1

Who Wrote the Late Volumes of Igrot Moshe?

Who Wrote the Late Volumes of Igrot Moshe?
By: Moshe Schorr[1]
Though this article deals with a factual question, it often seems to devolve into an ideological one. I therefore wish to state: I have no horse in this fight. I have not taken halakhic positions from Igrot Moshe volumes 7-9. I went into this with a genuinely open mind, and in the course of researching this question, I have taken the affirmative and negative sides of this question at different points.
Ever since Igrot Moshe volume 8 was published, and to a lesser degree volume 7, people have cast aspersions or directly accused it of being a forgery. The claim, generally, has been some variation of direct accusation or insinuation that somebody, usually either one of the Tendlers or R. Shabtai Rappaport, inserted his own teshuvot into the volume. Volume 9 is, as they say, ‘right out’. Some even call these volumes ‘Igrot Moshe David’.
As an example, Hirhurim several years ago published this quote from R. J.D. Bleich, though the comment thread is likely a better example.
Given the overwhelming consensus among latter-day authorities affirming the prohibition against drinking wine touched by a Sabbath-violator, Iggerot Moshe‘s position is surprising, to say the least. Moreover, the thesis developed in that responsum stands in sharp contradiction to Iggerot Moshe‘s earlier-cited multiple statements affirming the prohibition. Perplexed by Rabbi Feinstein’s surprising volte face, Rabbi Genut turned to a long-time, but unnamed, disciple of Rabbi Feinstein for clarification. Rabbi Genut quotes the disciple’s reply in which the latter writes that “it is known to me that many of the responsa [included in the posthumously-published eighth volume of Iggerot Moshe] were not before the eyes of my master and teacher… and there is also doubt with regard to many responsa in the seventh volume.”
The counterclaim, presented by the editors in the introduction to volume 8, is that the editors did exactly what their job entails: editing. While they added references, the teshuvot are by R. Moshe Feinstein.
I decided to test this. So the first thing I did was use an dataset given to me by Michael Pitkowsky, giving the dates, by year, of each teshuvah in volumes 1-8 of Igrot Moshe. This immediately yielded a stark result.
 
The spike in output in 1980-1981 is shocking. It is reminiscent of Barry Bonds’ late career.[2] It looks like a steroid year spike — how does a man in his eighties suddenly have more productivity than ever before? This, the first thing I saw, made me extremely suspicious. For comparison, Hatam Sofer’s chart looks like this:
 
 
I have published more on this at HaMapah, but suffice it to say: we expect to see a good deal of statistical noise in the amount of output,[3] though we do not expect to see changes that drastic, certainly not massive increases from authors in failing health.
This gave me the impetus to take the analysis a step further. So Avi Shmidman and I applied authorship analysis to it.[4]
Let me give a brief explanation of the algorithm. We are trying to look at the differentiability of the two classes. So, we take the 250 most common words, and then we look at the ability of a fairly standard model to separate the two classes. We expect to see some flukes or minor differences, so we’ll remove the most useful features — the words that are most predictive, and re-run. We will repeat this process ten times, removing three words each time. Different authors will have very substantially different linguistic usage — how often do you use the word ‘הוא’, ‘אבל’, etc., so even after removing the 30 most predictive words out of the 250 we’ll start with, it’ll be easily differentiated. However, with the same author, by this point the flukes should be gone, and we’ll lose any meaningful ability to differentiate the two classes. After the ten rounds we will be barely better than random guessing. (You’ll see at one point 58% accuracy — don’t be impressed — coin tossing is 50% accurate.)
Let’s start with our null hypothesis. Nobody, as far as I am aware, believes that the authors of Igrot Moshe and Minhat Yitzchak were one and the same. When running them against each other (IM vol. 6 vs Minhat Yitzchak), we get a final round accuracy of 97%. As we would expect. Now if we look at Igrot Moshe until we get to our “steroid spike”, if we compare the 60s and 70s to the 50s, we can get a sort of parallel null hypothesis.
 
 
So then we can just turn to our suspicious sets, and see where they fall.
 
Igrot Moshe volume 6, being the most recent undisputed volume, is the natural choice to benchmark here in terms of volumes. So let’s look at the three disputed volumes against volume six, and for good measure, let’s look at our “steroid spike” in 1980-1981 against the 60s and 70s.
 
 
The results are pretty clear. Bupkis. Nada. Zilch. None of the potential ways to slice and dice any of the potential forgeries turn up anything at all. And for the icing on the cake, most people who’ve learned Igrot Moshe would probably tell you that his prewar stuff is pretty different. Let’s compare the 20s against the 60s & 70s (the gray line).
 
 
So we see that not only are the differences between the new volumes and volume six minimal to the point of nonexistence, they’re far less differentiable than parts of his own corpus which are otherwise not under any suspicion are.
 
Let’s look at one last thing. Let’s look at our top ten features in favor of volume 9 over volume 6 when we tell them apart:
  1. עא
  2. עב
  3. ולכן
  4. תמה
  5. רשי
  6. בעניין
  7. לו
  8. התוספות
  9. חייב
  10. דה
We generally consider ע”אע”בד”ה — markers 1, 2, and 10 — to be markers of a good editor, and people pay good money for the expanded references in Mossad HaRav Kook editions. Numbers 5 and 8 are also components of references, as is 4, generally. So I’d like to suggest the following: the late volumes of Igrot Moshe bear substantial marks of editing. Having seen those, and generally getting a whiff of a difference, people justifiably viewed the late volumes of Igrot Moshe as tampered with, as fake even, with good reason, despite it just being editing. This isn’t without precedent. The common reyd, that the Terumat HaDeshen made up his own questions, has been disproven.[5] It seems to be from a similar reason – ‘good’ editing (as it was then considered) – stripping ‘unnecessary’ detail from the questions. So too here. The editor’s changes might be more immediately visible, but the consistent usage of simple function words – how often do you use function words like אניהואזה, etc. — belies the true nature of the author.
Given
the preponderance of evidence that the later 
Igrot
Moshe 
volumes
are real (and spectacular), I think we can put the various theories
of alternative authorship to rest. The claims of the editors — that
the latest 
teshuvot were
dictated[6] — explains the ‘steroid spike’, and all available
evidence supports their central contention, that they didn’t change
the actual content. In short: it’s legit.
[1] Software
by Avi and Shaltiel Shmidman. Data from Michael Pitkowsky. Algorithm
as described in Koppel et al. (see below, footnote 4). With thanks to
Elli Fischer.
[2]
*
[3] To
clarify: I’m not saying it didn’t happen, just it’ll fluctuate
a lot without an actual cause or real reason.
[4] Koppel,
Schler, Bonchek-Dokow: “Measuring Differentiability: Unmasking
Pseudonymous Authors,” Journal of Machine Learning Research 8
(2007) 1261-1276.
[5] J.
Freiman, 
Leket
Yosher
,
Berlin ed. p.
XIV. http://hebrewbooks.org/pdfpager.aspx?req=8860&st=&pgnum=10
[6] See
volume 8, p. 3 in the introduction.



Two Jewish Temples in Egypt

Two Jewish Temples in Egypt

Rabbi Reuven Chaim Klein is the author of the newly-released work God versus Gods: Judaism in the Age of Idolatry (Mosaica Press, 2018). His book follows the narrative of Tanakh and focuses on the stories concerning Avodah Zarah using both traditional and academic sources. It also includes an encyclopedia of all the different types of idolatry mentioned in the Bible. Rabbi Klein studied for over a decade at the premier institutes of the Hareidi world, including Beth Medrash Govoha in Lakewood and Yeshivas Mir in Jerusalem. He authored many articles both in English and Hebrew, and his first book Lashon HaKodesh: History, Holiness, & Hebrew (Mosaica Press, 2014) became an instant classic. His weekly articles on synonyms in the Hebrew language are published in the Jewish Press and Ohrnet. Rabbi Klein lives with his family in Beitar Illit, Israel and can be reached via email to: rabbircklein@gmail.com
 
In this article, we will discuss two different temples which the Jews built in Egypt: the temple at Elephantine, and Chonyo’s Temple. After providing the reader with the historical background to both temples, we will analyze the nature of the worship which took place there, as well as their possible Halachic legitimacy.

The Temple at Elephantine

Ancient papyri found on the Egyptian island Elephantine (יב, Yev in Aramaic) reveal the forgotten story of a Jewish Temple that was built there.
According to those documents, Jews living in Egypt when it was still an independent state built a Temple for Hashem at Elephantine. This occurred after the destruction of the First Temple, but before the construction of the Second Temple. Later, when the Persians conquered Egypt, they destroyed most of its temples,[1] but allowed the Jewish Temple at Elephantine to remain. Sometime afterwards, the priests of the Egyptian deity Khnum and the local Persian rulers colluded against the Jewish community at Elephantine, destroying their Temple and taking the Temple’s gold and silver for themselves.
The Jewish priests of the Elephantine temple, led by a priest named Jedaniah, sent letters appealing to the Persian-appointed Jewish governor of Judah and the Cuthean governate of Samaria to intervene on their behalf, and lobby the Persians for the restoration of their temple. In these letters, the priests of Elephantine repeatedly mentioned that they wished to resume sacrificing meal-offerings, burnt-offerings, and incense (which as we will see seems to be Halachicly problematic). It seems that the Second Temple in Jerusalem had already been built by this time; as the Elephantine priests mentioned in their letter that they had also written to Yochanan, the Kohen Gadol in Jerusalem, but had not received a reply.
The Elephantine Temple was eventually rebuilt, but the Jewish community at Elephantine did not last much longer.[2]

Were the Jews at Elephantine Loyal to Halachah?

