New Sefer Announcement

By: Eliezer Brodt

פירוש התורה לרבינו אברהם בן הרמב“ם, ספר בראשת, תרעח עמודים

פירוש התורה לרבינו אברהם בן הרמב“ם, ספר שמות, תתלב עמודים

מאמר על הדרשות ועל האגדות לרבינו אברהם בן הרמב“ם, מעיתיק השמועה, [בירורים בתולדות חכמי התלמוד] צז+צ עמודים

Recently the second volume of R. Avraham b. HaRambam’s perush 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.) and the volume on R. Avraham’s Ma’amar Al Ha-Derashot.

What follows is a short description of the work. IY”H I hope to very shortly publish on the Seforim Blog an interview with the author where he describes more at length his work on R. Avraham b. HaRambam and his new edition of the Perush.

The Perush of R. Avraham b. HaRambam was first rescued from centuries of obscurity in 1958, when Dr. Ephraim Weisenberg of London translated into Hebrew the centuries-old manuscript owned by Oxford University, from its original Arabic. Weisenberg’s edition included the original Arabic along with a translation and commentary, accompanied with footnotes incorporating comments of other biblical commentators as well as works of the Rambam.

It has never been reprinted in full, and although the translated (but un-annotated) text has in fact been reprinted and marketed several times, these editions are also out of print and have long been unavailable to the public.

Among the highlights of this new edition of R. Maimon is that he has retranslated many hundreds of difficult words and passages from the original Arabic, utilizing advances made in the field by leading Judeo-Arabic experts.

In addition, since the initial publication of the commentary, amazing strides have been made in Genizah research which have transformed the field of Judeo-Arabic studies in general, and the Geonic-Andalusian tradition in particular. Many of the sources employed by R. Avraham in his writing of the commentary are now being made available in the form of critical editions of the works of R. Saadia and R. Shmuel b. Chofni Gaon. The result has been the identification of many obscure sources referenced by R. Avraham, as well as the clarification of untold number of passages in his commentary.

Both volumes are enhanced with essay length introductions (and copious and erudite footnotes) that trace the history of R. Avraham’s Perush, his commentarial style, and his particular contribution to the Maimonidean strain of the Andalusian tradition so prominently on display in his Perush. This new edition is a welcome addition to any serious student of Biblical commentary, and, together with the annotated edition of R. Avraham’s Ma’amar Al Ha-Derashot (Essay on Rabbinic Homilies) released by Rabbi Maimon last year, are a great contribution to Rabbinic studies in general and Maimonidean studies in particular.

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 Beigeleisen (Brooklyn), Judaica Plaza (Lakewood), and Tuvia’s (Monsey) as well as through many other fine retailers.

On can purchase it online through Mizrahi’s Bookstore at this link.

In Eretz Yisrael, if you’re interested in purchasing copies contact me at Eliezerbrodt@gmail.com

A Comment of Rashi Found Only in “Defusim Me’Ucharim”

On Shemot 31:15 

By Eli Genauer

Summary:

We find a lengthy comment attributed to Rashi which is only found in what is termed “Defusim Me’Ucharim”. The comment first appears in the Sefer Yosef Da’at (Prague 1609) who attributes it to a D’fus Yashan and a Klaf Yashan Noshan. I did not find it in any of the over 60 manuscripts I checked nor in any early printed edition.[1] It was incorporated into subsequent printed editions on a very uneven basis from the 1600’s to 1800’s but now seems to be part of the mainstream text of Rashi.

שמות ל“א

(טו) שֵׁ֣שֶׁת יָמִים֮ יֵעָשֶׂ֣ה מְלָאכָה֒ וּבַיּ֣וֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִ֗י שַׁבַּ֧ת שַׁבָּת֛וֹן קֹ֖דֶשׁ לַה’ כׇּל־הָעֹשֶׂ֧ה מְלָאכָ֛ה בְּי֥וֹם הַשַּׁבָּ֖ת מ֥וֹת יוּמָֽת׃

רש“י: From Al Hatorah based on Leipzig 1

שבת שבתון – היא מנוחת מרגוע ולא מנוחת עראי. קדש לה’ – שמירת קדושתה לשמי ובמצותיי.

Leipzig 1

Munich 5 has the same text

Rashi HaMevuar (Oz Vehadar 2017, also included in all Oz VeHadar editions) has an extra comment (starting from a second Dibur HaMatchil of שַׁבַּ֧ת שַׁבָּת֛וֹן ) in parentheses.[2] The footnotes do not explain what the source was.

Rashi HaMevuar then states in their section of Chilufai Girsaot that it is not in any early printed edition.[3]

Rashi Hashalem ( Mechon Ariel, Shemot Volume 4, 2005) says that it is included in some later editions (Defusim Me’Ucharim) but does not comment on it source or authenticity.[4]

Torah Shlaimah of Rav Menachem Kasher, Jerusalem 1959, uses similar language by saying that this additional comment of Rashi can be found in Defusim Achronim.

Avraham Berliner (Zechor L’Avraham Berlin 1867) attributes this comment only to Yosef Da’at and puts it below the line. In the 1905 Frankfurt am Main edition it is not included.

This is how it is presented in Yosef Da’at:

 

גירסת דפ״ס (דפוס ?) ישן

והוא סוף הדבור בספרים אחרים ואחר כך הדבור קדש לה׳ כו׳ כך מצאתי ברש״׳ קלף ישן נושן

There seems to be three sources, a D’fus Yashan, Sefarim Achairim, and a Klaf Yashan Noshan.

Although there is some speculation that the Rashi Yashan Noshan is the manuscript known as Hebrew Union College Library, Cincinnati, OH, USA Ms. JCF 1, it does not appear there.

https://web.nli.org.il/sites/NLI/English/digitallibrary/pages/viewer.aspx?&presentorid=MANUSCRIPTS&docid=PNX_MANUSCRIPTS990000621880205171-1#|FL150557494

Question: Is Yosef Da’at the first source for later editions which include this comment and if so, when was the comment added to printed editions?

Despite Yosef Da’at statement that this comment was found in a Dfus Noshan, I did not find any printed editions which include this comment until after the printing of Yosef Da’at.[5] One might have expected to see it in an edition of Chumash printed immediately following Yosef Da’at in 1609, and that would be in the Hanau edition of 1611-1614. That edition had the כללים לשימוש רש“י בתרגום which were first printed in Yosef Da’at and was identified as one of the more important ones in setting the text of Rashi in subsequent editions.[6] But the comment is not included there.

The first time I could find this extended comment in print was in an edition of Rashi printed in Amsterdam in 1669

אמשטרדם : דפוס דוד די קאשטרו תארטס

It includes the כללים לשימוש רש“י בתרגום which we find in Yosef Da’at indicating that the editor was most likely familiar with this edition.

