is not four Tefachim at the height of ten Tefachim…because before the sides rise to the height of ten Tefachim, they narrow to a width of less than four Tefachim…but you can expand the emptied out space contained in the encompassing structure ( The Chomah) to the width on the bottom ( 4 Tefachim)… for the gate structure does not parallel the inner doorway like this (“Kazeh”)…rather the wall ( meaning the gate structure)is longer on top than the doorway opening like this (“Kazeh”)

There are very nice diagrams of the two possibilities mentioned by Rashi in the 1829-1831 edition of the Shas printed in Prague by Moshe Yisrael Landau, grandson of the Nodah B’Yehudah.

It is very clear from the diagrams that the first possibility mentioned by Rashi ( the one that is not referred to in the Gemara) is where both the doorway and gate structure curve inwards so that neither of them has a width of 4 Tefachim on top. The actual case discussed by the Gemara ( the second possibility of Rashi) is where the doorway curves in to be less than four Tefachim on top, but the gate structure itself retains at least the width of four Tefachim on top and is also straight on top.

Similar diagrams appear in the Lemberg small and large folio editions of 1862, and the Vienna edition of 1841. Here is what the small folio version of the Lemberg edition looks like.

Before we take a look at the diagrams presented in the Vilna Shas, let us look at these diagrams in much earlier editions so we can trace their development. The only manuscript copy of Rashi that I was able to obtain (courtesy of Dr. Ezra Chwat at Hebrew University) looks like this.

The first thing you notice is that this manuscript does not have the word “Kazeh” after the first case, rather just referring to the second case. The illustration for the second case shows a curved doorway within a rectangular structure, exactly the way we have seen it in the Prague, Vienna and Lemberg editions. This illustration also seems to indicate that the sides of the inner doorway must be at least 10 Tefachim high before curving inwards. The words “Ragleha Asarah” are inside the doorway structure making it appear that they apply to the sides of the doorway being ten Tefachim before they curve inwards. This seems to be the case where even the Rabbanan agree that a Mezuzuah is needed. The diagram goes against Rashi’s Lashon here which is “She”kodem She’Higbiah Asarah,Nisma’et Rechava Mi’Daled”.

Advancing to the printed edition, we first look at Bomberg 1521.

The Bomberg scholars must have had a Rashi manuscript which had the word “Kazeh” after both the first and second case in Rashi. However, they did not leave any room for it to be filled in by hand as in other Masechtos which have missing drawings. Here is an example of such a situation in the Bomberg Eiruvin.

Moving forward I did not find these diagrams from Yoma 11b in the Constantinople 1585 edition, the Frankfurt on Oder 1698 edition ( even though it has the diagrams from Eiruvin ), or the Amsterdam 1740 edition. I did find fairly accurate diagrams in an Amsterdam 1714 edition but I believe they were drawn in.

The first edition I found these printed diagrams in was Amsterdam 1743 from the Proops printers. Here is what it looks like.

I did not find this diagram ( maybe it is two diagrams?) very helpful in understanding what Rashi meant when he said “Kazeh”. The diagram seems almost humorous to us, but imagine how many eyes studied this diagram and tried to make sense of it.

As mentioned before, by 1831, there were very helpful diagrams in editions printed in Prague, Vienna and Lemberg. The same cannot be said of the Zhitomir edition of 1864 which looks like this.

The first diagram is not nearly as accurate as the one in the previously mentioned editions. It mainly tries to show that the structure of the gate parallels the doorway by “curving” inwards. The second diagram which resembles a tooth, shows the doorway narrowing as it extends upwards with the gate structure maintaining its rectangular shape. My opinion is if a Rashi says Kazeh, the diagram should be as helpful as possible. No one expects a sophisticated illustration but it should be something that clearly shows what Rashi meant. In this case, I think the diagram should look like a doorway within a gate or walled structure.

We finally get to the Vilna Shas. The editors of this Shas clearly had the Vienna, Prague and Lemberg editions at their disposal. They knew what these diagrams could look like. Yet their diagrams look very much like the Zhitomir edition, with a little improvement on the second diagram.

It is possible they did not have the technology to replicate the Prague 1831 edition but that seems unlikely, because in a parallel Sugya in Eiruvin 11b they have diagrams that look like this.

Maybe they had a Rashi manuscript that made the first diagram look like this ^. But even so, I think they should have tried to make things as clear as possible and the two diagrams they chose just do not do that.

Perhaps the ultimate irony in this whole Sugya is that not only may the diagrams be incorrect, but even the term “Shaar Madai” may be incorrect. The Rashash notes that in K’sav Ashuris, a Mem and a Tes look similar, and because of a Ta’us Soferim, the term Madai was used instead of the correct “Shaar Taddi”, which was a gate on the Har Habayis.





Review: Daniel Sperber, On Changes in Jewish Liturgy

Review: Daniel Sperber, On Changes in Jewish Liturgy

By Dan Rabinowitz and Eliezer Brodt


Daniel Sperber, On Changes in Jewish Liturgy, Options & Limitations, Urim Publications, Israel: 2010, 221, [1] pp.

The ever prolific Professor Daniel Sperber’s most recent book focuses on Tefillah. This book, as some of his others, has drawn some sharp criticism, most notably from Professor Aryeh Frimer in Hakirah (available here). To be sure, this post does not attempt to defend Professor Sperber or the feminist movement with regard to these issues, but, in the course of our review we hope to offer some relevant comments that will further this important discussion. Our main interest remains the substance of the book on this important topic – changes to the Jewish liturgy.

This book grew out of a lecture given at the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance. Professor Sperber then decided to revisit the broader issue of the parameters of acceptable changes to the liturgy.

The prayerbook has become – and this is not a new trend – a battleground. In 19th century, the battle lines were drawn between Reform and Orthodox movements. Of course, earlier heterodox movements had also created their own prayerbooks, such as the Karaites, but in those instance, the praybook was more a reflection and outgrowth of the movement and was not, in and of itself, one of the wedge issues. In the modern period, however, the advent of the Reform movement argued for a variety of changes to the prayerbook to account and adjust for modernity. In this instance, it was both the substance of the prayers as well as their execution (Hebrew or not) that was at issue See generally, Jacob J. Petuchowski, Prayerbook Reform in Europe, New York, 1968.

Earlier examples of prayerbook controversy touched upon other theological debates; for example, some questioned the inclusion of Machnesi Rachamim as it can be read as a request for assistance from angels and not God (see here). Others questioned the inclusion of piyutim generally. Ibn Ezra’s critical comments regarding this topic are well-known. Sometimes prayer itself was employed for polemical purposes. Naftali Weider discusses a version of the blessing over the Friday night candles that incorporated a polemic against Karaism (see N. Weider, Hisgavshos Nusach HaTefillah B’Mizrach U’BeMaariv, Jerusalem, 1998, 329). And, of course, one must mention the oft-discussed blessing against heretics [in some versions] in the Shemoneh Esrei (see, most recently, Ruth Langer, Cursing the Christians?: A History of the Birkat HaMinim, Oxford Univ. Press: 2011).
Thus, it is scarcely surprising that discussing changes to the prayerbook might arouse controversy. That said, we must note – and this is the essential point of this book – the texts of the prayers have never been static, and they have been constantly evolving. At times this evolution was controversial while at other times the evolution and changes to the liturgy appears to have passed almost without notice.
Dr. Sperber focuses in this book on historic changes in an effort to support change today, mainly changes that are more sensitive to women. Sperber discusses a variety of changes to the prayerbook that are non-standard. For example, we have added whole sections, a liturgy for Kabbalat Shabbat (essentially created in the 16th century), abbreviated others – yotzrot, piyutim – and changed texts for a variety of reasons – grammatical, Kabbalah, and nationalist. For the most part, to those familiar with the history of the prayerbook, as well as Sperber’s prior works, much of this book is well-tread territory. Moreover, as Sperber notes, the notion of a a fixed nusach is absurd insofar as a large segment for those professing orthodoxy regarding the siddur, themselves pray in an entirely new nusach, one developed in the the past 200 years, namely the rite known as nusach Sefard. While this nusach may have antecedents in the Sefad Kabbalistic movement, that only moves it back to the 16th centruy, a veritable spring chicken vis-a-vis the purported codifiers of tefilah, Anshe Kenneset ha-Gedolah.
Sperber’s focus is on changes that incorporate women more directly into the tefilot as well as adapting the tefilot to be more sensitive to women. He then discusses exactly what the acceptable parameters for change are and discusses specific examples of historical change. He provides detailed discussions both in the body of the work as well as the numerous appendixes.
Sperber does an admirable job distinguishing between permanently fixed language to which change is prohibited, and the lesser fixed portions for which change is permissible. Sperber notes that even is quasi-fixed prayers, like those appearing in the first three and last three blessing in Shemonei Esreh, historically, we have altered those blessings. On this point Professor Frimer takes issue with some of Sperber’s conclusions, but some of Frimer’s criticism is rather weak. Rather than directly addressing the issue, Frimer attempts to delegitimatize and discredit the manuscripts that Sperber relies upon. (p. 76 note 38) Frimer merely states that we know little about those manuscripts that Sperber relies upon, or, in other words, Frimer, without any compelling argument or proof doubts the veracity of the manuscripts. This argument has been used by many in what has been coined the Chazon Ish’s Shitta about new manuscripts and the like. In this case the attempt is really to go further and dismiss much of the Geonic literature that has been discovered in the past century and, and Frimer’s reliance upon this argument demonstrates a serious lack of awareness of the scholarship in the area of manuscript authentication (a topic which we hope to return to at length in a future post).
Indeed, independently of the manuscript sources, Sperber goes even further showing that during the Ten Days of Repentance, we add and alter the first and last (supposedly immutable) blessing, but those alterations cannot be dated to Hazel or the Anshei Kenest ha-Gedola but date rather to the Geonim. Some, however, have argued that changes by the Geonim or Rishonim proves nothing, as they are special but we are not. Their argument goes (and Frimer is an ardent supporter of this) that somehow those persons were allowed to change prayer. Unfortunately, this argument is unsatisfying. Simply put, that rationale begs the question of what power did those persons use to make changes? Was it based upon their own view that they were worthy of changing the prayers? That is, if the only rule is “great people can change prayer” who told them at the time that they qualified as “great people?” Or, is this entirely post-hoc rationale just the tautology that because they changed the prayers and only special people can change prayer they must be special people? Sperber, however, has surveyed the literature and offered concrete rules of when and how to change the prayers that do not fall prey to these logical infirmities. Indeed, he would concede that certain prayers are immutable.
Sperber’s also takes a more reasonable view of which prayers are ripe for change. His view is that if some find it offensive, we should, if we can, attempt to appease those persons. Others have taken the somewhat counter-intuitive position that even if some find a prayer offensive if there is a non-offensive explanation for the prayer, that is satisfactory. Of course, this position ignores the very real fact that some may be offended by those prayers, no matter how many explanations are offered. Sperber’s position is that insofar as there is no prohibition to change, why not attempt to remove the offensive text entirely?
One of the changes that Sperber suggests is related to the שלא עשני אשה controversy and concerns the suggestion to remove it completely as it is offensive toward woman. This suggestion has been discussed in numerous articles, and Sperber cites many of them. Everyone feels they can add their two cents on the suggestion, so we will too. I will begin by saying that having davened in many shuls of all kinds in my life, I have almost never even heard them say this berachah out loud in the first place. While many woman, especially today, find this Beracha offensive and for this alone there might be grounds to remove it (as other berachos were removed over the ages for similar reasons – see Tzvi Groner’s excellent book for a good list) I (EB) personally do not understand why this issue is so contentious.
I will just quote three ideas from others on the topic which I honestly believe is not apologetic but, of course, some may disagree.
R. Yaakov Emden writes:
מה ששמעו אזני בשבוע זו… כי ערל אחד חרש רעה על היהודים שמברכים בכל יום ברוך שלא עשני גוי, אמר היהודים אינם מחשיבים לגוי אלא כבהמה מפקירים דמו וקנינו רוכושו, אמרתי אני שגם זה הבל זה הערל לא לבד ערל בשר אלא גם ערל לב הוא, ושלא היה לו לב לדעת מה שאנו אומרים עוד שתי ברכות הסמכות לזו ברוך שלא עשני עבד, ברוך שלא עשני אשה, הלא בודאי אין אנו נוהגין מנהג הפקר לא אפילו בעבד כנעני שחייב במצות שאשה חייבת בהן, ואמר איוב אם אמאס משפט עבדי כו’, אצ”ל באשה שלנו שאנו חייבים בכבודה וכבדה יותר מגופינו, הלא יראה מזה שנשתבש אותו המוציא דבה עלינו בעבור זה, אבל הענין ברכה זו לפי שהגוי אינו מצווה בתרי”ג מצות כמונו יוצאי מצרים ולכן אינו מצווה גם כן על שביתת שבת ויום טוב כמונו, כמו שהוא ענין בברכותינו על ,שלא עשנו עבד ושלא עשנו אשה שהעבד גם כן אינו מחוייב במצות רק כאשה, ואשה אינה חייבת רק במצות עשה שאין הזמן גרמא, ונכנעת תחת בעלה והוא ימשול בה, מ”מ חביבין עלינו כגופותינו כן הוא הענין בגוי [הקשורים ליעקב, עמ’ ריט].
R. Reuven Margolios writes:
ולאשר האשה אינה נענשת על בטול המצות עשה שהזמן גרמא וחלקה בעולם הבא כחלק האיש הי’ מקום למי אשר לא הגיע לחזות בנועם ה’ לומר מי יתן והייתי אשה שאז נפטרתי מעול כל מצות אלו לכן תקנו חכמינו ע”ה שימסור כל איש מודעה כי המצות האלו כן תקנו גם הודאה כוללת לכל זרע ישראל שנתחייבו במצות הרבה בכדי להגיע לחיי עולם הבא בעוד אשר הנכרי המקיים מצותיו השבע הוא בן עולם הבא והי’ מקום להמתרשל לומר מי יתן והייתי בן לאחד מגוי הארצות ולא נתחייבתי בכל אלו, לשלול זה יודה כל בן או בת ישראל לה’ על שלא עשהו גוי להורות שעושה המצות מאהבה (טל תחייה, עמ’ מז).
In regard to the topic of feminism in general see the Kesav ve-ha-Kabbalah who writes an important insight in his work on the Siddur:
והתבונן עוד כי מצות התורה יש להם סדר מיוחד לאיש איש כפי כח הכנתו הנפשית, יש מן המצות הערוכים ושמורים לכל נפשות זרע ישראל, ומהם נערכים במשקל ובמדה נאמנה לנפש זולת נפש, כי מהן המחוייבות רק לכהנים לבדם, ומהן ללויים לבדן ומהן לכהן גדול לבדו, ומהן לזכרים לבדם ולא לנקבות, כי לפי שהתורה מאת אדון כל היוצר רוח האדם בקרבו לא יפלא ממנו דבר, לחקוק חקים ומפשטים לפי ערך ומדרגת כל נפש, עד שיהיו מקובלים על לב כל אחד מהם, והם אפשרי הקיום לפי הכנת נפשו, עד”מ שאין ספק כי זרע אהרן הכהן מוכשרים הנפשות שנאצלו בהן כחות יקרות בשיעור רב מה שאין שאר זרע ישראל מוכשרים אליהן, וכן משפחות הלוי, וכפי הבדל נפשותיהן נבדלו בענין המעשים והעבודות המקבילות נגד נפשותיהן המעולות. וכן הכהן הגדול בעבור היות נפשו עוד נבדלת מכל אחיו הכהנים בכחות יקרות פנימיות הנודעות ליוצר כל ית’ , לכן מוכשר לקבל עוד מצות היתרות על שאר הכהנים, וכן הבדל כחות הנפש שבין זכרים לנקבות, הוא המסבב הבדל חיוביהן במצות, כי המצות הערכים במשקל ובמדה נאותה לפי הכנת על נפש ונפש, עד שאין מצות ממצותיה וחוק מחקותיה יוצא מגדר באפשרי משום נפש, לפי חלוף מצבי הנפשות בכחותיהן , ועל זה אמר ומתקן ומקבל. התורה במצותיה מתקנת ומסודרת, עד שהיא מתקבלת בלב כל איש ואיש לפי מצב נפשו וכח הכנתו, ואין אחד מהם יוכל לומר קיום דבר זה אצלי מסוג הנמנעות (עיון תפילה, דף נ ע”ב-נא ע”א).
Another offending passage Sperber discusses (pp. 46-47) is found in the Ve-hu Rachum tefilah where it says ושקצונו כטומאת הנדה. Sperber brings versions that did not have these words and suggests that we take it out. He then concludes (p. 50) that maybe this whole tefilah of Ve-hu Rachum should be made into a private tefilah and not obligatory, as its a late addition to the liturgy in the first place. Now it should be noted that although this sounds radical, in reality it is not. The omission of this prayer is common amongst Chassidm for far weaker reasons. Many omit it for any and all yarzheits of anyone who ever wore the mantel of “Rebbi.” Thus, Sperber appears to be in good company.
In regard to Sperber’s suggested change to add in the Imahot in the first bracha of Shemonah Esrei, although he does provide evidence that changes were made even in these berachos, I (EB) find it hard to accept these suggestions and I would have to agree with the issues Frimer raises in this regard.
One last point: while this study definitely shows that many changes were made in our liturgy, it is still not clear as to when and how and why. Exact guidelines, if there are any, need to be defined more clearly it is buried in a mass of amazing historical and bibliographical notes. Summaries and more exact conclusions should be written out more clearly, as this is such a dangerous topic as Sperber himself is well aware (see p. 129 and 124).
Here are some general notes and sources to add to Sperber’s plethora of sources. We would just like to mention that today, because of the internet, the study of Siddur has and will greatly change. Many rare and early printed siddurim and manuscripts related to Siddur are available for viewing in ones’s own home instead of being only available in far-flung libraries, available to professional scholars. Using these sources alone can revolutionize the study of the development of the Siddur.
Suggested Additions
p.9 on the Prayer for State of Israel see Joel Rappel, “The Identity of the Author of the Prayer for the State of Israel,” in Shulamit Eliash, Itamar Warhaftig, Uri Desberg, eds., Masuah Le-Yitzhak: Rabbi Yitzhak Isaac ha-Levi Herzog Memorial Volume (Jerusalem: Yad ha-Rav Herzog, 2008; Hebrew), 594-620, and his “The Convergence of Politics and Prayer: Jewish Prayers for the Government and the State of Israel,” (PhD dissertation, Boston University, 2008).
p. 23. regarding studies on Kabbalat Shabbat: to date the most comprehensive study on this topic is from Rabbi Y. Goldhaber, Kovetz Beis Aron V’Yisroel, 64: 119-138; 70: 125-146; 73: 119-13. Hopefully he will collect and update all this into a full length book in the near future.
p. 32 note 2 there is a typo it should read Shmuel Askenazi.
p. 36 see also D. Rabinowitz, “Rayna Batya and other Learned Women: A Reevaluation of Rabbi Barukh Halevi Epstein’s Sources,” Tradition 35 (2001).
p. 33-39:On the Shelo Asani Ishah controversy see E. Fram, My Dear Daughter, HUCP 2007, pp.37-41.
p. 34. On Rabbi Aaron Worms of Metz see the important article from Y. Speigel, Yerushasnu, 3, 2009, pp. 269-309; R. Dovid Tzvi Hillman, Yeshurun, 25, 2011, pp. 619-621.
p.40 and onwards; related to the שלא עשני אשה controversy see Yoel Kahn, The Three blessings Boundaries, Censorship, and Identity in Jewish Liturgy, Oxford 2010.
p. 41-42: On R Abraham Farissol see David B. Ruderman, The World of a Renaissance Jew, the life and thought of Avrhom Ben Mordechai Farissol, HUCP, 1981.
p. 52 D. Rabinowitz, “Is the Modern Placement of Bameh Madlikin A Polemic Against Hassidim?” Or Yisrael, 2007, 180-84.
p. 73 note 4 there is a typo, it should say R. Dovid Cohen.
p. 80 see D. Rabinowitz, “The Pitfalls of Changing the Liturgy: On Changes to the Nikkud of Kaddish,” Or Yisrael, 158-62, 2007.
p.100 See E. Brodt, The Avudraham and his usage of the Tur and Pirush of R Yehudah Ben Yakar (In print).
pp. 108-109: In regard to R. Emanuel Hai Ricchi see: B. Naor, Post Sabbatian Sabbatianism, pp. 53-57: Yeshurun, 24, p. 444.
p. 109: Darchei Noam is worth mentioning as this work is one of the only works that received a Haskamah from the Gra, see Eliach, Hagaon 3, p. 1257.
p. 133: It should say the brother of the Ketzot Ha-choshen, R. Yehudah author of the Terumot Ha-Kerei.
p. 157: On R. Yakov Emden’s Siddur and additions from others over the years. It is worth mentioning that a few years ago the printing house Eshkol printed a new version of the siddur including many new additions of R. Emden himself, from a manuscript of the siddur. One of the important features in this edition is they put all the material that was not R. Emden’s in different fonts so one can see exactly what was added by others over the years. Additionally, they provided a photo reproduction of the original siddur at the end of volume two.
p. 177: Sperber brings the special work of the Aderes on Tefilah. Sperber notes this books is full of textual changes, some based on manuscript but mostly on his own. To be more exact and correct, what Sperber writes about this work a very small part was printed in the Journal, Knesset Hagedolah. Many years later a few pieces of this work was printed in the journal Yeshurun. In 2002, Y. Amechi printed this work from manuscripts with many notes. In 2004 Ahavat Sholom printed this work again based on even more manuscripts. They also included other articles of his printed elsewhere related to Tefilah. The main thing worth noting is that this is a very special work related to Tefilah.
p. 179 on the well-known reason why during the week we say Magdil and on Shabbat we say Migdol, see: Shut Lev Shlomo, Siman 23; Noam Megidim, p. 13b; R. Reuven Margolios, Haggadah Shel Pesach p. 60; Y. Speigel, Yeshurun 6, 1999, pp. 759-762.
p. 189: A wealth of sources on the topic worthy of mention, regarding adding Zachrenu Lechaim during Aseret Yemei Teshuvah can be found in R. Dovid Zvi Rothstein, Sefer Torah Menukod, in Kovetz Ohel Sarah Leah, 1999, pp.632-771. See also the important article on this from U. Fuchs, Tarbitz 75 (2006), pp. 129-154.