The academic consensus views the Jews at Elephantine as practitioners of a syncretistic mixture of Judaism and Egyptian/Aramean idolatrous
cults.
[3] This comes as no surprise, because Jeremiah (Chapter 44) already mentioned that the Jews who remained in Judah after the destruction
of the First Temple and the subsequent assassination of Gedaliah (the Babylonian-appointed Jewish governor over what remained of Judah) migrated to Egypt, where they engaged in idol worship.
[4] As such, the deviant practices of these wayward Jews does not warrant any attempt at justification.[5]
However, some scholars have called this picture into question. In the Ancient Levant, it was standard practice for people to bear personal names
that refer to their gods. Such references to deities within a person’s name is known as a theophoric element. Accordingly, if the Jewish community at Elephantine was truly syncretistic, then we would expect the Jews of that community to incorporate the names of foreign gods into their personal names. But the evidence shows that they did not. Partially because of this lack of idolatrous theophoric elements, some scholars argue that the Jewish community at Elephantine was not idolatrous—rather they remained wholly devoted to Hashem. These scholars explain away alleged allusions to foreign gods at Elephantine as the assimilation of various pagan religious
concepts into their brand Judaism, as opposed to the outright acceptance of pagan deities.[6] Similarly, the Jews at Elephantine may have used Aramean phraseology to refer to Jewish ideas, but they did not adopt Aramean religion.[7]
According to this approach, we must seek out the Halachic justification for offering sacrifices at the temple in Elephantine, a practice which seems to defy the Torah’s ban on sacrifices outside of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. Assuming that the Elephantine Jews were basically loyal to normative Judaism, how did they justify building a temple, complete with sacrifices?
As mentioned previously, it seems that those Jews who built the Temple at Elephantine only did so after the destruction of the First Temple in Jerusalem. Based on this, R. Ephraim Dov ha-Kohen Lapp (1859–1925) proposes that they followed a minority Halachic opinion which maintains that when the First Temple was destroyed, the site in Jerusalem lost it holy status, thus legitimizing the use of private altars.[8] Accordingly, the Temple at Elephantine had the Halachic status of a legitimate private altar. As a result of this status, the Jews at Elephantine only offered voluntary, votive sacrifices such as meal-offerings, burnt-offerings, and incense (as opposed to obligatory sacrifices, like sin-offerings or guilt-offerings). This
is, in fact, in accordance with the Mishnah
[9] that limits the permissible sacrifices at legitimate private altars to exactly such offerings.[10]

Private Altars in the Second Temple Period

Nonetheless, the issue that remains unresolved is why this temple was not discontinued or dismantled upon the construction of the Second Temple. We can possibly resolve this question by comparing the issue of the temple at Elephantine to the issue of private altars in the Kingdom of Judah.
As evident in the Book of Kings, private altars existed in the Kingdom of Judah throughout the First Temple period. There was no systematic
campaign to destroy them until Hezekiah came along. This begs the question: Why did righteous kings of Judah, such as Asa and Jehoshaphat allow these private altars to remain, if sacrifices were only allowed at the Holy Temple in Jerusalem?
R. Moshe Sofer (1762–1839) answers that many of the private altars in question were built before the prohibition of private altars came
into effect (i.e. before the Temple in Jerusalem was built). Therefore, since these private altars were built legitimately, they maintained a certain degree of holiness. Consequently, it was actually
forbidden to destroy them, and this prohibition remained in effect even once using them for ritual purposes became prohibited (i.e., when the Temple was later built). For this reason, even the “good” kings of Judah did not remove the private altars.[11]
Based on this understanding, we can conjecture that a similar approach may have taken hold at the temple in Elephantine. If that temple was
originally built at a time when private altars were permitted (because the First Temple in Jerusalem had already been destroyed), then perhaps some Jews attached a certain degree of holiness to the temple, and refused to dismantle it after the Second Temple in Jerusalem was built. Nonetheless, even if they were justified in allowing the temple at Elephantine to remain standing, there does not seem to be any justification for continuing to offer sacrifices outside of Jerusalem once the Second Temple was built.

The House of Chonyo

The Mishnah[12] mentions another Jewish temple in Egypt—the House of Chonyo (Onias). Chonyo was the son[13] of Shimon the Just, a righteous Kohen Gadol in the Second Temple in Jerusalem. Before his death, Shimon the Just said that his son Chonyo should succeed him as Kohen Gadol.
The Talmud[14] offers two Tannaic accounts of how Chonyo’s temple came about. According to R. Meir, Chonyo’s older brother Shimi became jealous that their father chose Chonyo to succeed him, so he tricked Chonyo into making a mockery of the Temple rituals and angering the other Kohanim. Shimi gave Chonyo “instructions” for his inaugural service by telling him that he was expected to wear a leather blouse and a special belt.
When Chonyo came to the altar wearing those “feminine” articles of clothing, Shimi insinuated to the other Kohanim that Chonyo wore those clothes in order to fulfill a promise to his “lover”.
[15] This raised their ire and they chased him to the Egyptian city of Alexandria,[16] where he established an idolatrous temple.
According to R. Yehudah, the story unfolds differently. Although Shimon the Just advised that his son Chonyo should become the next Kohen Gadol, Chonyo deferred that honor, allowing his older brother Shimi to be appointed instead. Nonetheless, Chonyo became jealous of his older brother, so he devised a plan to embarrass him and deprive him of his office. Chonyo gave Shimi “instructions” for his inaugural service by telling him that he was expected to wear a leather blouse and a special belt. When Shimi came to the altar wearing those “feminine” articles of clothes, Chonyo insinuated to the other Kohanim that Shimi wore those clothes in order to fulfill a promise to his “lover”. When the other Kohanim found out the truth, i.e. that Chonyo had tricked Shimi by giving him incorrect instructions for his inaugural service, they chased Chonyo to Alexandria, where he established a temple for Hashem.[17]
The Talmud concludes this second account by relating that Chonyo justified the establishment of his temple by citing the words of Isaiah,[18] On
that day, there will be an altar for Hashem inside the Land of Egypt, and a single-stone altar to Hashem next to its border
(Isa. 19:19).

Josephus’ Account of the Chonyo Story

Josephus offers a third account of how Chonyo’s temple was established. After the death of Alexander the Great, Greek holdings in the Middle East were divided between the Seleucid kingdom in Syria and the Ptolemaic kingdom in Egypt. A flashpoint of contention between these two rival kingdoms was the Holy Land, and different groups of Jews took different sides in the conflict. When the Seleucid king, Antiochus Epiphanes, led his army to Jerusalem, he violated the Holy Temple and halted the offering of daily sacrifices for three and a half years.
Chonyo, who was the Kohen Gadol in Jerusalem, was a supporter of the rival Ptolemaic kingdom. When the Seleucids came to Jerusalem, he fled to
Egypt. In Egypt, Ptolemy granted Chonyo permission to establish a Jewish community in the district of Heliopolis. There,
[19] Chonyo built a city resembling Jerusalem, along with a temple that resembled the one in Jerusalem. Centuries later, Chonyos’ temple met its eventual demise at the hands of the Romans. After they destroyed the Second Holy Temple in Jerusalem, the Romans ordered the closure of Chonyo’s temple in Egypt, and eventually its destruction.[20]
Josephus seems to attribute noble intentions to Ptolemy. He was said to have sponsored the establishment of a Jewish temple in Egypt so that the
Jews there would have the opportunity to worship Hashem (and would be more willing to help Ptolemy battle the Seleucids). However, in
explaining Chonyo’s rationale for building the temple in Egypt, Josephus reports that Chonyo built it in order to compete with the Temple in Jerusalem and draw Jews away from worshipping Hashem properly. Chonyo had a bone to pick with the Jewish leadership in Jerusalem on account of their rejection of him, which forced him to flee to Egypt.
Josephus also reports that Chonyo rationalized his building of a temple on foreign soil[22] by citing Isaiah’s above-mentioned prophecy.[22]

Chonyo’s Temple in Halacha

As we have seen above, whether or not Chonyo’s temple was idolatrous remains a matter of contention. According to Josephus and R. Meir,
Chonyo sought to worship something other than Hashem. On the other hand, according to R. Yehuda, Chonyo’s temple was established for
the sake of Hashem. If we follow the first view, then there can be no justification for what Chonyo did and the establishment of his idolatrous temple in Egypt. However, if he sought to worship Hashem, then from a Halachic perspective, there may be two ways of looking at Chonyo’s temple: Either his temple was a place of forbidden worship (albeit not quite idolatry in the classical sense of worshipping a foreign deity), or it might have been a completely legitimate place of worship.
Maimonides[23] follows R. Yehuda’s version of events, and explains that Chonyo’s temple was not idolatrous, per se, even though it violated the ban on sacrifices outside of the Temple in Jerusalem. In other words, the practices at Chonyo’s temple reflected an illegitimate way of worshipping Hashem. Maimonides also notes that many local Egyptians—known as Copts—became involved in Chonyo’s temple, and were thus drawn to worshipping Hashem.
The Tosafists[24] disagree with Maimonides’ premise that Chonyo’s temple violated Halacha. Instead, they explain that Chonyo avoided the prohibition of offering sacrifices outside of the Temple in Jerusalem by only offering sacrifices belonging to non-Jews. According to this approach, there was nothing technically wrong with Chonyo’s temple and the services there.

Gentiles Sacrifices outside of Jerusalem

Nonetheless, the commentators grapple over reconciling the Tosafists’ explanation with the opinion of the Tannaic sage R. Yose who maintains that the prohibition of offering sacrifices outside of Temple even extends to sacrifices of non-Jews.[25]
R. Avrohom Chaim Schor (1560–1632)[26] explains that the dispute about whether Chonyo’s temple was legitimate or not centers around whether or not one accepts R. Yose’s view. In other words, R. Meir accepted R. Yose’s view that even a non-Jew’s sacrifices may only be offered in the Holy Temple. As a result of that, R. Meir understood that Chonyo’s temple must have been illegitimate, so he branded the temple idolatrous. In contrast, R. Yehuda rejected R. Yose’s opinion, so he reasoned that there could be Halachic justification for Chonyo’s temple. Because of this, R. Yehuda asserted that Chonyo’s was not idolatrous, but reflected the genuine worship of Hashem, albeit—as the Tosafists explain—specifically for gentiles.
Alternatively, R. Schor proposes that although R. Yose forbids offering the sacrifices of gentiles outside of the Temple in Jerusalem, this prohibition only applies to Jewish priests. Accordingly, R. Yehuda believed that Chonyo and the Jewish priests at his temple did not actually participate in the ritual offerings there. Rather, they offered instructions for the attending gentiles to properly offer sacrifices to Hashem. In this way, no one at Chonyo’s Jewish-run temple ever violated the prohibition against offering sacrifices outside of the Temple in Jerusalem, because they themselves never engaged in such actions, they only helped the gentiles do so.[27]
Others suggest that even R. Yose differentiates between two different types of sacrifices offered by a non-Jew. If a non-Jew consecrated a sacrifice to be brought in the Temple in Jerusalem,[28] then R. Yose would say that this sacrifice may not be offered outside of the Temple in Jerusalem. However, if a non-Jew consecrated a sacrifice without specific intent that it should be offered in Jerusalem, then his offering may Halachically be brought elsewhere. According to this, all opinions agree that a Jew may offer a gentile’s sacrifice outside of the Temple in Jerusalem provided that the gentile did not initially consecrate the sacrifice with intent to bring to Jerusalem.[29] With this in mind, we may justify the services at Chonyo’s temple by explaining that they only offered the sacrifices of non-Jews that were consecrated without specific intent to be offered in Jerusalem.
R. Yehonassan Eyebschuetz (1690–1764) proposes another answer: the Tosafists’ discussion reflects the rejected opinion of the Amoraic sage R. Yitzchok.[30] R. Yitzchok understood that the prohibition of sacrificing outside of the Temple does not apply outside of the Holy Land, thus justifying the existence of Chonyo’s temple which stood in Egypt.[31]
R. Lapp extends this logic to also justify the continued existence of the Jewish temple at Elephantine (mentioned above), even after the construction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem. He argues that in accordance with R. Yitzchok, the entire prohibition of sacrifices outside of the Temple only applies in the Holy Land, not in Egypt.[32]

Egyptian Temples and Eradication of the Idolatrous Inclination

In short, there were two Jewish Temples in Egypt that coexisted with the Second Temple in Jerusalem: the Jewish Temple at Elephantine and Chonyo’s Temple in Alexandria/Heliopolis. We have shown that it is unclear whether or not these temples were idolatrous. If the two Jewish Temples in Egypt were non-idolatrous, then there may be some Halachic justification for their existence.

