Review of Rav Zvi Hirsch Grodzinsky’s Taharas Yisroel

By Shmuel Lubin

Shmuel Lubin is a doctoral candidate in biology and creator of “The Rishonim” podcast.

ר‘ צבי הירש גראדזענסקי טהרת ישראל, הלכות נדה, לראשונה מכתב יד, ע“י מכון תפארת צבי, [נדפס ע“י מכון עלה זית], תקסח עמודים

The publication of a new sefer on Hilchos Niddah is not necessarily cause for celebration in the often-saturated world of halachic literature.[1] But when such a publication is based on an early 20th century manuscript from the American heartland, it at least merits a glance; if the author happens to also have a rather famous rabbinic last name, talmidei chachamim may take interest even without knowing anything about the sefer’s content. All this can be said about Sefer Taharas Yisrael on the laws of Niddah, written by Rav Zvi Hirsch Grodzinsky zt”l. Born c. 1857 in Lithuania, where he learned be-chavrusa with his more famous second-cousin, Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzinsky zt”l, he then spent most of his adult life serving as the chief rabbi of Omaha, Nebraska for almost 60 years (1891-1947). [2] As intriguing as his biography is, once one begins studying Rav Grodzinsky’s Sefer Taharas Yisrael, such details quickly fade into insignificance, washed away by a torrent of Torah brilliance. This review will therefore focus first on judging the newly published work for what it is: a book on the laws of Hilchos Niddah (Family Purity).

Photo of Rabbi Zvi Hirsch Grodzinsky from approximately the time he arrived in America. (From Rosenbaum and Wakschlag, 1994)

Probably the most succinct way to describe the style of the Sefer Taharas Yisrael is to say that it does for Hilchos Niddah what R. Avraham Bornstein’s (the “Sochatchover”) Eglei Tal does for Hilchos Shabbos: it is a book of halacha that also provides the background for the laws through detailed conceptual analysis of its sources. In the center of the page is the halacha, which is usually a direct quotation from Shulchan Aruch, Rama, or similarly standard halachic works. This main text is flanked by two sets of notes: “Mekoros,” or citations, and “Biurim,” elaborations.

Because the main body of the text is often an exact citation from a standard halachic authority such as the Shulchan Aruch or Rama, sometimes these formulations do not precisely reflect the halachic consensus as Rav Grodzinsky understands it. Despite its name, therefore, the “Mekoros” section not only provides citations for the main text, but also serves more generally as ‘footnotes’, including brief but important clarifications or qualifications of the cited halacha. Together, this allows for the Sefer Taharas Yisrael to be useful as a work of practical guidance, like so many other summary works on Hilchos Niddah available today, but at the same maintain the voice of the classic authorities such as the Shulchan Aruch.

The vast majority of the sefer’s text, however, is comprised of the Biurim, wherein Rav Grodzinsky engages in classical rabbinic interpretation of halachic texts, analyzing their language and logic, raising questions, proposing interpretations, and refining his (and his readers’) understanding of the earlier textual sources. These sources used in the Biurim focus primarily on the Gemara and Rishonim, as well as the major poskim throughout the generations both “on the page” of the Shulchan Aruch and in other classic (and sometimes not-so-classic) works of She’eilos u-Teshuvos and halacha. Despite his remote location, especially relative to the Torah centers of Europe and America, Rav Grodzinsky amassed an extraordinary library of seforim, as attested to by the roughly 200 books of She’eilos u-Teshuvos that he lists in the introductory pages of the reference work that he published during his lifetime, “Likutei Zvi.”

Part of Rav Grodzinsky’s library which was housed by Otzar ha-Poskim in Jerusalem. (From Rosenbaum and Wakschlag, 1994)

Nevertheless, in Sefer Taharas Yisrael, Rav Grodzinsky focuses more narrowly on the classical commentaries printed in now-standard editions of the Gemara, Rambam, Tur and Shulchan Aruch.[3] Of course, not all of these were always so “standard”; for example, Rav Grodzinsky makes use of the Tosafos ha-Rosh that had been “newly printed on the side of the Gemara” (p. 42), referring to the now ubiquitous Vilna Shas published by Mrs. Deborah Romm and her sons during Rav Grodzinsky’s lifetime (while he was still living in Eastern Europe).

A few other observations are worth noting about Rav Grodzinsky’s use of sources. Although he does reference the responsa literature, aside from references to the Noda BiYehudah and Chasam Sofer, the total number of those citations is probably only a few dozen (which is certainly impressive, but does not reflect the more extraordinary breadth of his reference work, Likutei Zvi). Rav Grodzinsky also quotes heavily from both the Chochmas Adam of R. Avraham Danzig, and from the Shulchan Aruch “HaRav” of R. Shneur Zalman of Liadi, whom Rav Grodzinsky invariably – and uniquely – cites as the “the Rav, the Gaon, the Chassid.” These seforim have become standard works of halacha that are frequently cited in the literature of the past century, but in several places, Rav Grodzinsky also quotes from another book of halacha that is rarely if ever cited today, the “Ikkarei ha-Dat” of R. Daniel Tirani (18th century Italy), which is noteworthy for also including what would be considered “medical” information along with the halacha (see p. 38).

Among Rav Grodzinsky’s many sources are also non-halachic texts, such as the Midrash Vayikra Rabbah or R. Eliyahu Mizrachi’s supercommentary to Rashi on the Torah. Another noteworthy reference is Rav Grodzinsky’s discussion of a comment by the “Besamim Rosh,” (p. 215) attributed to R. Asher b. Yechiel (“the Rosh”) but now widely accepted to have been forged by Saul Berlin.[4] This is especially interesting because among Rav Grodzinsky’s unpublished manuscripts is an expansive 11-volume work on the (authentic) responsa of R. Asher b. Yechiel. Given his expertise in the works of this particular medieval authority, it would be very valuable to know whether (or to what extent) he believed that positions expressed in the Besamim Rosh fit with other known statements of the Rosh. In an important responsum on the topic of annulling a marriage, published by Rav Grodzinsky at the end of his commentary to Maseches Berachos (published in 1923), he briefly mentions a “sevara meshubeshes” [distorted reasoning] quoted in the name of the Besamim Rosh, and says that the book was not available to him at the time. In Sefer Taharas Yisrael though, Rav Grodzinsky raises no objections to the book per se.[5]

Sometimes the “Biurim” are merely quotes from earlier compendiums, such as the Beis Yosef, or summaries of some of the major discussions of later commentaries such as the Chavos Daas and Sidrei Taharah (and those who have read through extensive comments of the Sidrei Taharah will acknowledge that extracting the main points from his lengthy pilpulim is itself a great service). In what may be the most difficult topic of Hilchos Niddah, Rav Grodzinsky excuses himself for deviating from his usual brevity to enumerate the various rabbinic positions and their halachic consequences for the benefit of someone struggling through the dense halachic details in question (p. 114-117).

