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Modesty and Piety: Improving on the Past

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Modesty and Piety: Improving on the Past
by: Michael K. Silber
The Hebrew University of Jerusalem
The well known “coat of arms” of the priestly Rapaport family first appeared as a colophon at the end of Avraham Menachem Rapa of Porto’s Mincha Belulah (Verona, 1594), fol. 207b, readily at HebrewBooks.org (here). Instead of a motto, a banner proclaimed the author’s name above and below the shield which featured a pair of hands raised in priestly benediction in the upper half, while below was depicted a crow (Rabe in German) on a branch, a reference to the author’s family name. The shield is flanked by two heraldic supporters, and this is what interests us here.
The supporters feature two female torsos rampant facing away from the shield. They are nude from the waist up.

It was by no means rare to encounter nude women in Hebrew books between the sixteenth and the early eighteenth centuries, even prominently displayed on the covers (Adam accompanied at times by a buxom Eve is a ready example). But no doubt such nudity proves unsettling to the Orthodox public nowadays.
Benjamin Shlomo Hamburger’s recently published magisterial three volume history, Ha-Yeshiva ha-Rama bi-Fiorda (Bnei Brak, 5770) is a rich, learned study by one who has dedicated many scholarly books to the heritage of German Jewry. The volumes are noteworthy also for their rich illustrations, but one in particular catches the eye.
A chapter dedicated to Baruch Kahana Rapaport who served for many years as rabbi of Fürth (1711-1746), reproduces, as many a study on the Rapaports, the “coat of arms” from Mincha Belulah (volume 1, page 390).  
But the supporters here have been modestly transgendered and piously rendered with beards! 

Several studies by Jacob J. Schacter and others have noted the tendency to “verbessern” the past in Orthodox historiography. This then is a modest (but not very pious) contribution to the topic from the perspective of visual evidence of the past.
Addendum:
Dan Rabinowitz
the Seforim blog
It is indeed import to note as Dr. Michael K. Silber has, that we have yet another example of doctoring history to conform with today’s anachronistic views.  But, we should note that this is not the first time the Rapoport coat of arms has undergone a change.  Before turning to this early example, we need to a make a few points.
As Dr. Silber notes, this coat of arms appears at the end of the first edition of Mincha Belulah, Verona, 1594. Rapoport created this herald and the herald contains allusions to his name – Rapoport.  Hida, R. Hayyim Yosef David Azulai, no Reform rabbi, includes an entry on Rapoport in Hida’s Shem HaGedolim (Machret Seforim, Mem, sub. Mincha Belula).  Importantly, although the herald appears at the back of Mincha Belulah, Hida calls attention to this herald. Hida notes that “Rapoport” is spelled differently on the herald than on the title page.  But, no where does Hida question the inclusion of the bare-breasted women on this rabbinic herald. Moreover, Hida doesn’t alert that reader that if one looks up the herald there are these “offensive” images.  Hida’s silence is remarkable but only if one ignores the prevalence of such imagery in Hebrew books.  That is, Mincha Belula is not the only work to include such imagery.  For example, as we have previously discussed, other works include similar imagery (see here, here, here, here, for examples of nudes, and here for examples of mythological images).
We also note that this was not the first time the herald from the Mincha Belulah has been modified. In the 1989 Beni Brak reprint of Mincha Belulah, the images are also altered.  While they haven’t been turned into men, the women are more modestly clothed.  The image below is taken from this edition.



A Picture is Worth a Thousand Questions

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          A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND QUESTIONS
By Eli Genauer
Authors note: I would like to thank Dr. Peggy Pearlstein and Sharon Horowitz of the Library of Congress for their help in allowing me to assemble the various printed editions of the Talmud that I used in this article
Amongst all the difficult tractates of the Talmud, Eruvin stands head and shoulders above most. The Gemara tries to describe in words what would normally take a picture to understand. Thankfully, our printed editions of Eruvin contain many diagrams, in the body of the text, in Rashi and in Tosafot. These diagrams help us make sense of what is going on. Truthfully, I don’t know how one could learn this Gemara without the diagrams.

