A Compromise in Halacha – On Menachot 33a

By Eli Genauer

A common D’var Torah delivered at a wedding goes something like this: “Dear Chatan and Kallah. You are standing beneath a Chupah which is representative of the home you will build within the Jewish people. When you walk into your home, you will notice that that Mezuzah is placed in a diagonal position on the doorpost. There is a disagreement between Rashi and his grandson Rabbeinu Tam as to whether the Mezuzah should be affixed in a vertical or horizontal position. Later decisors ruled that a compromise between those two opinions was in order and therefore prescribed that the Mezuzah be affixed diagonally. This lesson of compromise is an important one as you embark upon you marriage and the Mezuzah on your door is an important reminder of this principle. Mazal Tov!”

This wedding Dvar Torah is based on a Gemara in Menachot 33a

אמר רב יהודה אמר רב, עשאה כמין נגר פסולה.

איני? והא כי אתא רב יצחק בר יוסף אמר כולהו מזוזתא דבי רבי כמין נגר הוו עביד……. ?

לא קשיא, הא דעבידא כסיכתא, הא דעבידא כאיסתוירא. 

Rav Yehuda says that Rav says: If one affixes a Mezuzah like a bolt, it is invalid. Is this so? But when Rav Yitzchak bar Yosef came ( from Eretz Yisroel ) he said that all Mezuzot in the house of Rebbe ( Yehuda HaNasi) were affixed like a bolt……? This is not difficult. This ruling (where it is ruled as being unfit) is where it was prepared like a peg; that ruling (in the house of Rebbe where it is ruled as being fit) is where it is prepared like an ankle. [1] 

Rashi explains that a “נגר” is something that is embedded in a wall “שתוחבין הנגרין בכותל”[2] 2. He then writes the word “כזה” and illustrates this with a drawing showing a horizontally placed Mezuzah. This is one of many times here that Rashi tells us something and then uses the word “כזה” which is then followed by a diagram. In this case, the illustration shows a horizontally affixed Mezuzah and it is a mezuzah affixed in this direction that is improper.

Rabbeinu Tam (תוס’ ד״ה “הא דעבידא כסיכתא) is bothered by the explanation of Rashi because he feels that it is more honorable to have the Mezuzah affixed in a horizontal position just as it is more honorable to have a Sefer Torah lying horizontally than standing vertically. He therefore translates the word “נגר” as a “peg” and says that the disqualification of a Mezuzah affixed כמין נגר is that it is affixed vertically, like a peg. He also translates the word כסיכתא as a peg and therefore disqualified because it is vertical, and the word איסתוירא, which is considered to be proper, as the part of the foot below the ankle which is horizontal.

The idea that affixing the Mezuzah diagonally is a compromise between the positions of Rashi and Rabbeinu Tam is based on the Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh Deah 289:6

צְרִיכָה לִהְיוֹת זְקוּפָה, אָרְכָּהּ לְאֹרֶךְ מְזוּזַת הַפֶּתַח….. הַגָּה: וְכֵן נָהֲגוּ. (בֵּית יוֹסֵף) אֲבָל יֵשׁ אוֹמְרִים שֶׁפְּסוּלָה בִּזְקוּפָה, אֶלָּא צְרִיכָה לִהְיוֹת שְׁכוּבָה, אָרְכָּהּ לְרֹחַב מְזוּזַת הַפֶּתַח (טוּר וְהַפּוֹסְקִים בְּשֵׁם רַבֵּנוּ תָּם). וְהַמְּדַקְדְּקִין, יוֹצְאִין יְדֵי שְׁנֵיהֶם, וּמַנִּיחִים אוֹתָהּ בְּשִׁפּוּעַ וּבַאֲלַכְסוֹן (טוּר וְהַגָּהוֹת מַיְמוֹנִי ומהרי”ל ות”ה סי’ נ”ב), וְכֵן רָאוּי לִנְהֹג, וְכֵן נוֹהֲגִין בִּמְדִינוֹת אֵלּוּ.

In truth, it is not really a compromise but rather an effort to affix the Mezuzah in a way in which both Rashi and Rabbeinu Tam would approve. Rashi says that vertical is the proper way, horizontal is Pasul, but bent ( or diagonal) is also Kosher. Rabbeinu Tam says that horizontal is the proper way, vertical is Pasul, but bent is also Kosher. Some Meforshim take this idea even further by saying that since in the house of Rebbe the Mezuzot were affixed כאיסתוירא, this was some sort of Hidur and therefore something to be emulated.

The classic edition of the Vilna Shas (Vilna 1885) renders this Sugya and the accompanying diagrams as such

Here are the words of Rashi which correspond to these two diagrams which show the positioning of four Mezuzot

The doorframe in the top illustration shows the position of two Mezuzot.

The one on top is horizontal which is improper, and the one on the bottom is vertical which is Kosher.

He affixed and inserted it in the doorpost like a bolt, for workmen who work with bolts insert it in the walls like this[3] 

It is improper- Because the Mitzvah is to affix it vertically in the doorpost like this….

The doorframe in the lower illustration also shows two Mezuzot.

The one on top is horizontal and therefore improper and the one on the bottom is bent (it looks like the Hebrew letter Nun), and therefore Kosher. Here are the words of Rashi which correspond to these two Mezuzot.

עבידא כסיכתא – נגר כשל אומנים כזה פסולה

A bolt as fashioned by workmen like this is disqualified

ל”א איסתוירא. כי היכי דמקום חיבור השוק והרגל הוי השוק זקוף מלמעלה והרגל שוכב כזה כך הניחה למזוזה כשירה הואיל וראשה אחד זקוף

Another explanation of איסתוירא – like the point at which the “Shok” joins the ”Regel”, where the “Shok” is upright and the “Regel” rests, like this, so too if he affixes the Mezuzah like this it is Kosher because the top part is upright.

There is no diagram associated directly with this comment of Rashi

איסתוירא – היינו מקום חיבור השוק והרגל ומעומד הוא כזה, כשירה:

Whether a נגר is normally inserted horizontally or vertically is also “illustrated” in Jastrow’s explanation of the word

In Bava Batra 101a he describes it “like an upright bolt” and in our Gemara he describes it as “like a bolt shoved into a case, i.e. horizontally”

There are two issues with the standard depiction of the two diagrams in the Vilna Shas. Rashi uses the word כזה five times and there are only four “illustrations” (2 in each diagram) Also, we would expect that there would be a diagram after each time it says כזה.

This problem is solved when we look at the only handwritten manuscript we have of Rashi on this part of Menachot.

The National Library of Russia, St. Petersburg, Russia Ms. EVR IV 25:

http://aleph.nli.org.il:80/F/?func=direct&doc_number=000159163&local_base=NNLMSS

It contains five depictions of the placement of the Mezuzot and each כזה is followed by a depiction.

The problem is also solved when we look at the first printed edition of Menachot ( Bomberg 1522) whose source had to be a manuscript. [4] 

This printed edition leaves space after every כזה. It even includes a rudimentary depiction of the last כזה looking like a “Nun” which is supposed to depict where the ankle meets the leg.

It looks very much like the Nun in the National Library of Russia manuscript and may have emanated from the same source.

It was very exciting for me personally to discover this “diagram” which clearly was added to illustrate the כזה. In his Maamar ‘al hadpasat ha-Talmud with Additions, (ed. A.M. Habermann, Mossad ha-Rav Kook, Jerusalem: 2006, p.41)  Rav Natan Nata Rabbinowicz, writing about the first Bomberg edition, states as follows:

It turns out there was a diagram included in the second Bomberg edition of Zevachim( 1528) on 53b, which Rabbinowicz probably never saw. See my article here.

He may have also missed this one because it does not look much like a diagram, but just a letter, or perhaps he felt it was of no significance.

This depiction of the last כזה looking like a “Nun” was maintained by subsequent editions of the Talmud printed in Basel 1580, Cracow 1605, Amsterdam 1644, and Frankfurt an der Oder in 1699.

It was only dropped and replaced with the two larger diagrams we have today in the Frankfurt am Main edition of 1720.