Usually, though, Rav Grodzinsky goes far beyond mere quotations or summaries of earlier commentaries. Whether he is discussing the Gemara, the Rishonim, the Shulchan Aruch, or later commentators, Rav Grodzinsky’s novel elaborations upon these sources of the halacha are extraordinary in their clarity, profundity, and creativity. Most of these biurim are brief, consisting of a single question-and-answer, an additional proof to the position cited in the main text, or the like, but written in a lucid style that stands in stark contrast to other ‘short’ halachic commentaries such as the Shach and Taz.

The vast majority of Rav Grodzinsky’s novel contributions are in explicating a single, very precise detail of a halachic discussion. He does not engage in the type of high-level conceptual categorization (inventing ‘lomdishe chakiras’) that is common in contemporary yeshiva study.[6] Instead, his approach involves a close examination of the original sources, on occasion proposing alternative readings or explanations to resolve questions or demonstrate proofs to the halacha in the Gemara, Rishonim and early Acharonim.

Rav Grodzinsky’s creativity is especially evident in defending positions of Rishonim (and sometimes Acharonim) from the challenges of later commentators. As he writes (p. 257 and 343), “it is a mitzvah to resolve the words of the Beis Yosef from whose waters we drink constantly.” This tendency is not at all limited to R. Yosef Caro who, as the author of the Beis Yosef and Shulchan Aruch, is one of the main pillars of halachic decision-making. Rav Grodzinsky writes similarly regarding the authors of Knesses Yechezkel (R. Yechezkel Katzenellenbogen, p. 68-69), the Perisha (R. Yehoshua Falk Katz, p. 260), the Panim Meiros (R. Meir Poznan/Eisenstadt, p. 318), and many others. In fact, Rav Grodzinsky appears to be especially motivated to defend opinions that are rejected as erroneous by the majority of other commentators, saving them from potential dishonor.

As Eliezer Brodt discussed in his review of Sefer Beis ha-Yayin, Rav Grodzinsky is at times willing to attribute difficult passages to printers’ errors, but is wary of making such suggestions too frequently.[7] However, he sometimes solves difficult positions of Rishonim or explains why groups of Rishonim will disagree with each other by noting that they likely had different versions of the Gemara’s text.[8] In a similar vein, Rav Grodzinsky is adept at demonstrating how a dispute among Rishonim or Acharonim is dependent upon a dispute found in the Gemara (or at least earlier sources; e.g. on p. 185). He is particularly sensitive to rabbinic authors of differing opinions and has a keen eye towards finding a “le-shitaso,” explaining how deciding one particular halacha is dependent upon understanding a different halacha. He applies this method to many Amoraim, Rishonim, and Acharonim. These types of explanations demonstrate how Rav Grodzinsky was deeply attuned not just to nuances of the Talmudic sources, but also to the specific personalities behind each opinion voiced by the various commentators and authorities. Relatedly, Rav Grodzinsky will sometimes remark upon the general tendency or style of a Rishon, noting, for instance, “it is surprising to me that the Rosh did not mention that the position of the Tosafists diverges [from his own view] and dispute their words, as is his custom in every place” (p. 211).

Within the context of halachic discussion, Rav Grodzinsky is not averse to suggesting fresh and often creative interpretations of the Gemara that appear to be at odds with the major commentaries. Usually, his reinterpretations of primary sources are in response to some problem raised by the commentators, but this is not always the case. To take one relatively simple example, the Gemara (Niddah 9b) states:

וכמה עונה אמר ריש לקיש משום רבי יהודה נשיאה עונה בינונית שלשים יום ורבא אמר רב חסדא עשרים יום ולא פליגי מר קחשיב ימי טומאה וימי טהרה ומר לא חשיב ימי טומאה.

And how long is a typical cycle? Reish Lakish says in the name of Rabbi Yehuda Nesia: the average cycle is thirty days. And Rava says that Rav Ḥisda says: It is twenty days. [The Gemara clarifies:] And they do not disagree. One counts [i.e., includes] days of impurity and days of purity. And the other does not count the days of impurity [i.e., the seven days of niddah plus the three days of possible ziva sightings]

The Gemara is fairly explicit in saying that the two rabbis cited as opining upon the average woman’s cycle do not disagree with each other. Yet, Rav Grodzinsky (p. 130) believes that the Gemara would not have expressed their opinions in different ways if their positions were truly identical, and so he suggests that they do, in fact, disagree, but the Gemara simply means that they both hold that the average cycle is approximately 30 days, not that their opinions vary so widely as to differ by ten whole days.

Notwithstanding his frequently bold and creative suggestions, Rav Grodzinsky is very hesitant to utilize those innovations in practice. Instead, he writes, “I will permit the audacity of boldly writing what has come into my net [arhiv be-nafshi oz lichtov mah she-alah be-metzudasi], but I am writing only for the purposes of study and not le-halacha, considering only as a student considers before his master” (p. 20), or “for even if this [novel explanation] answers many questions, it is against many Rishonim and Acharonim who are so much greater than I” (p. 389). When it comes to the practical implementation of halacha, Rav Grodzinsky’s humility prevents him from issuing a pesak that is against what he views as the mainstream position of the earlier poskim.[9] His determination of this “mainstream” is complex; Rav Grodzinsky does not appear to be working within a rule-based system such that, for example, if there is a dispute between the Shach and Taz he would always decide in favor of the Shach.[10] Instead, Rav Grodzinsky takes all the commentaries into consideration and appears to decide according to his considered majority, but many times both opinions will appear in the main body of the halacha in the center of the page, as yesh omrim [some say] one way or the other.

Even without consciously pushing the boundaries of pesak halacha, however, sometimes Rav Grodzinsky’s assessment of the halachic consensus is nevertheless important where later or contemporary rabbinic authorities continue to dispute certain halachos. Hilchos Niddah may be a “well-trodden path” (much more so than, for example, the laws of yayin nesech, the subject of Rav Grodzinsky’s book published in 2011), but there are numerous issues where contemporary poskim differ, and Rav Grodzinsky can thus serve as an important source for deciding halacha. To take just one example out of many, Rav Grodzinsky believes that there is no reason to follow the stricter opinion of the Or Zaru’a in considering a veses [expected period] to last for 24 (instead of 12) hours.[11]

Most of Rav Grodzinsky’s responsa remain unpublished, but from the few that are available it is clear that he did not shy away from tackling even the most complex of modern issues. In an undated manuscript that was probably written around 1941, for example, Rav Grodzinsky wrote what may be the first full-length discussion of the halachic implications of artificial insemination.[12] Some of Rav Grodzinsky’s previously published works also include fascinating asides or observations pertaining to his role and experiences as a rabbi in early twentieth century America.[13] However, there is almost no topic in Sefer Taharas Yisrael that was not discussed in the older, classical works of halacha. As far as I could tell, there is no hint to the fact that the sefer was written in 20th century Nebraska instead of 18th century Prague, even though there are many instances where one would think that the different American context might have an impact upon halacha. Perhaps this is because Sefer Taharas Yisrael was written earlier in Rav Grodzinsky’s lifetime, or maybe he simply wanted to maintain its classical style without discussing new questions in this context.

