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The Haftarot of the Sabbaths of Hanukkah and the Haftarah of the Sabbath of Rosh Ḥodesh Tevet

The Haftarot of the Sabbaths of Hanukkah and the Haftarah of the Sabbath of Rosh Ḥodesh Tevet[1]

by: Eli Duker

In the Babylonian Talmud (Megillah 31a) it is stated that the haftarah for the Sabbath of Hanukkah is from “the lamps of Zechariah,” and if Hanukkah coincides with two Sabbaths, the haftarah for the first Shabbat is from “the lamps of Zechariah” and the haftarah for the second Shabbat is from “the lamps of Solomon.”

Rashi there explains that “the lamps of Zechariah” refers to the haftarah beginning: “Sing and rejoice” (Zechariah 2:14), and that “the lamps of Solomon” refers to the haftarah beginning: “Hiram made” (I Kings 7:40). This explanation is also found in Seder Rav Amram Gaon, and this is the practice in most communities to this day.[2]

We find another custom in Tractate Soferim (20:8) with regard to the Torah reading and haftarah for the Sabbath of Hanukkah:

ובשבת שבתוכו קורא ויהי ביום כלות משה, עד כן עשה את המנורה, וכן ביום השמיני, עד וזה מעשה המנורה, ומפטיר ותשלם כל המלאכה.

Thus, according to Tractate Soferim, the haftarah for the Sabbath of Hanukkah begins: “When all the work was completed” (I Kings 7:51), which addresses the dedication of the First Temple. It is somewhat puzzling that the haftarah begins precisely there and not a few verses earlier, which would have included the “lamps of Solomon,” a fitting verse for Hanukkah. It is possible that since Tractate Soferim generally reflects the practices of Eretz Yisrael, and the miracle of the cruse of oil is a Babylonian tradition, they saw no need to refer to the making of the menorah. Yet, we see that according to this ruling they nevertheless read in the Torah up to the account of the making of the menorah, even though according to the Mishnah only the passages of the nesi’im are read — indicating that there is a desire to allude to the miracle of the cruse of oil.[3] One can suggest that since the menorah was already mentioned there, they did not see a need to allude to it again in the haftarah.

Tractate Soferim does not mention a Torah reading or haftarah for the second Sabbath of Hanukkah. Concerning Rosh Ḥodesh Tevet that falls on a Sabbath, it is stated there (20:12):

דר’ יצחק סחורה שאל את ר’ יצחק נפחא, ראש חדש טבת שחל להיות בשבת במה קורין, בעניין כלות, ומפטיר בשל שבת וראש חדש.

The “haftarah for Sabbath and Rosh Ḥodesh” refers to what is stated elsewhere in Tractate Soferim (17:9):

ובזמן שחל ר”ח להיות בשבת השמיני שצריך לקרות וביום השבת ובראשי חדשיכם הוא מפטיר (יחזקאל מ״ו:א׳) בכה אמר [ה”א] שער החצר הפנימית הפונה קדים.

In Pesikta Rabbati[4] there are homilies on no fewer than three haftarot for the Sabbaths of Hanukkah: “Elijah took twelve stones” (I Kings 18:31), “When all the work was completed” (I Kings 7:51, similar to the haftarah in Tractate Soferim), and: “It will be at that time that I will search Jerusalem with lamps” (Zephaniah 1:12). Each of these sections in the Pesikta begins with a halakhic question relating to Hanukkah.

In Piska “Elijah took” (4) we find:

ילמדנו רבינו: ראש חודש שחל להיות בחנוכה, הואיל שאין תפילות המוספין בחנוכה, מי שהוא מתפלל תפילת המוספין מהו שיהא צריך להזכיר של חנוכה? למדונו רבותינו אמר רבי סימון בשם רבי יהושע: ראש חודש שחל להיות בחנוכה אף ע”פ שאין מוסף בחנוכה אלא בר”ח, צריך להזכיר של חנוכה בתפילת המוספים. שבת שחלה להיות בחנוכה אע”פ שאין מוסף בחנוכה אלא שבת, צריך להזכיר של חנוכה בתפילת המוספין. והיכן הוא מזכיר? בהודאה.

It is noteworthy that the question is formulated primarily with regard to the Musaf of Rosh Ḥodesh during Hanukkah, even though it obviously applies equally to the Musaf of the Sabbath of Hanukkah, as reflected in the answer. Rabbi Meir Ish Shalom already noted in his commentary in his edition of Pesikta Rabbati[5] that it is reasonable to assume this is the haftarah for the Sabbath of Rosh Ḥodesh Tevet. The connection between this haftarah and Rosh Ḥodesh likely lies in what appears later in the same passage in the Pesikta:

אתה מוצא שנים עשר חודש בשנה, שנים עשר מזלות ברקיע, שתים עשרה שעות ליום ,ושתים עשרה שעות לילה. אמר הקדוש ברוך הוא: אפילו העליונים והתחתונים לא בראתי אלא בזכות השבטים שכך כתב “את כל אלה ידי עשתה” (ישעיה סו:ב), בזכות כל אלה שבטי ישראל שנים עשר (בראשית מט:כח) (לכך שנים עשר מזלות, שתים עשרה שעות). לכך כיון שבא אליהו לקרב את ישראל תחת כנפי השכינה נטל שתים עשרה אבנים למספר השבטים ובנה אותן מזבח. מניין? ממה שהשלים בנביא “ויקח אליהו שתים עשרה אבנים למספר שבטי בני יעקב”.

In Piska “It will be at that time” (8) we find:

ילמדנו רבינו: מהו שידליק אדם נר שישתמש בו מן הנר של חנוכה? תלמוד, למדונו רבותינו א”ר אחא בשם רב (אמר) אסור להדליק נר שישתמש בו מנר של חנוכה, אבל נר של חנוכה מותר להדליק מנר של חנוכה.

In Piska “When all the work was completed” (6) we find:

ילמדנו רבינו: נר של חנוכה שהותיר שמן מהו צריך לעשות לו…

It is therefore possible to suggest that in Pesikta Rabbati there is Zephaniah 1:12 for the first Sabbath of Hanukkah that is not Rosh Ḥodesh, and I Kings 7:40 for the second Sabbath of Hanukkah. In addition, there is I Kings 18:31 as a haftarah for a Hanukkah Sabbath that is also Rosh Ḥodesh. This is an appropriate haftarah for this time due to description of the victory over the prophets of Baal—which parallels the Hasmonean victory over the Greek kingdom—and the recurring motif of twelve, which is appropriate for Rosh Ḥodesh.

By contrast, all other sources from Eretz Yisrael (Tractate Soferim and the piyyutim mentioned below) point to I Kings 7:51 as the sole haftarah for the Sabbath of Hanukkah, read not only when there are two Sabbaths of Hanukkah. Moreover, in the Pesikta, the Piska of “When all the work was completed” immediately follows “It was on the day that Moses finished,” which is the Torah reading for a regular Sabbath of Hanukkah (or at least when Shabbat falls on the first day of Hanukkah).[6] For this reason, B. Elitzur claims[7] that “When all the work was completed” was read specifically on the first Sabbath of Hanukkah, and “It was on the day” was read on the second Sabbath. It should be noted that the Piska “It was on the day” is adjacent to the Piska “The one who brought his offering on the first day,” not to the Piska “On the eighth day” (to which the section “And Elijah took” is adjacent).[8]

In the Kedushta piyyut of Yannai[9] for the Sabbath of Hanukkah, the verse “When all the work was completed” appears as the first verse in the chain of verses in the meshalesh, indicating that this was the haftarah. Likewise, this verse also appears in the Meḥayyeh of the Kedushta piyyut of Rabbi Yeshuah son of Rabbi Joseph.[10] There is nothing in these piyyutim to indicate they were composed specifically for the second Sabbath of Hanukkah.[11] In light of all these sources—which mention only a single haftarah for the Sabbaths of Hanukkah (despite the approximately five-hundred-year gap between Yannai and Rabbi Yeshuah)[12]—the customs reflected in Pesikta Rabbati were likely very rare in both time and place.

In a comprehensive study of Rabbi Eleazar ha-Kalir’s Kedushta piyyutim for Hanukkah, A. Mintz-Manor identifies no fewer than five potential haftarot for the first Sabbath of Hanukkah. In the piyyut Adir Kenitzav,” the Kalir cites the verses “When all the work was completed,” as well as “Solomon built the House and finished it” (I Kings 6:14), and “Thus said Hashem: Behold, I will restore the fortune of the Jacob’s tents” (Jeremiah 30:18).

In the piyyut Meluḥatzim Me’od Bera,” “Behold, I will restore” also appears, as well as “I will search Jerusalem” (which appears as a haftarah in Pesikta Rabbati), and another potential haftarah: “Solomon brought the peace offering” (I Kings 8:63).

In the piyyut Otot Shelosha” for a Sabbath that is both Hanukkah and Rosh Ḥodesh, both the verses “The gate of the inner court” and “When all the work was completed” appear, indicating that in his time there was no uniform custom in Eretz Yisrael for this Sabbath, with some reading the Rosh Ḥodesh haftarah and others reading the Hanukkah haftarah. Yet, the fact that the verse from the haftarah of Rosh Ḥodesh appears first may indicate that that was the preferred haftarah.

In the piyyut Menashe Ve’et Efraim,” written for the second Sabbath of Hanukkah, the haftarah is “On the eighth day he sent the people off” (I Kings 8:66). It is possible that this is the same haftarah that appears in “Meluḥatzim Me’od Bera,” with a few earlier verses added.

Summary of Haftarot

Haftarah Source(s)
I Kings 7:51 Tractate Soferim; piyyutim of Yannai, Kalir, Rabbi Yeshuah; Pesikta Rabbati
Zephaniah 1:12 Piyyutim of Kalir; Pesikta Rabbati
Jeremiah 30:18 Piyyutim of Kalir
I Kings 8:63 Piyyutim of Kalir
I Kings 6:14 Piyyut of Kalir

A Geniza fragment[13] records both customs with regard to Rosh Ḥodesh Tevet (and Adar and Nisan) that fall on a Sabbath. According to the custom in Eretz Yisrael, two Torah scrolls are taken out. The passage for Hanukkah is read first, and then that of Rosh Ḥodesh. According to the Babylonian custom, where the weekly portion is read as well, that is read first, followed by Rosh Ḥodesh and Hanukkah. According to both customs, the haftarah there is for Hanukkah.[14]

From all the above, we see multiple differing customs regarding the Sabbath of Rosh Ḥodesh Tevet:

  1. Haftarah of Rosh Ḥodesh – Tractate Soferim; one mention in Kalir.
  2. Haftarah of Hanukkah – one mention in Kalir; a Geniza fragment.
  3. A special haftarah – Pesikta Rabbati.

We find in the Geonic literature that the haftarah of Hanukkah is read, as stated in a responsum of Yehudai Gaon:

תוב שאילו מן קמיה: הקורא בתורה בראש חדש חנוכה ושבת בשל ראש חדש מפטיר או בשל חנוכה? ואמר בשל חנוכה.

There is a similar statement in Halakhot Pesukot[15] and the Siddur of Rav Amram Gaon.[16]

In Early Ashkenaz, where the Hanukkah haftarot followed those in the Talmud Bavli, there existed differing customs concerning the haftarah for a Sabbath of Hanukkah that coincided with Rosh Ḥodesh. In the Siddur of Rashi (321) we find:


ואם חל ראש חודש טבת להיות בשבת, התדיר קודם. מוציאין שלש תורות, וקורין ששה בעניינו של יום, והשביעי ובראשי חדשיכם, ומפטיר קורא בחנוכה ובנבואת זכריה [רני ושמחי], והשמים כסאי בטלה, דהא לא קרי מפטיר בראש חדש דלימא הפטרה דיליה. ובמס’ סופרים גרסינן שמפטירין בשל ראש חדש, אבל לא נהגו העם כן: ושמעתי שנחלקו במגנצא שני גדולי הדור ר’ יצחק בר’ יהודה ור’ שמואל בר’ דוד הלוי, ר’ יצחק ציווה להפטיר ברני ושמחי, ור’ שמואל העיד מפי אביו שאמר לו שמפטירין בשל ראש חדש וקיימו את עדותו, וכמדומה שחולקין כן בראש חדש אדר שחל להיות בשבת, ואנן נוהגין [להפטיר] ביהוידע.

From this passage it emerges that although Tractate Soferim states that the haftarah should be that of Rosh Ḥodesh, this was not the common practice. Rashi records that in Mainz two leading sages of the generation disagreed: Rabbi Yitzḥak bar Yehudah ruled to read beginning from Zechariah 2:14, whereas Rabbi Samuel bar David ha-Levi testified in the name of his father that the haftarah should be that of a standard Rosh Ḥodesh on the Sabbath, and his testimony was accepted. Rashi adds that a similar disagreement seems to have existed regarding Rosh Ḥodesh Adar that falls on a Sabbath, concerning which he records that the practice was to read “Yehoyada.”

This material appears as well, with slight variations, in Sefer ha-Pardes.[17]

It is recorded in Ma‘asei ha-Geonim:

ואילו תשובות שהשיב רבי’ ר’ משלם בר’ משה ממגנצא לאחי לר’ נחומי’. וששאלת ר”ח טבת שחל להיות בשבת במה מפטירין? יש מבני קהלינו שאומרים שמפטירים ברני ושמחי ויש מהם שאומרים שמפטירין בהשמים כסאי ואבאר טעמם של אלו וטעמם של אלו מיושר על המחיקה אותן שאומרין להפטיר בנירות של יהוידע[18] אומרים כן היא המדה לעולם שבאותו עיניין שהמפטיר קורא באותו עיניין (ש)צריך להפטיר הוי קורא בשל חנוכה. ואם נפשך לומר יקרא בשל ר”ח ויפטיר בשל ר”ח, אינה היא המידה שהרי תדיר ושאינו תדיר תדיר קוד’. וטעמם שאומרי’ להפטיר בשל ר”ח או’ ר”ח דאורייתא וחנוכה דרבנן ולא אתי דרבנן ודחי דאורייתא. ומצינו בהלכות גדולות שצריך להפטיר ברני ושמחי אבל במקומינו נהגו להפטיר בשל ר”ח מפני כבודו של רבי’ יהודה הכהן הזקן שהורה [כן] וקיי”ל מקום שיפול העץ שם יהו פירותיו.

It is clear from these sources that Rabbi Yehudah ha-Kohen ha-Zaken and Rav David (cited by his son Rav Shmuel), both students of Rabbeinu Gershom—and Rabbi Samuel bar David, ruled to read the Rosh Ḥodesh haftarah. Beyond the claim that Rosh Ḥodesh is by Torah law, they were evidently also aware that this was the ruling in Tractate Soferim.

By contrast, Rabbi Yitzḥak bar Yehudah—who studied under Rabbeinu Gershom but was primarily a disciple of Rabbi Eliezer ha-Gadol[19]—ruled in Mainz to read the Hanukkah haftarah despite the rulings of Rabbi David and Rabbeinu Yehudah ha-Zaken. Out of respect for the latter authorities, this ruling was not adopted, even though it was known that Halakhot Gedolot ruled in that direction (apparently referring to Halakhot Pesukot, as cited in Or Zarua).

In the Ra’avan we find a continuation of this position, including a statement that Rabbi Yehudah ha-Kohen’s sons also ruled to read the haftarah of Rosh Ḥodesh:

וראש חודש טבת שחל בשבת בחנוכה נחלקו בהפטרה. הגאונים רבינו רבי יהודה הכהן ובניו היו מורין להפטיר בהשמים כסאי מטעם תדיר ושאינו תדיר תדיר קודם. ועוד, מדאמרינן [כ”ט ב] דאין משגיחין בדחנוכה תחילה וראש חודש עיקר, למה לי למימר ראש חודש עיקר, אלא אפילו להפטרה. ועוד, מדמפורש בהפטרה “מידי חודש בחדשו ומידי שבת בשבתו” ואין דוחין שתים, שבת ור”ח, מפני אחת, חנוכה. והחלוקין עליהם אומרים כיון שהמפטיר קורא בדחנוכה צריך להפטיר בדחנוכה. וחקרתי אני אליעזר בסדר רב עמרם גאון, ולא הזכיר בו כלל השמים כסאי, אלא כך כתב בו, שבת של חנוכה קורין בנירות דזכריה רני ושמחי ואם יש ב’ שבתות בשבת ראשונה קורין רני ושמחי.