I would like to analyze one such diagram and trace its history in the printed editions of Eruvin. At the end of my analysis, I will leave the reader with a few questions to ponder.
The Talmud Bavli, Eruvin, 6A, discusses the case of the מבוי עקום, literally a bent alley.[1] This is a mavoy (alley) shaped like an “L” that opens to the Reshut ha-Rabim at both ends. Indeed, both Rav and Shmuel agree that this mavoy is open on both ends to the  Reshut ha-Rabim, but, they disagree on its halachic treatment. As I mentioned, the word ‘akum literally means “bent”. But, how do we know it is actually an “L” shaped mavoy? Probably from this picture which we find in the classic Vilna Shas.
It shows an “L” shaped mavoy with the notation that this mavoy opens up to the Reshut ha-Rabim at each end. Rashi does not say that it is an “L” shaped mavoy, only “מבוי עקום ושני פתחיו לרשות הרבים – a mavoy ‘akum is one that has both of its openings facing the Reshut ha-Rabim. Rashi does, however, add a critical word which adds to our understanding of the term, and that is the word “ka-zeh” (like this, or in this context, as described below). Underneath the word ka-zeh, in the Vilna edition, is the diagram with the “L” shaped mavoy, and now we know how Rashi explains this term in the Gemara. Of course, this assumes that the diagram, as it appears in the Vilna edition, is what Rashi provided.  Thus, in order to ascertain if the “L” shaped diagram is really what Rashi intended, we need to examine earlier editions to assure ourselves that this diagram is the correct one. 
Let us now turn to the history of the printed editions of the Talmud and, specifically, the various versions of this Rashi in different editions. I first looked at the second Bomberg edition printed in Venice in 1528.[2] Marvin Heller states that the Bomberg editions were, to some extent, based on the previous editions of Gershom Soncino.[3] However, where Soncino editions did contain diagrams, the Bomberg editions did not.[4] Dr. Edward Fram writes that “A blank space was left on the page suitable for adding a woodcut, but, whether for financial or technical reasons, the diagrams were not included until later printings”.[5]  It wasn’t until Yissochar Berman Segal’s Frankfurt on Oder edition of 1697-1699, almost 200 years later, that diagrams were included in a printed edition.
Therefore, as we would now expect, the 1528 Venice edition looks like this.

The text in Rashi reads מבוי עקום ושני פתחיו לרשות הרבים כזה. The words are perfectly clear, but without a diagram to indicate what the word ka-zeh meant, a student might be a bit lost.

At least the reader would know that there was supposed to be a diagram there, and he might look somewhere else (perhaps in an old Rashi manuscript) to find it.
Such is not the case for our next example, which was printed in Cracow in 1619. This was a smaller version of the Talmud and included only the text of the Gemara and the Rashi. It was printed for students for use in various Yeshivos.[6] Here is how our passage looks there.


If you look at the 7th line on the picture shown, you will see it says מבוי עקום ושני פתחיו לר”ה כזה, but there is no space left to indicate a diagram was supposed to go there. One wonders what went through the mind of a young Yeshiva student when he studied this line. It is perhaps no wonder that Marvin Heller quotes R. Raphael N.N. Rabinowitz comment regarding this edition of Eruvin that “the tractate is almost impossible to learn from, and is, therefore, worthless.”[7]
Next we will go to the Benveniste edition, printed in Amsterdam in 1644. Similarly, this edition does not contain diagrams, as we can see from a copy that I possess.


However, as noted above, there were some editions that had the blank spaces filled in by artists or through the addition of woodcuts. Such is an edition housed in the Library of Congress, where the page in question looks like this.

The words inside the diagram are smudged, but at least it is somewhat clear that the alley in question is “L” shaped.[8]

Let us finally get to the first edition that had diagrams included, that of Frankfurt on Oder of 1697. After almost 200 years of no printed diagrams, just empty spaces, this is what we see.


It is safe to say that the editors belonged to the minimalist group of diagram makers. We can see the “L” shape, but no indication of where the reshut ha-rabim begins. You will also notice that the word מכאן  is spelled incorrectly as מיכן, in the text of the Rashi.[9] Not an auspicious start for diagrams in the printed Talmud.
From then on, the diagrams get a little better and begin to look quite a bit like the definitive diagram in the Vilna Shas. Here are a few examples.