How much Greek in “Greek Wisdom”? On the Meaning of Hokhmat Yevanit

How much Greek in “Greek Wisdom”? On the Meaning of Hokhmat Yevanit

by Eliyahu Krakowski

      In the medieval controversies over the study of philosophy, one of the major points of contention was the Talmudic prohibition against hokhmat yevanit. Modern historians, who are generally well-disposed toward the Maimonidean proponents of philosophy (often at the expense of the anti-rationalists), nevertheless often assume that the anti-rationalists had the better of this particular argument. The Maimonidean defense of philosophy against the Talmudic stricture, if not an outright distortion, was at least a forced explanation.[1] However, the truth seems to be the opposite—it was not the defenders of philosophy who “redefined” the Talmudic passages, it was philosophy’s opponents. The success of this redefinition indeed put the proponents of philosophy on the defensive, but without good reason. To demonstrate this thesis, we will briefly consider the Talmudic evidence, and then turn to the history of the interpretation of the phrase hokhmat yevanit. Most contemporary scholars who have discussed the Talmudic passages have concluded, with varying degrees of certainty, that hokhmat yevanit incorporates Greek philosophy. Gerald Blidstein, noting the indeterminacy of the sources nevertheless concludes, “Though no Talmudic source indicates what is included in this wisdom, it is likely that literature, rhetoric, and philosophy are what is meant, while language instruction in a matter of further debate.”[2] Louis Feldman likewise claims that, “when the Talmud imposes a curse on those who instruct their sons in Greek wisdom, a good guess is that this wisdom is philosophy,” and “that the rabbis were strongly opposed to the study of philosophy may be inferred from the fact that … its teaching is cursed together with swine herding, and hence is associated with the antithesis of Judaism.”[3] Noah Efron claims unambiguously that, “if one wants still more evidence of rabbinic indifference toward philosophy of nature, it is worth considering that, in many places in the Talmud (and then for centuries after the Talmud), a synonym for philosophy of nature was ‘Greek wisdom.’”[4] David Shatz formulates his position more carefully: Regarding Talmudic and Midrashic literature, Shatz says, “we find no evidence of extensive involvement with philosophy… and we even encounter statements that could be construed as opposed to ‘Greek wisdom,’ ‘the wisdom of the nations,’ and ‘logic.’[5]

However, when we turn to the Talmudic passages in question, the evidence for the identification of hokhmat yevanit with philosophy is lacking. In context, these passages support a narrower definition of hokhmat yevanit:

בבא קמא (פב ע”ב – פג ע”א): תנו רבנן: כשצרו בית חשמונאי זה על זה, היה הורקנוס מבפנים ואריסטובלוס מבחוץ. ובכל יום היו משלשים להם בקופה דינרין, והיו מעלים להם תמידין. היה שם זקן אחד שהיה מכיר בחכמת יוונית, אמר להם: כל זמן שעוסקין בעבודה אין נמסרים בידכם. למחר שילשלו דינרין בקופה, והעלו להם חזיר. כיון שהגיע לחצי החומה נעץ צפרניו בחומה, ונזדעזעה ארץ ישראל ארבע מאות פרסה על ארבע מאות פרסה. באותה שעה אמרו: ארור האיש שיגדל חזירים, וארור האדם שילמד את בנו חכמת יוונית… וחכמת יוונית מי אסירא? והתניא, אמר רבי: בארץ ישראל לשון סורסי למה? או לשון הקדש או לשון יונית! … אמרי: לשון יוני לחוד, חכמת יונית לחוד. וחכמת יונית מי אסירא? והאמר רב יהודה אמר שמואל משום רשב”ג: (איכה ג) עיני עוללה לנפשי מכל בנות עירי – אלף ילדים היו בבית אבא, חמש מאות מהם למדו תורה, חמש מאות למדו חכמת יונית, ולא נשתייר מהם אלא אני כאן ובן אחי אבא בעסיא! אמרי: שאני בית רבן גמליאל, שהיו קרובים למלכות; וכדתניא: המספר קומי הרי זה מדרכי האמורי, אבטולמוס בר ראובן התירו לו לספר קומי, מפני שהוא קרוב למלכות; של בית רבן גמליאל התירו להם לספר בחכמת יונית, מפני שקרובים למלכות.

In this passage, the knowledge of hokhmat yevanit enables communication with the Greek enemy. Furthermore, the initial confusion between “lashon yevani” and “hokhmat yevanit” and the use of the verb “lesapper”—to speak—regarding hokhmat yevanit indicate that we are discussing a linguistic phenomenon. The next Talmudic relevant passage is more problematic, and seemingly presents a prohibition on everything but Torah study:

מנחות צט ע”ב: שאל בן דמה בן אחותו של ר’ ישמעאל את ר’ ישמעאל: כגון אני שלמדתי כל התורה כולה, מהו ללמוד חכמת יונית? קרא עליו המקרא הזה: לא ימוש ספר התורה הזה מפיך והגית בו יומם ולילה, צא ובדוק שעה שאינה לא מן היום ולא מן הלילה ולמוד בה חכמת יונית.

However, in light of the prohibition on hokhmat yevanit, it would seem more likely that R. Yishmael’s response should not be construed as a prohibition on all non-Torah pursuits, but as a rhetorical enforcement of the existing ban on hokhmat yevanit. This reading receives support from a parallel in the Jerusalem Talmud:

ירושלמי סוטה פ”ט הט”ו: שאלו רבי יהושע מהו שילמד אדם את בנו יונית. אמר להן ילמדנו בשעה שאינה לא יום ולא לילה דכתיב והגית בו יומם ולילה. מעתה אסור לאדם ללמד את בנו אומנות בגין דכתיב והגית בו יומם ולילה. והתני רבי ישמעאל ובחרת בחיים זו אומנות. רבי בא בריה דרבי חייה בר בא בשם ר’ יוחנן מפני המסורות.

Turning now to the medieval commentators, Maimonides addresses the definition of this term in his commentary on the Mishnah (Sotah 9:15):

ואמרו יונית, רוצה לומר חכמה יונית, לפי שהיו מכנים את הרמזים שבדבור, וכן דברים שאינם כפשוטם אלא יש להן ענין נסתר חכמה. ובתלמוד אמרו ר’ משתעי לשון חכמה והזכירו דברי חידה כמו שנתבאר בגמר עבודה זרה. והיה אצל היונים דברים מעין אלה מיוחדים אצל אומה זו שמשוחחים בהם מה שרוצים כעין רמזים וחידות, וטעם אסור דבר זה לפי שבזמן בית שני צר אחד ממלכי בני חשמונאי על ירושלם והיו אנשי ירושלם משלשלין להם למחנה קופה דינרין בכל יום ונותנין להם בהם שני תמידין לקרבן והיה שם איש היודע אלו הרמזים שהמציאו היונים ודבר עמהם בהם, וכך הוא לשון התלמוד לעז להם בחכמה יונית שכל זמן שהם מקריבין לא תוכלו לכבשם והפסיקו מהם הקרבן, באותה שעה אסרו שילמד שום אדם אותם הרמזים שהמציאו היונים לדבר בהם. ודבר זה אין לי ספק שנשתקע ולא נשאר ממנו בעולם היום לא מעט ולא הרבה.

According to Maimonides, hokhmat yevanit has nothing to do with Greek philosophy, and Maimonides adds emphatically, whatever coded language intended by this term is undoubtedly no longer in existence. In accordance with his position here, Maimonides makes no mention of what is now an obsolete prohibition in his code. A number of contemporary scholars have assumed that Maimonides’ explanation is the result of his predetermined position on the merit of Aristotelian philosophy, and therefore an attempt to redefine a problematic prohibition.[6] Yet if we look at Maimonides predecessors, his position is hardly novel. Rashi in his Talmudic commentary takes a position essentially identical to Maimonides. In his commentary to Menahot (64b) Rashi defines hokhmat yevanit in one word: “רמיזות”. In the Sotah passage (49b), Rashi explains further: חכמת יוונית – לשון חכמה שמדברים בו בני פלטין ואין שאר העם מכירין בו. This position is not unique to Rashi. Tosafot likewise assume as self-understood that hokhmat yevanit refers to a coded language. Thus in explaining the Talmudic passage according to which Babylonia has no “ketav,” Tosafot (Avodah Zarah 10a) cite R. Isaac of Dampierre who explains this to mean that Babylonia lacks its own “important language” akin to hokhmat yevanit:

לכך פירש ר”י כתב לשון חשוב שהמלכים משתמשין בו כעין חכמת יונית והיינו דאמרינן במגילה (דף י: ושם( והכרתי לבבל שם ושאר שם זה לשון ומאי קאמר דהא בלשון ארמי הם מספרים ועודם משתמשין בו אלא בודאי לשון מלכות קאמר.[7]

Nor is this view of hokhmat yevanit limited to Ashkenazi predecessors of Maimonides. An anonymous Gaon (quoted in R. Betzalel Ashkenazi’s Shitah Mekubetzet to Bava Kama 83a) also explains: חכמת יונית לחוד. דחכמת יונית אסורה והאי חכמת יונית ברמיזה הוה. גאון ז”ל. Likewise, later halakhists who believed that it is prohibited to sudy Greek philosophy nevertheless did not understand the prohibition of hokhmat yevanit as a prohibition against philosophy. For example, R. Isaac b. Sheshet (Rivash) was asked whether hokhmat yevanit refers to Aristotle’s Physics and Metaphysics. Although he forbids study of these works, Rivash argues that they are not prohibited as hokhmat yevanit:

ומה ששאלת: מה היא חכמת יונית אשר יתרחק האדם? ואם הם אותם ספרים המפורסמים בעולם כשמע טבעי, ומה שאחר הטבע? … נראה, שאין הספרים ההם בכלל גזרה זו, שאם מצד שהם כתובים בלשון יוני, הלשון לא נאסר, וכלם היו בקיאין בו… ואם מצד החכמה בעצמה, מהו זה שלעז להם הזקן ההוא? ולכן נ”ל, שחכמת יונית היא לדבר בלשון יוני בחידות ובלשון סתום, שלא יבינו אותו ההמון, רק אותם שלמדו והורגלו באותן החידות. דמיון מ”ש (בפרק כיצד מעברין נג:): אמהתא דבי רבי, כי הוו משתעון בלשון חכמה, אמרין הכי: עלת נקפ’ בכד ידאון נשריא לקיניהון. ור”ל שהכלי הקטן ששואבין בו היין מן החבית, מנקפת בשולי החבית, לפי שכבר כלה היין, ולכן שיעופו וילכו התלמידים למקומם… וחידות כאלו, כשנאמר בלשון יוני, נקראים חכמה יונית… אמנם, ספרי הטבע המפורסמים, לא מן השם הוא זה, אבל ראוי לימנע מהם, אם הם מתאמצים לעקור עקרי תורתינו הקדושה. ובפרט שני עמודי התווך אשר היא נכונה עליהם, שזהו, חדוש העולם, והשגחת השם יתברך בפרטי המין האנושי. והם מביאים ראיות ומופתים לפי דעתם לקיים קדמות העולם, ושהוא מחוייב מן השם יתברך, כמו שהאור מחוייב מן השמש, והצל מן האילן, ואין יכולת לשם יתברך לשנות דבר מטבעו, ולא להאריך כנף הזבוב, ולא לקצר רגל הנמלה; כמו שאין יכולת בשמש לשנות האור הנמשך ממנו, ולא האילן הצל. וכן, שהשגחת השם יתברך לא תהיה במה שהוא למטה מגלגל הירח. וכתבו בספריהם, שאין ידיעה שלמה רק אותה שהיא מצד החקיר’, לא מצד הקבלה. ואנחנו מקבלי האמת, דעתנו, שהתורה שלנו שלמה, שבאה אלינו במעמד הר סיני מפי הגבורה ובאמצעות אדון הנביאים ע”ה, היא למעלה מהכל, וכל חקירתם אפס ותהו לערכה.[8]

It is not hard to see the reason for this commentatorial consensus. The Talmudic account refers to an old man communicating with the enemy in hokhmat yevanit as the cause for this prohibition. It is hard to see how Greek philosophy could have served as an effective mode for secret communication.[9] But there is another reason to prefer this identification as well. The Talmud consistently refers to hokhmat yevanit, not to hokhmah yevanit. The latter should indeed be translated as “Greek wisdom”; the former, however, means instead “wisdom of Greek.” Here the word “Greek” is not an adjective describing the kind of wisdom, but a noun, meaning the Greek language. This nuance is reflected in the commentaries which understand hokhmat yevanit not as Greek wisdom but as a cryptic language based on Greek. If not from the traditional Talmudic commentators, where then does the identification of hokhmat yevanit with “Greek wisdom” come from? As far as I can tell, the first to identify “hokhmat yevanit” with Greek philosophy is R. Yehudah Halevi. In a well-known poem, Halevi warns a friend not to be seduced by hokhmat yevanit: ואל תשיאך חכמת יונית אשר אין לה פרי כי אם פרחים. ופריה – כי אדמה לא רקועה וכי לא אהלי שחק מתוחים. ואין ראשית לכל מעשה בראשית ואין אחרית לחדוש הירחים.[10] Halevi alludes to the Aristotelian doctrine of eternal matter, which he sees as flower without fruit, or appearance without substance. Were Halevi’s anti-Aristotelian poem the first source for this explanation, we would have reason to remain skeptical about its veracity. However, despite Halevi’s use of the term “hokhmat yevanit,” there is little reason to assume that Halevi really believes this is the meaning of these words in the Talmud. Using a poetic license, it would be hard for an anti-Aristotelian like Halevi to pass up the rhetorical opportunity granted by the Talmud’s curse on teaching hokhmat yevanit, which, even if not literally the same, at least provides a negative association for the accursed ‘Greek wisdom.’[11] Bernard Septimus notes what he views as use of this term by a twelfth century proponent of Aristotelian philosophy, Abraham ibn Daud.[12] In his Sefer ha-Qabbalah, ibn Daud describes the positive attributes of some of his predecessors:

והיה [האמורא, שמואל] חכם גדול בכל חכמה יונית מוסף על תורתו.[13] ומוסף על חכמתו ותורתו היה פייטן גדול ויודע בחכמה יונית ורבץ תורה הרבה והעמיד תלמידים הרבה.[14] היה רב ברוך זה יודע בחכמה יונית מוסף על תורתו וחכמתו והעמיד תלמידים הרבה ואני קטן שבכלם. [15] ר’ משה בר’ יעקב בן עזרא מזרע המשרה וחכם גדול בתורה ובחכמה יונית.[16]