Here we see the same tendency noted earlier with Rabbi Samuel bar David: the sons of Rabbi Yehudah ha-Kohen followed their father’s ruling to read the Rosh Ḥodesh haftarah. Ra’avan notes that others disagreed, though he does not name them—presumably he refers to Rabbi Yitzḥak bar Yehudah and perhaps his son Rabbi Yehudah, who sought guidance regarding his father’s rulings.[20] It appears from Ra’avan’s language—though not definitively—that he personally examined the Siddur of Rav Amram Gaon and followed it in determining who to follow concerning this dispute among the scholars of Mainz.

It is noteworthy that in Sefer ha-Minhagim of Rabbi Abraham Klausner[21] and also in the Maharil[22] it is stated that the opinion of “Eliezer”[23] was to read the haftarah of Rosh Ḥodesh.

We find Maḥzor Vitry (239):


ואם חל ראש חדש בשבת התדיר תדיר קודם. ומוציאין ג’ תורות. וקורין ששה בעיניינו של יום. והשביעי ובראשי חדשיכם. ומפטיר קורא בחנוכת המזבח. לפי עניין היום. ומפטיר בנבואת זכריה. רני ושמחי: על שם ראיתי והנה מנורת זהב: והשמים כסאי בטילה. דהא לא קרי מפטיר בשל ראש חדש דלימא הפטרה דידיה: ובמס’ סופרי’ גר’ שמפטירין בשל ראש חדש. אבל לא נהגו העם כן. ושמעתי שנחלקו שני גדולי הדור במייאנצא. ר’ יצחק בר’ יהודה צוה להפטיר ברני ושמחי. ור’ שמואל בר’ דוד הלוי העיד משום (אבא) [אביו] שמפטירין בשל ראש חדש. וקבלו את עדותו: וכמדומה לי שחלוקין בין ראש חדש אדר שחל להיות בשבת. (דאין) [דאנן] נוהגין להפטיר ביהוידע.

It is evident from this statement that there existed a clear custom—apparently in France—to read the haftarah of Hanukkah despite their awareness of the dispute in Mainz.

Subsequently Rabbi Shimon of Sens (Tosafot, Shabbat 23b) stated unequivocally that Hanukkah haftarah should be read.

הדר פשטה נר חנוכה עדיף משום פרסומי ניסא – ונראה לרשב”א כשחל ר”ח טבת להיות בשבת שיש להפטיר בנרות דזכריה משום פרסומי ניסא ולא בהשמים כסאי שהיא הפטרת ר”ח. ועוד כיון שהמפטיר קורא בשל חנוכה יש לו להפטיר מענין שקרא. ומה שמקדימים לקרות בשל ר”ח משום דבקריאת התורה כיון דמצי למיעבד תרוייהו, תדיר ופרסומי ניסא, עבדינן תרוייהו, ותדיר קודם. אבל היכא דלא אפשר למעבד תרוייהו פרסומי ניסא עדיף. ועוד דבקריאת התורה אין כל כך פרסומי ניסא שאינו מזכיר בה נרות כמו בהפטרה. ועוד נראה לרשב”א דעל כן הקדימו של ר”ח כדי שהמפטיר יקרא בשל חנוכה ויפטיר בנרות דזכריה.

Tosafot hold that the reason why the Torah reading of Rosh Ḥodesh precedes that of Hanukkah is precisely so that the haftarah should be that of Hanukkah.

The Rash cited in Tosafot there adds another claim: Publicizing the miracle is far more prominent in the haftarah of Zechariah than in the Torah reading, which does not explicitly mention lamps.

Over the generations in Ashkenaz, both customs are recorded in the Rishonim such as Ravyah, Or Zarua, and Mordechai. Yet, in Ravyah—similarly to Ra’avan—there is a clear inclination toward reading the Hanukkah haftarah:

ואי איקלע פרשת שקלים בראש חדש אדר מפטיר בבן שבע שנים, דמיירי בשקלים מעין שקלים דכי תשא שקרא המפטיר, וזה הכלל שהמפטיר הולך אחר הפרשה שקרא הוא עצמו. ויש חולקים ואומרים להפטיר בראש חדש לעולם, מפני שהוא תדיר. וכן שבת וראש חדש וחנוכה מפטיר ברני ושמחי מעין הפרשה שקרא בה המפטיר. וכן כשחל פרשת שקלים בכ”ט בשבט מפטיר בבן שבע.

By contrast, Shibbolei Haleket[24] cites Rabbi Yehudah HaḤasid as ruling that one should read the Rosh Ḥodesh haftarah.

In Sefer ha-Minhagim of Mahara of Tirna, it is stated that the opinion of the Mordechai is to read the Hanukkah haftarah, and this is how it appears in the Vilna edition of the Talmud. Yet, the Machon Yerushalayim edition has an addition that appears in manuscript:

וכן נמצא בתשובת רב יהודאי גאון[25] אך רבי יהודה כהן הביא ממסכת סופרים ובהלכות פסוקות של ספר והזהיר[26] וברכות ירושלמי[27] שמפטירין בדר”ח, ונלאיתי לכתוב ראיות.

Despite this, according to the other French sources the practice was to read the Hanukkah haftarah. In the Sefer ha-Minhagim (76) attributed to Rabbeinu Abraham Klausner—though the core of the work is actually by Rabbi Paltiel (of French origin)[28] —it is stated:

ומפטיר רני ושמחי, וכן מנהג הרבב במיידבורק. לעולם נגד מה שקורין המפטיר מפטירין. וה”ר אליעזר אומר דמפטירין השמים כסאי ואין משגיחין בדחנוכה, אע”פ כשחל ר”ח אדר בשבת מפטירין בן שבע שנים, היינו משום דמיניה קא סליק משקלים, לכך משקלים מפטירין דדמי’ ליה ושבקיה דר”ח, אבל הכא לא דמי רני ושמחי לפרשת נשיאים כלל, הילכך מפטירין בדר”ח דדמי’ לפרשת שבת ולפרשת ר”ח שנא’ “מדי חדש בחדשו ומדי שבת בשבתו”, והכי אמרינן במסכת סופרים, שאל ר’ יצחקה לר’ יצחק נפחא ר”ח טבת שחל להיות בשבת במה קורין א”ל בענין ויהי ביום כלות משה, ומפטיר בר”ח ושבת והיינו מדי חדש בחדשו וגו’.

This passage introduces a new claim: The haftarah of Hanukkah does not correspond to the Torah reading of the Nesi’im at all, and therefore should not override the Rosh Ḥodesh haftarah. This represents at least one French source inclined toward the Rosh Ḥodesh haftarah. These views are cited in the glosses of the Maharil, though the Maharil himself ruled to read the Hanukkah haftarah.

Ultimately, the Rosh, the Tur,[29] and the Abudirham[30]—and following them the Shulḥan Arukh and the Levush (with the Rema not offering a dissent)—all ruled that the haftarah of Hanukkah is read. This is the practice observed in all communities today.

  1. I would like to thank my brother R’ Yehoshua Duker for his help in editing this, and Dr. Gabriel Wasserman for discussing the piyyutim with me. This article is written לזכר נשמת ייטא בת הרב שמואל יוסף who just passed away. Her emunah and mesirat nefesh in Auschwitz and in her long life afterward is a source of inspiration for her extended family and beyond.
  2. See my site on Alhatorah, with regard to the Algerian practice not to read a special haftarah for the second Sabbath of Hanukkah
  3. See E. Fleischer, The Formation and Fixation of Prayer in Eretz Yisrael, pp. 449–450 (Heb.). He understands that the reading for the last day of Hanukkah when it fell on the Sabbath was not the entirety of Numbers 7 but only similar to today’s practice. The issue of the tradition of the miracle of the oil is beyond the scope of this article.
  4. Concerning the haftarot for Hanukkah in Pesikta Rabati, see Elitzur, B. “Pesikta Rabati: Pirkei Mevo” pp.77-79.
  5. Piska 8 fn. 1.
  6. See Fleisher.
  7. Elitzur p. 77.
  8. Elitzur.
  9. Mahzor Piyuttei Rabbi Yannai LeTorah Velamoadim, Vol, 2. p. 237.
  10. https://maagarim.hebrew-academy.org.il/Pages/PMain.aspx?mishibbur=954001&page=1 and Elitzur S. “Piyyutei Rabbi Yeshuah Birbi Yoesf Hashofet” p.11 fn. 46 and pp 28-20 in Kovetz Al Yad 5774.
  11. Fleisher pp. 451-452, and fn. 32.
  12. Rabbi Yeshuah was a dayan in 11th century Alexandria. See Fleisher, ibid.
  13. Oxford Bodl. Heb. e. 93/3.
  14. Fragment is in Judeo-Arabic, translated by Fleisher pp. 449-250 and fn. 22.
  15. P. 185.
  16. P. 36.
  17. Budapest Edition, p. 144
  18. Ms, 6691=31. It is not clear why Yehoyada is mentioned here. Perhaps it is due to confusion with the son of the First Temple era Zechariah, or perhaps it is due to the same issue existing with regard to Rosh Ḥodesh Adar of Sabbath when the haftarah is about Yehoyada; see Mahzor Vitry, cited below.
  19. Grossman, Ḥakhmei Ashkenaz Harishonim pp. 302-303.
  20. Ibid. p 301.
  21. Machon Yerushalayim edition, p. 65, Halacha 76.
  22. Machon Yerushalayim edition, p. 410.
  23. I.e., Raavan; see notes in books above.
  24. Inyan Hanukkah, Siman 190.
  25. It seems he is referring to the Halakhot Pesukot.
  26. We do not have this source. See Shibbolei Haleket, Zichron Aaron edition, siman 190 fn. 32.
  27. This source does not appear in today’s editions of the Yerushalmi. Many thought that Rishonim had a “Sefer Yerushalmi” that was an addition to the standard Talmud Yerushalmi. Several decades ago, texts were found in the bindings of books in various European libraries that may be this work. See Zusman Y. “Seridei Yerushalmi Ktav Yad Ashkenzi (Kovetz Al Yad 1994, especially pp.15-17). Later he writes how the Mordechai (Beitzah 2:682) cites a Yerushalmi not known to us, and it was found there.
    As I am unaware of anything from Tractate Berakhot from this Geniza, it is uncertain what the Mordechai is referring to, but he is likely referring to this work here as well. See Zussman’s “Yerushalimi Ktav-Yad VeSefer Hayerushalmi” in Tarbitz (1996) pp. 37-63, as well as Mack. H. “Al Hahaftara Beḥag Simchat Torah” in Meḥkerei Talmud 3 vo. 2 pp. 497-8 fn. 44.
  28. See the introduction to the Machon Yerushalayim edition.
  29. Oraḥ Ḥayyim 684. It is the same in other sources using this numbering.
  30. Hanukkah.

 




Chanukah Controversies, Customs and Scholarship: A Roundup & Update

Chanukah Controversies, Customs and Scholarship: A Roundup & Update

We are working on creating a better system to navigate past posts [please contact us at Seforimblog-at-gmail if you are interested in volunteering]. In the interim, here is a collection of Chanukah-related posts along with some new material:

(As an aside, the Seforimblog’s internal style guide uses the Ashkenazic transliteration of the holiday name. Nonetheless, each author has the freedom to use whichever they prefer.)

Controversies and Contested History

Nearly every aspect of Chanukah has sparked debate. The holiday’s most famous miracle, the oil burning for eight days, became the center of a 19th-century controversy involving the polyglot Chaim Zelig Slonimsky. Both Zerachya Licht (“חז״ל ופולמס חנוכה“) and Marc Shapiro (“The Hanukkah Miracle“) examine this dispute and whether the eight-day miracle was authentic or constructed. Licht explores Slonimsky’s fascinating life in greater detail in his two-part series on “Chaim Zelig Slonimsky and the Diskin Family” (part 1 and part 2). Slonimsky’s other Chanukah legacy, coining the Hebrew term sivivovon for dreidel, is discussed in this post (it pre-dated Ben Yehuda). Other linguistic terms are discussed with characteristic thoroughness by Mitchell First, tracing both “The Identity and Meaning of the Chashmonai” and “The Meaning of the Name Maccabee.” For an earlier treatment of the latter term, see Dan Rabinowitz’s post here. Meanwhile, the divergence between Ashkenazic and Sephardic practices extends even to the menorah lighting ritual itself. Zachary Rothblatt traces “The History behind the Askenazi/Sephardi Divide Concerning Lighting Chanukah Candles.” Reuven Kimmelman’s “The Books of Maccabees and the Al HaNissim Prayer for Hanukah” reveals how the liturgy itself represents a melding of different historical traditions.  While Marc covers another liturgical item,  a potential Maccabean Psalm (here), which opens another window into the holiday’s ancient textual layers.

Games, Mathematics, and Mythmaking

The dreidel’s supposedly ancient Jewish pedigree is thoroughly debunked in “April Fools! Tracing the History of Dreidel Among Neo-Traditionalists and Neo-Hebraists.” Despite persistent legends that brave Jews used dreidels to disguise Torah study during Greek persecution, the game has no such heroic origins. That hasn’t stopped it from generating interesting mathematical questions: which player has the best advantage? How long does a typical game last? Thomas Robinson and Sujith Vijay tackle the latter in “Dreidel Lasts O() Spins.”

Dreidel wasn’t the only Chanukah game. Card-playing customs are explored in “The Custom of Playing Cards on Chanukah,” which highlights an often-overlooked source for Jewish practice: Pauline Wengeroff’s Rememberings: The World of a Russian-Jewish Women in the Nineteenth Century.

Customs, Food, and Forgotten Practices

Many Chanukah customs center on food and celebration. Eliezer Brodt surveys these in “The Customs Associated with Joy and their More Obscure Sources,” and discusses the distribution of real and chocolate coins at the end of this post. But not all customs have survived or been remembered. Eliezer’s very first post for Seforimblog back in 2006, “A Forgotten Work on Chanukah, חנוכת הבית,” examined an obscure Chanukah text, Chanukas ha-Bayis, cited by Magen Avraham. (That initial post launched a prolific collaboration—Eliezer has since contributed dozens of articles, completed his Ph.D. dissertation on the Magen Avraham, and published many books.) His “The Chanukah Omission” identifies a missing tractate, with an update available in his recent talk here, along with a discussion of another lesser-known tractate that touches on Chanukah and involves censorship.

The Menorah in Text and Image

The menorah has been reproduced in countless forms, from the famous depiction on the Arch of Titus to manuscripts, printed books, and ephemera. Steven Fine’s The Menorah: From the Bible to Modern Israel (Harvard, 2016) offers the most comprehensive treatment of how this symbol shaped Jewish identity, and Fine continues to publish on the topic, recent articles are available on his Academia page. The exhibition catalog In the Light of the Menorah: Story of a Symbol (Israel Museum, 1998) contains excellent essays in both Hebrew and English, though oddly, the English version omits nearly all the notes. Another strange omission mars L. Yardeni’s earlier The Tree of Light: A Study of the Menorah (1971): Daniel Sperber notes in his Minhagei Yisrael (vol. 5, 171*) that Yardeni drew extensively on his Journal of Jewish Studies article but credited him only sporadically.

None of these works, however, addresses the menorah in early Hebrew printed books. For that, see our article “The Image of the Menorah in the Early Printed Hebrew,” along with the comments adding further examples.

