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Hot Tears For A Close Friend: Rabbi Eitam Henkin HY”D

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Hot Tears For A Close Friend: Rabbi Eitam Henkin HY”D
by
Rabbi Yechiel Goldhaber
translated by Daniel Tabak
I shall never forget when I first met Rabbi Eitam Henkin HY”D three years ago. At the time I had begun preparing a study on the parting of minds in the kollels of the Old Yishuv in Jerusalem 150 years ago. I managed to get my hands on a lot of rare sources, but the morass of material only beclouded the depths of the goings-on in the city at the time. The main purpose of my study was to ascertain the causes of dispute between the various ethnic groups and kollels, but the facts grew ever larger and more ramified, and soon obscurity overtook clarity. As the saying goes, I could not see the forest for the trees.
One key element in the conflict centered upon Rabbi Yechiel Michel Pines. On the one hand, Rabbi Shmuel Salant viewed him as an ally, but on the other, Rabbi Yehoshua Leib Diskin, head of the rabbinical court of Brisk, loathed him. My study successfully identified this dispute as one of the main points of contention that whipped everyone in the city into a frenzy, a flashpoint whose consequences lasted decades.
Needless to say, I had the articles by Eitam Henkin about Rabbi Pines in front of me. I read them multiple times, and felt as if he had lived and breathed the alleyways of the Old City in those times. I struck up a connection with him,and he shared with me his textured perspective of the city with all its troubles. From then one, not two weeks passed when we did not speak by telephone about it.
About a year ago I needed to finish an article on Rabbi Shmuel Salant’s search for a rabbi who would support him as he entered his twilight years. I uncovered some rare documentation that shed new light on this episode, but to my dismay, I could not find anyone with whom to speak in order to clarify this complicated issue. Only Eitam Henkin lent me his ear.
In the meantime, we continued to speak about his great-grandfather Rabbi Yosef Eliyahu Henkin zt”l. I would contribute some of what I knew, and he would include me in his work on collecting and compiling material about his great-grandfather. Our discussions took us from Lithuania all the way to the United States, and everything in between.
We wrote each other a lot, and we had many conversations. He would begin each conversation by saying that he was very busy with his studies and editing articles, yet he still devoted many minutes to me.
I tried to get a hold of Eitam Henkin many times on the phone to obtain some point of clarification, but he was not always available. Quite often his wife Na’ama HY”D picked up the phone and I would“complain” that I was having trouble “catching” him on the phone. When I explained to her the urgency of the matter, because I had to publish the article in two weeks’ time, her answer was characteristic of a Torah scholar’s wife! She would respond very simply: “my husband is soaring in Torah study. I too take care not to disturb him.” When I heard sentences like those, I felt deep embarrassment.
His textual analysis was razor-sharp; he took pains with every word and letter. More than he questioned the written letter he investigated and interrogated the unwritten word or sentence absent from the document — “why was it missing?” he would ask, along with a barrage of similar questions.
His answers and conclusions were honest and artless; one never found him resolving a perplexity with a forced answer. How rare is that! His level of understanding in any given topic was very advanced, as someone who had completed many tractates of the Talmud along with their commentaries.
His modesty far exceeded what one could guess. He never boasted. His honesty was ever-present, in every field and topic, be it in Torah study, academic research, or this-worldly life.
Our final conversation took place between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I called him to wish him a Shana Tova. I mentioned the well-known bafflement about the statement of the Rabbis that there were never such good days for the Jewish people as Yom Kippur, when Jewish girls would involve themselves in happy matters…but is it not the most frightening day of the entire year? He responded on the spot:
“If every positive thing leads to happiness, then isn’t it logical that something negative that becomes positive should generate even greater joy? Within the darkness light can be seen. That is the deeper truth of repentance done out of love, from which willful sins are treated as merits; the negative causes an outburst of happiness. The Jewish girls chose this day specifically to concern themselves with matters of love, for there is no love quite like God’s love for his wayward servants who have reconciled themselves with him.”
Such words befit the one who uttered them…
Few are comparable to this wise young man, whose comings and goings were marked by humility, who was as familiar with the paths of the Heavenly Jerusalem as he was with the roads of Mateh Binyamin.
May Eitam and Na’ama’s memory be blessed.


David Assaf – A Farewell to Eitam Henkin

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A Farewell to Eitam Henkin
by David Assaf
Professor David Assaf is the Sir Isaac Wolfson Chair of Jewish Studies, the Chair of the Department of Jewish History, and the Director of the Institute for the History of Polish Jewry and Israel-Poland Relations, at Tel-Aviv University.
A Hebrew version of this essay appeared at the Oneg Shabbat blog (6 October 2015) (http://onegshabbat.blogspot.co.il/2015/10/blog-post.html), and was translated by Daniel Tabak of New York, with permission of Professor David Assaf.
This is his first contribution to the Seforim blog.
Eitam Henkin (1984-2015), who was cruelly murdered with his wife Na’ama on the third day of Hol Ha-Mo‘ed Sukkot (1 October 2015), was my student.
            Anyone who has read news about him in print media or on websites, which refer to him with the title “Rabbi,” may have gotten the impression that Eitam Henkin was just another rabbi, filling some rabbinic post or teaching Talmud in a kollel. While it is true that Eitam received ordination from the Chief Rabbinate, he did not at all view himself as a “rabbi,” and serving in a rabbinic post or supporting himself from one did not cross his mind. His studies for ordination (2007-2011) constituted a natural, intellectual outgrowth of his yeshiva studies; they formed part and parcel of a curiosity and erudition from which he was never satisfied. Eitam regarded himself first and foremost as an incipient academic scholar, who was training himself, through a deliberate but sure process of scholarly maturation, to become a social historian of the Jews of Eastern Europe. This was his greatest passion: it burned within him and moved him, and he devoted his career to it. Were it not for the evil hand that squeezed the gun’s trigger and took his young life, the world of Jewish studies undoubtedly would have had an outstanding, venerable scholar.
I spent that bitter and frenzied night outside the country.The terrible news reached me in the dead of night, hitting me hard like a sledgehammer. In my hotel room in Chernovich, Ukraine, so far from home, my thoughts wandered ceaselessly to those moments of sheer terror that Eitam and Na‘ama had to face, to the horror that unfolded before the eyes of the four children who saw their parents executed, and to the incomprehensible loss of someone with whom I had spoken just the other day and had developed plans, someone on whom I had pinned such high hopes. There was a man—look, he is no more . . .
The next day, I stood with my colleagues in Chernovich, near the house of Eliezer Steinbarg (1880-1932), a Yiddish author and poet mostly famous for his parables. In a shaky voice I read for them the fine parable about the bayonet and the needle—in the Hebrew translation of Hananiah Reichman—dedicating it to the memory of Eitam and his wife, who in those very moments were being laid to rest in Jerusalem.
The Bayonet and the Needle
A man (a Tom, a Dick, or some such epithet)
comes from the wars with a rifle and a bayonet,
and in a drawer he puts them prone,
where a thin little needle has lain alone.
“Now there’s a needle hugely made,”
the little needle ponders as it sees the blade.
“Out of iron or of tin, no doubt, it sews metal britches,
and quickly too, with Goliath stitches,
for a Gog Magog perhaps, or any big-time giant.”
But the bayonet is thoughtfully defiant.
“Hey, look! A bayonet! A little midget!
How come the town’s not all a-fidget
crowding round this tiny pup?
What a funny sight! I’ve to tease this bird!
Come, don’t be modest, pal! Is the rumor true? I heard
you’re a hot one. When you get mad the jig is up.
With one pierce, folks say, you do in seven flies!”
The needle cries, “Untruths and lies!
By the Torah’s coverlet I swear
that I pierce linen, linen only…It’s a sort of ware…”
“Ho ho,” the rifle fires off around of laughter.
“Ho ho ho! Stabs linen! It’s linen he’s after!”
“You expect me, then, to stitch through
tin?” the needle asks. “Ah, I feel if I like you
were bigger…”
“Oh, my barrel’s bursting,” roars the rifle. “My trigger—
it’s tripping! Oh me! Can’t take this sort of gaff.”
“Pardon me,” the needle says.“I meant no harm therein.
What then do you do? You don’t stitch linen, don’t stitch tin?”
“People! We stab people!” says the bayonet.
But now the needle starts to laugh,
and it may still be laughing yet.
With ha and hee and ho ho ho.
“When I pierce linen, one stitch, and then another, lo—’
I make a shirt, a sleeve, a dress, a hem.
But people you can pierce forever, what will you create from them?”
Eitam was a wunderkind. I first met him in 2007. At the time he was an avrekh meshi (by his own definition), a fine young yeshiva fellow,all of twenty-three years old. He was a student at Yeshivat Nir in Kiryat Arba, with a long list of publications in Torah journals already trailing him. He contacted me via e-mail, and after a few exchanges I invited him to meet. He came. We spoke at length, and I have cared about him ever since. From his articles and our many conversations I discerned right away that he had that certain je ne sais quoi. He had those qualities, the personality, and the capability—elusive, unquantifiable, and indefinable—of someone meant to be a historian, and a good historian at that.
          I did not have to press especially hard to convince him that his place—his destiny—did not lie between the walls of the yeshiva, and that he should not squander his talents on the niceties of halakha. He needed to enroll in university and train himself professionally for what truly interested him, for what he truly loved: critical historical scholarship.
          Eitam went on to register for studies at the Open University, and within three years(2009-2012), together with the completion of his studies at the yeshiva, he earned his bachelor’s degree with honors.Immediately afterwards he signed up for a master’s degree in Jewish history at Tel-Aviv University, and under my supervision completed an exemplary thesis in 2013 titled “From Hibbat Zion to Anti-Zionism: Changes in East-European Orthodoxy – Rabbi David Friedman of Karlin (1828-1915) as a Case Study.”
          Eitam, hailing from a world of traditional yeshiva study that is poles apart from the academic world, slid into his university studies effortlessly. He rapidly internalized academic discourse, with its patterns of thinking and writing, and began to taste the distinct savors of that world. To take one example, in July 2014 he participated in an academic conference—his very first—for early doctoral students,both Israeli and Polish, that took place in Wrocław, Poland. There he delivered (another first) a lecture in English, and got deep satisfaction from meeting other similarly-aged scholars working on topics that overlapped with his own. I asked him quite often whether as an observant Jew he found it difficult to study at the especially open and “secular” Tel-Aviv campus. He answered in the negative, saying that he never felt any difficulty whatsoever.
          I was deeply fond of him and respected him. I loved his easygoing and optimistic personality, his simple humility, the smile permanently spread across his face. I loved his positive approach to everything, and especially loved his sarcastic humor, his ability to laugh at himself, at his world, at the settlers (so far as I could sense he was very moderate and distant from political or messianic fervor), at the Orthodox world in which he lived, and at the ultra-Orthodox world that was his object of study. He was a man after my own heart, and I have the sense that the feeling was mutual. When I told him one time that I was prepared to be his adviser because I was a stickler for always having at least one doctoral student who was a religious settler, so as to avoid being criticized for being closed-minded and intolerant, he responded with a grin…
          More than my affection for him, I respected him for his vast knowledge, ability to learn, persistence, thoroughness, diligence, efficiency, original and critical manner of thinking, excellent writing style, ability to learn from one and all, and generosity in sharing his knowledge with everyone. In my heart of hearts I felt satisfaction and pride at having nabbed such a student.
          Immediately after finishing his master’s degree, Eitam registered for doctoral studies. 2014 was dedicated to fleshing out a topic and writing a proposal. Eitam was particularly interested in the status of the rabbinate in Jewish Lithuania at the end of the nineteenth century, and he collected a tremendously broad trove of material, sorted on note cards and his computer, on innumerable rabbis who served in many small towns. He endeavored to describe the social status of this unique class in order to get at the social types that comprised it in the towns and cities. In the end, however, for various reasons that I will not spell out here, we decided in unison to abandon the topic and search for another. I suggested that he write a critical biography of the Hafetz Hayyim , Rabbi Israel Meir Hakohen of Radin (1839-1933), the most venerated personality in the Haredi world of the twentieth century and, practically speaking, until today. (Just two weeks ago I wrote a blog post describing my own recent visit to Radin, wherein I quoted things from Eitam. Who could have imagined then what would happen a short time later?) Eitam was reticent at first. “What new things can possibly be said about the Hafetz Hayyim?” he asked skeptically, but as more time passed and he deepened his research he became convinced that it was in fact a suitable topic. As was his wont, he immersed himself in the topic and after a short time wrote a magnificent proposal. At the end of March 2015 his proposal was accepted to write a doctorate under my guidance, whose topic would be “Rabbi Israel Meir Hakohen (Hafetz Hayyim): A Biography.”
          A short time later I proposed Eitam as a nominee of Tel-Aviv University for a Nathan Rotenstreich scholarship, which is the most prestigious scholarship granted today to doctoral students in Israeli universities, and, needless to say, it is competitive. Of course, as I predicted, Eitam won it. He responded to the news with characteristic restraint, but his joy could not be contained. It was obvious when I gave him the news that he was the happiest man alive.In order to receive the Rotenstreich Scholarship, students must free themselves from all other pursuits and devote themselves solely to scholarship and completion of the doctorate within three years. Eitam promised to do so, and he undoubtedly would have made good on that promise. He would have received the first payment in November 2015. Now, tragically, we have all lost out on this tremendous opportunity.
          One could goon and on singing Eitam’s praises, and presumably others will yet do so. I feel satisfied by including a letter of recommendation that I wrote about him to my colleagues on the Rotenstreich Scholarship Committee. Recommenders typically tend to exaggerate in praising their nominees, but let heaven and earth be my witness that in this case I meant every single word that I wrote.
            May his memory be blessed.
[1] Eliezer Shtaynbarg, The Jewish Book of Fables: Selected Works, edited, translated from the Yiddish, and with an introduction by Curt Leviant, illustrated by Dana Craft (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2003), 20-23.
*          *          *          *
                                                                                                12 Nissan 5775 – 1 April 2015
RE: Recommendation for Mr. Eitam Henkin for the Rotenstreich Scholarship (22nd Cycle)
            I hereby warmly recommend, as it is customarily said, that my student Mr. Eitam Henkin be chosen as a nominee of the faculty and university for a Rotenstreich Scholarship for years 5776-5778..
            Henkin, who completed his Master’s studies at Tel-Aviv University with honors, and whose proposal was just now approved as a PhD candidate, is not the usual student of our institution, and would that there were many more of his caliber. One could say that I brought him to us with my own two hands, and I have invested significant time and much energy convincing him to register for academic studies so that at the end of the day he could write his doctorate under my guidance.
          Henkin is what people call a “yeshiva student,” and he has spent his adult life in national-religious Torah institutions, wherein he acquired his comprehensive Torah knowledge, assimilated analytic methodology, and even received rabbinic ordination. As a scion of a sprawling, pedigreed family of rabbis and scholars, he has also revealed within himself an indomitable inclination to diverge from the typical path of Torah and invest a serious amount of his energy in historical scholarship. Naturally, Henkin gravitates toward studies of the religious lives and worlds of rabbis, yeshiva deans, and spiritual trends among Eastern European Jews in the modern period. His enormous curiosity, creative thinking, and natural propensity for study and research with which he has been endowed, as well his impressive self-discipline and independence, assisted him in mastering broad fields of knowledge through his own abilities and without the help of experts. The scope of his knowledge of Jewish history more generally, and of the Jews of Eastern Europe more specifically, including familiarity with the scholarly literature in every language, is cause for astonishment.
          What is more, Henkin has already managed to publish twenty scholarly articles (!) and even a book (To Take Root: Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook and the Jewish National Fund [Jerusalem, 2012], co-authored with Rabbi Avraham Wasserman, but in practice the research and writing were wholly Eitam’s). Most of them deal with varied perspectives on the spiritual and religious lives of the Jews of Eastern Europe in the nineteenth century. It may be true that these articles were published in Torah-academic journals, which we often refer to—not always with justification—as “not peer-reviewed,” but I can attest that the articles in question are scholarly in every sense; they could undoubtedly be published in recognized academic journals. I do not know many doctoral students whose baseline is as high and impressive as that of Eitam Henkin.
          Given that I see in Henkin a promising and very talented scholar, I have placed high hopes in the results of the research he has taken upon himself for his doctorate under my guidance: the writing of a critical biography on one of the most authoritative personalities—one could say without hesitation the most “iconic”—of the Haredi world of the last century, Israel Meir Hakohen of Radin, better known by his appellation (based on his famous book) “the Hafetz Hayyim.” We are speaking of a personality who lived relatively close to us in time (so there exists a relative abundance of sources), yet remains concealed under a thick cover of Orthodox hagiography. One cannot exaggerate the enormous influence of the Hafetz Hayyim on the halakhic formation, atmosphere, and lifestyle of the contemporary Haredi world, with all its factions and movements, and especially what is referred to as the “Litvish” world. Nevertheless, to this day no significant study exists that places this complex personality—with the stages of his life, his multifarious writings, communal activities, and the process of his “sanctification” after his death—against the background of his time and place from an academic, critical perspective that brings to bear various scholarly methodologies.
          Henkin’s doctoral proposal was approved literally a few days ago,and I am convinced that he will embark upon the process of research and writing with intense momentum, keeping pace with the timetable expected of him for completion of the doctorate.
          At this stage of his life, as he intends to dedicate all of his energy and time to academic studies, Henkin must struggle with providing for his household (he has four small children). He supports himself from part-time jobs of editing, writing, and teaching, but his heart is in scholarship and the great challenge that stands before him in writing his doctorate.
          Granting Eitam Henkin the Rotenstreich Scholarship would benefit him and the Scholarship. Not only would it enable him to free himself from the yoke of those minor, annoying jobs and dedicate all his time to scholarship, but it would also demonstrate the university’s recognition of his status as an outstanding student. I try to exercise restraint and minimize usage of a description like “outstanding,”and I certainly do not bestow it upon all of my students; Henkin, however, deserves it. The scholarship would assist him, without a doubt, in realizing his scholarly capabilities through writing a most important doctorate, which would add a sorely needed and lacking layer to our knowledge of the world of Torah, the rabbinate, and Jewish life in Eastern Europe of the preceding generations. As for my part, as Eitam’s adviser I obligate myself to furnish the matching amount of the scholarship from the research budgets at my disposal.
           