Amsterdam 1669 Yosef Da’at

None of the early Meforshai Rashi, such as Mizrachi and Gur Aryeh, comment on this statement.[7] Additionally, although Yosef Da’at attributes the comment to Klaf Yoshan Noshan, I did not find it in any of the manuscripts I checked.[8]

Manuscripts aside from Leipzig 1, HUC JCF 1, Munich 5 (see above) and Berlin 121(see footnote vi) which don’t have it

Access to links for these manuscripts through Al HaTorah[9]:

https://alhatorah.org/Commentators:Online_Rashi_Manuscripts

12th Century (?): –

Oxford CCC 165 (Neubauer 2440)

13th Century:

Hamburg 13 (1265), Hamburg 32 (Steinschneider 37), Oxford-Bodley Opp. 34 (Neubauer 186)

London 26917 (Neubauer 168) (1272), Berlin 1221, Berlin Qu 514 (1289) , Florence Plut.III.03 (1291)

Vatican Urbinati 1 (1294), Paris 155, Parma 2708, Parma 2868, Parma 3081

13th-14th Century:

Parma 3204 (De Rossi 181), Weimar 651, Berlin 1222, Berlin 121, Paris 156, Paris 157

British Library Harley 1861 (Margoliouth 169), British Library Harley 5709 (Margoliouth 170)

British Library Harley 5708 (Margoliouth 171), Vienna Cod. Hebr. 220 (Schwarz 23)

14th Century:

Parma 3115 (1305), Parma 3256 (1312), Frankfurt 19 (1340), Paris 48, Paris 37, Vienna Cod. Hebr. 3 (Schwarz 24)

London 19665 (Margoliouth 174) London 26924 (Margoliouth 175), London 26878 (Margoliouth 177)

London 22122 (Margoliouth 178), Oxford-Bodley Mich. 384 (Neubauer 187) (1399)

14th-15th Century:

British Library Harley 5655 (Margoliouth 180), Paris 159, Breslau 11 (Saraval 5)

15th Century:

Oxford-Bodley Opp. 35 (Neubauer 188) (1408), Breslau 102 (Saraval 12) (1421)

Breslau 10 (Saraval 7) (1449), Frankfurt 152, Paris 158, London 19653 (Margoliouth 181)

Conclusion

Aside from the Klaf Yashan Noshan cited by Yosef Da’at, this extended comment most likely was in a small minority of manuscripts. The fact that it made it into mainstream study of Rashi seems tied to its inclusion in Yosef Da’at.

Rambam The Poet?

Ovadya Hoffman

Most readers are familiar with the general character and productivity of Maimonides, I will therefore keep the preamble to a minimum. The indelible legacy left by Maimonides is that of a legalist and thinker, not of a poet or a preacher. That’s not to say that Maimonides lacked the poetic skill. In fact, even from his purely legal works one can detect his elegant tongue and imaginative faculties, never mind the many missives, introductions and intermittent non-legal material included in his Code which exhibit overt tones of a skillful mouthpiece characterized by his eloquent and passionate appeals, charming metaphors and moving rhetoric.[1] And yet, not much –if any- of his authentic, complete pieces of poetry survived.[2]

One poem ascribed to Maimonides was composed in Arabic depicting the story of Purim. Recently, a dear friend, Jacob Djmal of The Jewish Bookery, showed me a book containing this poem declaring it to be of Maimonidean authorship. I will use this source as my point of departure.

R. Yosef Shabbtai Farhi published a book titled Nora Tehilot in Livorno 1864.[3] On the title page the author states he has translated the book of Esther into colloquial Arabic (“ולכן נתתי אל לבי… להעתיקה בלשון ערבי”) and included a piyyut in Arabic authored, so he claims, by Maimonides (“ונפך שפי’ר[4] פיוט בל’ צח ערבי מהרמב”ם ז”ל יפה אף נעים”). However, Farhi provides no information as to the piyyut’s provenance. One wouldn’t be afoul to suspect that, regardless of the piyuut’s origin, its attribution to Maimonides could easily garner sales. Who would pass up a book containing a rare glimpse of the great Maimonides’ poetic creativity? Again later on (31a) the author titles the aforementioned piyyut “בלשון ערבי מהרמב”ם ז”ל מיוסד על פי מאמרי רז”ל על סדר א”ב… לחן אימפיסאר קירו קונטאר”. So what are we to make of this piyyut? Where did Farhi get it from?

A manuscript housed at the Ben Zvi institute (MS. 1327), dating from a year before Farhi’s book was published, is a handwritten copy of what alleges to be an Arabic translation of Esther authored by Maimonides (“ספר מג'[ילת] אס'[תר] מלערבי הנקרא שרח אל מגלה להר’ משה בר מימון זלה”ה”).[5] At the end of the manuscript (beginning on p. 76) the same piyyut which appears in Farhi’s book is produced here except it lacks any attribution.[6] It could be fair to assume that the copyist only naturally considered the piyyut to be of the same authorship as the translation, Maimonides, although he didn’t state as much. He may have chosen to include it in the manuscript on the belief that it was from Maimonides or he may have harbored doubts as to its authenticity and therefore left it unattributed. In any case, where did this copyist get it from?

Another book titled “פירוש מגלת אסתר בלשון ערבי הנקרא שרח אל מגלה להנשר הגדול ארך הכנפים ורב הנוצה הרמב”ם ז”ל” was published in Livorno 1759 at the behest of Abraham b. Daniel Lombroso.[7] At the end of the first paragraph (2a) it reads: “ואל שרח משחר אליה מלקוטין מן כלאם רבותינו ז”ל ואל תלמודיין אל בבלי ואל ירושלמי” (loosely translated: a translation based on an anthology of both Talmuds). At the conclusion of the translation a number of piyyutim by various authors are produced. One of those piyyutim are evidently of anonymous authorship and simply titled “פיוט בלשון ערבי מיוסד על פי מאמרי רז”ל לחן אינפיסר קיירו אקונטאר” (p. 46a).

With no older documentation of this piyyut, I can only guess that one -possibly Farhi himself- hastily assumed an Arabic poem, appended to an Arabic translation authored, allegedly, by Maimonides belonged to him as well and consequently formalized the attribution.

Addendum

In 1845 Michael Sachs wrote that he was skeptical about Maimonides’ involvement and authorship of poetry.[8] About a year later, in a letter to Sachs upon receiving his book, Samuel D. Luzzatto argued with one of Sachs’ points regarding a particular piyyut ascribed to Maimonides and then marshaled evidence from R. Shimon b. Tsemaḥ (Duran) in his Magen Avot p. 84[a] where it is evident that Maimonides wrote two other piyyutim. However, Luzzatto added, the word “הרמב“ן” in Magen Avot is a printing error and should read “הרמב“ם”; [9] more on this below. Years later, in 1854, Shneur (Senior) Sachs repeated the notion of Maimonides’ aversion to composing poetry and maintained that all which we have from him is a single piyyut.[10] Eliezer Landshuth further attempted to set the record and addressed the later Sachs in his book, quoting Shadal and his emendation to the text of the Magen Avot.[11] I won’t go on to list a record of all the authors who followed suit in quoting the Magen Avot as a source for Maimonides’ authorship of a couple other piyyutim and will suffice to say that as late as the early 1900s Meir S. Geshuri asserted the same claim[12] and he was likewise cited by the celebrated Hayyim Schirmann.[13]

The Magen Avot was first published in Livorno 1785. Here[14] is the page:

Alternatively, here is the text:

