Cherubim: Winged Celestial Beings on the Title-Pages of Early Hebrew Books
by
Marvin J. Heller^[1]

 

And having driven out the man, He stationed at the east of the Garden of Eden the Cherubim and the flame of the ever-turning sword, to guard the way to the Tree of Life (Genesis 3:24).

You shall make two Cherubim of gold—hammered out shall you make them—from both ends of the cover. You shall make one cherub from the end at one side and one Cherub from the end at the other; from the cover shall you make the Cherubim at its two ends. The Cherubim shall be with wings spread upward, shielding the Cover with their wings with faces toward one another; toward the cover shall be the faces of the Cherubim being turned toward the cover. (Exodus 25: 18-20).

Rav Ketina said: When the Jewish people would ascend for one of the pilgrimage festivals, the priests would roll up the curtain for them and show them the cherubs, which were clinging to one another, and say to them: See how you are beloved before God, like the love of a male and female (B.T. Yoma 54a).

Cherubim (angels) are a frequent presence on the title-pages of early Hebrew imprints in the sixteenth century and afterward, the latter beyond the scope of this article. They are also to be found in incunabula, on the frames of initial pages and head-pieces for text.

How do you define what are cherubim? One definition, that of the Encyclopedia Judaica, is “a winged celestial being which appears in the Bible in several different guises.” It then proceeds to give several descriptions of cherubim. The Jewish Encyclopedia begins with a more detailed description, stating cherubim are “the name of a winged being mentioned frequently in the Bible. The prophet Ezekiel describes the cherubim as a tetrad [set of four] of living creatures, each having four faces—of a lion, an ox, an eagle, and a man—the stature and hands of a man, the feet of a calf, and four wings.”^[2]
The use of cherubim is also noted in the 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica where they are described as “imaginary winged animal figures of a sacred character, referred to in the description of Solomon’s temple (1 Kings vi. 23-35, vii. 29, viii. 6, 7), and also in that of the ark of the tabernacle (Ex. xxv. 18-22, xxvi. 1, 31, xxxvii. 7-9). . . . In Gen. iii. 24 the cherubim are the guards of Paradise . . .”^[3]
The frequency of the appearance of cherubim in Hebrew literature can be found on Sefaria, a bibliography of Jewish texts, which records fifty-six entries for cherubim under biblical, Mishnah 27, and Talmud 991. Among other entries are Midrash, 590; Halakhah 7947; Kabbalah 747; and yet still others as well as multiples of commentaries on the first works.^[4]

These multi-winged creatures are also a feature in general literature. Franz Sales Meyer, under the heading Miscellaneous heads, describes the “Angel faces, youthful heads, with a circular or disc-like halo, are first met-with in the Byzantine style, as the result of ecclesiastic articles,” He continues that in the early Italian Renaissance such renderings were charmingly naïve. They appeared as adornments on friezes and arches, medallions, and in borders. They also are to be found on tombs and are “Much used in Modern ecclesiastical decorations.” The text is accompanied by a page of examples of the cherub head, including one of a skull.^[5]

It had been my intention to describe Hebrew title-pages with images of cherubim over a period of two centuries.^[6] The numerous instances of such usage, however, has necessitated a considerable limiting of our subject period. Indeed, rather than noting all the examples in our current period, in the sixteenth century, we only describe several exemplars, giving background about the books in which they appear, that is, the publisher, author, and book subject.^[7] This article is expansive, that is, in describing cherubim, it discusses the varieties of Hebrew literature, the authors of the subject works, the presses that published them, and even Hebrew book history. The title-pages and infrequent text pages with displays of cherubim addressed here are in chronological order, but from diverse locations and, again, on a variety of books, indicative of how widespread Hebrew publishing was and even more so the depth and nature of Hebrew literature.^[8]

1514-18, Hameshei Humshei Torah – Our first work with the appearance of cherubim is a folio (2⁰) edition Hameshei Humshei Torah (Pentateuch) with haftorat and commentary of Rashi printed in 1514-18 in Prague at the press of Gershom ben Solomon ha-Kohen and partners. Gershom later received a royal privilege from King Ferdinand of Bohemia, allowing him, that is Gershom alone, to enjoy a monopoly on Hebrew printing in Prague. His descendants, known as the Gersonides, continued to print in Prague until the mid-seventeenth century.

1514, Hameshei Humshei Torah
Courtesy of the Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary

A magnificent edition, with ornate woodcut frames and large type for the text. Each book has a unique decorative opening page, there is no title page, comprised of four separate pieces, those on the pillared sides with vases, leaves, and cherubim, similar but not identical, the top piece with a concave bottom edge. Genesis has a convex curved piece to fit with this top piece on the upper half of the page, with winged cherubim holding a shield with the spread hands of the Kohen giving the priestly blessing.^[9]

Work on the Pentateuch began on 10 Sivan (June 14, 1514) but, perhaps as a result of the success of the prayer book, the partners found they had overextended themselves and found it necessary to suspend work on this project for two years. In 1530 Gershom and his sons reprinted this Pentateuch in an identical format, except for changes to the decorated initial pages.

1527, Dictionarium Chaldai – Our next entry with cherubim is an Aramaic grammar by the Christian-Hebraist scholar Sebastian Muenster (1489-1552). It was printed in Basle in 1527 at the press of Johannes Froben in quarto format (4⁰: [1], 434, [7] pp.). The Froben family was the most significant printers of Hebrew books in Basle. Johannes Froben published as many as 250 titles, among them Hebrew/Latin books of the Bible and grammatical works, primarily works by Muenster.

Sebastian Muenster, a cosmographer, astronomer, and orientalist was, for twenty three years, professor at Basle. Born in Niederingelheim, Hesse, the son of a Spitalmeister (hospital master), Muenster had no university education nor did he ever receive a degree. His education consisted of some private instruction in Latin and later studies at Frieberg and attendance at lectures given by the Franciscans. In 1506, Muenster entered the Minorite order and was sent to study in Rufach under Conrad Pellican (Pellicanus, 1478-1556). The following year he took vows and, in 1512, was ordained a priest. Muenster assisted Pellican in teaching in Pforzheim and, from 1524-29, occupied the chair of Hebrew at the University of Heidelberg. In 1529, Muenster converted to Protestantism and moved to Basle, where he occupied the chair of Hebrew, at a salary of 60 gulden; from 1547/8 he was rector. From about 1525, Muenster was a student of Elijah Levita, translating and editing his grammatical works. Muenster also translated a number of other Hebrew works into Latin and was a prolific author in his own right. By the time of his death more than 100,000 volumes of his works were in circulation. His Jewish oeuvre, more than three-score publications, covers all aspects of Judaica, excepting Kabbalistic studies, which did not interest him. In 1523, Muenster published Dictionarium Hebraicum . . . adiectis Chaldaicis vocabulis, his study of the Aramaic language. The book reads from left to right but the text follows the Hebrew alphabet. Words are given in vocalized Hebrew, followed by their etymology, definition and examples.

The title page of the Dictionarium Chaldai has an architectural frame with cherubim in various positions, as well as additional cherubim below mounted and otherwise. This title page, designed by Hans Holbein, was used as early as 1516 on Basel statutes and into the seventeenth century.^{[10] [11]}

Not long afterwards, from 1540 through 1543, at least five titles were printed in three locations with varied images of cherubim on the title-page, that is Augsburg, Prague, and Bologna. That is not to say these frames were not used on other books, most likely they were, but rather these are examples of cherubim used by the printers of Hebrew books at the time.

Augsburg has an early history related to Hebrew printing. Several early anti-Jewish works beginning with the apostate Johannes Pfefferkorn’s Der Judenfeind (1509) and other anti-Semitic books by apostates were published there. Another early Augsburg publication of note, this certainly more positive, albeit not a Hebrew edition of that popular and much republished work, is the first printing of R. Joseph ben Abraham Gikatilla’s (1248–c. 1325) kabbalistic classic, Sha’arei Orah, which explains and analyzes the ten Sefirot. This edition of Sha’arei Orah is a Latin translation of that work by the apostate Paulus Ricius (Paulus Israelita, 1480-1541) under the title Portae lucis, published in 1516 at the press of Johann Miller.

1527, Dictiorionarim Chaldai
Courtesy of the Fales Library and Special Collections, New York University

Serious Hebrew printing in Augsburg begins when Hayyim ben David Shahor, among the pioneers of Hebrew printing outside of Italy, came to Augsburg in about 1533/34. In Augsburg, Schwarz worked in the print shop of Silvan Otmar (d. 1540), a renowned and highly productive printer, and resided in the home of Bonifacius Wolfhart, a Protestant pastor who also served as the censor of Hebrew books for Augsburg.^[12] Shahor printed several works in conjunction with his son, Isaac, and his son-in-law, Joseph ben Yakar, who assisted him at the press, although their names are not mentioned on the title-pages.^[13]

Shahor likely joined with a non-Jewish printer, perhaps August Wind, a printer of Hebrew works for Christian clergyman. Hayyim left for Italy, returning to Augsburg in 1540. He then printed three books, Avkat Rokhel, Arba’ah Turim and a prayer book for, according to the Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book, a total of ten works in Augsburg. Due to a lawsuit by an apostate, Paulus Aemilus, with whom Shahor had been associated in Ferrara, resulting from their failed venture, Shahor and his family were forced to cease publication and leave Augsburg. Aemilus, seeing a market in Augsburg for Hebrew/Yiddish books, began to print on his own account. He issued a small number of titles, most notably the Melokhim Bukh (1543) and the Shmuel Bukh (1544), Yiddish poetical renditions of the books of Kings and Samuel, both with images of cherubim (below).^[14]

1540, Avkat Rokhel – Our first Augsburg title is Avkat Rokhel, an eschatological work on the principles of faith attributed to R. Machir ben Isaac Sar Hasid, a student of R. Judah ben Asher, son of the Rosh. Printed in octavo format (8⁰: 18 ff.), perchance by Shahor. The Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book attributes it, albeit in brackets, to Hayyim Shahor, in contrast to the National Library of Israel that records the printer as unknown.^[15]

The text of the title page is set within a decorative frame with nineteen cherubim and a number of animals. The title-page states that it is,

Sefer Avkat Rokhel

Printed by the printers named at the end of the volume. Edited with great care, with all our ability, “the good hand of our [Lord] upon us,” (ref. Ezra 8:18). And it was completed, here Augsburg, the great city, with the help of the Lord and His salvation. In the year, “[Rejoice, O you nations, with his people; for he will avenge the blood of his servants,] and will render vengeance to his adversaries, and will make expiation כפר (300=1540) for the land of his people” (Deuteronomy 32:43).

The names of the printers, Hayyim Shahor, Isaac ben Hayyim, and Joseph ben Yakar, the statement on the title page notwithstanding, are not given at the end of the volume. A brief introduction informs that the work was named Avkat Rokhel (the perfumer’s powders, Song of Songs (3:7)) for as the perfumer’s powders strengthen the soul, so too when one reads this book will he fear and cause his soul to be pure and free from all sin and transgression, thus meriting the good.

1540, Avkat Rokhel
Courtesy of the Dorot Jewish Division New York Public Library

The like title-pages of Avkat Rokhel and Unterricht Wie ain Christenmensch, the latter a non-Hebrew work printed approximately two decades earlier, reflect a relationship between Jewish and Christian printers, that is, Christian printers published Hebrew books in association with Jewish associates. The relationship between the printers was mutually beneficial. For the Christian publisher “the Hebrew books sector, being unique, was attractive to investors, being more limited and not so wildly competitive as the Italian book sector.”^[16] In addition to the non-Jewish printer’s access to the Jewish book market, the Jewish publisher was able to not only publish Hebrew books, but he also gained access to the typographical material of his Christian associate. The latter, for example, frequently provided attractive frames to the former after having used them for his market and the Jewish partner also utilized the printer’s other ornamentation. This was of value to the Jewish partner as he did not have to go the expense of having decorative material prepared, at a relatively much greater expense as it would be utilized for a much smaller market. This despite the fact that the frames were often incompatible with traditional Jewish sensibilities.^[17]

1521, Unterricht Wie ain Christenmensch ^[18]

The like title-pages of Avkat Rokhel and Unterricht Wie ain Christenmensch, the latter a non-Hebrew work printed approximately two decades earlier, reflect a relationship between Jewish and Christian printers, that is, Christian printers published Hebrew books in association with Jewish associates. The relationship between the printers was mutually beneficial. For the Christian publisher “the Hebrew books sector, being unique, was attractive to investors, being more limited and not so wildly competitive as the Italian book sector.”^[19] In addition to the non-Jewish printer’s access to the Jewish book market, the Jewish publisher was able to not only publish Hebrew books, but he also gained access to the typographical material of his Christian associate. The latter, for example, frequently provided attractive frames to the former after having used them for his market and the Jewish partner also utilized the printer’s other ornamentation. This was of value to the Jewish partner as he did not have to go the expense of having decorative material prepared, at a relatively much greater expense as it would be utilized for a much smaller market. This despite the fact that the frames were often incompatible with traditional Jewish sensibilities.^[20]

The title-page of Avkat Rokhel has the largest number of cherubim of our title-pages, nineteen in all, of our title-pages. The cherubim appear on the bottom, sides, and top of the frame, all active, albeit in different activities. The text of Avkat Rokhel is in three parts, each further subdivided. The first section addresses the struggle against one’s evil urge prior to redemption and the birth pangs and advent of the Messiah, and an explanation of the pertinent midrashim; the second part discusses the rewards and punishments of the soul after the resurrection, the nature of the world to come according to Judaism, in contrast to the views of non-Jews, and resurrection; and the third part the laws stated by the sages of the Talmud as halakhah Moshe me-Sinai, the formation of man and the number 248 limbs in a person, the statement of our sages concerning three partners in that process (God, man, and woman) and some gematriot.

