Mikra Pashut: A New Reading of the Tanakh

David Curwin

David Curwin is an independent scholar, who has researched and published widely on Bible, Jewish thought and philosophy, and Hebrew language. His first book, “Kohelet – A Map to Eden” was published by Koren/Maggid in 2023. Other writings, both academic and popular, have appeared in Lehrhaus, Tradition, Hakirah, and Jewish Bible Quarterly. He blogs about Hebrew language topics at www.balashon.com. A technical writer in the software industry, David resides in Efrat with his wife and family.

I have read the Tanakh in many translations. In my youth, I began with the Koren Jerusalem Bible, continued with the 1985 JPS edition, and came to appreciate R. Aryeh Kaplan’s The Living Torah. More recently, I have enjoyed the literary translations produced by Robert Alter, Everett Fox, and the new Koren edition, among others. Each edition, in its own way, makes the Bible a book to be read.

In Hebrew, the situation is different. There is no shortage of Chumash and Tanakh editions  – ranging from traditional to modern – each offering layers of commentary and interpretation. Hebrew speakers have countless tools to learn the Bible, to chant it ritually, to analyze it verse by verse. Even modern commentaries such as Daat Mikra, while aiming to elucidate the peshat, are constructed as learning tools, not as continuous reading experiences. By contrast, readers of translations in other languages can pick up a Bible and read it as a flowing narrative, aided by paragraphs and punctuation that match modern literary conventions.

Mikra Pashut, edited by biblical researcher Dr. Avi Shveka with the guidance of an editorial committee and published by Koren under its Maggid imprint in 2024, seeks to change this. The Hebrew-only edition spans four hardcover volumes- Torah, Prophets I, Prophets II, and Writings – and remains faithful to the Masoretic text while using modern punctuation and layout to create a seamless reading experience. It strips away the tools that have shaped the text for centuries – verse numbers, chapter breaks, parashah divisions, and cantillation marks. That absence may startle traditional readers at first, but once that surprise fades, they may discover how enjoyable and revealing it is to read the Tanakh continuously, uncovering new dimensions in a text they thought they knew.

Opening any volume immediately shows how different this edition is. The layout transforms the Tanakh into something that can be read fluently, without commentary mediating every line. Shveka and his team provide a substantial Hebrew introduction that explains the project’s history and the reasoning behind its editorial decisions. In addition to this general introduction, each biblical book comes with a brief preface focusing on issues specific to its punctuation and layout. While the introduction does not detail every individual punctuation and design choice, it sets out the principles that guided the work. This review draws on the editorial principles outlined in the introduction and how they are reflected in the edition’s design. While Mikra Pashut is entirely in Hebrew, understanding how it was designed and why these choices were made is of interest to anyone concerned with how we encounter the biblical text.

The editor and his context

Avi Shveka’s project continues a family tradition of innovation in access to Jewish texts. His father, Prof. Yaacov Choueka (1936–2020), played a central role in the development of the Bar-Ilan Responsa Project, which transformed rabbinic scholarship by making classical sources digitally searchable. (Mikra Pashut is dedicated to his memory.) Just as Choueka removed technological barriers – developing tools that made rabbinic literature digitally searchable – so his son Avi removes barriers of format, the conventions that have kept Hebrew readers from simply reading the Bible.

To carry out this vision, Shveka assembled an editorial committee representing diverse perspectives and backgrounds. Members included Rabbi Chaim Sabato (Rosh Yeshivat Yeshivat Birkat Moshe, Ma’aleh Adumim), Rabbi Yuval Cherlow (Rosh Yeshivat Yeshivat Orot Shaul, Tel Aviv), Prof. Haggai Misgav (Hebrew University), Prof. Noam Mizrahi (Head of the Bible Department, Hebrew University), Dr. Hillel Gershuni (researcher, editor, translator), Ayal Fishler (director of Machon Maaliyot), and Avishai Magence (Koren Publishers). This collaboration ensured that the edition drew on rabbinic tradition, literary analysis, and academic scholarship, while keeping the biblical text itself untouched.

This edition is deeply rooted in Jewish tradition. It preserves the sanctity of the biblical text and builds on the insights of generations of commentators. At the same time, it reflects that tradition’s awareness that every era must find its own ways to make the text accessible, and it responds to that need with a format that speaks to contemporary Hebrew readers.

A reader’s edition

Mikra Pashut is explicitly a reader’s edition. Its title, meaning “Plain Scripture” (and implying a “simple reading”), reflects its ambition to present the biblical text in a clear, straightforward manner focused on the peshat. Shveka notes that it was designed in a format as similar as possible to a regular modern Hebrew book. It is not a study Bible and not a tool for ritual chanting; it is a text meant to be read from start to finish.

The visual presentation makes this clear. Mikra Pashut begins from the austere model of a Torah scroll, which contains only the unpunctuated, unvocalized words of the text with no divisions between verses. The scroll’s starkness preserves the primacy of the words themselves. Building on that foundation, this edition introduces only what is necessary for modern readability: the traditional vowels are included to make the sometimes archaic or confusing Hebrew words more accessible, but the page remains free of commentary, Targum, and Masoretic notes. Verse numbers are absent from the body of the text. The words appear in justified paragraphs, with clear indentations. Each page header combines two elements: the traditional chapters and verses covered on that page, along with a brief title summarizing the section’s content. These headings function like chapter titles in a modern book, guiding the reader through the narrative without offering commentary.

The re-division of chapters is particularly significant. Shveka chose not to retain the breaks of the weekly Torah portions (parashat hashavua), which were set according to a variety of considerations and not always primarily to separate distinct topics. Nor did he follow the Christian chapter divisions, introduced in the 13th century by Archbishop Stephen Langton, which are often based on thematic reasoning but in many cases are debatable and, in some places, clearly mistaken. Instead, he created a new chapter division based on literary units. This is, as he notes, the first time in roughly eight centuries that a Hebrew Bible has introduced a new division of chapters. 

For example, the traditional Christian division ends Genesis 1 with the sixth day of creation and oddly begins chapter 2 with the description of the seventh day. The Masoretic division, followed in standard Hebrew Bibles, keeps the seventh day together with the other six in the first chapter and starts the second with the verse, “Such is the story of heaven and earth when they were created. On the day that the LORD God made earth and heaven” (Genesis 2:4), which then continues into the Adam narrative. Shveka’s edition instead splits Genesis 2:4 itself: “Such is the story of heaven and earth when they were created” closes the creation account, while “On the day that the LORD God made earth and heaven” opens the story of Adam.

Within these larger sections, the text is further divided into passages and paragraphs that follow shifts in narrative, dialogue, or thematic focus. Lists, such as genealogies or censuses, are arranged with each item on its own line. Poetry – including Psalms, prophetic oracles, and the Song of Songs – is laid out in parallel lines, often in two columns, highlighting the symmetry of biblical verse. Unlike most editions, where all text appears in a uniform block style, this formatting reflects the different genres within the Tanakh and makes their structure immediately visible to the reader.

The decision to omit chapter and verse numbers also follows this logic. These markers were historically created to aid study, allowing readers to locate verses quickly, but they were never intended to serve the experience of reading. Since this edition encourages smooth, uninterrupted reading, such references would only disrupt the flow. For those who still desire them, the chapter and verse ranges are provided discreetly in the page headers without breaking the continuity of the text.

Modern punctuation as parshanut

Shveka’s most radical innovation is the use of modern punctuation. This edition adds all the marks familiar to contemporary readers: commas, periods, colons, question marks, exclamation points, quotation marks, and parentheses. Dialogue appears in quotes, with long speeches indented as block text. Lists begin with colons. Parentheses, never before used in a printed Tanakh, enclose digressions or editorial asides embedded in the text. Unlike in academic editions, their use here does not indicate that the enclosed passage is uncertain or suspected of being a later addition; rather, it highlights material that functions as an aside within the narrative. The aside in Genesis 2:12 about the gold of Havilah – “(And the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there)” – is enclosed in parentheses, signaling its role as a tangential note.

These choices highlight the narrative’s structure and dramatic flow. This edition also makes distinctive use of semicolons, more frequent than in most modern Hebrew texts, because biblical clauses are often only loosely connected to the main sentence. A comma would obscure their near-independence, while a period would separate them too sharply; the semicolon preserves their intermediate status. Exclamation marks, also used more liberally than modern literary norms, reflect the dramatic tone of prophecy and biblical poetry. Shveka notes that he is not editing Isaiah as a modern literary editor might, but seeks to convey the intensity of the original voice. When a sentence functions as a dramatic declaration or impassioned cry, it receives an exclamation point – even if many appear close together on the same page. The prophet or poet, he insists, has the right to cry out, and the punctuation mirrors that urgency.

The omission of ta’amei hamikra (cantillation marks) also reflects this philosophy. Cantillation is invaluable for liturgy, but it was never intended as a full guide to syntax. The accents do not always follow the peshat, and the considerations of those who set them were not purely grammatical; they also reflected musical needs, patterns of symmetry, and even halakhic factors. Moreover, even if the original motives were grammatical, we cannot simply reverse-engineer them to determine how modern punctuation should match their intent.

For similar reasons, the edition could not rely on a single commentary, such as Rashi, to determine punctuation. Rashi does not always adhere to the peshat, and his commentary only addresses select passages and phrases, leaving vast portions of the text without guidance. No commentary answers all the grammatical and structural questions required for punctuating the entire Tanakh. Shveka and his committee therefore made independent editorial decisions, informed by a broad range of traditional and modern interpretations.

Every translation of the Tanakh uses full, modern punctuation. No one would expect a modern reader to engage with a translation that lacks these aids, since punctuation dramatically improves the reading experience. Translations, by their nature, must address every question of grammar and syntax because every word and phrase must be interpreted. This made them a particularly valuable resource for Mikra Pashut: unlike commentaries, translations cover the entire text consistently and reveal how meaning can be clarified through structure. Shveka consulted translations, especially into English, as an important reference point, though never following them mechanically.

Ultimately, this punctuation is not neutral. It is, as Shveka acknowledges, a form of parshanut – interpretation. Every comma, every period is a decision. Genesis 4:8 illustrates this: the Masoretic text leaves Cain’s words hanging –  “And Cain said to Abel his brother” – without reporting what he said. Shveka’s punctuation must choose whether to treat this as a complete sentence or as an introduction to dialogue. This edition chose the former. Such decisions inevitably align with some interpretations and exclude others. While all these editorial choices carry interpretive weight, Shveka presents them as aids to reading, not as claims of authority.

Faithfulness to the Masoretic text

While the layout and punctuation are new, the words themselves remain exactly as the Masoretic tradition preserves them. The editors never considered modernizing spelling or grammar. The sacred text itself is untouched; only its framing has changed. This includes the treatment of ketiv/qere – the traditional system in which a word is written one way (ketiv) but read differently (qere). Unlike in a traditional Tanakh, in this edition, the qere appears in the main body of the text, in a lighter font to indicate its status as the read form, while the key is placed at the bottom of the page. This subtle change emphasizes how the text is encountered in actual reading, while still preserving the integrity of the written tradition.

Taken together, these choices highlight that Mikra Pashut’s only “commentary” is the formatting itself. Its headings, paragraphs, and punctuation serve to guide the reader without adding explanation.

Reading Instead of learning

As Shveka notes in the introduction, “the Mikra, as its name implies, was intended for kri’ah – reading.” The editorial choices all serve the edition’s central purpose: to make the Tanakh readable in Hebrew. While commentaries can be valuable, they inevitably create a barrier to continuous reading, breaking the flow of the text and steering attention toward interpretation rather than the words themselves. Mikra Pashut removes that barrier by presenting the text in clear, uninterrupted form, with layout and punctuation that guide the reading without reliance on additional commentary. It is not an edition for traditional study, liturgical use, or verse-by-verse analysis with commentary. Instead, it invites readers to experience the Tanakh as narrative and poetry – an experience long available through translations in other languages but now offered to Hebrew readers in the original.

In this sense, the project parallels Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz’s Talmud edition, which made the text’s language and structure accessible while still demanding intellectual engagement. Shveka’s formatting likewise enables comprehension and contemplation, freeing readers to think about the content.

The distinction is not between Mikra Pashut and any single edition such as Mikra’ot Gedolot. It is between editions for learning – which dominate in Hebrew – and editions for reading, which Hebrew readers have lacked. As Shveka argues, in every other language the Bible can be read as a book; Hebrew readers should not be denied that.

Impact of format

The format itself shapes meaning. Traditional printings – with their verses, chapters, and commentaries – frame the Bible as a text to be dissected. Mikra Pashut frames it as a text to be absorbed. Its use of white space between textual units recalls the Torah’s gaps between sections, giving the reader room to pause and reflect. The layout draws attention to patterns, structures, and nuances that might otherwise be lost.

For serious students, this edition will not replace traditional formats. In practice, many will use both: a standard Tanakh for learning and Mikra Pashut for reading. The two serve different, complementary purposes.

Reception

So far, the edition has been met with curiosity and praise. Educators value how it allows students to read without technical distractions. Readers report discovering new details in familiar passages. Some have expressed discomfort with the removal of verse numbers or the interpretive nature of punctuation. Yet no major public condemnation has emerged. One online commenter quipped that “until a sharp pashkevil is issued – either by the Eidah Chareidis or by Har Hamor – the book won’t get the proper publicity.”