If Sefer Taharas Yisrael were published in pre-war Eastern Europe, it would have undoubtedly been popular among rabbinic students who recognized Rav Grodzinsky as a fantastic talmid chacham.[14] In (nearly) all of his writings, Rav Grodzinsky’s intended audience was certainly his rabbinic colleagues in Europe and Israel (then British Palestine), not his own congregants in the city of Omaha, Nebraska. In terms of his vast Torah knowledge, Rav Grodzinsky must have been worlds away from his neighbors and community. It is hard to imagine what he knew or thought about the city of Omaha when he was 33 years old, living in Vilna, when he accepted the invitation to become its rabbi in 1891. By the time Rav Grodzinsky arrived, there were (at least) two main Orthodox synagogues – a “Litvishe Shul” (Congregation B’nai Israel, founded 1883) and a “Russishe Shul” (Chevra B’nai Israel Adas Russia, founded 1884), with a third Hungarian Shul dedicated a few years after. As Omaha’s Orthodox rabbi, Rav Grodzinsky gave weekly sermons, led daily Mishnah studies, counseled congregants, answered halachic questions, and supervised kosher slaughter, but it seems inevitable that a great chasm would have existed between him and his community. He refused to speak English, even to his children, and seems to have avoided participating in the committees and social obligations that were becoming typical of American rabbis (although he did participate in the founding of Agudas ha-Rabbanim in 1902).

The majority of even Rav Grodzinsky’s most devoted congregants who may have purchased their rabbi’s books as a mark of respect could probably hardly read them, and his neighbors surely had little appreciation of the talmudic genius living among them. The salary provided by the shuls of Omaha, initially a modest honorarium of $25 per month from each synagogue, was hardly enough to make ends meet. When the two larger Omaha shuls hired Rabbi Yechiel Michel Charlop in 1923 (who stayed for two years before moving to the Bronx), he was offered an annual salary of $3,500. Meanwhile, Rav Grodzinsky at the time earned about $200-400 and was forced to supplement his income by providing various other functions such as selling Matzah for Passover and traveling annually to Sacramento, California to certify kosher wines. A few decades after his death, nobody in the community even remembered where he was buried.[15]

Instead, Rav Grodzinsky poured unimaginably superhuman efforts into producing scholarly Torah writings. His first book, “Mikveh Yisrael,” a commentary on the laws of ritual baths, appeared in 1898 with the approbation of his rebbe R. Yitzchak Elchonon Spektor zt”l. Starting in 1896, he contributed numerous articles to respected Torah journals, engaging in scholarly debates on a wide range of halachic issues with the rabbis of Europe, Israel, and elsewhere in America. The vast majority of Rav Grodzinsky’s prolific output, however, remained in manuscript form at the time of his death (at about 90) in 1947. Shortly afterwards, his personal library and unpublished writings were shipped off to the Otzar ha-Poskim institute in Jerusalem, as per his instructions prior to his passing.

A newspaper article from 1945 reported that Rav Grodzinsky (then at the age of about 87) was “planning the publication of additional works in the field of Rabbinics,”[16] but the word “planning” is a woefully inadequate description of the amount of effort and care that Rav Grodzinsky put into preparing his writings for publication. Many seforim aficionados will be aware of R. Akiva Eiger’s directions to his sons that they should publish his responsa using large clear lettering on the finest paper available. Rabbi Zvi Hirsch Grodzinsky went quite a bit further, taking an unusual, perhaps even unique step towards ensuring that his halachic works would be published as beautifully as he imagined them to be: with his clear handwriting, he would copy over his ready-to-publish manuscript into bound notebooks in the precise page layout that he intended for it to be printed, with the main halacha in the center flanked by citations on one side and elaborations on the other.

Despite the incredible lengths Rav Grodzinsky went to in preparing his manuscripts, they languished in their boxes (and were even tied up in their original ropes) for many decades before any of these previously unpublished works were actually printed. The saga of their publication is the subject of a 2015 Mishpacha magazine article[17] with additional updates included in the Introduction sections of more recent publications. In 2011, R. Shalom Jacob zt”l published Rav Grodzinsky’s work on Yayin Nesech, and a few years later published a collection of his writings on the holidays under the title Mo’adei Zvi vol. 1 (2016). This newly published work, Sefer Taharas Yisrael on Hilchos Niddah, the third in the series of Rav Grodzinsky’s works published from manuscripts, marks a bittersweet occasion, coinciding with the first yahrzeit of R. Shalom Jacob, whose dedicated efforts in publishing Rav Grodzinsky’s seforim have been continued by Rabbi Myron Wakschlag through Machon Tiferes Zvi, a nonprofit organization dedicated to publishing Rav Grodzinsky’s works. This new volume includes tributes to R. Shalom Jacob by Rabbi Yisroel Dovid Schlesinger of Monsey, by R. Shalom’s father, and by R. Shalom’s friend and partner-in-publication, Rabbi Wakschlag.

The publishers have lived up to Rav Grodzinsky’s high expectations admirably; Sefer Taharas Yisrael is handsomely bound, typeset in large lettering, and with the sections clearly laid out and formatted according to the author’s handwritten notebooks (even if maintaining the exact pagination would have been impractical, if not impossible). As expected for a work of this size and complexity, it is not entirely without typographical errors, although these rarely impede understanding.[18]

Particularly helpful is the Source Index, which contributes to making Sefer Taharas Yisrael more user-friendly for someone studying either Maseches Niddah or Shulchan Aruch (although Rav Grodzinsky’s own sefer does mostly follow the organization of the Tur). Without this index, the sefer would be much more difficult to be studied by someone following a classic yeshiva or kollel curriculum. However, it should be noted that the index, while useful, is not entirely comprehensive, especially for sources beyond the Gemara and Shulchan Aruch commentaries. For instance, there is no reference to “Ra’ah” (R. Ahron ha-Levi of Lunel) or his work, Bedek ha-Bayis despite being quoted several times.[19] However, as it currently stands the index is already 49 pages long(!), and these minor deficiencies do not substantially detract from its overall utility (and certainly do not impinge upon the quality of the sefer as a whole).

There is no question in my mind that this work will be an invaluable resource for anyone engaged in serious study of Hilchos Niddah, as Rav Grodzinsky’s scholarship deserves a place on the shelf of every kollel beis medrash. Hopefully, this publication will serve as a catalyst for the financing of more publications from Rav Grodzinsky’s writings; a list of manuscripts being considered for future publication and other information about this project can be found on the publisher’s website. Aside from the benefit that this serves “le-hagdil Torah u-le-ha’adirah,” publication of his responsa and sermons in particular will likely provide fascinating insights into the rabbinic engagement with new technologies and social realities of early 20th century America.