Since many people follow the advice of the Rema and affix the Mezuzah diagonally, it is important to understand the source. This is the word in the Gemara which state that in the house of Rebbe, the Mezuzot were affixed כאיסתוירא. This word is etymologically related to the Latin word astragalus which is described as “the bone in the ankle that articulates with the leg bones to form the ankle joint”. It is more commonly known today as the Talus and looks like this:[5] 

As used in the Gemara, it probably meant the entire area where the bottom of the foot ( which is horizontal) met the bottom of the leg ( which is vertical) at the ankle, thereby looking like something that was bent.

Finally, there is a fascinating story about the Talus bone related by Rav Yisroel Shachor in the Sefer “Dovair Yesharim”.[6] In discussing the איסתוירא, he writes that he was in a terrible automobile accident and בחסדי ה׳ escaped death by climbing out of the rear of the car only seconds before it burst into flames. The only injury he sustained was a broken bone in his foot, which he identified as the Talus. He had many opportunities to view x-rays of his broken foot and concludes “I see this as a source of amazement that the only bone of all 248 bones in my body which was broken, allowed me to understand the words of Torah, and to understand that this was the איסתוירא which is mentioned in Gemarot.”[7]

[1] Translation courtesy of Sefaria.org and follows the interpretation of Rashi.
[2] There is discussion on whether what is shown as Rashi in our editions of Menachot was actually written by Rashi. Rav Natan Nata Rabbinowicz ( author of Dikdukei Sofrim) writes that our “Rashi” was written by a student of Rabbeinu Gershom. ( Dikdukei Sofrim on Menachot 86a note 6 where he writes …מפני שהפרוש הזה המיוחס לרש״י הוא כנראה מתלמיד הרבינו גרשום מאור הגולה והעתיק ברובו לשון הרבינו גרשום מאור הגולה) Rav Betzalel Ashkenazi (the author of the Shita Mekubetzet) writes that for chapters 7-10, the “Rashi” in the standard editions was not written by Rashi and he substitutes his own version which is indicated by the words “Rashi Ktiv Yad” in the Vilna Shas. The editors of the Vilna Shas record this opinion at the beginning of the 7th chapter ( Menachot 72a) as follows: וזה לשונו “זה הפּרוש אשר הוא בדפוס מפרק אלו המנחות עד שתי הלחם אינו מפי׳ רש״י ז״ל והוא של פרשן אחר, וזה לשון רש״י כּ״י”.But Rav Ashkenazi seems to indicate that the Rashi of other chapters was in fact written by Rashi. ( see his note to the beginning of Menachot chapter 11 where he writes מכאן ואליך הוא פירוש רש״י ז״ל).
[3] We only know that it is affixed in a horizontal direction from the picture, not from Rashi’s words.
[4] The Soncino family printed many tractates of the Talmud from 1483-1519 before Bomberg printed the complete Talmud in 1520-1522, and those Soncino editions often formed the basis for the text of the Bomberg edition. But the Soncino family did not print tractate Menachot meaning the Bomberg edition was based solely on manuscripts.
[5] My source for this information is Dr. Carol Teitz who is a member of my Shul. Dr. Teitz is an orthopedic surgeon and most recently, the dean of admissions at the University of Washington Medical School
[6] Doveir Yesharim, Sefer Shemot, Jerusalem. 2014, page 128

A Conversation With Professor Marcin Wodziński on Hasidism

By Rabbi Yitzchok Frankfurter

This is not my first conversation with the Polish scholar Marcin Wodzinski. In 2013, following the release of his book on chasidism and politics, he visited my office together with the well-known askan Reb Duvid Singer. Today as then, my conversation with him elicits paradoxical emotions. His knowledge of chasidism, particularly its roots and subsequent development, is shockingly broad. In fact, many chasidim turn to him for information about their origins, and Professor Wodzinski’s research has saved for posterity much of that history.

Of course, the mere fact that chasidism, a vibrant Jewish movement that once thrived in Eastern Europe and Russia, has been reduced to a scholarly discipline for a Polish academician is saddening. Poland was once the center of chasidic and Jewish life in general, but it now has very few Jews living there. And it goes without saying that Poland is devoid of any vibrant Jewish culture.

“That loss,” he tells me, “is very acutely felt in Poland on many levels. One significant expression of this is the Museum of the History of Polish Jews in Warsaw. I was its head historian for some time, as well as the chief designer of the gallery that depicts the 19th century. Three years after its opening, it is now the most successful museum in Poland.”

Unfortunately, it hurts to hear that, because that is precisely what Hitler was trying to accomplish. The Nazis wanted to reduce Jews and Judaism to relics and artifacts found only in a museum, and I tell the sympathetic professor as much.

“That’s true, but I would say that Poland as a country can’t do anything about it because there are so few Jews living there. But in terms of recognizing the tragedy and the loss and as an expression of pain, this museum is extremely important. And there are many other examples of how the non-Jewish community is trying to integrate an understanding of Jewish culture into what it means to be Polish today. There are at least four centers of academic Jewish studies in the country, which is the same number that exists in Israel. Each center has many scholars who are doing valuable research and earning PhDs in the subject. These schools attract people who want to study Jewish history and culture. Many of them write important articles and books that are read by a lot of Poles.

“The Jews are not an extinct race,” he says with fervor, “and this notion among Poles is even stronger today than it was 50 and 100 years ago, when Polish culture was very antagonistic towards Jews and sought to exclude them. Today, an increasing number of people realize that you can’t understand Poland without understanding the Jews.”

Field of Study

Marcin hails from a town in Poland that is 50 kilometers away from Breslau, or Wrocław as it is known in Polish, which before the Holocaust was the epicenter of the haskalah, rather than chasidism. Yet ironically, it was the chasidic movement that drew his interest.

“Of course. There weren’t any chasidim here. The city of Wrocław is best-known for the Beit Midrash l’Rabbanim, which was part of the so-called Conservative movement. Abraham Geiger, who one of the leaders of the Reform movement, was also quite active in Wrocław for over two decades. And the Jewish historian Heinrich Groetz spent his entire academic Marcin Wodzinski accompanying chasidim at a kever. Seen in the background is Reb Duvid Singer. life at its university,” he tells me when I confide in him that given his place of birth and alma mater (he also attended the University of Wrocław), I find his interest in chasidism rather peculiar. “But there were also some important chasidic books that were published in Wrocław, such as the first edition of Kol Simchah, which is the collected teachings of Rav Simchah Bunim of Peshischa.”

“So you’re a goy,” I tease him, “born in the birthplace of the maskilim, but chasidism became your field of interest.”

“That’s right!” he replies good-naturedly. “I’m trying to bridge ideas and interests. My interest in Jewish history and culture began with Jewish cemeteries, which was very typical at the time because it was the most visible presence of both the Jewish presence and absence in Poland in the 1980s. I learned Hebrew so I could write down the inscriptions, and I was fascinated by seeing the rebirth of chasidic pilgrimages to the gravesites of tzaddikim in Lizhensk, Peshischa, Lublin and other places. Then I started researching chasidic life, which is what I’ve been involved in for the past three decades.

“Two weeks ago I published a book called An Historical Atlas of Hasidism, which is going to be very important for chasidic studies. It contains 280 pages of full-color maps and images from the inception of chasidism until today. The maps present an entirely new way of understanding the movement, and there are a lot of previously unknown historical images. The book was published by the prestigious Princeton University Press.

“I also recently published a book entitled Hasidism: Key Questions. That one was printed by Oxford University Press. That is the volume of which I am the most proud, as it summarizes my entire investigation into chasidism. It has seven chapters, each of which addresses a different central question: the definition of chasidus, women in chasidism, chasidic leadership and the role of a tzaddik, the demographics of chasidim historically and today, the geography of where they lived, the economics of chasidic life, and finally, the end of chasidus in Eastern Europe and how it moved to the United States and Israel. I put forth the argument that this shift was not only because of World War II but actually started during the First World War. The book has around 350 pages.”

“What do you think you’ve added to the understanding of chasidus?” I ask.

“There are several things that are unique about my work. First of all, I am equally interested in the lives of the rank-and-file chasidim as I am in the lives of the tzaddikim. To me, a tzaddik isn’t a leader if he doesn’t have followers. That is why I believe that much of the research so far has been misguided by omitting the tzaddik’s thousands of followers from the picture. I think it’s critically important to understand not only the teachings of the great chasidic minds but also—and perhaps more so—to understand how they reached the simple folk and affected their lives. Another innovation in my work is that I don’t just delve into intellectual topics. I also look at the social, economic and other aspects of history, which are aspects that have only been properly addressed by very few scholars. This results in an entirely different perspective.