The lack of controversy may be because, despite its innovations, this edition does not threaten the sanctity of the text. The Tanakh Ram project, edited by biblical scholar Avraham Ahuvya and first published in 2010, translated the Bible into Modern Hebrew and quickly became the subject of heated debate. Many critics argued that replacing the biblical language with contemporary phrasing undermined the sacred character of the text. Mikra Pashut, by contrast, leaves the Masoretic text entirely unchanged. It does not translate or paraphrase the Bible but merely reframes it typographically, preserving its language while making it easier to read.

Conclusion

Mikra Pashut offers something unprecedented: a Tanakh that Hebrew readers can read with the same ease that others experience through translation. It preserves the Masoretic text unchanged while reimagining its form through modern punctuation, literary divisions, and thoughtful design.

This edition does not aim to replace traditional bibles for study. It stands alongside them, offering a complementary way to engage with Scripture. By lowering the barriers to reading, it allows the biblical text to speak for itself – clearly, directly, and continuously.

In doing so, Avi Shveka and his team have created more than a new edition: they have opened a new path to encountering the words of the Tanakh, one that begins with reading and only afterward moves to interpretation.

The Aderet (part 2); Sonya Diskin and R. Yitzhak Yeruham Diskin; Zvi Glatt; and a New Letter from R. Herzog

Marc B. Shapiro

Continued from here

1. Regarding R. Kook and the Aderet (R. Eliyahu Rabinowitz-Teomim), we find that R. Kook omitted something that the Aderet wrote. I don’t know if, strictly speaking, we can call this censorship, but R. Kook definitely omitted something that he was not comfortable with. Here is the Aderet speaking about himself in Nefesh David, p. 113, published by a leading student of R. Kook, R. Moshe Zvi Neriah (and printed together with the Aderet’s autobiography, Seder Eliyahu.[1a]).

Look at the second paragraph of section 5 and section 6. The Aderet first speaks of his great love for Torah scholars. In the next paragraph, the first one of section 6, he speaks of his hatred for sinners. Finally, in the second paragraph of section 6, he says that he has no ill feelings toward non-Jews who do not hate Jews, and that he only hates those whom the Sages commanded us to hate.

Now, look at R. Kook’s Eder ha-Yekar, published in 1906, beginning with the last line on p. 71 and continuing to the end of the paragraph on p. 72.

 

If you compare this to Nefesh David, sections 5-6, you will find that R. Kook leaves out the three paragraphs I mention above. I can see why he would leave out the second paragraph, about sinners, as it would not be in line with his own understanding of the irreligious in the Land of Israel. But why also leave out the first and third paragraphs? The only explanation I can think of is that he figured that by removing the entire section—where the Aderet speaks of his love for Torah scholars, hatred for sinners, and his lack of negative feelings toward non-Jews—this would not be regarded as censorship, as he is removing the whole section, even the non-objectionable parts. If anyone has a better idea, I would love to hear it.

Speaking of the Aderet and censorship, see the article by Yaakov Fuchs here which shows how the Aderet’s strong criticism of the Rogochover was censored. Fuchs has also found that when the Aderet’s book Shema Eliyahu was published (under the title Over Orah [Jerusalem, 2003]) there was also censorship of the Aderet’s negative judgment of the Rogochover, whom he saw as disrespecting great sages of the past. The original manuscript of the Aderet can be seen here, and below is a transcription of the missing passages as prepared by Fuchs, which can be compared with the censored version that appears in Over Orah, pp. 43-44.

The Aderet’s words are very sharp and align with how he spoke about other rabbis whom, for one reason or another, he had a negative view of. Regarding the Rogochover, while recognizing his unbelievable knowledge, the Aderet could not accept what he saw as the Rogochover’s disregard for the accepted conventions of halakhic procedure and his disrespect for prior sages. He goes so far as to state that if we lived in a time of great rabbis—rabbis who had real authority—they would not allow the Rogochover to issue halakhic rulings.

Eliezer Brodt called my attention to another sharp comment by the Aderet against the Rogochover, found in Shmuel Kol, Ehad be-Doro, vol. 1, p. 202. Brodt also noted that this was censored when reprinted in a footnote in the Mossad ha-Rav Kook edition of the Aderet’s Seder Eliyahu, p. 122, and the Rogochover’s name was omitted when the passage was included in an article in Etz Hayyim 19 (5773), p. 55.

The Aderet, who was older than the Rogochover, can be forgiven for speaking the way he did, and he was not the only contemporary of the Rogochover who had these feelings.[1b] But just as we can find negative statements by great rabbis about other rabbis who were their contemporaries, and now we can see how misguided these negative statements were,[2] I think it is the same with regard to the Aderet and the Rogochover. The rabbis of the generation after the Aderet all related to the Rogochover with enormous respect, even if they did not accept his halakhic rulings.

Regarding the Aderet’s book Shema Eliyahu, one thing that was not censored when it was published appears on p. 223, and I thank Yosef Ginsberg for calling it to my attention.

We see that the Aderet and his interlocutor, R. Getzel Horowitz, assumed that the concept of Tikkunei Soferim is to be taken literally, meaning that the text of the Torah was changed from its original version given to Moses. The Aderet suggests that the Tikkunei Soferim are actually halakhah le-Moshe mi-Sinai.

For more concerning the Aderet and censorship, or rather non-censorship, I must recall my very first post on the Seforim Blog, from January 25, 2007, found here. It is titled “Uncensored Books”. I provide two examples where I state that had the publishers known who was being spoken of, they would have censored the text. Regarding the Aderet, I wrote as follows:

Recently many books by the Gaon R. Eliyahu Rabinowitz-Teomim (the Aderet) have appeared, by publishers with very different hashkafot. The volume of teshuvot, Ma’aneh Eliyahu, was published by Yeshivat Or Etzion in Israel, whose Rosh Yeshivah is R. Hayyim Druckman. It is obvious that the editors have no knowledge of American Jewish history, otherwise, the words I quote (from p. 352) would never have been allowed to appear. The editors no doubt assumed that the Aderet was attacking some phony. The name Jacob Joseph [called Jacob Harif by the Aderet] means nothing to them.

וידענו היטב היטב את האיש ואת שיחו תהלוכותוי ותחבולותיו מתחילה ועד סוף . . . ואותו הרב ה’ יעקב, שלא שמש תלמידי, חכמים ומלך מעצמו, ע”פ תבונתו כי פקח גדול הוא אינו מגיע לקרסולי תלמידי תלמידיו של הגאון חתם סופר ז”ל, לא בתורה ולא במעשים טובים, והרי לפנינו שעזב עיר ווילנא תפארת ליטא, והלך לנוע אל ארצות אמעריקא להיות שם רב ראשון בנויארק כחלומו אשר חלם. והרואה דברי הר”מ פ”ו ה”א מדיעות, יעוי’ שם היטב בלשונו, יראה עד כמה מלאה לבו יראת שמים לעשות כן

He goes on demeaning the Chief Rabbi of New York, but you get the picture.[3]

Ad kan what I wrote in the post. After the post’s appearance it was pointed out to me that the index to Ma’aneh Eliyahu properly identifies R. Jacob Joseph (Harif). So perhaps I was mistaken, or it is also possible that the people who put the sefer together did not know who R. Jacob Joseph was, and the person who put together the index was someone else entirely.

Returning to haskamot, let me mention another interesting point. Someone recently sent me a picture of a haskamah to the newly published book by the late R. Dov Yaffe, Ha-Va’adim shel Motzaei Shabbat.

What makes the haskamah (mikhtav berakhah) so significant is that it is by a woman, namely, his widow. I was also surprised that she is identified by her first name, something not always seen in haredi circles in Israel.

This is actually not the first published letter of this sort by a woman. R. Yehoshua Zev Zissenwein’s Tzir Ne’eman was published in Jerusalem at the end of the nineteenth century.[4]

After a group of haskamot from a wide range of rabbis whom he got to know in his work as a meshulah (including R. Jacob Joseph and R. Hillel Klein of New York and R. Abraham Abba Werner of London), comes what is called Mikhtevei Tehillah. This is a list of people who signed up to receive the book and positive comments they made. On the last page the names of three women are given, including Sonya (Sarah) Diskin,[5] the widow of R. Joshua Leib Diskin.[6]

Sonya Diskin was a very influential person in the Old Yishuv community of Jerusalem, because she had a great deal of influence on her husband. After her passing, the following letter appeared in Eliezer Ben Yehuda’s newspaper Hashkafah,[7] signed by someone who called himself a student of the Brisker Rebbetzin (i.e., Sonya Diskin, whose husband was rav of Brisk before moving to Jerusalem).[8]

There is a lengthy and fascinating Wikipedia entry on Sonya Diskin here, from which I learned that her marriage to R. Diskin, which was a second marriage for both and did not produce any children, even made its way into an Agnon story. For other stories told about her, see Yitzchak’s Seforim Blog post here, and the כבר היה לעולמים blog here. You can definitely say she “made it”, as she had a pashkevil directed against her in Jerusalem, which I am certain makes her the first woman to be given this honor. Also of note is that the pashkevil dates from when her husband was still alive. (In later years, Golda Meir and Aliza Bloch, the mayor of Beit Shemesh, also had paskevilim directed at them.)

The pashkevil is found in Binyamin Kluger, Min ha-Makor, vol. 3, p. 46, and in what it regards as fake piety, it refers to how Sonya Diskin wore tzitzit and that she put socks on her cat, so that the cat would not move crumbs of hametz from room to room. (Elsewhere it is reported that she did this on Passover and her fear was that the cat would bring in hametz from the street on its feet.[9] According to Pesahim 9a we need not be concerned for this.) Regarding Passover, it is also reported that Sonya Diskin told her husband, after he scolded her for her humrot, “If I rely on you and your Shulhan Arukh, we’ll be eating chametz on Passover.”[10]

The latter story is very similar to a story told about Mrs. Tonya Soloveitchik, the wife of R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik. The way I heard the story, in the name of Prof. Haym Soloveitchik, is that when Mrs. Soloveitchik came home from the hospital and saw milk and meat plates in the sink, she started rebuking her husband. The Rav defended himself: “According to the Shulhan Arukh, this is OK.” To this, Mrs. Soloveitchik replied: “Your Shulhan Arukh is going to treif up my kitchen.”

After seeing what Sonya Diskin told her husband, I found it too much of a coincidence that two great rebbitzens would have expressed themselves in the same fashion. I turned to Prof. Soloveitchik, presented him the story with his mother as I heard it, and asked if it is true. He replied as follows: “The story is half-true. My mother said: ‘You are making my kitchen treif.’ My father said nothing and neither did I. People have prettied-up the story by fusing it with the well-known story of Sonya the rebbetzin, the wife of R. Yehoshua Leib Diskin.”

There is another Passover story told about Sonya and her husband: R. Diskin saw Sonya working very hard to clean the house of hametz. Exasperated, he jokingly said to her that the only hametz in the house is her. To this, she replied bitingly: “Don’t worry about me. A long time ago my father sold me to a goy [i.e., R. Diskin].”[11] This is actually an old Yiddish joke, see here, that was apocryphally connected to Sonya.

Returning to Zissenwein’s book, the introduction is noteworthy as it reveals that Zissenwein was one of the founders of the early settlement Yesud ha-Ma’ala, and that this was done at the direction of R. Diskin.

Regarding R. Diskin, it is notable that R. Jacob Moses Harlap wrote to R. Kook about a dream he had in which R. Diskin requested that R. Harlap ask R. Kook not to hold anything against his son, R. Yitzhak Yeruham, and not to degrade him. R. Diskin explained that his son is his only child, and his mistake did not come from a bad place.[12] What this alludes to is that R. Yitzhak Yeruham was opposed to R. Kook being appointed rav of Jerusalem. In fact, there is a letter from R. Zvi Pesah Frank to R. Kook explaining that R. Yitzhak Yeruham wanted to be appointed rav himself, and he was upset with R. Frank for not supporting him in this matter.[13] (R. Frank was a big backer of R. Kook.[14])

Innocent mistake or not, in later years, R. Yitzhak Yeruham, together with R. Joseph Hayyim Sonnefeld, would give cover to those who continuously degraded R. Kook in the most objectionable ways imaginable. Yet for the sake of the Yishuv in Eretz Yisrael, R. Kook told R. Diskin and R. Sonnenfeld that he forgave everyone who attacked him and wanted to work together with R. Diskin and R. Sonnenfeld. Here is his open letter in Iggerot ha-Re’iyah, vol. 4, no. 274, where he is very direct in telling R. Yitzhak Yeruham and R. Sonnenfeld that they have not behaved in a manner befitting Torah scholars.

 

 

See also this letter in Iggerot ha-Re’iyah, vol. 4, no. 201, where R. Kook mentions that R. Yitzhak wanted to be appointed rav of Jerusalem, and that out of respect for him and his late father, R. Diskin, R. Kook delayed accepting the offer to become rav of Jerusalem.