This, of course, also does not hamper our understanding of the Talmudic assertion that the idolatrous inclination was abolished with the beginning of the Second Temple Era. However, if these Jewish Temples in Egypt were indeed idolatrous, then they pose a challenge to the Talmudic assertions regarding the elimination of the idolatrous inclination.[33]

We shall resolve this difficulty by addressing each temple separately.

The Elephantine Temple seems to have predated the construction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem, and thus the eradication of the idolatrous inclination. As such, the Temple existed before the sages removed the idolatrous inclination. It is not a stretch of the imagination to postulate that even if the idolatrous inclination suddenly ceased to exist, those who already engaged in systematic idolatry beforehand would continue to do so simply out of habit. Once the Elephantine Temple had already been functioning for some time, it would not simply shut down operations overnight because the sages rid the Jews of the idolatrous inclination. There was too much at stake for the priests and other functionaries who profited from the temple.

Regarding Chonyo’s Temple—which certainly did not predate the construction of the Second Temple—even if it was idolatrous, we can argue that it was not the drive for committing idolatry which led to its establishment. Rather, Chonyo’s own ego and pursuit of honor led him to establish a new Temple in Egypt. Those who participated in his cult were merely supporting characters in Chonyo’s own private scheme. In other words, the existence of Chonyo’s idolatrous temple does not contradict the Talmudic statement that the sages had removed the idolatrous inclination, because the idolatrous inclination was not what drove Chonyo’s temple.

To recap, the Idolatrous inclination was not in play at these two temples. At Elephantine, it was the priests’ greed which motivated their continued idol worship and at Chonyo’s temple, it was a personality cult intended to elevate Chonyo which sponsored idolatry.


 

 

[1] The establishment of the Jewish community in Elephantine is uncertain regarding when it happened, although some scholars argue that it predated the destruction of the First Temple. Rabbi Moshe Leib Haberman challenges this assumption, citing the Elephantine Papyri that only reveals that the Jewish settlement was there before Cambyses, but the exact timing is unknown.

[2] Primary sources for the Elephantine Jewish community include B. Porten & A. Yardeni’s Textbook of Aramaic Documents from Ancient Egypt, vol. 1 (1986) and B. Porten’s The Elephantine Papyri in English (1996). Other sources that discuss this community include M.H. Silverman’s “The Religion of the Elephantine Jews—A New Approach” (1973), J.M.P. Smith’s “The Jewish Temple at Elephantine” (1908), and C. Cornell’s “Cult Statuary in the Judean Temple at Yeb” (2016).

[3] The Elephantine Papyri include texts that mention the name of a goddess, Anat-Yahu, which some scholars argue was a syncretistic merge of the Canaanite goddess Anat with Hashem, while others argue that it was wholly an Aramean creation.

[4] J.M.P. Smith suggests that the founders of the Jewish colony at Elephantine were Jews who fled to Egypt instead of remaining in Babylonian-occupied Judah, as called for by Jeremiah.

[5] C. Cornell believes that the Jews in Elephantine worshipped the One Hashem but also held multiple images/idols in their temple, which purported to depict Him in various hypostases.

[6] M.H. Silverman disagrees with the idea that the Jews at Elephantine were entirely idolatrous.

[7] Some scholars suggest that the seemingly idolatrous elements of the Jewish presence at Elephantine were only attempts to evoke Persian sympathy for their cause.

[8] Maimonides rules that the Temple’s site became permanently holy when King Solomon sanctified it, while Raavad disagrees and accepts the opinion that the site was no longer holy after the Temple was destroyed, until it was re-consecrated upon the construction of the Second Temple.

[9] Megillah 1:10 discusses the topic of when the Second Temple was considered to be permanent.

[10] Zivchei Efrayim Al Meseches Zevachim and Responsa Chasam Sofer discuss the question of whether a new site for the Temple would need to be found if the original site was lost.

[11] Responsa Chasam Sofer (Orach Chaim §32). See also R.C. Klein, God versus Gods: Judaism in the Age of Idolatry (Mosaica Press, 2018), pgs. 28–32.
[12] Menachos 13:10.
[13] In Antiquities, Josephus attributes the temple in Egypt to a later Chonyo, who was not the son of Shimon the Just. Nonetheless, some scholars claim that Josephus purposely attributed the establishment of the temple in Egypt to a later Chonyo who had never served as Kohen Gadol in
Jerusalem in order to delegitimize its religious value. See J. E. Taylor, “A Second Temple in Egypt: the Evidence for the Zadokite Temple of Onias,”
Journal for the Study of Judaism vol. 29:3 (1998), pgs. 297–321. Interestingly, R. Yisroel Lipschitz
(1782–1860) in
Tiferes
Yisroel
(Menachos 13:10, Boaz §2)
writes that the Chonyo in discussion was not literally a
son of Shimon the Just, but rather a grandson of Shimon the Just (a son of Shimon’s son Chonyo), accepting
Josephus’s account and adjusting his understanding of the Talmud
accordingly.
[14] TB Menachos 109b.
[15] R. Gershom and Rashi explain that this “lover” was his wife. Maimonides (in his commentary to the Mishnah Menachos
13:10) writes that this “lover” was an alleged mistress.
[16] TB Yoma 38a and JT Shekalim 5:1 relate that the House of Garmu did not wish to reveal the secrets
behind making the shew-bread and the House of Avtinas did not wish to
reveal the secrets behind making the incense for the Temple. In
response, artisans from Alexandria were imported to try and mimic
those secret recipes, but they were unsuccessful in exactly copying
what those families had been able to make. Both R. Yosef Shaul
Nathansohn (1808–1875) in
Divrei Shaul (to TB Yoma
38a) and R. Shalom Massas (1909–2003) in
ve-Cham
ha-Shemesh

(Jerusalem, 2003) pp. 326–327 independently draw an explicit
connection these Alexandrian artisans to Chonyo’s Temple in
Alexandria, although no other authorities do so. The notion of
Alexandrian artisans being unable to exactly replicate something from
Jerusalem is also found in Targum to Est. 1, which relates that
Achashverosh wished to create a replica of King Solomon’s famed
throne, and employed Alexandrian artisans to do so—but to no avail.
That story must have transpired before the establishment of Chonyo’s
Temple in Alexandria because Achashverosh lived before the
construction of the Second Temple. In light of this, we may suggest
that Alexandrian artisans were employed in all cases simply because
Greek Alexandria was a center of knowledge in its time, so the most
knowledgeable craftspeople lived there.
[17] The Jerusalem Talmud (JT Yoma 6:3) slightly differs in its retelling of this discussion. Whilst in
the Babylonian Talmud, the names of the two rival sons of Shimon the
Just are Chonyo and Shimi, in the Jerusalem Talmud, they are
Nechunyon and Shimon. However, R. Tanchum ha-Yerushalmi (a 13
th
century Egyptian Rabbi) writes that Chonyo had two names, Chonyo and
Nechunyo; see B. Toledano (ed.),
ha-Madrich
ha-Maspik
(Tel Aviv, 1961), pg. 154.
Furthermore, according to the Babylonian Talmud, R. Meir believed that Chonyo was
the victim of Shimi’s deceit and ended up establishing a temple for
idolatry, while R. Yehuda believed that Chonyo tricked Shimi, and
ended up fleeing for fear of Kohanic retribution and established a
temple for Hashem. The Jerusalem Talmud echoes the dispute in the
Babylonian Talmud regarding the
story
of Chonyo, but differs in the conclusions. According to the Jerusalem
Talmud, R. Meir understood that Chonyo’s Temple was for Hashem,
while R. Yehuda understood that it was for idolatry. See also
Piskei
ha-Rid
(to TB Menachos 109b)
who copies the entire story as related by R. Meir, but concludes that
Chonyo’s intent was to establish a temple for Hashem—not for
idolatry—in line with the Jerusalem Talmud.
[18] See Isa. 19:18 which calls this Egyptian place Ir
ha-Heres
(עיר ההרס, the city of destruction), which the Talmud (TB Menachos 110a) translates as Karta
de-Beis Shemesh
(קרתא דבית שמש, city of the House of the Sun, i.e. Heliopolis). Indeed, deviant
versions of the Bible (such as the Septuagint and the Dead Sea Scroll
1QIsa3) insert this tradition into the text and read
Ir
ha-Cheres
(עיר החרס, the city of the sun), instead of Ir ha-Heres.
[19] As we saw above, the Talmud locates Chonyo’s temple at Alexandria,
which is quite distant from Heliopolis. We can reconcile this
discrepancy between the Talmud and Josephus by noting that the term
“Alexandria of Egypt” used by the Talmud does not necessarily
refer just to the Egyptian city of Alexandria, but to the entirety of
Egypt; see R. Ulmer,
Egyptian
Cultural Icons in Midrash
(Berlin/Boston:
Walter de Gruyter, 2009), pg. 210 and A. Kasher,
The
Jews in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt: The Struggle for Equal Rights
(Tubingen: Mohr, 1985), pg. 347.
R. Last, “Onias IV and the ἀδέσποτος ἱερός: Placing Antiquities 13.62–72 into the Context of Ptolemaic Land Tenure,” Journal for the Study of Judaism vol. 41 (2010), pgs. 494–516 makes the case that Ptolemey
originally granted Chonyo land in Alexandria for the construction of
the temple, but Chonyo later appropriated other, ownerless lands near
Heliopolis upon which he built his temple.
[20] Josephus concludes with a note that Chonyo’s temple lasted 343 years, although some argue that this figure is exaggerated by close to a
century; see S. G. Rosenberg, “Onias, Temple of.,”
Encyclopedia Judaica 2nd ed. vol. 15 (Detroit: Macmillan Reference USA, 2007), pg. 432. R.
Yisroel Lipschitz writes in
Tiferes Yisroel (Menachos 13:10, Yachin§57) that Chonyo’s temple lasted close to 250 years.
[21] Ibn Yachya in Shalsheles ha-Kabbalah (Jerusalem, 1962), pg. 49 writes that after Chonyo built his temple in Egypt, he later built another temple at Mount Gerizim with the help of the Samaritans. An observation of noted Bible scholar Emanuel Tov accentuates the affinity between these two renegade Jewish cults (i.e. the Alexandrian/Egyptian sect and the Samaritans). Tov
categorizes witnesses of textual variations in the Torah by
essentially dividing them into two blocks: The Masoretic Text (which
Tov admits was the original) and the Septuagint/Samaritan block
(which was derived from the MT, but splinters off into other
directions). By using this mode of classification, Tov recognizes a
certain shared affinity, or perhaps even correspondence, between
these non-mainstream Jewish sects which existed in the Second Temple
period. See E. Tov, “The Development of the Text of the Torah in
Two Major Text Blocks,”
Textus
vol. 26 (2016), pgs. 1–27.
[22] The War of the Jews (Book I, Chapter 1 and Book VII, Chapter 10) and Antiquities
of the Jews
(Book XII, Chapter 9 and Book XIII, Chapter 3).
[23] In his commentary to the Mishnah Menachos 13:10.
[24] To TB Menachos 109b.
[25] Cited in TB Zevachim 45a.
[26] Tzon Kodashim to TB Menachos 109b.
[27] This explanation is also proposed by Sfas Emes (to TB Menachos 109b).
[28] The Mishnah (Shekalim 1:5) rules that the Temple can only accept from non-Jews votive sacrifices, but not what are otherwise considered obligatory offerings.
[29] See Mikdash David (Kodshim §27:9), written by R. David Rappaport (1890–1941), Even ha-Azel (Laws of Maaseh ha-Korbanos 19:7), by R. Isser Zalman Meltzer (1870–1953), and Sefer ha-Mitzvos le-Rasag vol. 2 (Warsaw, 1914), pg. 233b, by R. Yerucham Fishel Perlow
(1846–1934).
[30] See TB Megilla 10a.
[31] Yaaros Dvash (vol. 1, drush #9).
[32] Zivchei Efrayim Al Meseches Zevachim (Piotrków, 1922), pgs. 5–7.
[33] For a fuller discussion of this Talmudic assertion, see R.C. Klein, God versus Gods: Judasim in the Age of Idolatry
(Mosaica Press, 2018), pp. 244–276.