            Warm regards,
                       
            Professor David Assaf
            Department of Jewish History
            Head of the Institute for the History of Polish Jewry and Israel-Poland Relations
            Sir Isaac Wolfson Chair of Jewish Studies
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In my archive I found a document that Eitam wrote (in Hebrew) for me in preparation for his submission for the Rotenstreich scholarship. He described himself with humility and good humor:
Scholarly “Autobiography”
by Eitam Henkin

            My name is Eitam Henkin. I was born in 5744 (1984) and raised in Religious Zionist Institutions. I studied in a hesder yeshiva and served in the Golani Brigade as an infantryman and squad leader.I married during my army service. After being discharged, I began to study in a kollel in order to receive ordination from the Chief Rabbinate of Israel (which I completed in 5771, 2011). At the same time, I began independent writing and research in the field of history out of a personal interest for this field that I have had as far back as I can remember (some describe this as “being bitten by the bug of history,” but with me perhaps we may be talking about a congenital predisposition).

            As things go, the fields of interest that I began to research fell within the boundaries closest to the world in which I was ensconced: the rabbinate and rabbis. I published my first articles in 5767-5768 (2007-2008) in an annual journal published (under my editorship) at the hesder yeshiva in which I studied. After about a year, I began publishing articles in outside publications linked to Religious Zionism, such as Akdamot and Ha-Ma’ayan.

            At the same time, I began to make my way into the world of academia. In the wake of an article I wrote about Rabbi Baruch Epstein’s memoirs Mekor Barukh and his attitude to Hasidism, I reached out (in 5767, 2007) to Prof. David Assaf for advice on aspects of the article, and on Prof. Assaf’s initiative the conversation turned into a meeting in which I was introduced to the possibility of entering the world of the professional historian, after which I took my first steps on my academic path.

            I pursued my bachelor’s degree in history at the Open University—a path that proved quite practical given my other activities, and after completing it (with honors) I registered for a master’s degree in the department of Jewish history at Tel-Aviv University, where I finished (in 5773, 2013) my thesis titled “‘From Hibbat Zion to Anti-Zionism: Changes in East-European Orthodoxy – Rabbi David Friedman of Karlin (1828-1915) as a Case Study,” which I wrote under the supervision of Prof. Assaf and which received a grade of 95. I subsequently signed up for doctoral studies, and very recently my doctoral proposal was accepted, with the topic “Rabbi Israel Meir Hakohen of Radin (Hafetz Hayyim): A Biography,” also under the supervision of Prof. Assaf.

            In tandem with my progress in academic studies (which have moved from being a side interest to being front and center in my life, even if not the only thing), I continued my historical research and writing independently, publishing articles in various journals, although they were not peer-reviewed. To this day, I have published in this manner over twenty articles on Jewish history, in which my research interest has focused on two fixed pieces: Jewish society in Imperial Russia at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century, which has been primary and central, and within that more specifically the Orthodox segment of the population and rabbinic circles; and the second piece is the life and times of Rabbi Abraham Isaac Hakohen Kook.

            My aforementioned thesis and the doctoral work I have begun relate to the first piece. Also connected is the critical biography that I wrote on my own (before and during my first years of academic study) on Rabbi Yehiel Mikhl Halevi Epstein, author of the Arukh Ha-Shulhan, a biography that was accepted for publication by the academic press of Touro College in the United States and which is to appear in print over the coming year.

            Related to the second piece, aside from many articles, is my latest book, which I co-authored with Rabbi Avraham Wasserman by his invitation, titled To Take Root: Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook and the Jewish National Fund. It was published in 5772 (2012) with the support and funding of the Jewish National Fund.

            Parallel to my academic studies and scholarly publications, these days I also serve out of personal interest as the section editor for historical articles in the journal Asif, put out by the Union of Hesder Yeshivot (continuing my build-up of editorial experience via additional projects in preceding years). Similarly, from 5770 (2010) on I have given lectures on the history of halakha at Midreshet Nishmat in Jerusalem. This year I am a doctoral fellow at the Kohelet Policy Forum. It should be self-evident, however, that I expect to concentrate my main interest and scholarly efforts in the coming years on my doctoral work on the Hafetz Hayyim.



Rambam’s Response to the Inclusion of Chicken, Duck and Quail in Qaraite Cuisine

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Rambam’s Response to the Inclusion
of Chicken, Duck and Quail in Qaraite Cuisine
By Tzvi H. Adams

In “Waiting
Six Hours for Dairy- A Rabbanite Response to Qaraism” (here)
I posited that Rabbeinu Chananel initiated the practice of waiting six hours
between meat and dairy in order to protect Rabbanite values. This association
was inspired by Dr. Bernard Revel’s studies of 
Rabbanite leaders’ efforts to counter sectarian influences during the
early Middle Ages[1], as well as a shiur by
Rabbi David Bar-Hayim. I then
suggested that Rambam furthered this anti-Qaraite motion by including poultry
into the required six hour waiting category. Rambam’s poultry innovation was intended
to protect Rabbanites from influence of their Qaraite neighbors who cooked meat
and poultry with dairy. Briefly, this latter suggestion was based upon two observations:

a) The simple reading of the Talmud Chullin
104b -עוף וגבינה נאכלין באפיקורן – בלא נטילת ידים ובלא קינוח הפה- as interpreted
by the Gaonim and rishonim for five centuries until Rambam, allowed poultry and
dairy to be consumed consecutively without even kinuach ve’hadacha in
between. Unless we imagine that Rambam possessed a secret hitherto unheard-of
tradition which understood the Talmud’s words in some other fashion, we can
assume that Rambam actually changed the Talmudic halacha in his Yad. Being
the strong proponent of Rabbanite halacha and tradition that he was, Rambam
surely had a compelling reason to make this drastic alteration.

b) There are many instances of
anti-Qaraite creativity in Rambam’s writings and rulings. Examples include:

§ 
Rambam was the first rishon to
disqualify a get (divorce document) written in a Qaraite court by a
Qaraite scribe[2].
§ 
Though the Gaonim and R. Chananel
explicitly say that not eating on the three minor fast days is the individual’s
choice (as per the Talmud’s ruling RH 18b- אין שמד ואין
שלום – רצו – מתענין, רצו – אין מתענין), Rambam chose to
overlook this detail about fast days in his halachic writings. The purpose of
this intentional omission was almost certainly to separate Rabbanites from the
Qaraite community who did not observe the Rabbanite fasting calendar[3].
§ 
Most rishonim recognized the
rabbinic origins of the Yom Kippur afflictions other than not eating or
drinking. Rambam, however, led readers to believe that all five afflictions are
biblically proscribed. It seems that Rambam presented the Yom Kippur restrictions
in this way only to protect the halacha from the Qaraite perspective[4]. 

Other examples were cited in my previous article. It is therefore reasonable to
say that the required waiting period between poultry and dairy, found first in Yad
HaChazaka, is one more instance of Rambam’s anti-Qaraitic halachic
reformation.

An
analysis of the historical development of Qaraite rules of kosher birds strongly
supports my suggestion[5].
Qaraite halacha did not rely on the Rabbanite Oral Law. Therefore, the kosher
signs of the Mishna Hullin 59a –
 וסימני העוף לא נאמרו אבל אמרו
חכמים כל עוף הדורס טמא כל שיש לו אצבע יתירה וזפק וקורקבנו נקלף טהור ר’ אלעזר
בר’ צדוק אומר כל עוף החולק את רגליו טמא
and the statement of the Talmud Hullin
63b, עוף
טהור נאכל במסורת, were of little
significance to Qaraites. That chicken, duck, quail and other fowl were eaten in
Rabbanite tradition[vi] was
unreliable evidence for these strict Scriptualists. Because the identity of most birds mentioned in the Torah
was ambiguous, Qaraites had no reliable means of recognizing birds as kosher other
than the pigeon and turtledove; they were confident that the correct
translation of תור and יונה had been preserved. The devout Qaraite, therefore, could not
partake of chicken, quail, or duck. Over time, some Qaraites communities became
lenient and found legal rationale to permit these commonly eaten birds. Slowly
over the 12th Description: https://ssl.gstatic.com/ui/v1/icons/mail/images/cleardot.gifand 13th
centuries a lenient policy was adopted by the broad Qaraite community. Because
from the inception of Qaraism its scholars read the passuk, “לא
תבשל גדי בחלב אמו” literally[7],
they had no hesitations against eating and cooking the newly accepted fowl and
dairy together. 

