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Interview with Rabbi Moshe Maimon About his Edition of R. Avraham b. HaRambam’s Peirush on Chumash

Interview with Rabbi Moshe Maimon About his Edition of R. Avraham b. HaRambam’s Peirush on Chumash

By Eliezer Brodt

Last year I wrote:

The second volume of R. Avraham b. HaRambam’s peirush on Chumash Shemot was released (832 pp.). This new edition was edited by Rabbi Moshe Maimon and was published in a beautiful edition by Machon Aleh Zayis. Last year, Rabbi Maimon published the first volume (678 pp.) I hope to publish very shortly, on the Seforim Blog, an interview with the author where he describes in greater depth his work on R. Avraham b. HaRambam, and his new edition of the Peirush.

The following interview with Rabbi Maimon is the fulfillment of the that promise.  I would like to note that from time to time, I hope to include interviews of this nature with authors and publishers of books on the Seforim Blog.

A few weeks ago, the second slightly updated version of R. Avraham b. HaRambam’s Peirush on Chumash Bereishis was published. [If you want a PDF of the updates, email me at Eliezerbrodt@gmail.co]

Eliezer: Rabbi Maimon, can you briefly tell us a bit about yourself?

Rabbi Maimon : I was born in Monsey to a rabbinic family with Turkish-Sephardic roots that claims ancestry to the Rambam. After marriage to my wife Dena (nee Elbaz) of Cleveland OH, I settled in Lakewood where I learned and taught in BMG for many years. I currently reside with my wife and children in Jackson NJ, which may be the fastest growing Jewish community outside of Lakewood. I’m employed as the eleventh grade Rebbi in Yeshiva High School of Monsey, NY.  Being a lifelong bibliophile drew me into professions such as teaching Holocaust and Jewish history classes in different yeshivahs, and consulting auction houses on antique sefarim and manuscripts. I also spend many hours a week editing and publishing various of works of Torah scholarship.

Eliezer: Can you give readers a brief profile of R. Avraham b. HaRambam?

Rabbi Maimon: Rabbenu Avraham was the Rambam’s only son, and the Rambam took great pride in him, extolling his virtues and predicting that one day R. Avraham would take his place among the Torah greats of the nation. R. Avraham was only 19 years old when his father passed away, yet his father’s careful tutelage had already prepared him to assume the Rambam’s mantle of leadership. He was immediately recognized as his father’s able successor in every endeavor – including holding the position of senior physician to the Sultan. By the time of his untimely passing at the age of 51, R. Avraham had left behind a number of original works, as well as various works dedicated to elucidating his father’s legacy.

Eliezer: What makes this peirush unique?

Rabbi Maimon: The Rambam wrote many works, covering all aspects of Torah sheba’al peh. Yet, he never wrote on Torah shebichtav (the work attributed to him on Megillat Esther is more than likely spurious; it is reminiscent of other Judeo-Arabic Midrashic compendiums that were popularly, if falsely, attributed to the Rambam’s school). True, his voluminous writings contain many rich insights from which various commentarial compendiums have been culled. But scholars have long recognized the dearth of a systematic exposition of the Chumash according to the Geonic pshat system informed by the Rambam’s sparkling ethical and philosophical system. Rabbenu Avraham’s peirush, hewn from the almost forgotten Geonic and Andalusian sources and permeated entirely with the spirit of the Rambam’s original thought, fills this void perfectly.

Eliezer:  What was his Relationship with His father, the Rambam?

Rabbi Maimon: The Rambam’s influence on the Peirush is readily apparent from even a cursory acquaintance with it. Besides for the various peirushim that R. Avraham cites in his father’s name, and the many references to his father’s works, numerous individual peirushim are presented in obvious accordance with the Rambam’s shittah (such as the assertion that Yaakov’s encounter with the malach occurred in a dream). Yet, a closer look at the Peirush reveals that the Rambam’s influence on the Peirush is actually all encompassing. It is present in the way R. Avraham references various pesukim in Tanach, in his penchant for citing ma’amarei Chazal, his usage of Hebrew, as well as Judeo-Arabic phrases, and even his distinctive spelling of various words (such as ירושלם). Throughout R. Avraham’s works, the influence of his father is always present.

Eliezer: Any favorite pieces or themes to which you would like to draw readers’ attention?

Rabbi Maimon: One of the very unique features of R. Avraham peirush, which has almost no parallel in the writings of Rishonim, and was only popularized in recent generation through the Alter of Slabodka, is the view that the various individuals in Tanach whom we view as evil in accordance with their depiction in Midrashim, were actually not entirely wicked. According to this opinion, Eisav, Yishmael, Lot, Lavan, and even Korach and his cadre, all possessed higher spiritual capacities and inclinations that at times straddled the boundaries between good and evil. In line with this approach, R. Avraham asserts that the generation that left Egypt, with all their seeming lapses in the midbar, was a generation of tzadikim, whose spiritual level we can hardly conceive of. They alone are referred to as tzivot Hashem by the Torah; no other generation was ever given this appellation, no other compares to them.

In addition, Rabbenu Avraham’s sefarim opened a window for me to a fascinating but little-known world. I found them to be both illuminating and inspirational, full of his original insights and interpretations, and packed with penetrating mussar and exhortations to embrace a rational, yet mystical, form of chassidus.

Rabbenu Avraham’s oeuvre is also a thoroughly Maimonidean work, and through him one can gain a deep and comprehensive appreciation for the Rambam’s weltanschauung.

Eliezer: Are there any Halacha pieces in this work?

Rabbi Maimon: Many insights into R. Avraham’s halachic approach can be gleaned from the peirush, and this is even true of peirushim on the non-legal aspects of Chumash. Parshat Mishpatim in particular is replete with examples of R. Avraham’s pshat-based understanding of the Halacha, whereby he insists that the simple reading of a passuk be understood as binding to the extent that the rabbinic interpretation can accommodate it. As such, R. Avraham understands that the verse, “thou shall stay far away from falsehood,” is not merely an injunction about perjury in court, as it has been codified by the basic commentators, but also contains a basic admonition for anyone not to lie. There are many examples of this unique approach; I have expanded on this topic in the introduction to volume one.

Eliezer: As is evident from your work and notes, you compared him to other Rishonim, so how would you characterize R. Avraham’s peirush in terms of his comparison to other mefarshim?

Rabbi Maimon: In many respects, R. Avraham is certainly from the rodfei hapshat, to use a term the Ramban coined for the likes of the Ibn Ezra who always prefer the pshat of passuk over the allegorical commentaries proffered by midrashim and preferred by Rashi. Yet, R. Avraham also places a strong emphasis on the underlying intent of Torah’s narrative sections that teach moral and ethical imperatives, as well as the underlying intent of the legalistic sections, often couched in the rational basis for these sections (more on this introduction to the current volume). This synthesis can be found to some extent among other mefarshim like the Ralbag, and even the Ramban on some level, though the commentary of Radak to Bereshit is probably the most similar to that of R. Avraham.

Eliezer: Would you call him a mechadesh? What makes him unique?

Rabbi Maimon: Rabbenu Avraham’s close read and extreme common sense leads him to ask many original questions, and to offer many original interpretations. In some cases he anticipated explanations only offered centuries later by the acharonim, such as the Malbim and the Netziv, and in some cases he is the only source for his original explanations. A good sample of his original interpretations can be found in R. Sholom Spitz’ index of original peirushim appended at the end of each volume.

It must also be noted that the peirush is an invaluable repository for interpretations from his predecessors that would otherwise be lost to posterity. These include many peirushim from R. Saadia and R. Shmuel b. Chofni Gaon and a good number of peirushim quoted by R. Avraham in the name of his Grandfather, R. Maimon ha-Dayyan.

Eliezer: In light of your extensive seven plus years “immersed” in the world of RABH, do you have any thoughts or comments on his famous essay on Aggadah, especially in regard to his views about Chazal and science. More specifically, do you think that it’s a forgery as some have claimed, at the height of some controversies a few years back? Or you think the views expressed in this essay on Aggadah are consistent with his work on Torah?

Rabbi Maimon: In my separate work on that Essay on Aggadah, I endeavored to demonstrate conclusively that Rabbenu Avraham’s statements in the Essay are perfectly in line with the views of the Geonic-Andalasuian Beit Medrash. This is the school of thought espoused by R. Saadia Gaon and his followers through the era of the Kadmonim, who thrived in Muslim Spain until the middle of the 12th century when the Rambam and his family were force to flee. Rabbenu Avraham is a prominent example of this school of thought, and we find ample expression in the works of the Rambam and R. Saadia Gaon among others as well. The claim that some of these statements constitute a Maskilic forgery is ill-informed in my opinion. It is based on the notion that the ideas expressed in the essay are controversial and were created by Maskilim. However, once we realize that these ideas were the accepted norm in the Beit Medrash in which R. Avraham was reared, it becomes quite clear that there is nothing particularly controversial in R. Avraham’s presentation.

The decline of the Judeo-Arabic world caused much of the important works of the Geonic-Andalusian school to go lost. Additionally, the spread of Kabbalah and the influence of the Arizal were very influential in giving rise to a perspective contrary to the one expressed by R. Avraham, with the result that many people today are not aware that R. Avraham’s viewpoint ever held sway.