“But perhaps most importantly, the vast majority of scholarship on chasidism has focused on its early years. We know quite a lot about the Baal Shem Tov and Rav Dovber of Mezritch, and we know some things about their disciples, but we know very little about chasidism in the 19th and early-20th centuries before the Holocaust. We know about some leaders, but very little about the lives of the chasidic communities. Both of these two recent books expand the scope of interest. I call the 19th century the ‘golden age’ of chasidism, because that’s when the number of people who considered themselves chasidim reached its peak. There were many regions of central Poland, Galicia and Volhynia [the region where Ukraine, Poland and Belarus meet] where chasidim constituted the majority of Jews, and it’s critically important to understand what their lives were like then.”

“How much of the actual Torah of the tzaddikim do you study? Is it something you consider necessary for your research, or do you completely ignore it?”

“Obviously, there are many people who are bigger experts on that than I am. I’m not even an am haaretz; I’m a goy!” he says unapologetically, “so it’s not really something for me to study.”

“So you don’t think it’s important or that you’re missing something in your research?”

“It’s obviously important, and that’s why many people study it. But I can’t do everything. I do need to understand the chasidic concepts, but I don’t study them myself; I read what other scholars have written. That’s the best I can do. I can’t be a specialist on everything. What I’m trying to do is to show that beyond Torah, there is a huge area of chasidic life that hasn’t been properly looked into, such as the relative power of individual groups. These are things that everyone would love to know. It also gives you an understanding of the spiritual leadership of various tzaddikim, because if one tzaddik has 100,000 followers, his relationship with his followers is very different from that of a tzaddik with 50 followers.

“We can also see how far the shtieblach were located from the court. For Chabad, the average distance between the court and the shtiebel was 400 kilometers, which means that the vast majority of chasidim only visited the Rebbe once or twice in their lives. For Vizhnitz, which was very strong in Hungary, the average distance was less than 100 kilometers, which means that most of the chasidim came to see the Rebbe several times a year because it was relatively easy to get there. This means that the relationship of the typical Vizhnitzer chasid and his Rebbe was very different from that of the typical Lubavitcher chasid and his Rebbe.

“Then there were courts that were even closer to their shtieblach. For example, Kretchnif’s average distance was 30 kilometers, which means that they could go to their Rebbe every Shabbos and he knew his chasidim personally. The Gerrer Rebbe had 100,000 chasidim, which means that he didn’t know all of them by face and name, with the result that the spiritual inspiration they received was different from that received by chasidim of a smaller chasidus. So while this kind of information isn’t part of the teachings of any particular group, it’s still very important to understand.

“It’s hard to summarize everything I believe I bring to the field. But as I said, I try to capture the totality of chasidic life, not just its spiritual aspects but also its economic, social and cultural ones.”

“Has your work brought you emotionally closer to the Jewish community, or is it just a field of research to you?”

“Whenever anyone chooses a field of research he feels some sort of connection. The most difficult thing for anyone to do is to decipher himself.”

“You speak Hebrew and English fluently, but in which language do you write?”

“Lately, I’ve been writing more and more in English instead of Polish because my books are addressed primarily to international audiences. But I still write articles in Polish, so I’m pretty much bilingual in my academic life.”

“Is the objective of your research to understand Poland or to understand Jews?” I ask next.

“I might be exceptional in some sense because I focus on Jewish history; I don’t research so-called Polish-Jewish relations. I’m interested in chasidism, the haskalah and Jewish cemeteries and that’s it. But I would say that the majority of scholars in Poland who are interested in Jews study the relationship between Poles and Jews.”

“As a non-Jew, are you welcomed by Jewish researchers of chasidism, or do you feel like an outsider?”

“There isn’t any bias against non-Jewish scholars in academia, or at least I’ve never experienced it. As a whole, the scholars studying chasidism are extremely openminded people. I’m very happy to be part of this community and I feel very welcome and supported both intellectually and emotionally. The research I do is very broad, so I often have to rely on support from other people, which is always forthcoming.

“I would also say that over time I have established increasingly good relations with the chasidic community and with many individual chasidim who seem to appreciate my research. A big part of the atlas in my book maps out contemporary chasidism. In order to do it I had to ask a critical question—how many chasidim are there today?—because without the answer it’s impossible to continue any further. Are the numbers bigger or smaller than before the war? Where do they live? Which is the biggest chasidic court today? Celebrating at a Belz wedding To obtain the answer, I decided to turn to the chasidic phone directories and counted the number of households. Based on the 42 directories I received I arrived at a total of 130,000, which I believe covers almost all of the chasidic households in existence today. This allowed me to estimate the demographic and geographic distribution of chasidim and many other issues, and it was only possible thanks to the goodwill of the chasidic communities that appreciated my research and shared their directories with me. I am extremely pleased to have gotten support not only from my fellow scholars but also from chasidic people.”

“Which is the largest chasidus today?”

“You know the answer to that: Satmar, with 26,000 households split between the two groups.”

 “Which is second?”

“Chabad, with 16,000, followed by Ger, with 12,000. Belz has 7,500 households. The most difficult to calculate is Breslov because they use different categories for inclusion, but I estimate them at 7,000. Sanz has 4,000; Bobov has 3,000; and another 1,500 for Bobov-45. I am very proud to have done this research.”

Bustling Centers of Chasidic Life

“Where was the center of chasidic activity in the 19th century, Poland or Ukraine?”

“That’s a very good question. I have a set of maps in my atlas depicting where the tzaddikim lived and how this changed over time. I also have a map showing 70% of all the existing chasidic shtieblach at the beginning of the 20th century. This was an enormous undertaking. I managed to locate 2,854 shtieblach, which, as I said, represents some 70% of the total during that time period. It is very clear that the cradle of chasidism was Podolia and Volhynia, which are Ukrainian territories. At the end of the 18th century it moved north to Belarus and west to Galicia. In the 19th century, the epicenter was Galicia and the southern part of central Poland. Then it moved south again into Hungary and Romania.”

“Where does Czechoslovakia, where my own parents hail from, come into play?”

“Slovakia is part of Greater Hungary, because up until 1918 it was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, so when I say ‘Hungary’ I am including Slovakia. By contrast, the area that is now the Czech Republic isn’t significant to us because there were very few chasidim there if at all. In fact, only the eastern part of Slovakia, which later became TransCarpathian Ruthenia and was incorporated into Hungary, Romania and now Ukraine, is relevant to this topic, but it was never a center of chasidic life. As for the Hungarian territories, it was mostly Maramures and Transylvania that were heavily chasidic.”

“According to your calculations, would you say that the majority of the Jews at that time were religious, and a majority of the religious Jews were chasidim?”

“Up until the interwar period in the 1920s and ’30s, the majority of the population was religious, although not all were chasidim; it depended on the area. In Lithuania the majority were Litvish—either misnagdim or ambivalent towards chasidim—while only a minority were chasidim. But in Galicia, especially Eastern and Central Galicia, the majority were chasidim. Many communities were dominated by chasidim. Poland was also divided: Eastern Poland was mostly chasidic, but in Western Poland the numbers were much smaller.

“In general, the vast majority of Eastern European Jews in the 19th century were Orthodox, but this changed radically in the interwar period. In the Soviet Union, the number of religious people dropped dramatically because of the Communists’ anti-religious stance, and the chasidim were heavily persecuted and their leaders sent to Siberia. For example, the Machnovka Rebbe was only allowed to leave his exile in the 1960s. In Poland there wasn’t any religious persecution between the wars, but because of the trend towards modernization and the influence of secularism and politics, the number of people who were still religious dropped to one-third of the Jewish population. Of those who were religious, I’d say that the majority were chasidim. This loss was acutely felt by the chasidic community.

“If you look at the activities of the Piaseczno, Aleksander Rebbe and Gerrer Rebbes, much of their activity was inspired by the crisis of many members of the younger generation leaving the community and becoming communists or Zionists. They understood that they had to reinvent the structure of the traditional chasidic community, particularly during the First World War and immediately afterwards.”

“They say that history is written by the victors. There were many large chasidic courts before the Holocaust but they are no longer remembered, and other chasidic groups are far more dominant now. This makes people believe that they were dominant before the war as well, but it’s not necessarily true.”