On the Times Commonly Presented for Birkat HaL’vana: Part 1

On
the Times Commonly Presented for Birkat HaL’vana: Part 1
Avi
Grossman
 
Abstract
 
Typical
Jewish calendars list two particular z’manim for “the
first time that one may begin to recite kiddush l’vana (or
birkat hal’vana).” The first is referred to as minhag
yerushalayim
or minhag haperushim, or simply “the
three-day minhag,” and the second time, to wait for seven
days to pass from the start of the lunar month to recite the
blessing, is attributed to the Shulhan Aruch. These two times are
calculated as exactly either 72 hours or 168 hours after the average
molad of each Hebrew month. These positions do not truly
reflect those of our sages, nor of the Rishonim, and nor of the
Shulhan Aruch. The usual shul calendars,
like the Ittim L’vina calendar and the Tukachinsky calendar,
mislead the public with regards to when the earliest time for saying
the blessing really is. The issue is based on a number of fallacious
calculations, including misapplying a chumra of the Pri
M’gadim regarding an opinion of the Rema to an opinion of the
Shulhan Aruch, and assuming that the
Shulhan Aruch completely dismissed the
halacha as described by the Talmud in favor of a later, kabbalistic
opinion. The purpose of this article is to argue for a reevaluation
as to how the typical calendars present these issues to the laymen
and to call for a more accurate presentation of the z’manim
as understood by Rishonim like Maimonides.
Introduction
If
you take a look at the usual Jewish calendars, you will find that
every month two particular z’manim are presented for “the
first time that one may begin to recite kiddush l’vana (or
birkat hal’vana).” The first is based on the writings of
the Vilna Gaon, and referred to as minhag yerushalayim or
minhag haperushim, or simply “the three-day minhag,”
and the second is attributed to Rabbi Yosef Karo, the author of the
Beth Yosef and the Shulhan Aruch, who was
usually referred to by the name of his former work. The Shulhan
Aruch makes mention of waiting for seven days to pass (ostensibly
from the start of the lunar month) to recite the blessing. These two
times are calculated as follows: exactly 72 hours (3 times 24 hours)
or 168 hours (7 times 24 hours) after the average molad of
each Hebrew month, the molad that is announced in the
synagogue before each Rosh Hodesh and used to calculate when each
Tishrei is to start, thereby making it the basis for our set
calendar.
It
is my goal to show that these positions do not truly reflect those of
our sages, nor of the Rishonim, and that Beth Yosef himself actually
held like the majority of Rishonim, while his seven-day minhag
is also misrepresented in the printed calendars. The usual shul
calendars, like the Ittim L’vina calendar and the Tukachinsky
calendar, mislead the public with regards to when the earliest time
for saying the blessing really is. I have tried to speak to the
publishers about this issue, but to no avail.
Talmud
And Rishonim: Birkat Hal’vana Ideally On Rosh
Hodesh
Rabbi
David Bar Hayim maintains that the monthly recitation of birkat
hal’
vana
should, in accordance with the plain meaning of the Talmud and the
opinion of the rishonim, ideally be on Rosh Hodesh, and in the event
that that cannot be done, as soon as possible thereafter. See here.
His first proofs are the most elegant.
 
“Whoever
recites the b’rakha over the new moon at the proper time
(bizmano) welcomes, as it were, the presence of the Sh’khina
(Sanhedrin 42a). What does bizmano mean if not that one
should strive to recite this b’rakha at the earliest
opportunity? In a number of manuscripts we find a variant reading –
“Whoever recites the b’rakha for Rosh Hodhesh…” – which
leaves no room for doubt as to R. Yohanan’s
intention.
 
It
should also be noted that throughout the rest of the Talmud, “z’mano
of the new moon is the night it is supposed to be sighted, i.e., the
first night of the month. He also points out that
The
Talmud Y’rushalmi (B’rakhoth 9:2) speaks plainly of reciting the
b’rakha at the time of the moon’s reappearance (HaRo’e
eth HaL’vana b’hidh
usha).
This is also the very deliberate wording of both Halakhoth G’dholoth
and Riph (Chap 9 43b). This expression can only be understood as
explained above.
 
This
is also the language utilized by Maimonides and the Shulhan
Aruch, and will become crucial when we seek to understand the opinion
of the Beth Yosef. Rabbi Nahum Rabinovitch,
the math professor turned Rosh Yeshiva, also told me that such is the
halacha, and it is proper to make others aware of this. There is a
group called the Israeli New Moon Society that keeps track of the
sightings of the new moon and publishes online guides for amateurs
who wish to spot the new moon. The society enjoys Rabbi Rabinovitch’s
support, and he used the society’s founder’s diagrams in his own
commentary on Maimonides’s Hilchot Kiddush
HaHodesh.
This
position should come as a surprise to many. In America, the
prevailing practice is to wait specifically for after the Sabbath,
while here in Israel most are used to hearing about the three-day or
seven-day customs.
We
should begin our discussion with the relevant Talmudic sources, YT
Berachot 9:2 and BT Sanhedrin 42-43, which state that one has until
the sixteenth of the month to recite birkat hal’vana. The
running assumption of the rishonim and logic is that the assumed
first time to recite the blessing is right at the beginning of the
month, similar to the obvious point that if one were told to perform
a commandment in the morning and that he had until 9am, then it would
be understood that he can start doing it when the morning starts.
After all, is he supposed to do it before the morning, while it is
still the preceding night? This position is explicit in Rashi’s
comments to the gemara, the Meiri’s explanation thereof, and in
Maimonides’s codification of the law (Berachot, 10:16-17), but is
also the only way to understand the halacha unless other
considerations are introduced. A simple reading of the both Talmudim
indicate without a doubt that the blessing is to be recited on Rosh
Hodesh. Rabbi Kappah, in his commentary to the Mishneh Torah (ibid.),
writes that this is and always was the Yemenite practice. Note also
that this halacha makes no mention of the molad or of any
calculation concerning the first time for reciting this blessing,
because as one of the birkot har’iya, it only depends on
seeing something.
I
believe that Hazal instituted this blessing specifically for the
first sighting of the moon because, once upon a time, the Jewish
people joyously anticipated the first sighting of the moon. The
Mishna in Rosh Hashana (chapter 2) describes how the Sanhedrin
actually wanted to encourage competition among potential witnesses!
Jewish life once revolved around the calendar, which itself was not
predetermined. Thus, every month, Jews throughout ancient Israel and
the Diaspora were involved in keeping track of the sighting of the
new moon, as it affected when the holidays would be. Imagine not
knowing during the first of week of Elul if the first of Tishrei was
going to be on Thursday or perhaps on Friday some weeks later. It can
have a major effect on everyone’s holiday plans.
However,
most of the calendars do not take into account when the actual first
sighting of the moon will be every month. Instead, they follow a
different interpretation of a view cited in the Beth Yosef, thus
presenting a first time for birkat hal’vana
that is sometimes as many as three days after the actual first
opportunity.
Massechet
Sof’rim And Rabbeinu Yona: Other Considerations
 