כבר כתבתי כי הן הם דברי הרמב”ן בה’ יסודי התורה וכן כתב בתשובה שהנפש צורה בלא גולם ולא גוף אבל זוהר וגזרה ומקור הדעת ואינה צריכה לגוף לפי’ … אבד הגוף לא תאבד היא אלא עומדת בעצמה וקיימת כמו מלאך ונהנית באורו של עולם והוא עה”ב וכן יסג הוא ז”ל במחרך א’ בך רוח בשם נקבה חיה כשגל נצבה. ממקור החיים חוצבה. מידעה שגבה. מגלגל שכל שאבה. חכמתה כים רחבה. ייהי הגיית איש לראש. נשמה שרי דרוש. אכן רוח היא באנוש. וכן יסד בגאולה המתחלת אמרו בני אלהים כמה אתן לפועלי צדק וגם אני מכם מה לבני שאול ולי. וכן בפיוט יפתה עלמת לא נודע מי יסדו אבל אומר כי המיסד סוח יענים יסדו שאומר כי ירמיה יסדו אכל נראה שחכם גדול היה דבר באותו פיוט בסוד הנשמה ובבית א’ אומר על הנשמה שאלה חופש מאשר עובר בה יחלה יום להנפש בו ואל תכבד העבודה כי יסוד נפש חי כלי אובד יום פרידה כאשר קדמת הגוף יהי נמצא הוא קדומה אך לפי תומת מעשיה נרצה או זעומה

Besides for the unintelligible sentences and typos, the most glaring error is, as Shadal and others called attention to, the printing error of רמב”ן instead of רמב”ם. Now, if that’s all one corrects it is now conceivable that Duran ascribed to Maimonides the piyyutim which he mentioned. Somewhat surprising, or not, is that the same errors appear exactly so in the newer edition of Magen Avot published by Mechon HaKtav in Jerusalem 2007, despite the publisher’s claim of it being critically edited.[15]

Of the different manuscripts I consulted in determining the original text only one had a different and coherent read. This manuscript is estimated to be from 15^th-16^th century and is housed in The Royal Danish Library.[16] In order to grasp the flow of the material it is necessary to include the preceding paragraph (in the image above, it begins four lines above the yellow box). Following, is my transcription of the manuscript:

וכן החכם ר׳ אברהם ז״ל כתב בפי׳ קהלת כי מה שאמ׳ והרוח תשוב אל האלהים אשר נתנה סותר דברי האומרים שהנפש מקרה שהמקרה לא ישוב וכן נראה שזה הוא דעתו כי כתב בפי׳ תלים כי הנפש והנשמה והרוח שם אחד לנשמת האדם העליונה העומדת לעד ולא תמות ונקראה נפש גם רוח בעבור שלא תראה לעין כי אם אלה וכן כת׳ בפרש׳ כי תשא ובכל מקום קורא אותה נשמה עליונה כמו שכתב בפרש׳ ואלה המשפטים ר״ל כי היא אינה מושגת אלא מצד פעולותיה הנקראים נפש ורוח רואה החכם ז״ל כי הנשמה יצאו ממנה כח ההזנה הנקרא נפש וכח ההרגש הנקרא רוח אבל הוא עצם אלהי לפי הנראה מדעתו ולא הכנה לבד. וכן יסד הוא ז״ל במחרך אחד בך רוח בשם נקבה חיה כשגל נצבה ממקור אור יוקבה מצור החיים חוצבה מי דעה אותה שגבה מגלגל שכל שאבה חכמתו היא רחבה ויהי בגויית איש לראש נשמה שדי דרוש וכן רוח היא באנוש. וכן יסד בגאולה המתחלת אמרו בני אלהים במה אתן לפועלי צדק וגם אני מכם מה לבני שאול ולי. וכבר כתבתי כי כן הם דברי הר״ם במז״ל בהלכות יסודי התורה. וכן כתב בתשובה שהנפש צורה בלא גולם ולא גוף אבל טהר וגזרה ומקור הדעת ואינה צריכה לגוף לפי׳ כשיאבד הגוף לא תאבד היא אלא עומדת בעצמה וקיימת כמו מלאך ונהנית באורו של עולם והוא עולם הבא וכן בפיוט יפתה עלמת לא נודע מי יסדה אבל אומרי׳ כי המיסד סורו יענים יסדו אשר אומרים כי ירמיה הנביא יסדו אבל נראה שחכם גדול היה דבר באותו פיוט בסוד הנשמה ובבית אחד אומר׳ על הנשמה שאלה חופש מאשר עובד בה יחידה יום להנפש בו ואל תכבד העבודה כי יסוד נפש חי בלי׳ אובד יום פרידה באשר קדמת גוף יהי נמצא היא קדומה אך לפי תומת מעשים נרצה או זעומה

As observed by others, we see that the correct reading is רמב”ם instead of רמב”ן. But most significantly, we see that some lines from Duran’s discussion of Abraham ibn Ezra’s view [regarding the nature of the soul] were transposed to after the mention of Maimonides, giving the impression that “וכן יסד הוא ז”ל” and “וכן יסד” refers to Maimonides, thereby leading scholars to believe that Duran attributed these piyyutim to Maimonides. Indeed the quoted muḥarrakh[17] “בך רוח” and the geulah[18] “אמרו בני אלהים” are both compositions of ibn Ezra.[19] In conclusion, the basal support, which for years scholars have pointed to for evidence of Maimonides’ rôle as a poet, is negated.

At this point we should make mention of the last piyyut which Duran notes that “some say Jeremiah authored, nevertheless it’s apparent a great sage spoke it”. This piyyut, also of the muḥarrakh genre, has since been identified as being authored by R. Joseph ibn Zaddik (11-12^th century) and subsequently published in a collection of his piyyutim.[20]

As I attempted to have this brief essay completed in time for Purim I lay here the pen and hope to return to a discussion of a perplexing and elusive piece quoted by Duran.

No, Achashverosh Never Served a Stable-Boy

Yaakov Jaffe

Writings about Purim from virtually every stripe make reference to a well-known myth that Achashverosh, King of Persia, rose to power from being a former stable-boy. A simple google search yields dozens of online results for this myth, some in passing and others expanded,[1] some academic[2] and others some more traditional;[3] some on blogs and others in books.[4] Yet, it seems that these references to Achashverosh the stable-boy are all rooted in a common mistranslation of the Talmud in Megilah.

This essay will investigate the myth that Achashverosh was a stable-boy from a bibliographical, traditional, and textual perspective, and not from a Biblical, historical, or archeological perspective. Our goal is not to prove – based on historical or archeological evidenced – that a king of Persia did or did not rise to power from the stables; it is to analyze whether Jewish tradition has such a view about one specific king of Persia.

Before looking at the key texts, we should note two important factors in this midrash about Achashverosh and reasons to be skeptical about it:

1. Most Midrashim are grounded in some Biblical textual evidence. Haman comes from Amaleik as he is “Agagi” the name of the prior king of Amaleik; the king’s party recalls the exile from Jerusalem as Mordechai’s exile from Jerusalem and the subsequent dispersal of all Jews is a leitmotif across the megillah. But there is no textual evidence anywhere in Tanach connecting Achashverosh with stables or horses.

2. Many of the Midrashim related to Megilat Esther, find numerous echoes across the many Midrashic texts about Esther – the Midrashim in the Talmud (Megilah 11-17), Esther Rabba, and the two Targumim to Esther. Indeed, the idea that Haman came from Amaleik or that the king’s party and garments related to the temple appear numerous times across the many Midrashim. Yet, outside of the gloss of one line in the Megilah found in Talmud Megilah, the other extended Midrashic tradition never develops the idea of the king who was once a stable boy.