“My atlas corrects this misconception. As I told you, I found 2,854 shtieblach in the early part of the last century. By comparing the number of shtieblach of different courts, I was able to establish their relative power, and the numbers are very precise. In Central Poland, 22% of shtieblach were Ger; 13% were Aleksander; 6% were Kotzk and its offspring, followed by Amshinov, Otvotzk (Vorka), and other smaller groups. Perhaps the biggest one that’s completely unknown today is Olik, which may have been the third largest in Volhynia during the interwar period.

“Which was the biggest in Ukraine?”

“Between the wars, the biggest court in Ukraine was Trisk, with 16%. The second largest was Sadigura, which was really in Bukovina, outside Ukraine, with 8%. The third was Olik, followed by Karlin-Stolin, Makarov, Tolne, Chernobyl, Stepan, Lubavitch, Skver, Brzezan, Hornosteipel and others.”

“Where was Lubavitch the most dominant?”

“Lubavitch was the dominant group in Lithuania and Belarus, where they had 32% of all the shtieblach. Every third shtiebel was Lubavitch, and there were other shtieblach belonging to other Chabad courts. Four percent belonged to Kapust; 3% to Liadi, and 3% to Strashelye. If you count all of them together, almost half of the shtieblach were Chabad. The next largest one in Belarus and Lithuania was Karlin-Stolin with 10%, followed by Slonim, Kobrin, Koidanov and several others.”

“Do you see a common denominator between all of these groups despite their differences?”

“Yes, and one of them is their common origin. The understanding that they all come from the Baal Shem Tov informs every single chasidic community. It also affects the relationships between groups, because it is much easier to move from one chasidic group to another than it is to move from chasidism to non-chasidism or vice versa. There are also elements that are shared by every group. The role of the tzaddik is one such element. Even to the groups like the ‘toite chasidim,’ as the Breslovers were once called since they don’t have a live Rebbe, there is still an understanding of the Rebbe as an essential spiritual experience for every chasid.

“Perhaps this is something that distinguishes me from many other scholars of chasidism. Whereas most of them concentrate on the theology and books, my approach is more in line with the statement of Rav Zusha of Anipoli. When he was in the court of Rav Dovber of Mezritch, he said that he learned more Torah from the way his Rebbe tied his shoelaces than he would ever learn from his lectures. To me, the interaction with the Rebbe is what defines the life of the community. My research brings this aspect to light, whereas other scholars tend to overlook it.”

Economic Life and Political Power

“How do you make a distinction in your research between religious Jews and chasidic Jews in terms of their economic, social and cultural lives? They were probably almost the same.”

“That’s true as far as economics is concerned,” he admits. “It’s very difficult to differentiate between chasidim and non-chasidim, and finding sources was extremely difficult. But I managed to locate the complete lists of several communities in Poland and Belarus, and I also came into possession of complete lists of taxpayers and their professions. By comparing the two lists, I could see how chasidim fit into the picture of the general Jewish economic activity.

“There’s a popular stereotype both in the secular world and among chasidic writers that the early chasidim were poor, even in the 19th century. One of the things I wanted to know was whether chasidim on average were richer or poorer than the average nonchasid. I also wanted to know if there was any specific profile for chasidic economic activity. Where did the money they used to sustain their families come from?

“Thanks to the comparison between the lists of chasidim and the lists of other Jews in central Poland and Belarus, I came to the conclusion— which was quite surprising to me—that chasidic communities were on average wealthier than nonchasidic ones. Even more interesting, the chasidim preferred to engage in trade and weren’t so involved in artisanship and crafts. Also, there were very few chasidim who were unskilled workers, although there was a lot overrepresentation when it came to the communal professions such as rabbi, gabbai, shames, mohel and shochet. So when you compare chasidim to other religious groups with similar profiles, you understand why their communal structure was as I described.”

“In what sense?”

“In the sense of emunah and bitachon supporting the economic activity. In the 19th century, the average boy starting an enterprise would get money from his family or in-laws and establish a business. Some of them would succeed, while others would go bankrupt. Many people needed to go bankrupt several times before starting to make money. In the traditional non-chasidic world, a person might start a business once or twice with his family’s support, but if he didn’t succeed he simply went bankrupt.

“Then there was another tier of support in the chasidic world: If a person failed using the money from his family, he could still count on assistance from his community. There is much documentation of chasidic solidarity being very important for internal economic support. If there was a wealthy person in a small chasidic town and he knew that another person had failed at his enterprise, he was willing to help him. This meant that people were given another chance.

“Also, chasidim preferred to be in trade rather than crafts, which usually generates a higher income. Being a chasid actually supported engaging in trade, because a non-chasid’s economic relations extended to his immediate business partners and family, but for a chasid this network was wider since he had to visit the court of the tzaddik several times a year, where he was able to build very strong relationships with people from other towns. This meant that he had access to business partners in a very large geographical region. It was therefore much easier for him to have a successful enterprise because he had a much larger pool of potential partners.

“Another important factor is the role of the tzaddik as arbitrator, not only in spiritual or familial matters but also economically. This is one more level that wasn’t available to a non-chasidic community, and it was enough to put chasidim in a relatively better financial situation.”

“Tell me about the political power chasidim wielded in their various countries of residence in Eastern Europe, which is the subject of the book you released in 2013.”

“It’s very interesting to see that some of the tzaddikim—most prominently Rav Yitzchak of Vurka and later the Chidushei HaRim—functioned as shtadlanim, representatives of the Jewish community to the non-Jewish authorities. It is also very instructive to see that behind their activity there were what I would call legal advisers, people who were very knowledgeable and skillful in navigating the law of the country. These were generally big entrepreneurs who had major financial influence and dealt with the authorities on a day-to-day basis. Those people weren’t visible, however; they lent their expertise to the tzaddik, who was the face of the political power. But it was really a wider enterprise undertaken by the entire community and not just the tzaddikim themselves.”

“Who do you think was the most politically astute and active among the Rebbes?

“In the 19th century, it is clear to me that the biggest innovation in the understanding of politics among tzaddikim came from Rav Yitzchak of Vurka. Around the same time the Tzemach Tzedek, Rav Menachem Mendel Schneersohn, was also very influential in political matters in Russia. You can see the structure of support from very wealthy Jews in St. Petersburg and Moscow, who brought their expertise into the service of the chasidic community. Those two should be listed as the most skillful political leaders of that period. In a sense they established the path for other segments of the Orthodox Jewish community. In the next century you have the founders of Agudat Yisrael in Poland, but that was a very different concept because by then it was mostly electoral politics predicated on parties.”

“Was the political power held only by the Rebbes or the chasidim as well?”

“I would say that any political activity required a very developed cooperation of many levels of political involvement. The tzaddik would never act alone, and it is obvious that without support he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish what he did. At the same time, without him others would be unable to have power. They were entirely interdependent, so it’s impossible to say which was the more important. The beauty is that they managed to invent new ways of being politically active, because traditional Jewish politics had been based on shtadlanim.

“The way it worked up until then was that the Jewish community would hire a political activist who would go to the Polish court or nobleman and try to obtain certain political privileges. This changed in the late-18th century because there was no longer a Polish court, so the entire legal system changed. Under the new system, the Jewish community was deprived of political power, not because of antiSemitism—which of course existed—but because the authorities claimed that the Jews weren’t a community but only individual citizens. Every citizen could represent his own interests, but no one could speak in the name of a group. Jews were permitted to organize for religious purposes, but they were forbidden to organize politically. This meant having to reinvent how to represent themselves to the government, but somehow the tzaddikim managed to present themselves as the representatives of the entire Jewish population.”

“What’s fascinating is that all of this developed in antiSemitic environments. Would you agree with that statement?”

“The political elite were certainly more or less antiSemitic, but they were trying to present themselves as neutral. Those who were skillful used this supposed ambivalence to their advantage. Rav Yitzchak of Vurka, for example, was as successful as he was because he was able to neutralize the anti-Semitic bias of many politicians. He forced them to act against their will by citing legal precedents in support of his arguments that they couldn’t reject. One such case involved the right of rabbanim to control the kashrut of meat in Poland. Absurdly, the right to sell kosher meat and levy the special tax on it had been given over to a Christian enterprise, which was obviously a major problem. Rav Yitzchak of Vurka managed to present this as destructive to the state budget and contrary to its revenue laws. By using this argument, he managed to help the Jewish community regain control. The political bias and anti-Semitism of many of the politicians was rendered ineffective, because they had to follow the legal procedures established by the law of the land. One of the most important factors in the politics of the 19th century was that even the most oppressive countries were trying to establish themselves as places that operated under the rule of law.”