However, in all these cases, ibn Daud refers not to hokhmat yevanit, which is the term used by the Talmud for the prohibited subject matter, but hokhmah yevanit, which indeed must mean “Greek wisdom.” As a proponent of Greek philosophy, it is hard to imagine ibn Daud would not have made this distinction. For if hokhmah yevanit is identical with the Talmud’s prohibited subject, ibn Daud, at very least has some explaining to do, which evidently he does not feel to be the case. Thus, instead of support for the theory that hokhmat yevanit refers to Greek philosophy, ibn Daud provides indirect support for the difference between “Greek wisdom”—hokhmah yevanit—and that which the Talmud calls hokhmat yevanit. If we are correct, we have yet to find the first usage of hokhmat yevanit to refer to Greek philosophy in an unambiguously literal sense. Interestingly, it seems that the first documented examples of this usage occur in rapid succession during the controversy over the study of Greek philosophy in the 1230s. R. Yehudah Alfakar, in his letter to R. David Kimhi in opposition to the pro-philosophic faction, refers to hokhmat yevanit a number of times:

ואינו כדאי מופת חכמת יונית לעקור את הכל שנאמר ובא האות והמופת וגו’ וכתוב בתריה לא תשמע אל דברי הנביא, ועוד שאפילו לדבריהם שהם מדברי סופרים ולא מפי ספרים, כי כל מופת שלם צריך עיון גדול עד מאד מפני שפעמים יתערב בו דבר מתעה מאותה חכמה שקרנית שנקרא בלשון יון סופיסטיק”ה ובהתחברות אליו יעשה מרמה ללכוד חכמים בערמה כגון שיהיה באות ובמופת או בהקדמות מהקדמותיו עד סוף כל העולם אחד מן המומים הפוסלין המחפפים משותפים או טענות מחופות מזוייפות צנומות דקות שדופות ונמצאים תולדותיהם כיוצא בהם שאינן משיחין לפי תומם כי זנתה אמם לפי דרכנו למדנו שהסומך על דבריהם בדברי תורתו לא יצא ידי חובתו וכל שכן לענין מופת הקדמות שהוא פוסל את השבת במומו… מפני שהיתה כונתו שלא לשנות מנהגו של עולם למען העמיד התורה עם חכמת היונית יחד לחבר את האהל להיות אחד ודימה היות הראשונה עם השניה כשתי עפרים תאמי צביה והיתה תאניה ואניה ולא נשא אותם הארץ לשבת יחדו להיות כשתי אחיות כי לא כנשים המצריות העבריות ופוסחים על שתי הסעיפים והם חושבים כי הם לכאן ולכאן והם באמת יורדים ואינם עולים אלא עומדים בתוך לנדה ביניהם לא אור התורה נגה עליהם ולא שם חכמה יונית נקרא בהם.[17]

According to Alfakar, all philosophy risks sophistry, and should therefore not be relied on for religious purposes. In light of Alfakar’s hostility toward ‘Greek wisdom,’ it is interesting that he does not refer directly to the Talmud’s prohibition. If this is out of respect for the “Andalusian tradition,” his fellow Spanish anti-Maimonidean, R. Joseph ben Todros Abulafia, feels no such constraint:

והנה איך יתחמץ לב אדם על רבותינו הצרפתים וכליותיו ישתוק אשר גזרו לבל ילחם אדם בלחם חכמי יונים בצלם אל יתלונן דהא ודאי קדמום רבנן ואסור ללחום בלחמם שחטיהם שחטי מנית(?) [מינות?] ואמרו ארור המלמד בנו חכמה יונית והנה גם מלכי הערב בתחלת מלכותם חכמו השכילו זאת הבינו לאחריתם ושמו בראשית חקיהם ודתם לבל יהגה אדם בכל חכמת ההגיון ובכל חכמות יונים מפני שבדבריהם דברי מינים, ואתם בעקבות חכמי הקבלה לא יצאתם וכמשפטי הגוים אשר סביבותיכם לא עשיתם, ואם לחשך אדם לומר דע מה שתשיב את אפיקורס: לקומם חרבות האמונה יאמרו, לא להרוס, כי תשובת חכמי היונים הם האפיקורסים הם המינים, ודבריהם הם נכוחות למשמע אזנים ולחפצים לפרוק מעליהם עול מלכות שמים ודבריהם קרובים להבין ואזני הפתאים קשובות להאזין אם ימתק בפיהם ענינם יכחידו תחת לשונם, ואף אם ישמעו עליהם דברי רבנו בספר המורה בתשובות נצחות ולשון מדברת צחות קרובים דבריו בפיהם ורחוקים מכליותיהם.[18]

Unsurprisingly, this position was also taken by an Ashkenazi polemic at the time of the controversy: כל גאוני צרפת ואשכנז אשר לא שתו לבם לשעות בדברי שוא ולעזוב מקור חיים הלכות ואגדות לעסוק בחכמה יונית אשר אסרו חכמים ללמד את בנו חכמה יונית[19]

This term occurs again in the controversy of the 1230s in the conciliatory letter of Nahmanides to the French rabbis:

הביטו וראו היש מכאוב כמכאובינו, כי גלו בנים מעל שלחן אביהם ויתגאלו בפת בג המלך וביין משתיהם ויתערבו בגויים וילמדו ממעשיהם אף כי חרב השמד אשר בעוונותינו שרד בגלות ירושלים אשר בספרד והותר לקרובי מלכות ללמוד חכמת יוונית להבין במלאכת הרפואות לשער כל מדה ולדעת כל תבנית ויתר החכמות ותחבולותם להחיות נפשם בחצרות המלכים ובטירותם אף כי אלה חכמות מותרות [ו]רבותינו ז”ל הזהירונו בהם וצוונו עליהם וכאשר אבדו ספרי חכמותנו באבדן מולדתנו והוצרכ[נ]ו ללמד בהם מספרי היונים והעמים שונים נמשכו הלבבות אחר המינות התחילו בשבח וסיימו בגנות[20]

Nahmanides argues that the Ashkenazi rabbis must recognize the plight of Spanish Jewry, who in her exile was contaminated. In this context, he makes use of the Talmud’s leniency for kerovim la-malkhut to study hokhmat yevanit—clearly this does not refer to the coded language of earlier commentators, but Nahmanides’ exact position regarding Greek wisdom here remains somewhat unclear. The fact that the interpretation of hokhmat yevanit as Greek philosophy first arose in the controversy over the legitimacy of the study of this subject, by the opponents of such study, should alert us to the possibility that this is not the original intent of the Talmudic passage. Yet to participants in the controversy, even to the proponents of philosophy, this point was not so obvious. R. Yaakov Anatoli, author of the philosophical Malmad ha-Talmidim addresses the question of “foreign study” in the introduction to his work:

גם אם אחד בדור ימלאנו לבו ללמוד החכמות הנמצאות בלשון אחרת המועילות להשלים כונת התורה, יחשב הלמוד ההוא לעון אצל רוב בני דורו. ונותנים טעם לדבריהם ממה שאמרו רז”ל: מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון וכן ממה שהזהירו שלא ללמוד חכמת יונית. ואין ספק למי שבוחן שאר דבריהם שאותה המניעה אינה כוללת אבל היא לנערים וכיוצא בם, לפי שהחכמה ההיא אם לא יקדים לה למוד התורה ותלמודה ובלבד שיהא הלומד ההוא איש נעים ובעל מדות טובות הנכללות ביראת שמים היא בלא ספק גורמת להוציא האדם מן הכלל. לפי שהחכמה ההיא עמוקה מאד וכל ראיותיה משקול הדעות ומעט הם הראויים לה, כי היא צריכה אנשי לב נבונים ירא אלהים יודעי התורה ותלמודה, והם שנכנסים לפרדס בשלום ויוצאים בשלום לפי שמטים ספיקותיהם אחר האמת המקובלת אצלם מצד התורה הנטועה בלבם אבל חסר לב יקצץ נטיעות לפי המבוכה היוצאת לו בקצת ענינים ומקשים לבם ומגלים פנים בתורה ומטים הספיקות אחרי יצרם ושרירות לבם ולפיכך היתה המניעה ראויה אל הרוב. [21]

Anatoli accepts the anti-philosophic definition of hokhmat yevanit, but argues that anyone familiar with the corpus of Hazal must recognize that this prohibition cannot be construed as a blanket prohibition, but as a limitation on those who are unprepared. Likewise, R. Samuel b. Abraham Saporta, a defender of the philosophic camp, does not reject this interpretation of hokhmat yevanit but rather argues that the prohibition could not have been based on heretical content, because then the dispensation for kerovei malkhut would be incomprehensible:

והנה אפילו לאומרים שהחכמות האלה הן החכמה היונית, לא גזרו עליהם מפני שישי בה מינית, אלא מפני מעשה שהיה כאשר הוא מפורש באותה שאמרו ארור אדם שיגדל חזירים וארור שילמד את בנו חכמה יונית, והרי חכמה יונית הותרה לקרובי מלכות ואם היה בה שמץ מינות אפילו להבין ולהורות נאסר ללמדה, כמו שאמרו הלמד דבר אחד מן המכשף מן המגושי חייב מיתה, ואלו הם לא התירוה לקרובי מלכות ומצינו למדין שהחכמה היונית לא נאסרה מפני צד מינות.[22]

Although the “philosophical” interpretation of hokhmat yevanit was born during the first Maimonidean controversy, it did not die with the controversy’s end. The Spanish kabbalist Abraham Abulafia, active during the second half of the thirteenth century, uses this definition in a discussion of the relationship between divine, revealed wisdom and “human” wisdom, including mathematics, logic and dialectics:

ועל דרך האמת אשר אין בה ספק למי שחננו חונן הדעת מדע והשכל, כי החכמה העליונה האלהית התוריית אינה חכמה היוונית הנקרא לימודית ושמה בלשון יון מתימתיק”א, ולא החכמה אשר שמה הגיון ובלשון יון דיאליטיק”א וגם לוגיק”א, שעל החכמה ההיא אמרו מקבלי האמת מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון. [ור’ שמואל בן תיבון ז”ל אמר עליו פירושים זרים מהאמת, שאמר כי על כן אמרו מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון] ולא עצמכם, כלומר שבניכם אינם יכולים לקבל החכמה. ולפי דעתי מהחכמה האלהית, דבר נראה בעיניי פירושו מעולה מאד ואין ספק כי הוא טעם טוב לבעלי ההגיון אבל לא לנו, שכבר ידענו באמת עיקר המאמר הנכבד הנבואי ההוא, והוא בלא ספק שהזהירונו חכמי האמת מהשתדל בחכמות היווניות ההן, מפני שאנחנו עם הקודש עם יי’, יש לנו תורה קדושה מורה אמיתת שתי החכמות אשר הם מקדימים החכמה הלימודית להן כדי לאמתן במופתים לפי סברת שכלם, כי לא השיגו מה שראוי להשיג עד שידעו אמיתתן מבלי הקדמת ספריהם. ובאמת כי הם עשו דבר גדול במה שעשו, ולפי מה שקראתיו אני מספריהם ראיתיו שהשיגו דברים רבים שמספיק להשגתם כח השכל האנושי, אבל בדברים שהוצרכו אל השכל האלהי לאמתם, לא השיגו להם עניין כלל, ועל כן טעו ברובם כמו שנודע מספריהם. ושתי החכמות ההן הן חכמת הטבע וחכמת האלהות, שהן כוללות כל עצמות המציאות ונקראו בלשוננו מעשה בראשית ומעשה מרכבה. וההבדל אשר בינינו לבינם שאנחנו קראנום בשמות מורים חידוש מעשים נבראים בכוונה וראשון, והם קראום בשמות מורים קדמות מעשים נמצאים בחכמה תמידית בלתי כוונה רצונית, ודעתם הפך מדעתנו בלא ספק… אבל אין ספק אצלנו אנחנו בעלי התורה אשר קבלנו ממנה הקבלות האלהיות, שהתורה השלמה היא מגדת לנו כל מה שסופק להם.[23]

Abulafia recognizes the achievements of human reason, but denies their necessity for a people possessed of divine revelation. Abulafia also accepts the Maimonidean definition of ma’aseh bereishit and ma’aseh merkavah as hokhmat ha-teva’ and hokhmat ha-elohut—but says the terminological distinction between the Greeks and the Hebrews points to their essential difference, namely creation vs. eternity. This fundamental difference is based on the power of revelation to solve the doubts which philosophy cannot resolve. In contrast to the opponents of philosophy, for Abulafia, the Torah and Greek wisdom have a hierarchical relationship. The results of philosophical inquiry are valuable, but incomplete. R. Abba Mari ha-Yarhi, the primary instigator of the “Maimonidean controversy” of 1303-1305, took a position similar to Abulafia’s. In his Minhat Kena’ot, R. Abba Mari defends Aristotle for his belief in eternity of the universe:

על כן אני אומר על ארסטו כי עינו הטעתו בראותו עולם כמנהגו נוהג גזר ואמר כי כל חלוף דבר מטבע נמנע והביא ראיות על הקדמות ואין לענשו על כך כי אין זה מכלל ז’ מצות שנצטוו בני נח אך על זה יזכר לטוב כי הביא ראיות על מציאת האל יתברך ואחדותו והיותו בלתי גשם ולא ישיגהו הפעלות ושינוי ובזה הלך אחרי עקבות אברהם ע”ה שהיה תחלה לגרים, וכן נמצא כתוב בספר התפוח כי הוא תשתדל לבטל הדעות הנפסדות כמו שעשה אברהם ראש לפלסופים אשר בטל עבודת שמש וירח בחרן ע”כ.[24]

According to R. Abba Mari, Aristotle cannot be faulted for his belief in the eternity of the world, because after all, that is not one of the seven Noahide commandments.[25] Instead, Aristotle should be credited for following in the footsteps of Abraham, a view supported by Aristotle’s own alleged recognition of Abraham as the father of philosophy. At the same time, R. Abba Mari expresses his deep ambivalence about philosophy as a legitimate enterprise for Jews:

באמת ובברור בקושי גדול ובהכרח התירו ללמוד מספרי החכמות, ואפי’ לשבח המאמרים שלהם אע”פ שאין בהם דבר רע כלל… וארז”ל בספרי: ודברת בם, עשה אותן עיקר ואל תעשהם טפלה, שלא יהיה משאך ומתנך אלא בהם, שלא תערב בהם דברים אחרים, שמא תאמר למדתי חכמת ישראל אלך ואלמד חכמת האומות, ת”ל ללכת בם ולא להפטר מתוכם, וגרסינן במנחת פ’ שתי הלחם, שאל בן דמא בן אחותו של ר’ ישמעאל את ר’ ישמעאל אני שלמדתי כל התורה מהו שאלמוד חכמת יונית? קרא עליו המקרא הזה, לא ימוש ספר התורה הזה מפיך והגית בו יומם ולילה, צא ובדוק שעה שאינה לא מן היום ולא מן הלילה. ולאותם שהם קרובים למלכות, התירו להם ללמוד חכמת יונית מפני שהם קרובים למלכות.[26]

R. Abba Mari’s ambivalence about philosophy, together with his respect and admiration for Maimonides himself, mark the contrast between this episode of the Maimonidean controversy and its previous outbreak in the 1230s. This time, the debate was not over the legitimacy of Maimonides, but over the true legacy of Maimonides.[27] R. Abba Mari, like Abulafia, did not deny the efficacy of philosophy but argued that the Jewish people, in possession of revelation, were not in need of its benefits. Another participant in the controversy, R. Menahem ha-Meiri, a moderate Maimonidean, took two opposing views of hokhmat yevanit in his Talmudic commentaries. In his commentary on Hagigah, Meiri takes the traditional view of hokhmat yevanit as a secret language:

בית הבחירה (חגיגה ז.): יש דברים שאין להם מן התורה שיעור למטה וחכמים נתנו שיעור בקצתן וכלן יש בהוספתן מצוה עד שאין להם ג”כ שיעור למעלה ואלו הן … ותלמוד תורה שלמטה אף בקריאת שמע שחרית וערבית קיים והגית בו יומם ולילה ואין צריך לומר שאין לה שיעור למעלה ואמרו עליה בתלמוד המערב שאלו לר’ יהושע מהו ללמד את בנו חכמה יונית אמר להם כתיב והגית בו יומם ולילה צא וראה אי זו שעה שאינה לא מן היום ולא מן הלילה, כלו’ ואך אפשר בכך? מעתה יהא אסור ללמדו אומנות, והא תני ר’ ישמעאל ובחרת בחיים זו אומנות, א”ר יוחנן מפני המסורות. ופירשוה חכמי נארבונאה שלא אסרה ר’ יהושע אלא מפני המסורות שלא יהו בקיאים בה וכמו שאמרו בפרק מרבה (פ”ב ע”ב) על אותו זקן שלעז להם בלשון יוני ולמדו מכאן שחכמת רמיזה בלבד הוא שאסרו. ושנו עוד שם ר’ אבהו בשם ר’ יוחנן מותר ללמד את בתו תורה מפני שתכשיט הוא. שמע שמעון ברבא אמר בגין דו בעי מילפא לבנתיה תלי ליה בר’ יוחנן, יהא עלי אם שמעה מר’ יוחנן.[28]

However, in his commentary to Bava Kama (82b), Meiri adopts the newer view of hokhmat yevanit as philosophy, while giving a new interpretation to the scope of the prohibition:

לשון יוני כבר בארנו במגלה שהוא ממאושרים שבלשונות ומ”מ חכמה שלהם אסור ללמדה מפני שמושכת לבו של אדם והורסת הרבה מפנות הדת וקרובי מלכות שלהם מצד שהם צריכים בה לכמה דברים בתכסיסי מלכיהם שהיו נמשכים אחר חקירת החכמה עד להרבה ולא היו מקרבים כל כך אלא מי שהוא שלם בחכמות ודעתו צלולה בכל הדברים הותר להם ללמדה ואף החכמים השלמים שכבר מלאו כרסם בשר ויין ר”ל התורה ותלמודה וסודות מצותיה אין לך קרובים למלכות יותר מהם והרי נאמר בי מלכים ימלוכו ומותר להם ללמדה כדי להשיב עליהם ולחזק ענין הדת במסמרים לא ימוט.