Yet, even if today we follow a different perspective, that should not mean that we must deny that previously it was Rabbenu Avraham’s perspective that ruled the day. I feel, and this is how I was taught by my rebbis, that our awe of the Rishonim and our fealty to them requires that we study their words and endeavor to understand them, even if we do not subscribe to aspects of their particular viewpoints. As my father writes in his beautiful introduction to the volume on Shemot, this was the way of Beit Hillel who would ponder the opposing views of Beis Shammai before declaring their own, and in fact, this is the very reason why we follow Beit Hillel.

The views in the essay are evident in the Peirush as well, even if they are not prominently featured due to the different nature of the work. For example, in Bereishit, R. Avraham speaks of the sciences as a body of accumulated knowledge, amassed over the generations. This fits well with his stated view in the Essay that the scientific knowledge of Chazal was of the sort that was available to savants at that time, and was not a separate branch of wisdom received by oral tradition from on High.

More importantly, throughout the Peirush, it is clear that R. Avraham’s approach to Aggadah is consistent with his statements in the Essay that Aggadic statements of individual members of Chazal were their own stated opinions and were not part of the authoritative oral tradition of Torah shebaal peh.

Eliezer: How long ago did you begin working on this project?

Rabbi Maimon: Already as a teenager, I was drawn to the Peirush of Rabbenu Avraham and began studying it then to the best of my abilities, though many times I found the Peirush too much to handle and I could not make much sense of it. The impetus to undertake the project of re-issuing it in a new edition came during a moment of inspiration one Rosh Hashanah, about seven years ago.

Eliezer: How did you, a Yeshivish-trained scholar get into this field of study in the first place?

Rabbi Maimon: At first, I thought I would just re-issue the Peirush, newly typeset and punctuated with little intrusion into the text and accompanied only by small marginal commentary. Yet, the more I got into the project, the more invested I became, and each subsequent recension saw the Peirush growing exponentially in terms of elucidation of the text in the notes, and also in terms of improving the translation, where I felt that doing so would enhance readability and comprehensibility.

Eliezer: Were you able to use Friedberg genizah in the course of your work?

Rabbi Maimon: The Friedberg Jewish Manuscript Society (https://fjms.genizah.org/) has been an indispensable resource for me. I have made frequent use of all its resources, and I feel my work has been immeasurably enhanced as a result. The Genizah portal was key in locating as of yet unpublished fragments of Sefer Hamaspik which were useful in elucidating corresponding passages in the Peirush, and the Judeo-Arabic corpus portal was especially crucial in establishing accurate translations for many of R. Avraham’s unique usages of Judeo-Arabic phrases.

Eliezer: Did you find any new passages of the Peirush?

Rabbi Maimon: To date, no corresponding fragments to the Peirush have been found in the Genizah, which lends credence to my contention in the foreword to Volume One that the Peirush was never disseminated. It appears that a lone manuscript (likely an autograph) made its way to Aleppo with R. David Ha-Naggid II, a fifth-generation descendant of R. Avraham, where it was copied over into what is today the sole surviving manuscript of the Peirush. Yet, in two instances I have located fragments of Hamaspik which contain references to the Peirush (incidentally, this was significant on its own because it helped shed light on the ongoing editing process of Hamaspik, which I detailed in the introduction to Volume One). In one of these instances, the reference pertains to a portion of Parshat Bereshit that is missing from our manuscript. I translated this piece and appended it to my addition. Other genizah fragments that were significant are transcribed in the notes where relevant. I shared my discovery of another one of the relevant Genizah fragment from Sefer Hamaspik with Prof. Friedman who was able to use it for an article of his that was recently published (see here).

Eliezer: What challenges were involved in translating the work from Arabic?

Rabbi Maimon: First, it was mostly troubleshooting. Anytime I felt that the language was cumbersome or obscure, I would attempt to re-translate key phrases to improve the flow and make it more understandable. At the same time, I would mine the publications of key Judeo-Arabic experts such as Professors Blau Friedman and Ilan for their observations regarding R. Avraham’s use of difference phrases. As I developed an appreciation and understanding of R. Avraham’s individual “flavor” in his language and syntax, I began to highlight his consistency in the usage of various terms and phrases in specific contexts, which was sometimes lost in the original translation. In all these cases I carefully noted the correction in the notes, typically with a brief explanation for the change.

Eliezer: Can you describe in short, your goal in your comments to the work?

Rabbi Maimon: My notes focus on all the aforementioned qualities for the Peirush. Basic sources have been incorporated into the text, but where some expansion was needed, I moved the discussion to the footnotes. <The rest of this response is detailed at length in the Overview>

Eliezer: Who did you consult while working on this project?

Rabbi Maimon: In the course of my work, I reached out to talmidei chachamim and experts from across the spectrum, and I have been careful to credit them all wherever appropriate. Professors Mordechai Akiva Freidman and Nahem Ilan, both of whom have spent years of research into the writings of Rabbenu Avraham, were particularly helpful in assisting with specific issues related to various translations I was working on. Rabbis Yaakov Wincelberg of Miami and Yehuda Zevald of Bnei Braq, both talmidei chachamim with ample experience in the Judeo-Arabic writings of the Rambam and Rabbenu Avraham, were helpful in this regard as well.

Rav Sholom Spitz, Rosh Yeshivah of Sha’ar HaTorah of Queens was quite gracious in sharing his personal notes on the Peirush and elucidating them when necessary, and I have incorporated these into my own notes with proper attribution.

In general, I have consulted a wide variety of published scholarship pertaining to research into Rabbenu Avraham’s writings, and I have referenced their contribution to my work, in accordance with the Rambam’s own dictum to accept truth regardless of its source.

Readers may also find Rabbi Maimon’s interview on The Seforim Chatter Podcast (here) interesting, and a nice review of Rabbi Maimon’s edition has recently appeared in the Fall issue of Jewish Review of Books here.

Purchasing information:

Email me at Eliezerbrodt@gmail.com for parts of the introduction and some sample pages of this special new work.

Copies are available for purchase at Biegeleisen (Brooklyn), Judaica Plaza (Lakewood), Tuvia’s (Monsey) as well as through many other fine retailers.

On can also purchase it online (or in person) through Mizrahi Book Store at this link.

To purchase a copy in Eretz Yisrael, contact me at Eliezerbrodt@gmail.com




New book announcement: Chochmo Ba’goyim Taamin, By Rabbi Yonason Rosman

New book announcement: Chochmo Ba’goyim Taamin, By Rabbi Yonason Rosman

By Eliezer Brodt

I would like to announce a concise new work which deals with some topics that are sure to be of interest to many of the readers of the blog.

The sefer is titled Chochmo Ba’goyim Taamin, written by Rabbi Yonason Rosman (182 pp.). The goal of the book is to deal with the famous issue of to what extent has Jewish thought and religion been influenced by foreign cultures? This new work explores the above question with its various controversial aspects. From Talmudic times to the contemporary period, from philosophy to music; information is culled from rabbis and academics alike, bringing the relevant material to the reader’s attention.

Here is the Table of Contents and the index of topics discussed in the book:

Currently the book has been printed in a very limited run; for people in the US it is available here at Mizrahi Book Store. If there is an interest, more copies will be printed.

For those in England and Eretz Yisrael please contact eliezerbrodt@gmail.com to reserve a copy.




Daf HaYomi: Seforim on Masseches Rosh Hashanah

Daf Yomi: Seforim on Masseches Rosh Hashanah

By Eliezer Brodt

Daf Yomi just started learning Masseches Rosh Hashanah this week. This past Monday evening I had a conversation with Rabbi Moshe Schwed of All Daf.

The purpose of the conversation was to briefly highlight some of the Rishonim and Achronim “out there” on this Messechtah, adding some tidbits of interest about them. We recorded it and it’s available for viewing here or here.

It’s only half an hour long. Many aspects could have been discussed at greater length but R. Schwed had mercy on potential listeners!

This is an experiment which we are trying on the Seforim Blog and we hope to have other presentations from others over time. Feedback or comments of any sort are appreciated.

This is the third such conversation I had with him of this kind this year (earlier we discussed Yerushalmi Shekalim [here] and Masseches Yoma [here]).




Book Announcement: Mitchell First’s, “Links to Our Legacy: Insights into Hebrew, History, and Liturgy”

Book Announcement: Links to Our Legacy: Insights into Hebrew, 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 Links to Our Legacy: Insights into Hebrew, History, and Liturgy (236 pp.)

Mitchell First’s 66 short articles address interesting questions about the Hebrew language, Jewish history, and liturgy. For example:

• On Hebrew language: insights into the original meanings of the words chamushim, totafot, kohen, minchah, nefesh, netzach, selah, tefillin and many others.

• On Jewish history: the order of the letters in the Hebrew alphabet, the absence of the book of Esther among the Dead Sea Scrolls, the distinction between Neviim and Ketuvim, Rashi’s motivations in writing his Torah commentary, biography of Nehama Leibowitz, and the symbolism of the Israel Postal Company logo.

• On Jewish liturgy: the meaning of sekhvi, the authorship of U-Netanneh Tokef, and the origin of the reading of each of the Five Megillot.

For an article that originally appeared on the Seforim Blog see here.

