I think R. Ben Shimon’s description is also applicable to many in the Modern Orthodox world, at least in the United States. That is, while they are careful to fast on Yom Kippur and Tisha be-Av, this is not the case regarding the other fast days. But unlike what we have seen with R. Morgenstern, no one would think to ask if there is any halakhic support for this. Even those who eat on the fast days know that their behavior is not in line with halakhah.[41]

by Eliezer Brodt

     Rabbis, scholars and writers used to send on Purim—in addition to the traditional Mishloah Manot—spiritual food to their dear ones: a song, a study, even an entire book, they had written.

     In this article only a few of such “manot” (“portions”, “gifts”) can be mentioned.

     Rabbi Shlomo Alkabetz, the author of Lekha Dodi—wrote a commentary on the Book of Esther and sent it as a Purim present to his future father-in-law.

     In the introduction to the commentary, he tells us how he came to write it.  It was in 1529, with the approach of Purim, the season for sending gifts, he felt extremely bad, for he did not know what present he could give to Yitzchak HaKohen, his future father-in-law, the father of his bride.  Finally he decided to write a commentary on the Book of Esther and send it to R. Yitzchak.  He was sure that he would enjoy the present, for the man was a lover of Torah.  The commentary was, indeed, very well received by the entire family.  Alkabetz’ future brother-in-law Yosef HaKohen, even wrote a poem in its honor.

     The commentary which the author called Manot HaLevi (“Gifts of the Levite”—Alkabetz was a Levite), was first printed in Venice in 1585.

     Rabbi Moshe Isserles the great Halakhic authority of Ashkenazi Jewry served as rabbi and Rosh Yeshiva in Cracow. In 1556 he was forced to leave Cracow because a plague ravaged the city. He moved temporarily to Szydlowiec. Food was scarce and Purim could not be celebrated
with “feasting and gladness.”  However, Rabbi Isserles sought delight and joy by immersing himself in the study of the Book of Esther.  He wrote a commentary on the Megillah and sent it as a Purim present to his father, who was one of the leaders of Cracow’s Jewish community.  The commentary which was named by Rabbi Isserles Mahir Yayin, was first printed in Cremona, Italy, in 1559.

     R. Yekuthiel (Gordon) ben R. Yehuda Leib of Vilna left his native country in order to study medicine in Padua, Italy.  During his stay there he became a disciple of R. Moshe Chaim Luzzatto.  After his return to Poland he resided in Grodno and Brest Litovsk.  On the occasion of Purim he sent to R. Shlomo Zalman Segal Sinzheim, a communal leader, a poem telling the story of Esther.  The initial letters of the words of each line of the poem form the word Megilla (in the first line, the initial letters are read from right to left; in the second line they should be read backwards from left to right; in the third line—again from right to left; in the fourth—from left to right; and so on).

     The poem was printed by L. Schlossberg in Vienna in 1879. 1

1 Rabbi Eliezer Ashkenazi, famous 16th century rabbi who served in various communities, dedicated his commentary on the Book of Esther, called Yosef Lekah, to Don Joseph Nassi, but we do not know whether he actually sent him a copy as a gift for Purim.

האין כלבבי תשורה להביא יהא נא כתבי למשה למנה יכופל בטעם כמו אז להעם יטועם ויונעם למשה למנא ומנות לחכו יתעב כדרכו מתוקות
בערכו, למשה למה נא.

השיר נדפס על-ידי אברהם דאנון בספרו “תולדות בני אברהם” (פרסבורג תרמ”ז, עמ’ 123).[1] דוד כהן צדק, בעודו ילד, שלח לאביו הסופר יוסף כהן צדק כמנה לפורים שיר בשם “שלום אסתר”. “הנני שולח בזה את פטר רחם עטי לכהן צדק…לא לכבודי, אך לכבוד בית אבא, הנני מכבדך היום במנחתי הדלה הזאת במקום משלוח מנות…” כתב במכתב שליווה את השיר. אביו שלח באותו יום, יום הפורים, את השיר יחד עם “אגרת פורים”, פיליטון על המתרחש בעולם המדיניות, לבן אחותו—וגם הדפיס שניהם, את “אגרת פורים” ואת השיר “שלום אסתר” בעתונו “המבשר” (י”ח אדר ב, תרכ”ב). לחג הפורים תרל”ו שלח א. ב. שוויצר מאמר על המתימטיקאי והממציא, ר’ אברהם שטרן עם תמונה משלו, אותה מצא בכתב, עת רוסי ישן, לחיים זליג סלונימסקי, שהיה חתנו של שטרן.  הוא שלח אלה לחז”ס כמנחת-חג שיוכל “לתתה למנה גם לפני קוראי “הצפירה”. ואמנם הדפיס סלונימסקי את המאמר עם התמונה בעתונו (י”ב אדר) תחת הכותרת “משלוח מנות לפורים”.[2] בגליון האחרון של “אור המזרח” (תשרי-טבת תשל”ד) פורסמו מכתב-יד שנשרד מן השואה, חידושי תורה ששלח ר’ ישראל פנחס פיוטרקובסקי, אברך חסידי מלודז’, בשנת תרצ”ה, משלוח מנות לחותנו.  לחידושי תורה הקדים שיר בן שלושה בתים, בו הוא אומר בין היתר:

אלה הכינו מרקחות ומגדנות ואלה בשר צלי אש שמו באגנות ואנוכי עשות במתכונתם ידי קצרה לאלה יין ושמן בטנים ושקדים

בכלי כסף צרוף מזוקק שבעתיים. ואני שיקויי מי לחץ ולחמי עצבה…

על כן הוא שולח לחותנו משלוח מנות מפירות לימודו.[3]

by Alan Zelenetz

DYNAMIC GREEN

From their cosmic vantage point in outer space, NASA satellites orbiting our planet beam down real-time streaming video of Earth’s surface. They reveal that 75% of our world is “a relatively unchanging ocean of blue,” the remaining 25% “a dynamic green” terra
firma, confirming the dominance of vegetation and the fecundity of plant life on dry land. It’s not difficult for us to re-imagine NASA’s spectacular photographs as screenshots capturing the magnificence of the third day of Creation described in Sefer Bereishit, the Book of Genesis – a gathering of waters followed by growing grass and the flourishing of flowers and trees.

NASA’s cutting edge science and technology provide a God’s-eye view of the plant world unique to our modern day and age, but the variety and beauty of Earth’s species of flora has been the subject of literary poets for millennia. From Ovid of Ancient Rome, who sings of elms and oaks and laurel trees transformed, to the 18th century Scottish lyricist Robert Burns, whose “O my Love’s like a red, red rose” remains, perhaps, the best known simile in verse, the botanical side of nature has forever held fascination for us humans who share our globe and gardens with the kingdom of plants. In his fantasy epic, Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien goes so far as to envision the Ents, a noble race of
walking, talking trees, while contemporary American poet Louise Glück personifies a real flower, “The Red Poppy,” which speaks to us in a floral first person, “I have / a lord in heaven/ called the sun, and open / for him, showing him / the fire of my own heart…” Though talking trees are nothing if not a prime example of poetic license, there are many scientists today who embrace the metaphor in their practice. In a recent New Yorker essay, “The Intelligent Plant,” journalist Michael Pollan reports the latest research in plant biology. He describes attempts to prove (not without controversy and critics) that plants are capable of cognition and communication, and he includes as an example a leaf’s ability “to signal other leaves to mount a defense” against impending infestation by insects. Astonishing as is the scientific hypothesis of “thinking” plants, emotionally stirring as is the imagery of poets, they ought to be comfortably familiar to us as Jews, who have been sensitive to our seed-bearing cohabitants on earth literally since the beginning of traditional Jewish time.

FIRST PLANT YOUR SAPLING

Had there been an ancient Green Party, the Torah would have been its platform. The very first pages of the Jewish Bible introduce humankind at its origin, woman and man implanted with divine purpose in the Garden of Eden. Commenting on this edenic scene, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch intuits God’s purpose: the destiny of humankind and the earth is Paradise. By working the earth, human beings raise “its purely physical nature into playing a part in the…moral purposes of the world…we are shown what we should be, how we should live, how this world of ours would form a paradise…”

Several Books later, Sefer Devarim offers one of the most celebrated examples of the Written Law’s ethical and ecological sensitivity, “Lo tashchit…do not destroy [fruit-bearing] trees by wielding an ax against them, for from them you will eat, do not cut them down.” Based on this proscription, Judaism derives an overriding moral principle known as bal tashchit, prohibiting any random destruction or wanton waste in all walks of life.

An Aggadic passage in the Oral Law carries Judaism’s recognition of the sanctity of plant life on Earth to an extraordinary extreme: Rabbi Yochanan used to say, “If you are about to plant a sapling and a cry goes out, ‘Come, hurry, the Moshiach is here!’, be certain first to plant your sapling, then go and greet the Messiah.”

Yes, our Jewish love affair with fruit, flower, and foliage has, indeed, been an eternal one. We can already discern the strains of a love song in Talmudic times when the Sages teach us how to bless the trees “who” share our lives, “Tree, O tree, with what should I bless you? Your fruit is already sweet…Your shade is plentiful… May it be G‑d’s will that all the trees planted from your seeds should be like you . . .” And it continues in our own day and age, when Yossi Klein Halevi reminds us – in describing a young Israeli kibbutznik’s attempt to preserve a tactile encounter with the fruit he harvests by machine –  “If you don’t say good morning to the tree, he had learned from the old-timers, the tree won’t say happy new year to you.”