 

Regarding R. Yitzhak Yeruham, it is worth noting that when he was still in Europe, he was regarded as a very modern person who dressed in European fashion, knew French, and valued secular studies. It is even reported that he identified as a Zionist. This all changed when he came to Eretz Yisrael.[15]

Since this post has dealt with the Aderet as well as various women, it is a good place to note that R. Baruch Epstein mentions that the sister of the Aderet was quite learned and that a comment of hers was published in the Odessa Torah journal Yagdil Torah.[16] I searched Yagdil Torah on Otzar ha-Hokhmah but could not find what Epstein referenced. I thank Eliezer Brodt for solving this mystery, as he called my attention to where the Aderet mentions his sister, in Yagdil Torah, vol. 9, no. 128. This issue is not found on Otzar ha-Hokhmah, and must be what Epstein was referring to.

Brodt also mentioned to me that in his Zekhor le-David, pp. 69-71, the Aderet has a list of learned women mentioned in rabbinic literature.

2. In the prior post I mentioned that, while studying in Israel, the first sefer I read was written by R. Moshe Zuriel. Not that anyone is wondering, but the second book I read was Zvi Glatt’s posthumously published Me-Afar Kumi.

This book focuses on the importance of living in Eretz Yisrael and is divided into halakhic and aggadic sections. For those who don’t know, Glatt, who was a student at Merkaz ha-Rav, was killed in a terrorist attack in Chevron. Of particular interest is the chapter where Glatt takes issue with R. Moshe Feinstein’s position that living in Israel is a mitzvah kiyumit rather than an obligatory mitzvah. R. Moshe wrote a haskamah to Me-Afar Kumi and responds to Glatt’s discussion, stating that he thinks that Glatt went too far (הפריז על המדה) and that he sees no reason to retract his view.

Also of note are the approbations from R. Avraham Shapiro and R. Shaul Yisraeli, roshei yeshiva at Merkaz ha-Rav. R. Yisraeli notes that Glatt, who could have studied at great yeshivot in the U.S., chose to come to Israel. Glatt could not understand why religious Jews in the Diaspora, by and large, choose to ignore the very important mitzvah of settling the Land of Israel, and it was this focus on Eretz Yisrael that led him to write the sefer.

From a halakhic perspective, the most important aspect of the sefer is the appendix by R. Avraham Shapiro, in which he takes issue with R. Moshe’s opinion. According to R. Shapiro, when it comes to mitzvot mentioned in the Torah, there is no concept of a mitzvah kiyumit as advocated by R. Moshe (namely, that there is no obligation to live in Eretz Yisrael, but if you do, you fulfill a mitzvah and receive reward). Some have compared R. Moshe’s view to the wearing of tzitzit, where there is no obligation to wear them unless you choose to wear a four-cornered garment. Yet R. Shapiro states that tzitzit is absolutely a mitzvah hiyuvit (an obligatory mitzvah). True, one can choose whether to wear a four-cornered garment, but once one puts it on, tzitzit is now an obligation. My question to the learned readers is: Is R. Shapiro correct in saying that there is no concept of a mitzvah kiyumit about one of the 613 mitzvot? Isn’t shehitah an example of a mitzvah kiyumit? You don’t have to eat meat, but if you choose to, you can fulfill the mitzvah of shehitah. Furthermore, in criticizing R. Moshe’s position, R. Shapiro refers to the mitzvah of living in Eretz Yisrael as one of the 613 mitzvot, which makes the concept of it being a mitzvah kiyumit problematic. Yet there is no reason to think that R. Moshe regarded living in Eretz Yisrael as one of the 613 mitzvot, and that is precisely why it could be regarded as a mitzvah kiyumit.

It appears that the Vilna Gaon has the concept of mitzvah kiyumit in mind when he speaks of eating matzah on all days of Passover as a mitzvah but not an obligation, as only on the first night is there an obligation. It seems that he regards the eating of matzah after the first night as a mitzvah kiyumit. Here is how his view is described in Ma’aseh Rav, no. 185:

“שבעת ימים תאכל מצות”, כל שבעה מצוה, ואינו קורא לה רשות אלא לגבי לילה ראשונה שהיא חובה, ומצוה לגבי חובה רשות קרי לה. אעפ”כ מצוה מדאורייתא הוא

Hizkuni makes a similar point in his commentary to Ex. 12:18:

יש לך דברים שמקבלין שכר בעשייתן ועונש כשאין עושין אותן, כגון מצה בלילה הראשון, ויש לך דברים שאין מקבלין שכר בעשייתן ועונש כשאין עושין אותן, כגון מצה מליל ראשון ואילך, ומ”מ מצות תאכלו שבעת ימים כתיב, כלומר אם אכל מצה כל שבעת הימים מכל מקום קיים הוא הפסוק זה של: שבעת ימים מצות תאכלו

3. In my new book on Rav Kook, available here, I discuss how R. Isaac Herzog struggles with the conflict between the biblical record of how long humanity has been on earth and the historical record accepted in the academic world. I cite several of his letters on this topic, in which he suggests that it could be that the Torah’s “history” at the beginning of Genesis is not meant to be regarded as factual.

Only after the book was already near publication did I find another letter from R. Herzog on this very issue, which I share with you now.[17]

The original letter, which R. Herzog would have signed, was sent to R. Zev Gold and is dated December 30, 1952. R. Herzog made copies of the letter, which he must have also distributed, and that is how it made its way to R. Moshe Zvi Neriah, where I found it among his papers.

R. Herzog focuses on his often-discussed—but never realized—plan to write a modernGuide of the Perplexed, addressing new intellectual problems that have arisen for traditional Jews. Without a proper response to these issues, people might be led to deny the doctrine of Torah from heaven. R. Herzog tells R. Gold that his approach in dealing with conflicts between what appears in the Torah and the historical record as established in the academic world is based on two principles:

1. The Torah speaks in the language of man. What this means is that the Torah can describe matters in the way they were generally understood by people at the time the Torah was given, even if this is not strictly factual. In Renewing the Old, Sanctifying the New, I cite a letter from R. Herzog to Aron Barth where he makes the same point.
2. Maimonides’ statement in Guide for the Perplexed 2:25, where he asserts that he would be able to explain the Torah in accord with the doctrine of the eternity of the world, should this idea be proven.[18] In other words, if there is a proven fact in contradiction to the Torah’s simple meaning, then the Torah needs to be reinterpreted.

R. Herzog tells us that the most pressing intellectual challenge to Jewish traditional faith comes from archaeology. So, for instance, if we know from archaeology that there were communities of humans 10,000 or 100,000 years ago, and this is a fact—not just a theory—then, in line with Maimonides’ guidance, we would have to reinterpret the Torah’s chronology which puts humanity on earth for under 6000 years. While in R. Herzog’s time, people in the religious world were focused on the scientific view of a universe billions of years old versus the Torah’s record of when creation occurred, or what to do with dinosaurs that predate the Torah’s account of creation, R. Herzog was focused on a more problematic matter which, for some reason, did not get the same attention: If the historical record shows that people have been living continuously all over the world for a lot longer than 6000 years, what are we to do with the biblical record that places humanity in the world for less than 6000 years? What are we to make of the biblical idea that everyone is descended from Adam and Eve, and also descended from Noah? How are we to understand the stories of the Flood and Tower of Babel?

These are issues that cannot be answered with the famous Midrash that God created worlds and destroyed them, because R. Herzog is concerned with the current world and how long humanity has been part of it. He recognizes that there are passages in the Torah that might need to be reinterpreted in a non-literal fashion. What he is struggling with is what the religious boundaries are, beyond which one cannot go. In other words, when can you interpret the Torah in a non-literal fashion, and when not? Or, to put the matter differently, beginning with which chapter in Genesis must we assume that the Torah is speaking historically and, therefore, non-literal interpretation is not permitted? This was to be a major focus in R. Herzog’s planned work, which, to our great misfortune, was never authored.

He adds that philosophy will also have to be a part of this book. Knowing that this was not one of his many areas of specialty, he points to R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik as the only person in the generation who could make a vital contribution to his project from the philosophical side. While R. Herzog would focus on the historical problems I have just mentioned, R. Soloveitchik would provide a Jewish response to philosophical challenges.

2. In the last post I noted how the Chafetz Chaim wondered how he could eat at inns if the owners did not tovel their dishes. He did not question the kashrut of the food, and we see both then, and today, that one can be regarded as strict in matters of kashrut while not toveling one’s dishes, which for some reason has not always been regarded by all as an important halakhah.[19] We also find regarding other halakhic matters that people who are strict in one sphere do not necessarily lose their halakhic reliability if in a different area their halakhic observance leaves something to be desired.[20]

Based on this notion, we can understand the following 1955 letter from R. David Grunwald, rav of Santiago, to R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg.[21]

R. Grunwald wanted to know whether one can rely on the kashrut of the owner of an inn if the man also serves non-kosher wine to the guests. Today, people would find the question incomprehensible, but it wasn’t that long ago when many otherwise observant Jews were not careful about kosher wine.[22] It is also important to note that R. Grunwald was referring to the old type of inns where people ate there because they trusted the kashrut of the owner. These establishments did not have any official hashgachah.

R. Grunwald refers to a famous responsum of R. Akiva Eiger, no. 96, where R. Eiger notes that Jews who shave with a razor are still able to be accepted as witnesses in a beit din. This is because shaving with a razor was so common in the Orthodox world, that people who did so did not realize how serious the prohibition is.

י”ל דהשחתה בתער דנתפשט בעו”ה אצל הרבה לא חשב שזהו איסור כ”כ דלא משמע להו לאינשי דאסור, וכאשר באמת נזכר בג”ע דהשיב להמוכיח שהרבה אנשים חשובים עושים כן, וכיון דבאמת פשתה המספחת בזמנינו גם לאותן הנזהרים בשאר דברים נדמה להם דאינו איסור כ”כ

If R. Eiger adopted this approach with the Torah prohibition of shaving with a razor, all the more so, R. Grunwald suggests, that it should apply to the rabbinic prohibition of non-kosher wine. This would mean that religious Jews could stay at the inn in question, enjoy the food, and simply avoid the non-kosher wine. Yet not willing to make this decision on his own. R. Grunwald turned to R. Weinberg, and unfortunately we do not know if R. Weinberg replied.[23]

Related to R. Grunwald’s question, I was told that in its final years, Grossinger’s hotel offered non-kosher wine in the dining room. I don’t know if this was after R. Chavel’s passing in 1982. (The hotel continued until 1986). There used to be a restaurant in a major European city that was kosher, but the bar in the restaurant served non-kosher wine. The philosophy of the hashgachah (which was not a weak hashgachah) was that they are giving a hashgachah on the food. What happens at the bar is not their concern, and if someone brings a glass of non-kosher wine to the table that also is not their concern. This is not something that would ever be allowed by mainstream hashgachot in America, but in places without large observant Jewish populations, sometimes the rabbis feel they have to adopt a different approach in order to enable a kosher restaurant to be viable. Some years ago, there was a kosher Indian restaurant under the hashgachah of the late R. Yaakov Spivak. This restaurant allowed people to bring their own bottles of wine (maybe because it didn’t have a liquor license and thus couldn’t provide kosher wine). I asked R. Spivak why he allowed this, and he replied simply that there is no halakhic issue if people bring their own non-kosher wine. Again, this is not something that a mainstream U.S. hashgachah would allow.

Returning to the Aderet’s report of the Chafetz Chaim asking about eating in kosher inns where the dishes were not toveled, when I read that I thought of something similar. In the past, I have written about various kosher establishments that were not under hashgachah, but people ate there because they trusted the owners. Perhaps the most famous of these places was Sam Schechter’s and Leo Gartenberg’s Pioneer Country Club in Greenfield, N.Y. The kashrut there was trusted by all, and Agudath Israel held its annual conventions there. Here is a picture I published some years ago.[24]

The picture was taken at the wedding of R. Moshe Dovid Tendler’s daughter, Rivka, to R. Shabtai Rappaport. The man on the left is R. Isaac Tendler, R. Moshe Dovid’s father. The wedding took place at the Pioneer on June 17, 1971. I thank Jack Prince who was at the wedding for allowing me to make a copy of the picture in his possession.

Regarding the Pioneer Country Club, I think the younger readers will have a hard time understanding not only how even the most religious would stay at a hotel without a hashgachah, but the Pioneer also had mixed swimming and evening entertainment, including mixed dancing and women singers. (I wonder if out of respect, these things did not take place during the Agudah conventions.) It was a different era and people of different religious levels were happy to stay together in one resort.[25] I am sure many readers from my generation and older remember Grossinger’s which was the same sort of place, although, as mentioned, Grossinger’s was under R. Chavel’s hashgachah.

I bring all this up because of a fascinating tape of R. Fabian Schonfeld discussing R. Aharon Kotler available here. At minute 22:25 he tells how R. Aharon was at the Torah u-Mesorah convention which was held at the Pioneer. R. Aharon learned that the kitchen was not careful with having a Jew light the pilot light. R. Aharon explained to Gartenberg what the halakhah required in this matter. and he trusted Gartenberg that from that point on there would be no bishul akum issues. Today, such a scene would be unimaginable, as the mashgiach would be careful about this matter, but as mentioned already, we are talking about a different era.