The book can be ordered here and here

Some reviews of the book can be seen here and here

Here are the Table of Contents:




In Praise of the Soncino Talmud

In Praise of the Soncino Talmud
By David S Farkas*

Not long ago one of our local schools hosted a Giveaway day in its library, making many of the older seforim in its considerable collection free to a good home. As expected, the local citizenry plundered and pillaged, carrying off large numbers of books, many still in quite good condition. I was only able to attend towards the end, “after the last of the gleaners had gone.”[1] Only a few scattered Siddurim and Chumashim were left, when I spotted a box in a corner of the room, filled with small red volumes. Close inspection revealed that the books were none other than the Soncino Talmud, a complete set. My heart sank a little to see this classic work, neglected and abandoned. I felt, in a small way, as though I had seen the tongue of Chutzpith the Translator lying in the dust.[2]

The Soncino Press sees no press at all these days, it seems. Its groundbreaking complete English translation of the Talmud has almost entirely been supplanted by Artscroll’s Schottenstein edition. Indeed, studying with the latter presents a very much different type of engagement with the Gemara, and Artscroll has undoubtedly done a master job of it. Yet for all of its depth and analysis, Soncino to this day brings to the table things that Artscroll does not. What follows, then, is not an attempt to sing the praises of one at the expense of the other, but only to point out some of the unique features of the now-neglected Soncino, and to suggest some of its alleged flaws may have been greatly exaggerated.[3]

To begin with, the canard so many of us heard in our yeshiva days – that Soncino was edited by less than fully-religious Jews – is a terrible misimpression that, to the best of my knowledge, seems to be based purely on the evidence that it was edited by a man named Isidore. Yet Rabbi Yechezkel Epstein (as he is in fact identified, in Hebrew, on the opposite front-page of most volumes) was very much an observant Jew, who attended the Pressburg Yeshivah founded by the Chasam Sofer, and was said to know Shas by heart. The project began with Seder Nezikin in 1935 with a heartfelt prayer to Almighty God, capped with the traditional phrase יה”ר מלפני ה’ כשם שעזרתני לסיים סדר נזיקין, כן תעזרני להתחיל סדרים אחרים ולסיימם.  It concluded in 1948, as printed in Seder Kodshim, with a heartfelt תם ונשלם שבח לבורא עולם, and the traditional Hadran written out nearly in full. We can certainly say of Soncino, if we may modify R. Yosi’s summation of Kelim, “Happy art thou, Soncino – thou began in purity, and finished in purity.”[4]

Moreover, a review of the individual contributors to each volume – a list that, to my knowledge, has never before been assembled – reveals that each and every one of them were strictly orthodox, and not identified with any other stream of Judaism.[5]

The entire series is written in the best of the King’s English. Somewhat amusingly, this itself has sometimes been offered as a reason not to use the Soncino, as though students today are incapable of understanding proper English. It is true that the series occasionally uses words no longer current (such as “dam” for a mother bird or animal, or “usufruct”.) It also actually translates Biblical or Talmudic concepts, rather than simply transliterating them, a device that has become popular today. Still, the language is eminently readable to anyone devoting to it the proper attention, and it is precisely the insistence upon proper translations that sometimes leads to a better grasp of the text.[6]

Turning to more substantive matters, one key item that jumps out is the brevity of the work. In its most compact English-only edition, the entire set – and that includes all sixty tractates, plus a full-length Index volume – comes in at a trim eighteen volumes. Even with the facing Hebrew page, the set numbers no more than 30 or 35 volumes, depending on the edition.[7] Artscroll, by contrast, which incudes only those tractates with Bavli (plus Shekalim, Eduyos, and Midos) comes in at a jaw-dropping, new-bookshelves-requiring, 73 volumes.[8]

And there is something to be said for concision. At times, when I have encountered a difficulty in the (original) text, checking with Artscroll has only made things more difficult. The Artscroll method is generally to translate or paraphrase the entirety of Rashi, and doing so in English sometimes leaves the reader confused. By contrast, Soncino tends to collapse the entirety of every question and answer into one or two lines. Keeping things short and to the point, I have found, often leads to better understanding of the basic give and take of the Gemara.

This brevity is especially important – and here is a key distinction between the two translations – for those who can learn the Gemara in the original, but either lack the time or the patience to do so. Artscroll effectively prevents the user from doing anything on his own. The text is spoon-fed to the user, and because of the interlinear format, the reader never gets entirely away from the English. Though one can go to the full Hebrew text, the Hebrew woven into the English also means users can – and do – simply use the translation.  It is quite often tedious and time consuming to read, in part because the sentences are broken up every few words, and in part because of the copious long and involved footnotes. Soncino, on the other hand, rather than leading the reader by the hand, simply gives him a head start. Quickly perusing a few English-only paragraphs provides the reader with an overview of the upcoming sugya, and allows him to go back into the regular text and then read everything on his own. In essence, it requires the reader to still go back to the traditional Hebrew text, especially if he wants to fully understand the discussion.

That, of course, might well be considered a flaw, rather than a feature. As noted by R. Gil Student, the Soncino does have “limited value in helping one understand the “sugya” (progression of ideas at large).”[9] Artscroll does an excellent job of laying out for the reader where the passage is heading, and identifying what the Gemara intends to accomplish with each step of the discussion. Soncino does none of this, expecting the student to do this on his own. In some volumes, however, the text is broken up into shorter paragraphs, which on their own help the astute reader realize the Gemara’s direction.

Footnotes help, too.  Soncino very often paraphrases Rashi, only without calling attention to the fact. Moreover, it also regularly cites traditional commentators. As noted in the Introduction, these include, in addition to Rashi, “the Tosafists, Asheri, Alfasi, Maimonides, Maharsha, the glosses of BaH, Rashal, Strashun, the Wilna Gaon, etc.” I have also seen cited Rishonim like Rabbeinu Chananel or Ritva, and Achronim like R. Yaakov Emden and R. Tzvi Hirsch Chajes. Of course, and again, in no way does it approach the information provided by Artscroll. Readers with questions will often find them addressed in the lengthy notes of Artscroll, and will even more frequently encounter issues they had never considered. For sheer depth of analysis, Artscroll stands alone. Still, it is a mistake to think that Soncino gives the reader only the bare Gemara by itself.

Yet Soncino also provides information often absent from Artscroll. As the Chief Editor wrote, while he did not attempt to secure uniformity among the several authors – more on that in a moment – he himself added footnotes in brackets containing matters of historical and geographical interest. (To be sure, R. Epstein also added in many pshat based comments, though both functions noticeably decline in frequency as the series progresses into Kodshim.)

Citations to journals like the Jewish Quarterly Review or other German-language periodicals abound. Where parallels to the Gemara exist in Josephus or Apocrypha like Ben Sira, we are informed.  Likewise, parallels in Greek and Roman sources are also frequently noted.[10] Most place names are identified via Obermeyer’s 1929 geographical guide to Talmudic Babylon. Textural variants from the Septuagint are sometimes noted. Herford is also cited on anything that relates to Christianity, though, it may be said, Soncino displays somewhat of an obsession on this topic, and often perceives statements of the sages to be a disguised polemic, with very little justification.[11]

Each of the six Sedarim has its own introduction. The introductions to each of the individual volumes contain very useful summaries of the topic of each chapter, an important feature for learning the Talmud (and quite helpful for review), where the forest can easily be lost sight of. An appendix to Gittin gives what I believe to still be the best short summation of the Talmudic-era medicine described in the 7th chapter of that Masechta, as well as a similar lengthy passage in Avoda Zara. In one of the volumes (Eruvin) diagrams are gamely used, though the technology of the time did not permit anything much more than rudimentary line drawing and shading. Similarly, the anatomical skeleton of an ox is presented in Chulin.

I noted above that the editor did not seek to achieve uniformity of style, and the uneven quality shows. Some volumes are simply better than others. In one or two cases the translation can only be called wooden, and the notes do little more than add an emphatic “Surely not!” after obviously rhetorical questions. Happily, though, in most cases the individuality of the authors accrues to the benefit of the overall translation, providing different perspectives and viewpoints. Thus, for example, the translations of Chulin and Menachos done by Eli Cashdan, a European-born Talmid Chacham of note, are particularly lucid and clear. The translation to Moed Kattan by Dayan Lazarus preserves the poetry of the original in the elegies of the third chapter by translating them into English poetry, in the classic British style of Israel Zangwill and Nina Salaman,[12] The work to the first half of Kesubos by Samuel Daiches, the only barrister at law to participate in the series (though also an ordained rabbi), is particularly rich with citations to both Roman Cannon law and English jurisprudence.[13] And a number of these highly-educated authors find parallels in Talmudic sayings to classics of literature. [14]

In short, there is much to say in favor of the Soncino Talmud. It contains many gems of scholarship and interpretation, some of them not found, to my knowledge, in any other sources. If it is not perfect – no translation ever is – it is far better than it is often given credit for. The Soncino Talmud was, and fill forever remain, a landmark of Torah literature. To echo (via paraphrase) the words of Dr. Shnayer Leiman in these pages a number of years ago, said in connection with a different classic series thought to be out of date: “Hold on to your Soncino Talmuds! Public libraries and private collectors will do well to retain them and keep them precisely on the same shelves they have now occupied these many years.”[15]

Note from the Seforim Blog editors: Prof. Saul Lieberman refers to “responsible English translations of rabbinic texts (like those of Soncino Press)” at the end of his classic poison-pen review of Jacob Neusner’s acumen as a talmudic translator. See Lieberman, Saul. “A Tragedy or a Comedy?” Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 104, no. 2, 1984, pp. 315–319.