Rabbeinu
Yona (attached to the Rif’s rulings at the very end of the fourth
chapter of BT Berachot, page 21a in the Vilna printing, and cited by
the Beth Yosef to Tur Orah Hayim 426, garsinan
b’
masechet sof’rim;)
describe
s three ways to understand what Massechet Sof’rim
meant by not reciting the blessing ad
shetitbassem
.” Evidently, his version of Sof’rim was
different from ours, in which the first line of chapter 20 begins
with “ad motza’ei shabbat, k’shehu m’vusam.
This verb, titbassem, is from the root b-s-m, and like most
future tense forms with the prefix tau but no suffix, it can
either have a second-person masculine singular
subject (in this case, the one reciting the blessing), or a feminine
third
-person singular subject (the moon). Rabbeinu Yona
rejects the interpretation that it means to wait until Motzaei
Shabbat, when we recite the blessing over the besamim, because
Saturday night and Sunday have nothing to do with Rosh Hodesh more
than other days of the week. Our Rosh Hodesh is actually distributed
perfectly evenly among the days of the week. That is, one out of
every seven days that we observe as Rosh Hodesh is a Sunday, and
waiting for Saturday night every month can often considerably delay
the blessing. What if Rosh Hodesh was Monday? Why wait practically a
whole week to recite birkat hal’vana? The idea does not fit
with the typical halachic principle of trying to perform a religious
function as soon as possible.
Rabbeinu
Yona does not then entertain the reading of Sof’rim we possess,
which offers a different connection between the root b-s-m and
Motza’ei Shabbat, but instead offers his own interpretation: that
the moon should look like a canopy.”
If only about a 90 degree arc is visible, it is a stretch to say that
it looks canopy-like, but if it is closer to 180 degrees, then it
looks like what he is describing. This opinion was apparently not
accepted by any subsequent scholars, because it finds no mention in
subsequent literature. Lastly, Rabbeinu Yona offers his own mentor’s
understanding, and this is the basis for all later misunderstandings:
titbassem refers to the light of the
moon being significantly sweet,” a
state that it only achieves two to (or
‘or’) three days” into the new lunar cycle. He uses
intentionally vague language, because no
two months are the same. By the time the moon becomes visible for the
first time, it could be that the molad
itself was anywhere from approximately twelve hours to 48 hours
before that, and each month has its own set of astronomical
conditions that affect this.
[1] The possibilities are endless, and there is no objective rule for
determining how much time the moon takes each month to get to the
stage Rabbeinu Yona’s mentor describes, and that is why he used the
vague terminology
two to three days.”
More importantly, the
two to three days”
statement is just an example of how long it takes, but the underlying
rule is when the light becomes
sweet.”
I
will give an analogy.
Rubin
wished to buy a silver goblet from Simon. Simon asked Rubin for $200
in exchange for the goblet. Rubin, searching through his wallet,
realized he had not the cash, but he needed the goblet very soon.
Turning to Simon, he said, Right now, it
is about 9:30 Wednesday morning. I need this goblet at lunch today,
and if you give me two to three days to come up with the cash, I
would be grateful.” Simon agreed, because he knew that Rubin was
going to go back to his own business selling tomatoes and shoes, and
that sometimes he did not work Fridays, and the odds were good that
Rubin would have enough left after sales and buying his children
snacks to pay Simon. Now, we would all consider it perfectly
reasonable for Rubin to come back to Simon Thursday night at 8pm, or
Friday morning at 10am, or right before Shabbat, or even right after
Shabbat, because in languages like 13th-century Rabbinic Hebrew and
Modern Hebrew and English, two to three
days” or two or three days” allow
for all of those possibilities. The halacha also allows for that.
Thursday evening is at the end of two business days, right before
Shabbat is at the end of three, and right after Shabbat is the end of
the third day from when Rubin asked for more time. But all can be
described as having as taken place two
to three days” from when Rubin made his request.
Back
to the moon: it seems that in every subsequent work you can find
(with the very important and critical exception of the Beth Yosef),
the opinion of Rabbeinu Yona’s mentor is referred to as Rabbeinu
Yona’s opinion,” even though he offered
one that actually differed from that of his mentor, and it is
inaccurately reported as “waiting for three days after the molad,”
taking out the critical two or/to.”
Even later, it is further transformed into waiting until after three
full days have passed, i.e., at least 72 hours. This
evolution is clear from reading the sources as they appear in the
halachic record in chronological order. This is unfortunate and also
illogical, because we saw above that the whole idea of two
to three days” is only offered as a way to describe how long it may
take the light of the moon to become sweet.”
It could actually vary, because the sweetness is the point.
A
typical example was Rosh Hodesh Adar 5777,
when both the mean molad and the
actual molad happened
early Sunday morning, e.g. between 4 am and 9 am, the moon
was
not visible Sunday night, nor visible all Monday during the day, but
Monday night, after sunset, which is halachically Tuesday, the new
moon became visible to most people, assuming cooperative weather
conditions. Thus, it takes two to three
days,” i.e., a vague window of 26 to 72 hours, for the new moon to
show up after the molad. In our
case, it took most of Sunday, all of Monday, and just the beginning
of Tuesday, about 40 hours later, for the moon to reappear. Rabbi
Rabinovitch’s son, Rabbi Mordechai Rabinovitch, pointed this out to
me some years ago. The idea that miktzat hayom k’chullo,
that a part of the day is considered a full halachic day, is well
grounded in halacha. To sum up, Rabbeinu Yona did not mean three
days, in every single situation, no matter what,” and even if he
had said that the underlying rule is to wait three days from the
beginning of the cycle, why did later authorities add that at
least” modifier?
The
Beth Yosef and others who came after Rabbeinu Yona mentioned that the
new lunar cycle officially starts with the molad. Now, the
molad as discussed by the
authorities is just an average; the actual conjunction is usually a
few hours before or after it. It takes some time after the actual
conjunction for the new moon to become visible. Enough time has to
elapse from the conjunction for the moon to be both objectively large
enough to actually be seen and far enough from the sun’s location
in the sky for it not to be out shone. The first time any moon is
visible is usually after sunset the day after the actual molad,
and sometimes only after the sunset two days after the molad.
In practice, it is usually impossible to see the new moon on the
halachic day of the molad or on the
halachic day after the molad. Only
on the third day, which starts at sundown concluding the second day,
is the new moon visible.
[2]
This
is the first premise of the misunderstanding: the actual first
sighting of the new moon will, in the overwhelming majority of cases,
satisfy Rabbeinu Yona’s rule as actually stated, but if one were to
decide to wait to recite the blessing the maximum interpretation of
three days” from the molad,
and only decide to use the mean molad,
which has no actually bearing on the reality of the moon’s
visibility, then he would wait 72 hours from that molad,
and in the vast majority of months the end of that 72 hour period
will either greatly precede the next possible citing of the moon or
just miss that sighting. Because the new moon is visible for a few
minutes to an hour and a half or so after the sunset, if those 72
hours do not terminate around then, one will have to wait for the
next night to recite the blessing. In our example above, such a
person would wait until Wednesday morning between 4am and 9am to
recite the blessing, when the moon by definition is not visible due
to its proximity to the sun, and then be forced to wait even longer,
until Wednesday night, which is halachically Thursday, in order to
recite the blessing at the first
opportunity”! Thus, he has delayed the recitation two full days! It
gets more extreme, when for some reason, the calendar invokes the
(not so talmudic) rule that the blessing not be recited on Friday
night even when it is the first
opportunity,” pushing off the blessing to Saturday night, three
days after the true first opportunity.
[3]
Why
would anyone do such a thing? Who would read Rabbeinu Yona such a way
and then rule that normative practice should follow it? The Beth
Yosef himself does not subscribe to Rabbeinu Yona’s rule to begin
with.
The
answer is the Pri M’gadim, but first some more background.
The
Last Time For
Birkat Hal’vana
According
to BT Sanhedrin (ibid.), the last opportunity for the birkat
hal’vana
is the 16th of the month. Now, the Gemara is speaking
quite generally. It assumes that a month is 30 days long, thus making
the 16th night the beginning of the second half of the month, and
usually marking the point that the moon is beginning to wane. Indeed,
in deficient, 29-day months, it makes sense that the last opportunity
should be the night of the 15th. The Beth Yosef (ibid., uma
shekathav rabbeinu w’
hanei shisha asar”)
makes note of this and other similar issues, and then notes that
there are more exact ways of determining the midpoint of the lunar
month.
That
is, the Talmud gave a very imprecise sign for determining when the
moon is no longer waxing, but leaves room for more precise
calculations. The Tur, (ibid.) for example, mentions that the true
last time for the blessing is exactly half the time between the
average moladoth, what the pos’kim
call me’et l’et
(literally, from time to time”), and
often meant to mean exactly 24 hours after a certain event. In this
case, it means exactly half the time between the moladoth,
[4] which, as pointed out by many commentators, can actually fallout
before or after the 16th (or 15th) night of the month. This is the
opinion adopted by the Rema (Orah Hayim 426:3) for determining the
final time for the blessing. The Beth Yosef (ibid.) mentions an even
more exact determination of the middle of the lunar month: the lunar
eclipse, which by definition occurs at the exact midpoint of the
month.
Presumably,
in a month absent a lunar eclipse, the midpoint of the month could be
calculated by studying the actual moladoth
before and after that month, and there are now many free computer
programs that can easily do this. The Shulhan
Aruch thus rules that one can stick with the most inexact calculation
(Orah Hayim 426:3), but the Pri M’gadim (Eshel Avraham 13 to
Orah Hayim 426) declares that just like we, the Ashkenazim, follow
the Rema, who said that the yard stick for measuring the last time of
the blessing is
me’et
l
’et, exactly half the time between
the average
moladot,
so too, with regards to the first time of the blessing, the practice
is to wait three days
me’et
l
’et, exactly 72 hours, from the
molad, before reciting
the blessing!
The
Pri M’gadim makes no explanation as to why that should be so, and
it is especially hard to justify his claim, as the first time for
saying the blessing should strictly depend on the first sighting of
the moon, whereas the final time for the blessing should depend on
when the moon is full. Further, the Rema himself made no actual
mention of when he believes to be the first time for the recitation
of Birkat Hal’vana, and without this interjection of the Pri
M’gadim, one would figure that the Rema holds like the implication
of the Talmud above, that the ideal time for the blessing is on Rosh
Hodesh, or at least perhaps when Rabbeinu
Yona says it should be.
Despite
this, the Pri M’gadim’s opinion is mentioned by the Mishna Berura
(426:20), and that has ended the discussion for the calendar
printers, despite the fact that it was clear for millennia before the
Pri M’gadim, who was born in 1727, that the first opportunity for
the recitation of this blessing should not be delayed. After all, how
many of us ever delay the blessing over seeing the ocean or
lightning? Further, one cannot derive that there is a both a rule as
to how luminous the moon needs to be and about how Saturday night is
ideal because they are mutually exclusive, alternate readings of the
same line in Sof’rim. The whole idea that the authorities ever
accepted that the moon needs to be a minimum size was never fully
accepted, and even if there were those who subscribed to Rabbeinu
Yona’s vague position, none of them
before the Pri M’gadim assigned a
strictly quantifiable time period to that standard.
We
now need to address the following questions: 1. If it is clear from
the Gemara and Rishonim that the blessing should be recited as soon
as possible during the lunar month, why did Rabbeinu Yona’s novel
opinion gain so much support? 2. Why has this opinion of the Pri
M’gadim become so popular? Does it not misunderstand an opinion
that itself should be discounted?
In
Maaseh Rav 159, it is recorded in the name of the Vilna Gaon (who was
a contemporary of the Pri M’gadim) that birkat hal’vana
should not be postponed until seven days after (the start of the
month), nor until Saturday night, but rather “we sanctify
immediately after 3 days from the molad.” This seems to be
an endorsement of Rabbeinu Yona’s position and the source for
minhag yerushalyim, but as we have just argued, it would be a
stretch to say that it could only be understood as the Pri M’gadim
did. It would seem to make more sense to interpret this as Rabbeinu
Yona himself wrote, “2 or 3 days” which allows for periods of
time much shorter than the maximum 72 hours.
We
have thus shown that with regards to general Ashkenazic practice, the
calendars present a time for birkat hal’vana that has little
basis in the oldest sources. I have not found a single work that
takes up the problem of the Pri M’gadim declaring what the Rema’s
position is with regard to the first time of birkat hal’vana,
and the contemporary scholars familiar with the matter all hold like
the simple understanding of the gemara according to Maimonides,
namely that birkat hal’vana should be recited as soon
as the new moon can be seen, with no consideration of how much time
that actually takes after the molad. It would seem that the
calendars, if they were to be honest, would notify their readers of
when the moon is first technically visible each month, as per the
Israeli New Moon Society’s charts, which usually satisfy Rabbeinu
Yona’s and anyone who subscribes to his position’s conditions,
and then to present the Pri M’gadim’s position, and refer to it
as such.
To
be continued in part 2.
[1] See this chart.
Notice that no two months share a percent illumination, nor location
in the sky, and each has its own level of difficulty being spotted.
When two days are shown consecutively, it is because the first day’s
conditions were not sufficient for most to have actually enjoyed or
even seen the light of the moon.

[2] As pointed out on the last page of the linked file in note 1, Maimonides did feel that there was a mathematical formula for determining minimal visibility.
[3] The Mishna Berurah (426:12 and Sha’ar Hatziyun ad loc) mentions that based on Kabbala, birkat hal’vana should not be said on Friday night, probably lest reciters come to dance, However, the way the halacha stood for millennia never included this novel rule, and the prohibition against dancing on the Sabbath and Festivals is itself a Rabbinic “fence” around a Biblical prohibition, and there is a Talmudic rule that we do not make “decrees to protect decrees.” More so, even though there are still some lone holdouts who maintain that this prohibition against dancing is still in force, most communities follow the opinion of the Tosafists (Beitza 30a) that nowadays there is no such prohibition. Thus, the almost universal custom of hakafot on Simchat Torah, which, if not for the Tosafists’ leniency, would be rabbinically forbidden.
[4] 29 days, 12 hours, and 793 chalakim. Each chelek is 3 and 1/3 seconds, so 793 chalakim equals 2643 and 1/3 seconds, or about 44 minutes. The half way point between the moladot would therefore be 14 days, 18 hours and 22 minutes or so after the first molad.