Perhaps this second interpretation, in which Meiri abandons the tradition of Talmudic commentators in favor of the “polemical” view, reflects Meiri’s newfound awareness of the dangers of unrestricted philosophic engagement. Not all the opponents of philosophy in this wave of the controversy shared R. Abba Mari’s moderate position. R. Asher b. Yehiel, the great Ashkenazi Talmudist who left his native Germany in 1303, arriving in Spain via Provence in 1305, only reluctantly supported the Rashba’s ban on philosophy—because it did not go far enough. According to the ban, philosophy was only forbidden until the age of twenty five, but according to R. Asher, alluding to the Talmudic passage in Menahot, it is never permitted: ועוד כי החרימו על דת משה דכתיב והגית בו יומם ולילה, ולאותה חכמה צריך שעה שאינה לא מן היום ולא מן הלילה.[29] ,[30] Yisrael Ta Shma pointed to another dispute in which R. Asher argued against philosophy, this time against using “philosophical reasoning” in determining halakha. R. Yisrael b. Yosef ha-Yisraeli, a member of R. Asher’s beit din, argued that in a case of communal decrees, questions must be decided not on the basis of Talmudic knowledge, but by possession of sound logic and knowledge of the literary Arabic in which the decrees were composed:

מאחר שהכל מודים שיש לנו להתנהג בירושת האשה על פי תקנת הנישואין, ואין חולק בדבר הזה, מעתה אין לנו עסק בדין זה עם הגמרא כלל, ואין ראוי שיפסוק אלא מי שיש בו שני הדברים הללו, האחד שיהיה בעל סברא נכונה, והשני שיהיה בקי בלשון ערב האמיתית, וכשיהיה בתכלית השלימות בשנים הללו, ראוי לסמוך עליו ולעשות על פיו, ואפילו אם יבא רב אשי ויחלוק עליו אין שומעין לו.

This position earned the fierce denunciation of R. Asher:

הצעה הראשונה שכתבת שאין ראוי שיפסוק דין זה אלא מי שיש בו שני דברים הללו, שיהיה בעל סברא נכונה… תהלה לאל חנני אלקים ויש לי כל בסברא אמיתית של תורת משה רבינו ע”ה ככל חכמי ספרד הנמצאים בימים האלה, ואע”פ שלא ידעתי מחכמה החיצונית שלכם בריך רחמנא דשיזבן מינה כי בא האות והמופת להדיח האדם מיראת השם ותורתו… ועל שכתבת מגזרת השכל וגזרת הדת, מה אשיב על זה, לא תהא תורה שלנו כשיחה בטילה שלכם, חכמת הגיונכם אשר הרחיקו כל חכמי הדת נביא ממנה לחייב ולזכות, לאסור ולהתיר, והלא חוצבי מקורה לא האמינו במשה ובמשפטים ובחוקים צדיקים אשר נתנו על ידו בכתב ובקבלה, ואיך שואבי מימיה יביאו ראיה מהם לחוקים ומשפטים של משה רבינו עליו השלום ולפסוק דינין במשלים שהורגלו בהם בחכמת הגיונם? האף אין זאת וכי בימי ובמקומי יפסקו הדינין על פי המשלים, ת”ל בעודי חי עוד יש תורה בישראל להביא ראיה מהמשנה וגמרא, בבלית וירושלמית, ולא יצטרכו להביא משלים לפסקי הדינים, כי חכמת הפילוסופיא וחכמת התורה והמשפטים אינן על דרך אחת, כי חכמת התורה היא קבלה למשה מסיני, והחכם ידרוש בה במדות שנתנה לידרש בהם ומדמה מילתא למילתא, אע”פ שאין הדברים נמשכים אחר חכמת הטבע אנו הולכין על פי הקבלה. אבל חכמת הפילוסופיא היא טבעית וחכמים גדולים היו והעמידו כל דבר על טבעו ומרוב חכמתם העמיקו שחתו והוצרכו לכפור בתורת משה לפי שאין כל התורה טבעית אלא קבלה… ועל זה אמר החכם כל באיה לא ישובון, רוצה לומר כל הבא ונכנס מתחלה בחכמה זו לא יוכל לצאת ממנה להכנס בלבו חכמת התורה, כי לא יוכל לשוב מחכמה טבעית שהורגל בה כי לבו תמיד נמשך אחריה. ומחמת זה לא ישיג לעמוד על חכמת התורה שהיא ארחות חיים כי יהיה לבו תמיד על חכמת הטבע ותעלה ברוחו להשוות שתי החכמות יחד ולהביא ראיה מזו לזו ומתוך זה יעוות המשפט כי שני הפכים הם צרות זו לזו ולא ישכנו במקום אחד.[31]

The ideological background of this dispute becomes clearer when we keep in mind R. Asher’s position on philosophy in general, and compare it to that of R. Yisrael:

ראוי לאדם להקדים תחילה לימוד התורה והתלמוד והלכותיו ולהגות בו ולדקדק עד אשר ישקע בלבו וידע כלליו ופרטיו ודיניו ומשפטיו ואח”כ ילמוד החכמות החיצוניות כדי לדעת תשובות הטועים וינצחם וטענותיהם. ולכן אחז”ל, “מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון” (ברכות כח ע”ב) ולא אמרו מנעו עצמכם, לפי שהבנים לא ריוו צמאון שכלם בתורה ובתלמוד, ואם ילמדו מיד ההגיון, והוא ההקדמה ללימוד שאר החכמות, אולי ישתבשו בסברתם ויצאו מהרה מן הכלל בר מינן, וכן אמרו ארור המלמד את בנו חכמה יוונית, ולא אמרו ארור שילמוד חכמה יוונית… לא הזכירו רק את בנו.[32]

R. Yisrael adopts the position of Shmuel ibn Tibbon, and R. Asher does not take kindly to that position.[33] A new argument against the identification of hokhmat yevanit with philosophy appears in the work of R. Levi b. Avraham, a prime target of the anti-philosophy camp in the controversy of 1303-1305. In a recently published section of his work Livyat hen, R. Levi distinguishes between two forms of hokhmat yevanit, one which is forbidden because it falls under the prohibition of hukkot ha-emori, and another form which is forbidden because it is a waste of time:

יודע לך כי חכמה יוונית הם שני מינין: המין האחד הוא ספרי דתם ונימוסיהם שהם כחקות האמורי, וזה אסור להתעסק בו… המין השני סיפורי מלכיהם ודברי הימים, בכלל זה ההתמדה במלאכת השיר, בהשתמשו בו בדברים דלים פחותים… וזה המין אין בו איסור אבל כליון הזמן, וכן הענין בספר בן סירא, ועל זה שנינו במסכת מנחות פר’ שתי הלחם: שאל בן דמה בן אחותו של ר’ ישמעאל את ר’ ישמעאל כגון אני שלמדתי כל התורה מהו שאלמד חכמה יוונית, קרא עליו מקרא הזה והגית בו יומם ולילה… כלומ’ כי ראוי לעסוק תמיד בתורה ובחכמה שהיא בכלל התורה… אבל לא דיברו בספרי החכמה שחיברו הפילוסופים האמתיים כסוקראט ואפלטון וארסטו ודומיה’, כי חדשים היו בימים ההם ועדיין לא התפשטו בכל, כי זה המין מן החכמה היה מצוי בין חכמי ישראל בספרים עבריים מיוחדים לזה, וכל חכמה מפוארת לא היו מייחסים רק [=אלא] לישראל, כמו שאמ’ כי היא חכמתכם ובינתכם. וצווי למנוע דברים אלה מן הילדים, גם מן ההגיון שהוא התחלה לשאר החכמות, להיותם דברים מושכים את הלב, ויהיה זה גורם להם לעזוב הקבלה, ועוד כי לתגבורת החומר בהם יטו אל דעת הכופרים דשאני מינות דמשכח [צ”ל דמשכה—א.ק.]…[34]

R. Levi objects to the classification of the philosophy known to us by means of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle as “Greek wisdom” because the sages would not have attributed such wisdom to the Greeks, but “only” to the Jews, from whom this wisdom was lost. The same argument is presented by R. David ha-Kokhavi, a Provencal Maimonidean and halakhist, in his Sefer ha-batim:

כבר כתבנו בהקדמתנו בחלק השני כי ראיות רבות יש מדברי התורה והנביאים ומאמרי רבותינו שידיעת ה’ על דרך האמת בראיות מופתיות הוא העקר, אשר ההתחלה הצריכה לזה היא מלאכת ההגיון, כדי לדעת דרכי ההקש ועשיית המופת ועניני הנצוח ההטעאה. ומה שטענו החולקים על זה בקצת הענות מדברי רבותינו, אחת מהם אמרם כי רבותינו אסרו להתעסק במלאכה הזאת והביא ראיה מאמרם מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון והושיבום בין ברכי החכמים, וכן אמרו שאסרו חכמה יונית, ואומרים כי “חכמת הטבע” והאלקות היא המיוחסת לחכמה יונית ואסורה. נאמר כי מה שאמרו רבותינו מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון בארוהו קצת מהמפרשים שלא נאמר על מה שאנו קורין היום “הגיון” שהוא כלי לחכמות, אך כוונו אל דרכי חידות הדיבור אין תועלת בו, והוא מפעל הבטלה כמו שבאר הר”ם בחכמה יונית כמו שאבאר… ומה שאמרנו [צ”ל: שאמרו] שהחכמה יונית היא חכמת הטבע והאלוקות, הנה הם רחוקים מכוונתנו. כי ידוע הוא כמו שהורנו הר”מ מורה צדק שמעשה בראשית ומעשה מרכבה הם חכמת הטבע והאלקות, וחכמה זו איננה יונית, וחלילה שתתיחס רק [=אלא] לזרע קדש והיא חכמת משה והנביאים והמדברים ברוח הקודש, וזה יתבאר לאשר יתן לו ה’ לב לדעת דברי תורה והנביאים.[35]

Both of these Provencal Maimonideans object to describing Greek philosophy as Greek, when it should properly be described instead as Jewish. Abraham Bibago, in his Derekh Emunah, gives this argument a universalist twist. Hokhmat yevanit cannot refer to philosophical speculation, because such inquiry belongs no more to one nation than another—it is the property of mankind as a whole:

ולהתיר הספקות נאמר כי החכמה היונית איננה חכמת החקירה המופתית הנאמרת, כי חכמת החקירה היא חכמה שכלית והיא לאדם במה שהוא אדם, אם כן היא חכמה אנושית לא חכמה יונית, והחכמה הנקראת חכמה יונית היא דבר מיוחד לאומת יון לא לאומה אחרת. וכבר נודעה חכמת שלמה ע”ה שקובל ממנו היות אלו החכמות באות מספריו, כי נאבדו לאורך הזמנים, ונעתקו ללשונות האומות הזרות, אם כן אלו החכמות הן הנה חכמות אנושיות לא חכמות יוניות… ולמה שהוא מצד צורתו הכוללת שהוא בה אדם, יהיה בעל שכל וישכיל וישלם בהשכלה, הנה ראוי לו ומחוייב ללמוד החכמה, כי בה יהיה אדם ויבדל מיתר בעלי חיים היותר חסרים ממנו…

For Bibago, the tradition of the Solomonic origins of philosophy proves that philosophy belongs neither to the Greeks nor to the Jews, but to mankind. R. Meir ibn Gabbai, the post-expulsion Spanish kabbalist, uses Bibago’s argument about the universality of philosophy as its own undoing. If philosophy is as universal as Bibago suggested, as no doubt it is, it cannot be the same as Solomon’s wisdom:

הפלוסופיא, והיא הנקראת חכמה יונית לרז”ל, ונתיחסה ליונים לפי שמהם יצאה והם המציאוה בעולם ובדוה מלבם, לפי שנתנו דעתם לחקור על הנמצאות ולשקלם בשקל שכלם ונקראת בלשון פלוסופי בני עמנו חכמת הנמצאות, לפי שהתחכמו בהן לפי דעתם, ובלשון יון פלוסופיא, היא אסורה לכל אשר בשם ישראל יכנה, ואיסורה מבואר ממה שאמרו בסוטה פרק עגלה ערופה, ובקמא פרק מרובה, אמרו שם בזה הלשון תנו רבנן כשצרו בית חשמונאי זה על זה, היה הורקנוס מבפנים ואריסטובלוס מבחוץ, ובכל יום ויום היו משלשלים להם בקופה דינרין, והיו מעלים להם תמידים, היה שם זקן אחד שהיה מכיר בחכמה יונית, אמר להם כל זמן שעוסקין בעבודה אין נמסרים בידכם, למחר שלשלו דינרין בקופה והעלו להם שועל, כיון שהגיע לחצי החומה נעץ צפרניו בחומה, נזדעזעה ארץ ישראל ארבע מאות פרסה על ארבע מאות פרסה. באותה שעה אמרו אסור לאיש מישראל שיגדל שועלים, (!) וארור האדם שילמד את בנו חכמה יונית… והחכם ר’ אברהם ביבאגי’ ז”ל יצא לישע הפלוסופיא והליץ בעדה והתירה לבא בקהל, ולהרים מכשול מדרך עם הקדש אביא דבריו בזה בקצרה, ואם הוא האריך והשיב עליהם ואשוב להוכיח כי הפלוסופיא והיא החכמה העיונית המופתית, אסורה לבא בקהל וגזרת רז”ל היתה עליה בייחוד… וכבר הארכתי בזה בפרק י”ו מהחלק הב’ מזה הספר בסייעתא דשמיא יבוקש משם, כי הוא פלא וחלילה שתיוחס החכמה השכלית לישראל, אבל היא חלק שאר האומות להיותה אנושית, ולזה נמצאו באומות חכמים ונבונים בה יותר ויותר הרבה ממה שנמצאו בישראל, בזמן שנתפתו אחריה גדולי פלוסופי בני עמנו, אבל חכמת ישראל פנימית אלהית מקובלת מפי הגבורה לא זכו בה האומות, וכמו שכתוב מגיד דבריו ליעקב וגו’ לא עשה כן לכל גוי, וחכמת שלמה ע”ה אלהית נתונה לו במתנה שנאמר ויי’ נתן חכמה לשלמה ומעולם לא יצא חוץ לאומה והיא מיוחדת לישראל, ומעולם לא זכו בה שום אומה ולשון, ואלו היתה שכלית אנושית היתה שוה לכל… ויראת יי’ היא חכמת האלהות שהיודעה הן הוא ירא הש”י וכו’, אמת כי היודע חכמת האלהות ירא את יי’ ואוהבו, אבל אינה החכמה שבדא היוני מלבו לאלהות כי לא השיג האמת ואיך איפשר שתמשך היראה ממנה.[36]

Ibn Gabbai was preceded in this argument by R. Shem Tov b. Shem Tov, who objected to the identification of ma’aseh bereishit and ma’aseh merkavah with physics and metaphysics because, “If that were so then these mysteries are available to all, to the pure and the impure, to the believer and the heretic, to the Canaanite, Hittite, Amonite and Moabite.”[37] Whereas R. Levi b. Abraham and R. David ha-Kokhavi are indignant at the thought that philosophical wisdom should be ascribed to the Greeks and not to the Jews, ibn Gabbai and Shem Tov are equally horrified that such universal wisdom be ascribed to the Jews. Ibn Gabbai (unlike Shem Tov) also rejects the notion of the Jewish roots of philosophy, so favored by proponents of philosophy. Philosophy as a discipline is properly named “Greek wisdom” because it is an invention of the Greeks. The true wisdom of Solomon is not the product of the Socratic method, but of divine revelation. Warren Harvey has noted that for medieval Jewish Aristotelians, Aristotle is simply “ha-filosof,” which means not merely that he is the Philosopher, but that his identity transcends the bounds of nationality and religion such that he needs no accompanying description. In contrast, anti-Aristotelians such as Halevi, Nahmanides and Crescas refer to Aristotle as “ha-yevani”—he is not a universal figure who escaped the bounds of his culture and place, he is a Greek, and his philosophy is not universal, it is Greek. [38]What is implicit in one’s choice of titles for Aristotle becomes explicit when it comes to classifying his philosophy. Bibago, foreshadowed by his Provencal predecessors, disputed the “Greekness” of philosophy. Ibn Gabbai, on the other hand, argued that the Greekness of philosophy is inseparable from its essence. [39] In the twentieth century, the argument that “Greek wisdom” is universal wisdom was challenged as itself being based on Greek premises. Philosophy following Plato seeks to move from the world of matter to the world of forms, to discover the universal essence which lies behind the particular instance. This underlies the idea that Greek philosophy expresses universal truth. However, there is a paradox in the idea that Greek philosophy represents universal wisdom. For the Greeks, the only things worthy of consideration is the unchanging essence, because only that is universal—but the idea that only universals are worthy of consideration is particularly Greek. Instead of the opposition of faith and reason, the philosopher Horace Kallen argued that the source of the ancient dichotomy between Athens and Jerusalem, or between Hebraism and Hellenism, is their respective interpretations of existence. For the Greek, the world represents “structure, harmony, order immutable, eternal; for the Hebrew, flux, mutation, imminence, disorder… In a word, for the Greeks, change is unreal and evil; for the Hebrews the essence of reality is change.”[40] William Barrett likewise contrasts Hebraism and Hellenism, where the “Hebraic” viewpoint is a precursor for existentialist philosophy’s shift of perspective to the individual: Hebraism does not raise its eyes to the universal and abstract; its vision is always of the concrete, particular, individual man. The Greeks, on the other hand, were the first thinkers in history; they discovered the universal, the abstract and timeless essences, forms, and Ideas… [For the Greeks,] the ‘really real’ objects in the universe, ta ontos onta, are the universals or Ideas. Particular things are half real and half unreal—real only insofar as they participate in the eternal universals. The universal is fully real because it is eternal; the fleeting and changing particular has only a shadowy kind of reality because it passes and is then as if it had never been. Humanity, the universal, is more real than any individual man.”[41] With this backdrop, we can now answer the following question: If the evidence for hokhmat yevanit as Greek philosophy is so weak, how did the anti-philosophy interpretation become so prevalent? The answer, in part, is because of the rationalists’ rejection of the dichotomy between Athens and Jerusalem. For them, the project of reconciling philosophy and Judaism was one of recovery, of reinstituting the lost Jewish tradition of philosophy. For the medieval rationalists, the content of Jewish revelation had to be understood in light of Greek reason. It was the anti-rationalists who challenged this identification. Of course, in the history of Western thought, the anti-rationalists won this argument, and the dichotomy of Athens and Jerusalem or Hebraism and Hellenism became firmly entrenched. To the eyes of history, there was no question—the anti-rationalists won the argument about the opposition between Athens and Jerusalem. This “victory” explains the readiness of modern authors to accept the anti-rationalist interpretation of hokhmat yevanit as Greek philosophy, despite the lack of evidence for this conclusion. The broad interpretation of hokhmat yevanit aligns perfectly with the Athens-Jerusalem dichotomy so well-ingrained for moderns. In fact, however, this interpretation which was created during the controversies over philosophy in the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, subsequently waned. Forged as a polemical weapon, it is withdrawn again only by authors like R. Shem Tov b. Shem Tov and R. Meir ibn Gabbai for whom philosophy is an enemy to be combated by all means. [42]