            The
Rabbanite and Qaraite communities were very much interconnected politically and
socially[8];
the divide between the parties was often blurred[9].
Rabbanite leaders sought to protect the integrity of their tradition from sectarian
influence. I demonstrated previously how R. Chananel (990 -1053) and his
disciple, R. Yitchak Al-fasi[10]
(1013
– 1103), created a six hour waiting requirement
between meat and dairy in the early eleventh century – thereby limiting the
social participation of Rabbanites with Qaraites. During the years of the legislating
activity of these sages it was not common practice amongst Qaraites to eat
chicken, duck, and quail, birds on the daily North African Rabbanite menu[11]. R.
Chananel and R. Al-fasi, therefore, did not see a need for demanding a wait
after poultry as there was little concern that Rabbanites and Qaraites would be
dining together over such fowl. Furthermore, it was difficult to reread the
obvious permitting statement of the Talmud, עוף וגבינה
נאכלין באפיקורן. During the century between these sages
and the rise of Rambam (1135-1204) to prominence, Qaraites widely allowed
themselves to eat the same fowl consumed by the Rabbanite community. Now a
Qaraite-Rabbanite poultry dinner was possible and influence from the cooking
practices of “the eaters of milk with meat” (the nickname for Qaraites) was
real. Rambam, seeking to protect Rabbanite tradition from Qaraite values by
building social barriers, creatively placed fowl alongside meat in the
requirement to wait six hours before dairy:
מִי
שֶׁאָכַל בָּשָׂר בַּתְּחִלָּה, בֵּין בְּשַׂר בְּהֵמָה בֵּין בְּשַׂר עוֹף–לֹא
יֹאכַל אַחֲרָיו חָלָב עַד שֶׁיִּשְׁהֶה בֵּינֵיהֶן כְּדֵי שֵׁעוּר סְעוֹדָה
אַחֶרֶת, וְהוּא כְּמוֹ שֵׁשׁ שָׁעוֹת:  מִפְּנֵי
הַבָּשָׂר שֶׁלְּבֵין הַשִּׁנַּיִם, שְׁאֵינוּ סָר בְּקִנּוּחַ
(רמב”ם משנה תורה מאכלות אסורות פרק ט’
הלכה כז)
This addition did not
go unnoticed. In the two generations following Rambam, the greatest rishonim
criticized the Rambam’s reform as it reversed the ruling of the Bavli. Ramban
(1194-1270) was the first to challenge Rambam’s alteration:

…
אבל הרמב”ן ז”ל כתב דאגרא אפילו עוף ואחר כך גבינה שרא דלישנא הכי משמע
דקאמר עוף וגבינה…(ר”ן על הרי”ף חולין דף לז’)
R. Aaron Halevi
(1230-1300) also challenged Rambam’s ruling:
…ואפילו
הכי שרינן בעוף בלא נטילת ידים משום דקיל דלא מיתסר אלא מדרבנן, ודאי לא שני לן
בין עוף ואחר כך גבינה בין גבינה ואחר כך עוף… הוא הדין לקנוח הפה דלא בעינן
אפי’ בין עוף לגבינה…. ולהוציא קצת מדברי רבי’ ז”ל (=הרמב”ם) שפרשו
דההיא דאגרא דאמר עוף וגבנה נאכלין באפיקורן דוקא גבינה תחילה ואחר כך עוף…
(חידושי רא”ה לחולין דף קד’)
However, within a
century of the publication of Mishna Torah, creative ways of
reinterpreting the words of אגרא were created to fit
this new reform into the Talmud[12].
Tur (1275-1340) YD 89 cites Rambam’s ruling on poultry as if none other exists.
Professor Daniel Frank has thoroughly examined the historical
development of the laws of kosher birds in Qaraite halacha in his monograph,
“May Karaites Eat Chicken? Indeterminacy in Sectarian Halakhic Exegesis”[13].
My chiddush is that the inclusion of chicken, duck, and quail in Qaraite
cuisine in the 12th century provoked Rambam’s tightening of the
poultry and dairy separation laws. Unless noted otherwise, the following
sources and translations are summarized from Frank’s article:

Views of Early Qaraite Scholars
Anan ben David
In his Book of Commandments[14], the early learned schismatic, Anan
ben David (c. 715 – c. 795) writes the following:
Now we do not find any birds were
used for burnt offerings save turtledoves and pigeons, as it is written… (in
lev. 1:14). The juxtaposition of the words ‘of every clean bird’ and ‘he
offered burnt offerings’ thus proves that the only clean birds are turtledoves
and pigeons.
Benjamin Nahawandi
One
of the greatest of the Qaraite scholars of the early ninth century, Benjamin Nahawandi, states:
The only clean birds that can be
eaten are the pigeon and its kind. There are many clean and unclean varieties…
but they cannot be identified by means of physical criteria, since Scripture
does not make these explicit. … The pigeon is (the bird) that makes the cooing
noise in is throat, as it is stated: We coo like doves (Is. 59:11)….
Therefore the only clean bird that is mentioned is the pigeon and its kind[15].
The identification of other clean birds remains uncertain
because the Torah provides no physical description of the birds. Pigeons (and
their turtledove subspecies) are an exception because the Scriptural verse, We
coo like doves (Is. 59:11), gives a physical sign to identify the
bird.  
Daniel al-Qumisi
Daniel al-Qumisi (d. in Jerusalem 946), founder of the Qaraite
“Mourners of Zion” movement, likewise insisted that because Biblical Hebrew is no longer
the vernacular, the meaning of most of the birds of the Torah has been
forgotten; “for God-fearing people, the only permitted birds are turtledoves,
pigeons and wild pigeons- at least until the coming of the Righteousness”[16].
He attacks the Rabbanites for having invented physical criteria for identifying
kosher birds- as Scripture does not supply these.
Jacob Al-Qirqisani
The
early tenth century Qaraite dogmatist and exegete, Jacob Al-Qirqisani writes similarly
in his Kitabal-Anwar (written in 937):
Should someone say, “The people
already knew these signs via oral tradition from the prophet…” He may be
answered: “As for your statement that the people used to know these signs via
oral tradition from the prophet- this is (but) a claim. You have no proof of
this….”[17]
Japeth ben Ali
The maskil
ha-Golah and
foremost Qariate Bible commentator, Japeth ben Ali (10th century, born in Iraq
and died in Jerusalem), emphasized that pigeons and turtledoves are the only
unquestionably permitted birds; all other species should be avoided.
Of all the birds, those which are
demonstrably permitted are turtledove and pigeon…. As for chicken, mountain
quail, partridge, duck, goose, crane, sparrow, and others- we must suspend
judgement concerning them all- “until he comes and teaches righteousness”
(Hos.10:12)[18]
Rabbanite Rishonim


The rishonim were very familiar with Qaraite claims.

R. Saadya Gaon
In response to Qaraite scholars, R. Saadya Gaon (882-942) addresses the topic
of the identification of the birds of the Torah in his writings[19],
delivering anti-sectarian polemics.

Targum Psuedo-Yonathan[20]

Dr. Bernard Revel proved in his “תרגום יונתן על
התורה” (here) that the Targum Yonathan (ben
Uziel) was really an early ninth century targum commissioned by the Torah sages
of Eretz Yisroel. He demonstrated that this targum is filled with views of the
Talmud Yerushalmi as well as interpretations aimed at countering sectarian
movements. (here)

וית אלין מינייא תשקצון מן עופא דלית
להון ציבעא יתירא ודלית ליה זפקתא ודקורקבניה ליתוהי מקליף לא יתאכלון (תרגום
יונתן ויקרא יא:יג)
The Targum’s author included the physical criteria for
kosher birds to imply that these signs are contained within the Torah itself
and valid- unlike the views of early Qaraites who disregarded these signs only
known by rabbinic tradition.
Mah-Yedidut [21]

The popular Friday night zemer, Mah-Yedidut, by Menachem (possibly ben
Saruq[22],
920-980 Spain), highlights the differences between the Rabbanite and Qaraite
Sabbath. Menachem emphasizes the obligations of kavod  ve’oneg Shabbos (לְבוּשׁ
בִּגְדֵי חֲמוּדוֹת
and עֹֽנֶג קְרָא לַשַּׁבָּת[23],
וְהַשֵּׁנָה מְשֻׁבַּֽחַת)
and kindling Sabbath lights ([24]לְהַדְלִיק
נֵר בִּבְרָכָה),
the permissibility of thinking of post-Sabbath work ([25]הִרְהוּרִים
מֻתָּרִים)
and gives an allusion to marital relations        (כַּשּׁוֹשַׁנִּים
סוּגָה[26],
בּוֹ יָנֽוּחוּ בֵּן וּבַת וְלָנֽוּחַ בְּחִבַּת) – all points of contention between
Qaraites and Rabbanites.
מַה
יְּדִידוּת מְנוּחָתֵךְ, אַתְּ שַׁבָּת הַמַּלְכָּה, 
בְּכֵן נָרוּץ לִקְרָאתֵךְ, בּֽוֹאִי כַלָּה נְסוּכָה, 
לְבוּשׁ בִּגְדֵי חֲמוּדוֹת, לְהַדְלִיק נֵר בִּבְרָכָה, 
וַתֵּֽכֶל כָּל הָעֲבוֹדוֹת, לֹא תַעֲשׂוּ מְלָאכָה. 
לְהִתְעַנֵּג בְּתַעֲנוּגִים בַּרְבּוּרִים וּשְׂלָו
וְדָגִים. 
מֵעֶֽרֶב מַזְמִינִים, כָּל מִינֵי מַטְעַמִּים, 
מִבְּעוֹד יוֹם מוּכָנִים, תַּרְנְגוֹלִים מְפֻטָּמִים, 
וְלַעֲרֹךְ כַּמָּה מִינִים, שְׁתוֹת יֵינוֹת מְבֻשָּׂמִים, 
וְתַפְנוּקֵי מַעֲדַנִּים, בְּכָל שָׁלֹשׁ פְּעָמִים. 
לְהִתְעַנֵּג בְּתַעֲנוּגִים בַּרְבּוּרִים וּשְׂלָו
וְדָגִים.  

חֲפָצֶֽיךָ
בּוֹ אֲסוּרִים, וְגַם לַחֲשֹׁב חֶשְׁבּוֹנוֹת, 
הִרְהוּרִים מֻתָּרִים, וּלְשַׁדֵּךְ הַבָּנוֹת, 
וְתִינוֹק לְלַמְּדוֹ סֵֽפֶר, לַמְנַצֵּֽחַ בִּנְגִינוֹת, 
וְלַהֲגוֹת בְּאִמְרֵי שֶֽׁפֶר, בְּכָל פִּנּוֹת וּמַחֲנוֹת. 
לְהִתְעַנֵּג בְּתַעֲנוּגִים בַּרְבּוּרִים וּשְׂלָו וְדָגִים. 
הִלּוּכָךְ תְּהֵא בְנַֽחַת, עֹֽנֶג קְרָא לַשַּׁבָּת, 
וְהַשֵּׁנָה מְשֻׁבַּֽחַת, כְּדָת נֶֽפֶשׁ מְשִׁיבַת, 
בְּכֵן נַפְשִׁי לְךָ עָרְגָה, וְלָנֽוּחַ בְּחִבַּת, 
כַּשּׁוֹשַׁנִּים סוּגָה, בּוֹ יָנֽוּחוּ בֵּן וּבַת. 
לְהִתְעַנֵּג בְּתַעֲנוּגִים בַּרְבּוּרִים וּשְׂלָו
וְדָגִים.

The poet sings of Rabbanite dishes: stuffed chicken (תַּרְנְגוֹלִים
מְפֻטָּמִים),
duck or goose (בַּרְבּוּרִים),
and quail (שְׂלָו)[27]
– poultry one would not find at Qaraite meals. By mentioning these items
Rabbanite tradition is strengthened and cherished.

Byzantium 


Constantinople was a thriving
center of Qaraism during much of the Middle Ages. The Byzantine Rabbanite, Tobiah ben Eliezer (late 11th – early 12th
centuries), often attacks Qaraite ideas[28]
in his Medrash Lekach Tov (written in 1097 and revised it in 1107 or
1108). In Vayikra[29],
Tobiah emphasizes that “generation after generation” birds eaten by the
Byzantine Rabbanites have been permitted: ועוף טהור נאכל
במסורת דור אחר דור כגון האווז ואווז בר ותרנגולת. This indicates that in
his lifetime Byzantine Qaraites refrained from eating the chicken, goose, and
duck.