Lighting Shabbat Candles in Jerusalem 40 Minutes Before Sunset

Lighting
Shabbat Candles in Jerusalem 40 Minutes Before
Sunset
By William Gewirtz

Introduction

There is a story,
perhaps apocryphal, of a visit to Jerusalem by R. Yoel Teitelbaum in
which he is driven to the Kotel on Friday afternoon well after
the customary time to light Shabbat candles in Jerusalem, 40
minutes before sunset. As his car was being stoned, he suggested that
instead of adding 40 minutes to the Friday night pre-Shabbat
period, it would be more appropriate that 40 minutes be added to
the time at which the calendar of Jerusalem announces that Shabbat
ends. That he had little regard for the ancient customs of
Jerusalem is probably not surprising; finding a compelling rationale
for the zemanim practiced in Jerusalem is a wholly other
matter. In terms of Saturday evening, Jerusalem has always followed
the opinion of the geonim, which is now most often attributed
to the Gaon of Vilna. For the entire period of recorded
history, even prior to the era of the Gaon, with isolated
exceptions, Shabbat ended in Jerusalem at most 36 to 42
minutes after sunset, depending on the season.
[1] However, some returning from Europe brought back with them to Israel
the European practice that extended
Shabbat to 72 minutes
after sunset or even further in accordance with the opinion of
Rabbeinu Tam.

However,
lighting candles 40 minutes before sunset Friday night remains
baffling despite several theories that have attempted to provide a
rationale,
[2] all of whom I find questionable. Why 40 minutes instead of 18, 20,
30, 36 or 45 minutes? What follows are
halakhic positions from
authorities going back over 800 years, and perhaps even supported by
a source in the
yerushalmi, which provides a theory that is
consistent with practices rarely encountered in recent times. As we
will see, many of these practices must contend with issues that
cannot be defended in their entirety without some minor modification
/ correction. Ironically, the standard alternative often observed,
based on Ramban and many subsequent
akhmai sforad,
also faces a major issue that I cannot effectively address.


What follows are an
organized sequence of ten propositions that provides clear support
for the practice of lighting candles 40 minutes before sunset; I
succinctly demonstrate clear support for each proposition from major
sources and / or figures in halakhic history. Despite its
formal organization, this essay presents an educated guess as opposed
to a definitive conclusion. In other contexts, I have warned against
being overwhelmed by numerical coincidences; though I strongly doubt
it, one cannot rule out that this is just another example of one as
well.
Deriving
40 minutes before sunset

Proposition
1
. The hours of the day were separately estimated from a
morning start point to midday and from midday to an evening endpoint.
It is highly unlikely that calculating the length of time between a
morning start point until an evening endpoint and dividing by 12 was
used in that manner to determine the length of a halakhic hour
prior to the existence of clocks.

Support:
While calculating from a point in the morning to a point in the
evening and dividing by twelve is the theoretical method implied in
the Talmud, it seems rather unlikely to have been used in practice
prior to the benefit of a clock. In fact, in describing his method of
estimation of the time by which to finish the consumption of ḥametz
on erev pesa, Ravyah explicitly describes his method
for estimating the morning hours between a morning start point and
ḥatzot. This assumption about separately calculating
from ḥatzot to both a morning and evening endpoint is
critical to what is proposed in this essay.


Proposition 2.
The morning start point used in the Middle East was alot
ha’sha
ar, not sunrise,
[3] despite the influence of the talmidei ha’gra. In addition,
in Jerusalem, 90 versus 72 minutes before sunrise was often, but not
always, the time used for
alot ha’shaḥar around the fall
and spring equinox.


Support:
Using alot ha’shaḥar as the morning start point is rooted
in the opinions of Ramban, R. Israel Isserlein and many other
rishonim. Clearly, the Ben Ish Ḥai and the calendar of
Jerusalem, among many others, calculated using alot ha’shaḥar
versus sunrise. The use of 90 versus 72 minutes before sunrise as the
time of alot ha’shaḥar occured at various times in history
in Eretz Yisroel and other parts of the Middle East as well,
particularly in Jerusalem. Whether the Gaon supported 90 or 72
minutes is strongly disputed.
[4] 


Proposition 3.
The evening endpoint is either the symmetric counterpoint to alot
ha’shaḥar
, as is clearly derivable from Ramban and his
school, or an asymmetric point in the evening occurring significantly
earlier at the point of transition between days of the week according
to the geonim. Finding support from R. Israel Isserlein for
such asymmetric endpoints is a complicated and debatable task that
is, in any case, arduous to demonstrate.
[5] Instead, we reference explicit support from multiple significant
a
aronim.


Support:
Clearly Ramban and his school who assert that plag ha’minḥa
occurs only 3.75
[6] minutes before sunset were calculating from a point as far after
sunset as
alot ha’shaḥar is before sunrise.[7] Astounding as it might seem, numerous important aḥaronim
calculated to an asymmetric earlier endpoint, approximately 20-40
minutes after sunset. Among
aḥaronim who maintain such a
viewpoint are R. Nosson Adler,
[8] R. Yaacov Lorberbaum, the Ben Ish Chai, R. Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld,
among many others. While the endpoint of Ramban is the point at which
Shabbat ends according to Rabbeinu Tam, the earlier point is
the end of
Shabbat according to the geonim.

Support
for such asymmetry can also be derived from a lengthy (and disputed)
discussion beginning in yerushalmi Berakhot 2b,
[9] that considers the verse in Nehemiah 4:15,
  • Ve’anaḥnu
    osim be’melaḥah…. Mei’alot ha’shaḥar ad tzait
    ha’kokhavim
    as
    defining an asymmetric daytime period from alot ha-shaḥar
    until the appearance of three stars.
    [10] 

Proposition 4.
With clocks in common use, each of the aḥaronim mentioned
counted the length of time from alot ha’shaḥar to an
earlier evening endpoint and divided by 12 to derive the length of a
halakhic hour. This method of calculation resulted in the
miscalculation of atzot.


Support: Their
method is an unarguable fact that appears in their writings and / or
calendars. One can also easily verify the miscalculation of ḥatzot
by calculating a halakhic hour using alot ha’shaḥar
and end of Shabbat according to the geonim as
endpoints. That calculated point of ḥatzot is typically
20-30 minutes earlier than the indisputable point of ḥatzot
that can be observed directly.
[11]


Proposition 5.
Because of a miscalculated ḥatzot, some wanted to
throw out the baby with the bathwater and claimed the absolute
necessity of using Ramban’s later endpoint that is symmetric with
alot ha’shaḥar. Use of any symmetric endpoints around
sunrise and sunset calculates the point of ḥatzot correctly.


Support: The
most complete account of this issue and its ramifications come from
various documents recording the debate that took place over several
years in Jerusalem more than 110 years ago between R. Yosef Chaim
Sonnenfeld and R. Yeḥiel Miḥel Tukatzinsky.
[12] The calendar originally in use, strongly supported by R. Sonnenfeld,
miscalculated
ḥatzot. Multiple insignificantly different
accounts of the debate all agree that in the end a changed calendar
that calculated
ḥatzot accurately resulted. By moving ḥatzot
forward by about 20 minutes, the new calendar also set
sof zeman
keriat shema
about 10 minutes later, which was the primary
motivation for R. Sonnenfeld’s objection. The changed calendar,
like the current calendar (still) in use today, calculates using a
depression angle of approximately 20 degrees, equivalent to 90
minutes around both the spring and fall equinox, identical to what
Ramban proposed.

Proposition
6
. Unfortunately, Ramban’s endpoints, 90 minutes from sunrise
and sunset when used around the winter solstice, results in plag
ha’min
a occurring around 10 minutes after
sunset, an inelegant and disqualifying occurrence. The fact that
this has not been recognized would imply that this version of the
opinion of Magen Avraham using 90 minutes, with either a fixed or a
depression angle implied number of minutes, was not in widespread
use.


Support: This
is indisputable if we examine dates near the winter solstice. On
December 21 in Jerusalem, sunset is at 6:39 PM and plag ha’minḥa
occurs between 7 and 13 minutes after sunset depending if you
calculate with a fixed 90 minutes (strongly opposed but resulting in
8 minutes) or depression angles (strongly supported and resulting in
13 minutes.)
[14]Note that 72 minutes does not have this problem; plag ha’minḥa
occurs very slightly before sunset on December 21 when 72 minutes is
used.
[15]


Proposition 7.
Fixing the alternative that miscalculates ḥatzot is
straightforward; just calculate like we assume occurred before the
use of clocks – from a known point of ḥatzot to alot
ha’shaḥar
and from ḥatzot to an earlier evening
endpoint. Note that ḥatzot is not calculated but observed
and occurs at midday.


Support: The
morning hours present no issues;
[15] find the length of time between alot ha’shaḥar and ḥatzot
and divide by six. Afternoon hours are a bit stickier. There are
multiple options for the precise time to use for the evening
endpoint, depending on one’s best estimate of the point of
transition between days of the week on a biblical level. One could
advance arguments for any depression angle that associates with a
time between 20 – 28 minutes after sunset around the spring and fall
equinox. Given the preference for 90 minutes over 72 in Jerusalem,
use of such an earlier endpoint, which avoids the (unreported and)
anomalous occurrence of
plag ha’minḥa after sunset,
appears to be reasonable.

Proposition
8
. Those who note that morning hours are longer than afternoon
hours need not be concerned; in an unexplained position, one of last
century’s greatest poskim claimed that unequal morning and
afternoon hours is not an anomaly but what should be expected.

Support:
In a position that neither I nor the many who I have asked can fully
explain, R. Moshe Feinstein insisted that halakhic hours
differ between the afternoon and the morning. Unfortunately, R.
Feinstein states that either the morning or afternoon
hours can be longer; this approach can only explain the morning hours
being longer. While I cannot claim that this approach provides the
definitive explanation, I have never found another approach that
provides any more cogent (albeit partial) rationale.
[16]


Proposition 9.
Using this approach or even the errored one that miscalculates
ḥatzot, find the time of the year when plag
ha’min
a comes closest to sunset.


