The Unusual Word Tzafufim in Pirkei Avos|
עומדים צפופים ומשתחווים רווחים

David S. Farkas*

On a recent Shabbos afternoon I was learning the Yerushalmi to Peah when my thoughts turned – for reasons described below – to the famous passage in Pirkei Avos (5:5) עומדים צפופים ומשתחווים רווחים.

Every schoolboy is familiar with the phrase. The Mishna sets forth ten miracles regularly experienced in the times of the Temple. The eighth of these, as set forth above, is that though the people stood crowded in the Temple courtyard, they were nevertheless able to bow with sufficient space around them. The word צפופים, accordingly, means crowded.

This much is evident from the Mishna itself. But where does this word צפוף come from? Thinking about it further, I could recall no similar examples of the word elsewhere. Indeed, a check of the Concordance (Even-Shoshan) confirmed that no such word exists in all of Tanach.

No matter. There are many words in the Mishna that do not exist in Tanach. Perhaps the word is Mishnaic Hebrew, rather than Biblical. Yet here too, investigation showed no other examples of the word צפוף appearing in the Mishna. At this point we had the makings of a problem. It seems strange for such a familiar word to appear neither in Tanach, nor anywhere else in the Mishna. And yet it does not appear to be a foreign loan word either, with none of the hallmarks of Greek or Roman influence, or that of any other language. Where did it come from?

This is why I mentioned what I had been learning when my thoughts were turned in this direction. For in Peah (3:1, 26a in the excellent Oz Vi-Hadar edition) we find a debate among the two schools of Shammai and Hillel, in a case where numerous small patches of grain were planted between the trees of an orchard. The question is whether, for purposes of leaving Peah, they are to be treated as a single field or as many. The Gemara narrows the inquiry: אם במורווחין אף ב“ש מודים שהוא נותן פיאה אחת על הכל. אם ברצופין אף ב“ה מודים שהוא נותן פיאה מכל אחד ואחד.. If the trees are spread out, even B. Shammai would agree that the patches are treated as single field (i.e., the trees are not seen as intervening) and a single Peah should suffice. If the trees are close together, they are treated as an intervening separation, and even B. Hillel would agree that Peah should be taken from every patch. The Gemara concludes, אלא כי אנן קיימין בנטועין מטע עשר לבית סאה ב“ש עובדי להון כרצופין וב“ה עובדי להון כמורווחין.. The case must be of trees planted in a certain density (ten per beis se’ah), and the point at issue is whether or not this density is enough to cause the fields to be considered spread out.

Of course, what jumps out to the reader, just as did to me that Shabbos afternoon, is the contrast between רווחין and רצופין. This is the exact same contrast employed in the Mishna in Avos, yet here the word used is רצופין, not צפופים.

Nor is this the only case where such a contrast is used with this exact same pair of words. In Yerushalmi Moed Kattan 1:3 4a (also found in Sheviis 2:7 18a) R. Eliezer ben Yaakov permits diverting pooled water via a channel from tree to tree on Yom Tov, but does not allow an entire field to be irrigated. The Rabbis disagree, and the Gemara again narrows the field of inquiry, observing that if the trees were “spread apart”, all would agree irrigation is prohibited because one is watering more than he needs. If the trees were packed close together, on the other hand, all would agree watering is necessary to keep them from drying out. Thus, the Gemara concludes that the field in question was planted with the standard density mentioned above, ten trees per beis se’ah, and the point at issue between R. Eliezer ben Yaakov and the Rabbis is only whether this density is considered “spaced” or “packed”. מה אנן קיימין? אם במרווחין, דברי הכל אסור. אם ברצופין, דברי הכל מותר. אלא כי נן קיימין בנטועין מטע עשר לבית סאה: רבי ליעזר בן יעקב עבד לון כמרווחין, ורבנן עבדין לון כרצופין. Once again, we see the word רווחין contrasted with רצופין.

Finally, for a third example, see Yerushalmi Nazir 9:3 51b (also found in Kilayim 5:2 48a) We find there a debate as to whether vines planted at 4-cubit intervals are considered a vineyard, or merely a group of individual vines. R. Shimon bar Ba posits that the same question applies to a group of corpses found closely together, and whether or not they constitute a שכונת קברים, a burial ground. (Both questions have halachic import not relevant here.) R. Yose, however, says the two are not comparable: אמר רבי יוסי ולא דמייא. תמן מרווחין ורצפן במחלוקת, רצופין וריווחן דברי הכל. ברם הכא מהו פליגין בשבא ומצאן רצופין. In the case of the vines, even if they were properly spaced when planted and later crowded by adding vines, it would still be a matter of debate. And if they were initially crowded but later spaced by uprooting vines, all would agree it is a vineyard. But with respect to a burial ground, the whole question is when they were found close together, and one does not know how they were originally buried. (See Artscroll translation.) Again, for our purposes, the key point is only the wording. Here again, we see the word רווחין contrasted with רצופין.

All these three examples are from the Yerushalmi – that is to say, from Eretz Yisrael, where the Mishna was written. I have cited them because they show a clear contrast between רצופים and רווחים. These are clearly two parallel technical terms, one the opposite of the other. Thus, while we have not yet formally laid out a case, the reader can already anticipate the closing arguments: Can the real reading of the celebrated Mishna in Avos actually be רצופים, rather than צפופים?

Before pronouncing judgment, let us return to צפופים. We have already stated that no such word appears either in Tanach or anywhere else in the Mishna. If so, where does it come from?

Rashi, in Yoma 21a, where the Mishna in Avos is quoted, says it comes from the word צף, floating. As he explains, it was so tightly packed that people’s feet would actually come off the ground. Bartenura adds, in following Rashi, that their feet remained suspended in mid-air. However, we might wish to interpret Rashi to mean that their feet would rest on their neighbors’ feet packed in next to them. צף in the sense of both floating or being elevated upon something does appear in rabbinic literature, see Sotah 45a (and arguably in Tanach as well, see Eicha 3:54). However understood though, one gets the sense that Rashi was forced to devise this picturesque understanding of צפופים only because of the absence of any comparable words elsewhere. In Zevachim 15b, for example, the Mishna discusses the law of one Kohen standing on the foot of another (and whether it constitutes an interposition) and neither there nor in the ensuing Gemara is there any reference to צף. Further, if this was the true source of the word, shouldn’t the phrase, in fact, simply be צף, as in Sotah 44b צף על פני מים (cited by Bartenura) or צפים, as used in Mikvaos 2:8 אם היו המים צפים על גביו כל שהוא ישבר? This does not explain how we get the unusual word צפופים.

Aruch says it simply means “crowded” (דחוקים) as we translated it above. He brings two other examples in Rabbinic literature of the word צפוף in this sense, which, if not exactly a verse or a Mishna, would still be supportive. Yet neither of these examples are actually extant. The first is from Menachos 85b פעם אחת נצטפצפו אנשי לדקיא לשמן which we are apparently to read as, “it once happened that the people of Laodicea were hard-pressed for oil.” But this would only be a borrowed sense of the term, using “hard-pressed” for “pressed”, and from thence to “crowded”. Further, this too, is not the word צפוף for which we are looking, but only a variation thereof. And more fundamentally, none of our editions today even have such a word, instead reading פעם אחת נצרכו להן אנשי לודקיא לשמן

The Aruch’s other example is from Midrash Yelamdenu, which he quotes in connection with the second set of tablets, ראו האיך עומדין המלאכים צפופין ומרתתין לפני See how the angels are crowded and tremble before me. Yet we do not have the Midrash Yelamdenu, and Midrash Tanchuma – which is sometimes said to be identical with Yelamdenu – also does not have any such phrase.¹ We therefore cannot examine this Midrash closely, because it has been lost to us. Indeed, the use of the word “crowded” in the context of this snippet seems strange and out of place. In fact, simply by reading this solitary citation, one wonders if the word really should be כפופין (“bent in submission”) rather than צפופין. We cannot tell.²

A. Kohut, in Aruch Ha-Shalem, fares no better, simply citing other cases where theעומדים צפופים phrase is cited. He also cites possibilities where words similar to צפוף might theoretically be interpreted to mean דחוקים. However, all these examples are rather דוחק. For example, he cites Rosh Hashana 16b, where Jews in the middle category of merits and demerits are described descending to hell. Afterwards, they are מצפצפין ועולין. Rashi explains “they cry out”, and the Aruch says it means “they float out”, but Kohut conjectures it to mean “they are pushed out”, thus a kind of doubtful proof to the usage of צפוף in the sense of “crowded”. A few other similarly doubtful possibilities are put forward, none of which actually use the word צפוף in this form. (Interestingly, Kohut precedes these examples with the curious word אתפלפל – by which, I interpret it to mean, he intended to engage in pilpul for etymologists.)

The case is far different when we come to רצופין. The meaning of the word is “connected” or “contiguous”, and appears in the Bible on multiple occasions in the context of the flooring in the Temple (or in Esther 1:6, the King’s court). These floors – the source of the common word רצפה – were made out of hundreds of connected stones or tiles, from whence the word is easily applied to a large grouping of anything close together, be it people, graves, trees, or anything else.

Three different examples of the word רצופים used specifically in contrast with the word רווחים were cited above from the Yerushalmi. However, when used by itself a crowded field of examples can be shown in the Bavli as well. See Moed Kattan 9a מה יום כולו רצוף אף עשתי עשר כולן רצופין (Rashi – מה יום רצוף שאין בו הפסק אף כולהו י“א יום רצוף דליכא הפסק בינתיים); Bava Basra 37b אכלן רצופין אין לו חזקה (Rashi – כגון שנטועין יותר מי‘ בבית סאה); Negaim 11:9 רבי שמעון אומר, השתי אם היה רצוף, מיטמא. (Rash – שהחוטים רצופים זה אצל זה כעין רצפה שסמוכים זה אצל זה) The word is also found in the closely related meaning of “consecutive”, as in the requirement for adverse possession of land to be שלוש שנים רצופות three consecutive years, see Bava Basra 29b and Gittin 82a. Many more examples are cited both in the Aruch itself and by Kohut.

Thus, we arrive at the conclusion. In answer to the question posed above, there is good reason to suspect the original phrase was actually עומדים רצופים ומשתחווים רווחים. These two technical terms were often used in parallel contrast with each other in Eretz Yisrael. (That the two words together appear only in the relatively little-known Yerushalmi may, in part, be a reason why this point appears to have escaped notice thus far.) The word רצוף in the sense of crowded or contiguous is well documented throughout chazal, in both the Mishna and the Gemara, and even has a Biblical pedigree. The word צפוף, on the other hand, does not appear anywhere else that we can verify, is not found in Tanach or the Mishna, and can only be explained via questionable or creative etymology. The two words sound very similar and use essentially the same letters, and by a simple metathesis צפוף could easily and early on have arisen from רצוף.

Whether the jury is convinced or not, I am very far from “campaigning” to change a well-known word that Rashi and the Aruch were comfortable using. There is certainly no absolute proof that the reading I suggest is correct, and no manuscript evidence I am aware of to suggest there ever was a different reading. As I have had occasion to write in this space before, there is a perennial balancing act between the freedom of inquiry afforded by the principle of מקום הניחו לנו להתגדר, and actually suggesting change to established rule and precedent. Our thoughts must thus remain within the realm of conjecture. Only this, and nothing more.

* Mr. Farkas is a practicing labor attorney in Cleveland, Ohio, and received his rabbinic ordination from Ner Israel Rabbinical College in 1999. He can be reached at davidsfarkas at gmail.com

The Enigma of Abraham Rosenberg, R. Yitzchak Scheiner, Mordecai Kaplan, and Prof. Marvin Fox

Marc B. Shapiro

Abraham Rosenberg made his first appearance during the dispute over Solomon Friedlaender’s forged Yerushalmi Kodashim. He portrayed himself as a student of Friedlaender. Here is the title page of his booklet Aneh Khesil in which he defends Friedlaender from the attacks of his critics.

 

Rosenberg also wrote some other things in defense of Friedlaender, including an article in the Frankfurt Orthodox paper Der Israelit and letters to various figures who were involved in the dispute over the Yerushalmi Kodashim.

Who was Rosenberg? Discussion of this will be found in R. Baruch Oberlander’s forthcoming book on the forged Yerushalmi Kodashim, a work which is sure to be a tour de force of scholarship. (The Hungarian version of the book has already appeared.) Based on what R. Oberlander documents, I don’t think there can be any doubt that Rosenberg was not a real person but was a creation of Friedlaender. Even the city that Rosenberg claimed to be rabbi of does not exist. In the meantime, for those who want to learn about this fascinating story, I recommend this video from R. Oberlander.

The story becomes even stranger, as beginning some fifteen years after Rosenberg’s first appearance in the Yerushalmi Kodashim controversy, a few articles written by an otherwise unknown “A. Rosenberg” appeared in 1923 and 1924. Friedlaender died in January 1924, so in theory it is possible to argue that he is the author of these articles that appeared in the Hebrew section of the German Orthodox journal Jeschurun.[1] Yet it is much more likely that the articles were written by someone else who took the pseudonym. Two of the articles in Jeschurun focus on the Jerusalem Talmud. The other article deals with how biblical verses are cited with variations in the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds, and Rosenberg argues against the notion that these quotations are evidence of biblical readings at variance with what is found in the so-called Masoretic text. In addition to these articles, Oberlander also refers to A. Rosenberg’s Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, which was published in Lodz, 1928 (so at least it says on the book’s title page). This is four years after Friedlaender’s death, so he could not have been the author.