This is the third edition of Avkat Rokhel, it having been printed previously in Constantinople (1516) and Rimini (1526). Ch. B. Friedberg records, in his Bet Eked Sepharim, more than twenty-five printed editions of Avkat Rokhel. It was translated into Latin by A. Hulsius and printed in his Theologia Judaica, (Breda, 1653) and a Yiddish edition was prepared by Naphtali Pappenheim (Amsterdam, 1647).^[21]

1543, Melokhim Buch – Two additional works printed in Augsburg, attributed to Moses (Esrim ve-Arbeh) Ashkenazi, are Yiddish poetical renditions of the books of Kings and Samuel. Moses’ appellation, Esrim ve-Arbeh (24), derives from either his birthplace, Vierundzwanzig Hoefe (24 courts) in Wuerttemberg, or from his extensive knowledge of the 24 books of the Bible. Moses’ accreditation with either authoring or transcribing the Melokhim Bukh is due to its similarity to the Shmuel Bukh, more reliably attributed to him. Nevertheless, sufficient differences exist between the two works that many scholars believe they do not share a common author. It is clear, however, that the author, even if not this Moses, was an Ashkenazi Jew. The Melokhim Bukh was published in quarto format (4⁰: [123] ff.) by, according to the colophon, Paulus Aemilus. A Latin colophon states, Augustae Vindelicorum/ per Paulum Aemilium, Anno/ Domini M. D. XLIII. Meyer Waxman suggests that it is doubtful, the colophon notwithstanding, that the publisher was Aemilus; more likely it was Hayyim Shahor.

We have noted above that the frames on these title-pages were first used by Christian printers and that when that market no longer needed the frames, they were made available to Jewish printers. The cherubim frames noted above were generally acceptable to a contemporary renaissance Jewish public, although some, many, were questionable and would not be used today. In contrast, the title-page of the Melokhim Buch has a border made up of a four-part frame, the top with a representation of a king, the left and right sides respectively with images of Adam and Eve, unclad, the latter with the snake, two small children, and expecting. At the bottom are two cherubim. Use of this frame is surprising, for in contrast to other frames its’ contents appear to be objectionable, more so than other frames, even those with mythological characters. It seems likely that this frame might also be distasteful to Christian sensibilities.^[22]

1543, Melokhim Buch
Courtesy of Dr. Moshe Rosenfeld

The title page states that it is “The book Melokhim (Kings) in Taytsher sprach, beautiful and clear and very entertaining to read. Printed in the imperial city of Augsburg in the year 303 (=1543)” ^[23] The colophon dates the completion of the work to Friday, 14 Av, 303 (July 25, 1543), which was a Sunday in 1543.

The Melokhim Bukh was not written as a sequel to the Shmuel Bukh. It is the older of the two books, originally written as a separate work, possibly as early as the fourteenth century. The format of the Melokhim Bukh, a rhymed paraphrase of the book of Kings, is that of the heroic epic, stylistically modeled after comparable German sagas, such as the Nibelungen. The subject matter is the events in Kings I and II, imaginatively and colorfully enhanced by material from the Talmud and Midrashim, all expressed with a deep piety. Intended as a complete history, it begins with a hymn of praise to God in three strophes followed by nine strophes from the Exodus to the last days of David, the contents of Kings, and as a sequel, the history of the Jews to the end of the second commonwealth in thirty strophes). An example of the text is,

You have frequently performed signs for the children of Israel;

Therefore they are obliged to have You for their Lord.

And to fear Your name-that is useful and good for them.

That man is foolish who acts contrary to Your word.^[24]

1544, Shmuel Bukh – The Shmuel Bukh was published, also likely by Hayyim Shahor in quarto format (Format 4⁰: [102] ff.). It has an ornate title page made up of figurines above and about pillars with cherubim on the sides. It too is in Vaybertaytsh; among its reprints is a Latin edition (Ingolstadt,(1562). Waxman suggests that the Shmuel Bukh was likely written at least a hundred years earlier, most likely an original production of medieval Jewry. The author reworked the biblical material and incorporated aggadic elements. It was written in “vigorous poetic style” in eight line strophe and was meant to be sung.^[25]

1544, Shmuel Bukh
Courtesy of Dr. Moshe Rosenfeld

In contrast to what was written above, “works that many scholars believe they do not share a common author,” Zinberg informs that both the Melokhim Bukh and the Shmuel Bukh are composed in the same verse-meter. Moreover, the title-page states that “Shmuel is the first part of

the book Melokhim, for it is all related.” Nevertheless, Zinberg quotes other sources that “these are two quite different works and were probably written by two different poets.”^[26]

1553, Ma’yan Gannim – A composition book comprised of sample letters from R. Samuel ben Elhanan Jacob Archivolti (c. 1515-1611). Ma’yan Gannim was published in a small sextodecimo format (16⁰: 45, [1] ff.) at the Venice press of Alvise Bragadin. The Bragadin press was active before the papal bull, dated August 22, 1553, by Cardinal Giovanni Pietro Caraffa, the future Pope Paul IV, an extreme reactionary and bitter anti‑Semite, who ordered the confiscation and burning of the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds. This had a chilling effect on Hebrew printing and resulted in a considerable decline if not outright cessation of printing in Venice, and the subsequent expurgation and censorship of Hebrew books. When Hebrew printing resumed in Venice in 1563, among the Christian printers who took up the publication of Hebrew books was Alvise Bragadin. Bragadin died in the mid-1570’s, he was succeeded by his son, and after him by successive members of the family well into the eighteenth century, the last known Bragadin being Alvise III. Throughout that time the press remained a leading printer of Hebrew books in Venice.

1553, Ma’yan Gannim
Courtesy of the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak

Archivolti, a student of R. Meir Katzenellenbogen (Maharam, 1473-1565), served as rabbi, av bet din, and rosh yeshivah in Padua. Among his students was R. Judah Aryeh (Leon) Modena (1571-1648). Prior to settling in Padua in 1568, Archivolti worked as a corrector for the Hebrew presses in Venice.

In contrast to our preceeding examples of cherubim, this exemplar does not appear on the title-page of the book, which has the Bragadin device, that is, three crowns, but rather at the beginning of each of the book’s five chapters, a woodcut illustration comprised of three cherubim in a cage, surrounded on all four sides by a verse.

The title is from “A fountain of gardens (ma’yan gannim), [a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon” (Song of Songs 4:15). The text states that there are fifty letters, that is, twenty-five letters with their responses, written by Archivolti. There is a preface and introduction from Archivolti, followed by a table of contents, and, beginning on 7a, the text. Ma’yan Gannim is the first book written by Archivolti, for he describes it as his first fruits, an offering to the Lord. Archivolti also wrote Degel Ahavah (Venice, 1551), an ethical work; He’arot le-Sefer he-Arukh (Venice, 1553), textual references for the Arukh of Nathan ben Jehiel; and, his most important title, Arugat ha-Bosem (Venice, 1602) a grammatical work in 32 chapters.

The sections or chapters, each on a different theme, are correspondence between a father and son; between friends; from an older to a younger man; with government officials; and others, including letters of a romantic, and even sensual nature. Such letters, at the very least inappropriate by modern religious standards, are intermingled with those of a sacred nature, reflecting contemporary mores and addressing current issues, including therefore, information of historical and cultural value. Ma’yan Gannim is designed to teach through example the rules of correspondence. The letters are in metrical form, designed by Archivolti as literary models, many with ethical content, for his students.^[27]

1556, She’ilot u’Teshuvot Jacob ben Moses Moellin (Maharil) – Two hundred and five responsa from R. Jacob ben Moses Moellin (Maharil, c. 1360-1447). The She’ilot u’Teshuvot were published in Cremona at the press of Vincenzo Conti in octavo format (8⁰: [7] 79 ff.). After the Talmud was burned in Venice in 1554 there was a precipitous decline, if not a complete cessation, in the number of Hebrew books printed in Venice for several years. The breach was filled by presses in Ferrara, Sabbioneta, Cremona, and Riva di Trento. Vincenzo Conti (d. 1569) printed briefly in Sabbioneta and subsequently in Cremona, where his press was active from 1556 to 1567, issuing more than forty titles.

Maharil was the leading halakhic authority of his time. His most important work is Sefer Maharil (Minhagei Maharil, 1556, Sabbioneta), a popular and influential work on customs and laws. It was composed by his pupil Eleazar ben Jacob (Zalman of St. Goar), from the discourses that he heard from Maharil. She’ilot u’Teshuvot is comprised of Two hundred and five responsa, a small part only of Maharil’s responsa. The subject matter, as in the Sefer Mahril, deals to a great extent with custom, but also includes much personal material. They also reflect Maharil’s considerable humility and compassion.

1556, She’ilot u’Teshuvot Jacob ben Moses Moellin (Maharil)
Courtesy of the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak

The title-page has an ornamental frame made up of four parts, enabling the printer to use them in other arrangements, although this is the manner in which the parts are most often employed. The top frame has the face of a man and cherubin; on the sides are suits of armor, shrubs, and musical instruments and, in the center of the left vertical frame the letters SPQR, reputedly standing for Senatus Populusque Romanus; and on the bottom a two headed crowned eagle and on the sides the cherubim. This frame was used by Conti on his early imprints, appearing on about ten works.

1558, Sefer Rav Alfas – Sefer Rav Alfas, (Hilkhot Rav Alfas, Sefer ha-Halakhot of Alfasi, Rif) was published in Riva di Trento by R. Joseph Ottolenghi and Cardinal Cristoforo Madruzzo in a three volume folio format (2⁰: 288, 268, 302 [8] ff.). The Tyrolese town of Riva di Trento is the source of an unusual episode in the history of the Hebrew book. It was for a short time, from 1558 to 1562, a refuge for the Hebrew book; one in which about forty Hebrew titles were printed. Believed to be the first work printed in Riva di Trento, Hilkhot Rav Alfas was likely selected, in addition to its inherent popularity and value, due to the ban on the Talmud, the Rif, being a halakhic compendium of the Talmud, filling, to some extent, the gap left by the scarcity of that work.

It was in Riva di Trento that Cardinal Cristoforo Madruzzo (1512-78), Cardinal of Trent, a scholar and supporter of learning, who argued at the Council of Trent (1562) for leniency and moderation in condemning books, became the patron and protector of a Hebrew press, which was also a source of revenue for him. Ottolenghi (d. 1570), originally of Ettlingen, in Baden, Germany, reflected in its Italianized form in his name, was rosh yeshivah at Cremona, and under his tutelage Talmudic studies had continued in Cremona after that work had been banned and burned elsewhere. He assisted the press, providing indices and annotations to a number of works and assuring that material offensive to the church had been deleted from those books of value to his yeshiva. and R. Jacob Marcaria, a dayyan on the bet din presided over by Ottolenghi and a physician, recruited by Madruzzo help finance and play a role in the press. Marcaria edited and wrote brief prefaces for most of the books printed in Riva di Trento. The press was located in the house of Antonio Broën.

Sefer Rav Alfas is a halakhic compendium by R. Isaac ben Jacob Alfasi (Rif, 1013-1103). Alfasi, born in the Algerian village of Qal’at Hammad, was a student of the great sages R. Nissim ben Jacob (c, 990-1062) and Hananel ben Hushi’el (d. c. 1055) in Kairouan. After learning with them Alfasi relocated to Fez, from where his surname al-Fasi (Rif) is derived, and became recognized as the leading Talmudic sage of the time. In 1088, at the age of 75, two informers denounced him to the government – the charges are unknown – and he was forced to flee to Spain. Eventually settling in Lucena, Alfasi succeeded R. Isaac ben Judah ibn Ghayyat (c. 1020-89), who had died a few months earlier, as head of the yeshiva.

1558, Sefer Rav Alfas
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

The text of the title-page of each volume has cherubim at the sides, and below bears the Cardinal’s coat‑of‑arms , a significant statement of the Cardinals’ support and protection of the press at a time when his church was burning and banning Hebrew books. Furthermore, the title pages informs that Sefer Rav Alfas was edited with great care by the gaon R. Joseph Ottolenghi and was printed and financed by him, and that this was done, “in the dominion of” the following in bold letters “Cardinal Cristoforo Madruzzo.”

Sefer Rav Alfas, Alfasi’s major work, is one of the greatest works in halakhic literature. It is extracts all pertinent legal decisions from the Talmud, eliminating non-halakhic material, discussions, and subject matter not applicable today. It covers the following orders of the Talmud, Mo’ed, Nashim, and Nezikim, as well as tractates Berakhot and Hullin. Laws in Kodashim and Tohorot, such as mezuzah and tefillin, are organized as Halakhot Ketannot. Sefer Rav Alfas differs from earlier works, such as Halakhot Gedolot, in that it is more comprehensive, more detailed, and by the inclusion of material from the geonim, although, like them, it follows the order of the tractates.