I wonder if the general practice among Orthodox Jews in America in those days was to rely on either the view of R. Abraham ben David that there is no bishul akum when a non-Jew cooks in a Jew’s home, or the view held by others that there is no bishul akum with hired help.[26] According to R. Moses Isserles, although the halakhah is not in accord with R. Abraham ben David’s view, bediavad, food cooked by a non-Jew in a Jew’s home can be eaten. He then adds the following which might explain how a more lenient approach to bishul akum developed than what is standard today:

ואפילו לכתחלה נוהגין להקל בבית ישראל שהשפחות והעבדים מבשלים בבית ישראל כי אי אפשר שלא יחתה אחד מבני הבית מעט

See also here where R. Schonfeld recollects about the early history of Jewish Kew Gardens Hills. He recounts that the only halakhically reliable kosher butcher was the Main Street Kosher Meat Market owned by Mr. Herman. This was not under hashgachah, but since, R. Schonfeld tells us, Mr. Herman was known as a pious Jew, “this was the only one [butcher] at that time that we could tell people you can buy [from]”

* * * * * * *

[1a] Regarding censorship of Seder Eliyahu, see Dan’s earlier post here and also the discussion here.
[1b] See R. Raphael Mordechai Barishansky, Mikhtavim Mehutavim, pp. 167ff., where he responds to the Rogochover’s demeaning comment about the Vilna Gaon. I published the Rogochover’s interview, which so upset Barishansky, in the Jewish Review of Books, Summer 2017, available here.
[2] Readers will probably be thinking about how great rabbis spoke of the early hasidic leaders, R. Moses Hayyim Luzzatto, and R. Jonathan Eybschuetz. Another example is how great rabbis spoke about the leaders of the Mussar movement. My 19-part series on the Mussar Dispute is available on youtube here.
[3] Interestingly, in R. Jacob Joseph’s haskamah to R. Shalom Israelson, Neveh Shalom (Chicago, 1905), he refers to the Aderet as his friend. This point is also mentioned here.
[4] The first title page has the year 1897, but the second title page has 1898. Rabbi Mendel Moinster’s haskamah is dated Nov. 28, 1898, so it is possible that the book was only published in 1899.
[5] Regarding her, see most recently Menachem Keren-Kratz and Motti Inbari, “The Sociological Model of Haredi Rebbetzins: ‘Two-Person Single Career’ vs. ‘Parallel-Life Family,’” AJS Review 46 (2022), pp. 270-290.
[6] I have not been able to determine when the name “Moses” was added to his first names.
[7] Nov. 2, 1906, p. 3 (Issue 8:10). See also the eulogy for her in Hashkafah, Oct. 19, 1906, pp. 2-3 (Issue 8:6). There is something very unusual about this paper. Here is the first page of the November 2, 1906, issue.

Look at the date: 14 Heshvan 1838. Rather than using the date from Creation, Ben Yehuda used the years since the destruction of the Temple, which he assumed to be the year 68.
[8] In this regard, I would like to call attention to another interesting reference to a woman that I learned about from R. Dov Katz, Tenuat ha-Mussar, vol. 2, pp. 107–108. In 1938, R. Moshe Rosenstein, the mashgiach of the Lomza Yeshiva, published the second volume of his work Yesodei ha-Da’at. In the introduction, he mentions three teachers to whom he owes so much: R. Zvi Braude, R. Yerucham Levovitz, and R. Shimon Shkop. He then refers to his fourth “teacher,” Nechama Liba, the daughter of R. Simhah Zissel of Kelm, describing her as a great student of her father and emphasizing how much he learned from her.

Such a description would never appear in haredi literature today. First of all, the very notion that a yeshiva leader mentions learning so many things from a woman—והרבה הרבה למדנו ממנה— would not be allowed to appear in print. Also, look at his description of how he observed her wisdom and piety:

והיה לי ההזדמנות להתבונן על דרכיה ומנהגיה ותהלוכתיה בחכמה ויראת ה’ ומעשיה הטובים

I believe that today such a description would be regarded as lacking in tzeniut, as it showed that he paid attention to the actions of a woman.
[9] See Margalit Shilo, Princess or Prisoner, trans. David Louvish (Waltham, 2005), p. 78, and here.
[10] Elimelekh Weissblum, Havai Tzefat (Tel Aviv, 1969), p. 34, translated in Shilo, Princess or Prisoner, p. 78. See also here.
[11] See R. Michael Abraham’s post here. Regarding women cleaning for Passover, in a comment to Abraham’s post, a reader referred to the following fascinating passages in R. Moses Sofer’s responsa.

She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, vol. 1, Orah Hayyim, no. 136:

והיותי חוץ לחדר לימודי כי גרשוני נשים צדקניות המכבדים ליום טוב של פסח על כן לא יכולתי להאריך ככל הצורך

She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, vol. 6, no. 30:

יקרת מכתבו הגיעני בימים האלו ימי טלטולא דגברא דהני נשי דידן מפנים חפצים מזוית לזוית אפילו ספרים אינם מוכנים לי לעיין

[12] Harlap, Hed Harim (Elon Moreh, 1997), pp. 94-95.
[13] Kook, Iggerot ha-Re’iyah, vol. 3, p. 306.
[14] See R. Frank’s letter in R. Hayyim Hirschensohn, Malki ba-Kodesh, vol. 4, pp. 22-23, where he explains the situation in Jerusalem, and how the extremists controlled Rabbis Sonnenfeld and Yitzhak Yeruham Diskin.
[15] See Menahem Mendel Porush, Be-Tokh ha-Homot (Jerusalem, 1948), pp. 199ff., Or Hadash 17 (2012), pp. 68ff. R. Yitzhak Yeruham’s father, R. Diskin, was also more open-minded before he moved to Eretz Yisrael. See the valuable post by Zerachya Licht here and his earlier post here.
[16] Mekor Barukh, vol. 4, pp. 1957-1958.
[17] The letter is found in the Moshe Zvi Neriah Archive, Israel National Library, ARC.4*21300411.
[18] For my understanding of Maimonides, which diverges from that of R. Herzog and what seems to be the standard approach, see my Seforim Blog post here. I argue that Maimonides was only prepared to accept Plato’s view of eternal matter, but not Aristotle’s view of the eternity of the universe, though Maimonides acknowledges that the biblical verses can be read in accord with Aristotle’s approach.
[19] Perhaps there is a limud zekhut for these people in that the Rogochover held that utensils produced by non-Jews for commercial purposes do not require tevilah. See Tzafnat Paneah, Ma’akhalot Asurot 17:3 (called to my attention by Rabbi Sholom Berger). R. Abraham Price reacted with shock at this radical ruling which completely abolishes the whole concept of tevilat kelim in the modern world. See his edition of the Sefer Mitzvot Gadol, vol. 2, p. 444:

ונדהמתי לראות דברים כאלו כתובים מידי גאון אדיר, כי לפי דבריו בזמנינו בטל כל דין של טבילת כלים, שיש הרבה ראשונים הסוברים שהוא דאורייתא כדלעיל. שהרי כמעט כולנו קונים רק כלים הנעשים בבית תוצרות של נכרים ואין אחד מן רבבה שיקנה כלים ממה שהנכרי עשה בשביל עצמו. ודברים הנ”ל של הצ”פ הם כנגד דברי הש”ע וכנגד כל הראשונים

R. Price says that the Rogochover’s view is against “all therishonim.” Yet see R. Yehoshua Ben-Meir,Mi-Pekudekha Etbonen, pp. 276-277, who argues that the Rogochover’s view is also held by Rashi, Rashba, and Ritva.

See also R. Menasheh Klein, Mishneh Halakhot, vol 5, no. 110 (end), who mentions the Rogochover’s view and is not prepared to accept it. However, he raises the question about utensils that are produced by machine, and all the non-Jew does it touch a button. R. Klein think that it is possible that in such a case tevilah is not required, although he does not rule this way in practice.

Even as we continue to tovel dishes produced by non-Jews for commercial purposes and also by use of machine, I wonder if the doubts that have been raised mean that all toveling should be done without a berakhah. I have not seen any posek make this point.
[20] See R. Shmuel Khoshkerman’s responsum in Sefer Zikaron Penei Moshe, pp. 289ff., where he permits a man who is careful about Shabbat, kashrut and tefillah, but does not observe taharat ha-mishpahah, to serve as a kashrut mashgiach. Among the sources he cites is Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh Deah 2:7: מומר לערלות דינו כמומר לעבירה אחת

He also cites Yoreh Deah 119:7:

מי שהוא מפורסם בא’ מעבירות שבתורה חוץ מעבודת כוכבים וחלול שבת בפרהסיא או שאינו מאמין בדברי רבותינו ז”ל נאמן בשאר איסורים ובשל אחרים נאמן אפילו על אותו דבר לומר מותר הוא

He further cites R. Yitzhak Zilberstein, Hashukei Hemed, Bekhorot 30b, who thinks that someone who does not wash before eating bread is not to be disqualified from serving as a mashgiach. This is because his personal sins do not affect his feeling of responsibility to the community, and there is no reason to think that he would allow others to eat non-kosher just because he is not careful with netilat yadayim. R. Zilberstein does, however, cite his brother-in-law R. Chaim Kanievsky, who disagreed.

R. Khoshkerman explains his own lenient view:

והנה עינינו הרואות שהרבה אנשים זהירים בכשרות יותר מטהרת המשפחה, כיון שהוא יודע שאם הוא לא יהיה זהיר בכשרות הוא חוטא ומחטיא את הרבים, אבל בדיני טהרת המשפחה רק הוא חוטא. לפיכך נראה שיכולים לסמוך עליו. ועוד שאינם יודעים גודל חומרת האיסור של טהרת המשפחה, אבל על כשרות המטבח הם מקפידים, וכן על מצוות אחרות כגון שבת טלית ותפילין

R. Khoshkerman concludes:

המורם מכל האמור: שאדם שחשוד על טהרת המשפחה, אינו חשוד על כשרות, ולכן יכולים לסמוך עליו בתור משגיח כשרות. אבל רק בתנאי שהוא שומר מצוות אחרות כמו תפלה, טלית ותפילין ושבת, ורק על ענין טהרת המשפחה הוא עובר, או מפני שאינו יודע שזה דבר חמור, או מסיבות אחרות

R. Shalom Mordechai Schwadron, She’elot u-Teshuvot Maharsham, vol. 2, no. 62, already wrote as follows (and R. Khoshkerman will no doubt see this as support for his conclusion):

 די”ל שמ”מ לאינשי חמיר טפי איסורי מאכלות ועינינו רואות בכמה נשים שאין טובלות לנדתן ועוד כהנה ובכ”ז נזהרין מאיסורי מאכלות

I would also add that R. Moses Isserles’s words in Yoreh Deah 119:7 are relevant:

מי שהוא חשוד בדבר דלא משמע לאינשי שהוא עבירה לא מקרי חשוד

[21] The letter is found in Ganzach Kiddush ha-Shem in Bnei Brak.
[22] R. Aharon Rakeffet has often told about his shock in discovering, soon after being hired in 1961, that congregants at the Lower Merion Synagogue, his first rabbinic pulpit, drank non-kosher wine. He would have found the same thing at Modern Orthodox synagogues across the country. Rakeffet has also recorded his story in From Washington Avenue to Washington Street (Jerusalem, 2011), pp. 167-168. I discuss Jews drinking non-kosher wine in Changing the Immutable, and will return to it in a future post
[23] Jews shaving with a razor is also mentioned by R. Ezekiel Landau, Noda bi-Yehudah, Orah Hayyim Tinyana, no. 101, and R. Moses Sofer, She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, Orah Hayyim, no. 154: בעו”ה רבו המשחיתים בעם בתער

This was a such a problem among otherwise observant Jews in early twentieth-century America that R. Hayyim Hirschensohn tried to come up with a heter for shaving with the modern T-shaped razors. See Hiddushei Ha-Rav Hayyim Hirschensohn, vol. 3, no. 12. R. Hirschensohn’s position is discussed by R. Nachum Rabinovitch, Melumdei Milhamah, pp. 283-284.
[24] For stories of R. Moshe Feinstein and the Pioneer Country Club, see R. Yaakov Heftler (Leo Gartenberg’s son-in-law), “Zikhronot,” Kol ha-Torah 54 (2003), pp. 67ff. One story Hetfler describes is how his father passed away on the Shabbat of his aufruf, which took place at the Pioneer with some 250 guests in attendance. The wedding was supposed to be on Sunday. However, R. Moshe Feinstein, who was at the hotel in honor of the simhah, ruled that the funeral should be postponed to Monday and the wedding should take place on Sunday, when Heftler was an onen.

Here is the report about the wedding in Ha-Pardes, Tishrei 5720, p. 47.

[25] There was a well-known askan named Julius Steinfeld. You can read about him here. He did amazing things during the Holocaust and was responsible for saving thousands of Jews. I mention him here because he was very upset that the Agudah had their convention at the Pioneer and wrote a very sharp letter of protest. He even rejects the entire concept of a convention in which both men and women are in attendance.

[26] See Tosafot, Avodah Zarah 38a, s.v. Ela mi-de-Rabbanan, and the wide discussion of R. Ovadiah Yosef, Yehaveh Da’at, vol. 5, no. 54.

Can Orthodoxy Decide Its Own History?