We should already therefore be skeptical whether the Jewish Midrashic tradition treats Achashverosh as a former stable-boy or stable-mater. Closer inspection of the Talmud reveals that the Talmud, itself, seems also to not consider him a former stable master, either.

Megilah 12b

The Talmud reads as follows (Megilah 12b):

“ויקצף המלך מאד” אמאי דלקה ביה כולי האי? אמר רבא, שלחה ליה “בר אהורייריה דאבא אבא ‘לקבל אלפא חמרא שתי‘ ולא רוי; וההוא גברא אשתטי בחמריה.” מיד “וחמתו בערה בו“

This Talmudic quote begins and end with the same verse in Megilat Esther (1:12), that the king became very angry, and his anger burned hot within him. In between the quotes from the Megillah, the Talmud wonders why the king became so angry, and answers that it was because his first wife Vashsti had sent a particularly egregious insult in his direction. The thrust of the insult is that Achashverosh had gotten drunk, intoxicated after a little bit of wine, but that a greater figure from Vashti’s own family had the capacity to drink wine in the presence of 1000 other people[5] and not become drunk. Essentially, the king’s virility is insulted through his inability to consume large quantities of alcohol. The queen has successfully insulted her husband the king, but without invoking stables or horses.

But is there a second insult here as well? The insult includes an unusual Talmudic word “בר[6] אהורייריה” that appears to be part of the criticism. The word is used in only one other occasion in the Talmud (Bava Metziah 85a and its verbatim parallel in Shabbat 113b), and its meaning is not clear in that context either. The traditional translation of the word is that the אהורייריה runs the stables of a king or another wealthy individual, and so explain Rashi (to Megilah,[7] Bava Metziah, and Shabbat[8]) and Aruch (אהורייר).[9]

As a result, Soncino and most Talmudic translations take the reference to stables to be a second insult:

She sent him back answer: Thou son of my father’s steward![10] My father drank wine in the presence of a thousand, and did not get drunk, and that man [=Achashverosh] has become senseless with his wine. Straightway, his wrath burnt within him.

Clearly, this translation is the basis of the view that Achashverosh served as a stable-master prior to becoming king. Yet, the translation should give us pause for grammatical reasons. At the start of Vashti’s answer, Achashverosh is addressed directly “Thou son of my father’s steward!” But at the end, he is referenced coldly in the third person as “that man.” The shift from the second to the third person renders the sentence clunky and difficult to read. We have already been skeptical of this view to begin with, and the feel of the translation seems to be lacking somehow.

Comparatives and Stable-Masters

The wider context of the Talmud in Bava Metzia is a conversation about the great wealth of Rebbi Yehudah Ha-Nasi. His wealth is demonstrated using a comparative sentence, contrasting Rebbe’s great wealth, with the wealth of the Persian King Shapur. The comparative sentence follows the structure that the stable masters of Rebbi were wealthier than King Shapur. The stable master is not an actual person who exists in the story, the stable master provides an even more extreme basis of comparison: not only was Rebbi great, even his stable-masters were great! We can diagram as follows:

“a”	Were more “Y”	Than “b”
אהורייריה דבי רבי	הוה עתיר	משבור מלכא
The stable master of Rebbe	were wealthier	than King Shapur

This suggests that referring to a wealthy individuals stable masters is a turn of phrase to indicate how great the wealthy person’s attendants were, and not an actual fact or reference about his stables, horses, or mules. Indeed, a similar quip appears also in Hebrew regarding the comparison between the mules of Yitzchak and king Avimelech (Bereishis Rabba 64:7 cited by Rashi 26:13), “the dung of the mules of Yitzchak, and not the gold and silver of Avimelech (see Ritva Bava Metziah).

Having deduced this special אהורייריה sentence form, which is a special comparative for a very wealthier or powerful individual, suggests a different punctuation of the Gemara in Megillah, consisting of one insult not two:

“a”	Were more “Y”	Than “b”
אהורייריה דאבא אבא	חמרא שתי ולא רוי לקבל אלפא	וההוא גברא אשתטי בחמריה
The stable master of grandfather	Drank more and did not become intoxicated	Compared to that man who has become intoxicated

Punctuated not בר אהורייריה דאבא! אבא ‘לקבל אלפא חמרא שתי‘ ולא רוי, וההוא גברא אשתטי בחמריה

But בר אהורייריה דאבא אבא ‘לקבל אלפא חמרא שתי‘ ולא רוי, וההוא גברא אשתטי בחמריה

In this view, the only insult was that the stable master of Vahsti’s grandfather could hold his alcohol better than Achashverosh could. The virility of her grandfather’s lowly stablemaster demonstrates how greater her grandfather was. This translates fits the grammar of the sentence in Megilah better, and has the added benefit of not inventing a new Midrash that Achashverosh served as a stable master. Indeed, one version of the Talmud in megillah reads: בר אהורייריה דאבא ‘לקבל אלפא חמרא שתי‘ ולא רוי וההוא גברא אשתטי בחמריה, and in this version the deletion of the second word “aba” necessitates our reading as well: my parents stable master drunk before 1000..

Which ancestor of Vashti’s was worthy of a boast?

Our reading of the Talmud confers yet another benefit, besides its consistency with the rest of Midrashic literature and its conformity to the grammar and sentence structure of the Talmud. It shifts the queen’s boast from her father Belshatzar, to her grandfather Nevuchadnetzar. The Talmud and Midrash often present Vashti as the granddaughter of Nevuchadnetzar; see Megilah 10b where as part of two separate drashot, one from Isaiah 14 and one from Isaiah 55, she is called the granddaughter of Nevuchadnetzar. Targum Esther 1:11 also refers to “Nevuchadnetzar Avuy de-aba,” her grandfather.[11] Associating her more with her grandfather than her father is sensible, because Nevuchadnetzar is a heroic, conquering figure throughout Tanach – expanding territory, exiling the Jews, “even the beasts of the field I have given to him” (Jeremiah 28:14). Nevuchadnetzar’s sons were not heroic figures, and Belshatzar the second son (see Daniel 5:2, 11, 13, 18, 22[12]) was stricken by fear and then defeated by the Persians in the famous story of the handwriting on the wall (Daniel 5). Thus, when boasting of Vashti’s lineage, it would make more sense that she would boast of the virility of her grandfather more than of her father. Our reading correctly connects her with the great Nevuchadnetzar, and not with his less impressive sons.

The common mistranslation of the Talmud, in contrast, connects the boast to her father, ostensibly Belshatzar.[13] Was Belshatzar known for holding his alcohol? Daniel 5:1 does indicate that Belshatzar was able to drink large quantities of wine, but the balance of the chapter suggests the exact opposite of Vashti’s boast – that he was indeed affected by his drinking, weakened by it, and not that he was strong and able to overcome it. As the last Babylonian king, defeated by the Persians, Belshatzar would be a curious choice to be included in any boast about the strength of the Babylonians.[14]

Vashti’s boast speaks about having the capacity to drink in the presence of 1000 men, a turn of phrase which recalls the party of Belshatzar in Daniel 5. But does the Talmud intend to quote and reference the party and drinking of Belshatzar directly? Or does it just use the turn of phrase that appears in that context? The Torah Ohr Commentary of Yehoshua Boaz to the standard Vilna Shas does not source the quote – implying the Talmud uses the language of the phrase but does not intend to reference Belshatzar’s party. In contrast, Rashi does explicitly connect the words to Daniel 5, implying Vashti boasted of her father Belshatzar’s own virility, and not of the fortitude of the stable-masters of her grandfather Nevuchadnetzar.[15]

Was Achashverosh born into royalty?