AMSTERDAM, 1743


DYHERNFURTH 1816
My personal favorite is from Frankfurt on Oder of 1734. I think the picture tells the story best (even better than the Vilna Shas) because of the position of the words “reshut ha-rabim“. (ר”ה as abbreviated)

This edition, correctly shows the reshut ha-rabim beginining only where the alley ends.
As I mentioned before, the  Soncino editions contained the diagrams that were missing in the Bomberg editions. (See note [4] below). Clearly, these came from manuscripts which were used to prepare the Soncino editions. It was easy for a scribe who was copying a manuscript to insert a diagram where indicated, as everything was being done by hand. We might also assume that the copyists were artistic in nature and that drawing a diagram came easily to them.
I am left with just a few questions.
1. Who drew the first diagram? Was it Rashi himself? Are there manuscripts that provide evidence that Rashi did or did not execute the diagrams that appear in today’s editions of the Talmud?
2. Did Rashi even write the word “ka-zeh” in his Peirush?
3. Once the original manuscript of Rashi was copied and re-copied, did the diagrams change? I can imagine that a copyist wanted to strictly maintain Rashi’s words, but I wonder if one of them thought that their version of a diagram might be better understood? This would cause later versions to be changed forever.
We know that a picture is worth a thousand words. We are also taught that in studying Gemara, every word is precious. It is therefore very important that the diagrams that we have be accurate, so that the thousand words they tell us will also be accurate.
NOTES

[1]  The online Milon gives the following meaning to the word “‘akum” – curved; bent; inclined. Jastrow renders our particular passage as “a winding alley.” Clearly, a picture would be helpful here to indicate what the Gemara was talking about.
[2]  Maamar ‘al hadpasat ha-Talmud with Additions, ed. A.M. Habermann, Mossad ha-Rav Kook, Jerusalem: 2006,  p. 73 n.1. Rabinowitz states that although it is unclear to him the exact date of the printing of all the volumes of this edition, he had a copy of Eruvin that provided it was printed in [5]288 (1527/8). This is the same year indicated in the copy in the Library of Congress.
[3]  Marvin J. Heller’s Printing the Talmud: A History of the Earliest Printed Editions of the Talmud, Brooklyn, NY: 1992,  p. 145.
[4]  Here is an image of the Soncino, Pesaro 1511 Eruvin 6A which shows a diagram of the “L’ shaped alley (from JNUL online digitized collection). Marvin Heller has a picture of the front page of this Tractate in his above cited book (p. 110) and he identifies it as Pesaro 1511.
[5] Edward Fram, “In the Margins of the Text, Changes in the Page of the Talmud,” in Printing the Talmud: From Bomberg to Scottenstein, ed. Sharon Lieberman Mintz et.al., Yeshiva Univ. Museum, New York: 2005, p. 91, n.4. 
[6] Heller id. at p. 38.
[7] Id. p. 388. According to Heller, Rabinowitz made his comment because of the inferior paper and letters of this edition. But, I imagine that he was also bothered by instances such as this.
[8] Here is a picture of a different page of Eruvin from the same copy with diagrams drawn in by ink. Although he was living in Amsterdam at this time, I do not think it was Rembrandt who drew these.

[9] It was spelled that way in the Pesaro 1511 edition also. I assume that the Vilna Shas version is correct.


Illustrated Title Pages in Upcoming Auction Catalog

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This Thursday, Kestenbaum & Co. is having an auction.  The catalog is available online and the viewing takes place this week.  For those interested in some highlights, the website provides those.  But, I wanted to highlight a theme that hasn’t been noted.  First, a quick background regarding Hebrew book auctions.  [Note, this is not a comprehensive attempt.] There are five auction houses that concentrate on Hebrew books, Kestenbaum, Judica Jerusalem, Asufa, Baronovitch, and, a recent entry, Kedem.  While all five concentrate on Hebrew books, they are all unique in many ways.  First, the catalog.  With the exception of Judaica Jerusalem, all offer their catalogs online.  Additionally, they also offer them in hard copy format through subscriptions.  Kestenbaum and Baronovitch are American auction houses, while the others are Israeli.  Of the two American, Kestenbaum has auctions more frequently.  Both American typically have two to three hundred lots, while the Israeli ones have as many as 800.  The Israeli ones provide illustrations for every lot and descriptions in Hebrew and English (although, at times, the English translations can be very poor).  Kestenbaum doesn’t have illustrations for every lot.  Which gets us to our hidden theme.  In the lots that provide photos of the title pages, many title pages carry a mythological or Christian theme.  Of course, we are not suggesting that these were selected because of this theme, instead, we are merely pointing it out. 
Mythological Title Pages
The first illustration is for lot # 4, Mirkeveth ha-Mishna Abrabanel’s commentary to Devarim. This edition of Sabbioneta, 1551 (the first Hebrew book published there), carries the illustration of Mars and Minerva.