 

[1] The typical position is concisely summarized by David Berger, “Judaism and General Culture in Medieval and Early Modern Times,” in Judaism’s Encounter with Other Cultures: Rejection or Integration, ed. Jacob J. Schacter (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1997), p. 92: “The rationalists were clearly uncomfortable with the Talmudic prohibition of ‘Greek wisdom’ and we find efforts at redefinition that limit the meaning of the term to a kind of coded language that has not survived and that therefore poses no limitation whatever to the philosopher’s intellectual agenda.” See further for some additional examples of this view, which prevalent in most of the recent discussion of this topic.
[2] Gerald Blidstein, “Rabbinic Judaism and General Culture: Normative Discussion and Attitudes,” in Judaism’s Encounter with Other Cultures, p. 9.
[3] Louis H. Feldman, Judaism and Hellenism Reconsidered (Brill, 2006), pp. 22-23. Cf. Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World: Attitudes and Interactions from Alexander to Justinian (Princeton University Press, 1996), p. 467 n. 82.
[4] Noah J. Efron, Judaism and Science: A Historical Introduction (Westport, CT and London: Greenwood Press, 2007), p. 44. See also R. Isaac Herzog, Judaism: Law and Ethics (London, 1974), pp. 183-191, who accepts a definition of hokhmat yevanit that includes Greek philosophy.
[5] David Shatz, “The Biblical and Rabbinic Background to Medieval Jewish Philosophy,” The Cambridge Companion to Medieval Jewish Philosophy (Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 29. Interestingly, Saul Lieberman, in his frequently referenced article “The Alleged Ban on Greek Wisdom,” Hellenism in Jewish Palestine, (New York, 1962) remains agnostic as to the definition of what he calls “Greek Wisdom”—see p. 105 and n. 35. See also W.Z. Harvey, “Rabbinic Attitudes Toward Philosophy,” in Blumberg et al., eds., “Open Thou Mine Eyes”: Essays on Aggadah and Judaica Presented to Rabbi William G. Braude (Ktav, 1992), p. 89. According to Harvey, “it would be an exaggeration to say that the Rabbis considered philosophy to be subversive. However, they certainly did have an ambivalent attitude toward what they called ‘Greek Wisdom,’ whatever this cryptic term means.”
[6] Isadore Twersky refers to Maimonides’ “special definition” which “helps clear the way for his exaltation of philosophy” (Introduction to the Code of Maimonides, p. 366 n. 25; cf. Twersky, Halakha ve-hagut: kavei yesod be-mishnato shel ha-rambam, pp. 91-92). Others are less charitable: Adolphe Franck, referring to Maimonides’ interpretation, says, “This opinion is utterly ridiculous, and does not deserve further consideration” (Franck, The Kabbalah: The Religious Philosophy of the Hebrews [New York, 1926], p. 230).
[7] This view is also cited by R. Isaac’s brother, R. Samson of Sens, in his Tosafot to the same passage: תוספות הר”ש (בשיטת הקדמונים) עבודה זרה דף י’ ע”א: וי”מ דכתב ולשון דהכא היינו כתב ולשון של מלכות שמשתמשין בו המלכים כעין חכמת יונית דסוף מרובה.
[8] שו”ת הריב”ש סימן מה
[9] This point has been noted by the one recent author I have seen who accepts this definition of hokhmat yevanit: “We are at first sight on familiar terrain: to us, Greek wisdom evokes the founding figures of Western philosophy, Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. However these philosophers are nowhere mentioned in rabbinic writings; it is clear that the rabbis’ awareness of Greek philosophy must have differed considerably from ours. Moreover, it is unlikely that ‘Greek wisdom’ refers… to philosophy, for the phrase ‘he informed on them in Greek wisdom’ would then be nonsensical” (Sacha Stern, Jewish Identity in Early Rabbinic Writings [Leiden, New York & Köln, 1994], pp. 176-177).
[10] Ha-shirah ha-ʻivrit bi-Sefarad uve-Provans: mivhעar shirim ve-sipurim mehעorazim, ed. J. Schirmann (Jerusalem: Bialik Publishing, 1960), vol. 1b, pp. 493-494. This passage is cited by B. Septimus (Hispano-Jewish Culture in Transition: The Career and Controversies of Ramah, Harvard University Press, 1982, p. 85), D. Schwartz (“Hokhmah yevanit: behinah mehudeshet be-tekufat ha-pulmus ‘al limmud filosofiah,” Sinai vol. 104, p. 149) and Berger (pp. 77-78).
[11] Shmuel ha-Naggid, who did not share Halevi’s antipathy for Greek philosophy, avoids this potential trap when in an autobiographical poem written in the third person he acknowledges God who והודיעך תבונת היונים והשכילך בחכמת הערבים (Diwan Shmuel ha-Naggid, ed. D. Yarden, vol. 1 p. 58).
[12] Septimus, Hispano-Jewish Culture, p. 85.
[13] Sefer ha-Qabbalah: The Book of Tradition, ed. G. Cohen (Philadelphia, 1967), p. 24.
[14] Ibid., p. 61. Gerson Cohen notes that, “The enumeration of secular learning (lit., wisdom) and Greek wisdom as discrete categories alongside that of Torah may be intended to correspond to the three fold division of philosophical sciences adopted by medieval Jewish philosophers, among them ibn Daud: mathematics (‘secular learning’; cf. Abot 3.18); physics (‘Greek wisdom’), theology (‘Torah’).”
[15] Ibid., p. 65.
[16] Ibid., p. 73.
[17] ר’ יהודה אלפאכר, קובץ תשובות הרמב”ם, הובאו לדפוס ע״י אברהם ליכטענבערג, לפסיא, תרי״ט, אגרות קנאות, עמ’ ב.
[18] Kevutzat mikhtavim be-‘inyanei ha-mahloket ‘al devar sefer ha-moreh ve-ha-madda (Bamberg 1875), S.J. Halberstamm, ed., p. 14, qtd. in Berger, 90. Compare R. Yosef’s brother, R. Meir Abulafia (Ramah), cited in R. Betzalel Ashkenazi, Shitah Mekubetzet, Bava Kama 83a: והרמ”ה ז”ל כתב בפרטיו דחכמת יונית היינו כגון אלה חוזים בכוכבים מודיעים לחדשים ע”כ.
[19] י’ שצמילר, “לתמונת המחלוקת הראשונה על כתבי הרמב”ם”, ציון לד (תשכ”ט), עמ’ 139
[20] Kitvei ramban, ed. C.D. Chavel, Vol. 1, p. 339, with modifications based on J. Perles, MGWJ 5 (1860), p. 186.
[21] Anatoli’s conclusion ולפיכך היתה המניעה ראויה אל הרוב is noteworthy in light of Maimonides well-known description of Torah law (Guide III:34) as directed toward the majority, without exceptions for the minority for whom it may be harmful (ibn Tibbon translation): מה שצריך שתדעהו גם כן, שהתורה לא תביט לדבר הזר, ולא תהיה התורה כפי הענין המועט, אבל כל מה שירצה ללמדו מדעת או מדה או מעשה מועיל, אמנם יכוון בו הענינים שהם על הרוב ולא יביט לענין הנמצא מעט ולא להזק שיבא לאחד מבני אדם מפני השעור ההוא וההנהגה ההיא התורייה, כי התורה היא ענין אלהי, ועליך לבחון הענינים הטבעיים אשר התועלות ההם הכוללות הנמצאות בהם יש בכללם, ויתחייב מהם נזקים פרטים כמו שהתבאר מדברינו ודברי זולתנו, ולפי זאת הבחינה גם כן אין לתמוה מהיות כונת התורה לא תשלם בכל איש ואיש, אבל יתחייב בהכרח מציאות אנשים לא תשלימם ההנהגה ההיא התורייה.
[22] קבוצת מכתבים, עמ’ 95
[23] אבולעפיה, סתרי תורה, ירושלים תשס”ב, עמ’ לה-לז, צוטט ע”י מרדכי ברויאר, “מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון”, בספר מכתם לדוד: ספר זכרון הרב דוד אוקס (רמת גן, תשל”ח), עמ’ 254; Jellinek, Philosophie und Kabbalah (Leipzig, 1854), p. 38. The bracketed passage was omitted in the version cited by Breuer and Jellinek, (probably because of a טעות הדומות). Significantly, this means that R. Jacob Anatoli’s father in law, R. Shmuel ibn Tibbon, was likely the uncredited originator of the distinction between teaching children and independent learning of these subjects. Ibn Tibbon, in turn, was likely responding to his own opponents. His defensive posture reflects his self-perception as a member of a beleaguered pro-philosophic minority, although this preceded the major controversy of the 1230s—see Aviezer Ravitzky, “Samuel ibn Tibbon and the Esoteric Character of the Guide of the Perplexed,” in History and Faith: Studies in Jewish Philosophy (Amsterdam, 1996), pp. 206-208.
[24] R. Abba Mari of Lunel, Minhat Kenaot, (Pressburg, 1838), qtd. in D. Schwartz, “Changing Fronts in the Controversies over Philosophy in Medieval Spain and Provence,” Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy Vol. 7 (1997), p. 73. Sefer ha-tappuah is a medieval pseudo-Aristotelian work.
[25] This passage is relevant to the debate between Maimonides and Mendelssohn over the question of whether Noahides are obligated to keep their commandments because they were revealed to Moses or because they are required by reason (see, e.g., S. Schwarzschild, “Do Noachites Have to Believe in Revelation,” in The Pursuit of the Ideal: Jewish writings of Steven Schwarzschild, ed. M. Kellner, pp. 29-60.) In R. Abba Mari’s (overlooked) view, Noahides are not obligated to believe in creation, because unlike Jews, they are not responsible for the contents of revelation.
[26] ר’ אבא מארי, ספר הירח (בתוך מנחת קנאות) פרק י”ג
[27] D. Schwartz, “Changing Fronts”; Moshe Halbertal, Bein Torah le-Hokhmah: Rabi Menahem ha-Meʼiri u-vaʻale ha-halakhah ha-Maimonim be-Provans (Jerusalem, 2000), ch. 5.
[28] Meiri apparently had a variant text of the Yerushalmi, according to which instead of R. Abbahu permitting one to teach his daughter Greek, he permits teaching her Torah; although this makes little sense contextually, it has far more contemporary resonance.
[29] רא”ש, מנחת קנאות, מכתב צט (עמ’ 178). This position was also espoused by the fourteen Provencal rabbis who wrote to support the Rashba, seeמנחת קנאות מכתב צג .
[30] The Rashba himself apparently did not agree with the Rosh about the scope of the Talmudic prohibition, and felt that his decree was based on the needs of the time (cf. Lieberman, p. 103 n.24). Interestingly, the Rashba’s student R. Bahye b. Asher follows the position of the Rosh against that of his teacher (Commentary, Deuteronomy 30:12): …ומכאן שאין להתעסק בשאר החכמות אלא בעיקר שהיא תורתנו. צא ולמד משמואל שלא היה מתעסק בהם אלא במקום האסור לדבר שם דברי תורה, והוא מקום בלתי טהור, וכן אמרו רז”ל (מנחות צט ב): צא ובקש שעה שאינה לא מן היום ולא מן הלילה ולמד חכמת יונית. והטעם מפני שמתוך עסק שאר החכמות יבא האדם לפעמים בדת לידי נטיה מדרך האמת, כי אין לך שום חכמה בעולם שאין בה פסולת וסיג, כי לכך נמשלות החכמות כלן לכסף, כי הכסף ברוב יש בו סיגים ואינו כסף צרוף, אבל תורתנו כסף שאין בו סיג כלל, ולכך נמשלת לכסף צרוף, הוא שכתוב: (תהלים יב, ז) “כסף צרוף בעליל לארץ מזוקק שבעתים. This becomes more perplexing in light of R. Bahye’s own hermeneutical method which includes philosophical interpretation as the third of the four levels of Pardes (which R. Bahye often refers to as derekh ha-sekhel). In fact, R. Bahye was criticized harshly for his incorporation of philosophy by the 16th century anti-philosophical reactionary R. Joseph Ashkenazi: ומה ארבה לדבר הלא מוטב היה לו לרבינו בחיי להניח דרך השכל שהוא דרך השקר ולכתוב דרך הקבלה שאמר הוא עצמו שהוא דרך האמת… מי התיר לו לפרש התורה בדרך חיצוני אשר לא דרכו אותה אבותינו כי הלא לא מבני ישראל הוא … (ג’ שלום, “ידיעות חדשות על ר’ יוסף אשכנזי, ה’תנא’ מצפת”, תרביץ שנה כח, עמ’ 85-86). Obviously, R. Bahye’s philosophical interpretation does not contradict his position on external wisdom, because for R. Bahye philosophic interpretation is not ‘external wisdom’ but one of the layers of Torah meaning. It is nonetheless discordant.
[31] שו”ת הרא”ש כלל נ”ה; תא שמע, “שיקולים פילוסופיים בהכרעת ההלכה בספרד”, ספונות 18, עמ’ 101-102.
[32] ר’ ישראל בן יוסף, פי’ לאבות ב:יד, תא שמע, עמ’ 105. This position received the endorsement of Saul Lieberman, pp. 102-104. Jacob Howland argues that the prohibition according to this interpretation, “bears comparison to Socrates’ assertion that no one under thirty years of age should be exposed to dialectical argumentation, lest he be ‘filled with lawlessness’ (Republic 537e)” (Howland, Plato and the Talmud, Cambridge University Press, 2011, p. 8).
[33] Cf. Berger, pp. 111-112.
[34] לוי בן אברהם: לוית חן, דב שוורץ: “‘חכמה יוונית’—בחינה מחודשת בתקופת הפולמוס על לימוד הפילוסופיה”
[35] ספר הבתים: ספר מצוה, בעריכת מ’ הרשלר (ירושלים, תשמ”ב), מ’ ל”ת א (עמ’ רפד-רפה)
[36] ר”מ אבן גבאי, עבודת הקודש, חלק התכלית פרק ט”ז-י”ז
[37] Sefer Ha-Emunot, qtd. in Jacobs, “Attitudes of the Kabbalists and Hasidim Towards Maimonides,” The Solomon Goldman Lectures 5 (1990), p. 46. Interestingly, R. Shem Tov adopts the “moderate” position of Meiri (and Nahmanides) with regards to the prohibition of hokhmat yevanit: ויען וביען בארך הגלות נסגרו דלתי האמונות הנכוחות במשלים וחדות הנביאים והחכמים בספריהם ואי אפשר לעמוד על עקר האמונות מתוך חבור אחד על כל דיני התורה והמצות וגם בזה נפלו מחלוקות גדולות בכל הדורות הוצרכו רבים ונכבדים בספרד ובמלכיות אחרות מחשובי בני הגולה לחקור ולדרוש בדרכי היונים והישמעלים והנוצרים ויתר האומות הנמשכים אחריהם בדרכי החקירה, ואף שרבותינו הקדושים גזרו על חכמה יונית, מהם שהיו קרובים למלכות והוצרכו לעיון בדרכי הכבוד ופתחו להם פתח ועלו בסולם לאמונות… (ספר האמונות, בתוך: עמודי הקבלה, ירושלים, 2001, עמ’ ג).
[38] W. Z. Harvey, R. Hעasdai Kעresלkעasל (Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 2010), p. 46 [Hebrew].
[39] Reflecting these two views, the Maharal takes two opposite views on the question of the identity of hokhmat yevanit. In his Hiddushei Aggadot (Menahot 64b), the Maharal adopts the view of ibn Gabbai, in which external wisdom is unequivocally forbidden: באותה שעה אמרו וכו׳… ארור מי שמלמד בנו חכמת יונית וכו׳. פי׳ ‘חכמת יונית’ היינו חכמת הטבע, וכל חכמות הטבע הם בכלל חכמת יונית כל אשר הוא חוץ מן התורה… ואין מותר רק חשוב תקופות ומזלות שיביט פועל השם, אבל שאר החכמות אסור ללמוד אם לא ע״י התורה, ועל זה אמרו: הפוך בה והפוך בה דכולה בה, שהכל יוצא מן התורה, ובענין זה יש ללמוד אותם, אבל בעצמם מבלי שיצא מן התורה אסור ללמוד חכמת יונית, כך יראה והוא נכון. ומכ״ש שיש דברים באלו חכמות שהם קוצים גמורים והם דברי סרה על ה׳ ועל תורתו, ומזה לא דברו חכמים, רק דברו מן הדברים אשר אינם מגיעים אל האמונה כמו ספר הטבע וספר חוש ומוחש וספר אותות עליונות וכיוצא בהם אלו דברי׳ נקראו חכמת יונית. However, in his Netivot ‘Olam, the Maharal argues at length against the interpretation which he accepted in his Hiddushei Aggadot. Here, the Maharal accepts Bibago’s argument that knowledge of nature cannot be described as Greek inasmuch as it is the property of all mankind: ומה שאמרו שחכמת הטבע נקראת חכמה גמורה… מזה נראה כי יש ללמוד חכמת האומות, כי למה לא ילמד החכמה שהיא מן השם יתברך, שהרי חכמת האומות גם כן מן השם יתברך שהרי נתן להם מחכמתו יתברך. ואין סברא לומר כי אף שהחכמה היא חכמה גמורה, מכל מקום אין לו לסור מן התורה כדכתיב “והגית בו יומם ולילה”, ויש להביא ראיה אל סברא זאת ממסכת מנחות (צט ע״ב): שאל בן דמא בן אחותו של רבי ישמעאל: כגון אני שלמדתי כל התורה כולה מהו שאלמד חכמת יונית? קרא עליו המקרא הזה “לא ימוש ספר התורה הזה מפיך”, צא ובדוק איזה היא שעה שלא מן היום ולא מן הלילה ולמוד בה חכמת יונית, ואם כן מוכח דחכמת יונית אסורה ללמוד מפני שכתוב “והגית בה יומם ולילה”. אבל נראה דחכמת יונית דהתם איירי חכמה שאין לה שייכות אל התורה כלל, כמו חכמה שהיא במליצה או משל, וחכמה זאת אין לה שייכות כלל אל התורה וכתיב (יהושע א׳) “והגית בו יומם ולילה”. אבל החכמות לעמוד על המציאות וסדר העולם, בודאי מותר ללמוד. והכי מוכח דפירוש ‘חכמת יונית’ היינו מליצה ולשון, דבפרק מרובה (ב״ק פב ע״ב) אמרינן: באותה שעה אמרו ארור האיש שיגדל חזרים וארור האדם שילמד את בנו חכמת יונים, של בית ר״ג התירו להם לספר בחכמת יונית מפני שקרובים למלכות, ומדאמר ‘לספר’ שמע מינה שהוא שייך אל הלשון. ומפני כי דבר זה אין בו תועלת להבין חכמת התורה, ולכך אסרוה. אבל דברי חכמה אינו אסור כי החכמה הזאת היא כמו סולם לעלות בה אל חכמת התורה. ועוד כי למה היו קוראין אותו ‘חכמת יונית’, אם היא לעמוד על המציאות שהוא בעולם, הלא החכמה הזאת היא חכמת כל אדם? (נתיב התורה פרק יד נתיבות עולם א עמוד נט-ס)
[40] H.M. Kallen, “Hebraism and Current Tendencies in Philosophy,” in Judaism at Bay (Bloch Publishing Co., 1932), p. 9. See also H.A. Wolfson, “Maimonides and Halevi: A Study in Typical Jewish Attitudes toward Greek Philosophy,” JQR, NS, Vol. 2, No. 3 (Jan., 1912), pp. 297-330.
[41] William Barrett, Irrational Man: A Study in Existential Philosophy (Anchor Books, 1962), pp. 77, 85.
[42] At the close of the fourteenth century, the classification of philosophy as “hokhmat yevanit” is no longer the commonplace that it was during the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries. R. Shem Tov ibn Shem Tov and R. Meir ibn Gabbai are two exceptions which prove the general rule, that Talmudists and kabbalists opposed to philosophy do not classify it under the prohibition of “hokhmat yevanit.” We have already mentioned the case of R. Isaac b. Sheshet who, despite his opposition to philosophy, does not classify it under this Talmudic prohibition. Rivash’s senior colleague, R. Shimon b. Zemah Duran, whose position on the merit of philosophy is rather ambivalent, also rejects this classification. See his Magen Avot to Avot 2:19 and 5:26. In the sixteenth century, R. Solomon Luria (Maharshal), in his letter rebuking R. Moshe Isserles for his study of philosophy, likewise fails to cite this prohibition (She’elot u-teshuvot ha-Rema, 6). See also שו”ת רדב”ז מכתב יד (חלק ח’) סימן קצא (בני ברק, תשמ”ב). (The attribution of this responsum to Radbaz has been called into doubt. See David Tamar, “Al teshuvah be-inyanei filosofia ha-meyyuheset be-ta’ut la-radbaz,” Sinai vol. 78, pp. 66-71. According to Tamar, the responsa is the product of R. Eliyahu Halevi, another 16th century Egyptian rabbi, who was a student of R. Eliyahu Mizrahi. Tamar’s position appears to have been ignored by subsequent authors. See e.g.,אבי שגיא, “הפולמוס על החכמות החיצוניות בספרות השו”ת: עיון בשלוש גישות בשאלת היחס לתרבות שב’חוץ'”, – available at <http://lib.cet.ac.il/pages/item.asp?item=16868>; Introduction to Radbaz, Metzudat David, ed. Moshe Tzuriel (Jerusalem, 2003), pp. 14-15.)