1559-60, Zohar – Classic kabbalistic work of Jewish mysticism, attributed to R. Simeon bar Yohai (second century). This, the second printing of the Zohar, it was published previously in Mantua (1558-60), published in Cremona at the press of Vincenzo Conti in a three volume folio format (2⁰: 132, 122, 146 ff.) by Vincenzo Conti (d. 1569). Conti, who had printed briefly in Sabbioneta, is better known for his activity in Cremona, where his press, active from 1556 to 1567, issued more than forty titles.

The title page of has a decorative architectural frame with an arch, at the top a vignette of Akedat Yizhak (the binding of Isaac), surmounted by an eagle, and accompanying cherubim; below in the bottom squares, figurines, perchance also cherubim. It is dated, “For the Lord will not forsake כי לא יטש (319=1559) his people [for his great name’s sake] (Samuel I 12:22), and it was completed in the year ש”ך ([5]320=1560).” At the bottom of the page is an imprimature from the Inquisition on the title page, the sole Cremona imprint to place it there, as well as a longer permission at the end of the book.

1559-60, Zohar
Courtesy of the Library of the Jewish theological Seminary

Written in Aramaic and Hebrew, Sefer ha-Zohar al ha-Torah is a comprehensive system of kabbalistic theosophy, encompassing cosmology, the soul, and good and evil. It is an esoteric commentary on the Torah, with homilies, midrashic passages, parables, and numerous discursive passages. It is based on the concept that within scriptures is a concealed stratum, deciphered by Kabbalah, expressing the inner meaning of the Torah, with its “splendor, beauty, and greatness.”

The corrector (and expurgator) was the apostate Vittorio Eliano, grandson of the foremost grammarian, Elijah Bahur Ashkenazi Segal. A member of a Dominican commission to review Hebrew books, Eliano was associated with all the books published by Conti from 1558 through 1559. Although begun later than the Mantua edition, noted above, this printing, done in haste, was completed earlier. Nevertheless, it was not immediately released for sale, for when more than 10,000 Hebrew books were burned in Cremona, with the complicity of Eliano, the entire edition was seized. It was just barely saved, in contrast to other works, by the apostate Dominican, Sixtus of Siena. It is known as the Zohar Gadol (large Zohar), in contrast to the smaller Mantua edition (Zohar Katan), and is also referred to, because of Eliano’s involvement, as the “Christian edition.” This notwithstanding, the Cremona edition was the preferred of the two editions by eastern European kabbalists.^[28]

1560, Shir ha-Yihud – Shir ha-Yihud (Hymn of Divine Unity) an anonymous piyyut (liturgical poem) written in the mid-twelfth century, most often attributed to Samuel ben Kalonymus he-Hasid (c. 1130-1175), less often to his son, Judah ben Samuel he-Hasid (c. 1150-1217), author of the Sefer Hasidim, both among the foremost representatives of the Hasidei Ashkenaz, and, on occasion, to yet others.

Shir ha-Yihud
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

Shir ha-Yihud was published at the press of Eliezer and Joseph ben Naphtali Hertz Treves. Active for one year only, in 1560, they issued six books, before being forced to close by a meeting of the leaders, both Protestant and Catholic, of the Swiss Confederation in June, 1560, who feared that they were about to print the Talmud.

The frame, one of several with cherubim employed by the press, also was used on the title-page of Begidat Hazman, an allegoric maqāma (a poetic narrative in rhymed prose) by Mattathias (Mattityah ben Moses), a 15th century Spanish or Provençal Hebrew poet or Mattathias ha-Yiẓhari, a representative of the Jewish communities of Aragon at the Tortosa disputation (1413–14).

1568, Passover Haggadah – Passover Haggadah printed in Mantua in folio format (2⁰: 36 ff.) by Joseph Shalit ben Jacob Ashkenazi of Padua. This edition is a reprint of the 1560 Passover Haggadah, also printed in Mantua, but with modifications and the addition of the marginalia of R. Joseph Shalit ben Jacob Ashkenazi of Padua entitled Nimukei Yosef.

1568, Passover Haggadah
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

The title page frame has representations of the Mars and Minerva followed by the first text page, which has two woodcuts of cherubim along the top. Following text pages have those cherubim image, as well as numerous other cherubim images, including several marginal cherubim images. This Haggadah shares some features with the Prague Haggadah of 1526. Woodcuts are accompanied by captions, given as rhymed couplets, a feature of Ashkenaz manuscript Haggadot. In some instances, for example, by the four questions, the earlier edition was framed by a lush Italian border, without illustrations. Here the types and the top and upper left borders with their vines and cherubs only are alike.^[29]

1576, Yosef Lekah – Yosef Lekah is a commentary on Megillat Esther by R. Eliezer ben Elijah Ashkenazi (1513-86). It was published in Cremona in 1576 by Christopher Draconi in octavo format (4⁰: 83, 1 ff.). Draconi, previously associated with Vincenzo Conti, attempted to publish Hebrew books in Cremona. Although he would issue Latin books from 1569 to 1614, he printed one Hebrew book only, Yosef Lekah.

1576, Yosef Lekah
Courtesy of the Fales Library and Special Collections, New York University

R. Eliezer ben Elijah Ashkenazi was a multi-faceted individual, a Talmudist, physician, and well-rounded scholar, who served as rabbi in a number of varied communities. His first rabbinic position, from 1538-61, was in Fostat, Egypt. Forced to leave Fostat, Ashkenazi went to Famagusta, Cyprus, where he was rabbi for two years, and then to Venice. He left for Prague (1561), after a dispute with the Maharam of Padua, and after traveling as far as the Crimea, returned, via Famagusta, to Venice. Ashkenazi was next rabbi in Cremona, where he published Yosef Lekah. Shortly after he left to be rabbi of Posen, and, from 1584, was in Cracow. Ashkenazi experienced difficulties in Poland, disputing over his right to open a yeshiva in close proximity to an existing yeshiva, so that Joseph Solomon Delmedigo (1591-1655) wrote about him, “You have brought a vine from Egypt; you have cast out the nations, and planted it” (Psalms 80:9). Ashkenazi was highly regarded by his contemporaries, corresponding with prominent rabbinic figures such as R. Joseph Caro, R. Joseph Ha-Kohen (Katz), R. Moses Isserles (Rema), and R. Solomon Luria (Maharshal), several mentioning him in their responsa. R. Elijah of Pesaro, in Famagusta in 1563, praised Ashkenazi’s scholarship, noting that he was fluent in twelve languages.

The title-page has four cherubim images, two reclining at the top of the structure, two standing erect by the pillars at the sides. The title-page is dated “Therefore they called these days Purim קראו לימים האלו פורים (336 = 1576)” (Esther 9:26). Yosef Lekah is dedicated to Don Joseph Nasi, Duke of Naxos, whom Ashkenazi, in the introduction, compares to Joseph in Mizraim and Mordecai at the time of Ahasuerus. Ashkenazi, therefore, entitled this work Yosef Lekah. Two, almost identical, editions of Yosef Lekah exist, both dated 1576. Although almost exact copies of the original, it is clear, upon close examination, that the book was reset. Christopher Draconi’s Yosef Lekah was the last Hebrew book printed in Cremona.

Ashkenazi’s most important work is Ma’aseh HaShem (Venice, 1583), on the historical occurrences in the Torah, with a commentary on the Passover Haggadah; selichot; and, not extant today, a super-commentary on the Ramban (Nachmanides) and annotations to R. Caro’s Beit Yosef.^[30]

Conclusion – In this article we have described books printed in Augsburg, Basle, Cremona, Mantua, Prague, and Venice. The cherubim imagery on these title-pages, reflecting the influence of Renaissance humanism, their attractiveness notwithstanding, do not appear on the title-pages or accompanying the text in Hebrew books published in more modern times. A review of the title-pages reproduced here, all dissimilar, with their numerous depictions of cherubim, attest to the popularity of that image. Given the strictures on Hebrew printing from the mid-sixteenth century in Italy, the frequent use of cherubim testify to the cooperation of Jewish and non-Jewish printers, their frequency perchance suggesting a positive relationship going beyond mere monetary gain.

We conclude with the Talmudic statement above, which suggests why the image of cherubim was so popular:

Rav Ketina said: When the Jewish people would ascend for one of the pilgrimage festivals, the priests would roll up the curtain for them and show them the cherubs, which were clinging to one another, and say to them: See how you are beloved before God, like the love of a male and female. (Yoma 54a)

Lastly, in conclusion an image of a cherub, both chronologically and, in cherubian activity, quite different from those depicted in this article. It is included as it is unusual and eye catching, an image of a Cherub smoking a pipe. It appears in in at least two Basle imprints published by Israel ben Moses ben Abraham Halle, active in Offenbach, although not continuously, from 1718/19 to c. 1738/43. The works are Anaf Etz Avot, R. Benjamin ben Yekutiel Wulff’s commentary on Pirke Avot, and tractate Sanhedrin (1721).^[31]