However, only half a century later, the Byzantine Qaraite scholar, Judah Hadassi, tells that many of
his landsmen allowed themselves to partake of these fowl. In his Eshkol
ha-Kofer (1148), Hadassi notes this transition in Qaraite law with
disapproval:
Now some of the (Karaite) teachers
approved those domestic fowl, which are customarily raised in their home. (They
did so) because this was the choice of the entire nation, not because there are
any scriptural allusions that justify or confirm (this practice). Happy is he
who guards himself wholeheartedly against uncertainties so that he is stringent
in all (matters pertaining) to ritual slaughter! For knowledge of the Holy
Tongue has disappeared from our midst, and we no longer know the names of (the
birds) so as to recognize which is permitted and which is forbidden to us.
Therefore we will remain silent until (Elijah) comes and teaches us
righteousness. But if we rely upon custom (minhag) and tradition, does
this tradition not take away from and add to our Torah, even contradicting it
in part?
Eventually, the lenient approach to the kosher status of
chicken and duck became the norm and the Qaraite Nicomedian theologian, Aaron ben Elijah
(1328-1369), states definitely in his Gan
Eden (1354):
Since knowledge of our language has
now become deficient during our exile, we do not know the clean species. All
that remains in fact, is knowledge of several of the names (mentioned) in
Scripture and those known via the tradition (sevel ha-yerushah[30]),
such as pigeon, turtledove, quail, partridge, swan, chicken, and goose. For it
has been transmitted, one person from the next, that these are raised
domestically and that they are permitted…[31]
Spain


These transformations in Qaraite halacha were taking place in the Byzantine
Empire during Rambam’s lifetime though geographically removed from him. The
Rambam did correspond with students and scholars from France to Syria and even
had knowledge of a Jewish community in India. We also see in Rambam much
anti-Qaraite activity. It can be assumed that Rambam had his finger on the
pulse of nuances in Qaraites halachic and cultural development. However, Rambam
may have had an even more intimate knowledge of these developments. There is
evidence that the Qaraite fowl ‘kosherification’ process was taking place in
Rambam’s very own mother country, Spain, while Rambam was yet a young man:
R. Yehuda Halevi (1075 – 1141) writes
in his Kuzari (completed
around 1140):
והייתי
רוצה כי ישיבו לי הקראים תשובה מספקת על זה… ועוד רוצה הייתי כי יבארו לי מה בין
העוף המותר לבין העוף האסור (זולת העופות המפרסמים כיונה ותור) ומנין להם כי
התרנגלת והאוז והברוז והתכי אינם מן העופות הטמאים (כוזרי ג:לה)
 I wish the Qaraites would give me a
satisfactory answer to questions of this kind… I desire an explanation of the
lawful and unlawful birds, excepting the common ones, such as the pigeon and
turtledove. How do they know that the hen, goose, duck, and partridge are not
unclean birds?” (Kuzari 3:35)
This passage indicates that by the 1130s, (note- Rambam was
born in 1135), Qaraites in Spain permitted the consumption of the same fowl
eaten by the Rabbanites[32].

Rambam lived at the end of the Qaraite Golden Age. He observed many Rabbanites
leave the fold for Qaraism and a weakened respect for the Oral Torah in the
Rabbanite community[33].
Witnessing Qaraites begin to consume many birds eaten by the Rabbanite
community, Rambam feared that his followers would be influenced by Qaraite
meat/poultry and milk cooking practices. He tightened baasar be’cholov
laws – a process begun a century earlier by R. Chananel – by requiring a six
hour wait for poultry as well.

Many people ask, “If the political anti-Qaraite origins of
the six hour wait are correct, why was this fact not expressed by rishonim and
medieval writers?” In “Waiting Six Hours for Dairy- A Rabbanite
Response to Qaraism”, I cited the opinion of R. Tam and others that R.
Chananel’s six hour ruling was instituted merely because בקעא
מצאו
וגדרו
בה
גדר. There was indeed some awareness of
social-political causation. However, the anti-Qaraite purpose of Rambam’s
poultry-wait innovation went unnoted. Rambam had discreetly inserted fowl
alongside genuine meat in his Mishna Torah. Many later authorities may
have assumed that Rambam, the scion of an illustrious rabbinical family,
possessed an alternative method of interpreting the Talmud. The reason why R.
Chananel, R. Al-fasi, and Rambam did not disclose the reasons for their
halachic reforms is readily understood in light of the following passage:
…דאמר
עולא כי גזרי גזירתא במערבא לא מגלו טעמא עד תריסר ירחי שתא דלמא איכא איניש דלא
ס”ל ואתי לזלזולי בה (ע”ז לה ע”א)
In
Eretz Yisroel when a decree was issued its purpose was not revealed for twelve
months. This is because many people would not accept the meaning, and
consequently would show a negative attitude toward the decree.  (Avodah Zara 35a)
The general Rabbanite
populace may not have adhered to the new strict laws if they realized they were
merely enacted for social-political reasons.  
HaRav David Bar-Hayim of Machon Shilo has already noted in
his “Meat and Milk” series (here) that Rambam was the first to
require any waiting between poultry and dairy. He therefore opines that one may
eat poultry and then dairy without even kinuach ve’hadacha as clear from
the Talmud, Gaonim, and early Baalei Tosfos[34]. 
For more interesting articles visit www.UncensoredJudaism.com

I
would like to thank Pe’er Barzilai for reading and commenting on this essay. His insights
greatly improved its quality.


[1] A Torah luminary of the last century, Dr. Bernard Revel,
devoted many studies to the relationship between rabbinic authorities and
Qaraism. In his”פרקים
בחילופי המנהגים”  (here)
and
“תרגום
יונתן על התורה” (here), Dr. Revel revealed how much of the rabbinic
writings of the early Middle Ages
were aimed at separating the Rabbanite community from sectarian influence.
Dr.
Revel wrote his 1911 doctoral dissertation
on the origins of Qaraite halacha- “The Karaite Halakhah and Its
Relation to Sadducean, Samaritan, and Philonian Halakhah” (here). Here is a sample from Dr. Revel’s article: The Gaonim (see Beit
Yosef O.C. 24) opposed holding and gazing at the tzitit during the
recital of the Shema only because this was Qaraite practice in accordance with
the literal understanding of וראיתם אותו. (here)
[2] Responsa 2:628-29 http://hebrewbooks.org/pdfpager.aspx?req=1731&st=&pgnum=351
See Rustow, Heresy and the Politics of Community: the Jews of the Fatimid
Caliphate (2008), pg. 345.
[3] This topic deserves a comprehensive
discussion. For a preview see “R. Yitchak Al-fasi’s Anti-Qaraite
Legislative Activity” here Case #3.
[4] Rambam writes:
 וכן למדו מפי השמועה, שאסור לרחוץ בו או לסוך או לנעול את הסנדל
או לבעול.  ומצוה לשבות מכל אלו, כדרך ששובת מאכילה ושתייה:  שנאמר
“שבת שבתון”
שבת לעניין מלאכה, ושבתון לעניינים
אלו.  ואין חייבין כרת או קרבן, אלא על אכילה ושתייה בלבד; אבל אם רחץ או סך
או נעל או בעל, מכין אותו מכת מרדות.
Later authorities were perplexed by
Rambam’s view and much ink was spilled trying to resolve it. See Beit
Yosef O.C. 611 and acharonim there.

Often
Rambam precedes modern academic research by eight and a half centuries. It is
unlikely that he was unaware of the late origins of the Yom Kippur laws. See
Dr. Israel Drazin’s article “Yom Kippur is Not a Biblical Holiday”
(here).
Rambam may have lead readers to
believe all five afflictions were biblical only to counter Qaraite views. 

A century ago, Bernard Revel made an identical argument about Targum Pseudo-Yonathan (here). The early ninth century Targum on Lev. 15:29 mentions all
five afflictions as being implicit from the Torah itself. Revel concluded that
the Targum had but one purpose – to oppose the Qaraites and strengthen belief
in the Oral Torah. 

For a thorough analysis of what Rambam meant when he wrote למדו
מפי השמועה, see Albert D. Friedberg’s “An
Evaluation of Maimonides’ Enumeration of the 613 Commandments, With Special
Emphasis on the Positive Commandments” pgs. 275- 281 here (-also in his
recent 2014 Crafting the
Commandments). 

Another
anti-Qaraism in Mishna Torah may be in Hilchot Chamets u-Matzah where
Rambam describes how chametz is forbidden from midday of the fourteenth
of Nisan:
מצות עשה מן התורה להשבית החמץ קודם זמן
איסור אכילתו
שנאמר “ביום הראשון, תשביתו שאור מבתיכם” (שמות יב,טו)
מפי השמועה למדו שראשון זה, הוא יום ארבעה עשר.  וראיה
לדבר זה
מה שכתוב בתורה “לא תשחט על חמץ, דם זבחי” (שמות לד,כה)
כלומר לא תשחוט הפסח והחמץ קיים; ושחיטת הפסח, הוא יום
ארבעה עשר אחר חצות

(הלכות חמץ ומצה פרק ב:א)

Friedberg
(pg. 282, note 53) suggests that
Rambam adds the emphasis of “from Scripture” – “מן התורה” – only to polemicize with his Qaraite
adversaries who held that chametz could be kept until the beginning of
the first day of the festival.

Another
interesting point Friedberg makes (pgs. 298-302) is that a very careful reading
of Maimonides shows that he regarded tefillin and mezuza as
practices which began with the lay population and were later sanctioned by the
rabbis, or possibly originated by the rabbis, but were certainly not biblical.
In the his conclusion to Crafting
the Commandments, Friedberg explains why Rambam was
so careful to conceal his view:      
            I conjectured further that Maimonides deliberately withheld the
scriptural designation from certain commandments that had been labeled as
scriptural in the ShM (=Sefer HaMitzvoth) when the plain reading of the
scriptural text did not appear to provide sufficient evidence for them, even
when rabbinic interpretation suggested otherwise. To this end, he chose an
artful but somewhat concealed literary device to designate them as such, the
participle of correct practice. This is the case with such prominent practices
as the recitation of the Shema, the binding of the tefillin, the writing and placing
of the mezuzah and the study of Torah.
In the heavily politicized atmosphere of Cairo,
where Rabbanites were both assiduously courted and continuously attacked by
sectarian groups (largely Karaites) over the role of the oral law in
interpreting Scripture, Maimonides chose to keep his radical opinions hidden
yet recoverable. When applied to the legal sections of the Torah, Maimonides’
peshateh di-qera hermeneutics would likely raise hackles among his own
co-religionists and, worse yet, give comfort to the deniers of the oral law.
His carefully planted literary cues could lead the reader who is familiar with
rabbinic terminology and unburdened by popular and superficial conclusions to
discover the Master’s true opinion or at the very least sense his ambivalence.

[5] I
thank Sam Kahan. His comments on my previous “Waiting Six Hours for Dairy”
article prompted me towards further investigation and discoveries and the
writing of this article.

[6] These birds were eaten by
Jews around the Mediterranean for centuries. See Zohar Amar’s מסורת
העוף 
Tel Aviv (2004).

[7] Al-Qirqisani,
Kitab al-AnWar, XII, 25:4 “‘in its mother’s milk’ refers only to the
milk of its mother”.
[8] I wrote more on this here.
[9] Marina Rustow argues in Heresy and the Politics of
Community that there was more tolerance of Qaraism in
Rabbanite communities outside Spain. The likelihood of influence was thus also
increased.
[10]
R. Al-fasi may have changed Talmudic halacha in many areas for political
anti-Qaraite reasons. See many examples in “R. Yitchak Al-fasi’s Anti-Qaraite
Legislative Activity” (here).
[11] Correction:

In  “Waiting Six Hours for Dairy- A
Rabbanite Response to Qaraism” I wrote the following:
This Qaraite
breach of the Oral Law earned them the nickname “the eaters of meat with milk”.
This transgression of the Qaraites became symbolic of the entire conflict
between the Rabbanite and Qaraite camps. 
Throughout this period, the two camps were very connected socially,
politically, and economically. There were Rabbanite-Qaraite marriages, joint
business ventures, and joint communities. The lines between the two camps were
not as distinct as we may imagine. At some point in the early eleventh century,
the Rabbanite rishonim devised a way to create greater division and social
split between the two camps. Choosing the very topic which represented the
heart of the schism, they reinterpreted Talmudic passages in a manner which
requires waiting six hours between eating red meat and dairy products, further
separating the Rabbanites from the Qaraites both halachically and socially. However,
Rabbanites and Qaraites could still enjoy a poultry-dairy meal together during
community gatherings or business meetings. It was more difficult to
redefine an explicit statement in the Talmud allowing poultry and dairy
together without any separation in between (אגרא’s statement). Maimonides was the first to
attempt to further widen the gap by including poultry in the six-hour wait
category. (Italics added for emphasis.)
This is a mistake. Besides for the
occasional pigeon or turtledove, there were no birds which Qaraites could have
eaten with Rabbanites.
[12] See Rashba and Ritva on Hullin 104. They probably
assumed that Rambam had a tradition that this was the way the Talmud is
interpreted.
[13] Daniel Frank,“May Karaites Eat Chicken? Indeterminacy in Sectarian
Halakhic Exegesis”, Jewish Biblical Interpretation and Cultural Exchange
ed. Natalie B. Dohrman and David Stern, (2008) Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press pgs.124-138.
[14] Harkavy, Zikhron la-rishonim 67-68.
[15] Harkavy, Zikhron la-rishonim 179.
[16] See al-Qirqisani, Kitab al-Anwar 1.16 vol I pg
57. Trans. in W. Lockwood,  Ya’qub
al-Qirqisani on Jewish Sects and Christianity (Frankfurt am Main: Peter
Lang, (1984) 150. Also Karaite Anthology: Excerpts from the Early
Literature  (1980) ed. By Leon Nemoy
pgs 32-34.
[17] Al-Qirqisani, Kitabal-Anwar XII.2.3-6. Qirqisani also mentions that- “One allows chicken,
another forbids it, while yet another asserts that he does not know whether it
is permitted or forbidden.” (Al-Qirqisani, Kitabal-Anwar
I.19.3 vol.1 pg 61). This tells that though the leading Qaraite scholars
forbade most birds, there were existent alternate views and practices amongst
early sectarians. These lenient views did not become the norm until much later.
[18] Yapheth ben Eli, Comment on Dt 14,11-20
[19] See Frank’s
article for relevant citations. An interesting passage in R. Avraham ibn Ezra’s
commentary discusses R. Saadya:
שם האחד. אמר
הגאון (=ר’ סעדיה) כי פישון יאור מצרים… ואין ראיה על פישון שהוא היאור, רק
שתרגם החוילה כפי צרכו, כי אין לו קבלה. וכן עשה במשפחות, ובמדינות ובחיות ובעופות
ובאבנים. אולי בחלום ראם. וכבר טעה במקצתם כאשר אפרש במקומו. א”כ לא נשען על
חלומותיו, אולי עשה כן לכבוד השם, בעבור שתרגם התורה בלשון ישמעאל ובכתיבתם, שלא
יאמרו כי יש בתורה מצות לא ידענום.
(אבן עזרא בראשית
ב:יא)
R. Saadya Gaon may have fabricated
translations for uncertain names of birds in the Torah only to protect
Rabbanites from Qaraite ridicule. By supplying translations, Saadya saw to it
that Rabbanite Torah readers would not easily sympathize with Qaraite scholars
by thinking that, indeed, their Rabbanite tradition knows very little about the
meaning of words in the Torah.
[20] This source I add
to Frank’s list.
[21] This source I
add to Frank’s list.
[22] R. Yaakov Emden
writes in his סידור בית יעקב pg 154
ובראשי הבתים חתום מנחם (אולי הוא בר מכיר). I suggest that Menachem is not Menachem ben Machir of 11th
century Germany, but Menachem ben Saruq (10th century Spain) or
another early Spanish poet. That this piyut, in recent times, is
traditionally sung mainly in Ashkenazi homes does not disprove Sephardic
anti-Qaraite origins.
[23] See Judah
Hadassi’s words- לאכול ולשתות די מחייתו וקיום נפש ולנוח
מעט במשכבך in Haym
Soloveitchik’s  Collected Essays II,
pg 391.
[24] The blessing
said before kindling the Sabbath lights was likely initiated to strengthen this
rabbinic practice in response to the Qaraite custom. See Naftali Vieder,  התגבשות נוסח התפילה במזרח ובמעריב Volume I (1998), pg. 343-346.

[25] See O.C. 306:8.
Judah Hadassi writes in Eshkol HaKofer 145 (here):
המחשבות והדמיונות הלב ומשפטים
ודקדוקים ועסקים שאין מתורת אלהים אסור לחשוב בימי קודש בדעתך

I
thank R. Shimon Szimonowitz for this source and association.

[26] From Shir
HaShirim 7:3. The literal context in Shir HaShirim is erotic and
sensual. Good poetry has multiple layers of meaning.
[27] וְדָגִים is added
merely so the “im” will rhyme with בְּתַעֲנוּגִים.
[28] See here.
[29] Here
(Shemini pg 31). Also see Devarim Re’eh pg 44- here.
[30] Sevel
ha-yerushah is a Qaraite term for ‘commonly accepted tradition.’
[31]  Gan Eden, “Inyan shehitah,” chapter 2, 82d
[32]
R. Avraham ibn Ezra (1089–1167), Halevi’s contemporary and
landsman, makes an interesting comment:
הדוכיפת. אמרו הצדוקים שהיא התרנגולת,
ואלה טפשי עולם, כי מי הגיד להם. (אבן עזרא ויקרא יא:יט)
These Qaraite Bible interpreters may have intended to
ridicule Rabbanites by arguing that chicken is the non-kosher דוכיפת bird. It is
apparent that these particular Qaraites still refrained from chicken. If so,
the reality reported in Kuzari may not have yet been uniform throughout
Spain. Or perhaps Ibn Ezra was recording Qaraite views he encountered along his
many global travels.
[32] Qaraites and
Rabbanites lived in adjacent quarters in Cairo—Harat al-Yahud and Harat
al-Yahud al-Qarain. (here
)
[34] Rambam in Moreh Nevuchim 3:48 writes:
אבל אסור בשר בחלב הרי עם היותו מזון גס מאוד בלי
ספק, וגורם מילוי רב אין הדבר רחוק לדעתי שיש לעבודה
וממה שמחזק את זה לדעתי, שאסור בשר בחלב הזכירו פעמים
בתחילת הציווי בו כאשר הזכיר מצוות החג, שלוש פעמים בשנה וגו וכאילו יאמר בחגכם
וביאתכם לבית ה’ אלוהיך לא תבשל מה שתבשל שם בצורה פלונית כפי שהיו הם עושים, זהו
המתקבל יותר לדעתי בטעם איסורו, אלא שלא ראיתי את זה כתוב במה שעיינתי מספרי
ה”צאבה.

Ibn
Ezra:
והנה קדמונינו ז”ל החמירו להסיר כל ספק, ואסרו בשר
בחלב, והשם שנתן להם חכמה, הוא יתן משכורתם שלימה. (ר’ אברהם אבן עזרא שמות כג:יט)
Ibn
Ezra’s view is that meat cooked in the milk of an animal other than its mother
was only forbidden by Rabbinic law (unlike what is understood from Talmud
Chullin and Shulchan Aruch Yoreh Deah).
Accordingly,
we see a three stage development of changes in biblical law. 

First, the early rabbis expanded the Torah’s prohibition against the pagan
practice of cooking a kid in its mother’s milk. They said cooking milk in any
meat is forbidden. Some rabbis even forbade fowl cooked with dairy. This view
eventually became the normative halacha. At this early stage kinuach
ve’hadacha was required between meat and dairy- though, not between poultry
and dairy.
Second,
in the beginning of the eleventh century, the rabbinic meat-milk prohibition
was expanded by Rabbeinu Chananel to require a separation of six hours between
consuming meat and dairy. About this time Qaraites had loosened their mourning
customs and began eating meat; they did not hesitate to cook that meat with dairy.
R. Chananel created this new law to protect and separate rabbinically-oriented
Jews who accepted the concept and binding force of the Oral Torah from
influence of the Qaraites.
Third,
in the century following R. Chananel’s enactment, Qaraites included chicken,
duck and and other birds on their kosher list and cooked these fowl with dairy.
Now that Rabbanite and Qaraite Jews shared the same list of kosher birds they
could eat poultry meals together. Rambam responded by requiring a six hour wait
for poultry as well, to assure that the two groups would not overly socialize –
so as to avoid Rabbanite Jews being drawn to and accepting Qaraite views.


Nachmanides Introduced the Notion that Targum Onkelos Contains Derash

|

Nachmanides Introduced the Notion that Targum Onkelos Contains Derash

By Israel
Drazin

People today read Targum
Onkelos and search it for derash, halakhah, and homiletical
teachings. The following will show that the rabbis in the Talmuds and Midrashim
and the Bible commentators who used the Targum before the thirteenth
century recognized that the Aramaic translation only contains the Torah’s peshat,
its plain meaning, and not sermonic material. It will survey how the
pre-thirteenth century rabbis and scholars used Onkelos and how
Nachmanides changed the way the Targum was understood. It was only after
this Nachmanides change that other interpreters of Onkelos read derash
into this Targum. The article also introduces the reader to Onkelos
and explains why the Talmudic rabbis required that it be read and why many
Jews failed to observe this rabbinic requirement.
The Law
The Babylonian
Talmud and the later Jewish codes mandate that Jews read the Torah portion
weekly, twice in the original Hebrew and once in Targum Onkelos.[1]
Moses Maimonides and Josef Karo, whose law codes are regarded in many
circles as binding, felt that it is vital to understand the Bible text through
the eyes of its rabbinically accepted translation Targum Onkelos, and
many authorities agree that no other translation will do.[2]
This raises some questions.
What
is Targum Onkelos?
The word Targum
means “translation,” thus Targum Onkelos means a translation by Onkelos.
Targum Onkelos is a translation of the five books of Moses, from the
Hebrew into Aramaic. The rabbis placed their imprimatur upon Targum Onkelos[3]
and considered it the official translation. Although there are other
Aramaic translations[4]
and ancient Greek ones,[5]
and latter translations into other languages, Targum Onkelos is the most
literal. Yet despite being extremely literal, it contains over 10,000
differences from the original Hebrew text.[6]
The
Significance of Onkelos
Onkelos was
extolled by all the Bible commentaries. Rashi states that the Onkelos
translation was revealed at Mt. Sinai.[7] Tosaphot[8]
made a similar statement and contends that there are places in the Torah that
simply cannot be understood without the Onkelos translation.
Some people
consider these comments as hyperbolic or metaphoric – that the authors meant
that Onkelos is so significant that it is as if it were a divine gift
handed to Moses at Sinai. But whether literal or metaphoric, it is clear that these
sages are expressing a reverence for Onkelos not accorded to any other
book in Jewish history, a reverence approaching the respect they gave to the
Torah itself. This veneration continued and is reflected in the fact that for
many centuries every printed edition of the Pentateuch contained an Onkelos
text that was generally given the preferential placement adjacent to the Torah.
Why
did the rabbis require Jews to read Targum Onkelos?
It is significant
that the Talmudic dictum was written when there were many important exegetical
rabbinical collections, the Talmuds, Genesis Rabbah, Mekhilta,
Sifra, and Sifrei, among others. Remarkably, the rabbis did not
require Jews to read these books, filled with interesting derash,
explanations written by the rabbis themselves. They only mandated the reading
of Onkelos when reviewing the weekly Torah portion.
Furthermore,
by the time the Shulchan Arukh was composed in the sixteenth century and
the Talmudic law was stated in it, most of the classical medieval biblical
commentaries, which included derash, were already in circulation. While
Joseph Karo, its author, suggests that one could study Rashi on a weekly basis
in place of the Targum, he quickly adds that those who have “reverence
for God” will study both Rashi and Onkelos. The explanation offered by
TAZ, a commentary on the Shulchan Arukh, is that while Rashi enables the
student to read the Bible and gain access to Talmudic and Oral Law insights, Onkelos
is still indispensable for understanding the text itself.
Thus, the
rabbis, who composed books containing midrashic interpretations, felt that it
was so important for Jews to know the plain meaning of the Torah that they
mandated that Jews read Targum Onkelos every week.[9] When
did people stop seeing that Onkelos contains the Torah’s plain meaning
and read derash into the wording of the Targum?
The Earliest Understanding of Targum Onkelos
There was no
problem understanding the intent of Targum Onkelos until the
thirteenth century, close to a millennium after it was composed. At that time,
Nachmanides was the first commentator to introduce the concept that people
should read Onkelos to find deeper meaning, meaning that went beyond the
plain sense of the text. These included mystical lessons, what Nachmanides
called derekh haemet, the true way.
The conclusion that Onkelos contains only the simple meaning of
the Torah is supported by an examination of how the ancients, living before the
thirteenth century, consistently and without exception, used Onkelos only
for its peshat. Although many of these Bible commentators were
interested in and devoted to the derash that could be derived from
biblical verses, and although they were constantly using Onkelos for its
peshat, they never employed the Targum to find derash or
to support their conclusion that the verse they were discussing contained derash.
This situation changed when for the first time Nachmanides mined the Targum to
uncover derash.[10]
Nachmanides used Onkelos to support his interpretation of the Torah.
This is significant since many of these
rabbinical commentators were far more interested in derash than in peshat.
If they felt that Onkelos contained derash, they would have
used this translation, which they extolled, as Nachmanides later did, to
support their midrashic interpretations of the Torah. The following are the
ancient sources.
Midrashim and Talmuds
The first
references to a Targum are in the Midrashim and the Babylonian Talmud. A
Targum is mentioned 17 times in the Midrashim[11]
and 18 times in the Babylonian Talmud.[12]
Each of the 35 quotes is an attempt to search the Targum for the meaning
of a word. Although these sources were inclined to midrashic explanations, they
never tried to draw midrashic interpretations from the Targum. Thus, the
Midrashim and the Babylonian Talmud understood that the Targum is a
translation and not a source for derash.
Die Masorah Zum Targum
Onkelos
A volume of
targumic traditions collected in Die Masorah Zum Targum Onkelos is said
to have been composed in the third century but was most likely written a couple
of centuries later,[13]
after the Talmuds. It also has no suggestion that Onkelos contains derash.
The book attempts to describe the Targum completely, but contains only
translational traditions about Onkelos. If the author(s) believed that Onkelos
has derash, he/they would have included traditions about it.
Saadiah Gaon
The works of
Saadiah Gaon, born in 882 C.E., also contain no indication that Onkelos has
derash. Saadiah composed a translation of the Bible into Arabic and used Targum
Onkelos extensively to discover the plain meaning of words. He never even
hinted that his predecessor’s work contains derash.[14]
This is significant since Saadiah emphasized the Torah’s plain meaning and
used Onkelos frequently in his Arabic translation.[15]
He quotes Onkelos on every page without attribution. His uses Onkelos
as a translation so extensively that if readers have difficulty
understanding Onkelos, they can look at the Saadiah translation and be
able to see what the targumist is saying.
Menachem ibn Saruq
Menachem ibn
Saruq, a tenth century Spanish lexicographer, was explicit on the subject. He
called Onkelos a ptr, a translation.[16]
Samuel ben Hofni Gaon
Samuel Ben Hofni Gaon headed the
Babylonian Academy at Sura in Babylonia during the years 997-1013 and wrote a
biblical commentary. He refers to Targum Onkelos on several occasions,[17]
uses the Targum to understand the meaning of words, and always treats it
as a literal translation without derash.
Rashi
No biblical commentator relied
more on Onkelos than Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki, better known as Rashi, born
in 1040. He extols Onkelos, as stated above, mentions the targumist by
name hundreds of times,[18]
and incorporates the targumic interpretation without attribution in hundreds of
other comments. He has a non-rigid blend of peshat and derash in
his commentary,[19] and
frequently quotes the Talmuds and Midrashim as the origin of his derash.
He never uses Onkelos as a source for his derash or treats the Targum
other than as a translation. It should be obvious that since Rashi relied on Onkelos,
whom he considered holy, for peshat, if he saw derash in the Targum
he would have said so.
Rashbam
Rashi’s grandson Samuel ben Meir
(also known as Rashbam, about 1085 – 1174) wrote his Bible commentary in large
measure to liberate people from derash and to show his disagreement with
Rashi’s frequent use of derash.[20]
He seldom mentions his sources, but draws from Onkelos with respect,
usually by name. In Genesis, for example, where Rashi is only named in
37:2, Onkelos is quoted in 21:16, 25:28, 26:26, 28:2, 40:11, and 41:45.
In Deuteronomy, to cite another example, Onkelos is mentioned in
4:28, 16:2, 16:9, 17:18, and 23:13. While he criticizes his grandfather with
and without attribution for his use of derash,[21]
and occasionally disagrees with Onkelos, he never rebukes the targumist
for using derash.[22]
Like his predecessors, he saw no derash in Targum Onkelos.
Abraham ibn Ezra
Abraham ibn Ezra (1089 -1164),
like Rashbam, was determined to distance himself from derash and
establish the literal meaning of the biblical text in his Bible commentaries,
as he states in his two introductions. He uses Onkelos frequently as a
translation, and only as a translation, to prove the meaning of words.
Ibn Ezra was the first to note
some few isolated instances of derash in the Targum. This first
observation of derash in Onkelos, I believe, is because derash
did not exist in the original Targum text.[23]
Various over-zealous well-meaning scribes embedded it at a later period,
probably around the time that Ibn Ezra discovered it. Ibn Ezra recognizes that Onkelos’
purpose is to offer peshat because he states that the targumist is
following his (ibn Ezra’s) own method, the “straight (or right) way” of peshat
to interpret the Hebrew according to grammatical rules.[24]
Maimonides
Shortly
thereafter, Maimonides, born in 1138, supported part of his rationalistic
philosophy by using Onkelos. Maimonides recognized that the targumist
deviated frequently from a literal rendering of the biblical text to remove
anthropomorphism and anthropopathisms to avoid portraying God in a human
fashion, for this is “a fundamental element in our faith, and the comprehension
of which is not easy for the common people.”[25]
Maimonides never uses Onkelos for derash. 