Moreover, the quality and depth of Sefer Taharas Yisrael should further solidify Rav Grodzinsky’s place among the gedolim of his generation, and the sefer is a fitting tribute to this giant who was largely under-appreciated by his own congregants of Omaha, Nebraska. In the commentary to Maseches Berachos that Rav Grodzinsky published in his lifetime, he explained the rabbinic ‘blessing’ that “you should see your world in your life, your end in the World to Come, and your hope will be for generations” (Berachos 17a):

“That you should be recognized and desired in people’s eyes in this world… that is “your end in the World to Come,” and “your hope,” meaning, your hope that your lips will speak from the grave through others speaking your sayings in this world, as the Gemara says in Yevamos (97a), “will be for generations,” meaning, for many generations after you, people will continue to cite your teachings in this world. (Milei de-Berachos p. 187)

May this blessing be applied posthumously to Rav Grodzinsky as fulfilled through the further study and publication of his works.

For sample pages of this work Email Eliezerbrodt@gmail.com

A World War II Liberator’s Letter to his Hometown Rabbi

By Rabbi Akiva Males

I recently realized that this year, January 26th will correspond to the 26th of Teves. That date marks the tenth Yahrtzeit of a remarkable man — who lived through some extraordinary experiences exactly eighty years ago. I had the honor of knowing Mr. Charles Press (1920 – 2015) for the last eight years of his life. However, others in Harrisburg, PA (where I served as a pulpit Rabbi from 2007 – 2016) enjoyed his friendship for over nine decades. Over the course of those many years, Charlie (as he was lovingly known) was a very active member of his synagogue (Kesher Israel Congregation) and the Jewish community that had nurtured him. With his devoted wife Eunyce (1924 – 2023) at his side, Charlie was also among the most dedicated volunteers that his Shul ever knew.

Charlie was a member of the heroic cohort which journalist Tom Brokaw reverently labeled as “The Greatest Generation”. On several occasions, I had the opportunity to hear him speak about some of his World War II experiences. As the 80th anniversary of those events approaches, I believe some of what Charlie told me needs to be shared with a broader audience.

Measuring over six feet, Charlie was a very tall man — yet one of the gentlest people I ever met. As much as I try, it is hard for me to imagine him as a strapping young man in his early twenties, struggling to stay warm under his olive drab steel helmet, and spending sleepless nights in frigid fox holes, while slugging it out with the Nazis. However, that is exactly what the early months of 1945 were like for Charlie Press.

After the US entered World War II in December of 1941, Charlie saw many of his childhood friends leave Harrisburg to join the fight in both the European and Pacific theaters of war. As an employee of the Pennsylvania Railroad, the powers-that-be saw Charlie’s role as essential to the US war effort. As much-needed personnel and war supplies were constantly being shipped through Pennsylvania from other states, he received a draft deferment. In fact, his superiors pleaded with Charlie to remain at his railroad position in the Keystone State. Nonetheless, as a proud Jewish-American, Charlie yearned to play a more direct role in the fight against the Nazis. Unable to continue observing from the sidelines, he quit his job, enlisted in the US Army, and left the safety of Pennsylvania behind.

Charlie trained to be part of a two-man bazooka team and was assigned to the 90th Infantry Division, 357th Battalion. The bazooka (a shoulder-fired rocket launcher) was a relatively new — and highly-appreciated — weapon which gave US soldiers the firepower they needed to attack the enemy’s tanks and fortifications. In addition to his rifle and personal gear, Charlie also carried the bazooka’s shells and loaded the weapon for his partner (another Jewish GI named Harvey Goldreyer from Queens, NY) who would carefully aim and fire it.

Charlie joined his unit as a replacement following the bloody ‘Battle of the Bulge’ (December 1944 – January 1945). In the months that followed, he and his bazooka partner’s skills were called upon numerous times.

On April 23, 1945, US forces liberated the Flossenburg Concentration Camp. Decades later, this is how Charlie described those events:

I was in the 90^th Infantry Division which liberated the Flossenburg Concentration Camp, located about six kilometers (about 3.5 miles) from the German-Czech border as the war in Europe drew to a close in 1945. We were not prepared for what we saw: Still smoldering crematoria and open gravesites of human ashes, piles of corpses and shoes stacked about 20 feet high. When we arrived there were about 70 men and women who survived. They were so emaciated; they were just skin and bones. Speaking with them we found out that this was a political camp as well as an exterminating camp for Jews, Gypsies, and the disabled. The camp guards and personnel had fled before our unit arrived.

In addition, there were [US] soldiers that were captured by the Germans in the Battle of the Bulge and were forced to undergo long forced marches in the cold after being deprived of their overcoats and warm clothing. As the Americans began falling by the wayside the SS guards shot them. Many never made it to Flossenburg.

The German soldiers that were taken prisoners and returned to the camp as prisoners of war were very arrogant in defeat. They [repeated how they] were following orders and were proud that they were Germans.

For many years I never talked about what I saw. My granddaughter had to do a paper for school about who was her hero. That was the first time that I told her about what I experienced at Flossenburg.

Shockingly, in the years since WWII, the outlandish claims of Holocaust deniers have gained traction in some quarters. As a result, in his later years, Charlie became more open about what he had personally witnessed at Flossenburg. What follows is the text of a letter Charlie wrote in Flossenburg and sent to his beloved Rabbi back home — Rabbi David L. Silver (1907 – 2001).

Rabbi David L. Silver — the son of the famed Rabbi Eliezer Silver (1882 – 1968) — founded Harrisburg’s Jewish day school, and led Kesher Israel Congregation for more than 50 years. Charlie Press told me that he had one goal in publicizing this historic letter which contains his eye-witness account:

“Read the letter. Now tell me there was no Holocaust!”

____________________________________

Germany, July 3, 1945

Dear Rabbi,

At present my outfit is located at the Flossenburg Concentration Camp guarding Hitler’s elite. This camp was at one time a living hell for many Jewish, Polish, Czech, and German political prisoners. The atrocities which I have witnessed are uncountable. At this moment I am in a guard tower which is equipped with weapons to hinder any attempted break by the criminals. At one time though, this same tower was occupied by some of the criminals who are now inside the fence.

To the left of this tower is a crematorium where daily human beings were burned. In the rear of this crematorium is a room with small vases in which the ashes of only the German dead were placed and sent to their families. The other prisoners’ ashes and bones were piled in a small ravine and covered up. The rain washed all the dirt off and uncovered the hideous evidence. In another section of the field is where human bodies were stacked crosswise on top of wood, and oil was poured over and lighted. When one row would be burned, the next row would be started, and so they kept the fires burning continuously.

The past few Sundays I have been visiting in a small town called Floso, where there are about fifteen Jewish displaced persons who at one time have been in this camp. We go there and have services and sing songs and tell stories. It’s really wonderful to make them happy although in their hearts there is unrest from what they have gone through. They are having a synagogue rebuilt and as soon as it is finished I am going to try and have services there for all of the soldiers and civilians around. It will be great to go to Shul once more.