1. Once again, I would like to express my gratitude and appreciation to Eli Genauer for reading the article and his insightful comments. ↑
2. Emil G. Hirsch, W. Muss-Arnolt, J. Frederic McCurdy, Louis Ginzberg, “Cherub ( ; plural, Cherubim)” Jewish Encyclopedia IV (New York, 1901-06), pp. 13-16; Shalom M. Paul, Louis Isaac Rabinowitz, “Cherub” Encyclopedia Judaica IV (Jerusalem, 2007), pp. 600-01. ↑
3. Thomas Kelly Cheyne, 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica, Volume 6, reproduced in https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/1911_Encyclop%C3%A6dia_Britannica/Cherubim ↑
4. https://www.sefaria.org/search?q=%D7%9B%D7%A8%D7%95%D7%91%D7%99%D7%9D&tab=text&tvar=1&tsort=relevance&svar=1&ssort=relevance. ↑
5. Franz Sales Meyer, Handbook of Ornament: a Grammar of Art, Industrial and Architectural Designing in all its Branches for Practical as well as Theoretical use (New York, 1957), pp. 108-09. ↑
6. Codices and early imprints did not have title-pages, the first leaf normally being left blank to protect the book, that page later becoming a dedicated page. The first book with a detailed title-page was the Calendarium of Johannes Regiomontanus, appearing in 1476 (Venice), being a fifty-five year calendar (1475-1530), printed by Johannes Regiomontanus. The first Hebrew book with a title-page was the Sefer ha‑Roke’ah (Fano, 1505) of R. Eleazar ben Judah of Worms (c. 1165 – c. 1230). ↑
7. Cherubim also appear on the frames of Hebrew books printed in the incunabular period. For examples of such frames see Marvin J. Heller “Behold, you are beautiful, my love: The Use of Ornamental Frames in Hebrew Incunabula” Printing History NS 10 (New York, July, 2011), pp. 39-55, reprinted in Further Studies in the Making of the Early Hebrew Book (Leiden/Boston, 2013), pp. 3-33. ↑
8. The following book descriptions are selected, modified from Marvin J. Heller, The Sixteenth Century Hebrew Book: An Abridged Thesaurus ( Brill, Leiden, 2004), var. cit. ↑
9. Avraham Yaari, Hebrew Printers’ Marks (Jerusalem, 1943), pp. 7 and 126-27 n. 10 [Hebrew]. ↑
10. Jerome Friedman, The Most Ancient Testimony. Sixteenth-Century Christian-Hebraica in the Age of Renaissance Nostalgia (Athens, Ohio, 1983), pp. 44-48, 214-15; A. M. Habermann, Title Pages of Hebrew Books (Tel Aviv, 1969), p. xi [Hebrew with English introduction], pp. 19-20, 125-26 nos. 4-5; Joseph Prijs, Die Basler Hebräischen Drucke (1492-1866) (Olten, 1964), pp. 49-51 n. 26; Frank Rosenthal, “The Rise of Christian Hebraism in the Sixteenth Century,” Historia Judaica II (New York, 1945), (New York, 1945), pp. 182-91; and Richard S.Westfall, “Sebastian Muenster,” http://es.rice.edu/ES/humsoc/Galileo/Catalog/Files/muenster.html ↑
11. An interesting example of this later usage is R. Moses ben Hanokh Altschul’s (c. 1546–1633) Brant Shpigl, a popular Yiddish work on ethics, correct demeanor, and customs for women, published by Konrad Waldkirch (Basle, 1602), also indicative of the passage of typographic material between printers. ↑
12. Stephen G. Burnett, “German Jewish Printing in the Reformation Era (1530-1633),” University of Nebraska – LincolnUniversity of Nebraska – Lincoln DigitalCommons@University of Nebraska – LincolnDigitalCommons@University of Nebraska. ↑
13. Ch. B. Friedberg, History of Hebrew Typography of the following Cities in Central Europe: Altona, Augsberg, Berlin, Cologne, Frankfort M., Frankfort O., Fürth, Hamberg, Hanau, Heddernheim, Homberg, Ichenhausen, Neuwied, Wandsbeck, and Wilhermsdorf. Offenbach, Prague, Sulzbach, Thannhausen from its beginning in the year 1513 (Antwerp, 1935), pp. 29-31 [Hebrew]. ↑
14. A. M. Habermann, “The Printer Hayyim Shahor, his Son Isaac and Son-in-law Joseph Yakar,” in Studies in the History of Hebrew Printers and Books (Jerusalem, 1978), pp. 103-07 [Hebrew]. ↑
15. Yeshayahu Vinograd, Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book. place, and year printed, name of printer, number of pages and format, with annotations and bibliographical references II (Jerusalem, 1993-95), p. 2 no. 10 [Hebrew]. ↑
16. Zipora Baruchson, “Money and Culture: Financing Methods in the Hebrew Printing Shops in Cinquecento Italy,” La Bibliofilia 92 (1990), 25. ↑
17. For examples of such usage see Marvin J. Heller, “Behold, you are beautiful, my love: The Use of Ornamental Frames in Hebrew Incunabula” Printing History NS 10 (New York, July, 2011), pp. 39-55, reprinted in Further Studies in the Making of the Early Hebrew Book. (Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2013), pp. 3-33; “Mars and Minerva on the Hebrew Title Page,” The Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 98:3 (New York, N. Y., 2004), pp. 269-92, reprinted in Studies in the Making of the Early Hebrew Book (Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2008), pp. 1-17; and the “The Printer’s Mark of Marc Antonio Giustiniani and the Printing Houses that Utilized It,’ Library Quarterly, 71:3 (Chicago, July, 2001), pp. 383-89, reprinted in Studies, pp. 44-53. ↑
18. Unterricht Wie ain Christenmensch by Urbanus Rhegiosu (1489-1541), a Protestant Reformer active in Northern and Southern Germany promoting Lutheran unity in the Holy Roman Empire. Unterricht is one of several titles with this frame printed by Silvan Otmar of Augsburg (https://www.flickr.com/photos/58558794@N07/6576279085). ↑
19. Zipora Baruchson, “Money and Culture: Financing Methods in the Hebrew Printing Shops in Cinquecento Italy,” La Bibliofilia 92 (1990), 25. ↑
20. For examples of such usage see Marvin J. Heller, “Behold, you are beautiful, my love: The Use of Ornamental Frames in Hebrew Incunabula” Printing History NS 10 (New York, July, 2011), pp. 39-55, reprinted in Further Studies in the Making of the Early Hebrew Book. (Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2013), pp. 3-33; “Mars and Minerva on the Hebrew Title Page,” The Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 98:3 (New York, N. Y., 2004), pp. 269-92, reprinted in Studies in the Making of the Early Hebrew Book (Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2008), pp. 1-17; and the “The Printer’s Mark of Marc Antonio Giustiniani and the Printing Houses that Utilized It,’ Library Quarterly, 71:3 (Chicago, July, 2001), pp. 383-89, reprinted in Studies, pp. 44-53. ↑
21. Ch. B. Friedberg, Bet Eked Sepharim, (Israel, n. d), alef 286 [Hebrew]. ↑
22. A later example of an objectionable title-page is the responsa of R. Joel ben Samuel Sirkes’ (Bach, 1561-1640), She’elot u-Teshuvot Bayit Hadash, printed in Frankfurt am Main (1697) by Johann Wust. The title-page had an ornate frame with forms of unclad women which aroused rabbinic opposition, for those authorities considered the title-page inappropriate and offensive to Jewish sensibilities. The quire had to be reprinted with a new title-page, now with two cherubim holding a floral wreath with grapes. A similar situation occurred earlier in Hanau in 1630. Sefer ha-Roke’ah, by R. Eleazer of Worms, was issued in a small format, 12×16 cm., due to the economic restrictions resulting from the Swedish War. On the title-page “Venus rises naked from the waters on a seashell – a common pagan motif” (The book was issued by a press belonging to a non-Jew, Hans Jacob Hena, so that, it has been suggested, no attention was initially given to the title-page. When the book was sold, “many Jewish purchasers tore out the offending page” (Raphael Posner and Israel Ta-Shema, ed. The Hebrew Book: An Historical Survey [Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1975]). There does not appear to have been any opposition to this last title-page in Venice, for the Venus rising from the waters motif appears in Hebrew works printed there, where it was the press mark of Alessandro Gardoni (Venice, 1577-78) and can be found in the Mishneh Torah printed by Meir Parenzo at the press of Alvise Bragadin in 1574. ↑
23. Taytsher sprach (Vaybertaytsh), is a type generally but not exclusively reserved for Yiddish books, so named because these works were most often read by the less educated and women. Concerning the early use of Vaybertaytsh see Herbert C. Zafren, “Variety in the Typography of Yiddish: 1535-1635,” Hebrew Union College Annual LIII (Cincinnati, 1982), pp. 137-63. ↑
24. Israel Zinberg, A History of Jewish Literature, translated and edited by Bernard Martin VII (Cleveland, 1973), p. 116.
    ↑
25. Meyer Waxman, A History of Jewish Literature (1933, reprint Cranbury, 1960), II pp. 632-33. ↑
26. Zinberg, p. 106. ↑
27. Robert Bonfil, Jewish Life in Renaissance Italy (Berkeley, 1994), tr. Anthony Oldcorn, pp. 133, 169; Deror Schwartz, “Samuel Archivolti, his Life and Writings,” Asufot VII, ed. Meir Benayahu (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 82-83 [Hebrew]; and Zinberg, II p. 130. ↑
28. Amram, pp. 324-27; Robert Bonfil, “Change in the Cultural Patterns of a Jewish Society in Crisis: Italian Jewry at the Close of the Sixteenth Century,” in Essential Papers on Jewish Culture in Renaissance and Baroque Italy, ed. David B. Ruderman (New York, 1992), p. 418; Rachel Elior, “Messianic Expectations and Spiritualization of Religious Life in the Sixteenth Century,” in Essential Papers . . ., p. 286. ↑
29. Yaari, Printers’ Marks, pp. 12, 132 n. 19; Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi, Haggadah and History (Philadelphia, 1975), nos. 28-31; and Isaac Yudlov, The Haggadah Thesaurus. Bibliography of Passover Haggadot: From the Beginning of Printing until 1960 (Jerusalem, 1997). p. 4 n. 25 [Hebrew]. ↑
30. David Amram, The Makers of Hebrew Books in Italy (Philadelphia, 1909, reprint London, 1963), p. 319; Meir Benayahu, Hebrew Printing at Cremona: Its History and Bibliography (Jerusalem, 1971), pp. 22-24, 232-34; and Jacob Elbaum, Openness and Insularity. Late Sixteenth Century Jewish Literature in Poland and Ashkenaz (Jerusalem, 1990), p. 47, [Hebrew]. ↑
31. This image appeared in my article “Offenbach Revisited: An enigma Reexamined,” published in the Gutenberg-Jahrbuch (Mainz, 2012), pp. 219-28, and reprinted in Essays on the Making of the Early Hebrew Book (Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2021) pp. 273-92. It was noted there that “in his observations to a draft of this paper, Professor Dr. Hans Schneider observes that he has never seen ‘a cherub smoking a pipe’ and suggests that if the figure is an angel the instrument is a flute. He agrees, however, that the object in question does look like a clay pipe as in the self-portrait of Gerrit Dou. Professor Dr. Schneider suggests that the figure might be an oriental man or boy, as was often painted in the seventeenth and eighteenth century, wearing a turban-like cap with plumes, and that what appears to be an angel’s wings might be a fluttering cape. The reader may draw his or her own conclusions.” ↑

Birds’ Heads, Romaine Lettuce, and the Art of Reading a Haggadah

A persistent question arises with every illustrated Haggadah, whether a fourteenth-century Sephardic manuscript or a mid-twentieth-century Maxwell House edition: what function do these images serve? Are they merely decorative, do they provide commentary, or do they serve as documentary evidence of ritual practice? Furthermore, when these images draw from the visual culture of the surrounding non-Jewish world, as is often the case, does such borrowing diminish their Jewish character, or does it indicate a more complex dynamic?

These questions are more thorny than they initially appear, and scholarly responses have evolved significantly in recent decades. This post synthesizes several strands: our previous discussions of specific manuscripts, insights from Marc Michael Epstein’s influential scholarship on medieval Haggadah manuscripts, and a notable controversy documented by Leor Jacobi. Our aim is to provide a more nuanced and comprehensive guide to interpreting these images.

The Two Mistakes

Anyone who works closely with illuminated Haggadot will recognize two recurring interpretive errors, both of which diminish rather than illuminate.

The first is the “derivative” thesis: the assumption that when an image in a Jewish manuscript resembles one in a Christian context, it is merely borrowed and thus lacks distinctive Jewish meaning. This perspective has informed much scholarship. Medieval Jewish and Christian artists often employed similar pictorial conventions; when similarities are observed, scholars have typically identified the Christian source, labeled the Jewish version as dependent, and concluded their analysis. This approach, however, overlooks the transformation that occurs when such imagery is adapted within a Jewish context and the specific messages it conveys to a Jewish audience.

The second error is more nuanced and may be termed the Wissenschaft snapshot: interpreting manuscript images as direct documentary evidence of ritual practice. For example, treating a depiction of marror as a definitive record of the vegetable used at the Seder, or viewing an illustration of bedikat chametz as a literal representation of the search process. This approach originates in nineteenth-century Jewish scholarship, which sought to extract concrete evidence about historical Jewish life from all available sources.

In 2012, in the comments section of this very blog, Marc Michael Epstein intervened in just such a discussion with a statement worth quoting in full:

Rabbosai (and Marasai): A manuscript is NOT a mirror. Jews depict themselves in their art (or commission art that depicts them) not as they were, but as they desired to be seen. Please please please do not engage in the typical Wissenschaft strategy of looking at illuminated manuscripts for “clues to Jewish life in the Middle Ages” or even to Jewish history. What we can learn from them is histoire des Mentalites, but even that takes a lot of work to get to.

This intervention arose from a debate about whether Sephardic medieval Haggadot depict marror as an artichoke, a topic addressed further below. The methodological insight, however, is broadly applicable: these images provide access to the histoire des mentalités—the internal landscape of aspiration, theological imagination, and communal self-representation. This perspective offers a richer understanding than the Wissenschaft snapshot, though it requires careful interpretation. Importantly, analyzing how a community chose to represent itself constitutes significant historical evidence, even if it does not directly reveal specific ritual practices.

The Birds’ Head Haggadah

The oldest extant illustrated Haggadah text, dated to the early 1300s (and now in the Israel (now in the Israel Museum, although the exact provenance remains murky like so many Jewish items), takes its name from its most immediately striking feature: nearly all the human figures bear birds’ heads rather than human faces. Non-Jewish figures — Egyptians, angels — are instead shown with blank circular discs where faces should be. The zoophilic imagery has attracted a remarkable range of explanations: halakhic anxiety about depicting human faces too completely; a visual encoding of relative spiritual status; and, at the least plausible extreme, the claim that the birds’ beaks are an anti-Semitic caricature of the Jewish nose inserted by a hostile illustrator.

Epstein critically examines these theories, ultimately adopting a more nuanced position that acknowledges the halakhic dimension without attributing the imagery to a single cause. As discussed in our earlier review, the most illuminating aspect of his analysis is his attention to an anomaly previously dismissed as carelessness. In the Exodus scene depicting the Israelites fleeing and Pharaoh’s army in pursuit, most figures conform to expectations: Israelites with birds’ heads and Egyptians with blank discs. However, two figures in the pursuing army also have birds’ heads. Epstein, prompted by his ten-year-old son’s observation, suggests these figures represent Datan and Aviram, members of the erev rav who chose to remain with the Egyptians. The presence of birds’ heads is intentional, signifying that even the sin of siding with oppressors does not erase Jewish identity. This artistic choice introduces themes of the wicked son, belonging, apostasy, and the potential for return, all of which are particularly resonant in the context of the Seder.

This approach exemplifies Epstein’s methodology: treating anomalies not as errors to be dismissed, but as interpretive keys to deeper meaning.

The Golden Haggadah

The Golden Haggadah, a Sephardic manuscript from around 1320 distinguished by its extensive use of gold borders and embellishments, illustrates a key structural distinction within the manuscript Haggadah tradition. In Ashkenazic manuscripts, illustrations are integrated throughout the text, appearing in margins and between passages, and typically serve to comment on or extend the Haggadah narrative, such as scenes of Pesach preparations, the search for chametz, or the baking of matzah. In contrast, Sephardic manuscripts concentrate pictorial content before the text in a visual preamble: a series of full-page panels, arranged two or four per page, that trace Jewish history from the patriarchal era or creation through the Exodus, preceding the Haggadah text itself. These images function as a visual overture rather than direct illustrations of the liturgy.

While the Golden Haggadah adheres to Sephardic conventions, Epstein demonstrates that its imagery is more sophisticated than a straightforward chronological sequence. The illustrator establishes a network of visual connections across panels separated by generations, particularly through the motif of water. Water is depicted in scenes such as Jacob before Pharaoh, the drowning of Israelite boys in the Nile, the rescue of infant Moses, and Moses drawing water for Jethro’s daughters. In each instance, the depiction of water, its color, movement, and spatial relationship to the figures, is distinctive and cross-referential, encouraging viewers to interpret these scenes collectively rather than in isolation. The resulting theological argument centers on themes of divine providence, measure-for-measure justice, gratitude, and salvation as continuous threads throughout history. This constitutes visual midrash: interpretive commentary conveyed through imagery, fulfilling the Seder’s purpose of provoking reflection.

The Rylands Haggadah, Its Brother, and the Marror That Wasn’t an Artichoke

The third and fourth manuscripts analyzed by Epstein—the Rylands Haggadah (currently housed at the John Rylands Library in Manchester) and the manuscript referred to as the Brother to the Rylands—are Sephardic codices discussed together in his work. The term “Brother” was introduced by Bezalel Narkiss due to the notable visual similarities between the two manuscripts; Katrin Kogman-Appel has since argued that the so-called Brother likely predates the Rylands and served as its model. For the purposes of this discussion, both manuscripts represent a shared visual tradition, and the direction of influence is less significant than the insights they collectively provide.