* Mr. Farkas received his rabbinic ordination from Ner Israel Rabbinical College in 1999. He lives with his family in Cleveland, Ohio, where he serves as Senior Corporate Counsel for a large energy company.   

[1] See Peah 8:1, Bava Metzia 21b

[2] See Chulin 142b.

[3] I have used the device of contrasting with Artscroll to highlight certain aspects of the Soncino. It should be self-understood that these points of preference are in no way intended to derogate that outstanding work, which enjoys deserved worldwide popularity. In the same vein, I use Artscroll as a contrast simply because of its wide-spread use, and not from any intent to disregard the also excellent Koren and Steinsaltz editions.

[4] The foreword and epilogue to the set – what we might today call הסכמות – contain similar sentiment. They are cited, along with brief comments on the Soncino series, in Words, Meaning, and Spirit: The Talmud in Translation (A. Mintz, Torah U’Maddah Journal 1995).

[5] The Complete list of Contributors to the Gemara include the following Rabbis, Doctors, and Misters, in alphabetical order: I. Abraham (Chagigah); Eli Cashdan (Menachos, Chulin); Abraham Cohen (Sotah, Avoda Zara); Samuel Daiches (Kesubos); H. Freedman (Sabbath, Pesachim, Nedarim, Kiddushin, Bava Metzia, Sanhedrin, Zevachim); M. Ginsberg (Betzah); L. Jung (Yoma, Arachin); E. W. Kirzner (Bava Kama); B. D. Klein (Nazir); L. Miller (Bechoros, Temurah); I. Porusch (Kerisos, Meilah); J. Rabinowitz (Taanis)  Jacob Shachter (Sanhedrin) H. M. Lazarus (Moed Kattan, Makkos); A. E. Silverstone (Shevuous);  Maurice Simon (Brachos, Eruvin, Rosh Hashana, Megilah, Gittin, Bava Basra, Bechoros, Tamid); and Israel Slotki (Sukah, Yevamos, Horayos, Bava Basra, Nidah).

The additional Mishnayos were translated by the aforementioned Israel Slotki, and Rabbis/Dcotors H. Bornstein, Phillip Cohen, Isidore Fishman, J. Israelstam, S. M. Lerhrman, and M. H. Segal.

Biographical data is available for many of these figures in Encyclopedia Judaica or Wikipedia. Information can also be found in the Jewish Communities and Records of the United Kingdom database, by clicking on the “rabbinic profiles” tab. (Available here: https://www.jewishgen.org/jcr-uk/Profiles) Note that all the figures listed here are found in the section designated for Orthodox Ministers & Cantors.

I am grateful to Dr. Marc Shapiro, who provided me with very interesting information on some of these men, and who also referred me to Rabbi Benjamin Elton, of the Great Synagogue in Australia, who likewise did the same. R. Elton, in turn, referred me to Professor David Newman, who sent me some photographs of some of the contributors – looking very rabbinic indeed.

[6] This is particularly true for the realia of the Gemara. See for example Pesachim 37a, סריקין מצויירין  which Soncino translates as “Syrian cakes”, but Artscroll transliterates as “decorated Sirikin”; Yoma 38a נחושת קלוניתא which to Soncino is Corinthian Bronze, but to Artscroll, “refined copper.”; In Moed Kattan 27a, in the context of items a mourner may sit upon, such as the chair or ground, אודייני גדולה is listed and translated by Artscroll simply as a “large mortar”, with no additional comment. Soncino translates it as “a large bench for water jugs”, footnoting to the Roman Uranariun and showing the term in parallel passages as אורנריי. Many such examples can be cited.

[7] For more on these different editions see Words, A. Mintz, Id., at fn. 49.

[8] Though this set too, now looks small, compared to the complete Hebrew-language Mesivta edition – a stupendous 136 volumes.

[9] “Tackling the Talmud: One Daf at a Time” (Jewish Action, Fall 2012)

[10] See for example Nazir 4b, showing parallels to the story described therein to the tale of Narcissus found in Ovid.

[11] See, for example, the Commentary to Sukkah 5a, Nedarim 38a and 64b. (I hasten to add, as someone once observed, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.” I myself recently wrote, of a Mishna in Beitzah, that it too, contained a hitherto unnoticed reference to Christianity. See my article Of Fish and Fishermen: An Unknown Christian Passage in the Talmud (Tradition 52:3 2020).)

[12] See also his nifty rendering of the phrase found there on 9b בת שיתין כבת שית לקל טבלא רהטא : “As sixty as six: the sound of a timbrel makes her nimble.”

[13] See there, for example, 17b and 20a.

[14] See Chagigah 13b, in connection with Sandalphon, referencing Longfellow’s similarly named poem; Avoda Zara 4a, comparing R. Chanina’s advice to pray for the government for without it men would swallow each other alive to a phrase in Shakespeare’s Coriolanus.

[15] The New Encyclopedia Judaica: Some Preliminary Observations. (Shnayer Leiman, Seforim Blog, June 5, 2007)




Which Direction is North?, Geographical Mistakes, and our Woke Universities

Which Direction is North?, Geographical Mistakes, and our Woke Universities

Marc B. Shapiro

1. Numbers 34:15 states: “Two and a half tribes have taken their inheritance on the side of the Jordan by Jericho, to the front, eastward.”

Rashi comments:

קדמה מזרחהאל פני העולם שהם במזרחשרוח מזרחית קרויה פנים ומערביות קרויה אחור לפיכך דרום לימין וצפון לשמאל

This passage is translated as follows in ArtScroll’s Sapirstein edition:

To the Front, Eastward: This means to the front of the world, which is in the east, for the eastern direction is called “face” and the western direction is called “back.” This is why the south is to the right and the north is to the left.

What does the “front of the world” mean? Furthermore, how could Rashi say that south is to the right? Anyone who looks at a map can see that south is not to the right and north is not to the left. Rather east is to the right and west is to the left.

ArtScroll begins its explanation by referring to Psalms 89:13: צָפוֹן וְיָמִין אַתָּה בְרָאתָם

The north and the south [right], Thou hast created them.” What we see from this verse is that “right” is used synonymously with “south”, which means that “north” also signifies “left”. But what does this mean, that “south” is “right” and “north” is “left”?

See also Genesis 13:9: אִםהַשְּׂמֹאל וְאֵימִנָה וְאִםהַיָּמִין וְאַשְׂמְאִילָה

Onkelos and Ps.-Jonathan translate: אם את לצפונא אנא לדרומא ואם את לדרומא אנא לצפונה

As you can see, the Targumim also understand “right” to mean south and “left” to mean north.

Genesis 14:15 states: וַיִּרְדְּפֵם עַדחוֹבָה אֲשֶׁר מִשְּׂמֹאל לְדַמָּשֶׂק

Old JPS translates: “[He] pursued them unto Hobah, which is on the left hand of Damascus.” But this is incorrect. The word משמאל here means “to the north”, and this is how it appears in the new JPS (and also in ArtScroll). See also Ezekiel 16:46 where again the words “right” and “left” refer to south and north.[1]

In its commentary to Rashi, Numbers 34:15, ArtScroll provides examples of other places where Rashi explains “south” to mean “right”. For example, Ezekiel 10:3 states: וְהַכְּרֻבִים עֹמְדִים מִימִין לַבַּיִת בְּבֹאוֹ הָאִישׁ. “Now the cherubim stood on the right side of the house, when the man went in.” Rashi comments:

מימין לביתבדרום

On the right side of the house: In the south [of the Temple].

ArtScroll does not mention Rashi, Genesis 35:18, where he explains the name בנימין as meaning “of the south”, that is, the only son who was born in the south.

Returning to Rashi’s comment in Numbers 34:15, where he says that south is to the right and north is to the left, ArtScroll explains as follows: “When one faces east, his right is to the south, his left is to the north, and his back is to the west.” This explanation is earlier found in the Silbermann translation of Rashi, Exodus, p. 261: “In reality these terms describe the points of the compass relative to one who is facing the place of sun-rise (מזרח) so that ימין, the right, is the South and שמאל, the left, is the North.” Neither ArtScroll nor Silbermann mention that this explanation is already found in Nahmanides, Exodus 26:18.

Now let us look at two passages in Maimonides. In Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Terumot 1:9, Maimonides states:

איזו היא סוריהמארץ ישראל ולמטה כנגד ארם נהריים וארם צובה כל יד פרת עד בבל כגון דמשק ואחלב וחרן ומגבת וכיוצא בהן עד שנער וצהר הרי היא כסוריה

What constitutes Syria? From Eretz Yisrael and below parallel to Aram Naharaim and Aram Tzovah, the entire region of the Euphrates until Babylonia, e.g., Damascus, Achalev, Charan, Minbag, and the like until Shinar and Tzahar. These are considered like Syria.

I have underlined the problematic word. How can Maimonides say that Aram Naharaim etc. are below the Land of Israel? As R. Mordechai Emanuel notes, the Rambam is placing Damascus south of the Land of Israel which is clearly mistaken.[2] Here is the map, and if we inserted all the places places Maimonides mentions we would find them north of Israel.