Comments on This and That, part 1

Comments on This and That, part 1
by Marc B. Shapiro

1. In this post I referred to R. Hayyim Hirschensohn’s Nimukei Rashi, and stated that I thought it was one of his best works. This led to some correspondence with readers regarding the commentary. I have no doubt that I could devote ten posts to Hirschensohn, but then what would happen to everything else I want to discuss? But there are people who want me to call attention to some more interesting comments from Hirschensohn. I know that among them are those who go to hebrewbooks.org and print out some of the sources I refer to and bring them to shul on Shabbat. That is fine, as long as you aren’t looking at it during the rabbi’s sermon. As it is, Hirschensohn writes a good deal about how the rabbis are not given proper respect, and how ignoramuses have all too much power. At least in one respect, however, things have gotten better since Hirschensohn’s day. In Nimukei Rashi, Bereshit, pp. 46a-46b, he speaks about how the people give more respect to the hazzan than to the rabbi. This doesn’t apply anymore because there are hardly any synagogues that still have a hazzan.

In response to requests, let me therefore mention one more very interesting passage in Hirschensohn’s Nimukei Rashi in this post (with more to come in future posts). But my real suggestion is to study it yourself, even though it might make for difficult reading at times. To paraphrase Chazal (Avot 5:22), “no pain, no gain.” Or as R. Tuvia Hanks put it: “It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.”[1]

Before quoting the comment in Nimukei Rashi that I have promised, I also want to record one formulation of Hirschensohn that I think it is magnificent. While R. Soloveitchik undoubtedly would disagree with much of what Hirschensohn writes, if he would have heard the following, I know that he would have regarded it wonderful, expressing the essence of what real Torah learning is all about. In his Musagei Shav ve-Emet, Section Penei ha-Hamah, p. 64, Hirschensohn gives his definition of a lamdan. I am sure readers have their own definitions. Some will say that one who knows a few tractates is a lamdan, while other will say that one who gone through the Ketzot ha-Hoshen earns the title. Hirschensohn has his own approach:

אינני קורא למדן (שם זארגני על ת”ח גדול) רק את זה אשר רמב”ם קשה או רש”י סותרות או תוספות מופרך לא מניח לו לישון

When one can honestly say that a difficult Rambam or Rashi keeps you up at night, only then can you be called a lamdan. As I mentioned, this is a formulation that the Rav would have embraced, and he actually lived this way. I heard from Dr. David Fand, a student of the Rav from the 1940s, who studied in Boston’s Yeshivat Heichal Rabbenu Hayyim Halevi, that one night the Rav woke some students up in order to tell them a hiddush.

In Nimukei Rashi, Bereshit, p. 48b, Hirschensohn discusses the comment of Rashi, Gen. 26:8. The verse states that Abimelech looked out his window and saw that Isaac “was amusing himself with Rebekkah.” Upon this verse, Rashi, based on a Midrash, states that Abimelech saw them having marital relations. The question is, of course, obvious. How is this possible that Isaac and Rebekkah would do this in such a way that people could observe him? As Hirschensohn puts it:

ובאמת זה קשה מאד לחשוב כזאת על עולה תמימה כיצחק שיעשה דבר מגונה כזה ונגד היכל מלך

Hirschensohn therefore refuses to take this Midrash literally. He sees it as a mussar derash about how people living among those at a lower moral level can be negatively influenced by them. He offers his own example of this: elderly women in America. (By “elderly”, I think he means women over sixty.) In Europe they used to dress modestly but in America they were negatively influenced to dress in an inappropriate fashion. He continues:

ואינני חושב שחשבו חכמים שבאמת שימש יצחק מטתו ביום לפני חלון פתוח נגד היכל המלך, רק זה אחד מדרכי הדרוש המוסרי לקשור אותו לאיזה צלצול בלשון להפריז הדבר להגדיל את מוסרו.

Hirschensohn’s comment is not surprising. We have come to expect that anytime there is an unusual Midrash, or one that reflects poorly on a biblical figure, that one of the aharonim will argue that it is not meant to be taken literally. This is no different than the attempts to understand various strange Aggadot allegorically.[2] A good rule of thumb is if the Aggadah is strange, then someone will interpret it in a non-literal fashion. I opened up the Artscroll Rashi translation for the verse we are discussing and was therefore not surprised to find the following: “In truth, according to the Zohar, Isaac conducted himself modestly with Rebekkah. Abimelech did not see them in a physical sense; he understood through some astrological means that they were having relations (Maskil LeDavid).”

Regarding the character of Isaac, Hirschensohn writes:

על יצחק אשר ישב ארבעים שנה בלא אשה ולא שם עיניו על בנות הארץ וישב עשרים שנה עם אשתו בלא בנים ולא לקח אשה אחרת עליה אשר לזה הי’ דבר הרגיל מאד בכל איש שם להרבות נשים ופלגשים ושפחות, אות הוא שהי’ מצונן או מצדקתו משל ביצרו, ואיש כזה לא ישמש מטתו נגד חלון פתוח מול היכל מלך.

In dealing with the issue raised, Hirschensohn appears to be correct that there are only two options in describing Isaac. Either that he didn’t have a sexual drive or that he overcame it. Nevertheless, it does strike me as a bit strange to be speaking of the Patriarch in this fashion, although maybe this is just my own prudishness. Here, for example, is what R. Yehiel Michel of Glogau (died 1730) says about this episode with Isaac in his Nezer ha-Kodesh, vol. 3, p. 329a (64:5), a classic commentary on Bereshit Rabbah.

אע”ג דאמר ר”י המשמש מיטתו ביום ה”ז מגונה והיינו כמ”ש המפרשי’ דמיירי אפילו בבית אפל או במאפיל טליתו דאל”ה מה מגונה דקאמר הא אפילו איסורא איכא . . . ולא שרי בכה”ג בת”ח אלא לצורך שעה בראותו שיצר תאותו מתגבר עליו הרבה כדי שלא יבא לידי הוצא’ ש”ז לבטלה או הרהור רע אצ”ל דבאמת הוי נמי כה”ג ביצחק וזה רמז הכתו’ באומרו והיה כי ארכו לו שם הימים כלומר שאירע לו מקר’ כזה להתגבר יצר תאותו ע”י שארכו לו הימ’ שלא נזדווג לאשתו משו’ שמקמי הכי אפילו בצינעא בלילה לא שימש מיטתו פן תתעבר ויתפרסם הדבר לפני אבימלך ועמו אבל אז הי’ צורך שעה לכך ולזה לא נזהר מלשמש אף ביום.

The author might think he is helping Isaac’s reputation with his explanation, but I actually think just the opposite, that what he says reflects negatively on Isaac. Let’s remember who we are speaking about here. We are not talking about some average guy. We are speaking about the Patriarch Isaac, whom many sources portray as the holiest of the Patriarchs. And regarding him R. Yechiel Michel says that it was צורך שעה?! Does he really expect us to believe that it was such an emergency that Isaac couldn’t have waited until the night? With all due respect to the author, who certainly knew who Isaac was, I can’t understand how he could suggest this. Hirschensohn’s description of Isaac is thus much more in line with how the Tradition encourages us to view the Patriarchs. Of course, I understand what is driving R. Yechiel Michel, namely, the reality of Isaac having sexual relations in the daytime. Unless one is prepared to read this in a non-literal fashion, as did Hirschensohn, there is a real problem and I guess the answer he offered was the best one he could come up with.

I am sure most readers are with me in not feeling comfortable engaging in speculation about the sexual life of the Patriarchs, and yet the truth is that we find such speculation among the commentators. Let me give one example. The Torah states (Gen. 29:20): “And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her.” R. Hayyim Zev Rosenfeld, in his Sefer ha-Hayyim (London, 1922), p. 22, asks a very good question. If you love someone, and desperately want to be with her, then it is not seven years that will seem like a few days, but precisely the reverse. A few days would seem like seven years. So why does the Torah say that the years went by very quickly for Jacob? According to Rosenfeld, the answer is that Jacob’s love for Rachel had no sexual component.

Rosenfeld brings the following support for his contention. In blessing Reuben, Jacob says (Gen. 49:3): “Reuben, thou art my first-born, my might, and the first-fruits of my strength.” As a number of talmudic and midrashic passages explain, the sperm that impregnated Leah was the first one ever to leave Jacob’s body.[3] Since the Talmud tells us that a woman cannot become pregnant from the first intercourse, [4] how is it that Leah became pregnant? The Maharsha, Yevamot 34b, deals with the problem. In what can only be described as an exercise in original Midrash, Maharsha suggests that since Jacob was able to prevent any seminal emissions for more than eight decades, one can assume that in his first intercourse with Leah he also did not ejaculate (so that the sperm not be wasted). Therefore in truth, Leah did not become pregnant from the first intercourse.

Maharsha’s explanation, which shows how far removed Jacob was from carnal pleasures, is cited by Rosenfeld as support for his assumption that Jacob’s love for Rachel was entirely non-sexual:

שפיר נוכל לומר עליו באהבתו אותה שלא היה כונתו תאות המשגל

And since his love was non-sexual, that is why the long time waiting seemed like a short time.

(As is often the case with biblical commentaries, Rosenfeld’s question is better than his answer. We can all point to plenty of examples of non-sexual love in which a short time seems much longer [e.g., a parent longing for a child]. Just because Jacob’s love was non-sexual, why should that mean that seven years seemed like a few days?)

The Rashi dealing with Abimelech, Isaac, and Rebekkah reminds me of how in high school, when we first learnt Rashi intensively, we would sometimes come across texts which created all sorts of problems, and the teachers often didn’t deal with them properly. Would it have been so hard for the rebbe to acknowledge that yes, he too finds certain Midrashim strange? I specifically remember when we learnt Rashi to Gen. 25:26, which quotes a Midrash that explains why Esau was born first even though Jacob was conceived first. At the time, we were studying biology and knew that the biological description in this Rashi was incorrect. In what was for me a prologue to the Slifkin affair, one of the students raised this point. I also recall how his question was pushed aside, as if it was unimportant.[5] (Later, I was surprised to find that even in the nineteenth century R. Akiva Eger was clueless about the anatomy of pregnant women. Here is what he writes in his comment to Berakhot 63b, quoting a medieval source:

דז’ חדרים יש באשה שלשה מימין ושלשה משמאול ואחד באמצע אם תתעבר מימין יהיו זכרים ובשמאל נקבות ובאמצע טומטום או אנדרוגינוס)

Another Rashi which raised a problem, for me at least, was Gen. 24:2. Commenting on the biblical expression, שים נא ידך תחת ירכי, Rashi quotes the Midrash that Abraham asks Eliezer, in taking his oath, put his hands on Abraham’s circumcision.

לפי שהנשבע צריך שיטול בידו חפץ של מצוה, כגון ספר תורה או תפילין, והמילה היתה מצוה ראשונה לו ובאה לו על ידי צער והיתה חביבה עליו ונטלה

I remember in high school thinking that this was very strange. But I assumed that it was only since I was corrupted by modern values that I found this strange, and that those who had a pure “Torah hashkafah” would not even raise an eyebrow. I was even too embarrassed to ask the rebbe about this Rashi (which comes from Bereshit Rabbah).[6] It was only many years later that I found that the great R. Raphael Berdugo (1747-1821), known as the מלאך among Moroccan Jewry, had the same response as a fourteen-year-old American student. He does not hesitate to tell us that he finds this Midrash quite strange (Mesamhei Lev, ad loc.).

שהמילה אין בגופה קדושה אדרבה הוא מקום הבושת ואיך יקח בידו ערות חבירו ויזכיר שמו ית’ . . . גם אם רבינו הקדוש לא הניח ידו למטה מחגורו ק”ו אברהם אבינו ע”ה, גם מאכילת עץ הדעת יבושו בני אדם זה מזה וזילותא הוא לאדם נכבד שיחזיק אחר במבושיו

What this shows us is that when a rebbe is asked about this Rashi by one of his students, he should not put on an act and make believe that he too doesn’t find it strange. Instead, he should be honest, just like Berdugo, and acknowledge that this is indeed an unusual Midrash. Such an honest approach will earn the respect of the students and come in handy as the class comes to other strange Midrashim.[7]

Rosenfeld, whom we just cited, also deals with this passage and has a very interesting formulation (p. 21):

שים נא ידך תחת ירכי: כאשר רמזתי לעיל שהיה כלי הולדה קדוש בעיניו, אך משה אסר זאת בתורתו להיות קדושים.

In other words, the old way of taking an oath, which was acceptable in Abraham’s day, was later rendered invalid due to the heightened moral standards of the Torah. His comment, that Abraham regarded the genitals as holy, is explained by him as follows (p. 19):

שאצל אברהם היתה המילה תיקון הדת להקדיש כלי הולדה שהוא המקור מכל מין האנושית, ולכוף את תאותיו . . . וגם המילה היא מקור הולדה והשפע בא על ידו

I will return in a future post to discuss Rosenfeld, who was very unconventional and expressed all sorts of provocative notions.[8] He was also unusual among those born in Eastern Europe in that he published many books in English. Here is his picture, which appears in his Sefer ha-Hayyim, showing that despite his unusual ideas he certainly had the rabbinic look.


2. I want to now go back to one of my earliest posts, from four years ago, in which I discussed the meaning of the word olam in the Bible and how the words Adon Olam should be translated. See here.

I received many e-mails after this post, and there were many important comments posted online. I told a number of people that I would try to mention their comments in a post. Although I can’t get to all of them, at least with regard to some, better late than never.

With regard to appearances of the word olam in the Torah where modern scholars say it means eternal (or something along those lines[9]) and traditional interpreters understand it to mean “world”, R. Nathan Kamenetsky called my attention to Gen. 21:33, where it is clear from Onkelos, Rashi, and Ramban that the word means “world.”[10] To this I will add that Maimonides also understands olam in this verse to mean “world”. See Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Avodah Zarah 1:3 (Simon Glazer, in his translation, mistakenly renders it “Everlasting God” instead of “God of the World”, “God of the Universe” or something like that. Similarly, Eliyahu Touger, in his translation of this halakhah mistakenly renders it “eternal God”.) See also the index to Pines’ translation of the Guide under Gen. 21:33 for instances in the Guide where Maimonides refers to the verse, and also Schwartz’ edition of the Guide 2:13 n. 14. We must also translate Maimonides’ opening words of each of the three sections of the Guide (and elsewhere[11]) בשם ה’ א-ל עולם as “In the Name of the Lord, God of the World.”