New and Notable

Daniel Sperber has just published Mei Chanukah, a new work on the berita associated with Chanukah. Due to timing, it will likely only be available in Israel this year. If anyone knows of US distributors, please note them in the comments.

Not all recent scholarship meets the same standard. Akiva Shamesh’s review highlights serious deficiencies in Mitzva Ner Ish u-Beyoto. In another review, “Yemi Shemonah,” Shamesh addresses the “famous” Bet Yosef question: why eight nights of Chanukah rather than seven?

Sefer Minhagim, 1724, Gross Family Collection

Chanukah Samach!




Slobodka

Slobodka

By Dr. Shlomo Tikochinski

Seforim Blog Editors: In 2016, Dr. Tikochinski published his work Lamdanut, Mussar, and Elitism (Mercaz Shazar, in Hebrew). Thanks to new translation tools, the process has become much easier. We will be posting a chapter of this work every week or two. As this is a work in progress, we appreciate your patience.

Introduction:

  • What, in its deepest sense, is the Slabodka doctrine of Gadlut ha-Adam—the greatness and nobility of the human being?

  • How did this idea take root in Lithuania and shape the spirit of an entire generation of yeshivot?

  • What role did Slabodka play within the Mussar movement, and in what ways did its path diverge from that of Kelm, its stark and disciplined counterpart?

  • And finally: does the legacy of Slabodka still echo in our own time, and if so—how?

The first part of this book sets out to explore these questions, tracing the origins of a daring educational vision and following the imprint it left on the world of Torah and beyond.

This work was originally submitted in Hebrew back in 2009.
In the years since, it found its way into print—also in Hebrew—under the title Lamdanut, Mussar and Elitism, published by the Shazar Center in 2016. Still, the present draft contains a great deal of material that never made it into the final book.

Over the years, many people have expressed interest in the world of the Lithuanian yeshivot and in the themes explored here. With the arrival of new translation technologies, I felt that the time had finally come to bring this research into English. I used these tools as a starting point, but every line has been reviewed with as much personal care and attention as I could give.

What you are holding now is the first part of the work—the chapter of the yeshiva’s life in Lithuania, before its move to Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel). The second part will follow in due course, shaped also by your observations, suggestions, and encouragement.

Since English is not my first language, I would be sincerely grateful for any corrections or comments you may wish to share. I will update the text continuously, and every thoughtful note will help make this translation clearer and more faithful.

Thank you for taking the time to read this early version. I hope you find the journey both meaningful and enriching.

Rabbiner Dr. Shlomo Tikochinski
Jüdische Gemeinde St. Gallen, Switzerland
41767107403+
shlomotiko@gmail.com

Preface to the English Edition, 2025

The roots of my family on my father’s side lie deep in the soil of Lithuanian Jewry and its yeshivot — a lineage of rabbis, heads of yeshivot, and figures shaped by the Mussar movement. My father, Rabbi Rafael Tikochinski, z”l, was himself an extraordinary masmid, who later became a teacher and a rosh yeshiva to hundreds of students. I grew up in this world, surrounded by its voices, its teachers, and its inner rhythms. After years of study in yeshivot and kollels—among them the Ponovezh Yeshiva in Bnei Brak, under the shadow of Rabbi Shach z”l —I gradually found myself drawn toward the humanities, especially Jewish Studies, with a particular interest in Jewish philosophy and Jewish history. And so, at the age of thirty-two, I arrived at The Hebrew University of Jerusalem.

After several years of general coursework and the gradual acquisition of methodological tools, I turned—at the advice of my teachers—to examine the world from which I had come: Lithuanian Jewry, the Lithuanian yeshivot, the Mussar movement, and the intellectual and sociological roots of today’s Lithuanian Haredi community.

I wrote my master’s thesis on the formation of the Lithuanian yeshiva method of Talmudic analysis, and my doctoral dissertation on the educational method of the yeshivot, rooted in the Mussar movement.

Over time I came to see the principles of Mussar education as both significant and influential—almost the only platform that still shapes the religious experience and conceptual world of students in Lithuanian yeshivot today, even if we have long drifted from the original intentions of the movement’s founders.

Kenesset Yisrael—the Slobodka Yeshiva founded by Rabbi Nosson Tzvi Finkel, the Alter of Slobodka—was the pioneering Mussar yeshiva in Lithuania. And because it was the first to arrive in the Land of Israel in an organized way before the Holocaust, it preserved an unbroken line of “Lithuanianness” and, in my view, left a profound and lasting imprint on the renewed yeshiva world in Israel.

I grew up in the shadow of educators who were among the last living echoes of the Mussar movement. My great-uncle, Rabbi Moshe Tikochinski, the mashgiach of the Slobodka Yeshiva in Bnei Brak, and Rabbi Chaim Fridlender of the Ponovezh Yeshiva, shaped much of the atmosphere of my youth. I had the privilege of hearing Mussar talks — shmuessen — from figures whose voices once filled entire worlds: Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe, Rabbi Yaakov Galinsky, Rabbi Moshe Shimon Waintrob, Rabbi David Avrahami, Rabbi Dan Segal, Rabbi Shimshon Pinkus, Rabbi Shalom Shvadron, and other Mashgichim and preachers, famous or lesser known, each with his unique cadence.

During my years in the Ponovezh Yeshiva, I listened to the aged Rabbi David Povarsky, who brought us, as if by direct transmission, the spirit of his old home in Kelm, Lithuania. From my teacher my father , I absorbed talks shaped by the teachings of his own master, Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, author of Mikhtav me-Eliyahu.

Like many other students in Lithuanian yeshivot in Israel, the foundations of my education and Torah outlook were formed out of ideas that flowed from the Mussar tradition — though at the time I had no name for them. Around the age of twenty, I too became a Mussarnik of the old school. For several years, I held fast to that way. I studied Mussar with strong emotion — “with the excitement of the soul, with a ready heart, with a pained voice, with burning lips,” as the early disciples of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter taught. I recited long, fervent prayers and joined a Mussar va’ad of earnest young men who were serious practitioners. Our meetings revolved around shared spiritual introspection and the taking on of kabbalot — personal spiritual commitments.

During those years, I also delivered Mussar talks to a small circle of attentive friends, until I became, almost without noticing, a kind of spiritual guide for students younger than myself.

Something of that deep, formative experience — and of the quiet inner currents that flowed through it — remained within me even years later, when my path turned toward academic study. Paradoxically, it was my very attachment to the Mussar world that eventually guided me into the field of Jewish Studies. When I first encountered Immanuel Etkes’s book on Rabbi Yisrael Salanter and the beginnings of the movement, I found myself unexpectedly moved. The scholarly gaze — its ability to look closely, to refine, to name, to offer perspective and historical setting to feelings and ideas I had known from such close range — opened a new window for me.

This brief autobiographical note may explain why the reader will find in the present work a structure slightly different from that found in other studies of the Mussar movement, and conclusions that lean in directions not always identical to theirs.

I wish to express my thanks to my teachers and mentors — from the yeshivot and from the academy — and to the many friends and colleagues who have accompanied me. My gratitude goes in particular to my teacher, Professor Immanuel Etkes, to Rabbi Professor Naftali Rothenberg, Professor Avi Ravitzki, and Professor Benjamin Brown, who has followed my research for many years with steady wisdom and generous counsel.

Introduction

On Mussar and the Development of the Mussar Movement within the Lithuanian Yeshiva World

The Hebrew term Mussar (מוּסָר) is commonly translated as “Moral” or “ethics,” reflecting its biblical usage (e.g., Prov. 1:2: “to receive wisdom and Mussar,” meaning instruction or reproof). The Mussar cultivated in nineteenth-century Lithuanian Jewry, however, represents a later and fundamentally different development. Conceived by Rabbi Yisrael Salanter (1810–1883), it was primarily a rigorous system of self-education grounded in Torah learning, aimed at intensifying yirat shamayim (fear of Heaven) and refining one’s character traits. This system articulated a structured set of principles concerning human psychology and conduct, drawing on rabbinic aggadah, homiletic literature, and the classical Jewish ethical corpus. Accordingly, the overlap between Mussar and the English category “Mussar” is only partial. While the cultivation of positive traits, commitment to ethical values, aspiration toward good action, and continuous self-supervision form an important conceptual backdrop, the actual goal is specifically religious: the deepening of fear of Heaven within the Jewish framework of Torah and halakhah.

A further methodological observation is essential. The now-familiar designation “Mussar Movement” (Tenuʿat ha-Mussar) appears to have been consolidated only in the post-Holocaust period, chiefly through Israeli writers such as Rabbi Dov Katz, whose multi-volume Tenuʿat ha-Mussar (Jerusalem 1957) became authoritative and is cited throughout this study. For this reason, when referring to this modern term, I do not employ the diasporic milʿel vocalization. Likewise, in construct expressions such as sifrut Mussar (Mussar literature) or sifrei Mussar (Mussar texts), I retain the standard Hebrew usage, as these terms already designate an established genre within the Jewish textual tradition.

Lithuanian Mussar emerged in the 1840s against the backdrop of far-reaching processes of modernity within Eastern European Jewry. As with other contemporary spiritual movements, it constituted both a conscious and subconscious response to Jewish modernization as well as to modernity itself, which reshaped the structures of Jewish life. Some scholars view Mussar as a form of religious renaissance within the Mitnagdic (non-Hasidic) Orthodox world, developed in contrast to Hasidism, which had arisen several decades earlier. Just as Hasidism introduced its own spiritual revolution, the Mussar Movement placed new spiritual challenges on the Jewish agenda, emphasizing tikkun adam—the Mussar and religious transformation of the individual—rather than tikkun olam. Scholarly opinion is divided on whether Mussar should be understood chiefly as a reaction to modernity or as an internal religious renewal focused on individual divine service.

Mussar entered the Lithuanian yeshiva system only in the second and third generations after Rabbi Salanter. From that point onward it became a structured pedagogical method for thousands of students across the Pale of Settlement. By then, three major schools had crystallized—Kelm, Slobodka, and Novardok—each interpreting Salanter’s teachings in its own way and implementing its distinctive program of Mussar education and supervision.

The Lithuanian yeshivot functioned essentially as advanced academies of Talmudic study. They placed intellectual rigor at the center of their curriculum and cultivated competitiveness and excellence in analytic study of the Talmud and its commentaries. Yet as traditional communal structures eroded in the early twentieth century, the yeshivot gradually became institutions of religious socialization and guardians of tradition. This role was carried out by Mussar educators, each shaped by the ideas of his own school. Even students who did not fully engage in intensive Mussar practice could acquire a broad foundation in Lithuanian Jewish thought, which provided spiritual resources, interpretive methods, and modes of reflection on aggadic texts. Much of the intellectual production of the Lithuanian yeshivot from the late nineteenth century through the mid-twentieth century centered on developing a homiletical-philosophical discourse that drew ethical meaning from biblical narratives and rabbinic aggadah.

This heritage shaped the inner world of the Lithuanian yeshiva student and stood at the heart of his consciousness of distinctiveness—both from other Orthodox groups and, all the more so, from the largely secular Jewish majority. The interpretive study of aggadah through the lens of Mussar strengthened spiritual aspiration, reinforced a sense of belonging to an Orthodox avant-garde, and instilled confidence in the necessity and significance of the yeshiva way of life. This is no small matter: throughout the twentieth century, the influence of the yeshiva world steadily expanded and penetrated other streams of Orthodoxy. Mussar educators and thinkers became influential role models, shaping the worldview of thousands of Haredi youths who adopted their interpretive approach to Jewish ethical and aggadic traditions. The result is a distinctive school of Jewish thought unique to the students and graduates of the Lithuanian yeshivot—one they continued to develop even after leaving the yeshiva, and which they transmitted to the next generation.

Guiding Ideas and Foundational Assumptions

The Mussar movement, which was created in Lithuania in the 1840s, began to conquer the Lithuanian yeshivot at the end of the nineteenth century, and the yeshiva in Slobodka was one of the leaders of the process. In the Mussar controversy that stirred up the Jewish public in Russia in the 1890s, this yeshiva was in the eye of the storm. With the passage of the crisis, the Knesset Israel Yeshiva became one of the most famous and influential yeshivas in Lithuania. In both Lithuania and the Land of Israel, it was considered a prestigious and leading yeshiva. And in the eyes of many, even the heir to the famous Volozhin Yeshiva.

At the end of 1924, the yeshiva immigrated to Eretz Israel, first settled in Hebron and after the 1929 riots moved to Jerusalem. From the perspective of the Jewish Yishuv in the Land of Israel during the British Mandate, Slobodka was a new element that had hitherto been unknown in the Orthodox community. Torah learners identified with the old Yishuv, which was perceived as a symbol of decadence. The Mussar Lithuanian yeshiva represented the alternative, in the form of an opinionated Torah elite that was interested in maintaining proper relations with the new Yishuv, and around it developed a community with a Yeshiva identity that combined Torah with practical life.

The starting point for our discussion is the establishment of the yeshiva in 1882, and we will review its various stages and crises, at the turn of the centuries, during the First War, and in the Land of Israel. There will be two sections in the essay: The first will deal with the formative period in Lithuania and will discuss structural, ideological, and especially educational-social aspects of Rabbi Finkel’s yeshiva. The second division will deal with the immigration and absorption of the yeshiva in the Land of Israel, in its various branches, while examining its relations with the old and new settlements and its status as a unique entity. We will conclude the discussion with a snapshot of the Lithuanian Yeshiva institution in the State of Israel in the early 1950s, as a milestone that concludes the period of the yeshiva’s uniqueness. From then on, it merged into the Haredi yeshiva establishment in Israel, with expansion and change in the structure and educational challenges. Numerical growth, the absorption of immigrant students from Sephardic countries, the change of generations in leadership, and the confrontation with secular political sovereignty – these and more characterized the era that concludes the connection.

As noted above, in the first half of the twentieth century, the Lithuanian Yeshiva and the Mussar Movement were two entities that merged with each other, with the first being the type of institution, and the second being the method of education used in it. During this period, there were few yeshivot that did not introduce Mussar education, and at the same time, there were few bodies of the non-yeshiva Mussar movement.

The rise of the Mussar yeshivot to Israel is an important chapter in the history of yeshivot and Orthodoxy in general. In addition to the implications that this had on the way and methods of the yeshiva institution, in the Land of Israel the Lithuanian yeshiva became a central model that was also adopted by Hasidim, Sephardim, and national religious. Its educational heritage and the ethos that underlies it radiate to this day on the entire Orthodoxy, the fields of spirituality, education, and even the field of halakha. It seems that understanding the process of absorption and consolidation of this institution in the Land of Israel, It is the key to understanding the roots of the religious world in today’s Israel.

Why Slobodka? A few answers to this:

The focus of this yeshiva stems from observing the Israeli yeshiva world and its founders, and tracing its contemporary educational positions. The impression is that among the schools that made up the Lithuanian Mussar movement, the only one that remained active in the second half of the twentieth century was Slobodka, and its influence on the educational ethos of the post-Holocaust yeshiva world is considerable. Most of the leading figures in the yeshiva world after the Holocaust came out of this yeshiva, both in Israel and in the United States. There are two possible reasons for this: first, that it was a single case of the transfer of a yeshiva with its rabbis and students from Lithuania to the Land of Israel, and thus it was saved from destruction. Second, Slobodka’s education contained elements that ensured survival and integration in a changing world, namely Jewish society in Lithuania between the wars and the emerging society in the new settlement in the Land of Israel. My work will seek to examine these elements, and through them explain Slobodka’s decisive influence on the formation of the Israeli yeshiva world. I will try to show that, in contrast to other streams of ethics, Like Kelm and Novardok, Slobodka incorporated certain elements of modernity into the realms of thought and behavior.