“Tell me about the Tzemach Tzedek’s successes. What was his style of political activity?”

“He was active in Russia in a different context. When he passed away in 1866 there was a visible break in the political representation in Russia, mainly because his succession was unclear; his sons established other courts in other towns, and his youngest son, Rav Shmuel, remained in Lubavitch. This was only slowly regained by his grandson, Rav Shalom Dovber, but his was a time of lesser political success. Concurrently, the Chidushei HaRim established himself as an extremely successful political leader in central Poland. He was succeeded by the Sfas Emes, who was also very successful, as was his son, the Imrei Emes, who was very involved in the creation of Agudat Yisrael. By then the political climate in central Poland was under Russian control, but because it was ethnically different, it maintained a separate legal system that encouraged political activity far more than Russia. So I would say that after 1866 and the passing of the Tzemach Tzedek, there was no longer a real parallel of politics in Russia and Poland.”

“By ‘political activism’ you mean efforts to benefit Jewish life in the places they lived.”

“I am referring to those actions that were undertaken by chasidic leaders with the support of their constituencies to guarantee certain privileges or rights for the Jewish community at large, not just the chasidic community. Aside from the right to have control over the supply of kosher meat, this would include the ability of Jewish prisoners to have kosher food or the right to establish eiruvin in Jewish districts. This was a very important change from the earlier chasidic involvement in politics like that of Rav Meir of Apta, who was mostly active in defending the rights of chasidim to establish their own shtieblach, or to prevent the persecution of the chasidic community.”

“Every Jewish leader really fought for the rights of the Jewish community, so how were the chasidic leaders different in that regard?”

“True, many of their efforts weren’t very different from those of non-chasidic rabbanim, but the whole structure of chasidism empowered its leaders far more than other rabbanim. Let’s say that there was a rabbi of a town—even a very important posek in a big city. Who was behind him? He had only his personal charisma and his community. The Gerrer Rebbe, however, had 50,000 followers all over Poland. This gave him the ability to engineer a campaign to support his political actions in a very broad way. This structure of support that wasn’t confined to specific territories and could cover large areas of Eastern Europe gave additional power to chasidic representation.”

“Did you get the feeling that the growth of a particular court was dependent on the political skills of its leader?”

“That’s something that’s very hard to establish, because no direct testimonies would say such a thing, that this tzaddik was more powerful because he was politically skilled. But if you observe the correlation between political involvement and the number of followers, it’s very significant that those tzaddikim who became more politically involved eventually gained wider followings and vice versa; by having wider followings they were able to be more effective politicians. So these two phenomena were interdependent both ways.

“This is also very true of the interwar period. The tzaddikim who were engaged in the reinvention of chasidism after the First World War, establishing new school systems and other activities of that kind, eventually turned out to be more effective than others. For example, before WWI the Tchortkover and Belzer Rebbes were equally as powerful. But after the war the Tchortkover Rebbe’s power shrank dramatically, and the same holds true of many other Rebbes in central Poland. Another example would be the Gerrer Rebbe, whose political involvement and institution of new infrastructures in the yeshivos and Bais Yankevs [sic] gave him a very strong boost. He had 100,000 followers in the interwar period, which was unparalleled. So a connection exists between politics and the internal relative power of certain Rebbes.”

Concerns and Lessons

The country of Poland is currently going through difficult political times. Last week, the government effectively forced more than two dozen justices out of their jobs. The purged judges refused to recognize their dismissal, while the government officials insisted that they would no longer be allowed to hear cases. Surrounded by cheering supporters, the top Supreme Court justice took a defiant stand on the courthouse steps, and vowed to keep fighting to protect the Polish constitution and the independence of that nation’s courts. The confrontation was followed by dueling news conferences, fiery speeches and more street protests. I ask Marcin if he thinks Poland is moving towards a more dictatorial type of government.

“Poland has been losing its democratic institutions with increasing rapidity over the last three years since the ruling party took power,” he admits. “I can already see a lot of manifestations of an authoritarian state. While the Supreme Court is currently in the news it’s really only the tip of the iceberg, because we see many such things on a daily basis, such as the use of police against the political enemies of the present government, which is typically authoritarian. Then there’s the use of the media as a propaganda tool for the current government. Using public money in support of one political option totally demolishes the constitutional structure. I am very afraid that if the ruling party wins again next year, that will be the last free election in Poland.”

“Do you think that the Jews who live in Poland and the Jewish community at large should be concerned about this?” I want to know. “The ruling party is right-wing, and in Europe right-wing parties are very closely associated with anti-Semitic ideologies, but they are very wary of being labeled antiSemitic. For this reason, the ruling party won’t openly attack the Jewish community in the foreseeable future. But just by looking at the Holocaust law that was passed in January you can see that even without the direct intention of the regime there’s been a rise of anti-Semitic sentiment, which is fueled by the current political climate. This might be a concern in the long run, and is something that has been expressed by many representatives of the Jewish community over the last year.”

“Are you concerned as an academic about the freedom to do your research?”

“Yes. My understanding of the Holocaust law, which was somewhat rescinded, was that the objective wasn’t to persecute people who discussed the involvement of Poles in the killing of Jews during the Holocaust; it was more about creating a general feeling of fear and auto-censorship of what can be said in public these days.”

My final question to the professor is whether he thinks that what his research reveals about chasidic life contains lessons for the world at large.

“That’s a difficult question for me because I’m an academic; my work isn’t so much about finding moral lessons. But it is very clear to me that chasidism holds a huge cultural and spiritual attraction to the world. If you look at its impact on cultural imagery, the image of the traditional Jewish world to many non-Jews is identical to chasidism. This is a huge success, which is due to the spiritual attractiveness of chasidism. But I’m much more interested in analyzing it as a religious phenomenon that shows the interrelationship between religion and other aspects of daily life. I’m not saying that chasidism isn’t a religious movement; of course it is. But being a chasid is something so comprehensive that it affects cultural expressions, economic life and many other areas of activity.

“My research articulates the totality of the experience and helps people understand chasidism as a vibrant movement that isn’t black and white, which is the way it is often portrayed. It has very rich and complicated structures, which have a very big influence not only on the Jewish community but on the larger, non-Jewish societies in which chasidim live. It is also very deeply embedded in geographical location. My Historical Atlas of Hasidism shows how much the spirituality of chasidism is conditioned by the geographical context in which it developed, which is yet another aspect.

“What I would love to achieve with my publications,” he finally allows, “is to promote the understanding that because chasidism is so unique, it allows us to understand much of the world around us, and not just chasidism itself.”

Book Announcement

By Eliezer Brodt

ספרות חז“ל הארץ–ישראלית, מבואות ומחקרים, המערכת מנחם כהנא, ורד נעם, מנחם קיסטר, דוד רוזנטל, ב’ חלקים, 732 עמודים.

For a short time copies can be purchased through me for a special price. Contact me at Eliezerbrodt@gmail.com

מצות ישיבת ארץ ישראל

בצלאל נאור

א]

רבי אבא הוה קא משתמיט מיניה דרב יהודה, דהוה קא בעי למיסק לארעא דישראל, דאמר רב יהודה, כל העולה מבבל לארץ ישראל עובר בעשה, שנאמר “בבלה יובאו ושמה יהיו עד יום פקדי אותם נאום ה’ [והעליתים והשיבותים אל המקום הזה]” [ירמיה כז, כב].

אמר, איזיל ואשמע מיניה מילתא מבית וועדא והדר אפיק. אזל1 אשכחיה לתנא דקתני קמיה דרב יהודה, היה עומד בתפלה ונתעטש, ממתין עד שיכלה הרוח וחוזר ומתפלל. איכא דאמרי, היה עומד בתפלה ובקש להתעטש, מרחיק לאחריו ארבע אמות ומתעטש, וממתין עד שיכלה הרוח, וחוזר ומתפלל ואומר, “רבונו של עולם, יצרתנו נקבים נקבים, חלולים חלולים. גלוי וידוע לפניך חרפתנו וכלימתנו בחיינו, ובאחריתנו רימה ותולעה”. ומתחיל ממקום שפסק.