These manuscripts prompted a particularly instructive methodological episode in recent Haggadah scholarship, which unfolded in real time in the comments section of this blog in 2012 and was subsequently documented by Leor Jacobi. The central question was whether depictions of marror in the Rylands, the Brother, and the Sarajevo Haggadah represent an artichoke. David Golinkin had cited these illustrations as evidence that artichokes were used as marror in medieval Catalonia. Upon encountering this question on Erev Pesach 5772, wrote immediately to Epstein, who replied within the hour:

I don’t believe the Sephardic mss show an artichoke, rather they depict an entire head of romaine lettuce. The way to prove or disprove this would be to compare contemporary or roughly contemporary botanical mss.

When the same identification appeared in a post on this blog, Epstein returned with the fuller statement quoted above — “a manuscript is NOT a mirror” — and added the crucial clarification about representational logic:

Also, because a head of Romaine is SHOWN in the haggadah it doesn’t mean that there was a head of (possible unchecked-for-bugs) Romaine on the table. Every image is not a snapshot, but a representation — a combination of the real, the general, the ideal and the symbolic. Showing the head is a way of REPRESENTING Romaine — it says, “We use a type of lettuce that grows with leaves together in a head like this.” It does NOT necessarily mean “We use complete heads of Romaine at the Seder, like this.”

This logic warrants careful consideration. A manuscript illuminator aiming to depict marror must clearly indicate the species. Depicting the entire head of romaine lettuce—leaves clustered in a recognizable form—serves as an effective visual shorthand for this type of lettuce. Illustrating individual romaine leaves would make them nearly indistinguishable from other leafy vegetables. Thus, the whole head functions as the visual vocabulary for the species, rather than as a literal representation of the serving. The same reasoning applies to artichoke identification: if an artist intended to depict an artichoke, the distinctive globed, thistle-shaped head would be unmistakable. The Sarajevo Haggadah’s depiction of veined leaves bound at the base with a cord, as Epstein observes, aligns with characteristics of lettuce rather than artichoke.

Jacobi’s account adds another layer of insight: Epstein posits that artists of later manuscripts (the Rylands and Brother, likely produced after the Golden Haggadah) may have copied a lettuce image from an earlier model and, interpreting the veined and slightly “spiky” leaves, mistakenly identified it as an artichoke. Patrons did not correct this, as they recognized that artichokes were not used as marror and thus interpreted the image as romaine, regardless of the artist’s intent. These images illustrate the challenges of visual transmission when botanical knowledge is limited, but they do not provide evidence of actual Seder practice beyond confirming that romaine was regarded as the standard marror species in Sephardic communities, a fact already established by textual sources.

The Barcelona Haggadah introduces additional complexity: its marror illustration appears to have been added by a post-medieval artist who, relying on earlier Haggadah images as models, no longer understood the original intent, resulting in a stylized hybrid that is neither distinctly artichoke nor lettuce. As Evelyn Cohen observes, some manuscripts left the marror space blank, indicating that the image was occasionally tailored to the patron’s local practice. This underscores the non-monolithic nature of the visual tradition and the influence of artist-patron relationships on the final product.

In summary, there is no textual or visual evidence that artichokes were ever used as marror. Romaine lettuce, which becomes increasingly bitter as it is chewed—beginning with a mild taste and culminating in pronounced bitterness at the spine, thus symbolizing the intensification of Egyptian servitude—is far better supported as the intended species and is almost certainly what these images depict.

The Printed Haggadah: The Same Logic

The interpretive methodology applied to medieval manuscripts is equally relevant to the printed tradition.The four foundational printed Haggadot—Prague 1526, Mantua 1560, Venice 1609, and Amsterdam 1695—established a visual vocabulary that influenced nearly every subsequent illustrated Haggadah for centuries thereafter. As we have discussed at length in earlier posts (see here, here, and here), these Haggadot draw from both manuscript precedents and the broader visual culture of their respective eras, exhibiting the same patterns of intentional borrowing and creative transformation observed in medieval manuscripts.

The Mantua 1560 Haggadah, the first illustrated Italian Haggadah, exemplifies this dynamic. Its depiction of the Wise Son is modeled unmistakably on Michelangelo’s prophet Jeremiah from the Sistine Chapel ceiling. However, while Michelangelo’s Jeremiah is bareheaded, the Haggadah’s Wise Son wears the Pileus Cornutus, the conical hat mandated for Jews by Christian law (and likely the beginning of the custom of universal Jewish headcovering). Thus, a figure from the Vatican’s most prominent sacred space is appropriated, marked with a symbol of Jewish social subordination, and reimagined as an embodiment of Jewish wisdom at the Seder table. This reflects both dependence and subversion.

A similar complexity is evident in the title page’s distinctive helical “barley-sugar” pillars. While these are sometimes attributed to their prominent use at St. Peter’s Basilica, suggesting Christian architectural borrowing, the more probable source is local: the Cortile della Cavallerizza at the Palazzo Ducale in Mantua, designed by Giulio Romano and completed around 1540. The printer Ruffinelli appears to have incorporated these pillars throughout his Mantuan publications as a regional identifier, functioning not as a Christian symbol but as a marker of local identity, akin to a colophon. What may appear as Christian iconography is, in fact, civic geography repurposed as a printer’s device.

The warning against treating images as direct records of practice is relevant here as well. R. Shlomo Hakohen Kook criticized the Prague 1526 Haggadah for depicting the wine cup held in the left hand and grasped by the stem rather than cupped at the base, but both critiques conflate artistic representation with ritual documentation. The left-handed depiction results from the woodcut printing process, which produces a mirror image of the original block; copyists working from printed exemplars, rather than the original block, further reversed the image, consistently yielding left-handed figures. This reflects printing history, not halakhic instruction. The issue of cupping the cup is another anachronism: this practice became widespread only after the publication of the Shelah, which appeared more than a century after the Prague Haggadah. Thus, the woodcut cannot be faulted for omitting a custom that did not yet exist.

What We Can and Cannot Learn

The illuminated Haggadah is a remarkable historical source, but its value depends on the questions posed to it. These manuscripts and early printed books are not objective records of ritual practice; rather, they reflect the choices of communities, shaped by artistic conventions, available models, patron preferences, and the expressive possibilities of the visual vocabulary of their era. When interpreted thoughtfully, they reveal the inner imaginative life of the communities that produced them: their understanding of the Exodus, their self-conception, the theological claims embedded in their liturgical texts, and their engagement with and adaptation of surrounding visual cultures.

This constitutes an exceptionally rich body of evidence, surpassing any attempt to treat the images as mere snapshots of Seder table contents. However, extracting meaningful insights requires art-historical expertise, contextual historical knowledge, and a readiness to embrace interpretive ambiguity—qualities that distinguish the approach exemplified by Epstein from earlier traditions.

Readers who have not yet encountered The Medieval Haggadah: Art, Narrative & Religious Imagination (Yale University Press, 2011) — reviewed here when it appeared here — would do well to remedy that before this Pesach. And to spend a few more minutes at the Seder with the pictures. Additionally, Epstein’s recently released book, People of the Image: Jews and Art,  similarly tackles these topics, including discussions of Haggadah illustrations and, like his The Medieval Haggadah, is among the best in the genre. A review of the book is forthcoming.

—

Related posts: our 2012 review of Marc Michael Epstein’s The Medieval Haggadah: Art, Narrative & Religious Imagination (here); Leor Jacobi on the artichoke controversy and how to read manuscript marror illustrations (here) and earlier discussions about the vegetable here and here; halakhic implications of Haggadah illustrations (here); and our discussions of the Prague 1526 Haggadah (here here, and here), and for our examination of printed illustrations see “The Mother Haggados: Models for Modern Analysis of Printed Jewish Illustrations.”

Depicting Difference: The Tower of Babel and the Language of Sacred Art

“For form is only the manifestation, the shape of content.”
Ben Shahn, The Shape of Content, p. 72

Genesis chapter 11 presents the narrative of the Tower of Babel, detailing how, contrary to the divine directive to disperse and populate the earth, the descendants of the flood’s survivors congregated in a single city and commenced construction of a substantial tower. God intervened to prevent further cooperation among them by disrupting their shared language, thereby introducing linguistic diversity, which ultimately ceased the building process and resulted in the broad dispersal of the population.

The account of the Tower of Babel offers a unique context for exploring what characterizes an image—and, by extension, a work of art—as Jewish. In Christian artistic traditions, from medieval illuminations to Renaissance paintings, the tower is often portrayed as a symbol of pride and serves as a cautionary emblem against human ambition. In contrast, Jewish philosophy and visual culture do not treat the tower as an important iconographic motif or as a warning against aspiration. Where the story does appear in Jewish art, it offers an alternative interpretation, and in certain instances, it recasts the tower motif in a more positive light.

The Architecture of Arrogance: Bruegel’s Tower and the Christian Moral Imagination

Figure 1: Pieter Bruegel, The Tower of Babel, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

Among the most celebrated representations of the Tower of Babel is Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s painting housed in Vienna’s Kunsthistorisches Museum (we previously discussed another painting from the museum, Samuel van Hoogstraten’s Old Man at a Window, and whether it is a Jewish painting, its subject a famous Rabbi). Measuring over three feet wide and five feet high, this work features a monumental spiral structure composed of arches and tiers that ascend unevenly into the clouds. The immense scale of the tower stands in stark contrast to the small human figures depicted throughout—hundreds of workers engaged in various tasks. Bruegel’s paintings are notable for their comprehensive and detailed portrayal of subjects. (This site allows you to zoom in on all the details.) In this scene, each trade and stage of construction is rendered with meticulous attention; some laborers transport massive stone blocks along ramps, while oxen-pulled carts bear heavy loads of building materials. Human-powered treadwheel cranes lift supplies upward, and scaffolding constructed from poles, planks, and ropes clings to the sides of the tower. Masons apply mortar and lay bricks, carpenters reinforce beams, and overseers direct operations, attempting to manage the complexity and activity inherent in such an undertaking.

In the foreground, King Nimrod, adorned in elaborate robes and a crown, oversees the construction as the principal architect of the tower. He reviews architectural plans with his attendants while laborers kneel. Surrounding him, foremen gesture towards the ascending walls, effectively conveying his directives to the assembled workforce. Beyond the imposing structure of the tower, ships are visible entering the harbor, their masts prominent on the horizon.

Bruegel often used allegory in his work. By integrating contemporary construction methods and maritime elements into the depiction of the ancient story, he placed Babel in the context of his own time. The painting presents examples of human innovation alongside the risks associated with ambitious endeavors, making its observations applicable from the 16th century to the present day.^[1]

Figure 2: 13th Century Manuscript of Rudolf von Ems Poetry

Figure 3: 14th Century York Manuscript

Earlier artistic portrayals commonly focused on Babel’s height and grandeur. Medieval manuscripts and Church paintings often depicted it as upright, rectilinear, and monumental, resembling a fortress or cathedral spire. In contrast, Bruegel presents the tower as unstable, leaning, and showing deterioration at its foundation, while construction continues at the upper levels. The structure appears to challenge natural order by being built atop a mountain and using brick, which leads to rock formations that affect its stability. Bruegel incorporates Roman arches reminiscent of the Colosseum, suggesting parallels to historical architecture that had fallen into decline by the time of his visit in 1560. Some areas are already inhabited; for example, a woman is seen hanging laundry. The residents appear unaware of the structural issues beneath them, blinded by their hubris. Nimrod’s prominence in the foreground, with the workers genuflecting to him and his plans that he holds in his hands, further emphasizes the fetishization of human ambition.

At the time, Bruegel’s audience didn’t have to look far to see a potential Babel in the making: Antwerp was booming, expanding, and building like never before, and its populace risked falling into the sin of pride. In 1563, when Bruegel painted the Tower of Babel, the city was Europe’s busiest port and a magnet for wealth, with goods and materials streaming in daily through the Scheldt River. Massive new fortifications were under construction to secure the city’s growth, while the Cathedral of Our Lady still stood unfinished, its single soaring spire a symbol of grandeur halted midstream. Cranes, treadwheels, scaffolding, and teams of laborers were familiar sights on Antwerp’s skyline, all details Bruegel carefully folded into his painting. Even the ships visible in the harbor of his Babel recall Antwerp’s bustling docks, tying the biblical story directly to his contemporaries’ lived experience. For Bruegel’s viewers, the tower was not just a monument to ancient pride but a mirror of their own city’s dazzling ambition and its underlying fragility.

Bruegel does not show the dramatic aftermath, the confusion of tongues, and the scattering of peoples across the earth. Instead, he arrests the narrative at the moment of construction, filling the canvas with the feverish activity of workers and the looming mass of the tower itself. In doing so, he lets the architecture bear the weight of the story: the leaning walls, the buckling arches, and the crumbling base foreshadow the enterprise’s futility. The punishment is absent because the tower already embodies it, an image of human ambition that carries within itself the seeds of its own destruction.