One final topic related to the stable-boy myth is the question whether Achashverosh was born into royalty or not. Clearly, had the Talmud referenced humble, stable boy origins, then we would see him as a warlord or ruthless strongman who rose to power from outside. Yet, the Midrashim give no account of him exterminating the previous royal family or rebelling and usurping power from the previous king.

In contrast, Targum Sheni argues that Achashverosh was the son of Darius the Mede;[16] thus even if Beltshatzar was Vashti’s father, Achashverosh would still not be considered a stable master. Midrash Aba Gurion shares this view as well. Yalkut Esther (1049) is also of the view that Achashverosh was born into royalty, and was not her father’s stablemaster – but yet still quotes the boast of the king being unable to hold his alcohol compared to the stablemasters of Nevuchadnetzar. The primary boast stands, whether or not Achashverosh was a stable master.

The story of the stable-boy who rose to become king is an imaginative one that grips the mind and inspires the imagination. Yet, it seems to be a particularly late addition to Rabbinic literature, and one based in its core on a mistranslation of the Talmud.

The Physicians of the Rome Plague of 1656, Yaakov Zahalon and Hananiah Modigliano
Reclaiming a Long-Lost Role and the
Only Known Example of Father and Son Diplomas

By Edward Reichman

Ellen Wells of the Smithsonian Libraries wrote,[1] “The plague of Rome of 1656 was one of the best recorded medical events of the 17^th century. It was referred to in most major political and ecclesiastical histories, in diplomatic correspondence and in personal memoirs. Books and pamphlets were issued in profusion. Commemorative prints were published …” The Jewish physician Yaakov Zahalon[2] contributed to this documentary phenomenon from the Jewish perspective.[3] Zahalon is one of the most famous physicians in Jewish history, and his book Otzar HaHayyim, published in Venice 1683, is one of only few original Hebrew medical treatises written in the premodern era. Therein, Zahalon added to the personal memoir genre of the plague.[4]

In the context of his discussion of pestilential fevers and plague, Zahalon records his recollections, both medical and non-medical, of the Bubonic Plague in Rome of 1656.[5] This passage is well-known and has been partially translated by Friedenwald.[6] It is in this passage that we read of Zahalon preaching from the balconies of the Rome Ghetto due to the closure of synagogues during the plague, an account recalled frequently over this past year.[7]

Zahalon was clearly present and practicing medicine in Rome during the epidemic, as he mentions a first-hand encounter with a patient, Shabtai Kohen, who died with fever and groin swelling, typical of bubonic plague. Zahalon diagnosed an intestinal hernia, despite the insistence of the non-Jewish physician that the patient had succumbed to plague. A diagnosis of plague would have necessitated quarantine of Kohen’s entire household. A postmortem exam confirmed Zahalon’s diagnosis. Yet, Zahalon’s exact role during the plague has remained elusive.

Regarding the administration of medical care in the Ghetto during the plague, Zahalon identifies a number of medical roles. An isolation house, called a Lazaretto, was set up in the Ghetto to accommodate those afflicted with plague.[8] The medical care in the Lazaretto was provided by Samuel Gabai, and his father, Ciroccio (Mordechai), who succumbed to the plague.[9]

Zahalon discusses the division of the ghetto into three sections, each with its appointed physician.[10]

The three physicians who equally divided the medical care of the city were Hananiah Modigliano, Gavriel Lariccia, and Yitzhak Zahalon. Who were these three physicians?

On Lariccia, I have found no additional information, and it is possible that this mention by Zahalon may be the only historical record of his existence. As recorded by Zahalon, Lariccia died during the plague.

On Modigliano, we are fortunate to have archival material. Hananiah Modigliano was a graduate of the University of Siena in 1628 and was one of a mere eleven Jewish graduates from this university from the years 1543 to 1695.[11] His medical diploma is extant and housed in the Jewish Theological Seminary Library.[12]

The invocation reads “In Dei Nomine Amen” (in the Name of God, Amen). While I have not seen any other diplomas of this period from the University of Siena,[13] there are a number of extant medical diplomas from this period issued by the University of Padua. The typical Padua diploma invocation reads “In Christi Nomine, Amen” (in the Name of Christ, Amen). The only diplomas that deviated from this norm were those of non-Christian students, in particular diplomas of Jewish graduates. Virtually every Jewish graduate’s diploma begins with the invocation, “In Dei Aeterni Nomine.” It is possible that the University of Siena made the same accommodations for its Jewish graduates as did Padua, few as they may have been.[14] Modigliano was also identified as a Jew in his diploma, with the word “Hebreo” appearing after his name:

This was also commonly found in the diplomas of the Jewish graduates of Padua, where the word “Hebreus” or “Iudeus” would typically, though not always, follow the name of the Jewish graduates.

We next hear of Modigliano on August 14, 1650, when upon the departure of Rafael Corcos,[15] the Roman Jewish community appointed three new worthy teachers, one of whom was the doctor Hananiah b. Rafael Modigliano.[16] As reported by Zahalon, Hananiah tragically died while serving as a physician for the Jewish community in Rome during the Bubonic Plague of 1656.

Modigliano’s son Raphael was also a physician, as well as a rabbi.[17] Extant medical diplomas of Jewish students are exceedingly rare, yet in this case, we are fortunate not only to possess a copy of Hananiah’s diploma, but we also possess the diploma of his son Raphael as well.[18] This is the only known case of extant father and son diplomas. A copy of his medical diploma from the University of Ferrara in 1662 is below:[19]

The invocation, similar to his father’s diploma, reads, “In Dei Nomine, Amen,” and he is likewise identified as “Hebreus.”

Of note, the document explicitly restricts his medical practice to Jewish patients.

We also have record of Raphael delivering weekly Shabbat sermons in the synagogue in Siena. Moses ben Samuel ben Bassa of Blanes records in his manual for preachers, Tena’ei ha-Darshan,[20] that both he and Raphael Modigliano would deliver weekly sermons, after which they would each provide constructive criticism of the other’s sermon.

What of our third and final physician, Yitzhak Zahalon? Regarding the third of the Jewish plague physicians for Rome in 1656, the author does not reveal additional details about him, despite their sharing the same last name. A few sentences later, however, Yaakov Zahalon enumerates the fatalities of the plague at around eight hundred deaths and mentions his cousin, the young skilled surgeon, Yitzhak Zahalon, amongst the casualties.