This is not the only time this title page appears. Indeed, in this auction catalog’s illustrations it appears on three other illustrated books.  See lots 171, 191 and 217.  That is, these other books share the same title illustration.  Marvin Heller, in his article discussing this title page explains that, as one probably surmised, this title page with its mythical theme, first appeared in non-Jewish books. Beginning in 1523 this title page was employed in a variety of non-Jewish books.  It would be our book, Mirkeveth ha-Mishna, that would be the first Hebrew book to re-use this title page.  Heller, traces the subsequent history in his article for those looking for more information on this title page. Marvin Heller, “Mars & Minerva on the Hebrew Title Page,” in Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America, 98:3 (Sept. 2004). 

The second illustration related to mythological theme is that of lot # 221, Pirkei Rebi Eliezer, Sabbionetta, 1567.  This title page shows Hercules striking Hydra the multi-headed snake (the illustration seems very similar to that of Antonio del Pollaiolo’s “Hercules and the Hydra.”). 
We now turn to the Christian title page.  This one is from lot #129, Haggadah shel Pesach, Amsterdam, 1712.  The title page, at the top, depicts Moshe at the burning bush.  This Haggadah, which is known as the Second Amsterdam Hagaddah due to it being the second edition of the Haggadah to carry copperplate engravings rather than wood.  These engravings were done by a convert, Abraham ben Jacob (whose name was removed from the title page in this edition). Ben Jacob used a well known Christian engravers illustrations as models for the Haggadah illustrations.  So, Moshe at the burning bush illustrations is almost the same, with the exception that the triangle surrounding God’s name (depicting the Trinity) is removed in the haggadah.  Both appear below.

Yerushalmi, in Haggadah and History, shows other examples of borrowing in this Haggadah. 
It is worth noting a few more benign title page illustrations that appear in this catalog.  The first is that of lot #165, Amudei Golah, Cremona, 1556 that shows in the center a medallion personifying Cremona, while in the “upper section is the head of a winged horse, with a bare-breasted woman to the right and a man to the left.” Marvin Heller, The Sixteenth Century Hebrew Book, p. 417.

Finally, we get to the last book we shall discuss, one of the earliest to include a portrait of the author on the frontispiece, lot 84, Kehunat Avraham, Venice, 1719.  Additionally, one can see that he is wearing a wig, not all that uncommon amongst the Rabbinic sect for the period of time it was universially fashionable. For example, R. David Neito is shown with a wig, as are others.  One well known example of one who skipped the wig was R. Yehudah Areyeh Modena, who appears in his portrait completely bald. 



Non-Jewish Iconography in Hebrew Books

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As we have discussed on numerous occasions, Hebrew books contain a fair amount of non-Jewish iconography and imagery that is of non-Jewish origin.  See, for example, here, here, here and here.  Of course, Marvin Heller's article on Mars and Minerva appearing on Hebrew title pages, Marvin Heller, "Mars and Minerva on the Hebrew Title-Page," in Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America, 98:3, Sept. 2004, reprinted in Heller's collected articles Studies in the Making of the Early Hebrew Book (which will be reviewed separately in the very near future), is the starting point for much of this discussion. There is an article in this week's Jewish Press that also discusses this issue.  The article is available here. 

It is, however, worth noting a few things.  First, the article discusses the hare hunt motif that is found in various Jewish books, most notably in the Prague 1526 haggadah and the Mantua 1560 haggadah.  This illustration appears in manuscripts as well, and in the Darmstadt Haggadah, it is not a hare hunt but a deer hunt.  The deer, of course, is a more well known Jewish motif and thus would obviate the issue of representing Jews as a hare.  That said, it is unlikely that the deer hunt in the Darmstadt haggadah can be used to explain the hunting motif as it is likely that the illustrations in that haggadah are of non-Jewish origin.  Indeed, Gutmann notes that the illustrations accompanying this haggadah have no connection to the text and are likely non-Jewish. 

Additionally, it is worth noting,with regard to the Prague 1526 haggadah and its illustrations, there is a book that is devoted to explaining the history and meaning of the Prague 1526 haggadah, Charles Wengrov, Haggadah and Woodcut, Shulsinger Bros., New York, 1967.  Wengrov discusses all the illustration in this, seminal, haggadah.  Additionally, he discusses the history of the various woodcuts, both in their forms in the Prague haggadah as well as the motifs they employ.  Wengrov's discussions encompass both printed and manuscript haggadahs.