אמר ליה, אילו לא באתי אלא לשמוע דבר זה, דיי!

(ברכות כד, ב)

יש לבאר שרבי אבא עמד בפני דילמה גדולה. מצד אחד, בערה בו חיבת הארץ. רבי אבא נעשה לשם דבר עבור חיבת ארץ ישראל שלו. “רבי אבא מנשק כיפי דעכו”.2 אמנם לעומתו עמדה שיטת רבו, רב יהודה, שהתנגד בכל תוקף לעלייה מבבל לארץ ישראל.

במצב כזה שהיה “על הגדר” ומתנדנד בשרעפי לבו, קרהו מקרה—”השגחה פרטית”—שהכריע לצד העלייה לארץ ישראל. הוא שמע הלכה שמי שנתעטש מלמטה, מתרחק ארבע אמות ממקום התפילה שלו, וכשיכלה הרוח, חוזר למקומו הראשון ומתפלל. רבי אבא בחכמתו ובתבונתו שמע לקח לגבי גורל ישראל. הגם שחטאו ישראל על דרך שכתוב “נרדי נתן ריחו”,3 “ומפני חטאינו גלינו מארצנו”,4 אין חייבים להישאר בגלות בבל עד ביאת גואל, אלא משיכלה הרוח, חוזרים לארצם ומתחילים את העבודה ממקום שפסקו.5

ב]

רבי זירא הוה קא משתמיט מדרב יהודה, דבעי למיסק לארעא דישראל, דאמר רב יהודה, כל העולה מבבל לארץ ישראל עובר בעשה, שנאמר “בבלה יובאו ושמה יהיו” [ירמיה כז, כב].

אמר, איזיל ואשמע מיניה מילתא ואיתי ואיסק. אזל אשכחיה דקאי בי באני, וקאמר ליה לשמעיה, הביאו לי נתר, הביאו לי מסרק…

אמר, אילמלא באתי אלא לשמוע דבר זה, דיי!

קא משמע לן דברים של חול מותר לאומרם בלשון קודש.

(שבת מא, א)

גם רבי זירא התלבט אם לעלות לארץ ישראל או להישאר בבבל. הוא השתוקק לעלות לארץ ישראל אבל עמד מנגד פסק דינו של רבו, רב יהודה, שאסר העלייה מבבל לארץ ישראל.6 וגם לו קרה מקרה—”השגחה פרטית”—שהכריע את כף המאזנים לצד העלייה לארץ ישראל אם עוד קינן ספק בלבו. אף הוא שמע הלכה חדשה—מתוך “מעשה רב”—שהפיק ממנה לקח לגבי העלייה לארץ ישראל. כנראה שהיו כאלה שסברו שאסור לומר דברים של חול בלשון הקודש; שסברו שרק דברים של קודש מותר לומר בלשון הקודש. ומפי רבו, רב יהודה—”מרא דשמעתתא” גופיה—שמע יקרות לשון הקודש והבין שכמה שיותר יש לדבר בלשון הקודש.

“תני בשם רבי מאיר: כל מי שהוא קבוע בארץ ישראל, ואוכל חוליו בטהרה, ומדבר בלשון הקודש, וקורא את שמע בבוקר ובערב—מובטח לו שהוא מחיי העולם הבא”.7

ג] תוספות כתובות קי”א א’ ד”ה בבלה יובאו ושמה יהיו: “אף על-גב דהאי קרא בגלות ראשון כתיב, יש לומר דבגלות שני נמי קפיד קרא”.

דברי התוספות אינם מובנים כל הצורך. וכבר כתבתי במקום אחר,8 שישנו חבל ראשונים שכתבו שבאמת בית שני לא היווה גאולה אלא “פקידה” בעלמא, שמלכי בית חשמונאי לא השיגו מלוא העצמאות ועדיין משועבדים היו למלכי פרס ויוון ורומי. ראה פירוש רבינו עזרא מגירונה לשיר השירים ח, יג: “הלא לא היתה לישראל מלוכה וממשלה כל ימי בית שני כי תחת מלכי פרס ויוון ורומי היו”.9 וכן כתוב בדרשות הר“ן, סוף הדרוש השביעי,10 וביתר הרחבה באור השם לתלמידו ר’ חסדאי קרשקש.11

ואם כן, איננו צריכים לתירוץ התוספות אלא מובן מאליו שגלות ראשון וגלות שני היינו הך, המשך אחד עם פסק זמן באמצע הקרוי “בית שני”. מפורש אומר רבי חסדאי: “האמת הגמור לפי מה שיראה, שהגלות הזה שאנחנו בו, הוא הגלות שנמשך מחורבן הבית הראשון”.12

אולם הרמב”ם לא יסבור כן שהרי כתב בהלכות חנוכה פ”ג הל”א: “וחזרה מלכות לישראל יתר על מאתיים שנה עד החורבן השני”. והוא יצטרך לתירוץ התוספות. וצריך עיון.13

ד] הרמב”ן החשיב ישיבת ארץ ישראל למצות-עשה מן התורה (עיין פירושו במדבר לג, נג) וכן מנאה במניין המצוות שלו (מצות-עשה רביעית לדעת הרמב”ן, נדפס בספר המצוות לרמב”ם). וזה לשונו שם: “הכל הוא ממצות עשה שנצטווינו לרשת הארץ ולשבת בה. אם כן, מצות עשה לדורות, מתחייב כל יחיד ממנו ואפילו בזמן גלות”.

והנה יש לנו ספר חשוב בשם מגילת אסתר (ויניציאה, שנ”ב) שנכתב להצדיק את שיטת הרמב”ם בספר המצוות מהשגות הרמב”ן. מחברו ר’ יצחק ליאון בן אליעזר אבן צור ספרדי.14

זה לשון מגילת אסתר (דפוס ויניציאה שנ”ב), דף צז ע”ב:

ונראה לי כי מה שלא מנאה הרב [=הרמב”ם] הוא לפי שמצות ירושת הארץ וישיבתה לא נהגה רק בימי משה ויהושע ודוד וכל זמן שלא גלו מארצם, אבל אחר שגלו מעל אדמתם אין מצוה זו נוהגת לדורות עד עת בא המשיח, כי אדרבא נצטוינו לפי מה שאמרו בסוף כתובות [קי”א א’] שלא נמרוד באומות ללכת לכבוש את הארץ בחזקה, והוכיחוהו מפסוק “השבעתי אתכם בנות ירושלים וגומר, ודרשו בו שלא יעלו ישראל בחומה15…ועוד ראיה שאין בו מצוה ממה שאמרו גם כן התם [=כתובות ק”י ב’] כל העולה מבבל לארץ ישראל עובר בעשה שנאמר “בבלה יובאו ושמה יהיו”. ואם היה מצוה בדירת ארץ ישראל בכל הזמנים, איך יבוא נביא אחרי משה לסתור את דבריו והא אין נביא רשאי לחדש דבר מעתה וכל-שכן לסתור.

מהר“ץ חיות בהגהותיו ברכות כ”ד ב’ דחה דבריו האחרונים: “ואני אומר, ולטעמיך גם לשיטתו [=לשיטת הרמב”ם] לא יתכן, דאפילו אם מצות עשה דירושת הארץ אינה לדורות, מכל מקום אין נביא רשאי לחדש דבר, אלא ודאי דאמירת ירמיה איננה רק תקנה כשאר תקנות נביאים שאינן בכלל מצוות…”

אמנם יש להפריך את דברי המגילת אסתר באופן יסודי יותר. אלה דברי הרמב”ם בספר המצוות, מצוה קעב:

היא שצונו לשמוע כל נביא מהנביאים לעשות כל מה שיצוה אפילו בהיפך מצוה או כלל מצות מהמצוות האלו ובתנאי שיהיה זה לפי שעה, לא שיצוה להתמיד תוספת או חסרון, כמו שבארנו בפתיחת חבורנו בפירוש המשנה, והכתוב שבא בו הציווי הזה הוא אמרו “אליו תשמעון” [דברים יח, טו] …

וכן כתב הרמב”ם בחיבורו הגדול משנה תורה, הלכות יסודי התורה פ”ט הל”ג: “וכן אם יאמר לנו הנביא שנודע לנו שהוא נביא, לעבור על אחת מכל מצוות האמורות בתורה, או על מצוות הרבה, בין קלות בין חמורות, לפי שעה—מצוה לשמוע לו”.