This has led at least one scholar to identify the physician in charge of one third of the city as the same Yitzhak Zahalon, the surgeon and cousin of Yaakov, the author. Sosland writes, “Three Jewish doctors are mentioned by Zahalon as having charge over the patients. One of them was a first cousin of our author, a certain Isaac Zahalon, a “skilled surgeon” who died toward the end of the epidemic.”[21]

With the physicians in charge of the medical care of the Lazaretto, as well as the different sections of the Ghetto, accounted for by name, we are left to wonder about the role, if any, the author, Yaakov Zahalon, played during the plague. As Sosland notes, “as to the exact role Jacob filled, we have no direct knowledge.”[22]

Zahalon’s medical work was published in Venice in 1683, and unlike the work of his rough contemporary, Tuviya Cohen, whose Ma’aseh Tuviya has been reprinted numerous times, has not yet merited even a second printing.[23] There is however one extant manuscript of Zahalon’s Otzar HaHayyim housed in the Vatican,[24] dated from no later than 1675, and it is in this manuscript that we find the solution to the riddle of Zahalon’s role in the administration of medical care to the Jews in the Rome Ghetto during the plague.

The manuscript appears to reflect that Otzar HaHayyim was initially part of a larger multi-section work entitled Ohalei Yaakov Otzar HaHokhmot. Zahalon’s medical work is labelled as section two, Hokhmat HaRefuah, the only section in the Vatican manuscript.

Below is the section describing the division of the city into three sections, each with its respective physician.

There is one key difference in this passage between the printed edition and the manuscript version. The physician in charge of the third section of the city is not Yitzhak Zahalon, whose identity is ambiguous, but rather, Yaakov ben Yitzhak Zahalon, none other than the author himself! A part of the name was accidentally omitted in the printed work. Zahalon refers to himself here in third person. This correction now facilitates a better understanding of the next sentence in the text, in which Zahalon continues to refer to himself, expressing gratitude to God for having rescued him from the ravages of the plague.

In this vein, I conclude with a comment on Zahalon’s conclusion to his plague passage. Despite the unspeakable tragedies experienced by the Jewish community, Zahalon ends his plague discussion by sharing a positive, though bittersweet, thought reflecting the continuity of the Jewish community:

As a good sign for the people of Israel, a pregnant woman named Zivia, the wife Yitzhak Mondolfo, contracted the plague, and though confined to the Lazaretto, was able to deliver a healthy child, whom she was able to nurse for a period before her demise. In the final line of this section in the printed work, we read that the child was still alive “until today,” and that his name was Efraim Levi. Though Zahalon’s book was published in 1683, this line appears in the manuscript, thus “until today” would be some twenty years after the plague.

While this indeed is some form of consolation, the manuscript adds an additional sentence which yields a far more powerful conclusion.

“And the circumcision was performed there (in the Lazaretto), and I say to you by your blood you shall live, and I say to you by your blood you shall live.” Zahalon concludes with the phrase from Yechezkel 16:6 which is traditionally recited as part of the circumcision ceremony. The allusion here to the plague is obvious.

Omitting this last sentence denies us not only the additional factual information about the performance of the circumcision in the Lazaretto, itself a remarkable event, but also Zahalon’s homiletic flourish which marked the community’s (re)birth after the tragedies of the plague. As I write these words, we are still in this midst of the Covid 19 pandemic, though the dissemination of the vaccines portends, God willing, for its cessation in the near future. These final intended words of Zahalon resonate deeply with us today, perhaps even more so than they would have when Otzar HaHayyim was published, some three decades after the plague.

Depression Angles
By William Gewirtz

Introduction:

Depression angles measure the level of darkness or illumination prior to sunrise and, in a parallel fashion, after sunset.

There are two halakhic disagreements that might appear to relate to the use of depression angles. First, there is a long-standing argument about what defines the transition from one day to the next and what is (merely) an indicator that the transition has occurred. Some consider the appearance of three stars as the basis of a definition, while others assume that darkness is defining, with the appearance of three stars merely being an indicator that a specific level of darkness has already occurred. However, this dispute is not consequential to the use of depression angles. Even though depression angles relate directly to (the level of) darkness, since darkness levels and the appearance of stars occur approximately simultaneous, the argument is primarily of theoretical interest. As a result, the disagreement does not influence the use or the operation of depression angles.[1]

Second, a present disagreement is particularly consequential. Do we adopt fixed zemanim, e.g. 42 or 72 minutes after sunset or one hour before sunrise, or variable zemanim that change based both on location and day of the year? In Talmudic literature, physical events like the first appearance of light across the eastern sky, the ability to differentiate between blue and white, the sky’s apex and the eastern horizon appearing equally dark, the appearance of 3 medium stars, etc. all describe events whose occurrence vary at different locations and during different days of the year; they cannot be specified by a single fixed interval. As a result, I have a strong preference for variable versus fixed zemanim.[2] In spite of this being a still active dispute, I will assume that the argument is settled, and will not address the issue further in this paper. Clearly, depression angles are (largely) irrelevant to those who determine zemanim using fixed intervals. Therefore, this paper provides an explanation focused on depression angles themselves, as a methodology to formalize the use of variable zemanim. In what follows, I will explain the use of depression angles, the scientific method that has emerged over the last 150 years that makes use primarily[3] of both latitude and season / date to calculate various zemanim.

How this disagreement between using fixed versus variable zemanim developed would require its own detailed historical study, which I believe has not yet been attempted. Absent such a study, three factors appear to have had some bearing on the issue.

First, from the 12^th through the 18^th century, most observant Jews followed what is referred to as the opinion of Rabbeinu Tam, which equated the length of the intervals

• between sunset and the end of Shabbat and
• between alot hashaḥar and sunrise.

Because the length of the interval between sunset and the end of Shabbat was never lengthened, logic dictated that the (assumedly) equal interval between alot hashaḥar and sunrise be left invariant as well.[4]

Second, Pesaḥim 94a was (surprisingly)[5] read as implying that the time to walk a four milin interval applied year-round.

Third, in his forceful rejection of the opinion of Rabbeinu Tam, the Vilna Gaon proposed both seasonal and latitude-based variation with respect to both the intervals between sunset and the end of Shabbat and between alot hashaḥar and sunrise. While his view gained broad acceptance with respect to the end of Shabbat, its implications for variation based on both latitude and the time of the year with respect to alot hashaḥar, were (and still are) often ignored.

Without further attention to detailed halakhic issues, we will concentrate on the functional aspects of depression angles, (without requiring familiarity with spherical trigonometry on which they are formally based.) But first, we begin with a brief summary of some fundamental elements in the area of zemanim, which will help anchor the discussion.

Zemanim:

Two areas dominate the study of zemanim:

• First, how is the length of the 12 halakhic hours of every daytime period, which begins at alot hashaḥar, to be calculated given variation in the length of the daytime period during the different times of the year? Do we calculate from the daytime period’s halakhic beginning at alot hashaḥar or from the point of sunrise?
• Second, how do we determine the precise delimiters of a day of the week,[6] which almost all agree concludes approximately at the end of the of the bein ha-shemashot period in the evening?[7]

Avoiding the many disagreements in the halakhot of zemanim, we will assume without loss of generality that:

• The amount of time by which alot hashaḥar precedes sunrise, in the Middle East and around the spring and fall equinox when both the daytime and nighttime periods are equal, is 72 minutes.[8]

• The transition point between the days of the week and most critically, the end of Shabbat follows the opinion of the geonim (as opposed to Rabbeinu Tam.)[9]

Addressing primarily only alot hashaḥar and the end of Shabbat is sufficient to illustrate how depression angles can be used in halakha. In many communities, the methods used to determine the end of Shabbat versus alot hashaḥar are different and demonstrate concretely the issue that we will address. In those communities, alot hashaḥar is always a fixed 72 minutes before sunrise and the calculation of alot hashaḥar in those communities does not involve use of depression angles. On the other hand, the number of minutes after sunset at which 3 stars appear or a requisite level of darkness has been achieved varies considerably depending on where you are and the time of the year as well. As a result, very often the end of Shabbat is (either explicitly or implicitly) calculated using depression angles or a near equivalent.