Joseph Bechor Schor
Joseph Bechor Schor (born around 1140) adopted the literal methodology of Rashbam.[26] However, he is not as consistent as Rashbam. He inserts homiletical comments along with those that are literal. He mentions Rashbam only twice by name but quotes Onkelos dozens of times to support his own definition of a word when his interpretation is literal. Although he used Onkelos and derash, he never states or even suggests that Onkelos contains derash [27] and never uses Onkelos to support his homiletical remarks.

Radak
David Kimchi
(known as Radak, about 1160 – 1235) wrote biblical commentaries using the
text’s plain sense in contrast to the homiletical elaborations that were
prevalent during his lifetime. He followed the methodology of ibn Ezra and
stressed philological analysis. He refers to Onkelos frequently and
always treats the Targum as a translation. He, like ibn Ezra,
occasionally inserted homiletical interpretations into his commentary from
midrashic legends to add zest and delight readers, but he never used Onkelos
for this purpose.

Conclusion from Reading the Ancient
Commentators

The consistent
history of all the commentators using Onkelos only for the plain
meaning of the Torah and never mentioning seeing derash in the Targum
is quite persuasive that no derash was in the original Onkelos
text. If any of the commentators who lived before the mid-thirteenth
century believed that Targum Onkelos contained derash, especially
those who delighted in or who were concerned with derash, they would
have said so. None but ibn Ezra did, and he called attention to only a very
small number of probably recent unauthorized insertions.
Where, then, did the derash
that many people today think that they see in Targum Onkelos come from?
First of all, I am convinced that most of the targumic readings that
individuals read as derash were really intended by the targumist as peshat,
the text’s simple meaning; people differ is what they see. Second, Ch. Heller
has shown us many examples where most, if not all, of the presently found derash
did not exist in the original Targum text.[28]
His findings are supported by the previously mentioned history showing that ibn
Ezra was the first to observe any derash at all in our Targum.
Nachmanides was the first Bible commentator to read derash into Onkelos
Nachmanides was
influenced by kabala, Jewish mysticism. He equated kabala with truth[29]
and felt[30] that
since Torah is truth, it must contain kabala. He stated that no one can attain
knowledge of the Torah, or truth, by his own reasoning. A person must listen to
a kabalist who received the truth from another kabalist, generation after
generation, back to Moses who heard the kabalistic teaching from God.[31]
He decided to disseminate this truth, or at least hint of its existence, and
was the first to introduce mystic teachings of the Torah into a biblical
commentary.[32]

He extended his
exegetical methodology into his interpretations of our Targum.[33]
He felt this was appropriate. Onkelos, he erroneously believed, “lived
in the age of the philosophers immediately after Aristotle,” and like the
philosopher was so interested in esoteric teachings that, though born a high
placed Roman non-Jew, he converted to Judaism to learn Torah and later teach
its secret lessons through his biblical translation.[34]
Examples of Nachmanides’
problematical interpretations of Onkelos
In a detailed separate study,
which is still in draft, I studied all the instances where Nachmanides interprets
Onkelos. I found that Nachmanides mentions Targum Onkelos in his Commentary
to the Pentateuch while analyzing 230 verses. Most of his attempts to
see the targumist teaching homiletical lessons and mysticism seem forced. He
reads more into the Aramaic than the words themselves state.
There are 129 puzzling
interpretations of Onkelos in these 230 verses. This represents about 56
percent of the total 230. However, 55 of the 230 Nachmanidean comments are only
references to the Targum without any analysis. When these 55 comments
are subtracted from the total of 230, we are left with 175 times that
Nachmanides analyzes the Targum. The 129 problematical interpretations
represent about 75 percent of the 175 times that the sage discusses Onkelos and
uses it to support his interpretation of the biblical verse. The following are
seven examples.

1. Genesis 1:31 states: “And
God saw everything that He made, and, behold, it was very good (Torah: tov
meod – Onkelos: takin lachada).”

This verse
describes the results of the sixth day of creation as “very good.” The Onkelos
translator, who prefers to clarify ambiguous biblical phrases with more
specificity (good is which way), renders it “well established,” implying that
the world was established firmly. He may have recalled Psalms 93:1, “the
world also is established that it can not be moved” and Psalms 96:10,
“the world also shall be established that it shall not be moved.”
Nachmanides
reads into the Onkelos words “well established” than the targumist is teaching
that creation contains evil, “the order (of the world) was very properly
arranged that evil is needed to preserve what is good.”[35]
This interpretation is a good homily, but is not the plain meaning of the
verse. It is problematical because “well established” does not suggest “containing
evil,” nor does it imply that evil is necessary to preserve what is good.
2. After creating man,
God, according to Genesis 2:7, “breathed into his nostrils the breath of
life, and man became a living being.” The bible uses nefesh for “breath”
and “being.” In later Hebrew, nefesh came to mean “soul,” a meaning it
did not have in the Pentateuch. Since the Hebrew “breath of life” does not
indicate how humans excel other creations, Onkelos alters the text and
clarifies that “man acquired the power of speech,” ruach memalela
(literally, “speaking breath”). Thus humans transcend animals by their
intelligence in general and their ability to speak, communicate, and reason in
particular. This is the Aristotelian concept, accepted by Moses Maimonides
(1138-1204), that the essence of a human is intelligence and people have a duty
to develop that intelligence.[36]

Nachmanides, the mystic, disagreed
with Maimonides, the rationalist, and interprets the biblical nefesh
anachronistically as “soul.” The Hebrew verse, he declares, alludes to the
superiority of the soul that is composed of three forces: growth, movement, and
rationality.[37] Onkelos,
he maintains, is reflecting this concept of the tri-partite soul and that the
rational soul that God breathed into man’s nostrils became a speaking soul. How
the two Aramaic words, literally meaning “speaking breath,” suggests this
elaborate tri-partite theology is problematical. Again, Nachmanides seemingly
desired to have Onkelos, which he admired, reflect his own idea even
though what he reads into the Targum is not its plain meaning.

3. Genesis 4:1 states that
when Eve gave birth to Cain, she exclaimed, “I have acquired a man with the
Lord.” Since this statement has an anthropomorphic sound, suggesting physical
help from God, our Targum adds qadam, “before (the Lord),”
thereby supplanting, or at least softening this implication of physical aid by
distancing God from the birth.

The term qadam
was inserted in Onkelos in verse 4, and in seventy other instances in Genesis
for the same reason as well as 585 additional times in the other volumes of Targum
Onkelos to the Pentateuch.[38]
Nachmanides ignores the targumist’s frequent use of qadam to avoid
anthropomorphism[39] and its
plain meaning. He states that the correct interpretation of the biblical Hebrew
is that Eve said: “This son will be an acquisition from God for me, for when we
die he will exist in our place to worship his creator.” Nachmanides assures us
that this is Onkelos’ opinion as proven by the addition of the word qadam.
Thus, Nachmanides drew a conclusion from the Targum’s single word, a
word that is used over five hundred times for an entirely different purpose and
which cannot, by itself, connote and support his interpretation. Furthermore, qadam
does not have this meaning in the hundreds of other instances where it
appears.
4. In Genesis 17:17, Onkelos
changes a significant detail in the Aramaic translation. Abraham does not
“laugh” (Hebrew, vayitzchak) when he hears he will have a child in his
old age, but “rejoices” (Aramaic, vachadi). This alteration is not made
in 18:12 where Sarah “laughed” when she heard the same news. Rashi explains
that the couple reacted differently. Abraham trusted God and rejoiced at the
good news, while Sarah lacked trust and sneered; therefore God chastised her in
18:13.