Bruegel’s legacy is twofold. On the one hand, he fixed Babel’s appearance for centuries: spiraling, leaning, and crumbling, the visual template repeated in paintings, engravings, church murals, and biblical illustrations well into the modern era. From 16th-century Flemish workshops to 18th-century Bibles, from church frescoes to Romantic illustrations, and even into 20th-century literature and contemporary art, Bruegel’s leaning Tower of Babel has been endlessly reimagined as the enduring image of human ambition and collapse.^[2] On the other hand, he reshaped its meaning. Earlier images celebrated human pride by showing the tower upright and impregnable. Bruegel’s version, and the generations of artists and authors who followed, transformed it into a parable of fragility, a monument doomed to collapse even as it rose.

Buildings Fall Books Endure: The Jewish Reading of Babel

Within the Jewish exegetical tradition, the story of Babel carries a different emphasis than in Bruegel’s Christian retelling. The tower itself is a bit player in a larger story, a catalyst and not the focus, less important than the human decision it symbolizes. In Genesis 9:1, God commands Noah’s descendants to “be fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth.” Yet instead of dispersing across the world, humanity chooses to settle in one place and build a city and tower “lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth” (Gen. 11:4). In this reading, the sin is not arrogance against heaven but resistance to God’s plan of dispersal. The tower becomes a narrative device, a means of dramatizing humankind’s determination to remain unified, sedentary, and secure.^[3]

Seen from this perspective, the confusion of languages and scattering of peoples is not so much a punishment as a necessary correction. The multiplicity of tongues is God’s way of ensuring that His will for humanity, for it to spread, diversify, and populate the earth, is carried out. The Jewish interpretation, therefore, reads the story as a lesson about human attempts to thwart divine design, not Bruegel’s Christian vision, which centers on pride and monumental ambition. What matters is not the tower’s collapse but humanity’s refusal to scatter, and the way God ultimately enforces the order of creation.

This contrast is confirmed by the way Jewish tradition titles the episode “Dor Haflagah,” meaning “the Generation of Division,” rather than “Migdal Bavel,” the Tower of Babel. (Sanhedrin 10:3; Baba Metziah 4:2). The Hebrew name shifts attention away from architecture altogether and toward the human drama: the refusal to scatter, the divine act of dividing languages, and the dispersal across the earth. In other words, where Christianity made the tower a visual icon, Judaism made the generation itself the lesson.^[4]

This approach was not only in Jewish exegesis but also in Jewish art. There are only five identified examples of the tower in Jewish art, but in all of them, it is illustrated in a uniquely Jewish manner.

Figure 4: Tower of Babel, Khirbet Wadi Hamam Mosaic, c. 3rd century, source.

Figure 5: Tower of Babel, Huqoq Synagogue, c. 5th Century

The earliest two examples are synagogue mosaics, a third-century synagogue in Wadi Hamam, and a recently discovered fifth-century mosaic on the floor of the Huqoq Synagogue in northeastern Israel. Only a part of the Wadi Hamam scene has survived, though it is the largest intact biblical scene found. It shows workers and a tower on the left. In the center, two workers are hitting each other. The Huqoq mosaic is larger and illustrates all stages of construction, including detailed depictions of hoists, levers, and various chiseling and cutting tools. At the center of the scene, two workers are engaged in conflict—one wielding a hammer and the other a saw.^[5] Similarly, three medieval manuscripts feature this theme; in two, the depiction of violence is the central focus, while in the third, it forms part of a broader image, akin to the mosaic. ^[6]

Figure 6 Golden Haggadah, fol. 3r

Although these examples feature the tower, they can be distinguished from the Christian perspective. Firstly, the labeling of the images aligns with Jewish tradition, specifically referencing Dor Haflagah. Secondly, Bruegel’s comprehensive visual representation notably omits any mention of violence. The interpretation that linguistic confusion led to violence is exclusive to Jewish sources, appearing in Genesis Rabba and various other texts, but not in Christian writings.^[7] Given that the mosaic dates to the third century, this seems to potentially point to an earlier codification of Genesis Rabba than is currently assumed or that this approach was already was an oral legend.^[8] The only known medieval Christian manuscript featuring a descent into violence, The Bedford Book of Hours, has prompted one scholar to assert that it “is undoubtedly based on a Jewish legend.”^[9]

While Jewish manuscript culture preserves the uniquely Jewish interpretation of the iconography of the Tower of Babel, Jewish print culture would transform Bruegel’s symbol of pride and sin into a fortress of divine protection.

The Soncino family was the first great dynasty of Hebrew printers, active in northern Italy from the late 15th to the early 16th century.^[10] Originating from the town of Soncino in Lombardy and operating intermittently between roughly 1483 and 1527, they established presses in a succession of Italian cities, including Soncino, Brescia, Fano, Pesaro, and Rimini, as well as in Turkey. The founder, Joshua Solomon Soncino, and his nephew, Gershom ben Moses Soncino, expanded the enterprise into one of the most respected printing houses of Renaissance Italy. Gershom issued one of the earliest dated Hebrew books, a Talmudic tractate printed at Soncino in 1484. This work, with its unique layout, is the first of its kind to become canonized, combining the source text with two surrounding commentaries, and is itself a work of art. Their editions combined typographic precision with decorative sophistication equal to the best contemporary Latin and vernacular presses, and their name became synonymous with the art of Hebrew printing itself. They did not just print for a Jewish audience, but also printed over 100 non-Jewish titles, outdoing their Jewish output of 64 titles.

Figure 7: Joseph Albo, Sefer Ikkarim, Rimini, 1522

The Soncino family was active from 1483, but in books printed from 1522, first in Rimini and subsequently in Salonika and Constantinople, Gershom incorporated a new printer’s mark – essentially a printer’s coat of arms.^[11] This first appeared in R. Joseph Albo’s Sefer Ikkarim and depicts a traditional Renaissance-style solid stone tower rising above a crenellated wall, accompanied by the verse ‘מִגְדַּל עֹז שֵׁם יְהוָה, בּוֹ יָרוּץ צַדִּיק וְנִשְׂגָּב” “the name of the Lord is a mighty tower; the righteous runneth into it, and is set up on high,’ (Proverbs 18:10) on the left and right sides of the image. Gershom chooses to highlight the tower, unlike other possible symbols such as the rainbow, clouds of glory, or King David, which could have served a similar purpose.

Figure 8: Kol Bo, Rimini, 1525, Gross Family Collection

In the Sefer Kol Bo, published in Rimini circa 1525 and considered Gershom’s most distinguished work from that period, a prominent introductory statement appears above the tower: “In You I place my heart and you will help me, and I will raise my heart and with song I will praise you: ‘the name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous runs into it, and is safe.’” This clearly presents the tower as an icon of divine protection and intervention. Notably, Gershom’s tower does not correspond with any physical structure in Soncino or Rimini; instead, the tower symbolizes a spiritual rather than an earthly construct.^[12] There is one small, but somewhat strange, detail about Gershom’s tower: the doors are latched on the outside, making the locks useless. This oddity reinforces that the tower is divine, as it does not need a locked door. We reenact this belief annually during the Pesach seder. Gershom’s tower, rooted in Mishlei rather than Bereishit, represents divine protection in contrast to retribution. For a Jewish printer deeply engaged with Renaissance book art, this choice offered a thoughtful reinterpretation, reclaiming the tower as a symbol of resilience and trust in God’s safeguarding of the Jewish community people.^[13]

The story of the “tower,” whether Bruegel’s collapsing monument or Soncino’s enduring emblem, reminds us how difficult it is to define what makes art “Jewish.” The same image can signify pride or faith, sin or sanctity, depending on the hands and the heart that shape it. Jewish art, then, is not confined to subject or style, but often lives in subtler places — in the design of a page, the mark of a printer, or the choice of a verse. Ultimately, even art speaks in different languages.

Notes: 

1. For background on the creation of the painting see Margaret A. Sullivan, Bruegel and the Creative Process, 1559-1563 (Ashgate: England, 2010), 191-204. For a direct comparison of the painting with the biblical narrative see Ruth Dorot and Edna Langenthal, “Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s The Tower of Babel (1563). From Art to Architecture,” Journal Education Culture and Society, 2, (2023), 380-400. ↑

2. See Diána Kulisz, “The Tower of Babel Motif in the Art of the Low Countries,” in Mesopotamia Kingdom of Gods and Demons, ed. Zoltán Niederreiter, (Budapest: Museum of Fine Arts, 2024), 424-439. ↑
3. See Umberto Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Genesis, Part II, trans. Israel Abrams, (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1974), 225-226. Abarbenal, however, interprets the section much more in line with Bruegel’s themes. See Nehama Leibowitz, Studies in Bereshit, trans. Aryeh Newman, (Jerusalem: World Zionist Organization), 95-97. ↑
4. See Cassuto, id. at 203. ↑
5. See Karen Britt and Ra’anan Boustan, “Artistic Influences in Synagogue Mosaics: Putting the Huqoq Synagogue in Context,” BAR, May/June 2019, 40-41. They note that these are the only two known examples of synagogue mosaics to depict the Tower of Babel. ↑
6. The Golden Haggadah, Bezalel Narkiss ed. (England, 1996) 24-25; Marc Michael Epstein, The Medieval Haggadah: Art, Narrative & Religious Imagination (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011), 157-158. ↑
7. For a collection of the various sources see M.M. Kasher, Torah Shelemah, vol. 1, 515, no. 60 and 517 no. 73. ↑
8. See Anat Reizel, Introduction to Midrashic Literature, (Tevunot: Alon Shevut, 2011), pp. 105–106. ↑
9. See Mira Friedman, “The Tower of Babel in the Bedford Book of Hours,” in The Old Testament as Inspiration in Culture, Jan Heller, ed. (Trebenice: 2001), 113-114. ↑
10. See generally, A.M. Haberman, Perakim be-Toldoth Hamdpissim ha-Ivrim (Jerusalem: Rubin Mass, 1978),15-101; Moses Marx, “Gershom Soncino’s Wander Years in Italy, 1498-1527” in HUCA XI (1936), reprinted as a stand alone work with many examples of Soncino illustrations, in 1969, by the Society of Jewish Bibliophiles. ↑
11. Abraham Yaari, Hebrew Printers’ Marks: From the Beginning of Hebrew Printing to the End of 19^th Century (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press, 1943), 4-5, 123-124. Gershom once used a different mark with a tower in the 1505 Fano edition Mashal ha-Kadmoni. Id. 124. ↑
12. Yaari, Printers Marks, 124. ↑
13. Gershom’s prayer may have been tied to a conflict with a Jew who had converted to Christianity. In the end, perhaps because of this conflict, although it remains unclear, Gershom was forced to flee Italy soon after. See Marx, “Wandering Years,” 55-59. ↑

On Libraries, Bibliophiles & Images: Taj Art Auctions 13

by Eliezer Brodt and Dan Rabinowitz

Taj Art Auctions will hold its 13th auction this Sunday, April 7th (the catalog is available here). The auction contains many items worth highlighting, especially those related to historic Jewish libraries, as well as other unique books and ephemera.

Recently, arguably, the most significant Jewish library reopened its doors. The National Library of Israel, housed at Hebrew University for decades, moved into its own building, designed by the starchitects Herzog & de Meuron, who count the Tate Modern among other outstanding projects. Books are integral to the Jewish experience, and the library’s location, next to some of the most important institutions of the Jewish state, the Knesset, the Israel Museum, and the Supreme Court, echoes that sentiment. The library’s ground floor houses the Jewish Studies reading room, which contains over 200,000 volumes. The library itself holds over four million books (and counting). These are now accessed by a quartet of robots that fetch requested books. There is even a window to watch them in action. The Scholem room has been transformed from its small, cramped quarters into a spacious room that houses the collections of several kabbalah scholars. Scholem’s desk is still present. There is a permanent exhibit of some of the library’s treasures, but that is only accessible on an official tour.

Nonetheless, it is undoubtedly worth seeking out. An exhibition of manuscripts of one the greatest privately held collections of Judaica, the Braginsky Collection, opens this month. While the National Library’s new building and collection are exceptional, many precursor Jewish libraries existed throughout the Jewish diaspora.

The oldest functioning Jewish library in the world is the Ets Haim Library in Amsterdam, dating from 1616. (An exhibition of its books was held at the National Library of Israel, then known as the Jewish National and University Library, in 1980). Its antiquity is tied to the date the school opened with the same name. This school became well-known for its unique curriculum and success in imparting that curriculum. Unlike the Central and Eastern European schools that almost immediately started studying Mishna and Talmud, the Talmud Torah applied a more systematic approach to Jewish literature. R. Shabbetai Seftil, the son of R. Yeshaya ha-Levi Horowitz (Shelah or Shelah ha-Kodesh), traveled from Frankfurt to Pozen via ship. That journey took him through Amsterdam, where he saw that the students’ studies operated in sequence. First, they studied the entire corpus of Tanakh and then completed the Mishha, and when they matured, they only began studying Talmud, and this approach contributed to their unique success. Seeing the benefits, he broke down crying, “Why don’t we follow the same approach in our countries [of Central and Eastern Europe]? Suppose only we could institute this throughout the Jewish communities. What would the harm be in first completing the Torah and Mishna until the student reaches thirteen and then begins Talmud? With that background, it will take only a year to become proficient in the intricacies of Talmud study, unlike our current approach that requires years to reach that level of fluency.”