The story of the relocation of the Lithuanian yeshiva and the Mussar movement to the Land of Israel is composed of groups and individuals who immigrated to Israel at different times and under different circumstances. A group of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter’s close disciples immigrated back in the 1890s and established the Jerusalem Beit Mussar and the Or Chadash Yeshiva in the Strois Courtyard (today in the Musrara neighborhood). This was the “first aliyah” of the Mussar movement, which belongs to the old type of traditional immigrants who sought a life of Torah and celibacy in the Holy Land. This small Mussar core dispersed even before the First World War, and its people merged into the institutions of the Old Yishuv.

After the First War and the Balfour Declaration, the wave of immigration of the Mussar yeshivot began, the Slobodka Yeshiva in 1924, the nucleus of the Lomza Yeshiva (Poland) in 1926, and in the early 1930s – the nuclei of the Novradok network. This was the “second aliyah” of the Mussar movement, which, in terms of consciousness and goals, was already part of the patterns that characterized the Fourth and Fifth Aliyah. The reference environment of this Haredi aliyah was the new Yishuv, and it chose to merge into the new colonies precisely. From here until the end of the 1940s, additional groups and a few members of the Mussar movement immigrated to Israel. Among them were Holocaust refugees, who, together with their predecessors, became the inheritors of Mussar education in the renewed yeshiva world in Israel. A comprehensive discussion of the question of the absorption of the Mussar movement in Israel requires reference to the personalities who were known as Mussar influencers in the country, the rabbis: Lupian, Dessler, Levinstein, Wolbe and others. However, these Mussar figures and their teachings, even if their influence in the long run was great, will not be included in the discussion. I want to remain within the boundaries of the Yeshiva Mussar establishment, while examining the history of an institution that immigrated to Israel in an organized manner, as an educational framework with defined goals for institutionalization, continuity and influence in the new Yishuv.

For this purpose, I asked for a Mussar yeshiva that was born in Lithuania, which chose to relocate and cope with a new space of action. Preference was given to the institution, which, even after its relocation, maintained as much continuity as possible, while embodying its original values in its new place, but in a different way. If we look at the Mussar movement and its yeshivot in the twentieth century, we have nothing but the Slobodkian yeshiva Knesset Yisrael that meets our demands.

3. The assumption underlying our work is that there is a constant tension between the study of Talmud, or more precisely, scholarship as a challenge and a symbol of status, and the study of ethics and the self-education that it entails. At the beginning of the path of ethics in the yeshivot, this tension led to open struggles, but it continued to exist in the background even after the resistance had subsided. A covert struggle over the birthright nourished the dynamic between students and their rabbis and between students and their yeshiva, when they studied there and even after they left it.

Against this background, Slobodka can be noted as a yeshiva that for most of its periods fostered scholarship and even managed to concentrate the best young forces in its environment. In the study of Mussar, Slobodka took an optimistic line, focused on the theoretical-philosophical aspect of it, and disapproved of the asceticism and melancholy that accompanied it. Its opponents claimed that she had “created a vacuum” in Mussar and dealt only with “education in the brain” and the like, because she saw Mussar as internalizing ideas and neutralizing its demanding sting. With the move to Eretz Yisrael, this approach became apparent to be an advantage. At that time, the optimistic-adaptive elements that were embedded in Slobodka’s philosophy and character were expressed, and out of a sense of solidarity with the Aliyah and settlement enterprise, she approached it from within in her own way. Fostering excellence and education for inclusion were the basic principles of Slobodka Eretz Israel, and most of its graduates were integrated into positions of education and rabbinate and other positions of influence. Rabbi Yisrael Salanter’s special interpretation of the Mussar teachings ensured its survival under the new conditions dictated by the Yishuv of the Land of Israel during the Mandate period and in the early days of the state.

It should be noted that this is in fact an existing institution, which, with the exception of the institutions of the Old Yishuv in Jerusalem, is the oldest Lithuanian yeshiva in Israel and the world today. It can be said that since its establishment in 1882, the Knesset Israel Yeshiva has led an almost continuous elitist line. Rabbi Finkel was meticulous in choosing the students for his yeshiva, and with Mussar education at the top of his mind, he invested efforts and even succeeded in concentrating intellectual forces and renowned scholars in his yeshiva. It is a fact that despite the student Revolts and divisions, the exile in Ukraine during the First War, the move to Palestine, the 1929 riots, economic crises and internal control struggles, the yeshiva maintained its status and produced prominent leaders from the Orthodox world.

In contrast to Slobodka, the Novardok school is presented, which led a pessimistic line in the Mussar movement, and preached extreme actions of breaking the inclination. In Torah study, too, the theoretical aspect gave way to the study of halakha in practice and grammar in mitzvot. Novardok prioritized the activity of “acquitting the public” and opened many branches, first in Russia and then in Poland. In the late 1920s, she arrived in the Land of Israel and established branches in Tel Aviv and Bnei Brak. However, Novardok did not survive the move to Israel. Most of its students have abandoned, and some have even left the tradition. If in Lithuania the difference between Novardok and Slobodka was limited to the method of education, in the Mandatory Land of Israel it received additional meanings that had implications for the future of the Lithuanian yeshiva. Slobodka’s path turned out to be more suitable for the new environment, and elements of her Mussar thought found their way into the Haredi education system.

The accepted assumption is that the Yeshivot of the Mussar Movement succeeded in curbing the influence of the Enlightenment and Zionism, in addition to other yeshivot that did not belong to this movement. This assumption is true only for Lithuania between the wars, and it derives from the image that emerged of the Mussar Movement in literature and research, which was greatly influenced by the extreme and severe nature of the Mussar yeshivot, the aforementioned Nobardok. With regard to the Land of Israel, things are quite different. In this essay, I would like to present Slobodka as someone who survived and withstood the challenges presented by the new environment. Precisely because of the adoption of a modern way of thinking and thanks to a certain contact with education.

We will leave the rest of the Lithuanian yeshivot that had established a foothold in Israel – we will leave them out of the discussion, and we will refer to them only for the sake of comparison. It should be noted that after the yeshiva immigrated in 1924, the Slobodka Yeshiva in Lithuania was reorganized under the leadership of the rabbis: Sher, Zusmanovich and Grodzinsky. Rabbi Sher led his yeshiva in an independent way and different from that of his rabbi and father-in-law, Rabbi Finkel, as did the mashgiach Rabbi Grodzinsky. Before the outbreak of World War II, Rabbi Sher managed to escape. And in 1947 he established a yeshiva in Bnei Brak that bears the name ‘Slobodka’ to this day. From the beginning, this yeshiva was attended by young people born in Israel, mainly of Hasidic origin and even members of the old Yishuv. Based on close acquaintance with her and her supervisor, Rabbi Moshe Tikoczinsky, and from interviews with her alumni, it seems that this was not a continuation of Slobodka’s method in any sense, and that there is nothing between the two but the sharing of God’s name. Therefore, it will also remain outside of our discussion.

Research Questions

The focus of the essay will be the question of relocation: a method of education that was a clear product of time and place, was relocated to a new and different place, and tried to survive and even influence its new environment. Questions of continuity versus change are key questions in every field in the study of the history of the modern era. All the more so when it comes to an educational framework that has fundamentally changed its operating environment. The question is most intense when we are dealing with a religious institution that is imbued with a consciousness of continuity and even declares it. But he wants to function under changing conditions. From this question all the sub-questions relating to the two divisions of the composition will be derived: the period of Lithuania and the period of Eretz Yisrael, with the period of transition and adjustment between them. The yeshiva is required as an educational institution that manages a system of relations with its environment, while examining its goals, mechanisms of social supervision and social deviance, and discussing questions of authority and autonomy within the system.

We will first deal with the formative stage of Slobodka, in which her unique social structure was formed. An examination of the conceptual roots of this structure will contribute to an understanding of the process of copying and the changes that followed. The starting point is Rabbi Finkel’s educational philosophy, which became known as “the greatness of man”, we will examine its uniqueness in comparison to other streams of Mussar, its attitude and response to modernity, and its possible connections to contemporary ideals. No less important is Rabbi Finkel’s complex educational act. His status and influence in the yeshiva, the nature of his relations with his students, and the nature of the student community in Slobodka. We will dedicate a special discussion to Slobodkai ethics as an exegetical method of rabbinic legends, in the light of which ideas and patterns of outlook that are prevalent to this day in Haredi educational thought have been formulated. We will also discuss Rabbi Finkel’s attitude toward the Enlightenment and secular studies, Zionism, and the Land of Israel, especially in light of the fact that some of his close students became prominent leaders who combined Torah and ethics with Western education and culture. These include: the heads of the Rabbinical Seminary in Berlin, Rabbi Avraham Eliyahu Kaplan and Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, and in America – Rabbis Yitzhak Hutner, Yaakov Kamenetsky, and Yaakov Ruderman. Through these personalities, Slobodka became a bridge between Mussar and modern orthodoxy in all its varieties.

The chapter on Aliyah to Eretz Israel presents us with central questions: What was the social and political background to Aliyah? What aspirations motivated the yeshiva’s leaders and students, and what was the significance of the move in the world of Lithuanian yeshivot? We will try to find the connection between Slobodka’s unique character and her being the first yeshiva to initiate organized aliyah. Why did Slobodka see the “new Yishuv” as a natural goal, and what were her expectations and the quality of her relations with the Yishuv before and after Aliyah?

The chapter on the establishment in Israel is the last in chronological order, but the first in importance for understanding the roots of the Israeli yeshiva world. How did the yeshiva adapt to the new environment, and what was the social and economic framework within which it functioned? In the field of Mussar education, the environment in the Land of Israel presented more difficult challenges than those that were the lot of Slobodka in Lithuania. We will find out how the new environment influenced the study and Mussar, the educational ethos of the yeshiva, and the policy of the management. We will examine the emotional and practical involvement of yeshiva students in the life of the Yishuv, its struggles, and even its ways and culture. This issue is of great importance for understanding the process of formulating a Yishuvite-Lithuanian identity in the Land of Israel, the fruits of which are evident to this day.

We will also examine the relationship between the yeshiva and the old Yishuv in Jerusalem, especially after the events of 1929 and the relocation of the yeshiva from Hebron to Jerusalem. These were the days of a fierce struggle between extremists and moderates in the Old Yishuv, which led to a split of powers between the “Haredi Community” and the “Agudat Yisrael.” At the center of the debate was the recognition of the National Committee and its leadership, and the “obligation to leave” the Knesset that was introduced in the Old Yishuv. The Aliyah Yeshiva took place between two decisive events in the struggle between the old and the new: the murder of De Haan, the powerful political figure of Agudat Yisrael Eretz Yisrael, took place right next to Slobodka’s immigration. and the establishment of the Hebrew University – immediately afterwards. Both extremists and moderates had political expectations of the Slobodka Yeshiva, but the official line of the yeshiva was to refrain from political identification and from involvement in struggles of any kind.

The organizations of the yeshiva’s graduates and their activities within the Yishuv will be presented as a final stage, which expressed the characteristics of Slobodka’s education and its ability to stand the test of time. The discussion will take place in light of the gaps that arose on this issue between the yeshiva’s students and its rabbis, which were expressed in its two branches of the Land of Israel: Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Another point: In Lithuania, Slobodka was a center of attraction for young people from the rabbinical elite, as well as from the wealthy economic strata from Western countries. In the Land of Israel, the yeshiva opened its ranks to all the young people of the Yishuv. And we will seek to examine the change in the yeshiva’s social and educational messages in light of this change. The concluding discussion will return to the key question: Slobodka’s response in idea and action to the challenges of modernity, and the question of her resilience to the crises and transitions she experienced in the twentieth century.

Methodology and State of Research

The study of the Lithuanian Yeshiva and the Mussar movement touches on the following areas of research: social history, history of ideas, history and philosophy of education. The state of the research that we will present here will teach us that there is still a lot of work to be done in the study of the Lithuanian yeshiva and the Mussar yeshivot in the twentieth century, and many important topics in this field have not yet been studied.

The history of Jewish society in Eastern Europe in the modern era has been dealt with in the study mainly with a focus on the main changes that this society has experienced, which is collectively known as the “crisis of modernity,” centered on the process of abandonment of tradition and observance. The transition to the modern era gave birth, among other things, to the interest in the history of the ‘Old World’, from a critical perspective that is also a product of modernity. The traditional society, which remained in the minority, was studied mainly from social and economic aspects, and less from ideological and spiritual aspects. In these fields, it was perceived as the abandoned starting point, as the old ‘obvious’ whose methods and beliefs are known and do not arouse research interest. In the last thirty years, research has also begun to deal with the inner spiritual world of traditional society in modern times, as a developing and creative environment. However, the research’s tendency toward the transformational, the new and the changing, still left the picture unbalanced. The main attention was given to the Chassidic movement, with its various aspects: historical, social, ideological, and theological, while the society that held on to the old and known as the Mitnagdic Society, with its yeshivot and its Mussar movement, has not yet been sufficiently enlightened and few are engaged in it. A handful of scholars of the spiritual world in the opposing society have so far produced a small but very important crop, the main points of which we will present here, and the details of which are included in the full bibliographic list.

The existing research in this area extends over three sequential fields:

The teachings of the Vilna Gaon and his disciple R. Chaim of Volozhin,

The study of the Lithuanian Mussar movement.

The study of the Lithuanian yeshiva.

The teachings of the Vilna Gaon and his disciple Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin were handled by Immanuel Etkes, Nahum Lam, Shaul Stampfer, Tamar Ross, and others. The characteristics of the opposing ideology were reviewed in Alan Nadler’s book The Faith of the Mithnagdim. The activities of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter and the beginning of the Mussar movement were also investigated by Immanuel Etkes in his book R. Yisrael Salanter and the Beginnings of the Mussar Movement (Jerusalem 1982). Mordechai Pachter analyzed Rabbi Salanter’s teachings in the introduction to the edition of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter’s Writings (Jerusalem 1973). A few articles on the world of ethics were written by Haim Hillel Ben-Sasson, Gedaliah Alon, Hillel Goldberg, and David Fishman. The methods of study in the yeshivot were reviewed in Mordechai Breuer’s book Ohalei Torah (2004), and the literature of memoirs from the Lithuanian yeshivot was reviewed by Immanuel Etkes in the introduction to the collection “The Lithuanian Yeshivot – Chapters of Memories.” Shaul Stampfer’s book “The Lithuanian Yeshiva in the Making” (Jerusalem 2004) deals with the yeshivot of Volozhin, Slobodka and Telz, and focuses on their structural and organizational aspects in their early years. This book, as well as Ross and Brown’s studies on the Mussar movement, will be discussed in more detail below.

A comprehensive study has not yet been written on the history of the Mussar movement from a socio-historical perspective, its spread and scope of activity, its central figures, and their spheres of influence. The only monograph that exists in this field so far is Dov Katz’s series of books, The Mussar Movement, which, despite its fine and practical writing, is not an academic study, but rather an informative one. Nothing has yet been written about the Lithuanian yeshivot between the wars, most of which were “Mussar yeshivas” at the time. The method of study that was introduced in these yeshivot, the balance of power between scholarship and Mussar, influential figures in study and Mussar, and their method – all of these are still waiting for study. The history of the Mussar movement in the Land of Israel has not yet been touched by anyone, neither with the immigration of the Disciples of Kelm to the Old Yishuv, nor with the rise of the Mussar yeshivot in the twentieth century. In general, many important issues related to the Lithuanian yeshiva are still waiting to be addressed, especially the inner world of the yeshiva. From a variety of aspects: Academic, educational and social, central figures, streams and methods of study.

This essay tries to fill in the gaps a little. As noted, we will discuss the Slobodka Yeshiva from educational-social aspects, on the assumption that the influence and continuity of the Mussar yeshivot was first and foremost the result of a social reality and an implemented educational ideal, while the contribution of the Mussar literary work was only secondary, and in some places even minimal.