Clocks:

Before addressing depression angles some background on the introduction of clocks into the halakhic literature is required. Beginning at the turn of the 16^th century, about two centuries after the first introduction of mechanical clocks in Europe, clocks were first mentioned in the halakhic literature; at that time, knowledge of the impacts of latitude and season was still non-existent. Throughout the entire period of the rishonim, time intervals were typically referred to not by the number of minutes on a clock, but primarily as estimated intervals. Clocks added a mechanism that allowed various opinions previously specified in terms like the time required to do X, to be translated into a precise, easily specified interval of time.

Clocks began to proliferate almost 200 years before the first recorded reference to either the impacts of latitude or season appear in the halakhic literature. Those impacts were included by R. Avraham Pimential in his comprehensive sefer on zemanim, Minhat Kohen, written during the 17^th century.[10]

The first mention of a clock in the halakhic literature was by R. Yosef ben Moshe, a student of R. Yisroel Isserlein, in Leket Yosher appearing around the turn of the 16^th century;[11] it appeared more than a century earlier than Minhat Kohen. During the 14^th through 16^th century clock making accelerated, well before the nature of variances between zemanim at different locations and during different times of the year were appreciated.

Unfortunately, the precision that clocks provided may have resulted in their increased prominence at the expense of observation. Precision and accuracy are often confused. Clocks provide precision for measurements that may or may not be accurate halakhically. If someone tells you that Shabbat ends at a specific time, that assertion may be very precise but totally inaccurate. Clocks also provided a level of precision that may have been overly seductive. What is yet more disconcerting, clocks allowed pesak to be rendered independent of observation. With an assumed reduced reliance on observation, it is likely that critical halakhic definitions became more subject to disagreement. Examples abound in the halakhic literature:

1. distinguishing between levels of darkness,
2. differentiating between medium and small stars, or
3. establishing the amount of illumination necessary to recognize a friend after dawn

are three clear examples. In each of those three cases, posekim’s opinions often varied significantly and/or recommended caution based on a level of acknowledged doubt.

In the 19^th century, as personal timepieces proliferated and greater uniformity between clocks in different locations became necessary with the growth of the railroads, time took on a yet greater role, something we note but do not address further.

Variation by the time of the year and location/latitude:

In the entire period of the rishonim, instead of time-based measures, most mitzvot dependent on zemanim were performed based on the observation of natural events. The effects of latitude and the time of the year were incorporated implicitly by the use of observation. The occurrence of darkness or the appearance of stars varied naturally between locations regulated by a yet unknown science. How zemanim differed at different locations was largely immaterial; as far as I know, prior to the 17^th century there is no discussion in the halakhic literature comparing zemanim at different locations.

After a significant interval where clocks proliferated, depression angles first appeared in the halakhic literature at the end of the 19^th century. A depression angle[12] measures how far below the horizon the sun appears at a specific moment, providing an accurate measurement of the level of illumination; a larger angle indicates that the sun is further below the horizon with less discernable light coming from the sun. If a depression angle of X degrees occurs at 4:40AM in London and 5:10AM in New York on the same or different days, then one can be certain that the amount of light from the sun is the same at those two times.

If alot ha-shaḥar is defined by the degree of illumination from the sun, to determine alot ha-shaḥar across different latitudes and times of the year, one can[13] utilize depression angles. The first step is to establish the number of degrees below the horizon the sun is located 72 minutes before sunrise in the Middle East around the spring / fall equinox. The second step is to use that same number of degrees to determine alot ha-shaḥar elsewhere and during other times of the year. The 72-minute interval commonly accepted for alot ha-shaḥar corresponds to the sun being approximately 16 degrees below the horizon.

In Israel around the spring / fall equinox, scientists consider the sun to provide no measurable light until approximately 80 minutes before sunrise corresponding to a depression angle of approximately 18 degrees.[14] As the halakhah often disregards miniscule, non-visible quantities, this provides observational support for the standard pesak tacitly assumed that alot ha-shaḥar precedes sunrise by 72 minutes.

From everything I can determine, depression angles capture the halakhic notion of the degree of darkness and light accurately; no alternative for “measuring” ḥashekhah or alot ha-shaḥar has ever been formulated, nor has anyone ever proposed any problem that depression angles might create. Depression angles naturally adjust zemanim based on latitude and the time of the year. Clearly, we may not need such precision; observation was adequate for generations. Nonetheless, a depression angle is to darkness / illumination what a watch is to time.

A small depression angle corresponds to a significant amount of illumination coming from the sun even though the sun is below the horizon. After sunset the level of illumination decreases in a mirror image to the way the level of illumination increases as we approach sunrise. At a depression angle of around 5 – 6 degrees, the halakhic end of a day as specified in the Talmud occurs;[15] at a depression angle of around 11 – 12 degrees we arrive at the point of misheyakir. In between, at a depression angle of 8.5 degrees, Shabbat, as typically practiced currently, concludes. Translating a zeman into a depression angle is neither always straightforward nor undisputed. For certain zemanim, alot hashaḥar for example, the basis is clear: the level of illumination at the beginning of the daytime period, in the Middle East around the spring or fall equinox corresponding to an average time to walk 4 milim. To determine the transition point between days of the week and the end of Shabbat according to the geonim, both biblically and in practice incorporating various ḥumrot, is more complex. Fortunately, following R. Yeḥial Miḥal Tukatzinsky’s calendar for Jerusalem, the practiced end of Shabbat is almost universally accepted by those who rely on depression angles to equate to an angle of 8.5 degrees. Very few posekim following the geonim are more stringent; the practice of the overwhelming majority of 19^th century posekim for whom we have calendars (from which depression angle equivalents can be inferred) were more lenient. However, the earlier point of ḥashekha or 3 medium stars, absent any ḥumrot, is still disputed.[16]

Given the earth’s circular shape, tilt, and rotation, computing depression angles involves spherical trigonometry, which is fortunately not needed for purposes of this paper. Similarly, albeit without the precision, Ḥazal used terms like mi-she-yakkir, hikhsif ha-elyon, the appearance of small/medium stars, etc. all of which relate to the degree of darkness or equivalently the amount of residual illumination from the sun. As noted in the introduction, there is a long-standing halakhic dispute pitting the primacy of darkness against the appearance of stars; which is defining, and which is just a useful indicator? I am strongly biased in the direction of darkness as defining; darkness was already recognized as causing the visibility of stars in geonic times. Since the level of darkness and the appearance of stars are strongly correlated, the dispute, as noted in the introduction, is not consequential to this short paper.[17]

Latitude, the time of the year and depression angles:

For any halakhik zeman, besides the level of darkness specified by a depression angle by which it is defined, two additional variables – the location’s latitude and the date of the year – must also be provided to calculate the time at which that halakhik zeman occurs. The intuition is important. To determine the time (after sunset or before sunrise) at which a level of darkness is achieved, we must know

1. where you are, defined only by your distance from the equator,
2. where the sun is, which can be calculated knowing the exact time of the year, and
3. the level of darkness required.