WE HAVE TO TALK ABOUT TU BISHVAT

To speak of plant life and Judaism is to speak, of course, of Tu Bishvat, the day marked in the Mishnah and on the Jewish calendar as our New Year of Trees. This designation carries specific halachic obligations regarding agricultural tithes, both in the ancient and contemporary lands of Israel. But, true to our theme, we keep here to the celebratory and symbolic aspects of the holiday. 

To reiterate, in Jewish thought and practice a tree is no simple metaphor. The trees of Tu Bishvat are at the essence of our understanding the interrelatedness of God’s world. The Torah, in fact makes the comparison over and over. In both Tehillim and in the Talmud we find fruit trees and cedars breaking into songful praise of God. And the prophet Isaiah declares explicitly, “For as the days of a tree shall be the days of my people.”

A WALK WITH RAV KOOK

This identification of human being and tree is the foundation of the moral dimension of Tu Bishvat. It is the living Torah teaching us Chesed, to feel compassion for all living things, and it is embodied in a living example recounted in the memoirs of Reb Aryeh Levin, who recalls an early afternoon stroll with Rav Kook in the fields of Jaffa: “On the way, I plucked some branch or flower. Our great master was taken aback; and then he told me gently, ‘Believe me: In all my days I have taken care never to pluck a blade of grass or a flower needlessly, when it had the ability to grow or blossom. You know the teaching of the Sages that there is not a single blade of grass below, here on Earth, which does not have a heavenly force (or angel) above telling it, Grow! Every sprout and leaf of grass says something, conveys some meaning… Every creature utters its song…’ ”

In I And Thou, philosopher Martin Buber explores how, as human beings, we come to understand the world by interacting with the others, the objects, and the creatures all around us. Buber posits a higher level of human existence that depends upon a series of  “I/Thou” relationships, the most exalted of which is with the Divine, “One who truly meets the world goes out also to God.”

Not surprisingly, Buber turns to a tree to help define his idea of an “I/Thou” relationship, asserting that “…as I contemplate the tree I am drawn into a relation, and the tree ceases to be an It…Whatever belongs to the tree is included…its conversation with the elements and its conversation with the stars…I encounter…the tree itself.”

A TREE’S EMBRACE

In her book Celebrate!, author Lesli Koppelman Ross catalogues many Jewish holiday practices and customs throughout history and from around the globe. Kabbalists early on created a Tu Bishvat seder that has been perpetuated in many fruits and many forms, ranging from the mystic to the ecological to the feminist, down to our own day. In some Mediterranean Jewish communities on Tu Bishvat “women would embrace trees at night, praying for fertility and many children. In Salonica, it was believed that the trees themselves embrace on Tu Bishvat, and anyone seeing them do so would have his/her wish fulfilled.” And so we seem to circle back, within a Jewish frame of reference now, to Tolkien’s Ents and Ovid’s trees and transformations.

The French linguist Émile Benveniste made the observation that “ ‘personal pronouns’ are never missing from among the signs of a language, no matter what its type, epoch, or region may be. A language without expression of person cannot be imagined.” Poet Maureen N. McClane offers her own riff on Benveniste’s thought, “To command you, to address you, I must think you. ’I’ must think ‘you. And yet even as I think you I interfuse you with my own nature…”

On Tu Bishvat, “I” must think “Tree,” “Tree” must think “Thou.” We may even, in homage to Benveniste, pun on the “Tu” in Tu Bishvat and think of it as “tu,” the French second person pronoun of affection and familiarity, reminding us that You, the trees of Shevat, and we, the people of this planet, share earthly and earthy roots from which we draw succor of body, mind, and spirit. In our oneness we join voices in celebration of our Creator.

Marc B. Shapiro

1. The last post dealt with R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin and I pick up with him here. Before moving forward, I have to thank R. Moshe Maimon who sent me a PDF of the essay attributed to R. Zevin which I discussed in the last post. It comes from the hebrewbooks.org hard drive that was released some time ago.[1] You can see it here. I also thank R. Eliezer Brodt who pointed out that both R. Zvi Pesah Frank and R. Eliezer Waldenberg deal with the essay.[2]

One of the most famous examples of haredi censorship relates to R. Zevin. In his classic Ha-Moadim ba-Halakhah, in the section “Ha-Tzomot”, end of ch. 5 (p. 442 in the most recent edition), in discussing if one still needs to do keriah upon seeing the destroyed cities of Judea, R. Zevin writes:

מסתבר, שעם שיחרורן של ערי יהודה משלטון נכרים והקמת מדינת ישראל (אשרינו שזכינו לכך!) בטל דין הקריעה על אותן הערים.