 

 

If you look at Rosenberg’s book, you can’t help but be impressed that the author knows the Jerusalem Talmud and rishonim, and he is also on top of modern scholarship. At first glance, it seems that were very few people in the world at that time who were able to write such a work, which has led to speculation about who the author could be. Oberlander, in his forthcoming book, writes as follows:

מהרב פרופ’ ש”ז הבלין שמעתי את ההשערה ש”א. רוזנברג” מירושלים אינו אלא פרופ’ שאול ליברמן (1898-1983), שידוע כמי שאהב מעשה קונדס כאלו (ראה גם י”ש שפיגל: ’עמודים בתולדות הספר העברי – בשערי הדפוס ‘עמ’ 46 הערה 151, 48 הערה 161). אמנם פרופ’ מלך (מרק) שפירא במכתבו אלי דוחה השערה זו, שהרי עד שנת 1928, כשהתחיל ללמוד באוניברסיטה העברית בירושלים, לא היה לו לליברמן שום ידע מדעי ולא השתמש בשיטות מדעיות בלימודים שלו. ראה Elijah J. Schochet and Solomon Spiro, Saul Lieberman – The Man and His Work, New York, 2005, p. 7-8

Oberlander cites Prof. Shlomo Zalman Havlin who speculates that A. Rosenberg is none other than Saul Lieberman. Indeed, a cursory examination of Rosenberg’s book shows great similarity with Lieberman’s works on the Yerushalmi and Tosefta. Yet when R. Oberlander asked me about this, I told him that Lieberman could not have written Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi. On p. 106 we see that the book, which shows great awareness of modern scholarship, was completed erev Yom Kippur 1926. Rosenberg’s articles in Jeschurun from a few years before also show an awareness of modern scholarship. Yet until Lieberman began studying at the Hebrew University in 1928, he had not been introduced to academic scholarship on the Talmud,[2] and he certainly was not writing anything about this in the early 1920s.

If Lieberman is the author of Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi we must assume that there are three A. Rosenbergs. 1. Friedlaender, 2. the author of the Jeschurun articles, 3. Lieberman. Even if Lieberman has nothing to do with the book, it is still possible that the author of Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi took the name “A. Rosenberg” in imitation of the earlier author in Jeschurun, but they are not the same person.

I asked Havlin what led him to conclude that Lieberman is the author. He replied by noting that we cannot learn anything from the name “A. Rosenberg”, and he added that even the year and place of publication (Lodz) are not certain. In other words, it is possible that the book actually appeared after 1928 and was published in Palestine.

Havlin noted a few other considerations that led him to his conclusion: The book appeared at the same general time as Lieberman’s Al ha-Yerushalmi (Jerusalem, 1929), the improbability of attributing such a work to anyone else during this period, Lieberman’s relationship with J.N. Epstein (see below), and that Lieberman had a mischievous streak that could have led him to publish the book anonymously. Havlin also noted that he heard the following from Prof. Yaakov Sussman. Sussman asked Lieberman about Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, and Lieberman responded: “Sheigetz, how did you come to this book?” By refusing to discuss the book with Sussman, or even to comment about who authored it, it is obvious that Lieberman was hiding something. Furthermore, I would add, isn’t it strange that Lieberman never refers to this book in any of his writings on the Yerushalmi? Here is a book with the exact sort of research that Lieberman was doing and yet he doesn’t mention it. דבר זה אומר דרשני.

Havlin also noted the following: On p. 19 n. 31 the author refers to a book of his in manuscript with the title המדע התלמודי וצרכיו. This is actually the title of a 1925 lecture delivered by J.N. Epstein upon assuming his position at the Hebrew University. The lecture was later published in Yediot ha-Makhon le-Madaei ha-Yahadut 2 (1925), pp. 5-22. Clearly the author was having some fun here, and we know that Lieberman had an interesting relationship with Epstein. Another personal comment is found on p. 91 where the author refers to R. Chaim Heller as “my friend”.

Returning to the quote above from R. Oberlander, he cites Yaakov Spiegel who gives two examples of Lieberman being a bit unconventional in some of his writings. In his book Amudim be-Toldot ha-Sefer ha-Ivri: Be-Sha’arei ha-Defus,[3] Spiegel notes that in the preface to the 1970 publication of the first volume of R. David Pardo’s Hasdei David on Taharot, which was edited by Lieberman (as were the next two volumes on Taharot), Lieberman signs his name in the preface as .ש.ל. Spiegel adds:

יש אומרים שחתם את שמו בראשי תיבות ולא בשמו המלא, מפני שרצה שהספר יכנס לבית המדרש, והמבין יבין

Yet this is incorrect, as Lieberman always ended the prefaces to his books with his initials. We see this beginning with his first book, Al ha-Yerushalmi, published in Jerusalem, 1929, long before he ever thought of joining the JTS faculty.

 

So his use of initials has nothing to do with covering up who he was, and on the very first page of the preface to Hasdei David he refers to what he wrote in Tosefta ki-Feshutah. However, it is noteworthy that Lieberman’s name does not appear on the title page of the book as you can see here.

This, perhaps, was due to a desire to have the book accepted in yeshivot. It is one thing to have references to Tosefta ki-Feshutah inside the book, and something else entirely to have Lieberman’s name on the title page, which might have prevented yeshivot from purchasing Hasdei David.

Spiegel also notes that Louis Finkelstein is referred to in the preface to Hasdei David as ר’ אליעזר אריה נר”ו בהרב ר’ שמעון הלוי ז”ל, without his last name. Spiegel sees this as a way of hiding Finkelstein’s identity, just as Lieberman did with the others mentioned in the preface. One of the people Lieberman refers to is הרב ר’ יהושע נר”ו בהרב ר’ יהודה ליב who discovered the manuscript of R. Pardo. (This is R. Yehoshua Hutner.) Lieberman also mentions two other people, one who transcribed the manuscript and another who proofread the book. It is possible that one or more of these individuals did not want to be mentioned by name as helping Lieberman, and this explains why Lieberman abridged all the names, including Finkelstein’s. But I repeat, Lieberman’s name in the preface is not in code, as .ש.ל is how he always signed the end of the prefaces of his books.

Spiegel[4] also notes that in Sinai 85 (1979), p. 199, the following short piece is signed בלי שם.

It is known, Spiegel tells us, that this was written by Lieberman. He also mentions that there is a hint to Lieberman’s authorship in that all the letters in בלי שם are found in Saul Lieberman’s name. This is indeed significant, as it shows us that for whatever reason, Lieberman was not averse to writing anonymously. In fact, in 1932 Lieberman used the pseudonym .ל.ל when he published a note in Tarbiz.[5] In 1936 he again published a note with this pseudonym.[6]

When I first examined Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, I too thought that Lieberman must have written it, for the reasons already mentioned. What stood out most to me, as I have mentioned already, is that Lieberman in his many writings, including those that focus on the Jerusalem Talmud, never referred to the book even though it does the same thing what he was doing in Ha-Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto. I assumed that had anyone other than Lieberman written the book he certainly would have mentioned it, at least in the introduction to Ha-Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto, even if only to express his disagreement about certain matters. Obviously, Lieberman had a reason for not referring to this book, and I assumed it was because he did not want to associate his later scholarship with it.

Yet when I looked carefully at Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi and compared it to other writings of Lieberman on the very same sugyot, I was not able to find any parallels. This is so even though the book is written in the same style as Lieberman’s writings. Just when you would have expected some repetition from Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi in Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto and Tosefta ki-Feshutah, you find nothing.

I also noticed that there is a good deal of fraudulence in Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, and it is impossible to imagine that Lieberman, in his alter ego “Rosenberg,” would have been a part of this. For example, on p. 5 in the note he cites Solomon Buber from Ha-Levanon, Sep. 18, 1872, as stating that there is a Yerushalmi Kodashim in the Vatican. Yet if you look at Buber’s article you find that he says the exact opposite, that there is no such manuscript there. Buber further states that he doesn’t believe that there ever was a Yerushalmi Kodashim. What is the point of “Rosenberg” providing such misinformation other than to play games with the readers? On p. 30 n. 37, “Rosenberg” actually states that he thinks that portions of the Yerushalmi Kodashim published by Friedlaender are authentic. This makes no sense, as there was no manuscript to which Friedlaender could have added his own material.[7] All academic scholars in the 1920s knew this, so what kind of fraudulence is “Rosenberg” peddling here? Interestingly, on pages 3 and 8 “Rosenberg” also refers to the earlier work by the other Rosenberg (i.e., Friedlaender), the booklet Aneh Khesil. This must be seen as an inside joke, especially since the page number given is 36 but the booklet doesn’t have this many pages.

Only after I had gone through Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi did I learn that the entire book is a series of plagiarisms from earlier authors, as has been noted by Elyashiv Cherlow[8] and an anonymous commenter here. Cherlow also points out that “Rosenberg” quotes a Geniza text that he invented from thin air. I too found an example of the author’s plagiarism that is not noted by Cherlow or the anonymous commenter: The lengthy passage, with numerous sources, found on pp. 71-72 n. 57, is lifted word for word from Avigdor Aptowitzer’s article in Ha-Tzofeh le-Hokhmat Yisrael 1 (1911), pp. 87-88.

There are some other strange things in Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi. For example, what is one to make of the dedication to the Jewish communal leader Louis Marshall?

Since this post has dealt with Lieberman, even if only to reject the notion that he is the author of Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, let me add a couple of more points about him. From 1918-1962 there was an Orthodox publication called the Jewish Forum.[9] In the January 1961 issue there appeared an article by “Dayyan al-Yahud” sharply criticizing Conservative Judaism. In this article the author also took aim at Lieberman, referring to him as a “careerist”. He writes:

We ask, in all sincerity, where is the steadfastness of principle and consistent loyalty to Torah-Tradition on the part of the same Professor? This “guiding spirit” of the new kethubah, who only a few years ago, when the Agudath Harabbanim of the United States and Canada had declared Dr. Mordecai M. Kaplan under “herem” (anathema), himself recognized the “herem” as binding upon all Traditional Jews and refused to be in Kaplan’s company, as evidenced, in our presence, by his demonstrably stepping out of the Seminary elevator at the very entrance to the main building of the Seminary, no sooner than Dr. Kaplan had stepped in.

Such incongruous and compromising practices on the part of the Seminary’s present “scion” of Halakhah must of necessity lead to lack of reverence for time-honored traditions by its student body and graduates. No wonder that the latter, with few exceptions, are now groping in darkness and exhibit vacillation and uncertainty in their respective ministries.

Quite apart from the criticism of Lieberman, the passage is significant because the author testifies to having personally seen that Lieberman had previously observed the herem against Kaplan and refused to be in his presence.[10]

Who is Dayyan al Yahud? If you google the name, you will find that he also wrote articles critical of Kaplan and Heschel, yet none of the American authors who refer to Dayyan al Yahud identify who he is. He also wrote a number of articles under this pseudonym in Or ha-Mizrah. Yet his identity was never really a secret and is none other than the noted scholar Israel Elfenbein (1891-1964). The author of many works, Elfenbein is most known for his scholarly edition of Teshuvot Rashi (New York, 1943), which incidentally also includes notes from Louis Ginzberg. Elfenbein became a significant figure in American Orthodoxy, serving as editor of Or ha-Mizrah and education director of Religious Zionists of America. He was also honored with a Jubilee Volume (Jerusalem, 1963), which in addition to articles from various academic scholars, also has contributions from R. Eliezer Silver, R. Yehudah Gershuni, R. Nissan Telushkin, R. Leo Jung, and R. Menahem M. Kasher. Elfenbein also engaged in polemics against Conservative leaders. Yet one would not have expected his prominence in Orthodoxy, as in his early years Elfenbein received semikhah from the Jewish Theological Seminary and served as rabbi of the Conservative congregation Adath Israel in Nashville from 1915-1916.[11] 

In truth, Elfenbein’s identification with Orthodoxy was a return to his youth, as before he came to America he had studied in Pressburg and had received semikhah from R. Shalom Mordechai Schwadron. That at least is the story told by his relative, Y. N. Adler,[[12] but being that Elfenbein came to America when he was fifteen years old, is it really possible that he received semikhah at such a young age?[13] Upon arriving in New York in 1906 he entered Yeshivas Rabbeinu Yitzchok Elchonon (where his classmate was Bernard Revel, who himself had received semikhah at age 16).[14] With such a background in traditional Torah learning, how did Elfenbein end up at JTS?

Adler tells a fascinating story, different versions of which we know from other sources as well, although as far as I can tell, only the Rabinowitz article (see note 15) mention Elfenbein’s name. During Elfenbein’s time at RIETS—from other sources we know that the year was 1908—he and some friends wanted to study at a university (Yeshiva College did not yet exist). They therefore took the regents exam which allowed them to apply to institutes of higher learning. According to Adler, among the students who were part of this group, and who later became quite distinguished, were Rabbi Baruch Shapiro, who later served as rav in Seattle, Rabbi Louis Epstein, Rabbi Yehiel Kaplan, Dr. Israel Efros, Rabbi Solomon Goldman of Chicago, and Dr. Abraham Neuman.