Tamar Ross wrote a theoretical-philosophical study on the teachings of some of the successors of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter. In the introduction to her research, she declares that her research is the result of arbitrary selection and subjective evaluation in the choice of material. She admits that relying on the writings of the Mussar movement, while ignoring the historical aspect, is liable to lead to conclusions that sin against the original intention of their perpetrators.

On the other hand, the premise of my work is that the Mussar movement was first and foremost a living and breathing educational arena of action, and not just an ideological stream. Moreover, without an examination of the educational act and its areas of activity, our understanding of the theoretical realm would also be lacking. This is even more true with regard to the Slobodak doctrine of Mussar, which, as I would like to argue, was more of an educational environment than a conceptual one, and a discussion of its ideas cannot be conducted in isolation from its historical context. From this perspective, These studies are a complementary contrast to Ross’s research, whose focus on the theoretical and philosophical aspect of the Mussar movement, and according to the criteria she set for the study of the “problem of will,” placed Slobodka out of the picture, due to her lack of engagement with the psychological aspect.[1] On the other hand, I would like to devote attention to Slobodka, whose historical-social aspect is what made it an influential school of thought in the yeshiva world of the twentieth century.

Shaul Stampfer’s pioneering book[2] serves as an initial background for the Lithuanian yeshiva in general and the Slobodka Yeshiva in particular. Stampfer lists the differences between Volozhin in its time and[3] Slobodka between 1881 and 1905. He was already preceded by the people of Slobodka themselves, who noted their yeshiva as the successor of Volozhin, and at the same time were aware of the differences between the two.[4] Volozhyn, at least in the first half of the nineteenth century, functioned in a supportive traditional environment, where there was still widespread agreement on the importance of Torah study. In contrast, Slobodka in its time faced indifference to Torah study and tradition in general. At the end of the nineteenth century, young Jews were offered alternatives that appealed to them, such as membership in revolutionary movements, and opportunities to integrate into society through general studies and education. Against these, the Lithuanian yeshiva was redesigned. No longer just as a beit midrash for Torah study, but rather as a place that saw its role in responding to the renewed challenges, by shaping the student’s personality in the spirit of the Mussar movement.[5]

In addition to these differences, however, there have been changes in the status of the yeshiva within traditional society, about which the Slobodka Jews did not give their opinion. Here comes Stampfer and completes the picture: while Volozhin at the time expressed values that were familiar to her students from their communities of origin, Slobodka tried to instill in her students an ideology that was new to them and that she did not know from their parents’ home. Moreover, while Volozhin enjoyed the full support of the rabbinical establishment for most of her years, Slobodka did not receive a similar status. Its affiliation with the Mussar movement, which was controversial among the rabbis, placed its on the margins of the traditional stream.[6]mThese are important distinctions that relate to Slobodka as a pioneer and representative of the Mussar yeshivot, and it should be remembered that they are not unique to her. The lack of support from the rabbinical establishment in Lithuania is a common fact for all the institutions that were conducted in the spirit of Mussar, such as the Kollel Kaunas, the Kollel of Rabbi Yozel in Novogrodek and its environs, the Beit Talmud in Kelm, and more.

Stampfer’s interest is in Slobodka’s structural innovations as a pioneer of ethics yeshivot. In the comparative discussion with the Volozhin Yeshiva, he emphasizes the struggle for primacy between the study of Mussar and the study of the Talmud, a struggle that was one of the causes of the division of the yeshiva in 1897. However, Stampfer’s focus on the organizational level left room for many other aspects of the Slobodka Yeshiva: its innovations in the landscape of the Mussar movement itself, its ideological innovations that contributed to the world of Jewish thought, the educational practice it led, the goals it set for itself, and its comprehensive activity among the Lithuanian yeshivas. All these characteristics characterized the yeshiva from its inception, but mainly between the two world wars, a period that was not handled by Stampfer.

Moreover, Stampfer first put the subject of the Mussar yeshiva on the research table, explained the historical background to its establishment, and described the challenges of modernity that it sought to face. In this sense, Slobodka should indeed be seen as a prototype. However, this is not enough, because it too arose not only against the background of external challenges, but also and mainly against the background of developments that took place in the Mussar movement. Rabbi Finkel shaped his concept of Mussar from within and into the world of young learners. From his conversations with his students, both public and private, it is clear that he took yeshiva life for granted, and on this basis he demanded Mussar demands from them. In contrast to her ideological forefathers in the Mussar movement, Slobodka reformulated the goals of Mussar education, and in light of this, she laid a new agenda on both the table of the Mussar movement and the Lithuanian yeshiva as an institution. I would like to give expression to this argument in my work.

Benjamin Brown analyzed some of the writings of the Mussar figures, as Jewish thinkers in modern times. His relevant article deals with Rabbi Finkel’s educational philosophy,[7] focusing on its philosophical aspect. Brown suggests that it responded to the challenges of the European “zeitgeist” that placed man at the center, and did so by emphasizing his supernatural virtue and theological status. According to him, Rabbi Finkel chose to focus on a Mussar judgment of man, thus deviating from the framework of R. Yisrael Salanter, who was preceded in a psychological, educational description and a study of the powers of the soul. This deviation stemmed from an optimistic attitude toward man and his status. And under R. Yisrael Salanter, who placed man at the center as an object of discussion and occupation, Rabbi Finkel placed him as a value in himself.[8] These important insights clarify Rabbi Finkel’s conceptual method. However, the historical picture will only be completed by clarifying the educational goals that Rabbi Finkel had in mind when he conceived the doctrine of “human greatness,” and the practical challenges he faced in his arena of activity.

Brown placed Rabbi Finkel in the world of Jewish thought according to what he called the “radical aspect” of his ideas. Accordingly, he also weaved the historical picture, and made a distinction between Rabbi Finkel’s early and later students. According to him, in the early periods, these were students who were inclined to the ideas of the Enlightenment, and therefore were a good receptacle for his ideas, which were also drawn from the optimistic foundations of European thought before the world wars. This was not the case with his later disciples, who already saw the idea of ‘human greatness’ as rather stained, “for the horrors of the two world wars and the rise of totalitarian ideologies did not reinforce the lofty and positive image of man.”[9]

Well, in all the writings of the Slobodkas, there is no reference to wars in the context of the doctrine of human greatness. Rabbi Finkel’s best ideas came to us through his later students who experienced both wars, and it seems that on the contrary, they perceive them as relevant and appropriate even for the younger generation that grew up after the wars. The reason for this is simple: the students did not recognize the “radicalness” in his teachings at all, and not because they read it as a “harmonious” Haredi reading that blurs between different opinions in the Jewish tradition. Rather, it was because they had apparently descended to the end of his mind, and before them stood the complete picture of both the man and his actions. This whole picture is not as radical and innovative as Brown presented it. In the opinion of the students, the teachings and educational methods of their rabbi are worthy of a generation that witnessed man’s wickedness and made negative use of the superiority of the chosen creatures. A careful study of Rabbi Finkel’s teachings proves that he did not ignore what was happening in the world, and that he even had a great deal of pessimism about the modern, materialistic world, which is full of intrigue and conspiracies. He appreciated the progress of science, but he complained about the emptiness of human conscience. At the same time, in his opinion, in the end, a person has a positive element, the potential has not disappeared, and the “image of God” in him has not changed. Man is able to overcome and return to his solid source, and therefore the human responsibility for self-correction never expires.

The premise of this study is that the Lithuanian Mussar movement did not set before it a metaphysical conceptual clarification of Mussar, but rather a theory of personal guidance that is expressed in practical life. Therefore, any discussion of the matter, even if it relates to the field of the idea, cannot afford to be conducted in isolation from the real historical context and the educational field of action. From this approach, Slobodka and her field of activity should be seen as a natural development of the “world of action” of the Mussar movement, centered on the development of an equal “Mussar thought” for everyone, and the regulation of individual and social life in accordance with this doctrine.

To summarize the state of the study: There are two approaches in the study of the Yeshiva-based Mussar movement, for which Slobodka is the tipping point: on the one hand, an approach that focuses on the philosophical principles of the Mussar movement, and finds its purpose in the writers and schools that have produced a cohesive and graspable thought. From Slobodka, it ignores, or chooses only interesting radical sides. On the other hand, the approach focuses on the challenges faced by the creators of the Mussar yeshivot, and examines the structural innovations. This approach treats Slobodka only as a representative of the Mussar movement, sometimes coloring it with colors and even associating it with the images that clung to it. Against these two I would like to propose an intermediate approach, which sees the Mussar movement as an educational arena for the realization of spiritual challenges, and therefore examines each school of ethics on its own. According to this approach, Slobodka is distinguished from the other ethics yeshivot in the unique field of activity she created, in the combination of scholarship and Mussar, and the idea of practice in Mussar education. It was this format that succeeded in surviving the Revolts and crises, the immigration to the Land of Israel, and even influencing the entire Yeshiva establishment in the twentieth century.

The Sources

1. Slobodka Mussar thought yielded a large literary harvest: Rabbi Finkel’s talks were recorded by students, and were published in the books Ohr Hatzafon, edited by his senior students. An equally rich selection of Slobodka’s teachings can be found in the writings of selected students, who published articles and books of thought in the spirit of the school, and included personal memoirs and critical reviews of great value. The most prominent among them are: Rabbi Avraham Eliyahu Kaplan, Rabbi Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, Rabbi Yechezkel Sarna, Rabbi Dov Katz, Rabbi Yisrael Zissel Dvoretz, Rabbi Yosef Ze’ev Lipovich and Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Lassin.

As with any internal material of a reviewed school, its use should be done with due caution, as it may sometimes give rise to methodological difficulties. In this case, since we are concerned with the Slobodkai education and its implementation among the students, we are required to write and think about them just as we are required of the thought of their teacher, Rabbi Finkel. In addition, Slobodka’s education encouraged independence of thought, sometimes to the point of criticizing it, and some of the aforementioned writers applied this privilege in practice in their personal lives and in their written work. The use of these writings will be made while familiarizing ourselves with the biography of the author, the two fields complement each other and present us with the image of a graduate of the Slobodka School.

2. Diaries and autobiographies written by students of the Slobodka Yeshiva and other yeshiva students, shedding light on important periods and events in the yeshiva world during this period, and on the Mussar movement and the problems it faced. These are valuable sources about the inner world and self-consciousness of yeshiva students. Within them, a distinction must be made between diaries written at or near the time of the event, and autobiographies written at a distance of time and space. Among the diaries, there are some that have not yet been published, and even those that have been published, for the most part, have been affected by them and important excerpts have been censored. In several cases I managed to obtain the manuscript of the diary, from which I learned other important things that would be reflected in the body of the work.

3. Most of the documentary material comes from private collections, which I reached through my connections in the Haredi world. Infiltrating such collections is a difficult task, due to a characteristic suspicion that stems from two reasons: first, the unsympathetic attitude toward academia in general, and second, the most significant collections are in the hands of family members who are in a state of ongoing conflict with each other. So far, important and vital material has come to my attention from both family and neutral sources, and all the sources have been brought with reference to their origin, whether explicitly or in acronyms for obvious reasons.

4. Interviews: I conducted with graduates of the Knesset Israel Yeshiva and other yeshivas, as well as interviews conducted by others and published in various media outlets. It should be remembered that some of the interviewees today are at very advanced ages and sometimes it is difficult to trust their memory. The most effective interviewee is the one who, on the one hand, was directly close to the system, and on the other hand, was not personally involved in a way that might cast doubt on the accuracy of the information in his mouth.

5. Biographical, ‘geographic’ and lexicon literature: The use of Haredi literature written for educational purposes requires careful use of historical information. However, when it contains information that is given in the first person, it can teach us a great deal about the self-consciousness of yeshiva students and members of the Mussar movement. Sometimes these sources actively participate in the research when they are part of the process we wish to present. An example of this is Rav Dov 20″Z, who certainly deserves to be considered a ‘historian’ of the Mussar movement. Despite the didactic tone, his series of books “The Mussar Movement” brings together most of the information about the movement and its prominent personality in one place. As a member of the movement, he is an unmediated source for everything related to the insider’s perspective, especially towards the Slobodka school in which he grew up. The observing reader will be able to discern the difference between his descriptions of his grandfather of Slobodka and his descriptions of other Mussar figures. The chapters dealing with the description of Slobodka’s method of education are imprinted with the imprint of Katz’s personal experience as a student, and besides being an authentic first-hand report, they teach us about the perspective that Slobodka’s students had toward their yeshiva.

6. Research material: The studies of the Lithuanian yeshiva and the Mussar movement reviewed above contribute a great deal of useful information. I will also use research from the field of educational thought and the history of education, sometimes for the purpose of possible comparison with a parallel educational school, and sometimes as background material for understanding the situation required for our discussion. The latter category includes the studies of Zvi Lam, Mordechai Nissan, Jonathan Cohen, Zvi Kurzweil, and Yona Ben-Sasson.

7. Background research: the documentary and research literature of the Fourth and Fifth Aliyah, studies on the Yishuv during the Mandate period. In order to understand the socio-political background of Orthodox society in this period, I used the research of Menachem Friedman, Israel Bartal, Moshe Lisak, Israel Kolat, and Gershon Bacon. The files of letters that were printed also contribute to this field by a hundred key figures in the Orthodox world during the period under discussion, headed by Rav Kook, Rabbi H.A. Grodzinsky, the Chazon Ish, and Rabbi Sarna.

[1]Ross does not deal with Slobodka at all, and Rabbi Finkel’s book “The Light of the North” does not even appear in her bibliography.
[2] Shaul Stampfer, The Lithuanian Yeshiva in the Making, Jerusalem 2005.
[3] Founded in 1802 by Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, a student of the Gra, it was closed in 1892 by order of the authorities.
[4] See Weinberg, The Yeshivot in Russia, followed by Dov Katz in his book The Mussar Movement.
[5] Weinberg is there. (Shapira, ibid., pp. 221-222).
[6] Stampfer, The Lithuanian Yeshiva, p. 270.
[7] See Brown, The Greatness of Man.
[8] Brown, ibid., p. 251.
[9] Brown, ibid., p. 269.




Of Clowns, Giants, Mules, and Centaurs: The Enigmatic Anah

Of Clowns, Giants, Mules, and Centaurs:

The Enigmatic Anah

By Yecheskel Sklar

Yecheskel Sklar, a student of Beth Medrash Govoha in Lakewood NJ, is the author of various essays and kuntreisim. His most recent work – an overview of a debate in Amsterdam between Rabbis Sasportas and Morteira about false witnesses – can be purchased on Amazon.

The verse tells us that Anah is he (or she[1]) who found הימם in the desert while herding the donkeys of his father[2]. What exactly are הימם? What exactly did Anah do regarding them? There are many views on this matter and the following is my attempt to present them.

I. MULES

Perhaps the most well-known interpretation is that הימם refers to mules. In the Talmud it states:

Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel says, Mules {came into existence} in the days of Anah, as it says, He is Anah who found הימם in the desert…Anah was unfit, therefore he brought unfitness into the world”[3], “Said Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, Why are they called ימים, for their fear is placed on mankind, for Rabbi Chanina said, No one has ever asked me about the wound inflicted by a white mule…that was healed”[4].