Support: The
time for plag ha’minḥa comes closest to sunset around
December 21st when the daytime period and hence halakhic
hours are shortest. There are multiple opinions that differ slightly
with respect to the biblical point after sunset that marks the
transition between days of the week. Using a depression angle of 6
degrees, a reasonable choice for that point of transition, on
December 21st plag ha’minḥa occurs 42
minutes before sunset.
Throughout the rest of the year plag
ha’minḥa
occurs more than 42 minutes before sunset.
Examining the issue in detail and using December 21st:

  • ḥatzot at
    11:37 AM,
  • sunset
    at 4:39 PM, and
  • a
    depression angle of 6 degrees as the day’s approximate end, 27
    minutes after sunset at 5:06 PM,
we
derive:
  • a
    halakhic hour of ((ḥatzot to sunset) + 27 minutes) /
    6 = (302 minutes + 27 minutes) / 6 = 54.833 minutes,
    resulting in

  • plag ha’minḥa
    (the end of the day) – (54.833 * 1.25) minutes = 5:06 PM – 68.54
    minutes = 3:57 PM, 42 minutes before sunset.
It
is unimaginable that such a precise calculation that results in plag
ha’minḥa
42 minutes before sunset was used to initially
establish the custom of lighting 40 minutes before sunset.
Additionally, many potential changes including:
  • calculating
    (incorrectly) from alot ha’shaḥar,
  • choosing
    a slightly earlier (or even (incorrectly) a later) evening endpoint,
  • not
    using depression angles (an absolute certainty), and
  • disagreements
    about how shekiah is to be calculated given Jerusalem’s
    altitude
will
move the time of plag ha’minḥa, most often several minutes
earlier.

However,
it is critical to appreciate that we are attempting based on
(halakhically inspired) religious
[17] instincts to light candles as early as is possible without
violating an explicit
halakhic boundary that demands
that we light candles after
plag ha’minḥa. Any attempt to
light earlier than 40 minutes before sunset would likely face
halakhic resistance, particularly at a time when estimation
and approximation were still in common use.

Proposition
10
. Lighting candles 40 minutes before sunset guarantees we are
lighting at:
  • a
    uniform time all year,
  • as
    early as possible, but
  • always
    at a time that is after
    plag ha’minḥa.
Support:
40 minutes is the largest round number that simultaneously meets
all three proposed objectives. Q.E.D.

Conclusions:

To
again be clear, I do not claim that the original basis was derived as
I have outlined. Undoubtedly, the original custom resulted from
accurate approximation as opposed to precise calculation.
Nonetheless, proposition 10 likely captures the original intent of
those who started this unique practice. Knowing more of the early
history surrounding this well establish custom would add
significantly to our understanding. For now, it remains a conjecture
on which comments would be appreciated.

[1]  Even Hazon Ish waited only 45 minutes before ending Shabbat.
[2]  See Minhagei Yisrael
(page 102, footnote 18) by R. Yaacov Gliss and
Ha’zemanim
Ka’halakha
(chapter 60, footnote 18) by R.
Chaim Benish for proposed theories.
[3]  While most currently follow the method of the Gaon
of Vilna and calculate from sunrise to sunset, surprisingly, this
method has no uncontested support prior to the 16
th
century when it was suggested by R. Mordechai Yaffe. Both R. Yaffe
and the
Gaon cited no
prior halakhic support; instead they claimed that the hours of the
day are naturally defined by the period between sunrise and sunset.
This contentious topic is not pursued further.
[4]  Multiple comments on different sections of the Shulḥan
Arukh
strongly imply support for 90 minutes;
some comments in
midrashic settings
explicitly support 72 minutes.
[5]  A student of R. Yisroel Isserlein, R. Yaacov ben Moshe in his sefer
Leket Yosher

sheds light on this issue, (assuming knowledge of the operation of
the diverse clocks in use during the 15
th
century.) In the first mention of clocks in
halakhic
literature around the turn of the 16
th
century,

R.
Yaacov ben Moshe specifies that the time that R. Isserlein permitted
a person having difficulty fasting on
Taanit
Esther

to read the
Megillah
as slightly before 5 PM. What R. Isserlein described
halakhically
as
plag
ha’minḥa

was quantified by R. Yaacov ben Moshe as occurring a few minutes
before 5 PM.
[6] The perhaps unfamiliar 3.75 minutes is 1/6th
of the time to walk a
mil
of 22.5 minutes.
[7] Ramban in Torat ha’Adam
states that
plag ha’minḥa
occurs at the time it takes to walk 1/6
th
of a
mil before
sunset. From that statement three conclusions can be drawn:
  1. The
    time to walk a mil is 22.5 minutes, not the normally assumed
    18 minutes.
  2. The
    hours of the day are calculated between alot ha’shaḥar
    and an evening equivalent, following what is referred to currently
    as the position of Magen Avraham.
  3. Alot
    ha’shaḥar
    and its evening equivalent are separated from
    sunrise and sunset respectively by 90 (not 72) minutes around the
    spring and fall equinox.
[8]  R. Adler’s practice is still followed in Zurich.
[9] An abbreviated discussion also occurs in multiple places in the
bavli.
[10] Three stars appear after sunset in the Middle East before 30 minutes
after sunset. The
Gaon of
Vilna succinctly and accurately describes his view of the point of
transition between days of the week as the appearance of 3 stars
versus Rabbeinu Tam’s view that he equates to the appearance of
“all the (millions of) stars.
[11] As traditional a posek
as R. Yitzchok Weiss, the author of
Minhat
Yitzhak
(vol 4:53), invalidates any approach
that results in a miscalculation of
hatzot.
[12] A young man at the time, R. Tukatzinsky was married to the
granddaughter of the venerable R. Shmuel Salant, the last undisputed
chief rabbi of Jerusalem in whose court the dispute was adjudicated.
[13] The length of the day on December 21st
is 10 hours and 4 minutes. Using fixed minutes thus adding 180
minutes, dividing by 12 and multiplying by 1.25, (604 + 180)/12*1.25
= ~ 82 minutes, which puts
plag ha’minḥa
8 minutes after
sunset. Adding 192 versus 180 minutes results in
plag
ha’minḥa
occurring another 5 minutes
later, 13 minutes
after sunset.
[14] Using depression angles plag ha’minḥa is
only one minute before sunset; with fixed minutes it is about 6
minutes before sunset.
[15] All the morning hours, including sof zeman
krait shema
are identical to the hours
calculated by any symmetric calculation based of the Magen Avraham’s
opinion, as should be obvious and, in any case, easily verified.
[16] Related perhaps, but in ways that are unclear, both of last
century’s most noted

poskim,
R.
Shlomo Zalman Auerbach as well as R. Feinstein issued rulings about

ḥatzot ha’lailah
and
ḥatzot
ha’yom
,
respectively, that are incredulous. R. Feinstein writes based on
tradition, but with no additional justification, that
ḥatzot
is not calculated and at the same time all years long. That
ḥatzot
is not calculated comports with the ancient practice illustrated by
Ravyah that the determination of
ḥatzot
does not involve calculation but only observation; the latter, that

ḥatzot
occurs at same time all year long, remains unexplained. R.
Auerbach’s ruling, which calculates
ḥatzot
ha’lailah

for purposes of the
pesaḥ
seder
,
is
yet more perplexing. That both
poskim
have baffling positions in approximately the same area, both of
which have not been definitively explained, is intriguing.
[17] I am distinguishing religious from halakhic
similarly to their different meanings as
occur in the writings of both R. Joseph Soloveitchik and Prof. Jacob
Katz.



Foie Gras “Fake News”: A Fictitious Rashi and a Strangely Translated Ethical Will

Foie Gras “Fake News”: A Fictitious Rashi and a Strangely Translated Ethical Will
by Ari Z. Zivotofsky
Controversial topics can sometimes lead to contrived sources, i.e. fake news. That is certainly true with the effort by vegetarians to find traditional sources to support their position. In the past I have shown how a booklet claiming Judaism supports vegetarianism was full of misquotes (here here ) and how a “quote” of the Rema was fabricated ( here ). Here I will expose two fake quotes that have been used by vegetarians in the battle against foie gras.
Foie gras (pronounced “fwä-grä, meaning “fat liver” in French) is the fattened liver of a waterfowl that grew to 5-10 times its usual size due to gavage. Foie gras, a delicacy today rightly associated with the French who are indeed by far the largest producers and consumers of it, was for much of history an Ashkenazi Jewish expertise. This luxury item has been the subject of a great deal of controversy in recent years. Until its production was banned in 2003 by the Supreme Court, Israel was one of the leading producers in the world. Within the last year, kosher foie gras has begun to be produced in the US for the first time in history.
The issue driving the current debate is animal welfare, or in the Jewish world, tza’ar ba’alei chaim. For hundreds of years, in traditional Jewish sources “stuffed goose” was indeed controversial, but not because of animal welfare. The debate revolved around potential treifot due to possible damage to the esophagus caused during the feeding process. it was a widespread debate involving the greatest of authorities. The Rema (YD 33:9) notes that in his town they would stuff geese to make schmaltz and they would check the veshet of each bird. Rav Yoel Sirkis (Bach, YD 33) was in favor of banning force feeding because of this potential serious problem. The Aruch Hashulchan (YD 33:37) says they did not do force feeding in his town. The Chochmas Adam (16:10) preferred to ban the gavage process because of the concern for treifot of the veshet, but agreed that if done, it could potentially be kosher. In modern times the Tzitz Eliezer (11:49, 11:55, 12:52) and Rav Ovadia Yosef (Yabia Omer 9:YD:3) came out against foie gras, while Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv was reported as approving the foie gras that was being produced in 2005. The most famous posek to permit stuffed geese was the Chasam Sofer (2:YD:25; Chullin 43b).

Despite the centuries long debate, force feeding geese was extremely common among Ashkenazic Jews. Many of the greatest poskim lived in regions where they would have been personally exposed to the process and yet none of them ever suggested that it was cruel and bordered on tza’ar baalei chaim. The issue was not even raised for discussion until the late 20th century. The only place tzaar ba’alei chaim is mentioned in the context of fattened geese is in the opposite direction – the rabbis were aware that geese used to being fed in this manner would not eat any other way and thus, out of concern for tza’ar ba’alei hayyim, permitted, with certain stipulations, gavage for these geese on Shabbat (Mishna Berurah 324:27). This is as opposed to other chickens and geese, for which this is not permitted.

Despite efforts by some to demonstrate that force feeding geese is cruel and was recognized as such by Jews in previous generations, it’s a common misunderstanding based on a mistranslation that seems to defy explanation, and one of these situations where people keep repeating an error because they didn’t examine the primary source. In contemporary Jewish anti-foie gras literature, two “quotes” are regularly bantered about, even by scholars. One is a “quote” from Rashi and the other from a 14th century ethical will.

Both quotes can be found in the book “The Foie Gras Wars: How a 5,000-Year-Old Delicacy Inspired the World’s Fiercest Food Fight” (2011) by Chicago Tribune reporter Mark Caro. On p. 26 he writes:

“Rashi interpreted the tale to mean that Jews would have to face the music ‘for having made the beasts[geese] suffer while fattening them’.”

And on p. 26-27 he writes:
“In a 14th-century ethical will, a dying man, Eleazar of Mainz, instructs: “‘Now, my sons and daughters, eat and drink only what is necessary, as our good parents did, refraining from heavy meals, and holding the gross liver in detestation’.”
The comment of Rashi sounds like it may indeed be a condemnation of fattening geese. It turns out that Rashi never wrote any such thing. First, the source for this “quote” is Bava Basra 73b and as is well known, on 29a of Bava Basra of our printed texts, there is a note in bold letters in the Rashi column that says: “until here is the commentary of Rashi zt”l, from here on in is the commentary of Rabbeinu Shmuel ben Rav Meir”, ie Rashbam. The first error is therefore that the comment was not written by Rashi but by his grandson. 