This action, Adler tells us, greatly upset the rabbinic leadership of RIETS. In response to this, Elfenbein and his friends stopped learning at RIETS and set up a beit midrash, which they called Beit ha-Midrash ha-Elyon, in the Adass Bnei Yisrael synagogue of R. Solomon Elhanan Jaffe. (Other sources record the name as “Yeshivah le-Rabbanim”.) This beit midrash did not last long, and most of the students, including Elfenbein, transferred to JTS.[15]

Returning to Lieberman, there is another interesting comment in R. Dov Cohen’s Va-Yelkhu Shneiheim Yahdav, p. 168. He mentions how in Jerusalem Lieberman was treated with great respect at the Chevron Yeshiva, even after he had gone to the university. As for his going to JTS, Cohen recalls a biting hasidic comment about mitnagdim, that for Torah study a Litvak would even enter a church!

האיש היוה דוגמא למה שהיו החסידים טוענים על המתנגדים, כי התורה בליטא התקדשה עד כדי כך שעבורה היה מוכן הליטאי להכנס לכנסיה. . . [הנקודות במקור] אחר שהתגורר כמה שנים בירושלים, נמלך בדעתו כי מוטב שילמד באין מפריע. מאחר שהציעו לו משרה חשובה בסמינר קונסרבטיבי באמריקה, נסע שם וקיבלה. הוא לא שיתף עמם פעולה בסיוע לדרכיהם הנלוזות, חלילה. גם שם היה יושב בחדרו ועוסק בגמרא וכן בחיבור ספריו על התוספתא. זכורני שבכינוס של אגודת הרבנים באמריקה, בו השתתפתי, התייחסו אליו כאל “אחד משלנו” שיכול לעזור ולסייע, אף שהוא “אצלם”. גם הרב אברמסקי, התקיף והלוחם, קיבלו בכבוד גדול. שמעתי גם כן, שהוא החזיק מכספו כמה וכמה בני תורה בירושלים.

Regarding Lieberman, I have one final point to make. In Saul Lieberman and the Orthodox, p. 7, I mentioned a November 1930 letter from Lieberman to Louis Ginzberg in which Lieberman writes that he began working on a great project on the Jerusalem Talmud, but had to stop because one cannot work on Berakhot without knowing all of the Yerushalmi. Only when he finished the entire Jerusalem Talmud did he pick up the project again. I added that the project Lieberman refers to must be Ha-Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto, which appeared in 1935.

Here is the relevant section of Lieberman’s letter:

 התחלתי ג”כ בעבודה גדולה על שדה הירושלמי אבל הוכרחתי לעזוב אותה מפני שאי איפשר [!] לעבוד ב”ברכות” כל זמן שאינם יודעים [!] את כל הירושלמי עד “נדה” ורק בקיץ זה אחרי גמר הירושלמי שבתי עוד הפעם לברכות

The problem with my assumption that Lieberman’s project was Ha-Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto is that this book includes his commentary on Shabbat, Eruvin, and Pesahim, and in his letter he speaks of returning to Berakhot. Yet I didn’t know of anything else that could fit the description of a great project on the Yerushalmi during this time period. 

Dan Rabinowitz has, I think, provided the answer. He called my attention to Tovia Preschel’s article in Ma’amrei Tuviah, vol. 2, pp. 155-156. Preschel recounts that not long after Lieberman settled in Jerusalem in 1928, he was asked by R. Michel Rabinowitz to assist him in translating the Yerushalmi into Hebrew. Lieberman replied that he had never studied the Yerushalmi and he can’t translate a work that he doesn’t know. He asked for time to immerse himself in it, and for the next year and a half he completed the Yerushalmi a few times. In the end, the Hebrew translation did not appear, but I have to agree with Dan that it is this project that Lieberman is referring to in his letter to Ginzberg, not Ha-Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto.

2. Since I mentioned RIETS earlier in this post, let me add the following. In 2022 the ArtScroll biography of R. Yitzchok Scheiner appeared, authored by Nachman Seltzer.[16] This book tells how R. Scheiner was living in Pittsburgh and was intending to attend a local university. However, a fundraiser for RIETS (i.e., Yeshiva College) was in Pittsburgh and convinced R. Scheiner’s parents to send him there. Seltzer, p. 30, includes all of one paragraph dealing with R. Scheiner’s time at Yeshiva College. I quote it here, followed by the two subsequent paragraphs.

The winter that Yitzchok Scheiner enrolled at Yeshivas Rabbeinu Yitzchok Elchonon was cold, dark, and dreary. Though he had been raised in Pittsburgh and was no stranger to the grayness and never-ending winter months, the young man came down with the kind of cold that turned into something more serious and that he couldn’t seem to shake.

The illness that plagued him for so many months would turn out to be a blessing in disguise, because it forced him to find a place to convalesce.

In those early years, Jewish camps suitable for yeshivah bachurim were few and far between, which is why, come summertime, Yitzchok Scheiner found himself on a bus headed up to the mountains, to the one and only Camp Mesivta, founded by the legendary R. Shraga Feivel Mendlowitz. It was a summer that would change his life.

Seltzer continues by describing how at camp R. Scheiner was influenced to enroll in Torah Vodaath at the end of the summer. Interestingly, the book never refers to Yeshiva College, only Yeshivas Rabbeinu Yitzchok Elchonon, but R. Scheiner was enrolled in the college, in addition to studying in the yeshiva.

According to Seltzer, R. Scheiner was only at Yeshiva College for less than one academic year, for he tells us that he enrolled in the winter. As far as I know, this is incorrect, and he was at Yeshiva College the entire academic year 1939-1940. In fact, he was on the chess team and was even chosen as the captain.

This page from the Yeshiva College yearbook, Masmid 1940, can be seen here.

What complicates matters is that R. Scheiner himself said that he was at Yeshiva College for two years (and this was after a semester at the University of Pittsburgh, a point which is not mentioned by Seltzer).[17] According to the records of the University of Pittsburgh, Office of the University Registrar, Isadore Leon Scheiner attended the University of Pittsburgh for a semester in 1938-1939, during which time he took seven classes (I presume that the semester ended in January.) Even if R. Scheiner entered Yeshiva College for the spring 1939 semester, his time there would have been three semesters, not two years, so presumably when he said “two years” he was not being exact. By fall 1940 R. Scheiner – who was on track to graduate in 1942 – had left Yeshiva College. We know this because the Sep. 18, 1940 issue of the Yeshiva College Commentator mentions that he is no longer there.[18]

In discussing his time at Yeshiva College, R. Scheiner states: “When I got there, I discovered that the other students did not take Torah learning as seriously as I wanted to or as seriously as some of the rabbeim wanted them to, so I left.”[19]

Interestingly, in an interview that appeared on Matzav.com here, R. Scheiner does not mention that he attended Yeshiva College, or perhaps this was censored by Matzav.com:

Where did the Rosh Yeshiva learn in his youth?

HaRav Scheiner: I learned in the United States, in Yeshivas Torah Vodaas, from Rav Reuven Grozovsky zt’l, Rav Boruch Ber’s son-in-law and from Rav Shlomo Heiman zt’l. There was a group of students who would go to Lakewood to hear Rav Aharon Kotler’s shiurim and I sometimes joined them. Some of them stayed on afterwards to learn there permanently, among them HaRav Elya Svei. The Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Reuven Grozovsky, made my shidduch.

R. Scheiner would later teach at the Etz Chaim Yeshiva in Montreux, Switzerland, where he developed a close relationship with R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg who lived in the town. For R. Scheiner, it was a great privilege to be in such close proximity to one of the gedolei Yisrael, and they spent much time together “talking in learning.” When R. Scheiner moved to Jerusalem, they continued their relationship by mail, with many Torah letters going from one to the other.

Here is a never-before publicized picture of R. Weinberg, together with R. Scheiner. The man in the middle who is speaking is R. Meir Just of Amsterdam. I thank Israel Bollag for sending it to me. (In a future post I will include more unknown pictures of R. Weinberg, including some in color.)

Unfortunately, the only mention of R. Weinberg in Seltzer’s book is in the following paragraph (p. 81).

There were other great Torah scholars teaching at the yeshivah in Montreux alongside Rav Yitzchok. One of them was R’ Betzalal Rakow, who would later be appointed rav of Gatesehad, England. R’ Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, also known as the Seridei Eish, also spent time in the yeshivah.

R. Weinberg never officially taught at the yeshiva, although he would sometimes give the opening shiur of the semester. I assume this is what Seltzer means by “spent time in the yeshivah.” The real problem with the paragraph is that it makes it seem as if these three figures were colleagues, and at the same level. The truth is that both R. Scheiner and R. Rakow regarded R. Weinberg as a rebbe of sorts, which is understandable, especially as he was decades older than them.

3. In my last post here, I linked to a lecture from Professor Isadore Twersky that I found at the University of Scranton. Dr. Marc Herman called my attention to another video here in which Prof. Twersky appears. Unlike the video I posted, in this video you can hear Prof. Twersky very clearly. I was at Harvard when this presentation took place, yet I had no idea that Twersky was ever on this panel.[20] I think people will find it interesting that the moderator is none other than Alvin Bragg, the current Manhattan District Attorney. Prof. Harvey Mansfield also appears and is provocative as always (this time saying that grade inflation came about because of Affirmative Action).

4. Earlier in the post I mentioned Mordecai Kaplan, so here is a good place to add another point about him. Kaplan’s father, R. Israel, was close to R. Isaac Jacob Reines. (Mordecai Kaplan was actually born in Svencionys, where R. Reines had served as rav.) This explains why Kaplan, who had already been ordained by the Jewish Theological Seminary, turned to R. Reines when he wished to acquire a semikhah from a well-known rabbi. Everyone who writes on this matter refers to Kaplan traveling to Europe on his honeymoon after his June 2, 1908 wedding, at which time he also received semikhah from R. Reines who was then serving as rav in Lida.[21] People have generally assumed that he traveled to Lida to receive the semikhah.

In 1994 Jacob J. Schacter published a picture of R. Reines’ semikhah, dated 28 Elul, 5668 (Sep. 24, 1908). From this document we see that Kaplan actually met R. Reines in Frankfurt, and that is where they “spoke” in learning, following which R. Reines gave him semikhah. Schacter writes: “While traveling through Frankfurt he met his father’s old friend, Rabbi Yizhak Reines, spent some time with him, and received rabbinic ordination from him.”[22] This is based on Kaplan’s own recollection where he writes: “I had the opportunity to meet the late Rav Yitzhak Reines in Frankfort-on-the-Main and to obtain the requisite Hatarat Hora’ah from him.”[23]

Did Kaplan just happen to be passing through Frankfurt while on his honeymoon? The answer is no, and I’m happy to share something that is completely unknown: Kaplan was actually in attendance, together with R. Reines, at the 1908 Frankfurt Mizrachi conference. Here is the report of the conference in the Sep. 4, 1908 issue of the Cracow newspaper Ha-Mitzpeh. Kaplan is mentioned in the first paragraph.

5. In Hakirah 32 (2022), I published a number of letters from R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik. One of them was sent to Professor Marvin Fox who had asked the Rav about the synagogue he attended, Agudas Achim of Columbus, Ohio. The synagogue had recently built a new building and instituted mixed seating.[25] Fox also turned to R. Mordechai Gifter. Here is R. Gifter’s letter to Fox.

Here is a draft of a Hebrew letter from Fox to the Rav.

It is not known if Fox ever sent the Hebrew letter, or if he sent an English one. I would presume the latter, as the Rav’s reply, that appears in Hakirah, is in English. 

Fox’s archive also contains the following English letter. In the Rav’s June 1955 letter in Hakirah, he is responding to Fox’s 1955 question about praying in a synagogue without a mechitzah (i.e., Agudas Achim). The letter below is from a later period and asks about praying in the synagogue’s beit midrash, in which no women are present. (As Fox’s son Avi informed me, Fox was at Harvard during much of 1956; this letter to the Rav is from when he returned to Columbus after his time in Boston.)  Fox’s archive does not contain a reply to this letter.

Here is the letter that Fox sent to Rabbi Samuel Rubenstein, the rabbi of Agudas Achim.

 

Fox’s reference in the Hebrew letter concerning the synagogue of R. Leopold Greenwald—of Kol Bo al Avelut fame—as not having a regular mehitzah is of interest. R. Greenwald was a strong opponent of anything smacking of reform. He himself spoke strongly against mixed seating in the synagogue and would never enter a synagogue with such an arrangement. Yet his own synagogue, Beth Jacob, against his wishes also decided to remove the mehitzah. Since it still kept separate seating, R. Greenwald felt that he could remain as rabbi even though he was not happy with the situation.[25]

While Beth Jacob remained in the Orthodox fold, and would later reinstall a regular mehitzah, in 2004 Agudas Achim decided to affiliate with the Conservative movement.

All the letters published above are found in the Marvin Fox Papers, Box 11 and Box 29, Brandeis University, and appear here courtesy of the Robert D. Farber University Archives and Special Collections Department, Brandeis University.

Since in this post I mention both R. Bernard Revel and R. Mordechai Gifter, let me add one more point regarding them. In 2011 Milei de-Igrot, vol. 2, appeared. This contains the letters between R. Gifter and his rebbe at RIETS, R. Moshe Aharon Poleyeff.