This is not an extreme Zionist statement. It is simply an expression of happiness that the State of Israel came into being. I have no doubt that the typical haredi agrees that this was a good thing (and see in particular the comments of R. Moshe Feinstein quoted later in this post). However, even this very “pareve” statement was too much for Artscroll. Here is how Artscroll translated this passage (The Festivals in Halachah, vol. 2, p. 294):

It could be argued that since the liberation of the cities of the Judean hills from gentile rule, the law of rending the garment for these cities may no longer be in force.

The first thing to notice is that while R. Zevin wrote מסתבר, which must be translated as “it is reasonable”, “it makes sense”, or something similar, Artscroll has turned this into a tentative argument (“it could be argued”). Yet this is not what R. Zevin is saying. “It could be argued” implies that R. Zevin is on the fence on this matter, while מסתבר shows clearly what his view is.[3]

However, the really egregious action of Artscroll comes later in this sentence where Artscroll deletes mention of the establishment of the State of Israel and, most significantly, R. Zevin’s feeling of joy at this event: אשרנו שזכינו לכך!

I have learnt that the men who run Artscroll did not originally know about the censorship just mentioned. They never authorized any distortion of the translation and were surprised to find out what had been done. Yet once learning what had happened, they never took any steps to correct the translation and even defended the alterations. To this day, the matter has not been rectified. It is one thing if in its own works Artscroll tolerates or even encourages distortions, but to take the work of someone else, especially a great Torah scholar, and “correct” it so as to bring it into line with haredi “Daas Torah” is unforgivable. Furthermore, it is a violation of a sacred trust which every translator should be cognizant of. I also wonder if there isn’t a real issue of geneivah involved. If you sell a book supposed to be a translation, and you alter the translation, it is not merely a matter of geneivat da’at but real thievery, since you are selling a product that is not authentic.[4]

When this matter was raised in Tradition by Jack Feinholtz, Rabbis Nosson Scherman and Meir Zlotowitz replied by quoting one of the translators, Meir Holder:[5]

Mr. Holder has, for many years, maintained the closest contact with Rav Zevin’s family and has been a prime force in the dissemination of this great Tzaddik’s writings, in both Hebrew and English. It is unthinkable that he would tolerate or engage in any attempt to misrepresent Rav Zevin’s thoughts. . . . According to Mr. Holder, the lines which Mr. Feinholtz quotes were added to the edition published just a few months after the State of Israel was founded, a time when Rabbi Zevin and others still held high hopes for the spiritual impact of the State upon the lives of those Jews living there. As time went on, Rabbi Zevin became disappointed and, in the opinion of the members of his own family, his final Halachic opinion with regard to the law of rending garments on seeing the Judean hills is more accurately reflected in the Artscroll translation than in the version of the passage cited by Mr. Feinholtz.

There is a good deal of falsehood here. To begin with, other than Shemirat Shabbat ke-Hilkhatah, I think Ha-Moadim ba-Halakhah has been reprinted more times than any other modern halakhic text. Neither R. Zevin nor his family ever made any changes to the work. So who are these mysterious family members that Mr. Holder consulted with? R. Nahum Zevin, the one grandson of R. Zevin who is a haredi rabbi, is completely honest in his descriptions of his grandfather’s strong Zionist feelings.[6] R. Nahum tells anyone who asks that the change in the English translation was done without his (or anyone else in the family’s) knowledge or approval. He completely rejects the attempts to distort his grandfather’s legacy, as his grandfather never moved from his Zionist outlook. Thus, in addition to what has already been noted, the distortion of R. Zevin’s words must be seen as a betrayal of the family’s trust. (See also the second to last paragraph of the Hebrew article included in this post.)

More offensive than Artscroll’s distortion of R. Zevin’s halakhic opinion is the omission of his words of thanks for the creation of the State, an omission that goes unmentioned in the letter of Scherman and Zlotowitz. In a typical debating tactic, they offer a response that allows them to pretend that the only issue being discussed is R. Zevin’s halakhic view of rending garments rather than the deletion of his comments about the State of Israel. (Regarding the first matter, does this really have anything to do with Zionism? Is there anyone today, even among the non-Zionist haredim, who rends his garment upon seeing the cities of Judea?[7] Even when it comes to mekom ha-mikdash it seems that for many the practice of keriah has fallen by the wayside, and a number of people have written to justify this. And while I am on the topic, is there any halakhic justification for people not to do keriah when they see places like Bethlehem that have been returned to Arab rule?[8])

Before going further, let me present a short article in Hebrew written by a friend of mine that also details Artscroll’s fraudulence in this matter.