Rabbi Shmuel Lesher 

The Making of a Godol

In his 2004 review of Rabbi Nosson Kamenetsky’s controversy-sparking Making of a Godol,[1] Professor Mordechai Breuer notes a marked change happening within haredi culture, specifically book culture:

The contents of the traditional Haredi bookshelf have expanded and transformed beyond recognition in recent generations. Alongside … the rabbinic classics … the shelves are now filled with books of types our ancestors could not have imagined.[2]

Breuer is referring to the proliferation of a new form of biography, or hagiography, of gedolim, or “Torah scholars” sometimes referred to as “Shivhei Tzaddikim” (Praises of the Righteous).

To be sure, historically, the practice of telling stories of praise and piety about gedolim is not new. Records of this literature can be found as early as the 19th century.[3] However, the recent proliferation and high demand for these works within contemporary haredi society is a fairly recent phenomenon.

It is against this backdrop that, in his review, Breuer celebrates R. Kamenetsky’s publication of Making of a Godol. He correctly notes that this book is not just another routine addition to the existing genre of hagiography. Quite the contrary, employing the rigorous research of an academic, the book makes a serious effort to depict the lives of Lithuanian yeshiva personalities as they truly were, without embellishment or distortion. In stark contrast to those who advocate for the idealized and sanitized portrayal of gedolim as saintly individuals devoid of human flaws or weakness, R. Kamenetsky authored a book whose content was subject to a single test: the test of truth.[4]

It is for this very reason that others did not celebrate the publication of Making of a Godol. In fact, shortly after the book was published in 2002, it was subject to a ban and removed from bookstores.

Breuer has his own critiques of the book. In addition to a number of serious methodological issues he raises with the book from an academic historical perspective, Breuer takes issue with a number of passages from a religious perspective, some of which may have been the reasons why it was banned within parts of the haredi community:

It is unfortunate that the author did not refrain from delving into minutiae that lack historical significance, including the personal weaknesses of Torah scholars… Yet, the author makes no effort to reconcile this phenomenon with the ideal of shemirat halashon (guarding one’s speech) …. The extensive treatment of such topics, without any attempt to analyze or integrate them into a cohesive picture of the “Making of a Godol” borders on gossip for its own sake. It would have been better to omit such material altogether.[5]

Jewish History: Lashon Harah?

Although Breuer categorizes the inclusion of some trivial and negative descriptions of gedolim in R. Kamenetsky’s book as “bordering on gossip for its own sake,” someone who levels the claim of actual lashon harah (prohibited negative speech) against any and all accurate history-keeping is Rabbi Shimon Schwab.

R. Schwab correctly notes that history must be accurate:

History must be truthful, otherwise it does not deserve its name. A book of history must report the bad with the good, the ugly with the beautiful, the difficulties and the victories, the guilt and the virtue. Since it is supposed to be truthful, it cannot spare the righteous if he fails, and it cannot skip the virtues of the villain. For such is truth, all is told the way it happened.[6]

Clearly, there is little use for inaccurate history books. 

R. Schwab further notes that since the canonization of Tanakh, no works of Jewish history were composed by our Sages. It appears that when prophecy ceased, the recording of Jewish history stopped at the same time.[7]

This phenomenon was noted by historian Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi. He writes that after the canonization of the Bible, it appears that Jewish historiography abruptly stopped:

After the close of the biblical canon the Jews virtually stopped writing history…. It is as though, abruptly, the impulse to historiography had ceased.[8]

This, Yerushalmi writes, is remarkable. Biblical Jewry and subsequent generations of Jews drew deep meaning from history. Their people’s history was deeply wedded to their sacred scripture. They came together weekly to read aloud from these passages in synagogues for thousands of years. Generation of scribes would copy and transmit these texts to the next generation with the utmost care and concern for their sacred task.[9]

Moreover, the Torah itself commands the Jewish people to remember “the days of old and to contemplate the years of every generation”:

זכר ימות עולם בינו שנות דור ודור שאל אביך ויגדך זקניך ויאמרו לך

Remember world history, study the generational epochs. Ask your father and he will relate to you, your elders and they will tell you (Devarim 32:7).

Therefore, R. Schwab asks: Why did our great Torah leaders not deem it necessary to register in detail all the events of their period just as the Torah and the prophets had done before them? 

R. Schwab’s answer will likely be shocking to all those who love history:

Only a prophet mandated by his Divine calling has the ability to report history as it really happened, unbiased and without prejudice….An historian has no right to take sides. He must report the stark truth and nothing but the truth…if an historian would report truthfully what he witnessed…He would violate the prohibition against spreading loshon harah which does not only apply to the living, but also to those who sleep in the dust and cannot defend themselves any more. What ethical purpose is served by preserving a realistic historic picture? Nothing but the satisfaction of curiosity. [10]

Using the imagery of Shem and Yefet who covered the nakedness of their father Noah when he became intoxicated, preserving their saintly memory of their father (Bereishit 9:23), R. Schwab argues for a more synthetic and sterilized version of Jewish history:

We should tell ourselves and our children the good memories of the good people, their unshakeable faith, their staunch defense of tradition, their life of truth, their impeccable honesty, their boundless charity and their great reverence for Torah and Torah sages. What is gained by pointing out their inadequacies and their contradictions? We want to be inspired by their example and learn from their experience. Rather than write the history of our forebears, every generation has to put a veil over the human failings of its elders and glorify all the rest which is great and beautiful. That means we have to do without a real history book….We do not need realism, we need inspiration from our forefathers in order to pass it on to posterity. 

Because a historian must record the facts, and the facts remain lashon harah and therefore forbidden, R. Schwab argues that Torah-true “historians” should engage in the genre of “story-telling” rather than truthful history focusing on telling the stories that will inspire, leaving out the truth if unflattering.

Is R. Schwab correct in asserting that the reading or writing of all accurate history is in violation of the formal prohibition(s) of lashon harah and therefore renders the field of Jewish history decidedly quite “un-Jewish”? Any serious student of history must respond to this question.[11]

It appears from the literature that the standard prohibition of lashon harah only applies to the living. The Gemara in Berakhot (19a) cites Rabbi Yitzhak who states, “Anyone who speaks negatively about the deceased is as if he speaks about a stone. Some say this is because the dead do not know, and some say that they know, but they do not care [about such speech].

Simply understood, R. Yitzhak’s statement means that just as there is no formal prohibition of lashon harah for slandering inanimate objects, there is no lashon harah when speaking negatively about the dead.[12]

Although the Raavya[13] and the Mordekhai[14] quote an ancient heirem (ban) against falsely libeling the deceased which is codified in Shulhan Arukh,[15] this would not constitute formal lashon harah.[16]

Interestingly, the father of the aforementioned R. Nosson Kamenetsky, Rabbi Yaakov Kamenetsky, writes that even this ban, which reaches beyond the scope of normative lashon harah, only forbids false libel. Whereas lashon harah is forbidden when speaking about living persons even when true,[17] one is permitted, according to the elder R. Kamenetsky, to tell negative stories about people from the past as long as they are true. R. Gil Student notes that when applied to history, this principle would provide a heter (allowance) for the accurate, albeit occasionally negative, recording of facts.[18]

On the other hand, R. Binyamin Yehoshua Zilber argues, contrary to the simple reading of the Gemara cited above, the dead do, in fact, know about and are affected by what is said about them. Therefore, he rules that one may not say anything bad about the dead, false or true.[19]

The Allowance of “Toelet”

Either approach one takes to lashon harah about the dead, the allowances to permitted lashon harah would seem to apply to the dead just as it applies to the living. Regarding history, two allowances outlined by the Hafetz Haim seem particularly relevant: one permitting the “sharing of public knowledge”[20] and another based on “toelet” — having a legitimate or constructive purpose.[21] If something is already public knowledge, its inclusion in history books is permitted under the category of “sharing public knowledge.” If it is not already known, I would argue that documenting it for posterity, when it serves a constructive purpose for the historical record, should also be allowed.

Returning to Making of a Godol, R. Kamenetsky was aware of the potential for Breuer’s critique of lashon harah. In defense of his choice to include some less than savory passages in his book apparently for the sake of the historical record, R. Kamenetsky appears to utilize the “toelet argument”:

It goes without saying that R. Mordekhai Schwab [brother of R. Shimon Schwab who supported the study of accurate Jewish history] did not approve of revealing faults in any man without constructive purpose; and neither do I.[22]

R. Kamenetsky makes another argument to support disclosing even unsavory information. He claims there is some form of halakhic statute of limitations on people’s embarrassment. Things that transpired over a century ago are no longer subject to the rules of lashon harah:

I did not give much consideration to concealing then-sensitive matters for the reason that when my father talked about these long-past episodes he specifically applied the verse גם שנאתם גם קנאתם כבר אבדה (Both their [the principals’] enmity and their envy are already bygone)[23]…. In fact, my father considered the passage of only 50 years – a יובל (which the Torah labels ” לעולם [forever]”) – to have enough of a cumulative effect to erase one world and bring a new society in its stead.[24]

This rationale goes well beyond the toelet allowance or limiting lashon harah to the living. If one accepts this contention, any information that is at least 50 years old can be written even if the individual would not want this information shared.

Whatever the assumed allowance is, in recent years, it appears that many, even within the haredi community, have taken a more open approach to the study of Jewish history. 

Although Making of a Godol was banned, this did not impede the public’s interest in historical scholarship. Over twenty years after the Making of a Godol ban, interest in the academic study of Jewish history has only grown. Today, there is a new wave of Jewish historians, writers, and podcast hosts who are engaged in rigorous study and writing of Jewish history. In their weekly column in Mishpacha magazine “For the Record,” Yehuda Geberer and Dovi Safier cite directly from historical documents and materials from Jewish history. Geberer hosts a popular podcast entitled “Jewish History Soundbites (here).”Nachi Weinstein of Lakewood, New Jersey, the host of the Seforim Chatter podcast (here), routinely interviews academic historians and professors well outside the typical sources found in the more insulated Yeshiva community.

Although there is still a strong presence of the typical biographical or hagiographical, any careful observer of the Jewish community can discern a largely different approach being taken to the study of Jewish history.

The Ethical Imperative of Accurate Historiography

I have shown that, although debated, there is a halakhic basis for the study of accurate and truthful Jewish history. However, is there a moral imperative to study Jewish history? It may be permitted halakhically, but is there inherent value in the recording of history?

According to Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, we can derive from the Torah itself that there is an ethical value in preserving history. R. Hirsch notes that the Torah “does not hide from us the faults, errors, and weaknesses of our great men” and narrates events simply “because they took place”:

The Torah never hides from us the faults, errors, and weaknesses of our great men. Just by that it gives a stamp of veracity to what it relates . . . The Torah never presents our great men as being perfect, it deifies no man, says of none ‘here you have the ideal, in this man the divine became human’ . . . The Torah is no collection of examples of saints. It relates what occurred, not because it was exemplary, but because it did occur.[25]

In fact, recording the mistakes of our biblical heroes provides more credibility to the Torah.

R.Yehuda Leib Bloch, the Rosh Yeshiva of Telshe, Lithuania makes a similar point:

At the very moment it describes the greatness and holiness of the Patriarchs, [the Torah] does not remain silent about their shortcomings. It does not conceal their flaws, nor does it portray them as divine beings possessing every virtue without defects or shortcomings….Our Torah is a Torah of truth, a Torah of life. It teaches us that a person, by virtue of being human, cannot be divine.[26]

Aside from the lesson of our Patriarchs’ and Matriarchs’ humanity and the credibility gained by the Torah, the fact that the Torah records events simply “because they took place” is significant for R. Hirsch. The very notion that something occurred, in and of itself merits being recorded in the Torah because the Torah values the truth of history. Throughout many of his works, R. Hirsch emphasizes the importance of historical awareness and the necessity of the study of history.[27] One citation will suffice:

To obtain knowledge of Nature and History…is not only something permitted but something which is desirable to the fullest extent, for only a mind armed with such a wide panoramic view on all matters can draw the right conclusions of the Jewish position in the world, in the whole of its speciality.[28]

Censoring the “Inconvenient Truths” of History 

Rabbi Dr. Jacob J. Schacter has argued in a number of important essays that there is an ethical imperative to preserving historical truth about our past and “facing the truths of history.”[29]

In support of his position, which he notes has historically been the minority one, R. Schacter draws from R. Yaakov Emden,[30] R. Hirsch,[31] and the Hazon Ish.[32] Critical of hagiographic works that censor or remove “inconvenient truths” about gedolim, R. Schacter writes:

Is overlooking part of the truth, in fact, any less of a lie than actively distorting it? Do not both result in a less than true—let us call it what it really is, i. e., false—picture of the facts or figure being presented? W. E. B. Du Bois wrote: “One is astonished in the study of history at the recurrence of the idea that evil must be forgotten, distorted, skimmed over.”[33]

R. Schacter also responds to R. Schwab’s rationalization for omitting parts of history:

It is interesting that Rabbi Schwab does not deny that “important people” and “good people” have failings and inadequacies. Rather, he suggests that they are best overlooked and forgotten. However, even this…explains only the neglect and disregard of history; it does not justify the distorting of history. While it may explain why one should not write about the past, it does not justify distorting the past when one does write about it. Inventing the past is as foolish as foretelling the future, but more scandalous.[34]

Suffice it to say, although “facing the truths of history” may be difficult, even prohibitive according to some, according to R. Schacter and those of his school, it is imperative.