In addition to all the Torah the volume contains, it also offers us insights regarding both of these rabbis’ personalities and the history of Orthodoxy in the U.S. and Lithuania. Here is p. 168.

 

 

 

In addition to describing the incredible effect that Telz had upon him, R. Gifter also levels strong criticism against the אדמון running Yeshiva College who is destroying young people by exposing them to heresy. This refers to R. Revel who had a red beard. In fact, R. Aharon Rakeffet informed me that the opponents of R. Revel used to refer to him in a disgusting way as the “reiter hunt”.

6. In my last post I had the following quiz questions:

1. Which Hebrew book was the first one to use footnotes (and the footnotes even used Arabic numerals)?

2. Point to a halakhah on Pesach that the Shulhan Arukh decides in accord with the Rosh, while the Rama records the practice in accord with the Rif and the Rambam.

The answer to no. 1 is R. Noah Hayyim Zvi Hirsch Berlin, Ma’yan ha-Hokhmah (Rodelheim, 1804).[26] No one answered this question.

The answer to no. 2, which a few people answered correctly, is found in Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 474. Here R. Joseph Karo rules like R. Asher ben Jehiel, cited in Arba’ah Turim, Orah Hayyim 474, that there is no blessing on the second and fourth cups of wine at the Passover seder. R. Moses Isserles rules like the Rif, Pesahim 24a in the Alfasi pages, and the Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Hametz u-Matzah 8:5, 10, that one recites the blessing on all four cups.

*********

[1] “Pesukei Mikra she-be-Talmud,” Jeschurun 4 (1923), pp. 43-47, available here,“Le-Heker ha-Talmud ha-Yerushalmi,” ibid., pp. 109-112, available here, ibid., 5 (1924), pp. 18-20, available here.

[2] See Elijah J. Schochet and Solomon Spiro, Saul Lieberman: The Man and His Work (New York, 2005), p. 8.

[3] (Jerusalem, 2014), p. 46 n. 151.

[4] Amudim be-Toldot ha-Sefer ha-Ivri: Be-Sha’arei ha-Defus, p. 48, n. 161.

[5] “Od ‘le-Tikunei Girsaot be-Sifrei,’” Tarbiz 3 (1932), p. 466.

[6] See B. M. Lewin, ed., Alumah (1936), p. 156. This source and the prior one are listed in Tovia Preschel’s bibliography of Lieberman’s writings here. While this is a very complete bibliography, it omits one source that is completely unknown, and which fans of Lieberman will certainly want to examine. Here is a short article by Lieberman that appeared in Otzar ha-Hayyim 10 (1934), pp. 83-84.

[7] In the article in Jeschurun, “Le-Heker ha-Talmud ha-Yerushalmi,” p. 110, “A. Rosenberg”  states that the Jerusalem Talmud to Kodashim is lost, and he does not mention Friedlaender. Regarding the Yerushalmi Kodashim, I recently found that R. Mordechai Vorhand, Be’er Mordechai, p. 152, states that he is not going to take a stand regarding its authenticity. This is quite strange as Be’er Mordechai appeared in 1927 and the forgery had already been established for a number of years. Even stranger is that R. Menahem Mendel Kirschbaum, Menahem Meshiv, vol. 2, p. 8, also cites the Yerushalmi Kodashim. His responsum is from 1933 and Menahem Meshiv, vol. 2, was published in 1938. How could anyone at this late date still cite the Yerushalmi Kodashim? Interestingly enough, R. Kirschbaum disputes “the commentator’s” (i.e., Friedlander’s) understanding of the passage he is dealing with. Of course, “the commentator” is none other than the author (forger) of this passage, who presumably knows what he himself intended. This point is made by R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin, Soferim u-Sefarim, vol. 1, p. 307. In Menahem Meshiv, vol. 1, p. 163 (published in 1936), R. Kirschbaum shows that he is aware of the forgery, so he must have assumed that despite the forgery, some of the Yerushalmi Kodashim published by Friedlander is authentic. This explains how in Menahem Meshiv, vol. 1, pp. 70, 234, he cites Yerushalmi Bekhorot as authentic. R. Yeruham Fishel Perla states that portions of the Yerushalmi Kodashim are indeed authentic, while Friedlander forged the rest. See his edition of R. Eshtori ha-Parhi, Kaftor va-Ferah, p. 145b.

[8] “Toldot ha-Nusah shel ha-Talmud ha-Yerushalmi: Iyunim be-Kit’ei ha-Genizah,” Tarbiz 87 (2020), p. 610 n. 70.

[9] See Ira Robinson and Maxine Jacobson, “When Orthodoxy was not as Chic as it is Today”: The Jewish Forum and American Modern Orthodoxy,” Modern Judaism 31 (Oct. 2011), pp. 285-313.

[10] Regarding Lieberman and the herem against Kaplan, see my Saul Lieberman and the Orthodox, pp. 19-20. See my post here for the text of the herem against Kaplan. Here is a tidbit that is not generally known: As late as 1945, when Kaplan’s theological views were public knowledge, he was still a member of the Rabbinical Assembly’s Committee on Jewish Law. See David Golinkin, ed., Proceedings of the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards of the Conservative Movement 1927-1970 (Jerusalem, 1997), vol. 1, p. 155.

 

[11] See here, here, and here.

[12] See Adler’s article in the Elfenbein Jubilee Volume, pp. 9-14. Adler twice says that Elfenbein studied nine years at RIETS, but this is an obvious mistake, and is contradicted by the dates in Adler’s own article.

[13] For an earlier post in which I deal with young rabbis, see here. R. Ovadya Hoffman called my attention to another young rabbi (I also mention Hoffman in the post just linked as he noted an additional young rabbi): It is reported R. Yitzhak Isaac Katz (1753-1787) was thirteen years old at his marriage and was also appointed rabbi of Koretz at this time. His Wikipedia entry is here. The information about him becoming rav at age thirteen in found here in the biographical introduction to his Zikhron Kehunah (Lvov, 1863). I don’t know of any other examples of a thirteen-year-old who served as the official rav of a community. In the Encyclopaedia Judaica entry on R. Meshullam Roth (called “Rath” in the EJ), written by R. Mordechai Hacohen, it states that he was ordained at the age of 12 by R. Isaac Shmelkes and R. Jacob Teomim. This detail is not found in any of the sources listed in the bibliography so it is hard to know where R. Hacohen came to this information. One of the descendants of R. Roth told me that he never heard that R. Meshullam received semikhah at age 12.

[14] Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff, Bernard Revel: Builder of American Jewish Orthodoxy (Jerusalem/New York, 1981), p. 30.

[15] For more on student restlessness at RIETS and the 1908 student strike, see Gilbert Klaperman, The Story of Yeshiva University (London, 1969), chs. 5-7 (on pp. 115ff. he discusses the Elfenbein group); Hayyim Reuven Rabinowitz, “60 Shanah li-Shevitot bi-Yeshivat R. Yitzhak Elhanan,” Ha-Doar, June 14, 1968, pp. 552-554. See also Eli Genauer’s Seforim Blog post here which includes R. Baruch Shapiro’s recollections of the 1908 student strike.

[16] Nachman Seltzer, Rav Yitzchok Scheiner: The Life and Leadership of the Kamenitzer Rosh Yeshivah (Brooklyn, 2022).

[17] See the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, May 1, 1998, p. A-14; Samuel Heilman, Defenders of the Faith (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1992), p. 262. Chapter 17 in Heilman’s book is an interview with R. Scheiner, and as Heilman informed me, R. Scheiner told him that was at Yeshiva College for two years. He must have also provided this information to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. See also here.

[18] This page from the Commentator was posted by Dovi Safier here.

[19] Heilman, Defenders of the Faith, p. 262. I have corrected Heilman’s spelling of “rabbaim” to “rabbeim”.

[20] Regarding Twersky, I found it interesting that in a recent article Levi Cooper refers to him as a “noted academic and hasidic master.” See Cooper, “Jewish Law in the Beit Midrash of Hasidism,” Dine Israel 34 (2020), p. 63.

[21] See e.g., Mel Scult, Judaism Faces the Twentieth Century: A Biography of Mordecai Kaplan (Detroit, 1993), pp. 26, 96.

[22] Jacob J. Schacter, “Mordecai M. Kaplan’s Orthodox Ordination,” American Jewish Archives 56 (1994), p. 6.

[23] Ibid., p. 7. Schacter , ibid., also writes that R. Reines did not rigorously examine Kaplan, and therefore the semikhah should not be “considered an indication of any advanced talmudic scholarship on Kaplan’s part.” This reminded me of something interesting regarding the name “Mordechai”. According to Tosafot, Menahot 46b, s.v. amar, the name Mordechai was a second name given to those who showed great intellect and knowledge: בקיאים בעלי שכל ומדע. See also Tosafot, Bava Kamma 82b, s.v. ve-al:

דכל אותן שהיו בקיאים ברמזים ובלשונות היו נקראים על שם מרדכי לפי שהוא היה ראש וחכם להכיר

In Italy, people with the Hebrew name Mordechai were often named Angelo in Italian. This is likely because of the rabbinic identification of the biblical Mordechai with the prophet Malachi (and Malachi is akin to מלאך, i.e., “angel”). See Megillah 15a; Moshe David Cassuto, Ha-Yehudim be-Firentzi bi-Tekufat ha-Renesans, trans. Menahem Hartom (Jerusalem, 1967). p. 183.

 

“Ha’Rotzeh Lichanek, Hitaleh B’Ilan Gadol”: Notes on some Literary forgeries of Jewish works in the the Late Modern Period (1756-1965)

By Ezra Brand

Ezra Brand is an independent researcher based in Tel Aviv. He has an MA from Revel Graduate School at Yeshiva University in Medieval Jewish History, where he focused his research on 13th and 14th century sefirotic Kabbalah. He is interested in using digital and computational tools in historical research. He has contributed a number of times previously to the Seforim Blog (tag), and a selection of his research can be found at his Academia.edu profile. He can be reached at ezrabrand-at-gmail.com; any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

Introduction

Jewish literary forgeries are a topic often discussed on the Seforim Blog, especially in the postings of Dr. Marc Shapiro (see the tag “Literary Forgery” for some of the relevant posts).[1] A “literary forgery” refers to a writing which claims to have been written by a certain, usually respected, figure, while in fact written by a later, usually much lesser known, writer.

A recent collection of articles on forgeries states: “There has been a growth in the number of publications dedicated to fakes and forgeries for around thirty years now, many of which have focused on books and literary works.”[2]

The classic source regarding literary forgeries in Jewish writing is that of the Talmud Bavli, Pesachim 112a:

חמשה דברים צוה ר”ע את רבי שמעון בן יוחי כשהיה חבוש בבית האסורין […] אמר לו אם בקשת ליחנק היתלה באילן גדול.

Translation by Koren-Steinzaltz, as appears in Sefaria website (bold in the original translation):

“Rabbi Akiva commanded Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai to do five matters when Rabbi Akiva was imprisoned […] if you wish to strangle yourself, hang yourself on a tall tree.

Koren-Steinzaltz translation adds the explanation:

“This proverb means that if one wants others to accept what he has to say, he should attribute his statement to a great man.”

This interpretation is based on Rashi’s explanation:

“אם בקשת ליחנק – לומר דבר שיהיה נשמע לבריות ויקבלו ממך. היתלה באילן גדול – אמור בשם אדם גדול.”

According to Rashi’s interpretation, this source permits fabricating a quote from an authority in order to be believed.[3] 

Based on this interpretation, the term often used in rabbinic writing for “forging” in someone else’s name is “תלה ב”, literally “hung on X”, meaning “ascribed (falsely) to X”.

The great scholar of Mishpat Ivri, Nahum Rakover, devotes a portion of his book on intellectual property in halacha, to a discussion of the sources that permit fabricating a quote from an authority in order to be believed.[4]

Some recent historians seem to imply that the 19th century saw a relative uptick in Jewish literary forgeries. Golda Akhiezer, in a 2018 article on Jewish historical forgeries in the 19th century, writes:[5]

One of the paradoxes of European cultural life of the nineteenth century, especially in the Russian Empire, was a combination of two parallel yet apparently conflicting processes: the emergence and increasing importance of modern science and the rise of multifarious forgeries of historical documents.”[6]

It should be pointed out that this isn’t truly paradoxical. Anthony Grafton famously noted the deep relationship between critical scholarship and forgeries.[7]

Ira Robinson also implies an uptick in Jewish literary forgeries in the 19th century, and gives a somewhat different theory as to why this time period gave rise to so many forgeries:

By the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries, the highly charged ideological atmosphere, as well as an ever-growing demand for Jewish books, engendered a situation in which there was great temptation to manufacture documents.[8]

However, it is remains speculative whether in fact there were a relatively larger number of Jewish literary forgeries in the 19th century. This question awaits a more quantitative study of the topic.[9]

Table of Notable Forgeries

It’s important to note that this list is not to be comprehensive. Rather, it’s a collection of especially notable forgeries, and some notes on them. I hope to update this list at a later date, and of course happy to hear suggestions.