In an example of the intertwining nature of the library and the school, the bibliographer R. Shabbetai Bass (1641-1718), who wrote the first Hebrew bibliography, Sifte Yeshenim (today, most well-known for this commentary on Rashi, Sifte Hakhim). Bass was born and lived in what is today the Czech Republic (Czechia). Around 1680, he went to Amsterdam to print Sifte Yeshenim. During that time, he visited the library and school and described the students as “students of giants: young children dancing like locusts and like so many lambs. To my eyes, they were giants, so well-versed in their knowledge of Torah and grammar. They could write Hebrew verse and poetry in meter and converse in clear Hebrew.” He also describes the unique aspect of the library. “Within the midrash, they have a special school, and there they have many books, and all the time they are in the yeshivah, this room is also open, and whoever wishes to study, anything he desires is lent to him. But not outside the beit midrash, even if he provides a large sum of money.”

Among the Ets Hayim Library treasures is an Amsterdam print, the first Haggadah with copperplate illustrations. While illustrations in printed Haggados began with the Prague Haggadah of 1526, these were woodcuts. Copperplates, however, produce much finer illustrations. In 1695, the convert, Abraham ben Yaakov, designed and executed these copperplates, and the Haggadah was printed by the famed Amsterdam publisher, Proops. (Copperplates were already used in printing decades before the Haggadah. Perhaps one of the most significant recent examples is a 1635 copper etching by Rembrandt that the Jewish art scholar Simon Schama donated to the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam last year.)  The illustrations are based on the Christian biblical illustrations of Mathis Marin. While most are innocuous, the temple image at the end of the Haggadah is topped with a cross. In addition to the fine illustrations, the Haggadah also contains a large foldout map of the Jews’s journeys from Egypt to Israel; it is among the first Jewish maps of the Holy Land.

The Ets Hayim Library holds a unique edition of this Haggadah, considered one of its most treasured books. First, it contains an extra title page. But, more importantly, it is hand colored. While the copperplates are a significant improvement, the coloring makes this an especially striking Haggadah. It is listed among 18 Highlights from the Es Haim: The Oldest Jewish Library in the World, published by the library in 2016. The book includes three full-page reproductions of various details of the Haggadah and smaller reproductions of other pages. There are only two other copies of this version. One is at the Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati, and the other is being auctioned at Taj Art Auctions (lot 89). The copy at the auction was a gift from the printer Solomon Proops.

Similar images from the Haggadah’s title page were reused in Menoras ha-Me’or, Amsterdam, 1722, (lot 84), and the Amsterdam Haggadah final illustration of the Beis ha-Mikdash, that if one looks closely, the Christian cross was left intact from the original Mathis Marin illustration, also appears in the beautiful and unique title page adorning Birkas Shmuel, Frankfurt, 1782 (lot 152).

Amsterdam was home to another significant library, the Rosenthaliana. It was collected in Hanover but eventually landed in Amsterdam. The catalog related to this library attests to the rarity of another book in this auction. This library was amassed by Eliezer (Leeser) Rosenthal (1794-1868). Born in Warsaw, he eventually traveled to Hanover, where he served as a Rabbi. His wife came from a wealthy family that allowed Rosenthal to indulge in his passion, book collecting. At their death, his library comprised more than 5,200 volumes, including twelve incunabula and numerous rare and unique books. After his death, his son, George, commissioned the bibliographer Meyer (Marcus) Roest to complete a bibliography of the library. It was published in two volumes in 1875 and reproduced in 1966. Roest’s work incorporated Rosenthal’s catalog of his library, Yodeah Sefer. Despite the many rare books in the collections, there was at least one book he could not procure, at least a complete copy. In his entry, 1524, for the Ibbur Shanim, Venice, 1679, he says that “it is a terrible loss, that my copy is incomplete, it is missing the last pages, my copy ends at page 95 … and is missing the calendric charts for 150 years, beginning from 1675, my copy is missing from 95 of these charts, from 1731 onward… This is a scarce (yekar mitzius) book and is not listed in R. Hayim Michael’s [Or Meir] or the Shem ha-Gedolim, or Di Rossi’s bibliography.” The National Library of Israel received a complete copy from the Valmaddona Trust, which was digitized and available online. (One can bid on four of the Valmadonna books, Talmud Bavli, Seder Zeriam, Lublin, 1618, lot 70 , as well as lots 12, 54, and 68). A complete copy of the book appears in the auction at lot 2. (For more on calendar books, see Elisheva Carlebach, Palaces of Time: Jewish Calendar and Culture in Early Modern Europe, and pp. 51-55 regarding Ibbur Shanim. His work is also a source for the Tu be-Shevat seder, see our post, “Is there a Rotten Apple in the Tu be-Shevat Basket“). The book has its own intersting history that is briefly described in the timely post, “Kitniyot and Mechirat Chametz: Paradoxical Approaches to the Chametz Prohibition.”

Yet another seminal Jewish library was that of R. Dovid Oppenheim (1664-1736), considered “the greatest Jewish bibliophile that ever lived.” (See Alexander Marx, Studies in Jewish History and Booklore, 213). Oppenheim started his rabbinic career in Moravia, moved to Prague, and was eventually elevated to Bohemia’s Chief Rabbi. At age 24, his library consisted of 480 books, and by 1711, his library stood at over 2,100 books, missing only 140 books from those listed in Shabbetai Bass’s bibliography of all Hebrew books. After his death (with some additions from his son, Yosef), the library rose to 4,500 printed books and 780 manuscripts. Although Oppenheim lived in Prague, the library was in Hanover. This was due to the heavy book censorship, which included the potential for confiscation by the authorities. Oppenheim visited his library, but perhaps because his time was limited, his works do not indicate that he was acquainted with the book’s contents. Instead, he should be considered a consummate bibliophile, and his collection consisted of rarities and special beautiful and unique copies, with a considerable number on blue paper. For example, there were 51 books printed on vellum, 40 of which he commissioned himself, out of about 200 known books printed on that medium until 1905.

After his death and multiple attempts to sell the library, it eventually went to the Bodleian Library at Oxford University. A complete history of the library was most recently accounted for by Joshua Teplitsky in his Prince of the Press: How One Collector Built History’s Most Enduring and Remarkable Jewish Library. But before its final resting place, there were a handful of catalogs of the library or various aspects of it. The first complete printed catalog of the library was issued in 1782 and was intended to elicit interest from potential Jewish and non-Jewish buyers. Thus, it contains two title pages, one in Hebrew and the other in Latin. This rare bibliophilic item is lot 156.

Finally, the auction also includes books from the library of R. Nachum Dov Ber Friedman, the Sadigur Rebbe. His library was recently described in Amudei Olam by R. Zusya Dinklos, pp. 419-39. Aside from traditional works, the library also held Haskalah works, as the one in lot 71.

Illustrated Books

We discussed Ibur Shanim, and in addition to its rarity, it is also among the small number of Hebrew books that contain illustrations. Because the book’s purpose was to elucidate and explain Hebrew calendrical calculations, including the determination of the tekufos (which he vehemently criticizes some Rishonim and others for dismissing them as old wives tales), there are a handful of tutorial images.

Likewise, Sefer ha-Ivronot, Offenbach, 1722 (lot 73) includes celestial images, in this instance, a movable wheel of the heavenly apparatuses. While there was some speculation that the title page image depicting a heliocentric universe was deliberately to align with the book’s contents, that is unlikely as the image was reused in at least three other books printed in Offenbach that are unrelated to astronomy.

Moshe Hefetz, perhaps more well-known for the 19th-century modification of his portrait attached to the first edition of his Melechet Machshevet, which depicts him bare-headed, authored a book on the Bet ha-Mikdash, Haknukas ha-Bayis, 1696, (lot 20), within which several Temple elements are illustrated.

Two books contain eclectic images of the Jewish star. Igeret Ayelet Ahavim, Amsterdam, 1665 (lot 140) and the first edition, 170 Amsterdam, Raziel HaMalach, (lot 120) include unusual adaptations of the star. (For another kabbalistic rarity, lot 116, is the kabbalist, Rabbi Yosef Erges’ personal copy of the Rosh ha-Shana and Yom Kippur machzorim with his kabbalistic additions.)

There are a handful of artistic title pages, with at least two Greek gods, Hercules and Venus (see lots 10 and 48), and some potentially objectionable ones that Marc Shapiro discussed in his book Changing the Immutable (lots 64 & 78).

One of the most unusual title pages is a special one that its owner inserted into the book. The title page, taken from a non-Jewish architectural image by the 18th-century engraver Franz Carl Heissig, was filled in by hand with the book’s publication information (lot 5).

Finally, while censorship in Jewish books is somewhat common, undoing censorship is less common. Lot 62 is a unique copy of the Shu’T Maharshal that includes the otherwise expunged name of an informer. Other copies only refer to the person obliquely; this copy, although crossed out, the name is still visible. For more on this see Elchanan Reiner, “Lineage (Yihus) and Libel:  Mahral, the Bezalel Family, and the Nadler Affair,” in Elchanan Reiner, ed., Maharal: Biography, Doctrine, Influence, 101-26 (Hebrew).

Some Highlights of the Upcoming Taj Art Auction*

With the proliferation of auction houses and the centralized platform of Bidspirit, there are auctions of Judaica and Hebraica on a weekly, if not more frequent, basis. One of the more recent entrants into this arena is Taj Art, founded in 2021 by Tomer Rosenfeld and Aron Orzel. This Sunday, December 24th, at 7 pm Israel time, Taj Art will be hosting their 11^th auction, which includes some items of particular bibliographical and historical note.

The full catalog is available here, and a pdf of the highlights brochure is here.

The first (lot 9) is a work that appears in a story that is a touchstone for the modern feminist agenda.

According to R. Barkuh HaLevi Epstein, he maintained a regular dialogue with Netziv’s first wife, Rayna Batya. Among the topics of conversation was the issue of women studying Jewish literature. Rayna was well-versed and regularly studied an impressive array of Jewish books.

Epstein, in his Mekor Barukh, attempts to place Rayna as less of an anomaly but more as one within a chain, albeit small of women throughout Jewish history that similarly shared Rayna’s interest and erudition of Jewish texts. While there is little doubt that there are examples of such women, many of Epstein’s examples are corrupt at best and deliberate misreading of the sources at worst. Nonetheless, there is little doubt that Rayna was an erudite woman. According to Epstein, Rayna eventually won him over to her position when she identified a responsa that provided that women could study traditional texts. The source was Ma’ayan Ganim. Epstein repeats the position of Ma’ayan Ganim in his commentary on the Torah, Torah Temimah (although without reference to Rayna or a particular episode).

First, we should note that Marc Shapiro has questioned the veracity of the entire story in his article on this site, which is subject to a rebuttal by Y. Lander. Eliyana Adler’s article, “Reading Rayna Batya: The Rebellious Rebbitzen as Self-Reflection,” (available here), collects additional discussions regarding the event and provides her approach to the story. While one can debate the merit and implications for Jewish feminism, it is worth briefly discussing the obscure work Ma’ayan Ganim.

The Ma’ayan Ganim, authored by the Italian rabbi Shmuel Archovalti, was published in 1553 in a small format and consisted of 50 letters intended to guide effective communication. Unlike many other legal systems, Jewish law largely relies on responsa, letters from rabbis in response to queries (although, in some instances, contrived rather than actual). Despite the format, not all letters are legal, and certainly, a text with sample letters intending to serve as a writing tool does not qualify as legally binding. Irrespective of the purpose, the letters demonstrate an interest in the issue that held the interest of many rabbis and others. Similarly, whether or not Epstein created the entire episode or embellished parts of it does not detract from his position that encouraged women’s study of Jewish texts.

While Rayna Batya has enjoyed questionable notoriety, it is disappointing that a woman whose advocacy for women’s study and Jewish women’s rights was well documented and received the respect of leading Jewish rabbis and scholars is today nearly forgotten. Ironically, as Dr. Leiman highlights, the New Jewish Encyclopedia notes that prior Encyclopedias Jewish women were marginalized, it too fails to record Esther. The one exception to this forgetfulness is the Encyclopedia for the Zionist Leaders, which records Esther and some of her accomplishments. Today, however, there is a very robust discussion of many of Esther’s unique contributions and essential ideas that appeared here: https://mizrachi.org/hamizrachi/the-time-of-our-freedom/

It includes translating one of Esther’s articles that appeared in the Jewish press.

Two books are written by R. Yitzhak Chaim Kohen MeChazanim (Cantarini), Et Kets and Pachad Yitzhak (Lot 22). The former was published in 1710 and the latter in 1685. Despite the gap in time, both contain a fully illustrated page that precedes the title page and depicts the Akadeh. Et Kets discusses the messianic era, while Pachad Yitzhak is devoted to discussing the Jews of Padua, avoiding being massacred by an angry mob. Despite the same iconography, the two illustrations were likely done by two different artists and contain subtle but important differences.

The overall depictions are of two different time periods of the Akedah episode. In the first, the illustrations depict Abraham just as he was about to slaughter Isaac and the angel calling to stop him. But, in the second, the illustration is of Abraham going after the ram, not Isaac. The significance of this is tied to the actual books. In Pachad Yitzhak, the book discusses a terrific threat to the Jews and their salvation. Thus, the illustration is similar – the terrific threat to Isaac and salvation. The second work, Et Kets, is a much more positive book. This work has no fear of the prior; instead, it is fully devoted to the Messiah, and thus, the illustration is only of the ram and its sacrifice. Lot 22 is Pachad Yitzhak, the rarer of the two.