Returning to non-Jewish iconography, a most radical but intriguing theory related to this topic can be found in Ruth Mellinkoff, Antisemitic Hate Signs in Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts from Medieval Germany, Center for Jewish Art -Hebrew University, Jerusalem, 1999.  Mellinkoff offers a completly different theory for the bird's heads in the famous Bird's Head Haggadah. Mellinkoff opines that in reality these are not bird's heads but bird's beaks on human heads.  Thus, she offers that the bird's beaks are substitutions for large or beak-like noses.  She explains that in reality these illustrations are the work of a non-Jewish illustrator who was attempting to subtly use well know anti-Semitic tropes like large noses and, in some illustrations, pigs ears.  See id. pp. 11-29, 35-37.  Aside from the Bird's Head Haggadah, Mellinkoff provides other Hebrew manuscripts that apparently have similar anti-Semitic signs as well. 



Review: The Schechter Haggadah: Art, History, and Commentary

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Book Review: The Schechter Haggadah: Art, History, and Commentary
by Elli Fischer
 Rabbi Elli Fischer is a freelance translator living in Modiin, Israel.  He maintains the “On the Contrary:Judasim with Comments Enabled ” blog.  This is his second contribution to the Seforim blog.
Given the thousands of haggadot that have been published over the years, and the dozens of new ones published each year, it is not easy for any single haggadah to separate itself from the others on the market. As a result, some new haggadot provide unique commentary, others contain innovative liturgy and practice, and still others resorts to gimmickry and humor to win adherents. Only rarely does a haggadah appear that is truly remarkable. The Schechter Haggadah: Art, History, and Commentary, by Dr, Joshua Kulp and Rabbi David Golinkin, is indeed a remarkable haggadah.
In truth, the title of this haggadah is a bit misleading, since the “history” is part of the “art” and the “commentary”, and not an independent section. The text is divided into three sections: the first contains the traditional Ashkenazic haggadah text, adorned with artwork from early, mostly manuscript, haggadot. The second section, authored by Rabbi Golinkin, is an expanded section on the artwork of the haggadah, containing 115 annotated illustrations (according to the authors; though I did not count, I did notice that there were a whole lot of pictures). The comments include basic metadata such as time and place of appearance and where the original illustration can now be found, as well as other historical curiosities pertaining to the particular illustration, the haggadah in which it appears, or artistic themes in the illustration of haggadot in general. The third section of this haggadah is Dr. Kulp’s commentary, in excess of 100 pages, which deconstructs the text of the haggadah and the seder practices, locating their original meanings in the earliest Jewish texts and tracing their development through Jewish history. The latter two sections are referenced by unobtrusive notes in the main text.
The first section is beautifully laid out and has good proportion. Since the commentary does not appear alongside the text, one is not distracted by it during the course of the seder. The artwork that appears in the first section contributes to the aesthetic experience without crowding out the main event. Dr. Kulp’s translation is very straightforward and readable.
The illustrations are beautiful and fascinating, and the commentary informative. It features thirty-seven different depictions of the “four sons”, demonstrating how they were perceived by different artists over close to a millennium of Jewish history. Other artistic elements contain a touch of humor, even if the contemporary reader does not share the same sense of humor. For example, in two portraits from 14th and 15th Century haggadot, a husband points at his wife during the recitation of “maror zeh” (“This bitter herb”). Unfortunately, Rabbi Golinkin fails to note the Biblical origin of this particular misogyny: Kohelet 7:26 (“and I find more bitter [mar] than death the woman”).
Dr. Kulp’s commentary is at its best when engaging in source criticism of the haggadah and its antecedents. In some cases (“the four sons”, “go and learn”) he juxtaposes several variations of the same element, taken from early rabbinic works such as the Sifri, the Talmud Yerushalmi, and early haggadot, demonstrates their significant differences, surveys scholarly work on the relationships between the texts, and offers his own summaries and conclusions regarding the evolution of that element of the haggadah. This type of study, which typifies academic Talmudic scholarship, does not generally appear in popular works. To his credit, Dr. Kulp does an admirable job explaining the process and conclusions of his analysis for the educated layman, though his writing style is occasionally awkward (e.g. “read for someone the Hallel” instead of “read the Hallel for someone”), and I noted a number of grammatical errors (especially a lack of commas) and typos (e.g. “Hillel” instead of “R. Yohanan” on p. 258).
In general, the commentary section is structured as a series of sections, varying in size, that trace the origins of the seder and the haggadah. Virtually every standard practice and text is addressed, some more thoroughly and convincingly than others. The primary sources that Dr. Kulp uses are the Talmudim, Mishna, Tosefta, Tannaitic Midrashim, and haggadot from the Geonic era, from both Babylonia and Eretz Yisrael. However, he occasionally refers to other early sources such as apocryphal works, Greco-Roman writings, early Christian writings, Josephus, and Philo; haggadot from the times of the Rishonim and early Acharonim; and standard halakhic codes.