According to this explanation, it would seem that “found” means ‘invented’ or ‘discovered’[5]. Some commentators point out that while Rashi seems to say that Isaac had mules[6], this is not necessarily a contradiction, since it is possible that mules existed before Anah, but only came into being naturally. According to this hypothesis, what Anah discovered was not the mule itself. Rather, Anah discovered the science of crossbreeding animals.[7] For that time the ability to recognize that the two species could crossbreed was considered a mark of great wisdom.[8] Alternatively, it is possible that until Anah mule breeding was exclusive to royalty. Anah introduced the technique to the general populace[9]

This would seem quite straightforward. However, in the Jerusalem Talmud we find an argument about the meaning of this word:

“What are הימם, R’ Yehuda ben Simon says המיונס, and the Rabbis say [10]המיסו, half horse and half donkey. And these are its signs, Rabbi Yehuda says, If it has small ears its mother is a horse and its father a donkey, If they are big its mother is a donkey and its father a horse…What did Tzivon and Anah do, They brought a female donkey and they mated a male horse with it, and a mule came from that.”[11]

What is המיונס and המיסו and what is the difference between them? This difficulty is compounded by the Sefer Mosef Ha’Aruch. In the entry for המיונס he writes “R’ Yehuda Ben Simon says המיונס; The explanation in the Greek language is mule”. The Aruch is referring to the Ancient Greek word for mule, ἡμῐ́ονος, a compound of ἡμῐ, which means half, and ὄνος, meaning donkey[12]. The phonetic pronunciation of this compound would be hēmíonos. In the entry on המיסו, The Mosef Aruch states: ”And the Rabbis say המיסו, half horse and half donkey; The explanation in the Greek language is half”. This is the word ἥμισυ in ancient Greek, which means half[13], and would be pronounced hḗmisu. It is clear, then, that both המיונס and המיסו refer to mules. What, then, is the difference between the two?

This difficulty has already been raised by Rabbi Marcus Lehman. Rabbi Lehman posits that המיונס refers to a mule whose father is a donkey and whose mother is a horse, known in German as Maultier. המיסו however, refers to the adverse, i.e. the product of a male horse and a female donkey. In German this is called a Maulesel. According to this explanation, the Jerusalem Talmud’s statement regarding Tzivon and Anah, “They brought a female donkey and they mated a male horse with it”, is only according to the Rabbis, as Rabbi Lehman readily points out[14].

In fact, in English too there are different names for the two. While a mule born of a male donkey is known simply as a mule, one with a horse for a father is called a hinny. According to this explanation it would be quite understandable why the JT proceeds to describe the method of determining which is which.

However, the etymology is problematic. Rabbi Lehman says that anyone who knows Ancient Greek would recognize the difference between the two. Yet, according to the Aruch and modern dictionaries, as stated above, while המיונס means half-donkey, המיסו means half. There is no evidence, to my knowledge, of המיסו meaning hinny. In fact, the very word hinny comes from the Greek word ‘hinnos’ which means little mule, thus suggesting that there was no word for a hinny in Ancient Greek, and both versions of mules were called by the general ‘hēmíonos’. How, then, does המיסו refer to a hinny? A colleague of mine, Rafael Vim, suggested that because mules in general are more donkey-like, they could be called half-donkey. However, hinnies are not horse-like enough to be called half-horse. Therefore, to reference them one would just say ‘half’.

Alternatively, the argument between Rabbi Yehuda ben Simon and the Rabbis could be along the lines of the argument of Rabbi Yehudah and Chananya in the Babylonian Talmud:

Rabbi Yehuda says: Those {mules} born from a horse, even though their father is a donkey, are permitted to {be mated with} each other. But those born from a {female} donkey, are forbidden {to be mated} with those born from a {female} horse. Says Rabbi Yehuda says Shmuel: These are the words of Rabbi Yehuda who says that the seed of the father is not taken into consideration. However, the Rabbis say: All types of mules are one. Who are the Rabbis? Chananya, who says we do take the father’s seed into consideration, and whether it is the son of a {female} horse and a {male} donkey, or the son of a {female} donkey and a {male} horse, they are all one species”. [15]

It is possible that Rabbi Yehuda ben Simon says המיונס because he was of the opinion that we consider only what type of animal the mother was to ascertain what legal status this animal has. Hence, ‘Half-donkey’. The Rabbis, however, were of one opinion with Chananya, namely that all mules are the same. Therefore, they could all be called just ‘half’.[16] What is gained by this interpretation, aside from a Halachic difference, is that the statement of the Jerusalem Talmud, “They brought a female donkey and they mated a male horse with it”, could have been said in accordance with the views of both Rabbi Yehuda ben Simon and the Rabbis[17]. In fact, it could be suggested that because of this Midrashic tradition, namely that Anah’s mule was a hinny, Rabbi Yehuda ben Simon says half-donkey, for only the mother is taken into account.

I would like to suggest another possible explanation. Many commentators explain המיסו to be a Hebrew word meaning half[18]. This is based on the Mishna that says that pomegranates are required to be tithed משימסו. The Jerusalem Talmud explains what משימסו means, “When half is ripened. Rabbi Yonah asked: Maybe you heard this from the Haggadic Rabbis, {who explain the verse[19]} אחינו המסו את לבבנו, {to mean} Split our hearts[20].”

If we accept this premise, perhaps we can explain that all the sages agree that הימם are mules. The dispute revolves around the root of the word. Rabbi Yehuda ben Simon believed that הימם is derived from the Greek word המיונס, to which the Rabbis responded that the word is simply a Hebraic word meaning half, i.e. half-horse half-donkey[21].

As previously stated, (though not explained), the Babylonian Talmud circumvents the whole issue by stating that the word is derived from the Hebrew word אימה, meaning fear, so called because of the severity of mule inflicted wounds.

However, that the word הימם refers to mules is far from universally agreed upon. As Ramban already points out, this is only the view of some of the Talmudic sages. He is referring to the fact that in the aforementioned Talmud, Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel, who says that Anah created mules, is arguing with Rabbi Yose. Rabbi Yose is of the opinion that God put the thought of creating mules in Adam’s mind, and Adam bred them. According to Rabbi Yose, then, mules were already being created well before the time of Anah.

II. Giants

Another explanation of the meaning of הימם is based on the somewhat cryptic translation of the Targum Unkelos. There, הימם is translated as גבוריא, strong ones. The Ramban explains that Unkelos is connecting הימם with the nation called אמים, a nation of giants referred to in the Torah. According to this hypothesis, מצא would either mean that the אמים were attempting to steal Tzivon’s donkeys and Anah was saved from them[22], or that they found him and he was saved. He was thereafter known by this act of great strength.

The אמים are mentioned a few times in the Torah. The Ramban refers to the verse that states, “The אמים had previously lived there, a big and populous nation, and as strong as giants. The רפאים were considered like giants, and the Moabites called them אמים”[23]. They were so called because their fear is placed on mankind.[24] This explanation is lent credence by the fact that the Zohar suggests this is a possible explanation of our verse, before rejecting it because the words are spelled differently.[25]

Some point out that Unkelos there renders אמים as אימתני and not גבוריא. If the Ramban is interpreting Unkelos correctly, why then does Unkelos not interpret ימים to be אימתני? I believe the answer to this question can be found in the commentary to a different verse. In Genesis it states:

“And in the fourteenth year K’darlaomer came, and the kings that were with him, and they struck the רפאים in Ashteros Karnayim, and the זוזים in Ham, and the אמים in Shaveh Kiryasayim”[27].

Rashi writes “The זוזים: They are the זמזומים”. Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrachi explains that because רפאים, אמים, and זמזומים are three names for the same people, therefore Rashi infers that the זוזים are in fact זמזומים. The Yefe Toer, however, says that this can’t be. If they are all the same, why were they all in different places? Therefore, he says, it is clear that the אמים were a nation in their own right, and later the רפאים were called אמים after them, because of the fear that they too inspired. In other words, while there was a nation called אמים, it was also a word used to describe any people who inspired fear. Therefore, where the verse is referring to the naming process, “and the Moabites called them אמים”, it is appropriate to translate אימתני, namely those that inspire fear. However, when the verse refers to a group of nondescript ימים that were encountered, the correct translation is, in fact, strong ones or giants. For that is the name used to connote giants.

Now, let us move on to the nature of these giants. The Midrash says that they have seven names, and that among those are אמים and נפילים.[28] If so, it seems that we should investigate the Nephilim to discover the true nature of the אמים. The verse states:

“The Nephilim were in the land in those days, and even after, they which the sons of אלהים came onto the daughters of man, they are the strong men, who were always renowned people”.[29]

The identities of both the “sons of אלהים” and the “daughters of man” is a subject of some debate. Some suggest that it refers to the children of Seth, who were of a more refined nature, marrying the wild and murderous daughters of Cain.[30] Alternatively, the sons of the judges, who should have been the most civilized, instead abused their power to forcefully take women.[31] Finally, perhaps the most well-known explanation is that fallen angels took human women.[32] Regardless of the identity of their parents, it seems to be agreed upon that their children were giants.[33]

The Midrash describes these giants:

“Anyone who saw them, his heart melted like wax, Mentromin[34] and Magisters of war, the skull of one of them was measured to be eighteen cubits”. [35]

When the spies saw these giants when they went to scout the Land of Milk and Honey, they reported, “And we were like locusts in our eyes, and so we were in their eyes”.[36] Rashi, quoting the Talmud[37], writes that they overheard the giants, referring to the spies, commenting that ants were seen roaming through the fields.[38]

Giants are in fact mentioned numerous times in the Scriptures. From Og, the king of Bashan, who famously survived the Deluge by holding onto the Ark for dear life, and was fed by Noah through a window, to the still more famous Goliath, felled by the puny slingshot of a young shepherd named David, giants play a large role in many of the stories related in the Bible. This, then, at least according to the Targum, is another to be added to the list, the great donkey herder Anah rescuing his or her father’s donkeys from the wanton violence of these giants.

III. Clowns, Centaurs, and Other Mysterious Creatures

The final explanation to be dealt with at length here also centers around the Jerusalem Talmud and the mysterious word המיונס. The commentary on Bereishes Rabba attributed to Rashi[39] explains this word to mean “A species of wild animal”. His words are quoted by many other commentators[40]. However, what animal it is referring to seems to be a mystery.

One of the preeminent commentators on the JT, however, can shed some light on this. He writes, “I found in the Midrash Divrei Hayamim, types of people who are of an odd shape”[41]. The Midrash Divrei Hayamim, commonly known as Sefer Hayashar[42], records the following story:

And it happened when {Anah} was herding the donkeys of his father, and he brought them into the desert, as he had many other times, to pasture. And it was on this day, and he brought them into one desert on the shore of the Red Sea, opposite the desert of the nations. And he was herding them thelre and behold! An exceedingly strong whirlwind came from across the sea, and it rested on the donkeys herding there, and they all stood. Afterwards, there came from across the sea, from the desert, around one-hundred and twenty big and awesome beasts, and they all came to the place of the donkeys and stood there. And these beasts; their lower half was like the shape of a person, and their upper half; some resembled bears, and some resembled monkeys[43]. And they had tails behind them, from between their shoulders, and which reached down to the ground, like the tail of a Duchifas[44]. And these beasts came, and they mounted and rode those donkeys, and led all of them, and they all went away until this day. And one of these beasts approached Anah, hit him with his tail, and chased him away from that place. And he saw this story and he was exceedingly scared for his soul, and he ran, and he sprinted, and he dashed to Seir. And he told his father and brothers all that happened, and many men went to search for the donkeys, and they were not found. And Anah and his brothers did not go to that place anymore, from that day onwards, for they were exceedingly scared for their souls.”[45]

Similarly, the Gaon of Vilna, writes in his glosses, “המיונס, Explanation: Half-human, half-horse”[46].

It seems to be that there is some evidence that המיונס refers to a hybrid human. While the beasts described in Sefer Hayashar have almost no parallels, half-human half-horses are one of the most popular creatures in mythology. Known in English as centaurs, from the Greek Centauros, the stories about them are manifold.

References to half-humans in Jewish sources, however, are few and far in between. Perhaps sirens, (better known as mermaids), are the most spoken about. From the Talmud’s reference[47] to הדלפונין or בני ימא, who procreate either like people[48], or with people[49], explained by Rashi to be “Fish in the sea that half of them are in the shape of a person, and half in the shape of a fish[50], And in French Seirene; to the Toras Kohanim[51] which includes סירונית in the prohibition of eating non-kosher sea animals[52], on which the Raav’ad comments “In French it is called Seirene, and its top half is like the shape of a woman, and it sings like a person”; to the story in the Mosef Aruch about the King of Denmark and Norway almost seeing a siren[53]; all the way to the siren using its unnaturally long[54] hands to open the locked doors of the Egyptians during the plague of wild animals[55], sirens are well documented in Jewish sources.

Other half-human hybrids, however are almost nonexistent. The earliest supposed reference to centaurs is in Genesis Rabbah. [56] It states,

“They asked before Abba Kohein Bardela; Adam, Shes, Enosh, and {than} silence?[57] He said to them: until then they were in the form and image {of God}, from then on , קנטרין

[58]

The Mosef Aruch explains:

“The explanation in Greek and Latin: a type of uncultured people, and the poets invented that from their half up they were people, from their half down horses, to hint that they were as horse, as mule, without understanding”.[59]

However, every other commentator[60] explains קנטרין to mean contrary, that is, in reverse of the form of God. In fact, the continuation of the Midrash would make very little sense if it was actually referring to centaurs, for the Midrash continues:

“Four things changed in the days of Enosh: The mountains became hard, the dead began to rot, their faces became like monkeys, and they became profane for demons”.

If centaurs are being referred to, it should mention the fact that their feet became horse-like. It seems that even the Mosef Aruch sensed this difficulty, which is why he explains the horse-like feature to be an invention of the poets. The Midrash then is only referring to the fact that the later generations weren’t fully cultured in comparison to their predecessors. Instead they were wild and not in the form of God. (This is aside from the obvious difficulty with suggesting that all the post-enoshian generations were centaurs).

I have found two other references to centaurs in Jewish sources. One is in reference to the Dor Haflaga, the Generation of Dispersion, when people decided to build a tower to ascend to the heavens and rebel against God. God responded by changing the people of the world’s language so that they could not cooperate with each other.[61] This is the Biblical story. The Talmud[62] adds a few details: There were three groups of people. There were those who wanted to go up to the sky and live there.[63] They were dispersed. Another group who wanted to go up and worship idols, were punished by having their languages changed. The final group, who wished to ascend to the heavens to wage war on God, were changed into monkeys, spirits, demons, and Liliths.[64] Other sources add that in addition to above, they were also changed to elephants.[65]

In Shalsheles HaKabbalah[66], this theme is expanded on. In his telling, God also changed many of them into other weird creatures. “They say that after the splitting of the languages, God created strange creatures”. He proceeds to list many creatures. One of those listed are: “In Sitea there is a species which has the form of a person, and their legs are similar to a horse, and they are called centaurs”.[67]

The other source, while not strictly Jewish, is the famed letter of that fabled Christian king, Prester John, ostensibly written to the Emperor of Rome and the King of France. It only deserves mention here because it was printed and reprinted many times in Hebrew due to the mention of the Ten Lost Tribes and their fantastical way of living.[68] There too, among unicorns and other mythological creatures it mentions,

“We have in our country bowmen who from the waist up are men, but whose lower part is that of a horse. They carry in their hands bows and arrows, and they can pull harder than any human being, and they live on raw flesh. Some of our courtiers capture them and keep them chained and people come to see this great marvel.”[69]

How does המיונס refer to centaurs or other wild beasts? While it can be argued that this was simply a name for such creatures that was since lost, the Pnei Moshe suggests a different explanation. He refers to the Midrash[70] which talks about the מיומס which is brought into the theaters. He explains that a מיומס is a person who can change his shape, a shapeshifter, and that this word was borrowed here for people who are, in essence, differently shaped.

The word מיומס, in fact, is derived from the Greek word μῖμος, which in turn is the root of the English word Mime. As the Mosef Aruch explains[71], “The explanation in Greek and Roman is: a comedian who acts like another, and at times puts a mask on his face”. According to this explanation we can suggest that perhaps הימם were mimes, and Anah was the first to put the practice of making shows which featured the performances of mimes and clowns. In effect, Anah was the world’s first ringmaster.