The former two inputs are just unarguable facts; the latter requires a halakhic determination.

Those mathematically inclined, should think of this as a function of three variables: 1) latitude, 2) date, and 3) darkness level, where those inputs generate a number, the value of the function. That number equals the length of time before or after sunrise or sunset, respectively, at that latitude, on that day, when the degree of illumination expressed by that depression angle is achieved.

Both the latitude and the date play a critical role. However, until latitudes exceed 40 degrees, the seasonal variation for alot hashaḥar is less than about 20 minutes. For ease of explanation, the impact of the date, i.e. the seasonal variation, will be covered separately in the next section. To better understand the impact of latitude, the following discussion focuses on an arbitrary but specific day. The critical inputs in addition to that one day selected are 1) the latitude of the location and 3) the desired level of darkness, specified by a depression angle. I can input, for example, 1) latitude: 30 degrees and 3) the degree of darkness associated with a depression angle of 10 degrees.

For that specific day, given the latitude and a specified depression angle, the function calculates how many minutes before sunrise or after sunset the degree of darkness associated with that depression angle is achieved.[18] If you go further away from the equator, getting dark takes longer. What takes 42 minutes in Jerusalem takes approximately 50 minutes in New York. But things are a bit harder. Mathematicians will describe the result as non-linear, something that equates to “it is not simple.” For a depression angle of 8.5 degrees, it takes 8 minutes longer to reach that level of darkness in New York, situated about 9 degrees further from the equator than Jerusalem. If things were simple, i.e. linear, you might guess that it takes about 8 minutes more for every 9 degrees further from the equator that you are located. If you go 18 degrees further north of Jerusalem, you might expect having to wait (only) another 8 minutes, 16 minutes longer after sunset than the time it took to reach that level of darkness in Jerusalem. However, when we go 18 degrees further north of Jerusalem to Prague, an equivalent level of darkness is achieved 26, and not (a linear) 16 minutes, later.

Prague is further south than the locations of most European Jews who lived in Poland and Russia, about 48 to 56 degrees north latitude where change based on latitude accelerated. Additionally, depression angles have a second complicating factor. Instead of varying latitude, let us hold latitude fixed at say 50 degrees, the latitude again of Prague. Compare, for example, the number of minutes after sunset that it takes to reach a depression angle of 8.5 versus 16 degrees, the latter number being less than twice the former. On a day in early May those times for Prague are 58 and 130 minutes respectively, the latter being more than twice the former; a second non-linearity.

As both latitudes and desired level of darkness change, either very careful observation or scientific knowledge is required. It is not all that surprising that such precision was not always exhibited in the halakhic literature. Note that at latitudes further from the equator and at greater levels of darkness, the degree of seasonal variation increases as well, as we will see in the next section.

Dealing with seasonality

Posekim deal appropriately with seasonality in one of two fundamentally different ways:

1. Some use a simple upper bound for a zeman where use of a such a number does not create significant inconvenience. Some treat R. Moshe Feinstein’s 50-minute zeman for the conclusion of Shabbat in the New York area that way.
2. Alternatively, a posek can use depression angles; R. Yisroel Belsky adjusted R. Feinstein’s 50-minute zeman using depression angles to vary the conclusion of Shabbat between 40 and 50 minutes after sunset during different times of the year.[19]

To begin with, it is important to recognize that the magnitude of seasonal variation increases (non-linearly) both for:

1. Locations further from the equator (thus greater variation in Montreal than Miami.)
2. Greater degrees of darkness (thus greater variation in misheyakir than in the end of Shabbat.) (The average depression angle for misheyakir is approximately 3 degrees greater than the currently prevalent depression angle used to compute the end-time for Shabbat.)

For example, the seasonal variation for the end of Shabbat in Jerusalem is only 6 minutes, from about 36 minutes after sunset near the spring or fall equinox to about 42 minutes after sunset near the summer solstice. On the other hand, the variation in alot hashaḥar in Lithuania is “infinite.” Alot hashaḥar is 102 minutes before sunrise at the spring equinox, 120 minutes before sunrise at the winter solstice, and set to halakhic midnight during periods of the summer. In periods during the summer, the requisite level of darkness equating to a depression angle of 16 degrees does not occur; it never gets that dark during the night, something the Gaon observed.[20] Said differently, illumination from the sun never diminishes to that level either in the evening or equivalently in the morning. The extent to which this was neither recognized by posekim prior to the Gaon nor followed even after the times of the Gaon would require its own (lengthy) essay to illustrate.

The impact on the point of misheyakir provides another interesting topic for study. Pesakim from the Middle East tend to have an earlier point of misheyakir, often equating to a depression angle of between 13 and 11.5 degrees; pesakim from European posekim tend to use 11.5 degrees or less.[21] It suffices to say, posekim from northern Europe need to be read with care in discussions of this issue. Their views on alot hashaḥar and misheyakir are obviously linked; a delayed point of alot hashaḥar would likely delay the point of misheyakir as well.

Those following the 72-minute approach of Rabbeinu Tam should behave equivalently with respect to the end of Shabbat and alot hashaḥar, a practice rarely observed. It is alleged that R. Chaim of Brisk made havdalah Sunday morning, recognizing that Shabbat ends at (halakhic) midnight, coincident with alot hashaḥar and after the time he had already gone to bed. Such practice was rare. Interestingly, in Vilna, using a depression angle of 8.5 degrees to compute the end of Shabbat, a prevalent practice today, even the approach of the Gaon requires waiting 95 minutes after sunset to end Shabbat during the weeks around the summer solstice.

Unfortunately, many incorrect alternatives remain prevalent. Depression angles confirm that the shortest intervals occur in the spring or fall close to either equinox. The longest intervals occur around the summer solstice. Surprisingly to many, the interval around the winter solstice is longer than the interval in the spring or fall, but shorter than the interval in the summer. Because this was not properly understood, an error, going back to R. Pimential[22] persists until today.

While acknowledging that intervals vary by the time of year, in place of depression angles the error links variation in the interval with variation in the length of the period between sunrise and sunset. With this mistaken approach the summer interval is lengthened as it should be, but the variation is calculated imprecisely. In the winter the interval is shortened as opposed to lengthened, a very consequential error.

Interestingly and for reasons I can only suspect, posekim advised against using the implied wintertime reduction in time when it creates a leniency; perhaps the observed result did not conform to expectations or, as some might suggest, their counsel is another example of siyattah di-Shemayah.

A large and well entrenched group chooses not to make any seasonal adjustment. If done to promote simplification, as noted, that is a reasonable approach where implemented with care, (particularly for the end-time for days of the week at latitudes under 45 degrees.)

Often the implementation is entirely indefensible (most often for alot hashaḥar,) very often in combination with an equally poor approach to latitude, and often challenged by careful) observation. The clearest and most prevalent example is given by those who insist that alot hashaḥar is always 72 minutes before sunrise. Using this approach, one can easily end up with misheyakir visibly occurring before alot hashaḥar, a halakhic absurdity of the first order.

Conclusions:

The use of depression angles allows the determination of various zemanim without the need for observation. Given that the observation of various zemanim has become less widely understood and potentionally subject as well to various human frailties, it is likely that depression angles should become (yet more) widely accepted.[23]