The Miracle of Jewish Survival 

There may be yet another reason to study Jewish history from a religious perspective. In an often-cited passage, R. Yaakov Emden writes that Jewish history very well may be the repository of the greatest miracle known to man:

Who is so blind as to not see the divine providence?… We the exiled nation, a dispersed sheep. After all the troubles and shifts for two thousand years. No nation in the world is as pursued as us….[Our enemies] have brought on us great sufferings but were never able to triumph over us…All these ancient, powerful nations have gone by, their strength has withered, their protection has eroded. But we who cling to G-d are all alive today…Can the hand of chance do all this? I swear by my soul that…these ideas are greater [miracles] in my eyes than all the great open miracles G-d has performed for our forefathers in Egypt, the Sinai Desert, and in the land of Israel. The longer the exile lasts, the more the miracle is confirmed…[35]

If, as R. Emden argues, the story of Jewish people’s survival is even more miraculous and contributes more to our faith than the Exodus, it would follow that the study of the Jewish people’s history and its survival would be a critical part of Jewish education and faith-building.

In fact, R. Emden’s theory of the significance of the Jewish story of survival and its place within history, was felt by Catholic historian Paul Johnson. In the prologue to his A History of the Jews, Johnson gives his fourth and final reason why he chose to write this book and to study the Jewish people:

The book gave me the chance to reconsider objectively…the most intractable of all human questions: what are we on earth for? Is history merely a series of events whose sum is meaningless?….No people has ever insisted more firmly than the Jews that history has a purpose and humanity a destiny. At a very early stage in their collective existence they believed they had detected a divine scheme for the human race, of which their own society was to be a pilot. They worked out their role in immense detail. They clung to it with heroic persistence in the face of savage suffering. Many of them believe it still….The Jews, therefore, stand right at the centre of the perennial attempt to give human life the dignity of a purpose.[36]

For Johnson, the Jews stand at the centre of the very question of history and of human existence itself. Believing and arguing, by their very existence, that mankind does matter, and that there is moral significance to the history of the human race. 

In sum, the value of the rigorous and accurate study of Jewish history has been the subject of debate. From the standpoint of halakhah, I have argued that even negative information that can provide a greater understanding of our history is permitted to be recorded if it serves a constructive purpose for the historical record. However, more fundamentally, I believe that the proper study of Jewish history is not only a moral imperative ensuring an accurate picture of the past, it provides us with a deep sense of memory and Jewish identity. 

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks notes that although Jews were the first people to write history, biblical Hebrew has no word for “history.” Instead it uses the root zakhor, meaning “memory.”[37] History and memory are not the same thing. History is about facts, memory is about identity. History is about something that happened to someone else. It is “his story.” Memory is my story, the past that made me who I am, of whose legacy I am the guardian for the sake of generations yet to come. While, as I have argued, the study of history is crucial, without memory, there is no identity, and without identity, we are “mere dust on the surface of infinity.”[38]

[1] R. Nosson Kameneksty, Making of a Godol: A Study of Episodes in the Lives of Great Torah Personalities (Mesorah, 2002).
[2] Mordechai Breuer, “Gidulo Shel Gadol (Making of a Godol)” Hamayan 44:2 Teves 5764, pp. 81-82. For more reviews of Making of a Godol see Zev Lev, “Al Gidulo shel Gadol,” Hamayan 50:1 (Tishrei 5770) , pp. 100-104; “Teguvah le-divrei Prof. Lev z”l al ha-sefer “Gidulo shel Gadol” Hamayan 50:7 (Tishrei 5770), pp. 77-104.
[3] See Immanuel Etkes, “On Shaping the Image of ‘the Gedolim’ in Ultra-Orthodox Lithuanian Hagiographic Literature,” in Benjamin Brown and Nissim Leon, eds., The Gedolim: Leaders Who Shaped the Israeli Haredi Jewry (Magnes, 2017), p. 26 (Hebrew). I was introduced to this and several other sources referenced in this article through R. Dovid Bashevkin. See his “Is Jewish History Lashon Harah,” Reading Jewish History in the Parsha (April 10, 2024) (available here).
[4] Breuer, “Gidulo Shel Gadol,” p. 81.
[5] Breuer, “Gidulo Shel Gadol,” pp. 83-84. For more on Making of a Godol and the ban on it see R. Nosson Kameneksty, “Anatomy of a Ban: the Story of the Ban on the Book Making of a Godol; R. Nosson Kamenetsky, “Making of a Ban: A Look At the Banning of Making of A Godol,” YUTorah.org (March 12, 2005) (available here); Marc B. Shapiro, “Of Books and Bans,” The Edah Journal 3:2 (2003) (available here) and his “On Re-Reading a Banned Book: Nathan Kamenetsky’s Making of a Godol,” Jewish Review of Books (Spring 2022); Dovid Lichtenstein, “Supermen or Super Men: Acknowledging the Faults and Mistakes of Gedolim,” Headlines 3: Halachic Debates of Current Events (Mekor, 2021), pp. 385-413 and his Halacha Headlines podcast on the topic.
[6] R. Shimon Schwab, Selected Writings, (1988), p. 233.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi, Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory (Seattle and London, 1982), 15-16.
[9] Yerushalmi’s thesis has been the subject of much debate in academic circles. See perhaps most notably,  Robert Bonfil, “How Golden was the ‘Golden Age’ of Jewish Historiography?” History and Theory, Vol. 27, No. 4, Beiheft 27: Essays in Jewish Historiography (Dec., 1988), pp. 78-102. Also see Amos Funkenstein’s Perceptions of Jewish History (University of California Press, Berkeley, 1993); David N. Myers and Amos Funkenstein, “Remembering “Zakhor”: A Super-Commentary [with Response], History and Memory, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Fall – Winter, 1992), pp. 129-148; David Berger, “Identity, Ideology and Faith: Some Personal Reflections on the Social, Cultural and Spiritual Value of the Academic Study of Judaism,” in Howard Kreisel (ed.), Study and Knowledge in Jewish Thought (Ben-Gurion University, 2006), pp. 15-16. Thanks to Dr. Marc Herman and Dr. Tamar Ron Marvin for these sources.
[10] R. Schwab, p. 234.
[11] For a discussion of the position of the Rambam on this question see R. Zev Eleff, “The Intersection of Halakhah and History,” Beit Yitzhak, Vol. 42 (5770), p. 425n4.
[12] It should be noted that R. Yosef Shalom Elyashiv is cited as reading this Gemara differently and thereby prohibits lashon harah spoken of the dead the same as the living. See R. Benzion Kook (ed.), Shiurei Maran HaGrish Elyashiv, Berakhot 19a, with nn. 53-54.
[13] Yoma, no. 531.
[14] Yoma, no. 724.
[15] Orah Hayim 606:4.
[16] Mishnah Berurah 606:16.
[17] Emet Liyaakov al Hatorah, Vayeishev, p. 194.
[18] R. Gil Student, “Toward a Halakhic Philosophy of History,” Torah Musings (March 15, 2011).
[19] Shu”t Az Nidberu 14:68. For more see R. Daniel Feldman, False Facts and True Rumors: Lashon Hara in Contemporary Society, (2015), pp. 228-230 and R. Eleff, pp. 422-431.
[20] Hafetz Hayim 1:2:2.
[21] Ibid. 1:10:2.
[22] R. Nathan Kamenetsky, Making of a Godol, Vol. 1 (Improved Edition, 2004), p. xxv.
[23] Kohelet 9:6.
[24] R. Kamenetsky, Making of a Godol, pp. xxiii-xxiv.
[25] R. Samson Raphael Hirsch, The Pentateuch, Genesis 12:10-13.
[26] R. Yosef Yehuda Leib Bloch, Shiurei Daat, Vayikra Bishem Hashem, p. 157.
[27] See R. Hirsch, “On Hebrew Instruction As Part of General Education,” Judaism Eternal, Vol. 1 (Soncino, 1956), p. 199; The Nineteen Letters, Letter Eighteen (Feldheim, 1995), p. 273; Pentateuch, Devarim 4:32, 6:4, and 16:1. I am indebted to Professor Yehuda (Leo) Levi for many of these citations. See his “Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch: Myth and Fact,” Tradition (Spring 1997), 31.3, p. 7 and 18.
[28] Pentateuch, Devarim 4:32.
[29] See his “Haskalah, Secular Studies and the Close of the Yeshiva in Volozhin in 1892,” The Torah u-Madda Journal, vol. 2 (1990), pp. 76-133 (available here) and “Facing the Truths of History,” The Torah u-Madda Journal, vol. 8 (1998-1999), pp. 200-276 (available here).
[30] “Facing the Truths of History,” pp. 203-204.
[31] R. Jacob J. Schacter, “On the Morality of the Patriarchs: Must Biblical Heroes be Perfect?” in Zvi Grumet, ed., Jewish Education in Transition (2007), p. 5.
[32] Koveitz Iggerot Meiet Hahazon Ish, Vol. 2, no. 133.
[33] “Facing the Truths of History,” pp. 230-231.
[34] “Haskalah, Secular Studies,” pp. 111-112.
[35] Siddur Yavetz, Vol. 1, Introduction.
[36] Paul Johnson, A History of the Jews (1988), p. 2.
[37] R. Jonathan Sacks, “A Nation of Storytellers,” (Ki Tavo), Lessons in Leadership (2015), p. 278.
[38] R. Sacks, Morality (2020), p. 15.

A Year in Berlin:
The Beginning of Hebrew Printing in Berlin in c. 1699
by Marvin J. Heller

The publishing of Hebrew books in Berlin is a relatively late phenomenon. The article provides a background to early Hebrew printing and then discusses the first Hebrew press in Berlin. It addresses Jewish history in Berlin, explaining why Hebrew printing began there at the end of the seventeenth century, almost two hundred and fifty years after it began elsewhere. Several unique works, rather than the usual communal prayer books and bibles, are described in some detail in the article.

Hebrew printing has a rich and lengthy history. The first Hebrew books were printed close to the mid-fifteenth century, in 1469 and 1472, approximately a decade and a half after Johann Gutenberg printed the first Bible in c. 1455 in Mainz, Germany. Those first Hebrew books, printed in Rome by Obadiah, Menasheh, and Benjamin of Rome, and several who followed, are undated. Their name appears in the colophon of R. Moses ben Nahman’s (Nahmanides, Ramban, 1194–1270) Torah commentary[1] The first dated Hebrew book was Abraham ben Garton ben Isaac’s edition of Rashi’s Torah commentary (Reggio di Calabria, 1475, completed 10 Adar, 5235 = Friday, February 17, 1475). It was followed soon after by Jacob ben Asher’s Arba’ah Turim, printed in Piove di Sacco, Padua province on 28 Tammuz, 5235 (July 3, 1475).[2]

A conservative listing of Hebrew books that can be said with certainty to have been printed prior to 1500 are, according to A. K. Offenberg, 139 titles, which he writes “may yet be too high.”I[3] In an index Offenberg records close to twenty locations in which Hebrew incunabula were printed, in Italy, Spain, and a 1493 Constantinople edition of the Arba’ah Turim.[4] Among the more notable locations in which Hebrew printing occurred in the incunabular period are Mantua, Bologna, Ferrara in Italy, and Guadalajara in Spain.

In contrast to the small number of incunabular imprints, approximately 2,700 titles were printed in the following century, that is, from 1500-1599. To be more precise, 2,672 Hebrew titles (or books with Hebrew letters) were printed, according to Yeshayahu Vinograd, in the sixteenth century. In the seventeenth century the number of Hebrew books published increased to 3,526 entries.[5] The primary centers of Hebrew printing in those centuries were, respectively, Venice and Amsterdam. Parenthetically, the latter’s imprints were sufficiently popular that publishers in other locations frequently wrote with a small font “printed with” and in a large font “Amsterdam,” and again in a small font “letters.” Below, again in a small font, the actual place of printing.[6]

That Hebrew printing began so much later in Berlin than in other centers of printing might seem unlikely, given the subsequent importance of that city’s Jewish community and press. However, it is not surprising in light of the early history of Berlin Jewry, which was difficult, indeed stormy. Expelled in the middle-ages, during the Black Death, Jews were allowed to return in 1354, but not permitted a synagogue. There is no further mention of Jews until the sixteenth century. Subsequently, Jews were expelled and readmitted several times. Gotthard Deutsch and A. Freimann write that “The real history of the Jewish community of Berlin does not begin until the year 1671.” At that time, Jews expelled from Vienna were admitted to Berlin. On Jan. 3, 1676, a decree was issued which stated “die Juden in Berlin in ihren Freyheiten und Privilegien nicht zu turbiren, noch zu kränken, sondern sie vielmehr dabey gebürend zu schützen” (not to disturb or worry the Jews of Berlin in their grants and privileges, but to protect them properly).”[7]

Hebrew printing in Berlin began soon after, that is, in the last decade of the seventeenth century. According to the Jüdisches Museum Berlin, Hebrew printing in Berlin, “which commenced later than in other German cities,” began when Daniel Ernst Jablonski published a Hebrew Bible in 1699.[8] Yeshayahu Vinograd, in the Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book, records eleven works printed from 1690 through 1699, eight in the latter date. He begins with a 1690 quarto format (4⁰) Bible attributed to a Knebell, who Moritz Steinschneider describes in his entry for the 1699 Bible as “Opera et impensis Jo. Henri Knebel . . .” (the works and expenses of Jo. Henri Knebel),” the printer given as Jablonski.