Title	Editor	Earliest date (terminus post quem)	Previous posts and bibliography
Divrei Gad Ha’Chozeh	Leopold Immanuel Jacob van Dort	1756	10
Mishle Asaf (haskamot)	Isaac Satanov	1783-1791	11
Besamim Rosh	Saul Berlin	1793	12
Ramschak Chronicle	Marcus Fischer	1828	13
Zekher Tzaddikim	Mordecai Sultansky	1841	14
Sefer Avnei Zikaron	Abraham Firkovich	1845-1872	15
The Roads of Jerusalem	Eliakim Carmoly	1847	16
Sefer Ha’Eshkol	R’ Zvi Binyamin Auerbach	1863	17
Baraita de-Ma’aseh Bereshit	Lazarus Goldschmidt	1894	18
The Protocols of the Elders of Zion	series of articles in Russian newspaper	1903
Goral HaAsiriyot (1904); Seder Hagada Le’Maharal (1905); Nifla’ot Maharal (1909); Refa’el HaMalach (1911); Tiferet Maharal MiShpoli (1912); Hoshen Mishpat (1913); Divrei HaYamim Asher LiShelomo HaMelech (1914); and more	R’ Yehudah Yudel Rosenberg	1904-1914	19
Yerushalmi on Kodshim	Solomon Judah Friedlander	1907–1909	20
Genizat Kherson		1922	21
Der Prager Golem (1917); Kovetz Michtavim Mekori’im MiHaBesht VeTalmidav (1923); Heichal LeDivrei Chazal (1948); Sefer Dovev Siftei Yeshenim (1959-1965)	Chaim Bloch	1917-1965	22
Kol Hator	R’ Shlomo Zalman Rivlin	1939	23

Forgers

There are two works whose genre can be described as “halachic”: Saul Berlin’s Besamim Rosh (1793) and R’ Zvi Binyamin Auerbach’s Sefer Ha’Eshkol (1863).

It is quite noticeable that perpetrators of literary forgery of Jewish texts were especially prominent outside of mainstream Orthodox Judaism, and created their forgeries for polemical reasons: Karaites (forgeries of Sultan and Firkovich), Maskilim, and anti-Semites (Protocols of the Elders of Zion).

Forgery of tendentious works relating to history are especially common:[24]

1. Forged tombstone inscriptions and manuscript colophons (Firkovich)
2. Forged chronicles (Sultanski ; Ramschak Chronicle)
3. Forged travelogue (The Roads of Jerusalem of R’ Isaac Hilu)
4. Forged protocols of meetings (Protocols of Elders of Zion)
5. Forged letters (Genizat Kherson ; Bloch’s Kovetz Michtavim and more)[25]
6. Fake stories (Rosenberg ; Bloch)

Bloch and Rosenberg, who create forgeries for popular entertainment purposes, are closer to the end of the date range, and both made prominent forgeries about the golem of the Maharal: Bloch’s The Letter of the Maharal on the Creation of the Golem (1923) and Rosenberg’s Nifla’ot Maharal. For Bloch, the polemical motivation of anti-Zionism played a role in other forgeries.

Isaac Satanow is the most playful, self-aware forger of them all. He even added fake “haskamot” to his Zohar Chibura Tinyana from well-known late 18th-century rabbinic figures (R’ Yosef Teomim and R’ Chaim Halberstam of Sanz), having the haskamot point out the possibility that Satanov himself wrote the works, but giving halachic justification for the permissibility of forgery.[26]

Rakover, in his book Zekhuyot Yotzrim (cited above), was misled by Satanow. In his discussion of permissibility in halacha of false quotation and literary forgery,[27] Rakover quotes the “haskamot” to Satanov’s as showing that forging is halachically permitted. It appears that Rakover wasn’t aware that the haskamot themselves are most likely forged.

Two of the first forgers discussed here, Saul Berlin and Isaac Satanow, had similar ideologies, and. Satanow may have assisted in fabricating Besamim Rosh.[28]

Conclusion

The issue of Jewish literary forgeries has received further prominence recently in the scholarship of R’ Moshe Hillel. R’ Hillel has written a number of works exposing forgeries. His most famous work is on Divrei Gad HaHozeh, a work purporting to be from the times of King David, published from an 18th century manuscript by Professor Meir Bar-Ilan in 2015. R’ Hillel argues that it is in fact an 18th century forgery.[29]

Hillel also wrote a book earlier this year called Hazon Tavrimon devoted to R’ Yakov Moshe Toledano (1880-1960), dealing with various historical documents that Toledano “discovered”, demonstrating that they are fake.[30]

Computer algorithms have also played a role in detecting forgeries, or refuting allegations of forgery, most prominently in the work of Professor Moshe Koppel. Some of this work has been featured in the Seforim Blog.[31] Hopefully, this software will be further refined to shed light on additional works that have been accused of being forged, to supplement the traditional tools used for proving authenticity on the one hand, and uncovering forgeries on the other.

Words for the Wise: Sixty-Two Insights on Hebrew, Holidays, History and Liturgy by Mitchell First

By Eliezer Brodt

The Seforim Blog is proud to announce the publication of our frequent contributor Mitchell First’s newest book Words for the Wise: Sixty-Two Insights on Hebrew, Holidays, History and Liturgy (264 pp.).

Words for the Wise contains 62 short articles address interesting questions about the Hebrew language, Jewish history, and liturgy. For example:

On Liturgy, 8 articles, including the origin of and insights into Shalom Aleikhem, Anim Zemirot, and Maoz Tzur.

On Holidays, 9 articles, including the origin of the recital of Le-David Hashem Ori, the underlying meanings of the words lulav, atzeret, and Pesaḥ, and the background to the Fast of Gedaliah.

On History, 18 articles, including a history of the city of Acco, and on the lives of Rashbam, Judah Touro, Golda Meir, and Yigael Yadin, and on an important manuscript of Rambam’s Mishneh Torah.

On Hebrew, 27 articles, including insights into the roots ישן ,חול ,זמר ,זהר and רגע, the etymology of the word ממזר, the meaning of כתונת פסים, and interesting words in Hallel.

The book can be ordered here and here.

A review of the book can be seen here.

Here are the Table of Contents:

 

Hebrew Printing in Lissa (Leszno), A Brief (Perchance) Transitory Moment

 By Marvin J. Heller[1]

Jewish history is replete with cities, locations, that in their time were centers of Jewish life, replete with communal activities and prominent sages, but sadly, are poorly recalled today, if at all, except in academic and historical circles. One such location is Lissa, Leszno in Polish. Given its relative prominence, Lissa is unusual in that, unlike many similar locations, it was not home to a prominent Hebrew press. Lissa did, perchance, host a printing press for a brief period of time, and that press, together with the books it is credited with publishing, is the subject of this article.

Lissa (Leszno) is located in the Poznan district of Prussia, or, depending on one’s perspective, in the Wielkopolska province of Poland.[2] Previously a village, Lissa was incorporated as a town in 1534, granted a charter by Count Andreas Lescynski, whose descendants include Stanislas Leszczynski, King of Poland (1704-1709). Jewish settlement followed soon after, the settlers likely coming from Germany, having such names as Auerbach and Oldenburg, and several decades later from Silesia. There were Jews prior to that time, however, as communal records record a coronation tax in 1507.

There are contradictory reports as to Jewish settlement, one noting that the Jewish community was granted a charter in 1580, and at about that time a synagogue and a cemetery were established. Another recounting informs that the privilege granted to the Jewish community is dated March 10, 1626, and the earliest preserved tombstone dates to 1662/67. The Jewish population of Lissa consisted of approximately 5,000 Jews in 1765 (about 15% of the town’s population); one of the largest Jewish communities in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth.

The Lissa (Leszno) community had business relations with Breslau as early as 1650. By 1740 Jewish merchants outnumbered non-Jews; by 1793, 40 of the 53 merchants were Jewish, as were 200 of the 201 brokers. Similarly, by 1800, 32 of the 51 tailors were Jews, while others were smelters, tanners, furriers, and embroiderers. Products such as woven goods, furs, and hides reached Moscow and the Turkish borders. After the second partition of Poland and the absorption of Lissa into Prussia in 1793, the community, deprived of its markets in Poland and Russia, began to decline, falling as low as 804 in 1913.

Jewish life was not entirely pacific. The Jewish community of Lissa suffered during tah-ve-tat (the Chmielnicki massacres of 1648-49) and during the second Swedish war which forced the Jews to temporarily flee in 1659. In the Northern War (1706–07), the community underwent extra exactions from both sides, suffering plunder and rape from Russian soldiers, the entire Jewish quarter being burned. In 1709, there was a plague and Jews were accused, by bringing the corpse of a Jew to be buried, of infecting the town with the plague. There were several subsequent events, including devastating fires in which Jewish homes and synagogues were destroyed.

All this notwithstanding, Lissa became a center of Jewish life in Greater Poland in the mid-eighteenth century, renowned throughout Europe for its rabbinic sages and yeshivot. Among the prominent rabbinic sages who served in Lissa are R. Isaac Eilenburg, R. Jacob Isaac ben Shalom; Isaac ben Moses Gershon; R. Ephraim Kalisch; Mordecai ben Ẓevi Hirsch; the latter’s brother, R. Abraham Abusch Lissa; R. David Tevele; R. Jacob Lorbeerbaum, and from 1864 to 1912 R. Samuel Baeck. Also associated with Lissa is R. Akiva Eger, who studied in Lissa from 1780 to 1790.

Given the above, it would be surprising if there was not a Hebrew press in Lissa. Nevertheless, Lissa’s subsequent history, would suggest that locating a press there in the early decades of the nineteenth century is also, perchance, surprising, as will be addressed later. Concerning the Lissa press, Yeshayahu Vinograd records eight entries for it in his Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book.[3] Those works are all small, in octavo format, generally booklets at best. One additional work, not recorded in the Thesaurus as a Lissa imprint, but so listed by the National Library of Israel, is R. Joseph Yuspa Hirschfeld’s Yad Yosef.

We come now as why the Hebrew press in Lissa is referred to in the article title as “Brief (Perchance) and Transitory.” In contrast to the above record of Lissa imprints, Ch. Friedberg, in his History of Hebrew Typography, does not have an entry for Lissa, but rather subsumes the publications credited to that city to his entry for Dyhernfurt (Dyhernfurth) writing concisely in a footnote, that “the printers intentionally give the place of printing on several title-pages as Lissa in place of Dyhernfurth for reasons that are unclear. There is no doubt that these books were printed in their entirety in Dyhernfurth.”[4] That location is in Lower Silesia, a community approximately 50 miles (80 km.) distant from Lissa. It had, at times, been under Austrian (Hapsburg) rule, subsequently considered part of Poland and of Prussia.

Dyhernfurth was home to a press that had previously been very successful, beginning with Shabbetai Bass (1641-1718) who established a Hebrew press there in 1689. In the more than ensuing century, Hebrew presses in Dyhernfurth printed numerous titles including individual tractates from the Talmud, as well as two complete editions of the Talmud. However, the second edition of the Talmud, printed from 1816 through 1824, was not successful.[5] The then current Hebrew press, that of David Sklower and Naphtali Zevi ben Moses David Hochmavitz, was forced to close. Part of the typographical equipment fell to Sklower who relocated to Breslau and afterwards to Warsaw. The remaining typographical equipment went, in 1821, to R. Zevi Hirsch ben Meir Katz, known as Warschauer.

It is Warschauer who is credited as the Hebrew printer in Lissa (Leszno). It is his name that appears on the title-pages of several of the books that give Lissa as the place of publication. Friedberg, as noted above, writes that these books were actually Dyhernfurth imprints. Friedberg references an article in the Soncino-Blãtter by Dr. Louis Lewin who writes, in considerably greater detail, that it has escaped notice that the Lissa type is consistently Dyhernfurth type and “dass sie durchgangig Dyhernfurther Typen aufweisen, eilweise nur Fortfetzung eines Dyhernfurther Druckes sind . . . (that it is partially only a continuation of the Dyhernfurth press)”. Furthermore, a Lissa ליסא press being concealed, only alluded to by the phrase Gedruckt in der hebrãischen “Buchdruckerei.”

Lewin continues that works such as the Mahzor are either a reprint of the popular and much reprinted Heidenheim Machzorim or a plagiarism of an author whose authorship is disputed. He is also dismissive of the women’s prayer books, not consequential works. Lewin also observes that no mention is made of the press in the Lissa commuity news or in other contenporary Lissa docments. concluding that “all these prints must be “Es mńssen darum alle diese Drucke als Pseudo-Lissaer”not noted in Jewish literature. But ratherליססא , the names of the print shop owners and staff echte Dyhernfurther bezeichnet werden, deren Druckherren die Brūder Hirsch und Markus Warschauer waren (described as pseudo-Lissaer and actually Dyhernfurth imprints, the printers being the brothers Hirsch and Markus Warsawer).[6]

Interestingly. Friedberg, in his bibliographical lexicon, Beit Eked Sefarim, records these Lissa imprints without modifying notation.[7] Other bibliographers also record Lissa imprints without qualifications. For example, Aron Freiman, in A Gazetteer of Hebrew printing, records Joseph Hirschfeld’s Lekitat Yosef as the first Lissa imprint.[8]

At this time, that is the early nineteenth century, there was a prohibition in Austria on the publication of several categories of Hebrew books, particularly Hasidic and kabbalistic books as well as Yiddish works. Lissa, however, although previously part of the Habsburg domain, appears to have been apart from that realm at this time. When those prohibitions were in effect, Hebrew printers attempted to circumvent them by either by backdating books to a period prior to its imposition of the prohibition or giving a false publication place on the title-page. However, the books credited to the Lissa press, with a rare exception, do not appear to fall into the prohibited categories and should not, therefore, have required any prevarication.[9]

As noted above, only a small number of titles are credited to the Lissa press. The titles described are indicative of the market to which this small press directed its publications. It did not publish large works, such as Talmudic tractates or major halakhic treatises. Rather its publications are small books addressed and of value to the general population.