ולכן מילתא דפשיטא הוא שמה שציווה ירמיהו הנביא “בבלה יובאו ושמה יהיו”, הוראת שעה היא, כדברי הנביא עצמו “עד יום פקדי אותם, נאום ד'”.

אלא שנצטרך להבהיר שישנה “שעה” שמתארכת מאות שנים. וכבר הוכחנו זאת במקום אחר מדברי הרמב”ם בהלכות בית הבחירה פ”ד הל”א שמנה בין הכלים הנטפלים לארון את מטה אהרן וצנצנת המן והשמיט את הארגז ששיגרו פלשתים דורון לאלוקי ישראל, משום שאינו אלא על דרך הוראת שעה ולא הוראה לדורות.16

לכן, מה שחשב בעל מגילת אסתר להוכיח שמצות ישיבת ארץ ישראל אינה מצוה לדורות מזה שהנביא ירמיהו יכל לאסור העלייה לארץ ישראל (לדברי רב יהודה), נפל בבירא. כי יתכן מאד שהמצוה נוהגת לדורות והנביא לא אמר לבטלה אלא “לפי שעה”.17

ה] יש בידינו ספר יקר מאד, מסולא בפז, מאחד ה”חסידים הראשונים”, שהיה שייך לחוג הנרחב של הבעש”ט, ר’ בנימין מגיד מישרים דק”ק זלאזיץ. שם הספר הוא אהבת דודים (למברג, תקנ”ג), פירוש על שיר השירים.18 בפירוש לפסוק “השבעתי אתכם בנות ירושלים בצבאות או באילות השדה אם תעירו ואם תעוררו את האהבה עד שתחפץ” (שיר השירים ב, ז), כותב ר’ בנימין דברים נוראים המרקיעים שחקים.

הגמרא סוטה (י”ג ב’) אומרת: “כל העושה דבר ולא גמרו—קובר אשתו ובניו”. בבראשית רבה (פה, ג) הלשון: “כל מי שהוא מתחיל במצוה ואינו גומרה—קובר את אשתו ואת בניו”.

מקשה המגיד מזלאזיץ:

וצריך להבין, הא כל מדותיו של הקב”ה מדה כנגד מדה, וקשה, וכי כך היא המדה שיבוא עונש כזה על שאינו גומר המצוה?

שנית, למה יהיה זה האדם יותר גרוע ממי שאינו מתחיל בה כלל?

המגיד מסביר על-פי משל:

ונראה לתת טעם לשבח, ומבשרי נחזה, באלפי אלפים הבדלות, כשאדם בא לקרב את עצמו אל היחוד הגשמי ונתעורר[ה] תאות שניהם אל היחוד, ובא איזה דבר המונע לגמור יחודם, כמה “אנפיהם עציבין”,19 ולא עוד אלא במה שהיה אפשר להם להוליד איזו נשמה קדושה ביחודם, לא די שלא הולידו בקדושה, אף זו שלפעמים יצא חס-ושלום ממנו לבטלה הואיל שנתעורר לזווג, ויתן כח חס-ושלום לחיצונים בהתעוררות זיווג זה.

ותיכף למשל, נמשל:

כן הדבר הזה, כשהתחיל לעשות היחוד באיזו מצוה, ובאתערותא דלתתא אתער לעילא, העלאות מ”ן [=מיין נוקבין] והורדות מ”ד [=מיין דוכרין], וכשלא נגמר היחוד כדקא יאות, גורם ד”אתכסיא סיהרא”,20 שהיא מדת מלכות…

והוא הדבר אשר גורם מי שהתחיל במצוה ואינו גומרה. ונמצא לפי זה עונשו הוא לפי המדה: כשם שהוא גורם ש”אתכסיא סיהרא”, לכך הוא קובר אשתו ונכסית ממנו; וכשם שגרם ש”נהורא לא אשתכח”,21 שלא קיבלה המיין דוכרין, שהיא [=שהן] נשמות קדושות, שהיה יכול להוליד מזה היחוד, לכך קובר בניו, חס-ושלום.22

כך מפרש אחד מגדולי החסידות את השבועה בשיר-השירים, “אם תעירו ואם תעוררו את האהבה עד שתחפץ”. הדברים נאמרו במישור הפרטי שהמתחיל במצוה מושבע ועומד לגומרה, אולם ניתן להעתיק את הדברים אל המישור הכללי. כנסת ישראל התחילה במצות ישוב ארץ ישראל. “באתערותא דלתתא, אתער לעילא”. אחינו בני ישראל, אל נא נרפה ממצוה זו! מושבעים אנו בכל חומר השבועה לגמור את אשר החלנו.

1

By Eliezer Brodt

This article will trace some of the earliest sources for the Minhag observed by many to stay up learning Torah throughout the entire night of Shavuos.[1] At the outset I would like to note that the focus of this article will be not be about the exact seder that was learned i.e. Tikun Lel Shavuos.[2]

Different versions of this article originally appeared in the Kulmos Supplement of Mishpacha in 2014 and then in English in 2015. I returned to all this in my doctorate Halachic Commentaries to the Shulchan Aruch on Orach Chayim from Ashkenaz and Poland in the Seventeenth Century.[3] This post contains important additions to some of the earlier versions. One day I hope to update it properly.

That the minhag of staying up on Shavuos night to learn was observed widely in recent history is very clear. For example, the author of a nineteenth-century Lithuanian memoir describes how her brothers would stay up the entire night.[4]

In a memoir about Yeshivas Lomza, the author writes in passing “after staying up the whole night, the whole yeshiva would take part in a milchig kiddush at the Rosh Yeshiva’s house”.[5]

Chaim Grade writes: “On the First night of Shavuoth, the lamps in the Beth Medrash and the candelabra were still lit well past midnight. The benches were packed with men from the courtyard and from the neighboring streets who, as the custom on this night, came to study until dawn.”[6] Grade’s books are fiction, but his descriptions are based on life in Vilna.

A bochur describing Shavous in the Mir to his parents in 1938, writes in passing that the bnei hayeshiva had stayed up the whole night learning.[7]

Rav Chaim Stein, Rosh Yeshivah of Telz wrote an incredible World War II diary chronicling his great Mesiras Nefesh for whatever mitzvos he was able to do during that time. He also describes staying up the entire night learning.[8]

But what are the earliest sources for this practice? It is not mentioned by either R. Yosef Caro or the Rama in Shulchan Aruch’s discussion of the halachos of Shavuos.

One of the earliest printed sources for this custom is a work entitled Sefer Ha-Mussar, authored by Rav Yehudah Kalatz and first printed in 1537, which states that there was a custom to stay up throughout both nights of Shavuos to learn various parts of Tanach and Kabbalah.[9] Today we know that the prior written source for this piece is Rav Dovid ben Rav Yehudah Hachassid.[10] This piece is also printed in the Mateh Moshe of Rav Moshe Meis (1591) without citing its source.[11] In 1558, the Zohar was printed for the first time, and in it we find that “righteous ones” would learn Torah during the entire night of Shavuos.[12] These words of the Zohar are already quoted in two early and important collections of material culled from the Zohar, the Mareh Cohen of Rav Yisachar Katz,[13] first printed in 1588 and in the Yesh Sachir of Rav Yisachar M’Karmintz,[14] first printed in 1609. It is also brought down in important works such as Rav Moshe Makir’s classic Seder HaYom [first printed in 1599],[15] Tikunei Shabbos (1613),[16] Tur Barekes (1650),[17] Heichal Hakodesh (1653)[18] and Sha’arei Tzion (1662).[19]

From the Zohar it appears that this practice is limited to yechidei segulah, select spiritually exalted individuals. This is also how it appears that some sources that quote this Zohar, such as the Heichal Hakodesh, Magen Avraham,[20] Eliyah Rabba[21] and Me’orei Or,[22] understood it.