The 1690 Bible entry is followed by two 1698 octavo editions (8⁰: 90 pp., no pagination given for the second edition) of Psalms both in the Bodleian library and then the 1699 imprints.[9] Steinschneider dates the first Psalms as “3–9 Tischri 458 (18-24, Sept. 1697), the second as [ca. 1697-9]. These are followed by an edition of Bereishit (Genesis).[10] Also printed at this time was a siddur (prayer book) and another edition of Psalms. All of these works, as well as the following titles, were printed at the Jablonski press.

Daniel Ernst Jablonski’s (1660-1741) involvement with Hebrew printing is surprising given his background and career. He was the son of Peter Figulus, a minister of Unity of the Brethren (Unitas fratrum) and grandson of Johann Amos Comenius, the last bishop of the Unity. Jablonski served as a preacher at Magdeburg in 1683, and from 1686 to 1691 as head of the Brethren College at Polish Leszno (Lissa), a position filled by his grandfather. In 1691, Jablonski was appointed court preacher at Königsberg by the elector of Brandenburg. In 1693, he was transferred to Berlin as court preacher, and in 1699 he was consecrated a bishop of the Unity of the Brethren, where he worked to bring about a union between the followers of Luther and Calvin. In 1700, Jablonski became a member of the Academy of Sciences (Brandenburgische Societät der Wissenschaften), serving between 1710 and 1731 as director of Philology and Oriental Studies and, from 1733 and 1741, as president of the Academy.[11] He was also the author of several books on Christian theology and philosophy.

In Berlin, Jablonski established a Hebrew printing press. Vinograd very conservatively crediting him with having printed as many as twenty titles. However, a significant multiple of that number of titles were printed in Berlin at that time with no printer’s name assigned to them in the Thesaurus, or, in some instances, attributed to an editor at the press.[12] Concerning Jablonski’s heading a Jewish press in Berlin, it may not seem as improbable as it appears. Jews could not initially obtain licenses to own a printing-press, so that of necessity, the owner had to be a non-Jew, although the managers and workers were usually Jewish. Jablonski employed a number of Jewish workers at his press. The most important was Judah Loeb ben David Neumark (d. 4 Nissan = April 9, 1723) from Hanau, author of Shoresh Yehudah (Frankfort on the Main, 1692), the manager of and an editor at the Jablonski printing-house.[13]

Another of Jablonski’s achievements relates to the printing of the Talmud. He was instrumental in securing approval for Michael Gottschalk, the Frankfurt an der Oder printer, and Johann Christoph Beckman, professor of theology at the University of Frankfurt an der Oder, to publish the Frankfurt an der Oder Talmud (1697-99). Jablonski’s opinion was requested by Friedreich III, Elector of Brandenburg, after Gottschalk and Beckman sought permission to print the Talmud. Jablonski’s measured response was, overall, positive; he found the Talmud to be, with reservations, a work of value, and recommended that Friedreich approve the request to republish that work. Jablonski subsequently printed the first Frankfurt on the Oder/Berlin Talmud together with Gottschalk (1715-22).

We turn now to the more distinct books published at the Jablonski press, that are non-biblical nor prayer books, although the press issued both. Our first title is Azmot Yosef, novellae on tractate Kiddushin by R. Joseph ben Isaac ibn Ezra (c. 1560–1620), attributed in bibliographies to Neimark, as it is his name that appears on the title-page. Perchance, he managed the press and Jablonski was the proforma owner.

Azmot Yosef – Azmot Yosef was published in folio format (2⁰: 125 ff.) in the year “[Show me a sign of] Your favorאות לטובה ( 459 = 1699) that my enemies may see and be frustrated because you. O Lord, have given me aid and comfort (Psalms 86:17). R. Joseph ben Isaac ibn Ezra (c. 1560–1620) was a scion of the renowned Ibn Ezra family of Spain. Publication of Azmot Yosef is attributed by Vinograd to L. Neimark. Joseph ben Isaac Ibn Ezra was a student of 1R. Samuel de Medina (Maharashdam, 1506-89) and of R. Aaron ben Solomon ben Hasson (16th Cent.). Ibn Ezra subsequently headed the yeshivah of Don David ben Yahya, where he had several eminent students, among them R. Shabbetai Jonah. He later left Salonika for Constantinople, and afterwards served as rabbi in Larissa and Sofia.[14]

The first paragraph of the title-page, a reprint of the first edition, states that it is an explanation of the rules by which the Torah is explicated, and that it is:

a commentary in iyyun and pilpul (deliberation and casuistry) of tractate Kiddushin, from the beginning until the end, on the Talmud, Rashi, Tosafot, Rif, Rambam, Rosh, his son the Ba’al ha-Turim, and others on the laws of kiddushin (betrothal). After the iyyun and pilpul I conclude with the halakhah . . . .

Also, for the benefit of the students [I explain] the rules of [kal ve-homer] (a fortiori inference), dayyo (sufficiency), and other rules: I also delve deeply into the passages of parah ve-rahel in Kol ha-basar and at the end of Kaitzad ha-regel.

The second paragraph, somewhat lengthy, informs that Azmot Yosef was printed previously in Salonica in 1601, further expounds it virtues, and informs that it is being printed for the second time in the praiseworthy city of Berlin and extols Friedreich III.

Azmot Yosef

Courtesy of the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak

In addition to the peshat (clear meaning of the text) on Kiddushin, Azmot Yosef also addresses Talmudic methodology. Ibn Ezra was also the author of Rosh Yosef, novellae on the Tur, Ḥoshen Mishpat, of which the part on taxes and associated communal issues was published as Massa Melekh (Salonica (1601). Some of his responsa were published in the responsa of R. Shabbetai Jonah, R. Solomon ha-Kohen, and R. Samuel Hayyun.

Azmot Yosef is an important work on Kiddushin and has been reprinted several times. Initially printed in Salonika (1601), as noted above, at the press of Abraham and Joseph BathSheba, this is the second edition; four additional printings of Azmot Yosef are recorded in the Bet Eked Sepharim, the most recent a Warsaw edition (1883).[15]

Gefen Yehidit – Our next work, Gefen Yehidit is a multi-part work, primarily on ethics, by R. Ze’ev Wolf ben Judah Leib of Rosienie. It was published in a small sextodecimo format (16⁰: 59 ff.)

Gefen Yehidit

Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

The title page of Gefen Yehidit has a brief text that states that it is:

A book, small in size but of great quality. It speaks of matters of ethics and reverence in a clear language . . . The author should have merit. He is one of the maskilim (a person of understanding) and in this small book he demonstrates his expertise and sharpness. . .

Included is Sefer Luah ha-Hayyim which speaks of remedies in order that a person should be healthy and strong in order to serve his God continuously.

The title page is dated “a sign for good אות לטובה (459 = 1669)” (Psalms 86:17). Next is the introduction (1b-2a) of R. Judah Leib Hanau,[16] who brought the book to press. In his introduction, Ze’ev Wolf begins with a quote from Midrash Ruth in which Rav Ashi says that this Megillah is not primarily wisdom nor Torah, but to learn from it gemillut hasadim (acts of kindness), so too the work that he is writing. He informs that he has had a difficult life, and frequently quotes from the Zohar.

The text, in a single column in rabbinic letters, is comprised of Gefen Yehidit, a work of mussar (ethics); an accounting (39a-40b), beginning with and based on the memorial prayer El Malei Rahamim, of what befell the Jews of Podhajce (Podgaitsy), Ukraine in 1677 during a Tartar incursion and massacre of the Jews; followed by a dirge (40b-41a); Zemer le-Purim (42a-46b), verse for that festival in both Hebrew and Yiddish, translated word for word into the latter language because that is the language of Ashkenazim; and concluding with Luah ha-Hayyim (47a-59b), a popular medical work.

Gefen Yehidit has been reprinted several times, beginning with a Hanau (1717) edition.

Luah ha-Hayyim – Although included in Gefen Yehidit Luah ha-Hayyim is an independent work. In contrast to the other additional parts of the former title, Luah ha-Hayyim has its own title-page. Written by R. Hayyim ben Benjamin Ze’ev Bochner,[17] (for our ealier discussion regarding Bochner on the SEfohere), a prolific writer, whose works include Orḥot Ḥayyim, a commentary on R. Isaac Tyrnau’s Minhagim (1669, Prague), Mayim Ḥayyim, homilies and comments on Bible and Talmud, and Toẓeot Ḥayyim on grammar. This edition of Luah ha-Hayyim is based on earlier edition printed by Johann Christoph Wagenseil (Altdorf, 1687), also part of a larger work.

Luah ha-Hayyim

Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

The title-page states that it is:

Luah ha-Hayyim

“It will be a cure for your body [a tonic for your bones] (Psalms 3:8) etc.” “They are life to him who finds them; healing for his whole body (Psalms 4:22):

Abbreviated rules of conduct for a person in the matter of healing to maintain a healthy body and it is a primary principle in the service of the Lord. In order to benefit the public, we have printed anew R. Hayyim ben Benjamin Ze’ev Bochner of Cracow’s work. It received in the past approbations from leading medical authorities for all these words are true and correct to those who are knowledgeable and meritable.

This is followed by approbations of two doctors from Lublin. An example of the text (51a-52b) is:

a clear white wine , sweet and aromatic, is healthy and caring. If one drinks a measure of wine, it is a balm for the body, for it increases bodily heat and strengthens as a lion. It gladdens the heart and hones the mind. It also helps in the digestion of food. The measure of a reviis as the amount to drink is logical.[18] More than this measure one should cease and desist. However, if one is accustomed to become inebriated from it and drinks more then enough than the head is ill and the heart is pained. One whose nature is warm and thirsts to drink should mix a little water every time. Honey that is clear and of average sweetness and strength is somewhat comparable to the nature of wine in all respects. . . .

A popular work the Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book records twelve editions of Luah ha-Hayyim, but again these are generally not independent publications.[19]

Keter Torah – Keter Kehunah – our final publication, is a Kabbalistic work on Psalms and liturgy by R. Joseph ben Moses (Ashkenazi), darshan of Przemyslany (17th cent.) Printed in quarto format (4⁰: 91, 62-66, [1]; 76 ff.) Keter Torah and Keter Kehunah are, respectively, the second and third parts of Keter Yosef, the first part of which was printed in 1700.[20] Joseph ben Moses, who was a darshan (preacher), served as rabbi and dayyan in Przemyslany.

Each part was printed separately and has its own title page, albeit with the same frame but somewhat varying text. The pillared frame has cherubim at the top and at the bottom of the frame an eagle with a shield, and holding a sword in one talon and a scepter in the other. In its beak is a banner with the date of the respective volume.[21]

The title page of Keter Torah states that it is the second part of Keter Yosef,

A holy workbook, old replete with new, a desirable commentary, where is its like? On Psalms by the author of Zafenat Pa’ne’ah and Haluka de-Rabbanan. He is the great darshan, grandson of the gaon R. Abraham Ashkenazi, descended from Rashi, son-in-law of R. Abraham av bet din in Luntshits, and a branch and descendant of R. Saul Wahl.

It is dated “Now Israel loved Joseph אהב את יוסף וישראל (459 = 1699)” (Genesis 37:3). Keter Torah has an introduction from the author followed by the text, comprised of Psalms in the middle of the page in square vocalized letters with Joseph’s expansive commentary, Keter Yosef, on the sides in rabbinic letters. The text is divided by the days of the week and has the heading Keter Yosef. The title page of Keter Kehunah states that it is part three of Keter Yosef and that

It is the threefold part that “is not quickly broken” (cf. Ecclesiastes 4:12). In it are found at intervals some sharp novellae on Tosafot and gemara. I have entitled it Keter Torah on the order of the avodah (divine service) for the entire year. It is by the great darshan . . .

Keter Kehunah
Courtesy of Hebrewbooks.org

Keter Kehunah is dated “This is the Torah of the burnt offering זאת תורת העולה (459 = 1699)” (Leviticus 6:2). Here, too, the text is comprised of the liturgy of the daily ma’amadot (division of prayers) in the center of the page in square vocalized letters, the commentary Keter Yosef on the sides in rabbinic letters, and the heading Keter Yosef. After the daily ma’amadot are bakashot for the day and bakashot in the manner of Kabbalah. The daily ma’amadot are followed by kabbalistic prayers for special occasions such as selihot for Mondays and Thursdays, fast days, Rosh Hodesh, Shabbat with special Torah readings, Shabbat Teshuvah, Hanukkah, Purim, brit milah, kinnot for Tishah be-Av, and for dreams. There is also a prayer for someone incarcerated from R. Leone (Judah Aryeh) Modena.

This is the sole edition of any of the parts of Keter Yosef. Joseph was also the author of a commentary included in Haggadah Haluka de-Rabbanan (Amsterdam, 1695), a commentary on the Passover Haggadah; Ketonet Passim (Lublin, 1691), discourses on festivals and the Haggadah; and Zafenat Pa’ne’ah he-Hadash (Frankfurt am Oder, 1693-94, above) on diverse subjects.