Nonetheless, even if Rashbam had written that, it would be of significance. But he didn’t.

The comment was made on the 10th of the fantastic, esoteric tales of Rabbah bar bar Chanah. The story is:
תלמוד בבלי מסכת בבא בתרא דף עג עמוד ב
ואמר רבה בר בר חנה: זימנא חדא הוה קא אזלינן במדברא, וחזינן הנהו אווזי דשמטי גדפייהו משמנייהו וקא נגדי נחלי דמשחא מתותייהו, אמינא להו: אית לן בגוייכו חלקא לעלמא דאתי? חדא דלי גדפא, וחדא דלי אטמא. כי אתאי לקמיה דרבי אלעזר, אמר לי: עתידין ישראל ליתן עליהן את הדין.

Rabbah b. Bar Hana also related: We were once travelling in the desert and saw geese whose feathers fell out on account of their [excessive] fatness, and streams of oil [fat] flowed under them. I said to them: ‘Shall we have a share of your [flesh] in the world to come?’ One lifted up its wing, the other lifted up its leg. When I came before R. Elazar he said to me: Israel will be held accountable because of them.

Commenting on the last line, Rashbam commented:
רשב”ם מסכת בבא בתרא דף עג עמוד ב
ליתן עליהם את הדין – שבחטאתם מתעכב משיח ויש להם צער בעלי חיים לאותן אווזים מחמת שומנן.
According to the Rashbam, the Jews are responsible for the suffering of the geese in that the geese had to live extra-long with unnatural fat because the Jews sinned and thereby delayed the coming of the Messiah and the slaughtering of these geese. The Rashbam was discussing a fanciful story involving the suffering of mythical geese whose feathers fall out and whose fat drips off of them, i.e. who were clearly suffering and are different from a typical goose. Such geese he suggests may suffer due to their excessive fat. He makes no mention of the fattening process and says nothing about any suffering during that process or about the suffering of geese that his Jewish neighbors were raising.
And how about the ethical will? Hebrew Ethical Wills (JPS Library of Jewish Classics) (English and Hebrew Edition) [1976], Israel Abrahams (Editor), Judah Goldin (Foreword) is a facsimile edition of the 1926 original. Beginning on p. 207 is “The Ideals of an Average Jew (Testament of Eleazar of Mayence)” and on p. 212 it indeed says: “Now, my sons and daughter, eat and drink only what is necessary, as our good parents did, refraining from heavy meals, and holding the gross liver in detestation.” 

From this it is not at all clear why liver should be so disliked, and it is certainly not obvious that he is talking about foie gras. It could be that he simply abhors liver (perhaps because, as Chazal note, it is full of blood). In an effort to better understand, I looked on the other side of the page, at the Hebrew text. And what a shock! It seems that when Israel Abrahams (Reader in University of Cambridge and a Senior Tutor at Jews’ College) translated this text he used some poetic license, likely never suspecting it would be then adopted by the anti-foie gras activists. Here is what the Hebrew found in Abrahams says:
בניי ובנותי פחותו נא מאכילה ושתייה רק כדי צורך. ואל תבזבזו ממון לאכילה ולשתייה. כן היו אבותינו החסידים אוכלים כדי הצורך ולא אכילה גסה ולמלאות כריסן. להיות כל ימיהם כחוש.
No mention whatsoever of liver! It appears that it is not an actual translation. It seems strange that Abrahams fabricated the liver in the English. He says the translation was made on the basis of two Hebrew texts. Maybe he translated straight off of them and the Hebrew in his edition is not accurate. The first is a text that is based in a Munich MS and appears on Moritz Güdemann’s Quellenschriften (Berlin, 1891, reprinted by Philo Press in 1968).

There on p. 296 one finds an almost identical text:
בניי פחותו נא מאכילה ושתייה רק כדי צורך ואל תבזבזו ממון לאכילה ולשתייה. כן היו אבותינו החסידים אוכלים כדי הצורך ולא אכילה גסה ולמלאות כריסן להיות כל ימיהם כחוש
The other manuscript is Bodleian MS cat Neubauer No. 907, fols. 164a-166a (not 166b as Abrahams erroneously wrote) and the relevant section is at the top of 165a (I thank Ezra Chwat for his assistance in obtaining this ms.). As can be seen the text is identical to that found in the Abrahams’ book. 
There seemed to be a final possibility. In his introduction, Abrahams notes that a previous translation, into German, had appeared in the journal Jüdische Presse, Berlin 1870, p. 90.

The journal is available here (I thank Sharon Liberman Mintz for finding that link for me). In issue 11 (Sept 9, 1870) a translation appears on the 6th and 7th page of the issue, pages 90-91 of the volume, as can be seen in the figure below.
However, it is only a translation of the first half of the will, ending just before the relevant section. It says that it was to be continued, but unfortunately that was the first year of the journal and the next issue (12) is missing (as are several others such as 3, 7, 9, 10) from the digitized microfilm at that website and I have been unable to locate it in any Israeli library. the translation until that point seems to be accurate and it is hard to ascribe the insertion of the liver to the German translator (I thank Rabbi Dr. Seth Mandel and Prof Michael Segal for assistance with the German).
It thus seems clear the liver was inserted into the English transition for some inexplicable reason, but certainly does not appear in this 14th century ethical will.
Once an author is convinced of the authenticity of the sources they often embellish. In the academic work, Food and Morality: Proceedings of the Oxford Symposium on Food and Cookery (2007) edited by Susan R. Friedland, there is a chapter called the foie gras fracas: sumptuary Law as Animal welfare? By Cathy K. Kaufman, a scholar-chef and Adjunct Chef-Instructor, Institute of Culinary Education, in New York City.
On p. 126 she writes: 

“The best written evidence for the medieval production of foie gras – and its ambiguous moral status – is found among the writings of the Ashkenazi Jews who spread throughout Europe. Rabbi (sic) Rashi ……”

But in fact we have shown that among the Jewish writings there is ZERO evidence regarding any ambiguous moral status!
Even the well-known American cookbook author Joan Nathan couldn’t avoid this pitfall. 
Recently, in her King Solomon’s Table: A Culinary Exploration of Jewish Cooking from Around the World (2017) on p. XXI she wrote: 

“Rashi was a thinker who knew both religion and agriculture. He condemned, for example, the force-feeding of geese to produce foie gras ….”.

In 2013, an article in Moment magazine (here) stated: 

“More complex, however, were the ethical questions. In the 11th century, the French scholar Rashi warned Jews against the force-feeding practice, “for having made these beasts (geese) suffer while fattening them.” This went against Jewish law prohibiting tza’ar ba’alei chayim, suffering to animals, although some rabbis claimed that since none of the geese’s limbs were harmed and the geese did not feel discomfort in their throats, foie gras was not treyf, or forbidden. Other rabbinic scholars suggested that it is only permissible to inflict pain on an animal when the benefit of doing so is significant; since there are no real nutritional benefits to foie gras, the process of force-feeding was questionable.”

One can only wonder who these “some rabbis” and “other rabbinic scholars” were who argued with this non-existent Rashi!
The book that is the source for many of these other articles is the beautiful coffee-table book Foie Gras: A Passion (1999) by Michael Ginor and Mitchell Davis. Ginor, an American who spent two years in the IDF and while in Israel discovered foie gras, co-founded, co-owns, and is President of NY based Hudson Valley Foie Gras and New York State Foie Gras, the most comprehensive foie gras producer in the world. His book is an absolutely comprehensive book on everything one could possibly want to know about foie gras. And there on p. 11 he quotes the non-existent Rashi and on p. 12 the English version of the strangely translated ethical will. I have no idea where he found those two quotes that have today become so common in the vegetarian literature. 
The fact that all one has to do is look in the Hebrew originals to see that these quotes are fake news, explains why they are found in English sources and I have not yet found them in any of the Hebrew works on animal rights.



Simchas Torah & a Lost Minhag of the Gra

Simchas Torah & a Lost Minhag of the Gra
By Eliezer Brodt
Chol HaMoed Succos is the Yarzheit of the Vilna Gaon (for an earlier post on the Gra see here and here). In this post I hope to show a source for a “forgotten” Minhag of the Gra.
In 1921 the great bibliographer (and much more) Yitzchak Rivkind described a strange custom he saw during the time he learned in Volozhin (after it was reopened and headed by R’ Rephael Shapiro), in an article about Minhag HaGra. On Simchas Torah they would open the Aron Kodesh when saying Aleinu, both at night and during the day, and while singing the Niggun of Mussaf of Yom Kippur would bow on the floor exactly like we do on Rosh Hashonah and Yom Kippur. When he asked for the source of this Minhag he was told it comes from the Gra. When he visited Vilna sometime later he found the only place that they observed this unique Minhag was in the Kloiz of the Gra, but nowhere else in Vilna.[1] 
In 1933 R’ Meir Bar Ilan printed his memoirs in Yiddish for the first time (in book form); in it he describes the great Simcha in Volozhin on Simchas Torah, that of his father the Netziv and of the Talmidim. He then writes that when they got to Aleinu they would open the Aron and with Niggun of Mussaf of Yom Kippur would sing and bow on the floor exactly like we do on Rosh Hashonah and Yom Kippur.[2] However, this custom is not mentioned in the Maaseh Rav or any of the other collections of Minhagim of the Gra.
Earlier this year (2018) R’ Dovid Kamenetsky published a very important manuscript related to the Maaseh Rav. This work sheds light on how this important sefer of the Gra’s Minhaghim was written. The Gra had a very close talmid named R’ Saadyah who wrote up the various things he witnessed the Gra doing. This formed the basis of the Maaseh Rav who then went and added to it from other sources. This original manuscript work was recently discovered and printed by Rabbi Kamenetsky; in it we find that R’ Saadyah writes that on Rosh Hashonah and Yom Kippur the Gra would fully bow (prostrate himself) during Aleinu, and did the same on Simchas Torah at night. Thus we now for the first time have the actual exact source of the Gra doing this.[3] 
בר”ה וי”כ וש”י כשאומר הש”ץ זכרנו:… כשהגיע לכורעים הי’ כורע ונופל על אפיו בפשיטת ידים ורגלים וכן בשמחת תורה בלילה היו אומרים מזמורים ותפילות …בים ואח”כ היו נופלים על אפיה’ כנ”ל באימ[ה] בעלינו…
Here is a copy of the page in the manuscript (thanks to Rabbi Dovid Kamenetsky):
A possible explanation for this Minhag is that when things were getting a bit too wild, i.e. too leibedek, they did this to remind the crowd it’s a Yom Tov. This is not the only minhag done like Yomim Noraim, in one account we find “The Musaf was chanted with the music of the New Year’s ritual.”[4] 
[1] HaIvri, 10:35, (1921), pp. 6-7. See Yaari, Toldot Chag Simchas Torah, p. 366.
[2] MeiVolozhin Ad Yerushlayim, 1, p. 115.
[3] See TorasS Hagra, p. 212. On this work see Toras Hagra, pp. 127-226.
[4] Between Worlds, p. 93