These sections, for the reader and teacher, constitute the best of what this haggadah offers. Each is akin to an individual lesson on a particular aspect of the haggadah or seder, tracing it from its origins to standard practice. For example, with regard to the four cups of wine, he begins with the Tosefta (Pesachim 10:1) instructing charity bursars to provide poor people with four cups of wine for Pesach night. Working of Professor Shamma Friedman’s theory that the Tosefta predates the Mishna, at least in part, he discerns that the number four was originally a somewhat arbitrary number that was deemed appropriate for the Pesach-night symposium. Later, in the Mishna, the four cups were formally arranged as the framework for the seder meal. Finally, midrashim sprang up to account for the significance of the number four on the night of Pesach. This evolutionary process sees the wine transformed from a vehicle of celebration into a ritual and symbolic act, a process that Dr. Kulp notes over and over again as practices that originated in a Greco-Roman context (dipping, reclining, etc.) are transferred into new cultural settings.
Nevertheless, Dr. Kulp’s explanations for the various texts and performances are not always convincing. For example, he does not really offer an explanation for the composition of the “Ha Lachma Anya” paragraph or for the introduction of the Mishna about Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya (though in both cases he argues against reading them as anti-Christian polemics). With regard to Rabbi Yehuda’s mnemonic, he demonstrates that it is an early source, but does not address why such a mnemonic would need to be developed in the first place (indeed, the Gaon of Vilna [Likkutim at the end of Seder Zeraim] argues that the original context of the mnemonic is as an inscription on Moshe’s staff, and was only imported into the hagaddah at a later date; see also p. 24 of R. Hayim Hischenson’s Motza’ei Mayim, here).
His reading of the midrashim contained within the “go and learn” often miss obvious textual points. For example, he asks, “why is cattle-plague singled out as the plague through which God took the Israelites out of Egypt?” He fails to note that the midrash in question intertextually links the “strong hand” of Deuteronomy 26:8 with the “hand of the Lord” of Exodus 9:3. The same can be said of the “portents” of Joel 3:3 and the same verse in Deuteronomy, about which he asks a similar question. He interprets the midrash on “u-vemorah gadol” as being based on a tradition that “morah” means “vision” and not “terribleness”. If that would be the case, however, then the prooftext cited (Deut. 4:34) is superfluous, as the “revelation of the Divine Presence” can be adduced without the prooftext. Rather, the exegetical nub seems to derive from the final phrase of the prooftext: “just as you saw the Lord your God do for you in Egypt, before your eyes”. As a rule, he does not discuss these midrashim as exegesis and tends to neglect the intertextual elements of these midrashim. While not a fatal flaw, an opportunity to more fully explore the nature of rabbinic exegesis is missed.
Another example of where Dr. Kulp misses a fairly straightforward explanation for the flow of the haggadah pertains to the division of Hallel. He writes: “It seems to me that dividing the Hallel into two portions was meant to highlight the centrality of the pesah sacrifice, perhaps in a similar way that reciting a blessing before and after food sanctifies the food”. Later in the same section, when discussing differing practices regarding the recitation of a bracha before Hallel, he writes that “we recite the Hallel at seder [sic] because the Exodus was miraculous… In contrast, in Babylonia they thought that the Hallel was recited in connection with the pesah sacrifice and hence they considered its significance to be diminished when the sacrifice could not be offered.” While it is hard to deny the difference between Eretz Yisraeli and Babylonian customs surrounding the recitation of Hallel, Dr. Kulp misses the main transitional link that mandates the recitation of Hallel, or at least part of it, at the end of the recounting of the Exodus. The transitional paragraph (imported into the haggadah from the Mishnah) states: “Therefore it is our duty of thank, praise (le-hallel), laud, glorify…the One who made all these miracles for us…Let us say before Him, ‘Hallelujah!'”. In other words, the recounting generates the duty to give praise, and it would be inappropriate to conclude the retelling without some words of praise. This approach is borne out by linking the latter part of Mishna Pesachim 10:5 with 10:6.
These examples all seem to flow from a single, overarching issue. Dr. Kulp tends to atomize the different parts of the haggadah rather than viewing them as part of a single structure or relating to a single theme. He states as much explicitly (p. 230): “we should be extra cautious of detecting editorial intention in the sum of the Haggadah’s texts. In my opinion it is extraordinarily difficult to speak of the ‘intention of the Haggadah.'” While I understand his caution, and agree that it is impossible to speak of a single editorial intention, there is no doubt that at each stage, with the inclusion or alteration of each new text, someone, somewhere, felt that a particular text fit with the overall theme or structure of the haggadah; the chaos is more controlled than Dr. Kulp would have us believe.
I hope that these last few paragraphs to not convey the wrong message; the Schechter Haggadah is a beautiful as well as excellent work of scholarship. Had I included every one of my criticisms, kal va-chomer everything that I liked, this review would have been far longer than it already is. In particular, the commentary has deepened my understanding of the evolution of the haggadah, and for one who is not familiar with source critical methodology, this haggadah can be transformative. My recommendation for readers of this haggadah would be to go through it before the seder: there is simply too much to digest, and the issues are often simply too technical, to be appropriate fare for the seder itself. Additionally, this haggadah is a fantastic resource for educators to teach the haggadah. Dr. Kulp’s commentary evolved from a series of classes that he gave, and it consequently is structured in a manner that is easily adaptable to a classroom setting (as my wife can readily attest).
Chag Kasher ve-Sameach!