R. Isaac Klein writes as follows in his translation in the Yale Judaica Series (p. 436):

Outward” – literally “below.” The term is due to the belief that the Land of Israel was situated higher than all other lands, hence all other countries were considered below it. In modern Hebrew he who immigrates into Israel is termed oleh, “he who has ascended,” while he who leaves Israel is called yored, “he who has descended.

The Touger edition of the Mishneh Torah comments:

The term “below” in this context is problematic. It does not mean “south,” because significant portions of Syria are more northerly than Eretz Yisrael. Some commentaries understand it as meaning in height, because as Kiddushin 69b states, Eretz Yisrael is higher than other lands.

Rambam le-Am states that the word “below” should be understood as meaning “outside of”, which is how Klein also translated the passage:

כלומרמחוצה להוכתב למטה” לפי שארץ ישראל גבוהה מכל הארצות – קידושין סט:

Yet this doesn’t make much sense. Maimonides is giving the borders of Syria so saying מארץ ישראל ולמטה cannot possibly mean “outside Eretz Yisrael”. The fact that Eretz Yisrael is higher than the surrounding lands is also not relevant. In other words, the three editions of the Mishneh Torah we have just mentioned don’t have a clue as to why Maimonides writes למטה, when anyone looking at a map would conclude that he should have written למעלה.

The same problem can be seen in Hilkhot Kiddush ha-Hodesh 11:17 where Maimonides states that Jerusalem is found below the equator.

מתחת הקו השוה המסבב באמצע העולם

Both Solomon Gandz in the Yale Judaica Series and the Touger edition translate this as “north of the equator” without explaining how מתחת can mean north. Again, anyone can look at a map and see that Jerusalem is above the equator, so what is going on here?

The answer to the questions I have asked is that maps in the Islamic world were generally oriented with south at the top. I can do no better than cite Jerry Brotton’s wonderful bookת A History of the World in Twelve Maps (London, 2012), pp. 58-59:

Most of the communities who converted to Islam in its early phase of rapid international expansion in the seventh and eighth centuries lived directly north of Mecca, leading them to regard the qibla as due south. As a result, most Muslim world maps, including al-Idrisi’s, were oriented with south at the top. This also neatly established continuity with the tradition of the recently conquered Zoroastrian communities in Persia, which regarded south as sacred.

This orientation would have appeared on the maps that Maimonides was familiar with, and thus it makes sense for him to describe Aram Naharaim, etc. as below Israel, or Jerusalem as below the equator, as that is what he saw when he looked at a map.[3] Here is an example of such a map by the famed twelfth-century cartographer Muhammad al-Idrisi. This map is known as Tabula Rogeriana as it was made for King Roger II of Sicily.[4]

As you can see, Saudi Arabia is on top. Here is a twentieth-century map which also puts south on the top.[5]

We have other examples of maps in Jewish sources that show the directions differently than what we are used to. For example, here is Gittin 7b and the maps in Rashi show west on top.

We also have maps in medieval manuscripts of Rashi’s commentaries that show east on top, as well as north on top.[6]

Here is Maharsha, Gittin 7b, which shows west on top. Below this you can see the map in R. Meir of Lublin’s commentary that has east on top.

Here is Maharsha, Berakhot 61b, and east is on top.

Here is a page from R. Jonathan ben Joseph’s Yeshuah be-Yisrael, a 1720 commentary on Maimonides’ Hilkhot Kiddush ha-Hodesh (ch. 10), and you can see again that east is on top.

Many people probably assume that what we have seen are printers’ mistakes, but that is not the case. European cartographers regularly put east on top, as Jerusalem was in the east relative to Europe, and the top was often regarded as the most important place on a map.[7] We also have examples from Europe with the west on top, although this is much rarer.[8] The important point is that our current maps that have north on top are not any more correct than these other maps. It is simply a matter of convention which direction should be on top, and interested readers are referred to Brotton’s book mentioned already.

As we have been discussing maps, here are some examples of what appear to be geographical mistakes in rabbinic literature, in no particular order. (In a future post I will deal with rabbinic views about whether the earth is round or flat, and why they thought there was no human habitation in the southern hemisphere.)

Rashi, Shabbat 65b, s.v סהדא, and Kiddushin 71b s.v. עד נהר, states that the Euphrates flows from the Land of Israel to Babylonia.[9] The Talmud, Shabbat 65b, quotes Rav that when the water rises in the Euphrates this is a sign that there has been rain in the Holy Land.[10] I believe the simple explanation of this passage, contrary to Rashi, is that there was an assumption that if there was significant rain in Babylonia then there was also rain in Eretz Yisrael. Presumably, this is also the meaning of pseudo-Rashi to Nedarim 40a s.v. סהדא (this commentary is not by Rashi):

כשנהר פרת גדול הוי עדות לגשמים שיורדין לאי דאי גבוה מכל הארצות ובאין גשמים ונופלין בפרת ומתגדל מהן

Rashi, however, had a different approach, and believed that the Euphrates flows all the way from the Land of Israel to Babylonia, so when the level of the Euphrates is raised this is proof that in the Land Israel it rained. Yet this is incorrect as the Euphrates does not flow from the Land of Israel to Babylonia. See also Tosafot, Shabbat 65b s.v. סהדא, who also think that the Euphrates is found in the Land of Israel, but reject Rashi’s understanding since Tosafot claims that rivers only flow from east to west (so the Euphrates must flow from Babylonia to the Land of Israel).[11]

However, R. Samuel Strashun, note to Shabbat 65b, tells us that he looked at a map and saw that the Euphrates indeed flows from west to east. He further notes that the Danube River also flows from west to east, meaning that Tosafot’s reason for rejecting Rashi is incorrect. We know that the Tosafot on different tractates do not necessarily come from the same school, and Tosafot, Bekhorot 44a, s. v. לא, and 55b, s.v. מיטרא, mention Rashi’s idea that the Euphrates flows from the Land of Israel to Babylonia.

Returning to Rashi, many have wondered how Rashi could describe the Euphrates as flowing from the Land of Israel, although I don’t see what is so difficult, since without accurate maps how could one expect Rashi to have perfect knowledge of the geography of the Middle East?[12] Nahmanides famously records in his commentary to Genesis 35:16 that only when he came to the Land of Israel and could see the geography did he realize that an explanation he had offered was incorrect. Interestingly, Nahmanides never updated his commentary to Genesis 35:18 where he criticizes Rashi for his supposed geographic error regarding Aram Naharaim. Yet most would say that it is Ramban who is mistaken when he writes that “Aram is southeast of the Land of Israel, and the Land of Israel is to its north.”[13]

R. Strashun calls attention to what he thinks is another geographical mistake in Rashi. In his note to Sukkah 36a he mentions that Rashi is mistaken (היפך המציאות) about where Kush is located, as R. Strashun tells us that Kush is Ethiopia. However, as R. Yaakov Hayyim Sofer has noted, Rashi routinely explains Kush as being identical with הינדואה, not Ethiopia. Presumably, Rashi understands הינדואה as India, which means that Hodu, mentioned in Esther 1:1, is a different place. While most people have understood Esther 1:1 to mean “from India[14] unto Ethiopia,” Rashi on Esther 1:1 tells us that Kush and Hodu are next to each other (which is one talmudic opinion in Megillah 11a).

Leaving aside Rashi’s identification of Kush as הינדואה, the real problem is Rashi’s understanding of הינדואה as a different place than Hodu. Interested readers can examine my earlier post here where I discuss this issue and explain why הדו has a dagesh in the dalet.[15] As for Kush, there is no uniformity of opinion as to what it refers to, and it is possible that the different biblical references do not all refer to the same place.[16] In agreement with Rashi, Tosafot, Bava Batra 84a s.v. בצפרא, mention that the Midrash places Kush in the east. R. Jacob Emden, who knew his geography, states that in addition to Ethiopia there was another land near India that was called Kush.[17] No less a figure than R. Abraham Maimonides confesses that he does not know where the Kush mentioned in Genesis 2:13 is to be found.[18]

There is actually a long mountain range called Hindu Kush that passes through Pakistan, which until the second half of the twentieth century was included in the territory called India.[19] Since the term “Hindu Kush” has been in existence for over a thousand years, it was obviously not incorrect for medieval writers to speak of a Kush near India. In my earlier post I also cited P. S. Alexander who writes: “It was a common view in ancient geography, shared by Ptolemy and probably also the author of the book of Jubilees . . . that Ethiopia was joined to India in the east. It is this idea that lies behind the [talmudic] statement that Cush and Hodu are adjacent.”[20] He also notes that the Indians’ dark skin was a reason for the identification. Furthermore, Alexander tell us, there was an ancient belief that there was a land connection between Ethiopia and India south of the Indian Ocean.