Nachmanides
states that Onkelos’ rendering in 17:17 is correct because the word tzachak
also means “rejoice,” and Abraham and Sarah’s reactions, he contends, were the
same, proper “rejoicing.”
Actually, as
defined by ibn Shoshan and others, tzachak is an outward expression, a
“laugh,” and not an inner feeling of contentment. Bachya ben Asher mentions the
Aramaic rendering, but he does not mention Nachmanides. He recognizes, contrary
to Nachmanides, that tzachak does not mean “rejoice,” but “laugh.” He
states that the targumist made the change to “rejoices” because in the context
in which the word appears here it should be understood as an expression of joy.
This example, while not expressing a theology, as in the first three instances,
also shows Nachmanides insisting by a forced interpretation that the targumist
is understanding the Torah as he does.
5. Onkelos
replaces the Torah’s “Is anything too wondrous for the Lord,” in Genesis
18:14, with “Is anything hidden from before the Lord.” The Hebrew “wondrous” is
somewhat vague and is seemingly not exactly on point with the tale of Sarah’s
laughter. The Aramaic explains the text and relates that Sarah’s laughter,
mentioned in the prior verse, although it was not done openly, was not “hidden”
from God. This is also the interpretation of Saadiah, Rashi, Chazkunee, ibn
Ezra, Radak, etc. Thus, in short, all that the targumist is doing is clarifying
the text, a task he performs over a thousand times in his translation.
However,
Nachmanides states that Onkelos uses “hidden” in the translation to teach a
mystical lesson. Nachmanides, as generally happens, does not explain the
lesson, but the explanation is in Bachya ben Asher and Recanati. Bachya writes
that God added the letter hay to Abram’s name, turning it into Abraham,
and “the letter hay alludes to God’s transcendental powers”; thus God
gave Abraham the power to have a son. Abraham, he continues, exemplified the
divine attribute of mercy and Isaac the divine attribute of justice, and now
both attributes would exist on earth. It is difficult if not impossible to read
this Nachmanidean mystical interpretation of Onkelos into the word
“hidden.”[40]
6. Genesis
21:7 quotes Sarah’s excited exclamation of joy:[41]
“Who (meaning which person) would have said to Abraham” that I would give birth
at the advanced age of ninety. The Targum renders her statement as a
thankful praise of God:  “Faithful is He
who said to Abraham,” and avoids the risk of the general population reading the
translation and misunderstanding Sarah’s reaction as one of surprise, for she
should not have been surprised. God had assured Abraham that he would have a
son a year previously.[42]
Thus, by making the change, the Targum shows that she is not only not
surprised, but is thankful that God fulfilled His prior promise.
Nachmanides
interprets the Torah’s “Who would have said to Abraham” to mean that everyone
will join Abraham and Sarah and rejoice with them over Isaac’s birth because it
is such a “surprise”; the possibility of the birth would never have occurred to
anyone. He writes that Onkelos’ rendition is “close” to his
interpretation of a community celebration. Actually as we stated, Onkelos’
“Faithful is He who said to Abraham” is quite the opposite. Rather than
focusing on the people and the unexpected event, the targumist deviated from the
Hebrew text to avoid depicting Sarah being surprised. His Aramaic version
concentrates on God, not the community, and how the divine promise was
fulfilled.
7. Genesis
22:2 recounts God commanding Abraham to take his son Isaac to “the land of
Moriah” and offer him there as a sacrifice. Mount Moriah was traditionally
understood to be the later place of the Jerusalem Temple[43]
and the targumist therefore renders “Mount Moriah” as “the land of worship” to
help identify the area for his readers. This is a typical targumic methodology;
the Targum changes the name of places mentioned in the Bible and gives
its later known name.[44]
Nachmanides
contends that Onkelos is referring to a midrashic teaching that was
recorded years after the targumist’s death in Pirkei d’R. Eliezer:[45]
God pointed to the site and told Abraham that this is the place where Adam,
Cain, Abel, and Noah sacrificed, and the site was named Moriah because Moriah
is derived from the word mora, “fear,” for the people feared God there
and worshipped Him.
There are
several problems with Nachmanides’ analysis. First, as we already pointed out,
our targumist frequently updates the name of a site to help his readers
identify its location[46]
and this is a reasonable consistent explanation of the targumic rendering.
Second, the words “land of worship” do not suggest the elaborate midrashic
story that is not recorded until long after the death of the targumist. Third,
the story is a legend; there is nothing in any text to indicate that God had
such a conversation with Abraham or that the ancestors sacrificed in this area;
and it is contrary to the targumist’s style to incorporate legends into his
translation.
Summary
Thus,
if the Bible commentators before Nachmanides saw derash in Onkelos
we would have expected them to say so, but none did until Abraham ibn Ezra and
he was probably referring either to recent scribal additions to the original Targum
or he was expressing his opinion that his view of peshat on certain
verses differed with those of the targumist. Nachmanides was the first to read derash
and mysticism into the Targum just as he was the first to read
mysticism into the Torah itself. We offered some examples that show the
difficulties of his methodology.

Nachmanides’
introduction of the notion that Onkelos contains mysticism may be the
reason why rabbis,[47]
who respected Nachmanides’ teachings, began for the first time to search the Targum
for derash.
Dr. Israel
Drazin is the author of thirty-three books, including twelve on Targum Onkelos.
His website is www.booksnthoughts.com.
This article appeared previously on www.oqimta.org.il.

[1] Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot 8a, b, Maimonides’
Mishneh Torah, Laws of Prayer 13:25, and Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chayim,
The Laws of Shabbat 285, 1. The requirement is not in the Jerusalem Talmud
because Targum Onkelos did not exist when this Talmud was composed. See
I. Drazin, Journal of Jewish Studies, volume 50, 1999, pages 246-258,
where I date Onkelos to the late fourth century, based on the
targumist’s consistent use of late fourth century Midrashim.
[2] Although some authorities, such as the Shulchan
Arukh, discussed below, say that a person can fulfill the rabbinic
obligation by reading Rashi.
[3] Babylonian Talmud, Megillah 3a.
[4] The two other complete Jewish Aramaic translations
are Targum Pseudo-Jonathan and Targum Neophyti.
[5] The Septuagint, composed about 250 BCE, and the
translation by Aquila, composed about 130 CE.
[6] There are many reasons for the targumic changes, such
as to clarify passages, to protect God’s honor, to show respect for Israelite
ancestors, etc. These alterations were not made to teach derash, as will
be shown below. The differences between peshat and derash is a
complex subject. Simply stated, peshat is the plain or simple or obvious
meaning of a text. Derash is the reading of a passage with either a
conscious or unconscious intent to derive something from it, usually a teaching
or ruling applicable to the needs or sensibilities of the later day, something
the original writer may have never meant.
[7] S.v, m’charef, Babylonian Talmud,  Kiddushin 49a.
[8] S.v. shnayim, Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot
8a, b.
[9] They may have also been implying that one cannot understand
their derash unless they first understood the Torah’s peshat.
[10] Our view that Onkelos was written without derash
is also supported by the following interpretation of the Babylonian Talmud,
Megillah 3a. The Talmud recalls a
tradition that the world shuttered when Targum Jonathan to the Prophets
was written. Why, the Talmud asks, did this not occur when Targum Onkelos was
composed? Because, it answers, Onkelos reveals nothing (that is, it
contains no derash), whereas Targum Jonathan reveals secrets (by
means of its derash).
[11] See M. M. Kasher, Torah Shelemah 24
(Jerusalem, 1974), pages 225-238, and J. Reifman, Sedeh Aram (Berlin,
1875), pages 12-14. The mention of a Targum in the Midrashim and Talmuds
are not necessarily references to Onkelos; the wording in these sources
and Onkelos frequently differ.
[12] See Kasher, supra pages 155-161 and Reifman, supra,
pages 8-10.
[13] See edition by A. Berliner (Leipzig, 1877). See I.
Drazin, JJS 50.2, supra, and note 15, for a summary of the
scholarly comments on this volume.
[14] See my study of Saadiah Gaon and Onkelos in
the introduction to Onkelos on the Torah: Leviticus, pages xvii-xxii.
[15] Perushei Rav Saadiah Gaon, in Torat Chaim,
Mossad Harav Kook, Jerusalem, 1986, and Daf-Chen Press, Jerusalem, 1984. The
uses of Onkelos are indexed in Genesis in the 1984 volume on page
471. See E. I. J. Rosenthal, “the Study of the Bible in medieval Judaism,” Studia
Semitica, Cambridge, 1971, pages 244-271, especially pages 248 and 249
regarding Saadiah.
    Saadiah established Hebrew
philology as a prerequisite for the study of the literal sense of the Bible and
he used rabbinic interpretations in his translation only when it complied with
reason. He stated at the end of his introduction to the Pentateuch that his
work is a “simple, explanatory translation of the text of the Torah, written
with the knowledge of reason and tradition.” He, along with ibn Ezra and
Onkelos, as we will see, included another meaning only when the literal
sense of the biblical text ran counter to reason or tradition. His failure to
mention that Onkelos contains derash does not prove indisputably
that he saw no derash in the commentary. However, since he copied Onkelos’
interpretations so very frequently in his Arabic translation, it is likely that
if he saw derash in Onkelos he would have mentioned it.
[16] In his Sefer Machberet Menahem (H. Filipowski,
editor), London and Edinburgh, 1854, pages 14a, 16b 17a, 17b, 20a, and others.
[17] Peirush Hatorah L’Rav Shmuel ben Hofni Gaon,
Mossad Harav Kook, Jerusalem, 1978, index on page 111.
[18] See the listing in Perushei Rashi al Hatorah
by Charles B. Chavel, Mossad Harav Kook, Jerusalem, 1982, pages 628 and 629.
For Rashi’s struggle against derash, see, for example, his commentary to
Genesis 3:8. While Rashi believed he interpreted Scriptures according to
its peshat, ibn Ezra criticized him: “He expounded the Torah
homiletically believing such to be the literal meaning, whereas his books do
not contain it except once in a thousand (times),” Safah Berurah, editor
G. Lippmann, Furth, 1839, page 5a. See also S. Kamin, Rashi’s Exegetical
Categorization with Respect to the Distinction Between Peshat and Derash
(Doctorial Theses), Jerusalem, 1978; M. Banitt, Rashi, Interpreter of the
Biblical Letter, Tel Aviv University, 1985; and Y. Rachman, Igeret Rashi,
Mizrachi, 1991.
[19] Rashi said that he was offering peshat. He
meant that his commentary frequently contains derash that seemed to him
to reflect the plain meaning of the Torah.
[20] M. I. Lockshin, Rabbi Samuel ben Meir’s Commentary
on Genesis, Jewish Studies, The Edwin Mellen Press, 1989. See especially
Rashbam to Genesis 37:2 and 49:16 where he criticizes his grandfather
with strong language.
[21] Lockshin, supra, pages 391-399, notes that
Rashi’s Torah Commentary is the primary focus of Rashbam’s own commentary. Of
some 650 periscopes of interpretation in the latter’s commentary to Genesis,
only about 33 percent concern issues not relevant to Rashi. Of the remaining
two-thirds, in only about 18 percent does Rashbam feel Rashi is correct, and in
just over 48 percent he is in disagreement with him, consistently criticizing
him for substituting derash for peshat, exactly what Rashi
declared he would not do. With this sensitivity to and opposition to derash,
it is very telling that he did not sprinkle even one drop of his venom on the
targumist.
[22] See Genesis 25:28, for example, where Rashbam
issues the accolade: “the plain meaning of scripture is the one offered by the
Targum.” It is significant to note that although Rashbam railed against the
insertion of derash into a biblical commentary, his own commentary was
frequently adulterated, as was Targum Onkelos, by the improper
insertions of derash by later hands. See, for example, Deuteronomy
2:20, 3:23, 7:11, and 11:10 in A. I. Bromberg, Perush HaTorah leRashbam,
Tel Aviv, 5725, page 201, note 25; page 202, note 111; page 206, 7, note 9; and
page 210, note 3.
[23] Ch. Heller’s and D. Revel’s were also convinced that
the original text of Onkelos did not have derash. However, they
did not recognize that Nachmanides was the first commentator to argue the
opposite. The first is in A Critical Essay on the Palestinian Targum to the
Pentateuch, NY, 1921, pages 32-57. The second is in Targum Yonatan al
Hatorah, New York, 5685, page 5. See also Bernard Grossfeld in “Targum
Onkelos, Halakhah and the Halakhic Midrashim,” in D.R.G. Beattie and M.
McNamara (editors), The Aramaic Bible , 1994,  pages 228-46.
[24] In his epigram preceding one of the recessions of his
commentary on the Pentateuch, ibn Ezra writes that he intends to mention by
name only those authors “whose opinion I consider correct.” He names Onkelos
frequently. In his commentary to Numbers, for example, the Targum is
cited in 11:5 where he gives another interpretation, but respectfully adds, “he
is also correct,” and in 11:22 he comments, “it means exactly what the Aramaic
targumist states.” See also 12:1; 21:14; 22:24; 23:3; 23:10; 24:23 and 25:4.
Asher Weiser, Ibn Ezra, Perushei Hatorah, Mossad Harav Kook, 1977.
    While he treats Onkelos
respectfully, ibn Ezra uses the strongly derogatory terms “deceivers” or
“liars,” for the derash-filled Targum Pseudo-Jonathan to Deuteronomy
24:6. See D. Revel, Targum Yonatan al Hatorah, New York, 5685, pages 1
and 2.   
[25] The “fundamental element” that Onkelos
addresses is the avoidance of a literal translation of most anthropomorphic and
anthropopathic phrases. See the listing in Moses Maimonides, The Guide of
the Perplexed, translated and with an introduction by Shlomo Pines, The
University of Chicago Press, 1963, volume 2, pages 656 and 658, and 1:28 for
the quote.
    Maimonides based his
interpretation of negative commands 128 and 163 in part upon our Targum.
Maimonides, The Commandments, translated by Charles B. Chavel, The
Soncino Press, 1967, pages 116, 117 and 155, 156. This was not because Onkelos
deviated from the plain meaning to teach halakhah. Command 128 forbids
an apostate Israelite to eat the Passover offering. Onkelos translates
the biblical “no alien may eat thereof” as “no apostate Israelite” (Exodus
12:43). The targumist may have thought this was the necessary meaning because Exodus
12:45 and 48 state that a sojourner and an uncircumcised Israelite could not
eat this sacrifice; thus the earlier verse must be referring to someone else.
Command 163 prohibits a priest from entering the Sanctuary with disheveled,
untrimmed hair.  Maimonides notes that
Onkelos translates Leviticus
10:6’s “Let not the hair of your heads go loose” as “grow long.” Again, the
targumist may have thought that this was the verse’s simple sense because it is
the language used by the Torah itself in Numbers 6:5 and because when
one loosens one’s hair it becomes longer. Indeed, Rashi states explicitly that
the peshat of “loose” in this instance is “long.”
[26] He is believed to have been a student of Rashbam’s
brother Rabbeinu Tam. See the source in the next note.
[27] J. Nebo, Perushei Rabbi Josef Bechor Schor al
Hatorah, Mossad Harav Kook, 1994, page 11, Schor went beyond Targum
Onkelos in his concern about biblical anthropomorphisms and his attempts to
whitewash the patriarchs.
[28] See note 23.
[29] Genesis 6:13, 18; 31:42; 33:20; 35:13; and
others.
[30] This could be seen as a kind of syllogism. Torah is
truth. Kabala is truth. Thus, Torah “must” contain Kabala.
[31] Ramban, Writings and Discourses, translated
and annotated by Charles B. Chavel, Shilo, 1978, page 174.
[32] Ramban, Commentary on the Torah, translated
and annotated by Charles B. Chavel, Shilo Publishing House, Inc., 1971, volume
1, XII. Chavel points out that the extensive kabalistic influences on future
generations can be traced to Nachmanides.
[33] This is my original idea. It is based on several
facts. First, we know that he was the first to read Kabala in the Torah words
and phrases. Second, we know that he had enormous respect for Onkelos;
he referred to Onkelos about 230 times in his Bible commentary; although
he criticized others, he treated Onkelos with great respect, even
reverence. He considered Onkelos to be generally expressing the
truth. Thus it is reasonable to assume that he applied the same syllogism to Onkelos
that he applied to the Torah. Finally, we know of no one before him who
read mysticism into the targumist’s words.
[34] Ramban, Writings and Discourses, supra, pages
75-76. Nachmanides’ error in dating Targum Onkelos “immediately after
Aristotle” was not his only historical mistake. He believed that the Talmud’s
implied dating of Jesus at about 100 years before the Common Era was correct. See
Judaism on Trial, editor H. Maccoby, Associated University Presses, Inc.,
1982, pages 28 and 29.       
[35] The Midrash Genesis Rabbah 9:5, which
is the source of this teaching, mentions “death” and 9:9 “the evil inclination
in man” as examples of seemingly bad things, which are good from a non-personal
world-wide perspective. Bachya ben Asher, the student of Nachmanides’ student
Rashba, who was also a mystic, mentions 9:9, but not the Targum. He did
not see this idea in Onkelos.
[36] Guide of the Perplexed 1:1. The Greek term psyche
had a similar developmental history as the Hebrew nefesh. T. Cahill, Sailing
the Wine-Dark Sea, Doubleday, 2003, writes on page 231.
            Psyche
was, to begin with, a Greek word for “life,” in the sense of individual human
life, and occurs in Homer in such phrases as “to risk one’s life” and “to save
one’s life.” Homer also uses it of the ghosts of the underworld – the weak,
almost-not-there shades of those who once were men. In the works of the early
scientist-philosophers, psyche can refer to the ultimate substance, the
source of life and consciousness, the spirit of the universe. By the fifth
century B.C., psyche had come to mean the “conscious self,” the
“personality,” even the “emotional self,” and thence it quickly takes on,
especially in Plato, the meaning of “immortal self” – the soul, in contrast to
the body.
[37] Bachya ben Asher also mentions the parts of the soul,
but not the Targum, again not seeing Nachmanides’ idea in Onkelos.
[38] See the five books by I. Drazin on Targum Onkelos
published by Ktav Publishing House. Each contains a listing of the deviations
by the targumist from the Hebrew original.
[39] In my discussion of Genesis 46:4, I show that
Nachmanides was convinced that Onkelos never deviates to avoid
anthropomorphisms.
[40] Bachya mentions neither Nachmanides nor Onkelos,
again not seeing the Nachmanidean interpretation in the Targum.
[41] The “joy” is mentioned in the Targum to verse
6.
[42] Genesis 17:19.
[43] See II Chronicles 3:1.
[44] Rashi gives an additional reason why “Mount Moriah”
is rendered “the land of worship.” He connected “Moriah” to “myrrh,” which was
an ingredient of the sacrificial incense and an important part of the Temple
worship. Rashi states that this is the targumic interpretation. Rashi may be
explaining why the site was called Moriah, which would not be derash,
but the plain sense of the word. Nachmanides interpretation goes far beyond a
simple definition. See Genesis Rabbah 55:7, Exodus 30:23ff, and
Babylonian Talmud, Keritut 6a.
[45] Chapter 31.
[46] This occurs twenty-three times in Genesis
alone.
[47] There are many books that explain the derash that
they see in Onkelos. The most widely known is Netina Lager by
Nathan Adler (Wilna, 1886). Others include Biure Onkelos by S. B.
Schefftel (Munich, 1888), and Chalifot Semalot  and Lechem Vesimla by B. Z. J.
Berkowitz (Wilna, 1874 and 1843).  Modern
writers using this method include Y. Maori, who generally focuses on the Peshitta
Targum, Rafael Posen who writes a weekly column for a magazine distributed
in Israeli synagogues. One can find listings in B. Grossfeld’s three volumes A
Bibliography of Targum Literature, HUC Press, 1972.