A Conspiracy Theory To Explain A Racy Title Page

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We have discussed on multiple occasions the use of illustration of nudes to adorn the title pages of Hebrew books. It appears, again as we have seen before, that even though the appearance of such illustrations are really unremarkable, some will go to great lengths to either expunge or, in this case, explain away the appearance of such illustrations. In the April, 2008, Jerusalem Judaica auction catalog (provided below) they have a rather rare work of R. Yitzhak Hiyut (c. 1538- c.1610). [For biographical information on R. Yitzhak see Yaakov Elbaum, Pituchut Ve-HaSegirut, Jerusalem, 1990, p. 23 n.36.] This small book, some 18 pages, is comprised of R. Hiyut’s sermon he gave on the first day of Passover in 1589. The editors of the catalog attempt to deal with the two nudes depicting Adam and Eve [the illustration of Eve is very similar to the one of Eve that appears in the Levush and the Prague Haggadah ] that appear on the title page. They explain

“that this ‘Sermon’ was [perhaps] printed on the intermediate days of Passover by gentile print workers. They allowed themselves to place immodest engravings on the title page. The print owner did not supervise their work on these intermediate days of the holiday. They chose the images of Adam and Eve with the apple of the evil inclination in their hands.”

Thus, according to the catalog editors, the appearance of these illustration is due is basically an error, or if you wish, a rather interesting conspiracy theory.

Now, obviously, it is impossible to prove the negative, that is we have no way of saying 100% the above scenario did not happen, but I think at the very least we can show it is unlikely. First, perhaps the most straightforward item is that we have seen such illustration are not an anomaly – I have provided below one such illustration that appears on the title page of the 1577 edition of the Shulchan Orach.

Second, we are aware of cases of printing that did take place on either Shabbat or Yom Tov. The eminent bibliophile, Abraham Yaari, provides a list of such books. See A. Yaari, Mehkerei Sefer, Jerusalem, 1958, pp. 170-78. The method he employees in deciding which books were published on Shabbat or Yom Tov, is not conjecture. Instead, when a book was published when Jews were unable to oversee the printing, there was a much bigger problem than the title page illustration. When non-Jews printed without the aid of Jews, as one would imagine, the book was then subject to many typographical errors as the non-Jews, for the most part, could not read or understand Hebrew. Thus, typically, there would be a disclaimer somewhere in the book stating that there maybe such errors due to lack of Jewish supervision. In the case of this book of Derashot, there is no such disclaimer.

Finally, the entire assumption is highly questionable. That is, according to some one is allowed to print books on the intermediate days of a holiday. Famously, R. Yosef Karo’s maggid explicitly tells R. Karo that he must write down what the maggid tells him even on the intermediate days. (For other illustration and a discussion of the above, in Hebrew, see here.)

Shulchan Orach, 1577 edition