As for what the words Adon Olam mean, in a comment to the original post, Kovner clinches the meaning, I think. He called attention to Berakhot 7b: “From the day that the Holy One, blessed be He, created the world (olam) there was no man that called the Holy One, blessed be He, Lord, until Abraham came and called Him Lord (adon).” I had forgotten about this passage, and I think it is obvious that the words Adon Olam are based on this text, meaning that the passage should be translated as “Master of the Universe”, or something along those lines. A very learned reader also pointed out to me that this same point is made by R. Pinchas Zebihi in his Mi-Zahav u-mi-Paz (Jerusalem, 1993), at the end where there is a commentary on Adon Olam. See also the online discussion here.

Responding to Kovner, R. Yitzhak Oratz e-mailed me that Kovner’s very point was approved by the Vilna Gaon and repeated by none other than the Brisker Rav. See Dov Eliach, Sefer ha-Gaon, vol. 1, pp. 425-426, where it states that the Gaon was shown this point in the siddur Magid Tzedek and said that the entire siddur was worthwhile for this one point. Ad kan R. Oratz.[12]

With regard to the word olam, it is true that in rabbinic literature it means “world”, but I would be remiss in not mentioning that the older meaning is found as well. Sometimes, it is unclear which the correct meaning is. For example, Mishnah Yadayim 3:5 reads:

אין כל העולם כולו כדאי כיום שניתן בו שיר השירים לישראל

Soncino translates: “The whole world is not as worthy as the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel.” Others translate similarly. Yet A. S. Halkin renders it: “All of time is not as worthy as the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel.”[13] Halkin’s opinion is noted in a comprehensive article devoted to the very issue here being discussed.[14] Fuderman and Gruber, the authors of this article, also point to two biblical texts “of Hellenistic date” in which they claim olam means “world.” One of them is Dan. 12:7: .חי העולם They translate this as “the life/vital force of the world,” and note that this usage is found in the Jewish liturgy where it has been transformed into חי העולמים, with the same meaning.

The other example they give is Eccl. 3:11: גם את העולם נתן בלבם. They are not the first to translate olam here as “world.” The old JPS also translated it this way: “He hath set the world in their heart.” But in the Soncino edition, which uses the old JPS, the commentary rejects this translation, commenting that “the only signification” olam has in the Bible is “eternity.” The translation would therefore have to read: “He hath set eternity [i.e., a sense of the future] in their heart.” Soncino’s note might be based on Ibn Ezra’s comment to this verse, where he says flatly that in the Bible the word olam only means “eternity,” not “world.” (He says likewise in his Short Commentary to Exodus 31:17; Commentary to Psalms 66:7, 89:4.) Daat Mikra agrees with Soncino, explaining the verse as follows: את העולם: את השאיפה לחיים עולם ונצחיות ולדעת את הנעלם, מה שהיה לפנים ומה שיהיה לאחור [15]

I will leave the meaning of olam in this verse to the biblical scholars to fight over. But I want to return to the point made by Fuderman and Gruber that Ecclesiastes was composed in the Hellenistic period, many centuries after Solomon. Based on this they don’t see it as at all incongruous that the word olam means “world” in this book because we are dealing with a later development of biblical Hebrew.[16] This relates to another interesting point.

At the beginning of the standard Vilna edition of the Mishnah there is an essay on R. Judah the Prince by R. Moses Kunitz. Here is the first page.

This essay is excerpted from Kunitz’ Beit Rabbi (Vienna 1805), most of which is actually a play in six acts.[17] Kunitz is best known for his Ben Yohai which is a valiant, if unsuccessful, defense of the ancient dating of the Zohar against R. Jacob Emden’s Mitpahat Sefarim. He was a very pious man and in his lifetime was treated with great respect.

In the next issue of Milin Havivin I will have information regarding this, so there is no need to repeat it here. Here is his picture.

Kunitz is also famous as one of the rabbis whose responsum to the early Reformers is printed in Nogah ha-Tzedek. This was from a time when the Reformers made it seem that all they were looking for was a more lenient halakhic approach. They also succeeded in receiving letters from two Italian rabbis. Just as these rabbis were not Reform in any way, neither was Kunitz. Not knowing who the Reformers were, he fell into their trap, which is perhaps the best way to put it. Yet as I mentioned, this didn’t greatly affect his standing in the rabbinic world, because people assumed that his was an innocent error. In fact, in all the polemics against the Reformers, none of the great rabbis of the day even mention Kunitz.[18]

A few years ago a new edition of the classic Vilna Mishnah was reprinted, and lo and behold, Kunitz’ essay is missing. The publisher was obviously told that there was some controversy around Kunitz, and he therefore just cut out the essay. Yet if the publisher wanted to censor, he missed the real thing. (I wouldn’t be surprised if following this post, future printings of the Mishnah also cut out what I will now discuss. That is the reason why I don’t call attention to various “interesting” books that have been put up on hebrewbooks.org [including Karaite literature], at least until they are also on Google books. I know that soon after I discuss them, they will be taken down. As it is, a number of anti-hasidic and Haskalah works have already been removed from the site. Sometimes these books have come down within a day or two of being put up, after someone has informed the site that they put up a “dangerous” volume. So you have to be quick when they post the new books and download anything you think might be removed.)

Immediately following Kunitz’ essay, there is another article on the grammar of Mishnaic Hebrew by Solomon Loewisohn. In the very first note he refers to the book of Ecclesiastes, and concludes his comment with והטעם ידוע למשכילי עם Here is the page.


What he is alluding to in this note is that Ecclesiastes is a late biblical book, and thus could not have been written by Solomon. To show this he points to the word חוץ, which in its usage in Ecclesiastes 2:25 is an Aramaism, and thus post-dates the biblical Hebrew of Solomon’s day.[19] To use an expression of the Sages, we live in an olam hafukh. Kunitz’ essay was thought worthy of censorship, and at the same time this note remains in every printing of the Vilna edition of the Mishnah. Yet as I mentioned above, let’s see how long it is before this note, or even the complete essay, is also removed.

Regarding the book of Ecclesiastes, in Limits, p. 26 n. 140, I referred to a comment of R. Israel Bruna which appears to say that Ecclesiastes was not divinely inspired. R. Yonasan Rosman (one of whose seforim I mentioned in an earlier post) has taken issue with me in this. However, he also points out that this is exactly what Maharsha seems to be saying in his commentary to Shabbat 30b. I also found that R. Zvi Hirsch Chajes, in his note to Berakhot 4a and in Kol Sifrei Maharatz Chajes, vol. 2, p. 927, states explicitly that Ecclesiastes was not divinely inspired. R. Michael Broyde has noted that this is also stated by R. David Ibn Zimra in his responsa, vol. 2, no. 722.[20]

Rosman also points out that Maimonides, Hilkhot She’ar Avot ha-Tum’ot 9:6, states that Ecclesiastes (and Song of Songs) are “words of wisdom”, with the implication that these books are not divinely inspired. This expression, “words of wisdom”, comes from Tosefta Yadayim 2:14, where it is explicitly contrasted with ruah ha-kodesh.

ר’ שמעון בן מנסיא אומר שיר השירים מטמא את הידים מפני שנאמרה ברוח הקדש. קהלת אינה מטמא את הידים מפני שהיא מחכמתו של שלמה.

Based on the passage just mentioned, I initially assumed that Maimonides is indeed saying that Ecclesiastes was not written with divine inspiration. I also found that the important commentator R. Masud Hai Rakah is of this opinion. Yet then there is a problem, because according to the Tosefta, Song of Songs was written with divine inspiration and yet Maimonides also refers to this book as “words of wisdom.” Rakah himself raises this problem and can offer no solution,[21] but it is likely that when Maimonides speaks of these books as being “words of wisdom” it does not mean that they are lacking in divine inspiration. We can see this from Hilkhot Talmud Torah 5:4, where he quotes Song of Songs and writes regarding it אמר שלמה בחכמתו. The same words are found in Hilkhot Yesodei ha-Torah 2:12 and Hilkhot Deot 3:3, 4:15, 19 and in these cases Maimonides is quoting verses from Proverbs. Maimonides believed that both Song of Songs and Proverbs were written with divine inspiration, and yet we see that he uses the term “wisdom” with regard to them. The truth is that this phraseology comes directly from the Talmud,[22] and need not have anything to do with whether the text being described is divinely inspired. This whole problem is dealt with by the brilliant R. Meshulam Roth in an article in Sinai 17 (1945) pp. 267ff. With his typical erudition, Roth shows that Maimonides indeed regarded Ecclesiastes as being divinely inspired and in fact states so explicitly in Guide 2:45. Roth also shows how in a few places he describes Solomon as a prophet.[23]

Many might find this entire discussion strange, for they assume that if a book is in the canon that means it must be regarded as having been divinely inspired. I have found such a conception in many books.[24] Yet it is incorrect, and as Shnayer Leiman has shown, the tanna R. Simeon ben Menasia, while he regarded Ecclesiastes as an uninspired book, also thought that it was canonical. Thus, while he states that Ecclesiastes does not defile the hands, he also expounded a verse from Ecclesiastes.[25]

As far as I know, the Sages never “decided” that Ecclesiastes is a divinely inspired book. It would therefore seem to be entirely acceptable for one to hold the position of R. Simeon ben Menasia, which was shared by Beit Shammai and R. Meir,[26] that the book is not a product of ruah ha-kodesh. Obviously, one who rejects the book, or any other biblical text, claiming that it was a mistake to have been included in the Canon, has to be regarded as a sectarian. However, here too I think that there is more room for personal opinions than people often think. For example, what about someone who accepts Ecclesiastes as part of the Canon but thinks that the Sages were wrong in this decision, and that they should have adopted the view that the ideas of this book are not fit to be included in the Bible? This was Samuel David Luzzatto’s early position, although he later became more sympathetic to Ecclesiastes. Yet despite this negative view, Luzzatto never rejected the canonical status of this book.[27]

Or what if someone thinks that the halakhah should have been decided in accordance with Samuel (as understood by a number of rishonim)[28] that the book of Esther should not have been included in the canon? As long as one accepts the halakhah as recorded by the Sages he is not to be regarded as a Zaken Mamre, which shows that acceptance of the halakhah in practice is what is important, but one doesn’t have to think that the Sages were correct. After all, in the story of the Oven of Akhnai (Bava Metzia 59b), while R. Eliezer was forced to accept R. Joshua’s viewpoint, I don’t think there can be any doubt that R. Eliezer still believed that he was correct. How could he not, when God Himself agreed with him? Yet the most R. Eliezer could hope for was that his decision would be adopted by a future beit din, and maybe only after the arrival of the Messianic era. Let us not forget that the Mishnah in Eduyot 1:5 explicitly tells us that minority opinions are recorded so that a later court can rely on them, meaning that there is no problem for one to argue the case of a rejected opinion, as long as one does not adopt it in practice (i.e., before a later court gives its imprimatur to do so).[29]

All this seem to be no different than someone who, after examining a talmudic dispute, thinks that the weight of the evidence shows that the halakhah should be in accordance with Abaye, and yet the Talmud decides the halakhah in accordance with Rava. Such a person accepts the practical halakhah, and this is no different than someone who thinks that the Shulhan Arukh decided the halakhah improperly, but who nevertheless follows the law as recorded. You can even argue that this is a very high level of commitment, namely, one who thinks the halakhah should be different, but nevertheless sublimates his personal feelings and accepts the law as we have it.[30]

Similarly, the assumptions of academic Talmud study lead, in theory, to the undermining of many talmudic conclusions. But the practitioners of this form of study have always insisted that since they don’t seek to change the accepted halakhic practice, there can be no religious objection to their approach.

The only reason the Song of Songs was included in the Canon is because it was interpreted in an allegorical fashion.[31] Does this mean that one must accept that this was the original meaning of the book? Jacob Barth (1851-1914) certainly didn’t think so. Barth was the son-in-law of R. Esriel Hildesheimer and one of the most brilliant Semitists of his day. In addition to teaching at the University of Berlin, he was also a long-time and revered faculty member at the Rabbinical Seminary of Berlin. Just to give one example of this, in discussing the great achievements of German Orthodoxy, R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg lists the following four men as examples of what German Orthodoxy can be proud of: Hirsch, Hildesheimer, Hoffmann, and Barth.[32]

Here is a picture of Barth.


Barth argued—and taught his students at the Rabbinical Seminary of Berlin—that the Song of Songs was not originally intended as an allegory, but this was a later interpretation of the Rabbis, and as already mentioned it was precisely this interpretation that enabled the book to be included in the Canon.[33] Barth believed that the Song of Songs was actually a collection of different songs, composed in various periods.[34] They were designed to be sung at a wedding and the days of feasting, and give expression to marital happiness and love which are basic to the Jewish family. According to Barth, just like the Psalms were originally written by the Psalmist with specific circumstances in mind, but their meaning for the Jewish people throughout history is not tied to this original intent, the same can be said for the Song of Songs. What it originally meant is different than what it later came to mean for generations of Jews.[35]


To be continued
* * * *
In my last post, available here, I wrote about the issue of lo tehanem. As far as the Modern Orthodox are concerned, based on the Meiri and others, these laws are no longer regarded as applicable in modern times. (Although as I mentioned, the Centrists are trying to bring them back.) Someone sent me a link to Dov Bear’s post available here. Dov Baer included the following text that recently appeared (and highlighted certain sections).

I have already mentioned the Slifkin controversy in this post, and regarding matters of science and Torah there definitely are differences between the Modern Orthodox and the haredim. However, I think that when it comes to matters like lo tehanem, the divide is much more significant. If the haredi/ hasidic world really accepts the outlook of the page printed above, then its understanding of what “Jewish values” are all about is far removed from that of the Modern Orthodox.[36] We can also see how secure haredi Jews in America must feel in order for them to put this sort of material in the English language, for all to see.

In two posts from now, I will discuss a dispute currently taking place in the hasidic world in America about how to relate to non-Jews. For now I will simply note that a common theme among virtually all who abandon hasidic life, in explaining what they found objectionable in their former lifestyle, is the denigration of “the other” found in the hasidic world. In the forthcoming post, I will deal with a brave voice from that world who is putting forth a different approach.


[1] See here.
[2] Here is what Louis Ginzberg wrote about the unusual aggadot (On Jewish Law and Lore [New York, 1970], p. 77 (I thank Gershon Bacon for reminding me of this passage.) There is a lot one can say about this comment.

With your permission I shall commence my lecture by recounting an incident that happened to me. It is a memory from boyhood, which means the time when I had already been liberated from the hard discipline of the master of the heder, and, though yet a child of nine, had begun to study, in the traditional phrase, “by myself.” I was then studying the tractate Baba Bathra. When I reached the tales of Rabbah bar bar Hannah, doubts began to disturb my mind; my peace was particularly troubled by those geese who were so fat that they had streams of oil flowing from them and by the bird that was so big that the waters of the sea reached only to its ankles and its head split the heavens. My joy was great when I came across a book by one of the “enlightened” of the older generation (if my memory is correct it was the Maphteah by Shatzkes), from which I learned that these geese were neither fat nor thin and that the giant bird possessed neither feet nor wings, but that the whole tale was merely a flight of the imagination, or, as the ancients used to say, it was only a parable—the moral I have forgotten. I was a child then; but when I reached maturity I realized that in truth the geese of Rabbah bar bar Hannah were real geese and the giant bird was literally a bird. When regarded as natural creations of the folk imagination, they lost their strangeness and incomprehensibility. On the contrary, it would be all the more strange if we possessed no such tales; in that case it would be extremely difficult to explain so striking a difference between our people and all others, one involving so great a triumph of reason over imagination that the latter had become completely atrophied.


[3] See Torah Shelemah, Gen. ch. 49, note 47.
[4] Do any of the readers know where the Talmud picked up this piece of folklore? I assume it was a common notion in ancient times. See Bereshit Rabbah 45:5, where the matter is disputed. Noda bi-Yehudah, Even ha-Ezer no. 22, recognizes that there are women who do become pregnant after first intercourse, and therefore claims that the Talmud was only giving a general rule, but there are exceptions. See R. Neriah Gutel, Hishtanut ha-Tevaim (Jerusalem, 1995), pp. 88ff.
[5] I assume that the rebbe’s response was due to the fact that the passage quoted by Rashi is a Midrash. If it was Rashi’s own explanation, I don’t think he would have regarded it as a disrespectful question. In general, and readers can correct me if I am wrong, I don’t think that the opponents of Slifkin assume that together with Hazal the greatest rishonim are also infallible on scientific matters (the one exception perhaps being the Lubavitchers when it comes to the Rambam). When I was in yeshiva I never came across a rebbe who thought that, although I can’t remember anyone actually spending time on one of the rishonim and explaining why what he says is not correct scientifically, or, to take a different issue, that perhaps the rishon’s view of women doesn’t reflect how we currently think. Had they done so, it would have had an enormously positive influence on some of the students who instead came to believe that the Torah was out of date and not relevant to their lives.

To give one example of many, the online elucidation of Tosafot, available here, in discussing Tosafot, Shabbat 65b. s.v. sahada, offers the following preface:

Before we approach this Tosfos we must realize that during the times of the Reeshonim, there were very few if any maps in Europe of any of the areas that are being discussed in the G’moro. All the knowledge that they had about the rivers and places was what they gleaned from the G’moro or Midrosh about these places.

What forces the translator to add this comment is that Tosafot rejects Rashi’s explanation (which I will soon come to) and incorrectly states that all rivers flow from east to west. (Among European rivers, the Danube flows west to east.) It turns out that Rashi’s explanation is also geographically incorrect. Rashi, Shabbat 65b s.v. sahada, writes about the Euphrates: שהוא יורד מארץ ישראל לבבל

In other words, Rashi thought that the Euphrates originated in the Land of Israel, and flowed from there to Babylonia. Yet this is incorrect as the Euphrates is not within the Land of Israel. Artscroll recognizes the problem and states that the Euphrates is on the northern border of “Greater Israel,” i.e., the land promised to Abraham. I believe that this is an apologetic explanation. The Euphrates will only be part of the Land of Israel in messianic days. It was never a part of Israel during the First Temple, or during the Second Temple. Yet Rashi is speaking about the river as actually part of the Land of Israel. See Isaac Samuel Reggio, Ha-Torah ve-ha-Filosofyah (Vienna, 1827), p. 63.