La-Yesharim Tehillah – Among the first titles published by the press is La-Yesharim Tehillah, a drama by the renowned kabbalist R. Moses Hayyim Luzzatto’s (Ramhal, 1707–1746). Ramhal is best known today for his Mesillat Yesharim, a popular and much studied ethical masterpiece. La-Yesharim Tehillah (Praise to the Upright), a very different composition, is one of Ramhal’s last works. It is an allegory, expressing the feelings of persecution he experienced due to controversy about him, and reflecting his belief in the ultimate victory of the just. This edition was published in octavo format (8⁰: 72 pp.).

1824, La-Yesharim Tehillah

The title-page, which has no ornamentation, neither decorative borders nor a printer’s mark, states:

La-Yesharim Tehillah
Shir Yididos

On the day of the wedding of the sage, the wise, כהר”ר [the honorable rabbi]
Jacob Di-Gais יצ“ו [may his Rock and Redeemer watch over him]
With the bride, the virgin, the modest
Lady Rachel De Vega Enriques יצ“ו [may her Rock and Redeemer watch over her]

I, the young Moses Hayyim ben Jacob Hayyin Luzzatto, have written it.
First printed in Amsterdam in 1740
And printed a second and third time in Berlin in 1780
And in the year
[5]584 (1824) לב“ע [From the creation of the World].
LISSA
At the press of the partners, Gabridor Warschauer, and Company.
At the expense of the exalted R. Lipman of Koenigsberg.

The title, La-Yesharim Tehillah, is from the verse “[Sing forth, O you righteous, to the Lord; it is fit that] the upright [acclaim, praise] Him” (Psalms 33:1); the subtitle, is from “For the leader; on the shoshannim by the son of the Korah, A maskil, a song of endearment (A Love Song, Shir Yididos” (Psalms 45:1).

The title-page is followed by prefatory material set in rabbinic letters, among them introductions, one from R. Solomon ben Joel of Duvno, descriptions of the allusions in the play, a list of the characters, and the play. The text is in square vocalized Hebrew. La-Yesharim Tehillah, Ramhal’s third and last play, was written in Amsterdam and represents the climax of his dramatic art. The play is an allegory in three acts of four, five and six scenes. [10] An example of the text,

Understanding: O Uprightness, Beloved of my soul, let thy heart take courage; like a girdle gird on strength! For when assistance seems far away, relief comes suddenly to us. When in the blazing heat, in summer drought, the sky is covered with thick darkness of the clouds whose thunder roaring makes the earth beneath to quake; when lightning flashes like an arrow; when the wind rends the mounts, as thought they were earthen pitchers . . . then the beasts of the forest all together take refuge, and all the young doves flee into the clefts of rocks. . . .

Uprightness: O understanding, of joy of my heart, thy comforting has surely enlarged my heart. For now it seems as though from the words of thy mouth I behold an opening for my hope. But be so kind, if thou hast good tidings. Withhold it not from me.[11]

A popular and much reprinted work, the Bet Eked Sepharim records twenty-six editions through 1949. According to the Bet Eked Sepharim this is the eighth edition, not the fourth printing of La-Yesharim Tehillah.[12]

Likitat Yosef – Also printed in 1824 and, reportedly, again in 1826 is R. Joseph Yuspa ben Tzvi Hirsch Hirschfeld’s Likitat Yosef, a linguistic work, a Hebrew-Yiddish Dictionary with references to Biblical verse for instructing children.[13] This too is an octavo ([6], 61, [1] ff.). The publishers are given as Medihernfort and Kamp. Hirschfeld (d. 1848), a pedagogue, is credited with three additional works, Yad Yosef (below), Middot ha-Derashot Halakah (Berlin, 1840), and Shir ha-Yahid (Berlin, 1833), on prayer and zemirot.[14] Another work, recorded by William Zeitlin is Bechinath Olam (Berlin, 1838), “Reflections on the world and its inhabitants by R. Jedaya Penini. …”[15]

The title-page of Likitat Yosef is formatted in the same manner as La-Yesharim Tehillah, that is, without ornamentation. However, unlike the preceeding work, which is dated in a straight forward manner, Likitat Yosef is dated with a chronogram, “‘Accursed is the one who moves the boundary of his fellow ארור מסיג גבול רעהו (584 = 1824)’ (Deuteronomy 27:17) for fifteen years.” The restriction on reprinting Likitat Yosef is highly unusual, not because it states the time limit for reprinting the work, but due to its mention on the title-page rather than in an approbation, which is the customary way of restricting unauthorized republication, and that it is used as the dating chronogram. The title-page states that it is:

Sefer
Likitat Yosef
A key
To finding pleasing items,
One language and other things[16]
Hebrew . . . words from
Yuspa Hirschfeld
Preschool teacher . . .
Printed
Here, in the crowned city
LISSA
“Accursed is the one who moves the boundary of his fellow” (584 = 1824) for fifteen years.
At the press of the partners from Dyhernfurth, Medihernfort and Kamp

The title-page is followed by the introduction which begins “‘A wise man has his eyes in his head’ (Ecclesiastes (2:14), an understanding scale in his hand, and the roots of understanding branch out in his eyes. He will see that ‘My heart overflows with a goodly theme’ (Psalms 45:2): to teach the young of the children of Israel ‘a clear language’ (Zephaniah 3:9).” Hirschfeld continues on the importance and value of the youth of Israel learning the language well, on a daily basis. The heart of the wise person values this in contrast to the fool who has no appreciation. Hirschfeld states that due to his love of brevity he has not expounded on words at length

There is a brief postscript in which Hirschfeld references his father, R. Tzvi Hirsch, followed by a brief statement from the printer who states that it is not as leket shikhhah, the forgotten gleanings from the field, but rather is selections all pure. Below is an acronym, the first letter of each line spelling Joseph Yuspa. Next is a list of sixty-three contributors (sponsors) arranged by city in German (Fraktur), that is, Breslau (22), Posen (17), Lissa (14), Krotoschin (6), Wortenborg (2), and D. Ostrowo (2).

1824, Likitat Yosef

The text is set in two columns, arranged alphabetically. Within each column words are given in Hebrew in square vocalized letters with their explanation in Yiddish set in a smaller font comprised of a mixture of Vaybertaytsh and rabbinic letters. Synonyms are given in order and words are organized by letters of the alphabet and vowels, for example, ayin patach, ayin segol, for example

Likitat Yosef has been reprinted several times, beginning, as noted above, with a reported second Lissa edition (1826), Vienna (1825), and again in Vienna (1835).[17]

Tehinat Imahot; Techina Shlosha She’arim – Our next Lissa titles are two small octavo tehinot, that is, Tehinat Imahot ([8] ff.) by Hadas, the wife of the late R. Yudel of Hadzish and Techina Shlosha She’arim ([16] ff.), no author given. Both were printed, respectively, in 1824 and 1825, by the Hebraisher Buchdruckerei (Hebrew book printers) with the same title-page format as noted above.

Tehinnot are described by A. Idelsohen as private devotions, often the source for later public prayers. They are a personal, spontaneous and inspired form of expression representing the craving of the soul. They may be understood as in keeping with Berakhot (28b), which states, “do not make your prayer routine, but rather free supplications and petitions before God.” Tehinnot were written through the ages by men of piety; they have been described as a “rivulet of that warm and soulful outpouring [that] never ran dry in Israel.” They have been written through the generations to express plights, needs, wishes, and aspirations which move the heart. Originally in Hebrew, they have been written in all languages spoken by Jews. Tehinnot in Yiddish were mainly for women and those unfamiliar with Hebrew. In many cases tehinnot were published in book form.[18]

Similarly, Meyer Waxman writes that “Tehinoth were the special medium of devotion of the women of Israel and were adapted . . . both in form and content to their needs. Generation after generation of pious souls had poured forth their hearts before their Maker and pleaded for the health and welfare of their near and dear ones in the semi-lyrical language of these supplication prayers.” He notes their varied nature, describing them as heterogenous, addressing all phases of life, supplications in an intimate tone.[19]

The text of both or our tehinot are set in Vaybertaytsh, a semi-cursive type generally but not exclusively, reserved for Yiddish books, so named because these works were most often read by the less educated and women. They were clearly meant for an Ashkenazi audience, for books in Vaybertaytsh were certainly not directed or intelligible to a market outside that community, but also evidence that that market was sufficiently large enough to justify the publication of works for a particular element of rather than for the entire Jewish community.[20]

The title-page of Tehinat Imahot (mother’s supplications) states that it is a collection of prayers of life, continuing in Yiddish that it is with the merit of our fathers and mothers and the Lord who has given us years of life through honorable deeds. The text is in a single column, set in Vaybertaytsh.

Techina Shlosha She’arim is in three parts, as noted on the title-page, that is, hallah, niddah, and lighting Sabbath candles; Shabbat and Rosh Hodesh; and the Yamim Nora’im. The text, set in a single column in Vaybertaytsh, excepting headings and introductory lines, is comprised of both prayers and brief halakhic notes. The references to hallah, niddah, and lighting Sabbath candles concerns the taking of a portion of bread for an offering; niddah, the monthly menstrual separation; and hadlaka, lighting the Friday evening Sabbath candles. The importance of these activities is based on Shabbat 31a, which states “For three transgressions woman die in childbirth. Because they are not observant [of the laws] of Niddah, Hallah, and lighting of Sabbath candles.”

1825, Techina Shlosha She’arim

This is the only edition of Tehinat Imahot. This is the first edition of Techina Shlosha She’arim; it has been reprinted numerous times, the Thesaurus records twenty-one editions.[21]

Yad Yosef – Our second R. Joseph Yuspa Hirschfeld title is Yad Yosef. This, the first edition, is not, as noted above, recorded in the Thesaurus as a Lissa imprint but rather as having been printed in Vienna at the press of Anton Schmidt in 1826. Friedberg, in the Bet Eked, does record this edition as a Lissa imprint.[22] It was published as a duodecimo (12⁰: [2], III-VI, [VII-XII], 216, [2] pp.). The title-page, which does not name Lissa as the place of publication, follows the style of the other Lissa imprints, that is, with a simple title-page devoid of ornamentation. It describes Yad Yosef as the names of the persecuted שמות הנרדפים for which there are references. It is dated “And we will rejoice in the words of your Torah ונשמח בדברי תורתך (588 = 1828).” The colophon dates completion of the work to Wednesday, Rosh Hodesh Heshvan, in the year “Happy is the one who waits אשרי המחכה (589 = October 8, 1828)” (Daniel 12:12).

Yad Yosef reads from left to right, like a German book. Nevertheless, it begins with a Hebrew title-page followed a multi-page vorrede (preface) in German followed by a second lengthy preface in Hebrew. The former has an image of justice, sitting blindfolded with a sword in one hand, scales in the other. Below it is Hebrew text that states,

“See for yourselves how my eyes
lit up when I tasted that bit of honey” (I Samuel 14:29)
“If my anguish were weighed” )Job 6:2) on the matter.
“My full calamity laid on the scales” )Job 6:2) and for my heart suffices.

Repeated below it are those verses in German. The Hebrew introduction begins in a light manner that might perchance be meant to be humorous or sarcastic, stating that “it is well known, especially to those who love words of acumen אמרי בינה that it is the custom for a work, small or large, to have a have a brief summary of the book’s topic – to place words in the mouth of the reader, his eyes to see, his eyelids discern the apology, and quickly find the object of his desire.” He then continues, begins, in a more serious vein,

that he “has walked in their footsteps and prepared a lexicon, also I – and this work (letter) I gathered with great diligence, nights as days, with exertion for the honor of the Torah and those who study it: who love and cherish it the beloved! “The teaching of the LORD is perfect” (Psalms 19:8), in it are written and I have found the reasons of DIFFERENT WORDS IN EXPRESSION AND TOUGHT – I have arranged them alphabetically . . .

1828, Yad Yosef

The introduction is followed by the text, set from left to right, comprised of Hebrew works and concise bi-lingual references. Entries are brief, the Hebrew word in the center in square vocalized letters, to the left a source of the term in rabbinic letters, and to the right a translation in German and biblical source. Three examples of the text, one only with a reference, that to Rashi, from the above image, are:

כביר ע’ רש’י ובאור – Matratze. 1. Sam 19. 13.

ענג Lust, Wohlleben. Jes. 58. 13

תענוג Vergnūgen. Sprūch. 19. 10.

כביר – Matratze. 1. Sam 19. 13. which refers to the verse “Michal then took mannequins and placed them in the bed, and she put a כביר goat-skin at its head and covered it with a cloth.” (I Samuel 19:13).

ענג Lust, Wohlleben. Jes. 58. 13 (If you restrain your foot because it is the Sabbath, refrain from accomplishing your own needs on My holy day; if you proclaim the Sabbath ענג ‘a delight’ and the holy [day] of the Lord ‘honored’ and you honor it by not engaging in your own affairs, from or discussing the forbidden: seeking your own needs.” (Isaiah 58:13)

תענוג Vergnūgen. Sprūch. 19. 10. תענוג Pleasure does not befit a fool; surely [it is not fitting for] a servant over dignitaries. (Proverbs 19:10).