I thank you again for the holiday greetings, and hope next Pesach I can be home with the family in a civilian suit, and enjoying a good Pesach-dig Seder.

Sincerely yours,

Charles Press

____________________________________________

Young Israel of Memphis’ Rabbi Akiva Males can be reached at rabbi@yiom.org

Mr. Charles Press and Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell at the Governor’s Civic Commemoration of the Holocaust in April 2009 (Photo taken by Rabbi Akiva Males)

WWII-era photo of Charlie Press in his US Army uniform — note the 90^th Infantry Division insignia

A plaque honoring the 90^th Infantry Division at Flossenburg

WWII-era US soldier aiming a bazooka

Kesher Israel Congregation’s 1953 dinner honoring Rabbi David L. Silver

Left to right: Rabbi David L. Silver; Samuel Brenner (President of Kesher Israel); Rabbi Eliezer Silver (father of Rabbi David L. Silver and former Rabbi of Kesher Israel); Rabbi Dr. Samuel Belkin (President of Yeshiva University)

Charlie Press in September of 2014 – just four months before his passing (Photo taken by Rabbi Akiva Males)

The Haftarot in the1806 Lopez Calendar
Eli Duker

Although[1] a Sephardi Machzor was published in 1766 in colonial New York by Isaac Pinto,[2] the first Jewish book printed in the newly formed United States that I am aware of was a calendar published by Moses Lopez of Newport, in 1806.

Lopez born in Lisbon, Portugal in 1740 with the given name Duarte to a “New Christian” family, arrived with that family in Newport in 1767 on a ship sent by his uncle Aaron where he was circumcised together with his father and brothers, upon which he took the name Moses.[3] His arrival in Newport coincided with the most active period in the colonial Jewish community’s existence.[4]

The synagogue of Congregation Nefutsé Israel (later known as Yeshuat Israel) opened in 1763,[5] and thrived for the next few years.

As the struggle between the British and the Colonists began in the 1770’s, it became more difficult to conduct business in Newport. After the Revolutionary War began, the fighting and damage caused the community to flee, mostly to New York. While some returned after the war ended, and the synagogue had the distinct honor of receiving a letter from President Washington. Nonetheless, the community never recovered. Uriah Hendricks, a Jewish traveler from New York attending services there in 1789, noted that they read the parasha from a Humash rather than from a sefer torah.[6] Upon his return there for Rosh Hashana in 1790, he became upset with how the shofar was blown. He walked out and did not return.[7]

IN 1818 it was recorded in the synagogue’s congregational minutes that there had not been any services there “for a great number of years.” In 1820, Lopez himself, the last Jew remaining in Newport, moved to New York, but continued to involve himself in the upkeep of the Newport synagogue and cemetery from afar.

Lopez’s calendar, printed in English with all Hebrew words transliterated, covers the dates from 5566 (corresponding to 1805-6 until 5519 (1858-9). It also has estimated times for the commencement of the Sabbath (rounded off to the half hour) and a list of parshiyot and haftarot. The historical context and details of the calendar are all covered quite well in M. Satlow’s “Jewish Time in Early Nineteenth Century: A study in Moses Lopez’s Calendar”.[8] Yet, other than mentioning that a list of Haftarot was printed there, there are no details or specifics given about what those Haftarot were. That will be the focus of this article.

As a Sephardic community, most of the Haftarot listed there are similar to what appears in most printed Humashim as the Sephardi Haftarah. This is not immediately apparent, as Lopez used the chapter system as it appears in the King James Bible, rather than the standard “Jewish” chapters.[9]

That said, there are points of interest concerning some of the Haftarot listed there. While there are no haftarot unique to this list, some have an end or a beginning that I have not found in any of the hundreds of Geniza fragments, or Humashim in manuscript or printed form, that I have checked. Others accord with a practice that was practiced in some other places, but that clearly deviate from the standard Sephardi practice,

Here is a list of the Haftarot in the calendar in these categories:[10]

The only other source I was able to find regarding specific Haftarah practices in colonial America and the early United States was in the English prayer book of 1806, which lists the haftarot for the Festivals. It always conformed to the standard Sephardi practice, without the deviations found here.

It is hard to understand where these alternate Haftarot came from. Lopez was raised under the thumb of the Inquisition in Portugal. It seems highly unlikely that he attended synagogue at all, let alone with any regularity. After a few short years of belonging to a fully functioning congregation in Newport, the community began to decline, and 12 years after the completion of the calendar we know that there hadn’t been any services “for a great number of years.” In all likelihood, a man who had never really attended synagogue until he was 27 and was living in a community that likely hadn’t held Sabbath services regularly in quite some time sat on his own with a Christian Bible, writing down what he believed to be were the texts to be read for the Haftarot, even though some of these do not seem to have been practiced in the larger Sephardi Shearith Israel synagogue in New York.

Are these Haftarot figments of his faulty recollections? Or is it perhaps possible that a synagogue without a Hacham, whose members were former Anusim and their descendants, developed practices disconnected from other communities? Or is this reflective of a minhag not yet familiar? I have no answers

Selected Bibliography

Chyet, Stanley F. Lopez of Newport: Colonial American Merchant Prince. Detroit, Wayne State University Press, 1970.
Pinto, Isaac (translator). Prayers for the Sabbath, Rosh HaShana and Kippur: or the Sabbath, the Beginning of the New Year and the day of Atonements, with the Amidah and Musaph of the Moadim, or Solemn Seasons, According to the Order of the Spanish and Portuguese Jews. New Tork, J. Holt, 1766.
Satlow, Michael L. “Jewish Time in Early Nineteenth Century: A Study in Moses Lopez’s Calendar.” American Jewish Archives 65, 1-2 (2013), 1-29.
Urofsky, Melvin I. A Genesis of Religious Freedom: The Story of the Jews of Newport RI and Touro Synagogue, Including Washington’s letter of 1790 New York, George Washington Institute for Religious Freedom, 2013.