R. Zevin, R. Ovadia Yosef, Pras haRav Kook and a Minor Case of Censorship

|
R. Zevin, R. Ovadia Yosef, Pras haRav Kook and a Minor Case of
Censorship
by Jacob D.
At the
end of R. Zevin’s introduction to his Sofrim u-Sefarim [1] we read –
In R.
Zevin’s footnote we see that one of the works that he wanted to review but
didn’t yet get to was R. Ovadia Yosef’s two volumes of Yabia Omer. As someone
who enjoys R. Zevin’s pen immensely (both his style and substance, especially
the way he analyzes books and their authors) [2], and as someone that studies
from R. Ovadia Yosef’s prolific halakhic literature quite often, I was curious
to know if R. Zevin ever ended up writing a review on any ​of ​R. Ovadia
Yosef’s works. For this I turned to R. Zevin’s grandchildren.[3] In a phone
conversation with R. Nahum Zevin (of Kiryat Eliyahu,Haifa) I was told that
although he has some unpublished R. Zevin material, ​and also existing are​
some highly critical book reviews that R. Zevin felt should remain unpublished,[4]
he doesn’t think anything was written about R. Ovadia Yosef.
In R.
Ovadia Yosef​’s​ Yabia Omer we find among the numerous approbations this –
Not
exactly an approbation but an explanation why the work deserved the R. Kook
prize ​of​ Torah literature for the year 571​5​ (1955). I have no doubt that
although R. Zevin signs his name along with two other judges​,​ the explanation
was penned by R. Zevin himself​​. From the three periods before​ these​ few
sentences ​​it seemed to me that more had been written than the few lines which
were ​printed in the ​book. I wanted to find the rest of the story​ (although I
wasn’t expecting a full review essay because R. Zevin wrote in his  Sofrim u-Sefarim published in 1959 that he
hadn’t gotten around to reviewing this work)​ and I spoke with the department
in the Tel Aviv municipality that handles these prizes (see here).
They said ​that ​they don’t have any additional information or documents that
pertain to this but ​that ​I should contact the Tel Aviv city archive (here) and they should be able to help. After speaking with the kind staff of that
archive I receive an email with two documents and a short message-
אנו שולחים לך סריקה של ההחלטה על הענקת הפרס לרב עובדיה יוסף וכן
סריקה של מכתבו של ראש העיר חיים לבנון לרב עובדיה המודיע לו על זכייתו ומברך אותו
עליה. אין בידינו נימוקים מפורטים יותר
בברכה,
רבקה פרשל-גרשון
הארכיון העירוני
By now I
kind of gave up, and forgot about the matter.
A short
while later I get a call from my friend Israel Mizrahi of Judaicaused.com (and the Musings of a Jewish Bookseller blog). He
tells me that I’m not going to believe it but in a recent shipment from Israel
of some old books he found a little booklet printed for one years Pras haRav
Kook. Upon opening it he sees that it was the booklet printed in the year
571​5​ (Summer 1955)​,​ the year that Yabia Omer was awarded the prize​​!

​For a
small fee I purchased the booklet ​and although I found ​it​ quite
interesting​,​ unfortunately nothing really more had been written about Yabia
Omer that hadn’t been​ ​printed in the book. Nothing really​ I say​, aside for
one small surprise.

In the beginning of the
little piece written about Yabia Omer we read-
 ​רגילים לחשוב שהתורה
הלכה ונתדלדלה מהעדה הספרדית, ירד קרנה ופנה זיוה הודה והדרה. ולא היא. על כל פנים
לא באותה מידה שחושבים
​
These
​last seven​ words​-
​
על כל פנים לא באותה מידה שחושבים
may seem
offensive to the level of Sephardic scholarship at that time and were therefore
censored out of​ ​ Yabia Omer volume one. Interestingly they were printed in
Yabia Omer volume two. This is consistent in the numerous later editions of the
books as well, including the latest re-typset edition (5775-2015).
We now
learn that Artscroll’s “The Festivals in Halacha” was ​​not the
​only, nor the ​earliest case of R. Zevin censorship (see here).​
It should
be mentioned that in R. Ovadia Yosef’s first volume of responsa Teshuvot Hazon
Ovadia, he receives a nice close to page long approbation by R. ​Zevin, but
still not the full review essay I was hoping for.
​[​​​​1​]​ I thank Eliezer Brodt for finding me the full three volume set. This set
doesn’t turn up in used bookstores too often​​. It’s an exception from most of
R. Zevin’s other books that have been reprinted many times over.​ I remember
the special morning I received his email informing me that he found them like
yesterday.​
​[​2​]​ ​R. Zevin’s ​Ishim ve-Shitot​ includes ten long essays on more famous Torah
personalities ​​,​ and ​his ​three volumes of Sofrim u-Sefarim​ includes about
a hundred and seventy-five (!) short essays​.
​​[​3​]​ I had previously spoken to one grandson Eliyahu who’s an attorney living in Tel
Aviv about having Sofrim u-Sefarim added to Hebrewbooks.org. In the course of
our conversations Eliyahu mentioned that he heard Hebrewbooks.org had already
scanned and posted some of R. Zevins’s other books, and that was
done without permission. He asked me to send them a message that the family
will take legal action if the issue isn’t straightened out. Upon Hebrewbooks
hearing that​,​ they seemed uninterested in dealing with the family to obtain
permission to keep the books on their site​,​ and all of R. Zevin’s
books were instantly removed. Also included in the books removed was the essay
whose true author is still in question about Yeshiva boys serving in the
Israeli Army. See my comment here and see
this post here.
[4] That
came to me a little bit as a surprise because in the three volumes worth of
essays that R. Zevin chose to publish in his Sofrim u-Sefarim, we do find some
highly critical reviews. See for example in volume one (Geonim, Rishonim,
u-Teshuvot)​​ his review on the third volume of Teshuvot Yaskil Avdi by R.
Ovadia Hedaya (pg. 258), and in volume two (Pesakim, Pirushim, ve-Hidushim), a
highly critical review of R. Aryeh Pomoranchik’s first volume of Torat Zera’im
(pg. 221)​.​​ Also in this same volume a pretty serious charge leveled
(delicately) ​at his friend and colleague R. Yehezkel Abramsky’s Hazon Yehezkel
Hullin (pg. 114). However, upon looking through some old issues of Ha-Tzofeh
from the 1930’s and 40’s (where most of the material in Sofrim u-Sefarim first
appeared, ​see ​here​​)​,​ I was able to come across some of the 
extremely critical reviews that R. Zevin chose not to publish in his
books. None of the reviews that R. Zevin published in his books were nearly as
critical as these.
See Ha-Tzofeh
Fri. Aug 5th 1938
and Ha-Tzofeh
Fri. Sep. 27th 1940


Announcement of new works of Rishonim

|
Announcement of new works of Rishonim
By Eliezer Brodt
מגנזי אירופה,
כרך ראשון, ההדיר והוסיף מבואות: שמחה עמנואל, הוצאת מקיצי נרדמים, 512 עמודים.
I am very happy to announce the publication of an important work which I have been eagerly waiting for, Professor Simcha Emanuel of the Hebrew University’s Talmud department’s volume of texts from the “European Genizah” (volume one). This volume was just printed by Mekitzei Nirdamim and is being sold by Magnes Press.

New texts from Rishonim are high up on my list of favorite publications, all the more so when they are edited by Professor Simcha Emanuel. Professor Emanuel is considered one of the today’s greatest experts in Rishonic literature. He has produced numerous special works [such as this recent work, this, this and my favorite] and articles of both texts and material about them for quite some time. [Many of which are available here] All of which are of very high quality, showing an incredible breadth and depth in the material at hand. One area of specialty of his is finding long lost works; this new volume continues this trend. Starting with an important introduction to the background and importance of the Genizah, it includes numerous newly discovered texts of Rishonim, with introductions and background of their importance and proof of identification.
Here are the Table of Contents of this special work:

For a sample e mail me at
Eliezerbrodtatgmail.com.
The book can be purchased via Magnes
Press or through me at: Eliezerbrodtatgmail.com.
Also take note of a special sale of numerous
titles at Magnes Press.
Copies of this work will be arriving
at Biegeleisen shortly.