Other commentators on the actual verse also suggest that הימם are certain wild animals. Rabbi Meyuchas writes, “And הימם, Species of wild animals, and there is no similar word in Scripture, and according to the Targum[72] they are strong animals, as in ‘יקראו להם אמים’. He seems to believe that הימם is the name of a type of wild animal, and then quotes the Targum who argues that the word is derived from אמים. Others[75], however, while also saying that they were wild animals, suggest that the word is derived from אימה, fear.[76] They are so called because they frighten people. Rabbi Nathan Adler, basing himself on this interpretation, suggests that הימם are gorillas, and they are so called because they scare people and are confused with giants[77].

IV: Other Possibilities

There are other explanations for the word הימם.

The Zohar says that הימם refers to the demonic offspring of Cain, who were created between the sixth and seventh day of creation. Only someone as wicked as Anah had the ability to see them[78].

Some suggest that הימם refers to plants. Ibn Ezra emphatically rejects this view, because the donkeys are then superfluous.

The consensus of the non-Jewish Bible scholars is that הימם refers to hot springs, which seems to be built on a non-traditional vowelization of the word. This view is not accepted by any Jewish scholars.[79]

הימם is transliterated in the Septuagint, suggesting that either it was understood to be a proper noun, or that the translation was unknown. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, in his German translation, follows the lead of the Septuagint, and does not deign to translate it.

We can suggest that perhaps הימם is referring to the person named הימם whom the Torah mentions a few verses prior. This הימם was a close relative of Anah. Maybe he was lost for some time and Anah found him roaming the desert. The fact that this possibility is not mentioned by any earlier authority, is most probably because they are vowelized differently. However, this does not seem to me to be an insurmountable difficulty, given that the spelling of people’s names often changes throughout Scriptures.

NOTES

[1] Tosfos Bava Basra 115b S.v. Melamed, “And It seemed to Rabbenu Tam that Anah was a woman, as the verses indicate, for it is written, (Genesis 36,14) ‘And these were the sons of Oholivama daughter of Anah daughter of Tzivon’…And that which it states, ‘He is Anah’ in masculine form, that is because she inherited with her brother Tzivon like a male”. Rashi, however, says that Anah was a man and that Oholivama was the daughter of Tzivon and his daughter-in-law who was Anah’s wife, and therefore she is called both the daughter of Tzivon and Anah. (Genesis 36,2. Quoted by the aforementioned Tosfos).

[2] Genesis 36, 24

[3] Pesachim 54b

[4] Chullin 7b, both brought by Rashi Genesis, ad loc.

[5] Ibn Ezra, ad loc. Cf. Pseudo-Jonathan in which it seems that he mated the animals without a specific purpose, and only later did he find mules being born. According to that interpretation “found” can be understood in its traditional sense.

[6] Genesis 26,13

[7] Chizkuni, Bartenoro on Genesis 36, 24

[8] Ramban, ad loc.

[9] Rabbenu Efraim, Genesis 26,13

[10] This is the version of the Aruch and in the Midrash Rabba and seems to be correct. However, in most editions of the JT, we find היימים.

[11] Jerusalem Talmud Brachos 8,4. Bereishes Rabba 83

[12] Liddell & Scott (1940) A Greek–English Lexicon, Oxford: Clarendon Press

[13] Ibid.

[14] Meir Nasiv. JT ad loc.

[15] Chullin 79a

[16] Cf. Chidushei Rabbi Eliezer Simcha on Genesis, ad loc. It is not clear if this is his meaning, וצ”ע.

[17] See Rashi Genesis ad loc. who says that it was the opposite, i.e. a male donkey and a female horse. See Tzeda La’Derech and other supercommentaries.

[18] Rashi BR ad loc., Rabbi Shimon Serliau JT ad loc.

[19] Deuteronomy 1, 28

[20] JT Maasros 1,2

[21] See, however, Aruch מס, who seems to suggest that the JT is explaining that the Mishna is using the Greek (or Latin, see Aruch Hashelem) word for half. I find this explanation difficult, because why than would Rabbi Yona have to point to the Haggadic Rabbis translation of the verse?

[22] Based on Psalms 21,9

[23] Deuteronomy 2,11

[24] Rashi ad loc., Cf. Bereishes Rabba 26,7

[25] Vayishlach 178b

[26] Rabbi Nathan Adler, Nesinah La’Ger

[27] 14,5

[28] Bereishes Rabba 26,7

[29] Genesis 6,4

[30] See Rokeach; Midrash brought by M.M. Kasher, Torah Sheleimah; Rosh; Ibn Ezra; ad loc. See also Rabbi S.R. Hirsch who talks about this at some length.

[31] Bereishes Rabba 26,5; Rashi; Ramban; Ibn Ezra.

[32] Yuma 67b; Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer 22; Rashi. See Rosh who brings a Midrash about the creation of a constellation: Angels attempted to seduce a righteous woman. Tricking them into giving her wings, she flew to the heavens, and was placed among the stars. This is the constellation Virgo. The angels were than stuck on earth until they were able to return on the ladder of Jacob’s dream.

[33] Abarbanel suggests that נפילים means stillborns. The sons of Elohim were those who lived unnaturally long lives. They were strong, and humongous in stature. They took by force the regular more ‘human’ women, and impregnated them. Their regular human bodies, however, were not strong enough to carry the huge fetuses growing inside them and this caused them to miscarriage. This explanation is perhaps alluded to in the BR, “And they filled the entire world with נפלים with their licentiousness”. Also see Malbim, who ingeniously re-interprets the verse to be an answer to idolatry. Those mythological gods and demi-gods, says the verse, were not more than the warriors of the day. The pagans attributed divinity to anyone powerful. In fact, however, they were only human.

[34] Interpreted by Mosef Aruch to be from the Greek word for fear, meaning here, those who instill fear. Chanoch Kuhut, Aruch Ha’Shalem, suggests that it refers to either monitors or mandates of war.

[35] Bereishes Rabba 26,7

[36] Numbers 13,33

[37] Sotah 35

[38] Ad loc. Malbim suggests that the word כן, normally translated to mean so, here refers to a louse, the singular form of כנים, lice. Accordingly, the spies were saying that while they considered themselves to be as large as locust when compared to the giants, the giants themselves looked at the spies as small and insignificant as a louse. (Perhaps this is why Rashi refers to ants instead of locust).

[39] Rabbi Yaakov Emden, Introduction to Etz Avos, says that it was not written by Rashi. This is brought by the Chida, Shem Hagedolim, Shin, 35, who argues that since it was printed in Tzfas in the generation after Rabbi Yosef Karo, and all the great rabbis there agreed that it was in fact Rashi, that is the truth. See, however Rabbi Yaakov Chaim Sofer, Menuchas Shalom Vol. 4, Pg. 78, who proves quite convincingly that it was not written by Rashi.

[40] Matnas Kehuna Ad loc., Rabbi Shimon Serliau JT ibid.

[41] Pnei Moshe, ad loc.

[42] The Midrashic work Sefer Hayashar was first printed in Venice in 16??. According to the introduction, it is an ancient work that was found by the Roman Emperor Titus in the ruins of Jerusalem. However, Rabbi Yehuda Aryeh of Modena, who was one of the rabbis of Venice at this time, in his work Ari Nohem, questions the authenticity of this work. The Chida in Shem Hagedolim, on the other hand, identifies it with “The Wars of the Sons of Jacob”, mentioned by early authorities such as the Ramban and Rabbenu Bachye. Rabbi Avraham ben Hagr”a in his Rav Poalim also vouches for this works authenticity. See however Yosef Dan’s introduction to his edition of Sefer Hayashar.

[43] Translated from קופים. There are variants of Sefer Hayashar. See M.M. Noah, The Book of Jashar, pg. 108, who translates it as keephas. I have differed from his translations in a few instances.

[44] One of the non-kosher birds; listed in Leviticus 11, 19. See Rashi ad loc. who quotes from the Talmud Gittin 68b that it is Tarnugal Habar. See also Rashi on Chullin 63a. It is commonly translated as a hoopoe. See Rabbi Chaim Fuchs, Hakol Al Segulas Haduchifas, www.kikar.co.il/לעיוורן-לעקרה-להצלחה-סגולת-הד.html.

[45] Sefer Hayashar, Ad loc.

[46] JT, ad loc.

[47] Bechoros 8a

[48] The accepted version of the Talmudic text. See Aruch brought in footnote 35 who has this version also.

[49] Rashi ad loc.

[50] Ibid. See Mosef Aruch Entry דלפון, however, who quite understandably translates it to be dolphins. See also Ha’aruch Hashalem for an explanation of בני ימא according to this translation.

[51] Shmini, 3,7

[52] Rabbi Chanina even entertains the possibility that a dead siren could cause anyone under the same roof to become ritually impure, a law which is (generally) exclusive to humans!!

[53] Entry for סרני

[54] Ten cubits

[55] Sefer Hayashar Parshas Bo, according to Rabbi Eliyahu Kramer’s glosses on Toras Kohanim, ibid. See also Rabbi Tzvi Hirsch Rapaport, Ezras Kohanim and Tosfos Ha’azarah, who also ties in this Sefer Hayashar, and adds that sirens have scales near their tail. It is worth mentioning that Rabbi Yisroel Meir Kagan, better known as the Chofetz Chaim, in his explanation of Toras Kohanim, writes that even if they have fins and scales they are non-kosher, for otherwise it would be obvious that they are non-kosher. Cf. Rabbi Yechiel Michel Epstein, Aruch HaShulchan YD 83,10, who says that they definitely have fins and scales, but adds that without this Toras Kohanim we would think that the fish half would be permitted.

[56] 23, 6

[57] i.e. In Genesis Chapter 4 it talks about the children of Adam, it mentions Shes, than Enosh, and than it states “These are the descendants of Adam…” and proceeds to list all the generations. What than is special about these 3? (Rokeach Ad Loc)

[58] This seems to be a play on Enosh’s sons name קינן. See Ramban who quotes this Midrash as “from than on,קינןקנטורין.

[59] קינטורין

[60] Pseudo-Rashi, Matnas Kehunah, Maharzav. In fact, as is pointed out by the Mosef Aruch himself, the Aruch brings this Midrash in the entry for קנתר, along with many other places in which the word undoubtedly means contrary, or as the Aruch writes “Words of anger”.

[61] See Genesis 11, 1-9.

[62] Sanhedrin 109a.

[63] Rabbi Yonasan Eybeshutz in his Nefesh Yehonasan ad loc. famously suggested that it was a launching pad for some sort of primitive spacecraft for people who wanted to live on the moon to escape God.

[64] Rashi explains the difference between the three: spirits are bodiless and formless, demons are shaped like humans and have eating patterns similar to them, and Liliths are shaped like humans but have wings. See Rabbi Reuven Margolios, Margoliois HaYam, who asks that in Chagigah 16 it seems that demons have wings too.

[65] Meleches Shlomo, K’layim 8,6 quoting “the wise and pious kabbalist Rabbi Meshulam”, says that in the Generation of the Deluge people were changed into monkeys and elephants, “for monkeys are similar to people, and elephants understand the language of men”. The Meleches Shlomo proceeds to quote the aforementioned Midrash about the days of Enosh as support for this statement. This seems to me to be quite dubious for it says only that their faces were similar to monkeys, and elephants are not mentioned at all. Dovid Yoel Weiss, in his Megadim Chadashim, Brachos 58b, points to what I believe is the correct source for Rabbi Meshulams’ assertion. The Sefer Hayashar, Noach, writes that the people of the Generation of Dispersion were changed into monkeys and שנהבים. שנהבים are mentioned in Kings I 10,22 as things that were brought on the boats of Tarshish to King Solomon along with monkeys and peacocks. It refers to ivory which is made from the tusks of elephants. It is most probable that the Sefer Hayashar was referring to the elephants themselves. This then is the source of Rabbi Meshulam’s statement, and the word ‘Deluge’ should be changed to ‘Dispersion’.

[66] Rabbi Gedalia ibn Yichya. Quoted also in Rabbi Yechiel Halpern, Seder Hadoros. However, Shalsheles HaKabbala is considered notoriously unreliable. See Rabbi Yosef Shlomo Delmidigo, known as Yashar of Candiya, Metzaref Lechochma p.6, quoted by Rabbi Halpern himself in the introduction to Seder Hadoros. (In a play on the title, The Chain of Tradition, Yashar suggests that Rabbi Ibn Yichya should be placed in chains of iron). The Chida in Shem Hagedolim, Aleph, 9; wonders why Rabbi Halpern, who was “exceedingly wise”, brings many things from the Shalsheles Hakabblah which are not true.

[67] See also Rabbi Azriel Rakovsky, Sheleima Mishnasoi, Brachos 56b, who claims that they were also turned into the “people of the forest” who than went to America and were not killed during the Deluge. These are the people that Cristopher Columbus found. He says that this can answer the question raised by the philosophers, as to how these people exist, if all descend from Adam.

[68] See Beckingham, Charles F. and Ullendorf, Edward. The Hebrew Letters of Prester John. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982.

[69] Translation from Slessarev, Vsevolod. Prester John: The Letter and the Legend. Minneapolis: The University of

Minnesota Press, 1959. Another being is mentioned there which sounds quite similar, “We have in our country also other men who have hoofed legs like horses and at the back of their heels they have four strong and sharp claws with which they can fight in such a way that no armor can withstand them; and yet they are good Christians and will willingly till their lands and ours and pay us a big tribute.”

[70] Eicha Rabbah, Pesichta 17

[71] ממס

[72] We have discussed this Targum earlier.

[73] Deuteronomy 2, 11

[74] Peirush Rabbi Meyuchas, Genesis Ad loc.

[75] Paneach Raza, Rabbi Yitzchak Ben Yehudah, Ad loc.

[76] As noted before, the Talmud explains הימם this way also, although through this, connecting the word with mules.

[77] Nesinah La’Ger, Ad loc. Similarly, Rabbi Yisroel Lipschutz, Tiferes Yisroel, Klayim 8,5, suggests that the אדני השדה, who according to some could also cause ritual impurity just by being under the same roof, refer to orangutans, who can be taught “to chop wood, draw water, and also to wear clothes exactly as a human, and to sit at a table and eat with a spoon, knife and fork”.

[78] Vayishlach 187b

[79] Aryeh Kaplan, The Living Torah; Nesinah La’ger; Ad loc.

 




Upcoming Rav Kook conversation with Marc B. Shapiro and Erica Brown




KEDUSHAH, KEDOSHAH, OR B’K’DUSHAH in KEDUSHAH D’YESHIVAH?

KEDUSHAH, KEDOSHAH, OR B’K’DUSHAH in KEDUSHAH D’YESHIVAH?

Wayne Allen

In his classic study of the content and evolution of Jewish prayer, Abraham Millgram (Jewish Worship, p. 134) asserts that “the most significant addition to the liturgy after its redaction at Yavneh was that of the Kedushah, a prayer in which the community of Israel together with the heavenly host proclaim God’s holiness.” Yavneh was the town in which rabbinic Judaism retrenched after the destruction of the Second Temple in the year 70 C.E. Millgram further contends that the Kedushah prayer “is obviously mystic in nature” and Babylonian in origin (ibid.). It was during the early Rabbinic period that Babylonian mystics “were engrossed in speculations regarding the nature, appearance, and functions of the…angelic sanctification of God” as described in Isaiah 6:3 and Ezekiel 3:12 which, along with Psalm 146:10 make up the central elements of the Kedushah prayer, surrounded by appropriate introductions and connecting phrases.

In his commentary on the Bible, Rabbi Meir Leib ben Yehiel Mikhel Malbim (1809 – 1897) explains that when, as described by the prophet Isaiah, the angels on high proclaim God’s holiness (kedushah, in Hebrew), they are, in essence, attesting that “God is separated from earth in that He is immaterial; He is separated from time in that He is everlasting or eternal; and He is also separated from the heavens in that He is insubstantial.” This threefold separation is what characterizes holiness. Rabbi Hayim Halevi Donin (To Pray as a Jew, p. 126–7) adds that “not only is God above and beyond man and his world, but the angels proclaim God to be above and beyond their world as well” leading to the inevitable question: “if the angels so proclaim, can mortal man say less?”