Notes

[1] I would like to thank R. Stephen Belsky for alerting me to the existence of these haftarot and sending me a copy of the calendar and my brother R Yehoshua Duker for editing the article. I would also like to thank Dr. Gabriel Wasserman, R’ Dr. Zev Ellef, and the staff of the National Library of Israel for their input and assistance. As the 4th of July approaches I feel it is an honor for me to be writing about the possible practices of an early American shul, having in mind the words that my beloved Rav, Rabbi Avraham Levene ZT”L spoke on the Sabbath of my bar mitzvah, that even after the arrival of mashiach we will have to continue to show appreciation to America. I merited making aliyah, but that sentiment is still with me.
[2] “Prayers for the Sabbath, Rosh HaShana and Kippur: or the Sabbath, the Beginning of the New Year and the day of Atonements, with the Amidah and Musaph of the Moadim, or solemn seasons, according to the order of the Spanish and Portuguese Jews.” It is the only such book I have seen to be printed entirely in English.
[3] See S.F. Chyet “Lopez of Newport” pp. 106-107.
[4] It is worth noting that the synagogue is still in use today making it the oldest synagogue building in the United States.
[5] M. Urofsky “A Genesis of Religious Freedom – The Story of the Jews of Newport RI and Touro Synagogue” p. 59.
[6] Urofsky p. 76.
[7] Ibid. p. 86.
[8] American Jewish Archives vol. LXV pp. 1-29.
[9] Sifrei Kodesh seemed to have been a rarity in America then; see Stalow p. 9.
[10] For a more complete list of the various practices of Jewish communities regarding these Haftarot throughout history, see my site on AlHatorah. https://alhatorah.org/Index:Haftarot/0/he
[11] Listed there as Jeremiah 31: 1-20 it is following the chapters that appear in the Kings James Bible, which would be consistent with the other listings. Some Jewish Bibles, such as that of Cassuto, use this chapter breakdown as well. It is worth noting that the New York Machzor from 1766 lists the Haftarah as Jeremiah 31:2-20, which would be consistent with the standard practice using the same chapter breakdown.
[12] The verse 6:27 is then added. It is clear that the calendar does not include anything that involves skipping verses, so it is unclear what the author intended here.

An Autopsy in Antebellum America:
Exhuming a Forgotten 19^th Century Halachic Debate on Cadaveric Dissection
Part I

By Shimon Garrel

Shimon Garrel is a current M.D. candidate at SUNY Downstate Health Science University. He is a graduate of Touro College and studied in various yeshivas in New York and Israel. 

Halachic Considerations

This article is part I of II that will seek to address two points. The first and primary goal is to bring to light a somewhat forgotten and unacknowledged controversy regarding the permissibility of cadaveric dissection of Jewish bodies that took place in the heart of New York in 1856. A secondary aspect of this study which will appear in Part II is to examine the primary halachic responses to this debate especially in light of the contemporaneous halachic literature on the subject of performing a Post-Mortem.

To fully appreciate the background of this controversy we will begin with a short review of some of the primary halachic positions on autopsies leading up to 1856. Any discussion on halachic autopsies begins with Rabbi Yechezkel Landau, author of the Noda Be-Yehuda. The Noda Be’Yehuda’s landmark teshuva, Tinyana Y.D. 210, was the first teshuva of a world renown posek to directly address the permissibility of autopsies. Since its publication, the body of teshuvos and literature addressing the subject has grown almost exponentially. The question posed to the Noda Be’yehuda, was whether the body of a patient who passed away from a suspected gallstone[1] may be dissected to understand the pathology of the disease.

Regarding your treatise, which you sent to me, and which offers a presentation of the issue that you were asked about by the holy community of London: It happened that someone was ill with a gallstone. The physicians performed surgery, as usual for such an affliction, but it did not cure him, and he died. The sages of that city were asked if it is permissible to dissect the cadaver in that place to see evidence of the root of the affliction, and to learn from it for the future practice of medicine, so that if such a case occurs again, they know how to perform the surgery necessary for a cure without incising him too much, thus minimizing the risks of the surgery. Is this prohibited because it constitutes desecration and disgrace of this corpse, or is it permitted because it leads to the future saving of lives, so that they may take the utmost caution in their craft.

…In our case, there is no ill person who needs this. Rather, they want to study this discipline in case they encounter a sick person who requires it. We certainly do not supersede any Torah prohibition or even a rabbinic prohibition due to such a slight concern. For if you call this concern “an uncertainty pertaining to a life,” then any task related to healing—grinding and cooking medicine or preparing a scalpel for bloodletting—will be permitted on Shabbat, perhaps they will encounter a sick person who requires it that night or the next day. It is also difficult to distinguish between concern for the need arising in the near future and concern for the need arising in the distant future. Heaven forfend that such a thing should be permitted. Even gentile physicians do not gain surgical experience with just any corpse, but only with those put to death by the law[2] or with those who themselves consented to it while living. If we, God forbid, are lax in this matter, they will operate on every corpse to learn anatomy and physiology, so that they may know how to cure the living. Therefore, this is all unnecessarily lengthy, and there is no lenient approach whatsoever.[3]

For the next century, many if not all halachic deliberations on the matter of autopsies centered around the conditions set by the Noda Be-Yehuda’s ruling. The Noda Be’Yehuda’s perspective on this is clear. An autopsy may only be permitted in a matter of life and death that is “lefanenu”, where performing the autopsy can immediately benefit a high-risk patient. Post-Mortem examinations with the intent of simply studying “ in case they encounter a sick person” does not rise to the level of pikuach nefesh which would permit violating various prohibitions of desecrating a body. The Chasam Sofer, Y.D. 337 commenting on the Noda Be’Yehuda’s psak, agreed to the essence of the teshuva and introduces another element not cited by Rabbi Landau, which is that of a dead body being forbidden to derive benefit from. Without a direct beneficiary of the knowledge gained by the medical autopsy, writes the Chasam Sofer, it is forbidden to conduct a dissection both on grounds of Nivul Ha-Meis, desecration of the dead, and Issur Hanah, the inability to derive any benefit from a dead body.[4]

Rabbi Yaakov Ettlinger, the famed German Talmudist and Posek, took an even more hardline approach than the Noda Be-Yehuda and the Chasam Sofer. In Teshuva 170 published in his Binyan Tzion, he quotes the Noda Be-Yehuda and argues that even if there would be a deathly ill patient who may benefit from the knowledge gleaned from the dissection of a Jewish corpse it is absolutely forbidden to save one’s self by desecrating another body.[5]

We have now seen a brief collection of the positions of some of the most widely respected poskim of the late 18^th and early 19^th century Europe. The consensus of these poskim with the notable exception of Rabbi Ettlinger, would be to allow an autopsy only in a case where there is a patient who will directly benefit from the anatomical and pathological knowledge derived from that dissection.