A number of gedolei Torah themselves wrote of having stayed up learning the whole night of Shavuos. In his Sefer Chizyonos, R’ Chaim Vital writes that he stayed up the whole night of Shavuos learning with the Arizal.[23] The Chida writes in the account of his travels[24] and in his autobiographical cheshbon hanefesh of having done so,[25] as does the Aderes.[26]

But other sources seem to have understood that this is a custom to be followed by all. Rav Moshe Makir in his Seder HaYom writes so clearly, and indeed, in a letter he wrote circa 1610 to Poland, Rav Shlumiel of Tzefas describes how everyone stayed up to learn on Shavuos night in keeping with the Seder HaYom.[27] The Shelah Hakadosh also describes how everyone stayed up learning, as did Rav Moshe Prague in a letter written in 1650 describing the scene in Yerushalayim.[28]

Thus, we see that what was originally a minhag only for the very learned evolved in a few decades into a practice observed by the broad masses. One may conjecture that the spread of the minhag occurred due to the fact that some of the seforim that mentioned it were very popular and widely read.

Another possible catalyst for the popular adoption of this minhag was the promise of the Arizal that “he who stays up the whole night learning will survive the year and not suffer any harm during the entire year.” This guarantee first appeared in a work called Shulchan Aruch Shel Ha-Arizal printed in 1650,[29] and was later reprinted in numerous widely-read works such as Sha’arei Tzion and Sefer Zechirah.[30]

Relatedly, R. Yosef Kapach, discussing the observance of this minhag in Teiman, writes that this night is a special time during which the gates of Heaven are open for the acceptance of tefillos. He cites a legend of a woman who was looking outside a window and she asked for her head to be made bigger. When that occurred, she could not get her head back inside through the window. It thus became necessary to feed her for the duration of the Yom Tov by means of a ladder, and it was only after Yom Tov, when the window could be broken, that she was finally extricated.[30]

Yet another reason this minhag may have become so widespread relates to the Maggid, the Heavenly emissary that would regularly visit the Beis Yosef to teach him Torah. The Shelah Hakadosh quotes from a lengthy letter that Rav Shlomo Alkabetz wrote describing the events of one particular Shavuos.[32]

Rav Shlomo Alkabetz writes that he and Rav Yosef Caro along with some others in their circle decided to stay up the whole night of Shavuos learning a specific seder limud from Tanach and Mishnayos. At about midnight, a voice was heard emanating from the throat of Rav Yosef Caro praising them for staying up to learn Torah and advising them that it would be even more praiseworthy if they were to do so with a minyan. And, indeed, the next night, the scene was repeated, this time with a minyan present.

This letter was first printed in 1646 in the introduction to the first edition of the Magid Meisharim, which records the teachings that the Magid conveyed through the Beis Yosef. It was then reprinted by the Shelah Hakadosh in 1648[33] and in the very popular and somewhat controversial anonymous work Chemdas Yomim in 1731.[34]These last two sources contributed to widespread knowledge of the story of the Magid of the Beis Yosef, which, in turn, enabled the minhag of learning throughout Shavuos night to become even more popular.

In order to consider some possible reasons for the Rav Yosef Caro’s omission of this minhag from both his Shulchan Aruch and his commentary on the Tur, despite the fact that he was personally told by the Magid about the great importance of remaining awake throughout Shavuos night to learn Torah, it is important to first discuss some issues related to the Magid Meisharim.

Many Gedolim merited visits from Magidim who taught them secrets of Torah, but the most famous person to have been so visited was Rav Yosef Caro. Magid Meisharim, the work that emerged from those visits, is comprised mostly of Kabbalistic teachings, although there is some Halachic discussion there as well. Was that work intended only for Rav Yosef Caro or for the general Jewish populace as well? When there is a contradiction between this work and the Shulchan Aruch, according to which of these works are we to rule?

From the fact that numerous Poskim quote from the Magid Meisharim in their halachic works, it would seem that that at least some of the material was intended for everyone. One famous example concerns eating meat on Rosh Hashanah, which the Magid told Rav Yosef Caro not to do.[35] The Magen Avraham and other poskim bring this down, implying that they felt the halachic material in this work is applicable to the masses.[36] Many other examples this are collected in a series of articles written by Rav Klieres in the Torah journal Tzefunot.[37] However, the Munkatcher Rebbe held that the Magid Meisharim was intended for Rav Yosef Caro alone.[38]

A careful examination of the sefer shows that it also contains many hanhagos, practices that are not mandated by Halacha per se, but are recommended for a righteous person to adopt. Some feel that these pieces were meant for the masses, whereas others are of the opinion that these too were meant only for Rav Yosef Caro to follow.[39] Staying up on Shavuos night could be an example of such an hanhaga.[40] There is no halachic obligation to do so, but, as we have seen, it was widely practiced by righteous people, and sometimes the masses adopt such practices.

However, Rav Yaakov Emden brings from his father, the Chacham Tzvi, that the Magid Meisharim did not influence his halachic rulings in any way.[41] In his siddur, Rav Yaakov Emden writes that it is well-known that the Beis Yosef and Rav Shlomo Alkabetz stayed up Shavuos night and were visited by the voice of the Magid, but that this does not obligate the masses to follow suit.[42]

Based on the above, it becomes understandable why R. Yosef Caro did not cite the custom to stay up on Shavuos night in his halachic works despite knowing very well its importance from his Shavuos night experience with the Magid. As important a practice as it is, in his opinion it was not intended for the broader community.

In truth, there may well be more to the story of why Rav Yosef Caro did not bring this custom down in his halachic works. The Gemarah in Bava Metzia (59b) sets forth is the principle of “Lo BaShamayim Hi“, meaning that the halachic process is not influenced by other-worldly revelations such as a Heavenly voice telling us what to do, or the like.[43] Rav Akiva Yosef Schlesinger uses this axiom to explain why we do not find Rav Yosef Caro bringing anything he learned from the Magid in his Beis Yosef or Shulchan Aruch.[44] This general approach is found by numerous Achronim to dismiss material found in such ‘heavenly’ works to reach halachic conclusions. To list some: R. Alexander Moshe Lapidus,[45] R. Aron Mi-Pinsk,[46] R’ Yitzchack Issac Chaver,[47] and R. Yaakov Emden.[48]

However, the question remains as to why the principle Lo BaShamayim Hi did not prevent various poskim from citing works like that of the Magid in halachic discussions. For example, numerous poskim quote rulings from the Sh’ailos v’Teshuvos Min Hashamayim, in which a rishon collected the responses he received from Heaven in his dreams to questions he had posed before going to sleep.[49]

One possible explanation as to why some poskim cite these works is based on an idea found in the work Seder Mishnah by Rav Zev Wolf Boskovitz.[50] Rav Boskovitz writes that one can rely on such works when their conclusions are not contradicted by anything in Shas.

Other achronim, however, hold that the principle of Lo BaShamayim Hi is applicable under all circumstances and thus, we are not to rely on works like the Magid Meisharim and Sh’ailos v’Teshuvos Min Hashamayim for practical guidance. Perhaps, then, Rav Yosef Caro held a similar position as these achronim and for this reason never quotes the Magid in his halachic works.

One final point: According to most of the early sources for this Minhag, it is based on Kabbala and was originally intended only for the most learned of the community, but eventually became the minhag of the masses too. However, it is interesting that the Magan Avraham, after quoting the Zohar as the earliest source for this minhag, gives his own reason for it.

He writes, based on the Midrash, that at Har Sinai, the Jews slept during the night before the giving of the Torah, and Hashem had to awaken them. As a form of teshuvah for our ancestors’ lack of zeal and appreciation for the Torah at Har Sinai, we stay up the entire night learning.[51]The Magen Avraham thus turned a Kabbalastically based custom into one with a basis in the revealed Torah.

Moreover, while most of the sources deal with the special seder of learning one is supposed to follow on Shavuos night, the Magan Avraham does not mention such a seder limud, choosing instead to address various halachic questions that arise for those who stay awake through the night, such as the halachos relating to Netilas Yadyim, Birchas Hatorah, the bracha on the Talis and Kriyas Shema Al Hamitah, thereby further giving a halachic focus to this Kabbalistically rooted minhag. In so doing, the Magen Avraham, a preeminent work on Orach Chaim, may have helped ensure the widespread adoption of the minhag of learning throughout Shavuos night.