Speaking of geographical inaccuracies, Rabbi Natan Slifkin writes as follows in his new book Rationalism vs. Mysticism, p. 517:

The Zohar makes many statements about places in the Land of Israel which are incorrect, but which would be perfectly understandable if they were authored by someone living in Spain. For example, in multiple places the Kinneret is described as being in the territory of Zevulun, and as being the source of the chilazon that produces techelet, even though it was actually derived from the Mediterranean. Lod is described as being situated in the Galilee, and Cappadocia is described as a village near Sepphoris rather than as a province in Asia Minor.[21]

Avraham Korman called attention to a passage in Yalkut Shimoni, Joshua, remez 15.[22] The Midrash is commenting on the verse in Joshua 3:16:

וַיַּעַמְדוּ הַמַּיִם הַיֹּרְדִים מִלְמַעְלָה קָמוּ נֵדאֶחָדהַרְחֵק מְאֹד באדם (מֵאָדָםהָעִיר אֲשֶׁר מִצַּד צָרְתָן

The waters which came down from above stood, and rose up in one heap, a great way off from Adam, the city that is beside Zarethan

The Midrash states:

שמעת מימיך עיר נקראת אדםאלא על אברהם נאמר והאדם הגדול בעקים” (יהושע ידטו)

Korman believes this Midrash was authored by someone who did not know the Land of Israel, and thus could not believe that there was actually a city named Adam. Therefore, the sage offered a midrashic understanding of “Adam”. Yet there was indeed such a city, and it is mentioned in Yerushalmi, Sotah 7:5. It was later called Damiyeh by the Arabs.[23] However, Korman’s notion that the author of the Midrash did not know any of this, and the passage should be read as a denial of the literal existence of the city of Adam, strikes me as complete nonsense.

R. Ovadiah Bartenura in his commentary to Genesis 12:6 strangely does not realize that Hebron is in the south of biblical Eretz Yisrael.[24] R. Ovadiah would eventually journey to the Land of Israel, so this comment must have been made before his arrival there.

R. Moses Sofer, She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, Even ha-Ezer II no. 49, cites Deuteronomy 11:24, which refers to the boundaries of “Greater Israel.”

כָּלהַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר תִּדְרֹךְ כַּףרַגְלְכֶם בּוֹ לָכֶם יִהְיֶה מִןהַמִּדְבָּר וְהַלְּבָנוֹן מִןהַנָּהָר נְהַרפְּרָתוְעַד הַיָּם הָאַחֲרוֹן יִהְיֶהגְּבֻלְכֶם

Every place whereon the sole of your foot shall tread shall be yours: from the wilderness, and Lebanon, from the river, the river Euphrates, even unto the Western Sea shall be your border.”

R. Sofer wonders about the words מן המדבר והלבנון, as these are both in the south, so how could this establish borders when what the verse should have is a site in the north together with a site in the south?

ויש לי מקום עיון בלשון הקרא . . . שלכאורה אין לו שחר כי המדבר והלבנון הוא גבול דרומית לאי שבין צפון ים סוף לדרום אי

This passage is surprising, to say the least, as how could R. Sofer say that Lebanon is in the south of Israel? Ever since this passage appeared in print it has mystified readers and many have simply thrown up their hands without any explanation, as it is impossible to imagine that R. Sofer did not know that Lebanon is located to the north of Israel. R. Sofer was attacked on this point by Leopold Loew in his Hungarian periodical Ben Chananja.[25] R. Joseph Natonek in a German booklet offered an explanation of R. Sofer, but I confess to not understanding his point. Here is how R. Natonek’s position is summarized by Shmuel Weingarten.[26]

הרב נטונק מוכיח איפוא שהאתנחתא” בדברי החתס צריכה להיות אחרי המלים שבין צפון” והוו של והלבנון אינה ו‘ החבור (konjunktiv) אלא ו‘ הפרוד (disjunktiv) . . . דברי החתס ברורים איפוא: “כי המדבר והלבנון הוא גבול דרומית לאי שבין צפון” מן המדבר שבדרום עד הלבנון שבצפון וכו

R. Sofer made his comment regarding Deuteronomy 11:24, and he sees the words מן המדבר והלבנון as indicating that the wilderness and Lebanon are in the same place. The same words are found in Joshua 1:4:

מהמדבר והלבנון הזה ועד הנהר הגדול נהר פרת

From the wilderness, and this Lebanon, even unto the great river, the river Euphrates.”

Here, too, if we didn’t already know where Lebanon is we would assume that the wilderness and Lebanon are together, as that is the simplest way to read the text. It is so obvious, in fact, that Metzudat Tziyon is forced to explain “Lebanon” as referring to the name of a forest. The Vilna Gaon, in his commentary printed in the Mikraot Gedolot, also does not regard this “Lebanon” as referring to the Lebanon we know but a different Lebanon in the southeast of Israel.[27] So we see that R. Sofer was not alone in his understanding.

Avraham Moshe Luntz, who wrote much about the geography of the Land of Israel, also argues that the “Lebanon” referred to here is not the Lebanon we know.[28] He thinks the verse is referring to the borders of a future Greater Israel and the Lebanon mentioned is actually Wadi al-Abyad in the south, in the Land of Edom. (Abyad=white, which is also the root of the word Lebanon.) However, I don’t know which place he is referring to, as while there is a Wadi al-Abyad in Jordan it is not in the south but on the east of Jerusalem.

Here is how Luntz connects what he says with the Vilna Gaon’s comment (p. 83):

והנה כל הדברים האלה אף כי חדשים הם לא שערום הראשונים בכל זאת הרגיש בהם הגרא זל מטעם סוד ה‘ ליראיו אם כי לא שמע מעולם מן ועדאלאביאט ורק מרוח הקודש אשר הופיע בבית מדרשו כתב בבאורו על הגבולין דיהושע והלבנון זה מזרחו של ארץ ישראל הקרוב לצד דרום ולכן אמר הזה” ששם היו עומדים והרב בעל תבואות הארץ כתב עליו נפלאים בעיני דבריו“. אמנםלא נפלאים ולא רחוקים המהרק נפלאת היא בעניניו רוח קדשו של הגרא זל אשר מאת ה‘ נתנה לו.

In Mesorat Moshe, vol. 2, pp. 158-159, R. Moshe Feinstein discusses Venice and Shushan Purim.[29] In the note the following appears:

ואחר כך הזכיר רבינו שונציה שנזכר בפיוטים הוא חלק מרוסיהפעם היה שם רב אליהו פרושנעראבל אפשר שונציה שמוזכר בשער דף של ספריםלמקום הדפוסמכוין ל-Venice [ונציה], שמוצאים זה על ספרים עתיקותבשנים שברוסיה וכו‘ לא היו בתי דפוסואפשר שבאיטליה כן היה.

R. Moshe says that the Venice that is mentioned in piyutim is not Venice, Italy, but a place in Russia. He must have had in mind the town of Vinnitsa – וויניצא – which you can read about here. He also says that R. Elijah Feinstein (of Pruzhan) was there, which appears to mean that he served as a rabbi in Vinnitsa (although this appears to be inaccurate). As for the first point about Venice being mentioned in piyutim, I have never heard of this and if it is the case, it could only refer to Venice, Italy. Perhaps R. Moshe was referring to something like this book of Yotzrot which on the title page says it was published in Venice, and refers to Venice, Italy.

The note in Mesorat Moshe continues that R. Moshe was aware of the name Venice on the title page of seforim, and thought it is “possible” that this refers to Venice, Italy. This is all very strange, and despite what the note says I find it impossible to believe that R. Moshe did not know that Venice was a center for Jewish printing, even if he did not know the extent of this printing. (Venice was where the first Mikraot Gedolot[30] Bible, as well as the first complete Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds were printed.) I am inclined to assume that this note does not accurately inform us of what R. Moshe’s point was.

Regarding Venice, Rashi has an interesting passage in his commentary to Isaiah 42:10:

ומלואוהקבועים בים ולא באיים אלא בתוך המים שופכים עפר כל אחד ואחד כדי בית והולכים מבית לבית בספינה כגון עיר ווניצייא

[Those who go down to the sea and] those therein: Those whose permanent residence is in the sea and not in the islands, but in the midst of the water they spill earth, each one of them, enough for a house, and go from house to house by boat, like the city of Venice.

 

Rashi mistakenly thought that the islands of Venice–of which there are 118—were man-made. He also seems to have thought that there was only one house on each island and you travel from house to house by boat. Incidentally, as Yitzhak Baer has noted, other than Venice the only other contemporary (European) city Rashi mentions by name is Rome.[31] For the reference to Rome, Baer refers to Rashi’s commentary to Isaiah 33:23, but he neglects to note that Rashi also mentions Rome in his commentary to Micah 7:8. Furthermore, in Bomberg’s 1525 Venice Mikraot Gedolot, Rashi to Zechariah 13:7 reads: את מלך רומי הרשעה. Yet in the standard Mikraot Gedolot the following appears: את מלך בבל.