Jews’ Hospital of New York

By the year 1848, the New York City Jewish population had swelled from an estimated count of 950 in 1826 to 13,000.[6] The increase in Jewish population in New York reflected the influx of Jewish immigrants that had begun making their way to the United States. This wave of immigration consisted mainly of Jews hailing from Central and Western Europe. Like many immigration stories, a mix of push and pull factors like political instability in the rapidly changing German confederacy, the economic needs of Jewish families due to the rapidly increasing industrialization, and perhaps a spirit of adventure, caused many German Jews to journey to America.[7]

Sampson Simson

With large amounts of immigrants settling in the slums of New York, it came to the attention of some of the wealthier Jews in New York, that a gaping medical void needed to be filled. While immigrant Jews requiring medical care could get it at city hospitals like Bellevue Hospital, many faced discrimination and it certain cases, may have even been refused treatment. With the unabated Jewish population growth, the urgency to open a Jewish hospital became more and more pronounced. On January 15^th, 1852, a small group of nine friends, most of them prominent members of “high society” as well descendants of some of the earliest Jewish families in America, gathered in the Trustees’ room of Shearith Israel, the historic Spanish Portuguese Synagogue, and incorporated “The Jews’ Hospital of New York”. The nine represented a cross section of some of the most important and connected Jews in New York who had worked together on other charitable causes. The leader and most senior member of the group was 72-year-old Sampson Simson. Simson, a Columbia College graduate who studied law under Aaron Burr, had been involved in many other charitable enterprises after his early retirement spent the rest of his life involved in public affairs and charity.[9] The other eight were each men of repute, Rev Samuel M. Isaacs, famous for being on of the officiating clergy men of President Lincoln’s funeral. The others, John I. Hart, Benjamin Nathan, John M. Davies, Henry Hendricks, Theodore J. Seixas, Isaac Phillips and John D. Phillips were wealthy businessmen who had participated in varies Jewish charities and were eager to contribute to this much needed project. With Sampson elected as president of the first board of Directors of the Hospital, the mission statement was defined as to provide “medical and surgical aid to persons of Jewish persuasion and for all other purposes appertaining to Hospitals and Dispensaries”.

Within a few months, funds were raised, and a location was purchased by Sampson on 28^th street between 7^th and 8^th Avenues, which at the time was away from the hustle of lower Manhattan and in the “rural” part of Manhattan Island. By Fall of 1853, the cornerstone had been laid and construction had commenced. On May 17^th 1855, the Jews’ hospital was opened in a religious ceremony that was led by Reverend Jacques Judah Lyons, the Suriname born rabbi of the Shearith Israel, as well as Ansel Leo, a nephew by marriage to Simpson and leader of congregation B’nai Jeshurun, the second oldest orthodox shul in Manhattan after Shearith Israel.[10] And finally, on June 5^th 1855, the first patient was accepted to Jews’ Hospital of New York. With great fanfare the first Jewish hospital in New York, and the second in the country,[11] was opened to the Jewish public.

Figure 2 From the Picture Collection of the New York Public Library. Jews’ Hospital in New York. Printed on border: “Incorporated February, 1866. 138 and 140 West Twenty-eighth Street, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues.” In 1866 the hospital ceased acting as a sectarian institution.

A “Dissection” for the sake of Heaven

The house staff of Jews’ Hospital consisted of what today would be called an all-star team. As detailed in “The story of the first fifty years of the Mount Sinai Hospital, 1852-1902”; pg’s 22 -23.

The first Staff, announced by the Board of Directors on May 21, 1855, included some of the most prominent physicians and surgeons practicing in New York. These men had faith in the efforts of Sampson Simson and his associates. There were four Consulting Physicians. One was Chandler R. Gilman, a witty conversationalist who in his younger days had supplemented the meagre earnings of his early medical career by writing.49 He was Professor of Obstetrics and Diseases of Women and Children at the College of Physicians and Surgeons, having been appointed in 1841; and in 1894 he was one of the few contemporary physicians to insist that there was such a thing as criminal insanity and that such criminals should have special treatment. Another was William Detmold, a German, who had introduced orthopedic surgery in New York, had founded an orthopedic clinic at the College of Physicians and Surgeons in 1841, and was to be the first President of the New York County Medical Association in 1884. William H. Maxwell was the third Consulting Physician, while the fourth was Benjamin W. McCready, a highly respected physician and an early contributor to the funds of the Hospital. The two Attending Surgeons were Israel Moses, an Army surgeon who also had contributed toward the building of the Hospital, and Alexander B. Mott, the son of Valentine Mott … He was an excellent surgeon in his own right, and the founder of Bellevue Medical College. There were three Consulting Surgeons: the great Valentine Mott; Thomas M. Markoe, one of the founders of the New York Academy of Medicine eight years earlier; and Willard Parker, a leader in surgery, a brilliant lecturer who had taught at Berkshire County Medical College and the College of Physicians and Surgeons, and a co-founder with Daniel Drake of the Cincinnati Medical College in 1835. The Resident and Attending Physician was Mark Blumenthal.[12] A member of the Portuguese Congregation, Mark Blumenthal was its official doctor in its help of the sick.

With an impressive roster of physicians and large financial backing from the Jews of New York, the Jews’ Hospital at the time of its opening was placed in the unique position of being unencumbered by prehistoric medical practices and policies while being run by some of the most forward-thinking and innovative physicians in New York. With a top-of-the-line staff, the introduction of some newer methodologies was not long in coming. On December 5^th of 1855, exactly 6 months after the hospital’s opening, a meeting was called at the behest of Dr. Blumenthal, the house physician of the hospital and important to note, a practicing Jew. Dr. Blumenthal asked for permission to perform a post-mortem dissection on a deceased patient, as a “justification” to defend himself against the consulting physician who disagreed with Dr. Blumenthal’s assessment on the cause of death.[13] The use of post-mortem examination to determine cause of death was a fairly new phenomenon for the 19^th century.[14] Advances in anatomic as well as histologic pathology had begun to take root in medical practice in Europe. French physician and “Father of Histology” Xavier Bichat (1777 -1802) famously wrote that “we should dissect in anatomy, experiment in physiology, and make necropsy in medicine; this is the threefold path without which there can be no anatomist, no physiologist, and no physician.”T[15] The spirit permeating western European hospitals especially was that a great physician wedded clinical medicine with knowledge gleaned from anatomic and pathologic examinations. Blumenthal, besides serving as the deputy coroner of New York city in 1853, spent part of 1854 visiting hospitals in London, Paris, and Munich.¹² There is no doubt he bore witness to some of the attitudes and practices present in these hospitals and took some of what he learnt back to New York.

At the convened meeting, Dr. Blumenthal’s request was discussed, and the Board of Directors approved the post-mortem examination. It wasn’t long before word of the autopsy began to circulate and the Board of the Jews’ Hospital met once again on January 14^th to appoint a committee to investigate whether a carte blanche policy to post mortems at the hospital should be allowed. The committee decided to submit the question to Rabbi Dr. Nathan Adler, Chief Rabbi of England, to decide whether autopsies should be permitted under “any circumstances.”[16]