Yad Yosef concludes with a multi-page bi-lingual Hebrew-German Oeffentliche Danksagung (public thanksgiving) addressed to Tobias Marcus and L. Mende, an example below:

Let your home be wide open, and let the poor be members of your household. (Avot 1:5)
Dein Haus sei offen, Fremde aufaunehmen, um Gastfreiheit an ihnen su üben; achte sie wie deine Hausgebornrn.”

Open your hand to the poor and needy kin in your land (Deuteronomy 15:11)
Thue deine Hand auf gegen deinen Bruder, de Arman und Dürftigen in deinem Lande.

Yad Yosef has been reprinted twice, in Frankfurt on the Oder (1828) and in Berlin (1830).[23]

A final word on Joseph Yuspa Hirschfeld. Moritz Steinschneider has an entry for Joseph Hirschfeld, which begins “Privatlehrer in Schweria a. d. Warte. [Postena Berol. etc. Mrt. mense Decmbr. A1848. – Autor suspectus,” that is he describes Hirschfeld as a private tutor and concludes that the authorship is suspect.[24] No reason is given for that suspicion and in the absence of any supporting or contradictory evidence Steinschneider’s position remains open, unresolved.

Also attributed to the Lissa press is a Mahzor, dated 1824, not seen by the author. Perchance, this is the Heidenheim Mahzor referred to by Lewin. Another work credited to the press, although its date distances it from the general period of activity of the subject press, is R. Saul Isaac ben Ahron Jacob Kaempf’s Toldot Rabbi Akiva Eger, dated 1838. Also noted is another undated edition of Techina Shlosha She’arim.

We now return to the subject of perchance, that is, whether there was a press in Lissa or, as Dr. Lewin suggests, the books attributed to Lissa were actually printed in Dyhernfurth. Lewin was a respected scholar and his reservations need be taken seriously. However, upon inspection, his contention does not appear to be convincing.

Among his arguments for a Dyhernfurth publication site for the books attributed to Lissa are the likeness of the fonts in the books printed in both locations. However, likeness of fonts is not a strong argument: not only is type available to more than one press from a foundry, but more likely Warschauer took typographical equipment with him when relocating to Lissa, as did Sklower when he relocated to Breslau. Similarly, there is no reason why the worker’s names, not noted in the colophons, is any more suggestive of Dyhernfurth than Lissa, nor does the insufficient description of the press seem sufficient evidence to question its location. That the women’s prayer books appear to be inconsequential to Lewin does not detract from their communal value or suggest that they were printed elsewhere. That the press is not mentioned in communal news or documents may be because the press was not consequential. It might be well asked, if the Lissa press was in Dyhernfurth, why is it not mentioned in their communal records, or, finally, what was to be gained by concealing the press’s location.

On the other hand, just as Sklower left Dyhernfurth for Breslau so did Warschauer leave Dyhernfurth for Lissa. That the press appears to have done poorly there actually supports a Lissa location. A small press, it did not publish “consequential” works such as the Talmud, large halakhic titles, or responsa. The books that it did publish were of value to a, perchance, less educated community, addressing their needs, including women’s prayer books.

A likely reason for the presses’ difficulties and brief existence may actually be its location, that is, in Lissa. That location, as noted above, at one time a city of import, had begun to decline after the partition of Poland and its annexation by Prussia in 1793. No longer an important commercial center nor a location with a history as a center of printing. Lissa had no prior press, nor was it well situated for a press. The books it published were small, of value to a local population, consisting of ethical, linguistic and liturgical works, but did not address the needs of a more sophisticated population with leading yeshivot, as Lissa had been so earlier. It was not set up for book distribution, a basic requirement for a successful press. Several of the books that it did publish, were quickly reissued in Vienna, republished at the press of Anton Schmidt, a publisher of consequence.[25]

Given the restrictions on reprinting stated on the title-page of Likitat Yosef it would appear that the almost immediate reprinting of that title and other works were at the initiative of the author. Given the poor distribution of Lissa imprints Hirschfeld likely sought a larger and more successful press, an objective filled by the press of Anton Schmidt. Perchance, no, in this instance certainly not perchance, but more likely, indeed assuredly, if the books had been printed in Dyhernfurth, with its history of printing and successful book distribution, there would not have been a need to reprint these titles in Vienna.

All of the above notwithstanding, the books that were published in Lissa, albeit small in number and in size, were worthy titles. Lissa was, as noted at the beginning of this article, one of many presses, small in size and output, which are poorly recalled today. Nevertheless, this does not detract from the fact that these presses published valuable works, serving the needs of the local population. Here too, the Lissa press, despite being short lived, published books of value to its community and deserves to be remembered and well regarded.

Poetry and Wordplay in the Book of Kohelet

By Joseph Wertzberger[1]

Sefer Kohelet, the Book of Kohelet, was written approximately 700-600 BC according to Rabbinic sources,[2] and is dated to somewhere between that time and the early to mid-third century BC by academic sources.[3] Its wisdom is traditionally attributed to King Solomon.[4]

The book is part of ancient Hebrew wisdom literature, and is known for its existential, philosophic lessons and motifs. But alongside that also, the book is suffused with sophisticated poetry and wordplay, and I’d like to use this essay to point out a few examples.

1. The Meaninglessness of Huvel

The book begins with its most well-known verse, summarizing the work’s theme and setting its tone.

הבל הבלים אמר קהלת, הבל הבלים הכל הבל. קהלת א ב

Huvel of huvel,[5] said Kohelet, huvel of huvel, all is huvel.

The word huvel can be translated variously as air,[6] vapor, meaninglessness, vanity,[7] folly, futility, absurdity,[8] or nothingness.[9] The word is repeated throughout the book as a motif, describing aspects of human endeavor and life experience.

The book begins with a bang, so to speak; a strong summary statement that captures the book’s theme, while also the reader’s attention; and the theme is then explained, elaborated upon, and expanded throughout the rest of the book. The sentence is only eight words long, and a remarkable five of them, more than half of the sentence, are the same word, essentially nothing.

Using a word that also means air, or vapor, as the book’s theme is not accidental, for in the author’s effort to examine life’s purpose, meaning and sense, to dig into it and to pin it down, he (and we, alongside) discovers ultimate meaning and sense to be elusive. We think we understand things, and our minds naturally intuit purpose and endow things with meaning, but the moment we try to pin it down and fully capture it, it slips through our fingers like so much vaporous air.

In fact, the word huvel itself symbolizes its meaning onomatopoeically well, being composed of only soft consonants,[10] its vocalization almost entirely pure breath itself, with no hard sounds; an unusual verbal formulation. The entire sentence, in fact, is composed almost completely of “air” with almost no hard consonants, the only two being the hard ‘k’ sounds in Kohelet and hakol, balancing each other out at the two ends of the sentence. When the sentence is read aloud, particularly with its ancient Hebrew pronunciation and syllabic emphasis, it has a very lilting, bouncing and poetically balanced quality to it.[11]

It is also intriguing to notice that the hard ‘k’ sound in hakol is in fact the only thing that distinguishes the word from the similar word huvel – in fact, even more so, the tiniest difference between the letters kuf and vet are what distinguish absolutely everything from nothing! And the only other ‘k’ sound in the verse is in the only other physical object that appears in the sentence, the speaker of the sentence at its opposite end, who is examining everything, and turning it into nothing.[12] And so, essentially, nothing appears in the sentence until almost its very end, and when something does appear, everything appears all at once with the one simple word, hakol, and it’s all immediately revealed to in fact be… hevel, nothing at all.

1. Onomatopoeia

The book includes many beautiful examples of onomatopoeia. In addition to the word huvel and its use as mentioned, some of the best are the following.[13]

כל הנחלים הלכים אל הים והים איננו מלא, אל מקום שהנחלים הלכים שם הם שבים ללכת[14]. קהלת א ז

We hear the pitter-patter of water bouncing, running and tumbling through the brook down the mountainside.

סובב סבב הולך הרוח ועל סביבתיו שב הרוח[15]. קהלת א ו

The wind’s whistle and howl comes through.

כי כקול הסירים תחת הסיר, כן שחק הכסיל[16]. קהלת ז ו

We can clearly hear the kindling under the kettle crackle and hiss,[17] and the fool’s braying cackle alongside.

אם ישך הנחש בלוא לחש, ואין יתרון לבעל הלשון[18]. קהלת י יא

Here we hear the hiss of the snake, and the whispered sounds of the luchash, in the sounds of the sentence. There’s also a poetically ringing rhyme to the verse, and the gossip whisperer’s tongue coming at the end of it circles poetically back to the snake at its start, whose bite is also viscerally associated with its flicking tongue (snakes hunt by smelling prey through their tongue).

1. He Gives Another, His Portion

כי יש אדם שעמלו בחכמה ובדעת ובכשרון ולאדם שלא עמל בו יתננו חלקו[19]. קהלת ב כא

The word chelko at the end of the sentence seems initially extraneous and off-balance, for when we read the sentence from its start, it seems complete with the word yitnenu. The word chelko then appears, almost an added appendage at the sentence’s end.

It seems that the word chelko (his portion) would have fit the sentence better had the preceding word been yiten (he gives) instead of yitnenu (he gives it to him). Since the word yitnenu includes a subject-reference, it’s odd to refer to the subject again in the next word. Noticing this odd juxtaposition and double subject reference clues in the reader to understand that the person (and portion) described in chelko can also be read as referring to the receiver.[20]

In other words, the sentence is written so as to create in the reader an initial visceral perception of chelko as referring to the giver, followed by an understanding that it refers to the receiver; providing – in prose – an illustration of the very act described by the prose itself, namely having chelko, the portion, ‘pass’ as it were, from the giver to the receiver![21]

1. Making Meaning of Experience

ראיתי את הענין אשר נתן אלהים לבני האדם לענות בו. קהלת ג י

The words “inyan’ and “la’anot” in this sentence have at least four translations, all of which fit together to provide a fuller meaning to the sentence.

La’anot and inyan can mean suffering, pain and negative experience, as in,

וכאשר יענו אותו. שמות א יב

כל נדר וכל שבעת אסר לענת נפש. במדבר ל יד

יום ענות אדם נפשו. ישעיהו נח ה

This translation is given to the words by the Targum,[22] and in this reading the sentence means, “I saw the suffering that God gave people to be afflicted with.”

La’anot and inyan can also mean celebration,[23] happiness and positive experience, as in,

קול ענות אנכי שמע[24]. שמות לב יח

כי האלהים מענה בשמחת לבו[25]. קהלת ה יט

This translation is given by Mordechai Zer-Kavod in his commentary to Mossad Harav Kook’s edition of Kohelet, and at Kohelet 1-13 he notes a similar translation by R. Shlomo Kluger. In this reading, the sentence means, “I saw the experience that God gave people to be enjoyed with.”

La’anot and inyan can also simply mean experience, with no negative or positive connotations, similar to the Rabbinic Hebrew, and from there modern Hebrew’s, use of the common word inyan,[26] as in,

וענתה שמה כימי נעוריה. הושע ב יז

R Sa’adia Gaon, Rashi, Rashbam, Ibn Ezra and Ralbag provide similar translations of the word.[27] In this reading the word inyan means a matter, or engagement, la’anot means something like “to be engaged in” or “exercised with”, and the sentence is translated as, “I saw the engagement that God gave people to be exercised with.”[28]

So, it turns out, there are three different ways to translate the words inyan and la’anot, each of which changes the overall meaning of the verse, and each of which diverse translations are accurate, work in the sentence structure, and can provide meaning to the sentence.[29] Which is all to say, that our interpretation of experience and how we see it, provides the meaning we give to it!

Finally, la’anot and inyan can also mean to witness, as in,

לא תענה ברעך עד שקר. שמות כ ב

לענות בו סרה. דברים יט טז

וענתה השירה הזאת לפניו לעד. דברים לא כא

In this translation the verse means, “I saw the experiences that G-d gave to people to witness (i.e., to see and experience)”.[30]

Here too, are two layers of meaning, for in one sense, to say that one has ‘witnessed’ an event is simply another way of saying that one has seen and experienced it. But in a deeper sense, it is the witnessing of the event itself that gives meaning, shape and form to the event; and with no witness, the event would be formless and without meaning.[31] This reading, of course, fits right into, and complements, the first three readings of the verse, for it is our experience of an event, and the way in which we witness it, that creates it as an event for us, provides us its meaning, and makes it what it is to us.[32] [33]

1. Relax, In the End Nothing Makes Sense

הבל הבלים אמר הקוהלת הכל הבל. קהלת יב ח

The same sentence that began the book, bookends it again as its conclusion.[34] [35] Its meaning at both ends, however, can be read differently.