Manfred Lehmann[32] thought that there was something else related to Venice in Rashi’s commentary to Nehemiah 7:3 where in manuscripts, but not in the Mikraot Gedolot printed version, Rashi explains the word משמרות (watches) as: גיטא בלעז. Lehmann states that this is the first time the word “Ghetto” appears in Jewish literature, and that the word originates in Venice. Lehmann then states that he doubts that there was already a ghetto in Venice in the days of Rashi. I don’t understand this at all, because if Lehmann (correctly) doubts that there was a ghetto in medieval Venice, then how could he not realize that the word גיטא cannot refer to “ghetto”. (The Venice ghetto was established in 1516.) This is quite apart from the fact that the word “ghetto” would not make sense in the verse. If you want to know what גיטא means, the place to look is Moshe Katan, Otzar Loazei Rashi (Jerusalem, 1990), p. 88, where he provides the Hebrew translation of the old French word: תצפיותמארבים. I must also note that the commentary to Nehemiah attributed to Rashi was not actually written by him.[33]

In the first draft of this post I wrote that I didn’t understand how R. Hayyim Joseph David Azulai, Shem ha-Gedolimma’arekhet gedolim, s.v. ע no. 2, could write that R. Ovadiah of Bertinoro came from a town in “Romania.” R. Azulai refers to Romania in Shem ha-Gedolimma’arekhet gedolim, s.v. א no. 169, and ma’arekhet seforim, s.v. ח no. 15, and it means  Byzantium. I didn’t think it was possible that R. Azulai was unaware that Bertinoro is a town in Italy, some 200 miles from his home in Livorno. Furthermore, I have no doubt that every Torah scholar who lived in Italy in R. Azulai’s day would have known and been proud of the fact that R. Ovadiah came from Italy. So I didn’t know what to make of R. Azulai’s comment. Shimon Steinmetz enlightened me that when R. Azulai refers to Bertinoro as being in Romania, he actually has in mind the Italian historical region called Romagna. In an era before there was a country named Italy, it makes sense that R. Azulai would refer to the region that R. Ovadiah of Bertinoro came from.

Let me offer one final example where the mistake is not made by the medieval authority, in this case Maimonides, but by his critic, R. Jacob Emden. In the Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Tzitzit 2:2, Maimonides writes about how tekhelet is produced: “A chilazon is a fish whose color is like the color of the sea and whose blood is black like ink. It is found in the ים המלח.” We all know that ים המלח means the Dead Sea, and the Dead Sea is referred to as such numerous times in the Bible. R. Jacob Emden is shocked that Maimonides makes the error of thinking that fish could live in the Dead Sea.[3] He ends his comment with the strong words: לכן שיבוש גמור הוא זה לרמ זל. A number of later commentators also call attention to Maimonides’ “problematic” words, and some refer to R. Emden’s comment.

Yet the mistake here is not by Maimonides but by R. Emden, who didn’t realize that when Maimonides referred to the “salt sea” he meant the Mediterranean.[35] Maimonides was just translating into Hebrew the Arabic term used to designate the Mediterranean[36]אלבחר אלמאלח. At the end of his Commentary on the Mishnah, Maimonides mentions that he wrote this work while on אלבחר אלמאלח, and in his commentary to Kelim 15:1 he speaks of ships that that go from the Land of Israel to Alexandria by way of אלבחר אלמאלח. In the Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Arakhim ve-Haramim 8:8, the best texts have: ישליכן לים הגדול ים המלח כדי לאבדן, thus explicitly identifying what he means by “salt sea”. When Maimonides refers to the Dead Sea in Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Shabbat 21:29, he calls it ים סדום [37]. This is not his own term as Bava Batra 74b refers to ימה של סדום. Yerushalmi, Shabbat 14:3 refers to the Dead Sea as מי סדום. Interestingly, Yerushalmi, Kil’ayim 9:3 refers to it as ימא דמילחא [38]

2. In a number of posts I have documented how material from an archive at Bar-Ilan University ended up in various auctions. I was quite surprised that no one in any position of authority at Bar-Ilan seemed to care at all about what I had discovered. R. Elli Fischer recently discovered something similar, but with a much more expensive manuscript from the Jewish Theological Seminary. The story in this case is that the manuscript was sold by JTS. See the report hereMaybe the story with the archive from Bar-Ilan is similar to what happened with JTS, and it was actually Bar-Ilan which sold the archive. This would explain why they expressed no interest in finding out how the archive ended up at auction.

* * * * * * * *

Some years ago Rabbi Jonathan Sacks told me that in addition to writing scholarship I should also write for the larger world. He specifically mentioned that I should write for the Wall Street Journal. I finally took up his suggestion a few months ago and submitted an opinion piece to the Journal. They get hundreds of submissions a day, so I was not very surprised when they turned it down. Maybe the message in this is that I should stick to what I do best instead of involving myself in the culture wars. Rather than having the piece go to waste, I present it to you here.

Is it all Bad News at Our Universities?

For many people, the campus seems like a scary place these days. One can read about social justice warriors running roughshod over anyone who crosses the latest woke standards. Professors have been raked over the coals, and worse, for even mildly crossing the new woke thought police. We have also been treated to the spectacle of professors confessing their sins and promising to do better in the future, in scenes that look like they came out of Chinese Cultural Revolution re-education camps.

While I don’t wish to downplay any of this, and there have indeed been shocking violations of free speech at some of the top universities, I think that many Americans are getting a warped sense of what takes place at the typical university. I am sometimes asked by people if my university is anything like what they have been reading about, to which I can happily reply that no, I have never had the misfortune to experience that. To begin with, the various excesses are almost always centered in a few departments in the humanities. As one who teaches in a Theology/Religious Studies Department at a Catholic university—which, it bears noting, had in-person classes this academic year unlike so many other institutions—it is hard to see how the woke mentality and cancel culture would play out. Are we to remove the Bible, Augustine, and Aquinas because passages in these works are not in line with twenty-first century woke values?

This clearly is a non-starter, but just as important is that there has never been a push for this from students, who often are the ones behind the most damaging of campus controversies. I daresay that my experience is no different than my colleagues at hundreds of other colleges and universities in the country, institutions that are not what is commonly called “elite” institutions of learning, but which do a wonderful job in educating a student body that reflects middle-class America. Yes, we have liberal and even progressive students, but what we don’t have in any numbers—or at least I have not come across them—are students who speak woke and know all the Marxist lingo, who can go on and on about intersectionality, white supremacist capitalism, and America as the center of evil in the world, and who get outraged (or pretend to be outraged) at things that even a couple of years ago no one would have batted an eye at.

It is certainly possible that things will change in the future, and the wokeness and cancel culture currently infecting the “elite” universities, as well as so many other aspects of elite society, will filter down to the rest of the country including my university. If this happens, it might be a good time to think of retirement, as I wonder—to give an example from one of my courses—how I could teach about ethics under a woke regime. Could we actually have a unit on Affirmative Action where together with Ronald Dworkin’s spirited defense of racial preferences we also read those who see any discrimination on the basis of race, even if it is called “equity,” as deeply immoral? Could we do the unit on capital punishment where we examine whether our criminal justice system is “systemically racist,” instead of assuming that as a given? Could we focus on abortion, where we examine if women really do have a “right” to choose to terminate a pregnancy? Then there are the student presentations where all subjects are open for discussion, including such hot-button matters as immigration, war, sexual ethics, and transgender issues. Never once has a student tried to shut down the freewheeling class debate or complained that another’s point of view makes them feel “unsafe.” That is the way it should be, and I am confident that is how matters will remain in the vast majority of our colleges and universities. For those who are worried that higher education is leading us into the abyss, I can only say that from where I am standing, it is actually higher education that is succeeding where the “elite” universities have often failed.

* * * * * * * *

[1] Rashi, quoting Midrash Tanhuma, identifies Hobah with Dan. Yet as R. Meir Mazuz notes, it is hard to know what to make of this, as Hobah is described as north of Damascus which is not where the territory of Dan was. See Bayit Ne’eman: Bereshit 14:15.

[2] “Gevulot Eretz Yisrael (2),” Ha-Ma’yan 33 (Tevet 5753), p. 15.

[3] This is noted by R. Yisrael Ariel, Otzar Eretz Yisrael (Jerusalem, 2012), vol. 4, p. 13. I have checked numerous editions of the Mishneh Torah and the only one to explain this point is the Makbili edition, Terumot 1:9. Here is the relevant page which also includes a map found in manuscripts which also has south on top.


[4] See here from where I took the map.

[5] This map is found here.

[6] See Portraying the Land: Hebrew Maps of the Land of Israel from Rashi to the Early 20th Century (Berlin, 2018), ch. 1, available here.

[7] They also placed Jerusalem in the center of the known world. There is a commentary attributed to Maimonides on Tractate Rosh ha-Shanah. According to this commentary, the Land of Israel is to be regarded as on the western part of the world. Where then is Europe to be placed? 

 
Here is “Maimonides” comment, Hiddushei ha-Rambam le-Talmud, ed. Zaks (Jerusalem, 1963), p. 79:

צריך אתה לידע שארץ ישראל סמוכה למערבו של עולם הרבה מכל הארצות

[8] See here. See also here. How pre-modern people imagined the world, which was based on the maps they saw, has relevance to the question of where to place the halakhic dateline. See e.g., the important articles, complete with historical maps in color, by R. Dovid Yitzchoki and R. Efraim Buckwold in Tevunot 2 (2018), pp. 969-1095.

[9] See also Rashi, Shabbat 145b s.v. הני. In the Soncino translation to Shabbat 65b the following note appears: “Obermeyer, p. 45 and n. 2 rejects this [Rashi’s opinion] on hydrographical grounds, and explains that in most cases the rains in northern Mesopotamia in the Taurus range, where the Euphrates has its source, are the precursors of rain in Palestine.” The book by Jacob Obermeyer referred to is Die Landschaft Babylonien im Zeitalter des Talmuds und des Gaonats: Geographie und Geschichte nach talmudischen, arabischen und andern Quellen (Frankfurt, 1929).