[6] See also the various Midrashim cited in Torah Shelemah, Gen. 47:29, where Jacob is speaking to Joseph and he too says שים נא ידך תחת ירכי.
[7] There are other ways of dealing with the Midrash. See e.g., R. Paragi Alush, Ohev Mishpat (Djerba, 1928), vol. 1, no. 3, that Eliezer only touched the organ from outside of Abraham’s clothes. R. Eliyahu Katz, Amar ve-Amarta (Beer Sheva, 1994), Gen. 24:2, finds the Midrash so strange that he can’t take it literally, and even uses the term has ve-shalom with reference to the literal meaning. He does so even though, as far as I can tell, all the standard commentaries on the Midrash and Rashi do take it literally. Here are his words:

תמוה מאד שהמילה נחשבת כחפץ של מצוה. והרי אין בזה מן הצניעות . . . אך ודאי שאין הכוונה ח”ו כפשוטו, אלא הכוונה שהזכיר את המצוה כמו שאומר שנשבע בשם ה’.

[8] For now, here is one just one example. He assumes that Gen.36:31-43 is post-Mosaic.

ואלה המלכים אשר מלכו בארץ אדום לפני מלוך מלך לבני ישראל: מזה נראה כי זמן רב נכתבה פרשה זו, כי ידע כבר את מלכי ישראל.


[9] See Sacha Stern, Time and Process in Ancient Judaism (Oxford, 2003), pp. 75 n. 43, 109ff.
[10] Mordecai Spitz called my attention to Neh. 9:5, where the traditional commentaries also understand olam to mean world.
[11] See Saul Lieberman, Hilkhot ha-Yerushalmi, p. 5 n. 7.
[12] I should also mention that there is dispute about how the word חבלי should be translated in Adon Olam. According to Salomon Speier the meaning is “my portion” and not “my pain” See his note in Journal of Jewish Studies 4 (1953), pp. 40-41. Zebihi, Mi-Zahav u-mi-Paz, at the end, also argues for this understanding. None of the many translations I have checked agree with this. [S. of On the Main Line calls my attention to David Levi’s London 1794 Rosh Hashanah Machzor, where the passage is translated as “Rock of my portion in time of distress.”]
[13] The meaning of olam in Avot 1:2 – על שלשה דברים העולם עומד – has also been called into question. See Judah Goldin, Studies in Midrash and Related Literature (Philadelphia, 1988), p. 34.
[14] Kirsten A. Fudeman and Mayer I. Gruber, “’Eternal King/ King of the World’: From the Bronze Age to Modern Times” A Study in Lexical Semantics.”REJ 166 (2007), pp. 209-242.
[15] R. Elijah Benamozegh translates Ps. 106:48: ברוך ה’ אלקי ישראל מהעולם ועד העולם as “Blessed is the Lord, God of Israel, From World to World,” and Ps. 145:13 מלכותך מלכות כל עולמים as “Your kingship is a kingship of all worlds.” See Israel and Humanity, trans. Maxwell Luria (New York, 1995), p. 184. I wonder if Benamozegh meant these as scientific translations, or if this is to be regarded as derush.
[16] See also Robert Gordis, Koheleth—The Man and His World (New York, 1968), pp. 231-232.
[17] The version of Kunitz’ essay that appears in the Vilna Mishnayot is not identical to that which appears in Beit Rabbi. In particular, a few footnotes have been added. This is not the only example where the editors of the Vilna Mishnayot (Romm) tampered with texts. See Kalman Kahana, Heker ve-Iyun (Tel Aviv, 1960), vol. 1, p. 134 (called to my attention by Eliezer Brodt).
[18] Anyone who wants to visit Kunitz’ grave can find it in the Kozma cemetery in Budapest. For people looking to visit graves, the most famous in the Kozma cemetery is R. Shimon Oppenheim, and he is easy to find. He is not that well known and yet his grave is visited more than many other gedolim who were of much greater significance. This is because R. Shimon promised, as it states on his tombstone, that whoever comes to his grave and recites the Menuhah Nekhonah, his prayers will be answered. (The E-l Male Rachamim commonly recited is an abridged version of the Menuhah Nekhonah, which is found in the kabbalistic work Maavar Yabok) . Since this is a guarantee from a holy rabbi, it is not surprising that his grave would attract people.

So how to find Kunitz’ grave? Unfortunately, the computer print-out provided by the cemetery directs people to the wrong place. If you are standing at R. Shimon’s grave, the plot to the left is that of R. Israel Wahrmann. He was the first chief rabbi of Pest. His grandson, Mor Wahrmann, was the president of the Jewish community from 1883-1892 and a member of parliament from 1869. He was a proud Jew, no question about it. He once even had a duel with an anti-Semite. Neither was killed, but Wahrmann was sentenced to eight days in prison. See Kinga Frojimovics, et al, Jewish Budapest (Budapest, 1999), pp. 214ff., 260. However, he despised the Orthodox (and they detested him). During the debate in Parliament over the Orthodox request to create separate communities, he stood up and started reading sections of the Shulhan Arukh to show how foolish the Orthodox were. All three of his children ended up converting to Catholicism. See Jewish Budapest, p. 216 and R. Leopold Greenwald, Korot ha-Torah ve-ha-Emunah be-Hungaryah (Budapest, 1921), p. 78, and in Apriyon 2 (1925), p. 130.

Two graves to the right of R. Shimon’s is that of Kunitz. Unlike R. Shimon, no one has yet stepped forward to redo Kunitz’ tombstone, which is in bad condition. In another hundred years it will probably be entirely illegible. However, a good portion of it can still be read. This left me perplexed, as it is not the same inscription as that found in Greenwald’s Mekorot le-Korot Yisrael (Humenne, 1934), p. 27. How to explain this?

[19] See R. Meir Mazuz, Kovetz Ma’amarim (Bnei Brak, 2003), p. 60. There are a number of other unusual words in Ecclesiastes, such as pardes (2:5) and pitgam (8:11; both Persian loanwords), which academic scholars have pointed to to show that the book is post-Solomonic. (Pardes is also found in Song of Songs 4:13.) See Shadal in Otzar Nehmad 3 (1860), p. 19, who discusses this and among other points notes that the words כבר and ענין do not appear in any other biblical book. See also Robert Gordis, “Koheleth: Hebrew or Aramaic?” Journal of Biblical Literature 71 (1952), pp. 93-109. In Amos Hakham’s introduction to the Daat Mikra Shir ha-Shirim, pp. 12-13, he rejects the significance of Persian loanwords in dating the text.

Incidentally, R. Moses Isaac Ashkenazi, Ho’il Moshe: Hamesh Megilot ve-Sefer Mishlei (Livorno, 1880), pp. 80-81, states that you can also find some Aramaic words and expressions in Proverbs, as well as later Hebrew forms, none of which could originate in Solomon’s era. Yet this discovery did not trouble Ashkenazi in the slightest.

אין לתמוה אם נפלו בספר זה כמה תיבות ומליצות מל’ ארמי וגם איזו זרות בדקדוק הלשון כמו פעל נשתוה (סימן כ”ז ט”ו) בנין נתפעל ע”ד נשתנה נתרפא נצטרע ודומיהם בלשון חכמים . . . לפי שמפי שלמה יצאו המשלים בל’ מדויק, רק בעברם מפה אל פה דור אחר דור בעוד שקרבת ארם הכניסה בשפת ב”י [בני ישראל] תיבות ומליצות נכריות, נהיה שבבוא יום ונרשמו על ספר כבר הורגלו לאמרם כמו שנמצאו אצלנו, ואם היו מחליפים בהם דברים היו נגרעים מערכם, כי כן יארע לכל משל מאיזה לשון שיהיה שצריך לאמרו כמו שהוא בפי המון העם ואין לתקן בו או להוסיף עליו או לגרוע ממנו

[20] “Defilement of the Hands, Canonization of the Bible, and the Special Status of Esther, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs,” Judaism 44 (Winter 1995), p. 70.


[21] Ma’asah Rakah,ad loc.: לא ידעתי למה קרי שיר השירים דברי חכמה דהלא ברוח הקודש נאמר וקדש קדשים הוא He does not ask this question about Ecclesiastes, which shows that he assumes that according to Maimonides Ecclesiastes is only divrei hokhmah.
[22] See R. Zvi Hirsch Chajes, Kol Sifrei Maharatz Chajes, vol. 1, p. 439; Sid Z. Leiman, The Canonization of Hebrew Scripture (New Haven, 1991), p. 173 n. 317.
[23] For examples from the Talmud where Solomon is described in this fashion, see R. Betzalel Zev Safran, She’elot u-Teshuvot ha-Rabaz, vol. 1, Yoreh Deah no. 64 (in the note). Regarding R. Meshulam Roth, it is unfortunate that almost nothing has been written about him. The Tchebiner Rav is reported to have stated that had R. Meshulam been a member of Agudat Israel, the haredim would have crowned him gadol ha-dor. I hope to discuss him in a future segment of my Torah in Motion classes.
[24] Pretty much everyone also seems also to assume that a divinely inspired book included in the Canon had to be have been written in Hebrew. Yet Ibn Ezra, Job 2:11, thinks that the book of Job is a translation from another language, and that is why it is so difficult to understand.
[25] See Leiman, Canonization, p. 113.
[26] Megillah 7a.
[27] Shadal originally thought that Ecclesiastes taught heretical doctrines and was fraudulently attributed to King Solomon. Along these lines, I should note that there were talmudic sages who thought that Solomon had sinned so grievously that he lost his share in the World to Come. See Saul Lieberman, “Hearot le-Ferek Alef shel Kohelet Rabbah,” in Studies in Mysticism and Religion Presented to Gershom G. Scholem (Jerusalem, 1968), pp. 163ff. If someone today expressed agreement with this rabbinic position, I am certain that he would be roundly condemned.
[28] See Broyde, “Defilement of the Hands,” p. 68.
[29] By the same token, someone I know once commented that while in practice he accepts the halakhah as recorded in the Talmud and Shulhan Arukh, some of these halakhot relating to economic matters derive from a very different circumstance than what we have today. He assumes that a future Sanhedrin will revise some of these halakhot which are economically counterproductive and out of touch with how markets work.
[30] See Seridei Esh, vol. 3 no. 54 where R. Weinberg admits that a halakhah in the Shulhan Arukh causes him anguish.

ואודה על האמת, שאיסור זה גורם לי צער גדול

Weinberg was dealing with whether a woman whose father isn’t Jewish can marry a kohen. He would have liked to permit it, but the Shulhan Arukh ruled otherwise. What made the Shulhan Arukh’s ruling so frustrating to Weinberg is the fact that R. Joseph Karo went against his own principle and ruled in accordance with R. Asher, despite the fact that the Rif and Rambam ruled differently. Furthermore, the Vilna Gaon agreed with the Shulhan Arukh. So in the end, Weinberg felt that he must accept the Shulhan Arukh’s ruling. While Conservative halakhists are able, in cases like this, to fall back on conscience, which can trump even biblical law, Orthodox halakhists cannot do so. They must accept the halakhah even if they think it should have been decided differenttly.

[31] Interestingly, Daniel Boyarin has argued that the earliest rabbinic approach to the book was not allegory. He writes as follows:

According to the earliest strata of Rabbinic hermeneutics, the Song of Songs was not an allegory in the sense of paradigms projected onto the syntagmatic axis or concrete entities and events that signify abstractions. Rather it was an actual love dialogue spoken by God to Israel and Israel to God in concrete historical circumstances, or written by Solomon, as if spoken by Israel and God in those circumstances. . . . If the impulse of Origen is to spiritualize and allegorize physical love quite out of existence in the allegorical reading of the Song, the move of the midrash is to understand the love of God and Israel as an exquisite version of precisely that human erotic love. Reading the Song of Songs as a love dialogue between God and Israel is then no more allegorical than reading it as a love dialogue between King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. The Song is not connected with an invisible meaning but with the text of the Torah and thus with concrete moments of historical memory.

See Boyarin, “The Eye in the Torah: Ocular Desire in Midrashic Hermeneutic,” Critical Inquiry 16 (1990), pp. 543, 549. See also Gerson D. Cohen, Studies in the Variety of Rabbinic Cultures (Philadelphia, 1991), pp. 3-17.
[32] Li-Frakim (1967 edition), pp. 232-233.
[33] “Hartzaotav shel Yaakov Barth al Sefer Yishayahu ba-Beit Midrash le-Rabanim be-Berlin” in Uriel Simon and Moshe Goshen-Gottstein, eds., Iyunei Mikra u-Farshanut (Ramat Gan, 1980), pp. 83-85. (Regarding the dating of Ecclesiastes, discussed earlier in this post, see ibid. for Barth’s view that Ecclesiastes was written ca. 200 BCE.) I have elsewhere discussed the controversy that broke out when R. Raphael Breuer published a commentary to the Song of Songs that interpreted the book in a literal fashion. See Between the Yeshiva World and Modern Orthodoxy, p. 83, and my article on the Frankfurt rabbinate in Milin Havivin 3 (2007), available here.

This commentary was one of the issues that led people to oppose Breuer inheriting his father’s position as rabbi of the Frankfurt separatist community. I find it hard to understand why this commentary aroused such opposition. After all, why can’t the Song of Songs be understood as describing a loving Jewish marriage? Breuer was not denying the allegorical interpretation, only adding an additional level of meaning.

Incidentally, once when a cantor at a wedding sang some words from Song of Songs as the bride walked around the groom, R. Soloveitchik “was not happy. This, after all, was a passuk [verse] in Shir Hashirim which he felt should not be applied to a man and woman in a literal sense.” See Heshie Billet, “Rav Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveitchik (The Rov) ZT”L: Role Model Par Excellence,” in Zev Eleff, ed., Mentor of Generations (Jersey City, 2008), p. 152. The same opinion is expressed by R. Yosef Lieberman, Mishnat Yosef, vol. 7, no. 101. See also R. Moshe Feinstein, Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh Deah II, no. 142. In addition, Sanhedrin 101a states הקורא פסוק של שיר השירים ועושה אותו כמין זמר . . . מביא רעה לעולם (Avot de-Rabbi Nathan, ch. 36, states that such a person has no share in the World to Come.) However, Kallah Rabati: Baraita, ch. 1, explains this passage as follows: היכי דמי כמין זמר כגון דזמיר ביה ודעתיה על הרהור See also R. Jacob Emden’s note to Sanhedrin 101a:

הקורא פסוק של שיר השירים ועושה אותו כמין זמר נראה דהיינו שמשתמש בו לעשות ממנו זמר לחשוקה אילת אהבים ולחבר אותו לשיר עגבים

This means that there is no objection to singing a song from Shir ha-Shirim in a “kosher” fashion, such as at a wedding or if sung as praise of God. (Emden’s note was published from manuscript in the Wagschal Talmud, and does not appear in the standard editions. I learnt of this from R. David Teherani, Divrei David, vol. 2, Orah Hayyim no. 37.)

See R. Ovadiah Yosef, Yabia Omer, vol. 3, Orah Hayyim 15:5, that in Egypt the practice was to sing verses from Song of Songs in the synagogue between Passover and Shavuot. He also quotes R. Meir Abulafia, Yad Ramah, Sanhedrin 101a who writes:

ויש לפרש דהני מילי מאן דקרי ליה דרך שחוק אבל מאן דמיכוין לשבוחי ביה לקב”ה דרך ניגון שפיר דמי ומילתא צריכא עיונא

Returning to the Rav, it must be noted that he was opposed to all singing under the chupah. See Daniel Greer, “Ma’aseh Rav – V’dok,” in Eleff, ed., Mentor of Generations, p. 177, that at his wedding Rav stopped the cantor from singing Im Eshkochech Yerushalayim. (Others are opposed to all songs which use biblical verses, whether the words are taken whether the words are taken from Song of Songs or from any other biblical text. The only permission would be at a seudat mitzvah. See R. Ben Zion Abba Shaul, Or le-Tziyon, vol. 2, ch. 14 no. 35.) As for the Song of Songs, the Rav also stated that it is “forbidden” to interpret it literally. He even put this into a halakhic context:

בשיר השירים איכא הלכה שאין בו פשט אלא כפי הבנת הרמז הדרש והסוד. המקרא יוצא מידי פשוטו והדרש הופך להיות הפשט

See Reshimot Shiurim, Bava Kamma, ed. Reichman (New York, 2005), p. 494 (to Bava Kamma 83b). See also R. Hershel Schachter, Nefesh ha-Rav, pp. 289-290.

[34] אפריון and פרדס (3:9, 4:13) are among the late Hebrew words he points to show that some sections of the book were composed in the post-exilic period, many centuries after Solomon. R. Moses Isaac Ashkenazi, introduction to Ho’il Moshe: Hamesh Megilot ve-Sefer Mishlei, rejects the notion that based on a couple of individual words one can establish the book’s date. Yet while Ashkenazi defends the Solomonic authorship of Song of Songs and Proverbs (see above, n. 19), he does not believe that Ecclesiastes was written by Solomon. One of his proofs is from Eccl. 1:16: “Lo, I have gotten great wisdom, more also than all that were before me over Jerusalem.” According to Ashkenazi, since Solomon was only the second king to reign in Jerusalem, he never would have written in this fashion. See also 2:7. 9 where the author writes about how he differs “from all who were before me in Jerusalem.” Again, Jerusalem had not been in Israelite hands for that long so it is hard to see Solomon saying this. Ashkenazi also points to the numerous Aramaic words in the book as showing that it had to have post-dated Solomon.
[35] I found a difficult passage in the Netziv’s commentary on Song of Songs, (Metiv Shir). Commenting on the first verse, he writes:

וכן שיר אחות לנו קטנה נאמר בימי א”א [אברהם אבינו] כמבואר בב”ר פ’ לך, ויבואר במקומו, אבל שלמה אסף השירים ברוה”ק וגם הוסיף הרבה משלו ועשאן שיר נפלא אחד.

The Netziv states that the section of Song of Songs beginning with ch. 8:8 (“We have a little sister . . .”) was written in the days of Abraham. What is his proof? Bereshit Rabbah 39:1 states: “R. Berekhiah commenced: We have a little sister (ahot; Song of Songs 8:8), this refers to Abraham, who united (ihah) the whole world for us.” R. Berekhiah continues to find allusions to Abraham in the next couple of verses as well. In other words, R. Berekhiah offers a nice Midrash about how Song of Songs homiletically refers to Abraham. But how does the Netziv possibly derive from this that the verses were written in the days of Abraham? The very next section in Bereshit Rabbi cites a verse from Ecclesiastes and states: “this refers to Abraham.” Does the Netziv assume that this too was written in the days of Abraham? Midrash is full of this type of homiletic comment, so why here does the Netziv think that we can learn something historical from R. Berekhiah’s statement?

[36] See also my post here.