In writing and in reading the book, and in working through its problems, questions, discussions, and thematic variations, the author and his readers undertake a journey of exploration of life’s contradictions and paradoxes. Taking that journey, in depth, leaves the traveler different at the end than at its start, for along the way, the reader has discovered, and partly through their own thoughtful exploration of the author’s words, that the only choice, and inherent to life’s experience, is acceptance of the absurdities and paradoxes intrinsic to it.[36] [37]

In this way, what began as a lament of discomfiture at life’s impossible contradictions, ends as a statement of their factuality and acceptance. As we initially began peeling away the layers of life’s onion, and realizing that things don’t make as much sense as we intuitively feel they should, our natural, instinctive need for sense is disturbed. But at the journey’s end, once we’ve gone through the process of internalizing experience’s innate senselessness, its fuller realization and our more complete understanding that it’s all simply part of life’s inherence, permits us to accept things for what they are; and having done that, our experience becomes all the easier for it, rather than harder. Things are not really meant to make sense anyhow, they never completely will, and in the final analysis, it gives us permission to take our life in hand once again, accept it, make of it its best, and live it calmly[38] and productively,[39] prudently and judiciously,[40] happily[41] and to the fullest of our efforts.[42] Like the t-shirt that reads, “Relax, nothing is under control”, the excision of our attempts at understanding releases us from them when they don’t serve us well.

Relax, do what you can to live a good life… “before the silver cord snaps, before the golden cup shatters…[43]

.הבל הבלים אמר הקוהלת הכל הבל

[1] The author is the creator of the youtube channel “Understanding Kohelet”, here.
[2] בבא בתרא טו-א
[3] See, e.g., here. Ibn Ezra also seems to note that at least some of the book’s editing was done after the first temple period, for example at 2-25. In other verses as well, ibn Ezra and other commentators note language and word choices resembling writing of times closer to the Rabbinic period. See also the Preface to Mossad Harav Kook’s edition of Kohelet, Section 5, Part 4.
[4] קהלת רבא א-א, סנהדרין כ-ב
[5] In its simple reading, the double havel havulim can be understood as emphasis, i.e., the epitome of vanity, or utter vanity, similar to the words shir hashirim, and many other double words used in Tanach. In a deeper sense it can also be understood to intimate that huvel, meaninglessness, is itself also meaningless (a double negative that cancels itself out), because by the end of the book, and through its exploration, we discover together with the author, that in as much as things can never be fully and truly understood, an overemphatic focus on meaninglessness is itself meaningless and purposeless.
[6] In referring to air, the author is foreshadowing the many other verses in which the book uses air and wind to represent the ephemeral, fleeting nature of life and experience, e.g., 1-6, 1-14, 12-7, and many others.
[7] Not in the contemporarily more common use of the word vain, as narcissistic pride, but vain as futile.
[8] Not with its commonly used definition of farcically ridiculous, but something much closer to its existentialist philosophic meaning of senselessness, as used in, for example, Albert Camus’ The Myth of Sisyphus.
[9] If our attempt to pin down a precise meaning for the word huvel is frustrated, we are not the first to experience such frustration, for R Sa’adia Gaon, as well, mentions five potential Arabic translations of the word.

Defining the book’s theme through a word that has many translations and interpretations is in no way coincidental, for that is a practice and theme throughout the work, using words and constructing phrases in such ways that exploration and thought is required to unpack and fully understand them in their context, and through such exploration and understanding, different aspects of the intended message are communicated.
[10] The letter vet in ancient Hebrew was pronounced with a “w” sound, similar to its contemporary Yemenite pronunciation.
[11] This is true of much of Tanach, an appreciation of which has been lost due to historic changes in reading style and pronunciation.
[12] The phrase havel havulim umar kohelet may also allude to the fact that even the statements and attempts of the author to examine the world and its meaning are also impossible and vain, as elaborated upon later on in the book, for example chapter 1, verses 8, 13, and 17, and chapter 7, verse 23. So the analysis too, and the attempt at finding meaning, is itself meaningless. See also Ralbag at 12-8.
[13] The poetry and onomatopoeia comes through best when the sentences are read with the sound, pronunciation and syllabic emphasis of original, ancient Hebrew.
[14] All the rivers go to the sea, and the sea is not full; to the place the rivers go, there they return to go.
[15] Circling in circulation, goes the wind, and on its circulation, returns the wind.
[16] For like the sound of the twigs under the pot, so is the laugh of the fool.
[17] In fact, the sounds are very similar to the English words, ‘cackle’ and ‘hiss’, which themselves sound like their meaning.
[18] If the snake bites, without a hiss/spell, and there is no advantage to the master of the tongue.
[19] For there may be a person whose efforts are with intelligence and with wisdom, and with suitability, and to a person who expended no effort over it, he gives (it to) him, his portion.
[20] See Targum, which translates the phrase as יתנניה למהוי חולקיה, “he gives it to become his portion”, clearly reading the portion as attached to the receiver, presumably because of the otherwise odd double subject reference. Ibn Ezra also reads chelko as referring to a subject receiver. Rashbam too, reads chelko as attaching to the receiver, but states that the giver in yitenenu is God (presumably due to the otherwise double subject reference), and in this reading perhaps yitnenu means “it shall be given [by God]”, rather than he shall give it, since the giver in yitnenu is not referring back to the person described in the first half of the sentence.

On the other hand, R Sa’adia Gaon’s commentary clearly translates chelko as referring to the giver. R Moshe Yitzchok Ashkenazi (Tedeschi) in Ho’il Moshe also provides a grammatical reading of the sentence in which chelko refers to the giver.

Reading yitnenu as attaching to the receiver’s object referred to in chelko is also somewhat supported by the ta’amim, since yitnenu is given a munach, tying it to its succeeding word chelko, rather than to its preceding phrase (i.e., the phrase ‘he gives’ modifies ‘his portion’, rather than any object that may have been described earlier in the sentence, in amulo or in bo). Consider also that the object being passed from the giver to the receiver has not yet been explicitly articulated into the sentence prior to the appearance of the word chelko, since, arguably, amulo is describing only the giver’s efforts, not the fruit of those efforts, which would be the object actually being passed; and the word bo in and of itself, does not either provide the sentence with a subject.
[21] Mordechai Zer-Kavod in the Mossad Harav Kook edition of Kohelet describes a third potential subject to which chelko might refer, which is the fruits of the giver’s labor, and in this reading the word chelko means “part of”, i.e., a part of the giver’s possessions, and the sentence reads as, “For there is a person whose efforts are with intelligence… and to a person that labored not for it, he gives part of it.” See also Rashi on the verse for a similar formulation based on midrash.
[22] In Kohelet 1-13, the verse includes a similar formulation

ונתתי את־לבי לדרוש ולתור בחכמה על כל־אשר נעשה תחת השמים הוא ענין רע נתן אלהים לבני האדם לענות בו

and Targum, ibn Ezra and Tanchum Yerushalmi provide a similar translation to the words inyan and la’anot in that verse, while Metzudat Tzion provides a similar translation for the word la’anot, although not for the word inyan, and Ri Karo provides a similar translation for the word inyan, although not for the word la’anot.
[23] It is quite possible that the root of the word enu as it is used in phrases like

עלי באר ענו לה, במדבר כא יז, ענו לה׳ בתודה, תהלים קמז ז, ביום ההוא כרם חמר ענו לה, ישעיהו כז ב

is also related to the word celebration, although in these cases it is also, and perhaps more closely, related to word respond or say.
[24] See for example, Ibn Ezra, Ramban, Ralbag and R’ Avraham ben Harambam, although others provide different translations of the word in this sentence too.
[25] See Rashbam and Ralbag, although there are also other ways to translate the word in this sentence as well.
[26] In reviewing the related words and meanings in all of these similar verses, as parsed through the various commentaries, it seems to me also that the general word inyan in this reading, as meaning something close to an engagement, or more simply a thing, something that is, may also be etymologically related to use of the similar word and root for the concept of residing in or simply being in, as in the word ma’on.
[27] In some cases these translations are in Kohelet 1-13, and as between the different commentators, they are provided with varying nuance as to the precise translation and word usage.
[28] In the larger context of the chapter, this sentence is a response to the verses coming just before it, which read,

לכל זמן, ועת לכל חפץ, תחת השמים. עת ללדת ועת למות… עת לאהב ועת לשנא, עת מלחמה ועת שלום. מה יתרון העושה באשר הוא עמל

This well-known section of Kohelet questions the point of a life of constant change and dissolution, where the pendulum of experience always swings from one side to the other, and where every effort invested, and even the things invested in, often ends and changes to its opposite; and therefore, the question is begged, “what advantage the doer in such that he toils?”

It is this question that the present verse responds to, explaining that these fluctuations and changes in expended effort, and in life and experience, in fact have as their purpose the engagement and exercise of people in and with their life and experiences. In other words, the goal settings, fluctuations, achievements, disappointments, moving goal-posts, and corrections, are actually the very things that create the life of engagement and attunement, and a life lived in one straight line would be pointless and meaningless, and lacking in engagement.

The other translations as well, are responsive to the prior verses and question in a similar way. The frustrated and constantly changing efforts can be seen as a form of immiseration that people are afflicted with (in this reading, the present verse in 3-10, is simply extending the question and problem discussed in the prior verse), or they can be seen as challenges which can be invigorating, and bring a person joy when approached from the perspective of, and with a purpose to, building and improving.
[29] This is a good representative illustration of a lot of the messaging in Kohelet, which often revolves around purpose, perception and meaning, and how these are multi-layered, and appear different from different vantage points, or when different factors or interpretations are brought to bear. This is also the key to understanding the many seeming ‘contradictions’ in Kohelet (בבלי, שבת ל׳ ב׳) – for when the meanings and contexts of what are being said are fully understood, they are clearly seen not to be contradictions at all.
[30] And in a fifth translation, which fits right in alongside the rest and is related to witness, the word la-anot can also mean to respond, see medrash rabah here, and ibn Ezra at Kohelet 1-13. And, believe it or not, with these five translations we have still not exhausted all the possible translations of the word as used in the sentence, see for example Rashi, Ri Karo, and Tanchum Yerushalmi in the parallel verse at Kohelet 1-13, each with other, additional translations.
[31] In fact it might questionably even be called an “event” at all.
[32] This theme comes up in art too, for example in Albert Camus’ “The Stranger”, and Jonathan Blow’s “The Witness”.
[33] This verse is a good example of what we find with many of the verses and statements in Kohelet, which is that they can be translated and interpreted from a number of different vantage points, with several layers of meanings able to be peeled back like layers of an onion, while all of those layers of meaning interact with, and nest within, each other to provide an ultimate interpretation and meaning to the sentence. And while it’s easy to assume that some or many of these interpretations are unintentional, and arise coincidentally due to the poetic nature of the text, or due to the brevity of ancient Hebrew which, because it has relatively few words compared to other languages, consequently more meanings and translations for each of its words; on closer reading and familiarity with the nuances of the book’s style and messaging it seems likely that the varied and rich layers of meaning were seeded intentionally.
[34] Rashbam notes that the book’s ending, from this verse on, was appended at a later time by its editors. This is also evident from the style, tone and content of verses 12-9 through 12-14, which differ from the rest of the book. See also Ralbag, Ho’il Moshe at 12-7, and Metzudas Dovid, Shadal at 12-8. It’s also possible that verses 1-2, and 12-8 (the two bookending huvel verses), which more closely resemble the rest of the book, were part of the original earlier work, while verses 1-1 and 12-9 through 12-14 were added later as a kind of prologue and epilogue. See also FN 3 regarding the book’s editing.
[35] The end of the book and its beginning also mirror each other in that the lead-in from the summary sentence to the rest of the book (verses 1-4 to 1-7), and the lead out from the book to the closing summary sentence (verses 12-2 to 12-7) are composed of evocatively colorful imagery, which express their messages of the ephemerality of existence and the eventuality of life’s and of experience’s end, not only in the literal statements of their message, but also in the impressionist emotions that their images create in the reader. As well, some of the same elemental imagery of earth, sun, air and water is mirrored between the start of the book and its end (compare Chapter 1 verses 4, 5, 6 and 7 with Chapter 12 verses 2, 6 and 7).
[36] One cannot point to any one verse that states the premise of this point explicitly, rather it is an idea that develops organically and expands its realization over the course of the work in the perceptions experientially realized by the reader through their effort in working through the book’s perambulatory contemplations and exploratory deliberations. One can point in support, however, among various verses, to 9-7 through 9-10, which in a sense can be seen as the conclusion of the first part of the book (which begins at 1-12). Arguably, it is the author’s intent is for the reader to discover the point’s salience for themself as they work through the book’s ideas together with the author.
[37] That the present verse’s summary conclusion is a result of the conclave of ideas preceding it is also supported by the verse’s choice of wording, ‘umar hakohelet‘, with the definitive article, ‘the’ kohelet – for it is the gathering together and synthesizing of the various strands of thought through the course of the book that produce the conclusions reached at its end. In this interpretation we translate the word kohelet as ‘a coming-together’ or a ‘gathering (n.)’, as in ‘the results of the act of gathering’, or ‘the things that have been gathered’, conjugating the root verb ko-h-el, similar to words such as toelet and pesolet.

Interestingly, the same conjugation of the root also produces the feminine verb, a point made by wordplay in Chapter 7, verse 27, where, as compared to the word construction in our present sentence, the author changed the word kohelet from a noun to a feminine verb simply by moving the letter ‘heh’ over one word (changing amrah kohelt to amar hakohelet).
[38] 12-3 to 4, in its emotional resonance.
[39] E.g., Chapter 11, generally.
[40] Verses 11-8 to 12-1.
[41] Verses 9-7 to 9, and 11-8 to 9.
[42] Verse 9-10.
[43] Verse 12-6.