In conclusion, we have described individual publications that are not part of the customary frequently printed works comprising traditional and necessary parts of Jewish literature, that is, biblical and liturgical books, although, as noted above, such works were also published by the Jablonski press. The subject matter of these other varied books addressed here encompasses Talmudic novellae, ethics, medical recommendations, and a Kabbalistic work.

What is particularly noteworthy is, given the late start of Hebrew publishing in Berlin, that it rapidly became a center of Hebrew printing. The Thesaurus records 457 titles issued by the Berlin press in the following century (1700-1799), a remarkable growth for a new press that had hardly published any books in the previous century and for a community that was initially young and relatively small compared to other Jewish communities. Despite the small number of works published in that early period, at the end of the seventeenth century, the books published not only addressed communal needs, but also included a variety of valuable works expressing the varied intellectual needs and interests of the community. It quickly grew from a small but press that had from its beginning began by serving its community with needed and valuable varied works to a press of significance.

The Star Spangled Banner and The Song at the Sea of Exodus 15

Reuven Kimelman

The most rousing expression of American Civil Religion is the well-known The Star-Spangled Banner[1] sung ritually at patriotic events especially on July 4. What is less known is how much the American anthem was inspired by ancient Israel’s hymn, the Song at the Sea.[2]

Both the Song at the Sea in Exodus 15 and the Anthem were triggered by a wondrous upset. As America surprisingly eluded the British effort to resubjugate them at Chesapeake Bay, so Israel miraculously eluded the Egyptian onslaught to resubjugate them at the Re[e]d Sea.

Each of these events inspired songs that liturgize the baffling reversal by compressing the past into the present, where the singers bear witness to their astonishing deliverance. More than mirroring the event, the songs re-enact it, placing singer and listener at the event.

Seeing the parallel with the ancient Israelites, Francis Scott Key composed an Anthem reverberating with echoes of the Song as he composed other biblically-nourished hymns including “Lord, with Glowing heart I’d Praise Thee” and “Before the Lord We Bow.”[3]

Both Anthem and Song begin with a double reference to visualizing the victory thereby transforming the vocalists into eyewitnesses:

The Anthem begins: “O say can you see”; “O’er the ramparts we watched”; whereas Exodus introduces the Song with “Israel saw Egypt dead on the shore of the sea” (14:30). And “Israel saw the wondrous power which God had wielded against the Egyptians” (14:31).

Both focus twice on the visibility of morning: The Anthem opens with “O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light,” and then notes synonymously in the second stanza: “Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam in full glory reflected now shines in the stream.” Similarly, the Song notes, “At the morning watch, God looked down upon the Egyptian army from a pillar of fire and cloud and threw the Egyptian army into panic” (Exod. 14:24), then noting “at dawn the sea returned to its normal state” (Exod.14:27).

Both emphasize the impact of seeing the dead on the shore:

The Anthem begins its second stanza with “On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes.” The Song says: “And that the enemy was seen dead on the shore of the sea” (Exod. 14:30). The Anthem and the Song refer to the enemy’s arrogance similarly: The Anthem says: “The foe haughty host” (second stanza); whereas the Song quotes the “foe” arrogantly screaming his sevenfold murderous intentions “I, I, I, my, I, my, my” (Exod. 15:19).

Both focus listeners’ imaginations on the waters of the deep and the blowing of the wind in describing the battle: The Anthem notes “the mists of the deep” and “the breeze … fitfully blows” (second stanza); whereas the Song states: “The deeps covered them” (Exod. 15:4); “You made Your wind blow, the sea covered them” (Exod. 15:10).

A line added to the Anthem during the Civil War underscores the ramifications of those saved: “By the millions unchained, who our birthright have gained”; whereas the middle of the Song states: “In Your love You lead the people You redeemed” (Exod. 15:13).

Finally, both paeans place their trust in a saving God. The Anthem concludes with: “Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation,” saying “our motto – “In God is our trust”; whereas the Song is introduced, proclaiming: “On that day, God saved Israel from the hand of Egypt” (Exod. 14:30) initiating the Song with: “They trusted in God” (Exod.14:31).

As the Song begins, so the Anthem ends.

Indeed, the title itself, “The Star-Spangled Banner,” harks back to Israel’s triumph over Amalek in the next scene where it states: “God is my banner” (Exod. 17:15)

Unbeknownst to the millions who have sung the Anthem. The Star-Spangled Banner serves as the American version of the liturgized biblical Song at the Sea, emblazoned in our memory and abiding on our lips.

Key Words in the Narrative of Aaron’s Death

Itamar Warhaftig

Rabbi Dr. Itamar Warhaftig is professor of Jewish law (emeritus) at Bar-Ilan University and affiliated with the Zomet Institute in Alon Shvut.

In the account of Aaron’s death (Numbers 20:22–29), several leitwort-style expressions appear—that is, words or phrases that recur at least twice. Let us trace these occurrences and examine their significance.

The phrase “Aaron shall be gathered to his people” appears in verse 24, and again in verse 26: “And Aaron shall be gathered and shall die there.”

This expression—“to be gathered to his people”—demands explanation, even aside from its repetition.

This phrase appears in the Torah in four other death-related contexts:

Regarding Abraham: “and he was gathered to his people” (Gen. 25:8);

Regarding Isaac: “and he was gathered to his people” (Gen. 35:29);

Regarding Jacob: “and he was gathered to his people” (Gen. 49:33);

Regarding Moses: “and be gathered to your people, as Aaron your brother died” (Deut. 32:50); and in that same verse, the phrase is reiterated in reference to Aaron: “as Aaron your brother died on Mount Hor and was gathered to his people.”

In other words, only the national leaders—the Patriarchs, Moses, and Aaron—were granted this particular form of epitaph.[1]

What does this expression mean? Ibn Ezra, commenting on Genesis 25:8, writes:

“He was gathered to his people”—some say this refers to the honor of the soul: as long as it is preoccupied with the body, it is as if divided or separate. When the body is separated, the honor is gathered to its people.

Others say that this is simply an idiom, meaning he followed the path of his ancestors, as in: “and you shall go to your fathers in peace” (Gen. 15:15).

The first interpretation requires further elucidation. Let us cite the explanation of R. David Zvi Hoffmann (on Genesis ad loc.), who follows Ibn Ezra:

“All of these expressions indicate that among the people of Israel, there always existed a belief in life after death. Death was not perceived as annihilation, but rather as a reunion with one’s ancestors or with members of the nation who had already departed, all of whom become united in the World of Truth. The punishment incurred by one who transgresses certain sins is: “that soul shall be cut off from his people” (Leviticus 17:9)—that is, he will no longer be united with the rest of his people after death. It is worth noting that this punishment is generally directed at the soul, whereas the aforementioned expressions concerning death do not explicitly reference the soul. It may be that this is because the punishment targets the soul in particular, whereas the body is in any case gathered to the ancestral grave. By contrast, the phrase “he was gathered to his people” pertains, from the outset, to both body and soul together.”

One may further infer from this a veiled allusion to the World to Come, in the sense of a realm of souls. Moreover, this realm of souls exists in the collective gathering of the people of Israel. There is, as it were, a kind of spiritual center of souls, into which the great leaders of the nation are especially gathered—namely, the Patriarchs, Moses, and Aaron.[2]

The second recurring expression is “Mount Hor” (Num. 20:22), repeated in verse 23: “at Mount Hor.”

Rashi comments: “A mountain atop a mountain, like a small apple atop a large one.”

It seems to me that there is here an allusion to Aaron’s persona. He is a leader elevated above his people—yet a small leader in two senses. First, he stands in the shadow of the great leader, Moses. Second, he lowered himself to the people during the episode of the Golden Calf—he seemingly joined them, for he did not want the people to descend entirely into ruin, to a point of irreparable damage (see below). As is well known, Aaron was also one who loved peace and pursued peace[3]—and for this reason the parashah concludes with the verse: “And all the house of Israel wept for Aaron for thirty days” (Num. 20:29). Rashi comments: “The men and the women, because Aaron pursued peace and instilled love between disputants and between husband and wife.”

That is, a small mountain directly joined to the larger section beneath it.

Another recurring expression is “kol ha‘edah”—“all the congregation.”

“And the children of Israel, all the congregation, came” (Num. 20:22); again in verse 27: “before the eyes of all the congregation”; and a third time in verse 29: “and all the congregation saw.”

Several questions arise here: What is the meaning of the term ‘edah (“congregation”)? What is the significance of the emphasis on “kol ha‘edah” (“all the congregation”)? And in the first verse, another difficulty emerges: what is the import of the redundancy “the children of Israel, all the congregation”?

Let us begin with the first question. The initial occurrence of this expression is in Exodus 12:3: “Speak to all the congregation of Israel, saying: On the tenth of this month, let each man take a lamb for his father’s house, a lamb for each household.”

R. Samson Raphael Hirsch explains: “‘Adat’, ‘edah’ derives from the root יעד (ya‘ad) – to designate a purpose; it denotes a collective bound together by the unity of its function.”[4]

Thus, the designation ‘edah also carries the connotation of unity. In this context, the Torah emphasizes that the entire congregation was united in accompanying Aaron at his departure, for Aaron was beloved by all—one who loved peace and pursued peace.

Rashi infers the same from the redundancy of “the children of Israel” and “the congregation”, as cited above.

Since one could already derive this from the threefold repetition of the word “all” (kol), I would like to propose a different resolution for the redundancy of “the children of Israel” and “the congregation.”

The distinction between Israel and Jacob is well known. The name Israel connotes those of distinction; the name Jacob, the less significant. Thus writes Malbim in his commentary to Isaiah 43:1:

“There is a difference between Jacob and Israel:
Jacob is used when they are in a lowly state,
Israel is used when they are elevated and conduct themselves above nature, miraculously.”

That is, with regard to their origins—which in allegory relate to the material substance of the nation—they are Jacob. But with respect to their essential form, they are Israel: princes and sovereigns over nature and its affairs.

The Torah wishes to indicate that at this moment, the death of Aaron, the children of Israel in some measure repaired the sin of the Golden Calf. Aaron had attempted to dissuade them from sinning. At first he said, “a festival to the Lord tomorrow” (Exod. 32:5). Rashi comments: “He meant to delay them… perhaps Moses would return before they served it.” When that failed and he requested the golden earrings, Rashi explains: “He said, better the sin be attached to me than to them.”

The Talmud had already noted Aaron’s self-sacrifice. In Sanhedrin 7a we read:

“R. Tanchum bar Chanilai said: This verse was said only in reference to the Golden Calf. As it is written: “And Aaron saw and built an altar before it”—what did he see?”

R. Binyamin bar Yefet said in the name of R. Elazar: He saw that Hur had been slaughtered before him. He said: If I do not obey them now, they will do to me what they did to Hur (whom they murdered), and the verse will be fulfilled in me: “Shall a priest and prophet be slain in the Temple of the Lord?”—and they will never be able to be repaired.

Better that they should serve the calf, and then perhaps they can still repent. (Targum ad loc.)

In his commentary Ha‘ameq Davar to Exodus 32:5, the Netziv explains Aaron’s thought process:

And although he knew that he would not escape judgment—having caused many people to sin in idolatry—nonetheless this righteous man gave over his soul and spirit out of love for Israel.”

Now, they remembered his kindness and came together to honor him. And they elevated themselves to the level of “Israel”. The entire congregation now came to part from Aaron—who had never parted from them, even in their hour of sin.[5]

To summarize: the Torah employs several key words and guiding expressions that are attuned to the spirit of the passage.

If I am correct, it is worth investigating whether this phenomenon recurs in other passages of the Torah.

Notes:

This article is a translation of Itamar Warhaftig, “Key Words in the Narrative of Aaron’s Death,” Daf Shvui (Bar-Ilan University), no. 1625: Parashat Chukat (5 July 2025): 3-4 (Hebrew).

[1] It is true that Ishmael too is described as being “gathered to his people” (Gen. 25:17), which perhaps intimates that he repented.
[2] In contrast to this, not only those liable for karet (spiritual excision) are excluded, as R. David Zvi Hoffmann notes, but even other sinners—for example, a priest who marries a divorcée loses his sanctity, as it is written: “He shall not defile himself as a husband among his people so as to profane himself” (Lev. 21:4); see Rashi there.
[3] Mishnah Avot 1:12: Hillel and Shammai received [the tradition] from them. Hillel says: “Be of the disciples of Aaron—one who loves peace and pursues peace, who loves all creatures and draws them near to the Torah.”
[4] In his commentary to Exodus 16:1, R. Hirsch also remarks on the phrase “all the congregation of the children of Israel”:

“The phrase kol adat benei Yisrael denotes the entirety of the Israelite public in its loftiest sense—the whole people unified in its common purpose. It is the entire nation destined to be the congregation of the Lord. The emphasis on the designation ‘edah at the outset of the narrative prepares the reader’s heart for the coming events, which are of great importance to the collective destiny of the congregation of Israel.”
[5] One should also mention that Aaron halted the plague following the sin of Korah and his assembly, by undertaking a perilous act as he ran with the incense. This deed deserves separate analysis, which is beyond the scope of this discussion.