Further, different Hebrew words appear in both illustrations. On the first, the word ערכה (prepared or set up) appears across Abraham’s chest. This word expresses Abraham’s readiness to sacrifice Isaac. It would seem, similarly, that the Jews of Padua were willing to sacrifice themselves for God. But the word ערכה only means to prepare and not actually to sacrifice. Thus, Isaac was only prepared but not sacrificed, and so too, the Jews of Padua were placed in danger but ultimately redeemed.

In Et Kets, the words ירא יראה appear. These words reference what Abraham called the place where the Akedah took place. Importantly, Abraham uttered these words after the entire episode. These were words of jubilation on his passing his test and Isaac’s redemption. Again, these words fit well with the content of Et Kets.

These allusions are unsurprising, considering the style of R. Dr. Cantarini. His books are written rather cryptically, with many allusions to Biblical and other themes throughout. (See our fuller discussion here.)

Many Hebrew books include a depiction of the Temple Mount, represented by the Dome of the Rock. However, Lot 43, Zikrohn Yerushalim, published in 1742, consists of a depiction of the Dome of the Rock (surrounded by a Medieval wall and town) but broke new ground in depicting the Kotel to represent the Jewish Temple. This is the first time the Kotel ever appeared in a Jewish book. Yet, only in the 19^th century did the Jewish books fully transition to the Kotel rather than the Dome of the Rock.

There are two notable works by R. Emden, his Siddur, (lot 52), and R. Azreil Hildeshiemer’s copy of Meor u-Ketziah (lot 175). This edition of the Siddur is especially important as most of the reprints (until recently) only included the commentary, and the actual text of the Siddur did not reflect many of R. Emden’s approaches and, frequently, a direct conflict between the commentary and the text.

There are some very rare antiquarian books, an incunabulum from Radak, (lot 149), published in 1486 by Soncino. Lot 148 is a leaf from a manuscript of Rambam’s commentary of the Mishna dated to 1222 and transcribed in Yemen. One of the rarest Bomberg volumes of the Talmud is Mesechet Avodah Zarah, lot 32. Of course, because this tractate discusses non-Jews and their relationship to Jews, it was particularly fraught. Indeed, after the resumption of the printing of the Talmud in Basel after the ban in the early 16^th century, it omitted this tractate entirely. (There are also two other Bomberg volumes, lots 33–34).

Eliyahu HaBakhur (Elia Levita) wrote one of the earliest grammar and dictionaries of Hebrew and Aramaic in the modern period. Lot 86, is the first edition of his Sefer HaBakhur, Isny, 1541.  A more recent reprint was subject to censorship due to including a particular commentary.  See our discussion, “A New Book Censored.”

There are also a few books that contain noteworthy illustrations. Lot 87 is Tzurat ha-Arets, Basel, 1546, which includes astronomical images. Lot 89, is an edition of the fundamental kabbalistic work, Razeil ha-Malakh, that depicts the star of David and kabbalistic amulets.

The issue of rabbinic pay appears to have affected even the greatest of rabbis. Lot 205 is a letter from R. Chaim Ozer to the Vilna community pleading for a raise because he is so destitute that “he will not have money for rent or food.”

In all, there are a number of highly collectible items, and the catalog is certainly worth a closer look.

*This is part our series on upcoming auctions, “Auction Highlights.” These provide the opportunity to revisit previous posts and provide short notes about books and other related items.

Pesach, Haggadah, Art & Sundry Matters: A Recap of Important Seforimblog Articles

Among the more interesting aspects of the history of Haggados, is the inclusion of illustrations. This practice dates back to the Medieval period and, with the introduction of printing, was incorporated into that medium. Marc Michael Epstein’s excellent book regarding four seminal Haggadah manuscripts, The Medieval Haggadah: Art, Narrative & Religious Imagination, was reviewed here, and a number of those illustrations, were analyzed in “Everything is Illuminated: Mining the Art of IllustratedHaggadah Manuscripts for Meaning.” Epstein edited and wrote an introduction to the recently published facsimile edition of the Brother Haggadah, which resides in the British Library. This is the first reproduction in full color of this important manuscript. Another recent reproduction of a manuscript Haggadah is Joel ben Simon’s Washington Haggadah. This Haggadah is particularly relevant this year, as it contains an alternative text for  Eruv Tavshilin blessing. Whether or not this was deliberate was the subject of some controversy, see “Eruv Tavshilin: A Scribal Error or Deliberate Reformation?”

The first illustrated printed Haggadah, Prague, 1526, introduced new illustrations and recycled and referenced some of the common ones in manuscripts (see here for a brief discussion and here for Eliezer Brodt’s longer treatment). That edition would serve as a model for many subsequent illustrated Haggados but also contains surprising elements, at least in some religious circles, regarding the depiction of women, and was subsequently censored to conform with the revisionist approach to Jewish art. See, “A Few Comments Regarding The First Woodcut Border Accompanying The Prague 1526 Haggadah,” and Elliot Horowitz’s response, “Borders, Breasts, and Bibliography.” The Schecter Haggadah: Art, History and Commentary, a contemporary treatment of the art and the Haggadah, (for Elli Fischer’s review, see here), that unintentionally reproduced a version of one of the censored images in the first edition. It was restored in subsequent editions. Women appear in other contexts in illustrated Haggados. The most infamous example is the “custom” that implies a connection between one’s spouse and marror (discussed here), but our article, “Haggadah and the Mingling of the Sexes” documents more positive and inclusive examples of women’s participation in the various Passover rituals in printed Haggados.  Similarly, the c. 1300 Birds Head Haggadah has an image of female figures in snoods preparing the matza and a woman at the center of Seder table.

As detailed in chapter 8 of Epstein’s Medieval Haggadah, the early 14th Century Golden Haggadah is perhaps the most female-centric Haggadah and may have been commissioned for a woman. That manuscript emphasizes the unique, positive, and critical role women played in the Exodus narrative. Although it also depicts the practice of overzealous cleaning with a woman sweeping the ceiling. The 1430 Darmstadt Haggadah has a full-page illumination of women teachers, but its connection to the text is opaque. Finally, we argue that one printed Haggadah uses a subtle element in explicating the midrashic understanding of the separation of couples as part of the Egyptian experience.

One of the most creative contemporary Haggados was produced by the artist, David Moss. Moss was commissioned by David Levy to create a Haggadah, on vellum in the tradition of Medieval Jewish manuscripts. Moss worked for years on the project the result surely equals, if not surpasses, many of the well-known Medieval haggados, both artistically and its ability to bring deeper meaning to the text. The manuscript is adorned with gold and silver leaf and contains many paper-cuts (technically vellum-cuts).  One of the most striking examples of the silver decoration is the mirrors that accompany the passage that “in each and every  generation one is obligated to regard himself as though he personally came out of Egypt.” The mirrors appear on facing pages, interspersed with one with male and the other with female figures in historically accurate attire from Egypt to the modern period. Because the portraits are staggered when the page opens, each image is reflected on the opposite page, and when it is completely opened, the reader’s reflection literally appears in the Haggadah — a physical manifestation of the requirement to insert oneself into the story. The page is available as a separate print.

After completing the Haggadah, Moss was asked to reproduce it, and, with Levy’s permission, produced, what the former Librarian of Congress, Daniel Bornstein, described as one of the greatest examples of 20th-century printing. The reproduction, on vellum, nearly perfectly replicates the handmade one. This edition was limited to 500 copies, all of which were sold. From time to time, these copies appear at auction and are offered by private dealers, a recent copy sold for $35,000. President Regan presented one of these copies to the former President of Israel, Chaim Herzog, when he visited the White House in 1987. While that is out of reach for many, this version is housed at many libraries, and if one is in Israel, one can visit Moss at his workshop in the artist colony in Jerusalem, where he continues to produce exceptional works of Judaica and view the reproduction.  There is also a highly accurate reproduction, on paper that is available (deluxe edition) and retains the many papercuts and some of the other original elements, that is still available. This edition also contains a separate commentary volume, in Hebrew and English. (There is also one other available version that simply reproduces the pages, but lacks the papercuts.)

While the entire Moss Haggadah is worth study, a few examples. One paper-cut is comprised of eight panels, each depicting the process of brick making, the verso, using the same cuttings, depicts the matza baking process, literally transforming bricks into matza. The first panel of the matza baking is taken from Nuremberg II Haggadah, which we previously discussed here, and demonstrated that it preserves the Ashkenazi practice of only requiring supervision from the time of milling and not when the wheat was cut.

The illustration accompanying the section of Shefokh, reuses the illustrations of Eliyahu from the Prague 1526 and the Mantua 1528 Haggados to great effect. In the original and vellum reproduction, the cup of Eliyahu physically turns without any visible connection to the page — an extraordinary technical achievement. This section and the illustrations were discussed by Eliezer Brodt in “The Cup of the Visitor: What Lies Behind the Kos Shel Eliyahu, and, in this post, he identified an otherwise unknown work relating to the topic, for another article on the topic, see Tal Goiten’s “The Pouring of Elijah’s Cup (Hebrew).”  Eliezer revisited the topic in (here) his conversations with Rabbi Moshe Schwed, in the series, Al Ha-Daf. In last year’s conversation, he discussed a number of other elements of the history of the Haggadah, and three years ago the controversy surrounding machine produced matza. (All of the episodes are also streaming on Apple Podcasts, Spotify & 24Six.) Additionally, he authored “An Initial Bibliography of Important Haggadah Literature,” and two articles related to newly published Haggados, “Elazar Fleckeles’s Haggadah Maaseh BR’ Elazar ” and XXI. Rabbi Eliezer Brodt on Haggadah shel Pesach: Reflections on the Past and Present ,” regarding Rabbi Yedidya Tia Weil’s (the son of R. Rabbi Netanel Weil author of “Korban Netanel”) edition, and a review of David Henshke’s monumental work, Mah Nistanna. 

In one of the first haggadot printed in the United State published in 1886 Haggadah contains a depiction of the four sons.  Depicting the four sons is very common in the illustrated manuscripts and printed haggadot. In this instance, the wicked son’s disdain for the seder proceedings shows him leaning back on his chair and smoking a cigarette. According to many halakhic authorities, smoking is permitted on Yom Tov, nonetheless, the illustration demonstrates that at least in the late 19th-century smoking was not an acceptable practice in formal settings. (For a discussion of smoking on Yom Tov, see R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin, Mo’adim be-Halakha (Jerusalem:  Mechon Talmud Hayisraeli, 1983), 7-8).

The cup of Eliyahu is but one of many Passover food-related elements. The identification of Marror with the artichoke in Medieval Haggados, is debated by Dan Rabinowitz and Leor Jacobi , while Susan Weingarten provides an overview of the vegetable, in “The Not-So-Humble Artichoke in Ancient Jewish Sources.” Jacobi also discusses the fifth cup in his article, “Mysteries of the Magical Fifth Passover Cup II, The Great Disappearing Act and this printed article.  The history of the restriction of Kitniyot and the development of the practice of selling hametz is discussed in our article, “Kitniyot and Mechirat Chametz: Paradoxical Approaches to the Chametz Prohibition,” and was revisited on Rabbi Drew Kaplan’s Jewish Drinking podcast (and in an audio version on apple podcasts and spotify). Another guest was Marc Epstein, discussing his book on Medieval Haggados, and Dr. Jontahan Sarna where he gives an overview of the use of raisin wine for the kiddush and the four cups, based on his article, “Passover Raisin Wine,” as was the frequent contributor to the Seforimblog, Dr. Marc Shapiro. His interview, like many of his posts and his book, Changing the Immutable, discusses censorship and, in particular, the censored resposum of R. Moshe Isserles regarding taboo wine (also briefly touched upon in Changing the Immutable, 81-82, and for a more comprehensive discussion of the responsum, see Daniel Sperber, Nitevot Pesikah, 104-113).  For another wine related post, see Isaiah Cox’s article, “Wine Strength and Dilution.” The history of Jewish drinking and Kiddush Clubs was briefly discussed here.

Whether coffee, marijuana and other stimulants falls within the Kitniyot category appears here. Marc Shapiro’s article, “R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin, Kitniyot, R. Judah Mintz, and More,” regarding Artscroll’s manipulation of R. Zevin’s Moadim be-Halakha regarding kitniyot. Another coffee related article explores the history and commercial relationship between the Maxwell House Haggadah.  Finally, the last (pun intended) food discussion centers on the custom of stealing the afikoman.

The Amsterdam 1695 Haggadah was an important milestone in the history of printed illustrated Haggados, it was the first to employ copperplates rather than woodcuts. This new technique enabled much sharper and elaborate illustrations than in past Haggados. While some of the images can be traced to earlier Jewish Haggados, many were taken from the Christian illustrator, Mathis Marin. It also was the first to include a map. As we demonstrated that map, however, is sourced from a work that was a early and egregious example of forgery of Hebrew texts. For an Pesach related plagiarism, see “Pesach Journals, Had Gadyah, Plagiarism & Bibliographical Errors.” Kedem’s upcoming auction of the Gross Family collection includes, with an estimate of $80,00-$100,000, one of the rarest, beautiful, and expensive illustrations of Had Gadya by El Lissitzky published by Kultur Lige, Kiev, 1919. Eli Genauer reviews another number related edition, not in price, but convention, “The Gematriya Haggadah.”

Chag kasher ve-sameach!