[10] The term “Holy Land” with reference to the Land of Israel is actually not mentioned in the Bible, the Talmud, or the geonic writings. According to Hayyim Asher Berman, who has investigated the matter, the term in its Hebrew version first appears in the medieval period. Berman also notes that the Zohar uses the term ארעא קדישא hundreds of times. Berman claims that it is actually due to the Zohar’s use of this term that the Hebrew version became so popular. See Ha-Ma’yan 61 (Tevet 5781), pp. 102-103. (Understandably, others will see this as another sign that the Zohar was written in the medieval period.) Berman’s investigation was spurred by R. Shaul Yisraeli’s rejection of the term “Holy Land,” which he saw as a Christian invention in opposition to the term “Land of Israel.” R. Yisraeli noted that unlike ארץ הקודש, the term אדמת קודש is a Jewish expression and relates to the many mitzvot relevant to the Land of Israel. See R. Meir Schlesinger, “Hirhurim al Hibat ha-Aretz,” Ha-Ma’yan 60 (Tamuz 5780), p. 50. R. Yisraeli was obviously aware that the term“Holy Land” was often used by Jews for the last thousand years. However, I believe his intention was about the present, not the past. Today you can find Christians who speak of visiting the Holy Land and are careful to never actually mention the name “Israel.” This has to be seen for what it is, an anti-Zionist delegitimization of the existence of the State of Israel.

[11] See also Tosafot, Kiddushin 71b. s.v. עד.

[12] See R. Jacob Emden’s note to Arakhin 15a where he criticizes Tosafot for a geographical mistake that was also due to not having a reliable map:

ואמנם כל מש תוס‘ כאן אינו נכון גם ציור הארצות והים הוא מתנגד למציאות

To this I would add R. Meir Mazuz’s melitzahאין אחר המציאות כלום (The expression is based on Bava Batra 152b [end]: אין אחר קנין כלום)

[13] See e.g., R. Elijah Mizrahi, Commentary to Genesis 32:2. In his super-commentary to Nahmanides, Gen. 38:18, R. Menahem Zvi Eisenstadt writes:

הדברים קשים להולמם, שהרי צדקו דברי רש”י שא”י בדרום ארם היא, והדבר ידוע

[14] The Soncino translation says as follows: “The Hebrew Hoddu is really ‘Indus,” and refers to the north-western portion of the Indian peninsula which was drained by the Indus. This territory was added to the Persian Empire by Darius.”

[15] To the sources listed there, see also Tosafot Yom Tov, Yoma 3:7, who does not make the connection between the נ in הינדואה and the dagesh in the ד of הדו.

[16] See Avodah Berurah, Sukkah, vol. 2, p. 128.

[17] See his note to Megillah 11a.

[18] Perush ha-Torah le-Rabbenu Avraham ben ha-Rambam, ed. Moshe Maimon, vol. 1, p. 150.

[19] See here.

[20] “Toponomy of the Targumim,” (unpublished doctoral dissertation, Oxford University, 1974), p. 134.

[21] The issue of the Zohar’s knowledge of the Land of Israel has been discussed for a long time. Gershom Scholem, in his article on the Zohar in the Encyclopaedia Judaica, writes as follows:

The Palestinian setting of the book is also fictional, and, in the main, has no basis in fact. The Zohar relies on geographical and topographical ideas about Palestine taken from older literature. Sometimes the author did not understand his sources, and created places which never existed, e.g., Kapotkeya, as the name of a village near Sepphoris, on the basis of a statement in the Jerusalem Talmud (Shev. 9:5), which he combined with another statement in the Tosefta, Yevamot 4. He produces a village in Galilee by the name of Kefar Tarshi, which he identifies with Mata Meḥasya, and tells in this connection of the rite of circumcision which is based on material quoted in geonic literature with regard to Mata Meḥasya in Babylonia. Occasionally a place-name is based on a corrupt text in a medieval manuscript of the Talmud, e.g., Migdal Ẓor at the beginning of Sava de-Mishpatim. In the matter of scene and characters there are very close links between the main body of the Zohar and the stratum of the Midrash ha-Ne’lam, which follows the same path of mentioning places which do not actually exist. In this section Simeon b. Yoḥai and his companions already constitute a most important community of mystics, but other groups are mentioned as well, and particularly later amoraim or scholars with fictitious names who do not reappear in the Zohar. In recent times, several attempts have been made to explain the geographical difficulties, and to give a non-literal interpretation of statements in the Talmud and the Midrashim in order to make them fit the Zohar, but they have not been convincing.

Scholem’s point about Kapotkeya is rejected by R. Reuven Margaliyot, Peninim u-Margaliyot (Jerusalem, 2006), pp. 212ff.

[22] Ha-Adam ve-Tiv’o be-Mada u-ve-Yahadut (Tel Aviv, no date), p. 28.

[23] See Encylopaedia Judaica , s.v. Adam.

[24] See his commentary printed in Ba’alei ha-Tosafot al Hamishah Humshei Torah (Warsaw, 1876), p. 10b. This example is noted by R. Avraham ha-Kohen, Kiryat Arba, p. 237.

[25] See Shmuel Weingarten, Ha-Rav Yosef Natonek (Jerusalem, 1943), pp. 18ff. For another Haskalah attack on R. Sofer, see the anonymous author in Kerem Hemed 9 (1856), Letter 14. In a mocking fashion, the author deals with a number of matters, one of which is that in She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, Orah Hayyim, no. 16, R. Sofer states that R. Amram Gaon is buried in Mainz and he saw the grave. R. Sofer also mentions this in She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer ha-Hadashot (Jerusalem, 1989), no. 11. This cannot be correct, and one can only assume that R. Sofer was shown the grave of someone else named R. Amram and given the false information that this R. Amram was R. Amram Gaon. For a possible identification of the R. Amram whose grave R. Sofer saw, see R. Naftali Yaakov ha-Kohen, Otzar ha-Gedolim, vol. 7, p. 332, and the sources cited in R. Nosson David Rabinowich, Safra ve-Saifa (Jerusalem, 2013), pp. 280ff.

[26] Ibid., p. 22 n. 17.

[27] See here for the suggestion that the Vilna Gaon’s comment is a printer’s error and it really should say “north” instead of “south.”

[28] Yerushalayim 7 (1907), pp. 81ff. It has recently been suggested that there are actually two separate biblical places named “Eilat”. See R. Yehudah Berakhah, Birkat Yehudah (Jerusalem, 2021), vol. 8, p. 417.

[29] We refer to the day as Shushan Purim due to the influence of Yiddish. In Hebrew—and this is how Sephardic writers refer to the day—it is called Purim Shushan. R. Elijah Feinstein, who R. Moshe refers to, was actually the shadkhan of R. David Feinstein, R. Moshe’s father. See Iggerot Moshe, vol. 8, Introduction, p. 6. Contrary to what many people think, even though they shared a last name, R. Moshe Feinstein’s family was not related to R. Elijah Feinstein (R. Moshe was a yisrael and R. Elijah was a levi). R. Moshe’s mother was the one who was related to R. Elijah, as she was his sister-in-law. See ibid.

[30] The word מקרא is masculine so it should be Mikraot GedolimMikraot Gedolot” is a mistake invented by printers which soon became an accepted form. See R. Yehudah Ben Lavi, Shevet mi-Yehudah, vol. 2, p. 226.

[31] See Baer, “Rashi ve-ha-Metziut ha-Historit shel Zemano,” in Yehudah Leib Maimon, ed., Sefer Rashi (Jerusalem, 1956), p. 501.

[32] “Iyunim be-Ferush Rashi al ha-Tanakh,” Sinai 107 (5751), p. 84.

[33] See Mayer Gruber, Rashi’s Commentary on Psalms (Philadelphia, 2007), pp. 69ff.

[34] Mitphahat Sefarim, ch. 4, p. 29 in the Jerusalem, 1995 edition.

[35] See e.g., R. Baruch Epstein, Torah Temimah, Numbers ch. 15, n. 118, which, as noted by R. Yaakov Hayyim Sofer, is taken from an earlier writer’s comment. See Sofer in Beit Aharon ve-Yisrael 97 (2002), p. 131.

[36] See R. Kafih’s commentary to Hilkhot Tzitzit 2:2.

[37] See R. Yaakov Hayyim Sofer in Beit Aharon ve-Yisrael 97 (2002), p. 131.

[38] See R. Solomon Judah Rapoport, Ha-Magid, Nov. 26, 1873, p. 421. The word is pronounced kil’ayim and not kilayim, as there is a sheva under the ל. People sometimes mispronounce it as kilaim, as if there is a hirik under the א of כלאים. This reminds me of another common mistake. If you google you will find that many refer to the concept of “shomer pesaim (petaim).” Yet this is a mistake. The verse in Psalms 116:6 reads: שֹׁמֵר פְּתָאיִם. The second word is pronounced pesayim (petayim), as the א is silent. Another example where the א is silent and many people make a mistake is with the name דניאל. Even people who have this name often pronounce it in Hebrew as Doniel (or Doniellah for women). Yet the name is properly pronounced Doniyel: דָּנִיֵּאל. This is unlike the name אריאל where the tzere is under the א and the word is pronounced Ariel.