When the Babylonians introduced the inclusion of the Kedushah, it was fittingly placed immediately before the third blessing of the Amidah which concludes with an affirmation of God’s holiness. It quickly became the apotheosis of the public prayer service. After some initial resistance, the Kedushah gained currency among Palestinian Jews as well. Millgram (Jewish Worship, p. 136) surmises that Jews unable to attend synagogue services daily felt deprived of the privilege to recite Kedushah so the rabbis inserted an abbreviated form of Kedushah in the text leading up to the first blessing before the recital of the morning Shema as well as incorporating the key verses of the Kedushah in the paragraph near the end of the morning service, perhaps for late-comers. This form of the Kedushah did not require a quorum of worshippers, thus enabling all worshippers – whether or not in synagogue – to declare God’s holiness in the mystical words of the prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel. To distinguish the standing, public recital of the Kedushah during the reader’s repetition of the Amidah, the early recital of the Kedushah was termed Kedushah D’ Yeshivah (the “sitting” Kedushah or Kedushah D’Yotzer, referring to the blessing it precedes, cf. Resp. Otzar HaGe’onim, Berakhot No. 46) and the later recital of the kedushah was called Kedushah D’Sidra (See Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 49a; Shabbat 116b; Resp. Otzar HaGe’onim No. 320).

It is the Kedushah D’Yotzer that is the subject of a wording dispute. Four Hebrew words describe the manner in which the angels proclaim God’s holiness. The dispute centers on whether these four words constitute two pairs of phrases with each phrase consisting of a noun and a modifying adjective, or one phrase consisting of a noun followed by two modifying adjectives and then a proper noun. The first view would read this phrase as בְּשָׂפָה בְרוּרָה, meaning “with clear speech,” followed by וּבִנְעִימָה קְדשָּׁה, meaning “and in sacred melody.” The readers would treat the four-word phrase as if there were a comma between the two pairs of words even if a comma did not appear in the text. According to the second view, the phrase should read בְּשָׂפָה בְרוּרָה וּבִנְעִימָה. קְדֻשָּׁה, meaning “in clear and melodious speech. [They proclaim] the Kedushah.” On the first view, the phrase is simply descriptive of the way the angels would proclaim God’s holiness, without indicating the nature of the proclamation. On the second view, the phrase describes the way the angels recite the Kedushah. A survey of various prayerbooks demonstrates how this dispute plays out.

Prior to the publication of the Artscroll prayerbook in 1984, the most popular siddurim used in Orthodox synagogues were the De Sola Pool prayerbook and the Birnbaum prayerbook. The Traditional Prayer Book for Sabbath and Festivals was edited by Rabbi David De Sola Pool who served Congregation Shearith Yisrael, the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in New York City for more than forty years. His acknowledged erudition led to the official adoption by the Rabbinical Council of America of this prayerbook for all Orthodox congregations in the United States in 1961. Both the 1940 and 1960 edition (p. 53) translated the disputed phrase as:

Mutually accepting for themselves His heavenly rule, in unison they all give one another the word to hallow their Creator in serene, pure utterance of sacred harmony…

That De Sola Pool considered the first view as the correct one is confirmed by the punctuation in the Hebrew text which puts a period after the word Kedoshah which is vocalized with a holom, that is, a dotted vav, making it an “o” as in “so” sound, and rendering it as the modifier of “ne’imah.” Likewise, Ha-Siddur Ha-Shalem edited by Philip Birnbaum and mass distributed by Hebrew Publishing Company adopts the same view. The 1949 edition reads (p. 73):

In serene spirit, with pure speech and sacred melody, they all exclaim in unison and with reverence…

The Hebrew is vocalized the same way as De Sola Pool.

The series of prayer books published for or by the Conservative movement follows suit. The Prayer Book, edited by Rabbi Ben-Zion Bokser, long-serving rabbi of the Forest Hills Jewish Center in Queens, New York, and published by Hebrew Publishing Company in 1961 reads (p. 47):

They sing a hymn of allegiance to the Divine power, each bidding the other go be first in acclaiming their Creator, With soft and clear tones, they chant in unison a sacred melody declaring…

Bokser took the editorial liberty of interpolating the action taken by the angels, i.e. chanting in unison, to make the word flow smoother but he obviously holds that the text is composed of two pairs of phrases with a noun (“tones” in the first phrase and “melody” in the second) and a modifier (“soft and clear” in the first phrase and “sacred” in the second).

The Sim Shalom prayerbook, based on the work of the eminent liturgist Rabbi Jules Harlow, was published by the Rabbinical AHssembly in 1998. Here, the disputed phrase is rendered (p. 97):

One to another they vow loyalty to God’s sovereignty; one with another they join to hallow their Creator with serenity, pure speech, and sacred song, in unison, chanting with reverence…

With his talent for a more poetic rendering of Hebrew, Harlow matches the phrase “one to another” to “one with another” in describing the angelic choir. Notably, Harlow also give his nod to the first view, supported again by the Hebrew text with a comma between the two phrases and the vocalization of K’doshah.

Interestingly, the Jewish Welfare Board, tasked with unenviable mission of producing a prayer book that would serve Jewish troops of all affiliations, translated the disputed phrase in its 1969 High Holiday Prayer Book for Jewish Personnel in the Armed Forces as follows (p. 101):

All of them act with harmonious accord, with purity of purpose and with united strength to perform reverently the will of their Creator. They all break forth into song of pure and holy praise, while they bless, glorify, and proclaim…

The “song of pure and holy praise” conforms with the first view of the disputed phrase. Also of note, the description of the angelic proclamation as a “song” conforms to the Talmudic text as will be noted below.

In contrast, since 1984 and in line with siddurim published in Israel, the second view has ascended in prominence. The Complete Artscroll Siddur (1992 edition, p. 87), translated by Rabbi Nosson Scherman, is paradigmatic:

Then they all accept upon themselves the yoke of heavenly sovereignty from one another and grant permission from one another to sanctify the One Who formed them, with tranquility, with clear articulation, and with sweetness. All of them as one proclaim His holiness and say with awe…

While the identification of the name of the angelic proclamation as the Kedushah is not explicit, this translation accepts the notion that “clear articulation and sweetness” go together in describing it, clearly evident in the Hebrew and its punctuation with a period after the word u-v’ne’imah. This is a pattern followed by Siddur Rinat Yisrael, the mainstream Israeli prayerbook and the popular Koren Siddur under the guidance of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.

The question of which view is correct or which version is the more authentic is not easily resolved. One of the earliest Jewish prayerbooks, the ninth century Seder Rav Amram (Goldschmidt ed., p. 13), is ambiguous. Lacking any punctuation or explication, the four-word Hebrew phrase in question can be read either way. The same is true with Mahzor Vitry, an enhanced prayerbook produced by the twelfth century school of Rabbi Shlomo Yitzhaqi of Troyes (Horowitz ed., Part I, p. 65). However, the Frumkin edition of Seder Rav Amram published in 1912 notes (p. 188) that a British Museum manuscript vocalized the text to read “k’doshah” in reference to the angelic melody, supporting the first view, while RaShI’s commentary on Isaiah 6:3 (“Holy, holy, holy! God of Hosts—Whose presence fills all the earth!”) includes the observation: “This is the basis for the prayer in Yotzer Ohr, Kedushah: all together proclaim,” that supports the second view. It seems like the Tosafists agree (Babylonian Talmud, Hagigah 13b, s.v. mi-zei-atan).

Fourteenth century Spanish Rabbi David Abudraham, aware of the dispute, seeks to resolve it in his authoritative compendium on Jewish prayer. In the 1963 edition of Sefer Abudraham (p. 73), he explains the parallelism in the text. “Because the author called the language of the angels ‘clear,’ by extension, he also called the melody ‘sacred.’” In other words, the phrase in question consists of two pairs of words, each pair with a noun and a modifying adjective, implying that the text ought to be read as safah berurah and ne’imah kedoshah. He goes on to acknowledge that “some read ‘Kedushah,’ but the first version is correct.” In his multi-volume study of Jewish prayer, Netiv Binah (Vol. I, p. 235, n. 8), Rabbi Y. Jacobson cites Abudraham’s opinion as decisive. He also includes as support the Yemenite prayerbook that reads u-v’ne’imah t’horah, that is, “and with pure melody.” Even though the wording differs from the Ashkenazi prayerbook (t’horah instead of k’doshah), Yemeni Jews agree that the word that follows after “ne’imah” is an adjective. Hence, “Kedushah” would be incorrect.

But all is not settled. Complicating matters, thirteenth century authority on Jewish law, Rabbi Tzedekiah ben Abraham Anaw (Shibbolei Ha-Leket, Sec 13) reports that he had found a text ascribed to eighth century Rabbi Natronai Gaon that reads: “with clear speech, melodiously, and devoutly.” On this version, the phrase in question uses three terms to describe the manner in which the angels proclaim God’s holiness: clearly, melodiously, and devoutly. It certainly does not comport well with the second view that specifies that the angels recite Kedushah, but neither does it support the first. Likewise, the prayerbook of Italian Jews, Mahzor Italiani (Luzatto, ed., Vol. I, p. 14) reads: b’safah berurah, b’ne’imah, u’vik’dushah, best translated as “with clear speech, melodiously, and with sacred devotion.”

To sum up, there are actually three views on the proper reading of the phrase in question. The first view would stipulate reading: b’safah berurah, u-v’ne’imah k’doshah. This view is supported by Natronai Gaon, the British Museum manuscript of Seder Rav Amram, the Yemenite Siddur, and Abudraham. The second view would stipulate reading: b’safah berurah u-v’ne’imah, Kedushah. This view is supported by RaShI and the Tosafists. And the third view would stipulate reading: b’safah berurah, b’ne’imah, u’vik’dushah. This view is supported by the opinion of Natronai Gaon and the Mahzor Italiani. Jewish worshippers, then, are left with a conundrum. Each view has its defenders.

However, three further considerations make a better case for the first view. First, the preponderance of authorities favors this view. Late thirteenth century Spanish Rabbi Yom Tov Ishbili (Hiddushei Ha-RITVA, Meg. 23b, s.v. u-midivrei rabbotai) mentions the tradition of his teachers reciting b’safa berurah u-v’ne’imah kedoshah kulam k’ehad onim b’eimah v’omrim b’yir’ah Kedushah, meaning with clear speech and in sacred melody, together as one, the angels say the Kedushah with trepidation. The RITVA acknowledges that the angels recite the Kedushah. But they do so with clear speech and sacred melody (ne’imah k’doshah) which is the reading of the first view. In fact, reading k’doshah as Kedushah would make no sense since Kedushah here would be redundant, being mentioned at the end. Fifteenth century Spanish Rabbi Abraham Saba (Tzror Ha-Mor, Bereshit, s.v. v’od) identifies two kinds of speech: what comes from the mouth and what comes from the heart. The latter is the superior and is endemic to the angels. He implies that the distinction is embedded in the phrase in question: safah berurah and ne’imah k’doshah. Sixteenth century Turkish Rabbi Moses Alshikh (Commentary on Exodus 28, s.v. v’hayya) also seems to follow b’safah berurah, u-v’ne’imah k’doshah.

Further, Rabbi Joseph Karo (Bet Yosef on Tur, Orah Hayyim 59, s.v. katuv) cites the Orhot Hayyim who accepts the first view and adds “I heard that the leading authorities of the generation follow this version.” Likewise, Rabbi Moses Isserles, agrees (Darkhei Moshe HaKatzar, Orah Hayyim 59:2) and, in Tur, Orah Hayyim 59, n. 2 states that “this is how it is arranged in our prayerbooks.” Eighteenth century Rabbi Jacob Emden (Siddur Bet Ya’akov, Warsaw ed. 1910, p. 120) acknowledges that while some versions have the word “Kedushah” vocalized with the shuruk (vowel sound “oo”) treating it as a noun, the preferred version is to read the phrase in question as b’safah berurah u-v’nei’mah k’doshah with a pause after “berurah,” and a holom after the letter “daled,” because the word “k’doshah” is an adjective modifying “ne’imah.” And Siddur Ha–Ya’avetz, Amudei Shamayim (ed. Deutsch [2016] p. 86) has Emden punctuating the phrase in question with a comma after the word “berurah”(indicating in his notes a need for a pause) and vocalizing the noun in the ensuing phrase as “k’doshah.” Tellingly, the standard reference work for the Ashkenazi nusah, Seder Avodat Yisrael, arranged and annotated by Isaac Seligman Baer (see Robert Scheinberg, “Seligmann Baer’s Seder Avodat Yisrael (1868): Liturgy, Ideology, and the Standardization of Nusah Ashkenaz”), adopts the first view. Moreover, in his notes (ed. Rödelheim [1868], p. 78), Baer relies on Abudraham as authoritative and claims that ne’imah k’doshah was Abarbanel’s version as well. He also claims that he had a manuscript reading of RaShI on Isaiah 6:3 which does not include “Kedushah.” The Siddur Rav Shabbetai Sofer of Przemysl (or Premslow), an authoritative compendium of prayers for Polish Jewry, includes both views, with ne’imah kedushah followed by ne’imah k‘doshah in parentheses, identified as “another version.” In his notes, Sofer indicates that the parenthesized version is that of Abudraham. And, like nineteenth century Rabbi Yehiel Mikhel Epstein (Arukh HaShulhan, Orah Hayyim 59:10), former Chief Rabbi of Israel Ovadiah Yosef (Resp. Yabi’a Omer, Pt. 8, Orah Hayyim, No. 11, Sec. 15) acknowledges that there is support for both the first and second view, it seems that the latter gives greater credence to the first view.

Second, the Babylonian Talmud refers to the angelic proclamation as a “shirah” (song) and not Kedushah, as assumed by the second view. Rav Hananel cites the opinion of third century Rav (Hullin 91b) who said:

Three groups of ministering angels recite a song (shirah) every day from the verse “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord”; one says: “Holy,” and another one says: “Holy,” and another one says: “Holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory.”

There is no mention of this “song” as the Kedushah prayer. Avot D’Rabbi Natan (Version A, Chapter 12) explicitly refers to this proclamation as “shirah” as well.

Third, Hebrew grammar makes the second view problematic. If the phrase in question was intended to convey the idea that the angels above recite Kedushah clearly and melodiously, then the grammatically correct way to express that idea would be: b’safah berurah u-v’ne’imah, kulam k’ehad, onim v’omrim Kedushah b’yir’ah. Thus, the translation would be: “with clear speech and melodiously, all the angels together would respond and say the Kedushah in trepidation.” The extant word order does not support this reading. In simpler terms, Kedushah is the object of the sentence and must follow after subject and verb. Saying “Kedushah: all together they respond and say,” as the proponents of the second view would have readers do, is both awkward and ungrammatical. Indeed, this is precisely what Baer (op. cit.) states, describing it as “dohak ha-lashon,” difficult language.

Solomonically, Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef (op. cit.) concludes that either way, the first view or the second view, is acceptable. But which is “correct?” Ideally, worshippers should adopt the first view and follow the text as was printed in the Birnbaum and De Sola Pool prayerbooks as well as those published by or for the Conservative movement. (Why the Rabbinical Council of America pivoted away from the original De Sola Pool prayerbook is a mystery.) However, it is entirely proper to follow the text of the synagogue where one is worshipping. Maimonides (Resp. RaMBaM, No. 181) rules that congregational unity is more important than loyalty to the established text. The view of Rabbi Moses Schreiber is also apropos. Asked which mode of prayer is preferred, Ashkenazic or Sephardic, he answers that the Sephardic is preferred but “what we pray according to the formulations of Ashkenazi prayer is heard [by God] as well” (Resp. Hatam Sofer, Orah Hayyim, No. 15). Here, too, we may have the assurance that whichever way the disputed phrase is articulated, God will accept it in the spirit it is offered.