Endnotes

[1] While frequently assumed to be referring to gallstones, Rabbi Dr. Edward Reichman has convincingly argued that it is in fact a case of bladder stones. See Reichman, E. (2021). The anatomy of Jewish law: A fresh dissection of the relationship between medicine, Medical History & Rabbinic literature. OU Press. pg’s. 344 -350. Although mention should be made of the work of the French anatomist and Surgeon Jean-Louis Petit who reported and advocated for performing cholecystostomy in the early part of the 18^th century. See Clark BB., Livingston WT. Evaluation of Cholecystostomy. AMA Arch Surg. 1956;72(2):218–223. For an overview of Jean-Louis Petit’s life, see Markatos, K., et al; Jean-Louis Petit (1674–1750): a pioneer anatomist and surgeon and his contribution to orthopaedic surgery and trauma surgery. International Orthopaedics (SICOT) 42, 2003–2007 (2018). I have left “אבן בכיס” as gallstones to maintain the original Sefaria translation.
[2] Interestingly, criminal bodies were the most common source of cadavers in England beginning with the English Murder Act of 1752. England of the early 18^th century was experiencing concurrently a growth in the number of medical schools in the country as well as a perceived rise in crime. Hoping to “kill” as it were, two birds with one stone, Parliament passed the Murder Act in which bodies of executed criminals were to be used as medical cadavers. The hope was that this would both serve as a deterrent to criminals as it preyed on commonly held Christian religious sentiment about the need for proper burial. Similar laws were soon passed throughout parts of Europe and no doubt the Noda Be’Yehuda was aware of these codes. Understanding this also helps provide important perspective into the psak of the Noda Be’Yehuda. For a comprehensive legal and historical background on the passing of the Murder Act See Tarlow S, Battell Lowman E. Harnessing the Power of the Criminal Corpse (2018). Cham (CH): Palgrave Macmillan; 2018. Chapter 4, Murder and the Law, 1752–1832.
[3] Translation taken from Sefaria.
[4] Regarding the Chasam Sofer’s psak that studying medicine from dissections is considered Issur Hanaha see שו“ת נצר במטעי סי‘ לא and She’elot U’Teshuvot Be’er Moshe(Danishevsky) Y.D. 52 who discuss and challenge this assumption.
[5] The novel ruling of Rabbi Ettlinger, that one may not be saved by way of desecrating a dead body has been challenged by many other Poskim. See the direct response of the Maharam Schick to Rabbi Ettlinger in She’elot U’Teshuvot Maharam Schick 336. See further Rabbi Ettlinger’s reply in She’elot U’Teshuvot Binyan Tzion 171.
[6] Oppenheim, S. D. (1918). The Jewish Population of The United States. The American Jewish Year Book, 20, 31–74. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23600990
[7] On the German Jewish immigration to America, see generally Barkai, Avraham. Branching Out: German-Jewish Immigration to the United States, 1820-1914. New York: Holmes & Meier, 1994 and Diner, Hasia R. A Time for Gathering: The Second Migration, 1820–1880 (1992).
[8] Isaacs, M. S. (1902). SAMPSON SIMSON. Publications of the American Jewish Historical Society, 10, 109–117. http://www.jstor.org/stable/43059667
[9] Mount Sinai Hospital (New York, N., Benedict, J. (1944). The story of the first fifty years of the Mount Sinai Hospital, 1852-1902. New York. See pages 5 and 6 for a detailed account of each of the founding directors.
[10] Ibid. pg 9.
[11] The first “Jewish” hospital in the United States was the aptly named Jewish Hospital of Cincinnati. It was founded around the year 1850. See pg. 4 of the December 9^th 1853, edition of the Asmonean, a 19^th century Jewish weekly, for an amusing letter to the editor by the board of the Cincinnati Jewish Hospital “clearing up” that they were the first Jewish hospital incorporated in the United States.
[12] See the entry on Blumenthal from the Jewish Encyclopedia available at https://jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/3434-blumenthal-mark for more information.
[13] Jews’ Hospital Minutes of the Board of Directors December 5th, 1855. Arthur H. Aufses, Jr., MD Archives, Mount Sinai Hospital.
[14] With the publication of the first serious work on pathology, De Sedibus et causis morborum per anatomen indagatis “Of the seats and causes of diseases investigated through anatomy” in 1761 by Giovanni Battista Morgagni, the connection between anatomy and disease had just begun to solidify.
[15] King LS, Meehan MC. A history of the autopsy. A review. American Journal of Pathology. 1973 Nov;73(2):514-44.
[16] The Occident, Vol XIV, Nu. III, pg 128.

Mrs. Ethel Abrams – Ettel Ha’Ivriya of Clarksdale, Mississippi

By Rabbi Akiva Males

________________________

Introduction[1]

Stepping out of my car on Monday morning, July 3^rd 2023, I received a warm welcome from the heat and humidity of Clarksdale, Mississippi. I opened the gate of the black iron fence surrounding the Beth Israel Cemetery and stepped inside. It didn’t take me long to survey the surprisingly well-maintained grounds where the members of that small Jewish community now rest in peace. Within a few minutes I found what I had come to see: the tombstone of Mrs. Ethel Abrams, of blessed memory.

Beth Israel Cemetery in Clarksdale, MS
Photo by Rabbi Akiva Males

The gravestone of Mrs. Ethel Abrams, a”h
Source: https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/86841744/ethel-b-abrams#view-photo=108781020

In the paragraphs that follow, I hope to answer the following questions:

• Who was Mrs. Ethel Abrams?

• Why did I drive nearly 75 miles from my home in Memphis, TN to visit her grave?

• What is the history of the small Jewish community which once flourished in Clarksdale, MS?

Part I – The Story of Mrs. Abrams

In January of 2017, I was researching the topic of using a flowing river as a Mikvah (see Rema to Shulchan Aruch YD 201:2, and Aruch Hashulchan YD 201:41-42). After Maariv one night, I approached Rav Nota Greenblatt, zt”l, while he was leaving Shul. I told him what I was looking into, some of the sources I had found, and inquired if anyone had ever asked him about this on a practical level. After all, the city of Memphis sits on the eastern bank of the Mississippi River. I figured this question must have arisen over the nearly seven decades Rav Nota had been fielding – and resolving – all sorts of Halachic questions in Memphis (and far beyond).

Rav Nota stopped, looked me in the eyes, and with a grin on his lips he asked me if I was familiar with Clarksdale, MS. I shrugged, shook my head, and responded that I had never heard of the place. Rav Nota went on to tell me that a prosperous group of Jewish small business owners and their families had once thrived there. He explained that in his younger years, when he was an active Mohel, he had made the roundtrip from Memphis to Clarksdale on many occasions upon the birth of baby boys.

Rav Nota became serious as he continued his story:

“Sadly, other than a cemetery, there’s nothing left of Clarksdale’s Jewish community.” He explained that while economic forces were mostly responsible, other factors had also played a role. His eyes moistened as he described how religious observances – particularly those of Shabbos – became less and less prevalent among the immigrant Jews who had sought to earn their livelihoods in the Mississippi Delta.

In retrospect, the handwriting of religious decline was on the wall. Like so many other small communities across the US, Clarksdale had a very limited infrastructure to support traditional Jewish observance, a lack of readily available Kosher food, and no strong Jewish educational structure for their children. It was not long before the Orthodox practices with which most of that community’s Jews were once familiar were no longer part of their routines.

“However,” continued Rav Nota, “there was one woman in Clarksdale who wouldn’t let go. Her name was Mrs. Abrams, and she remained absolutely committed to Yiddishkeit. In fact, she tried her best to convince others around her to remain Shomer Torah U’Mitzvos.”

Rav Nota shared that there was one Mitzvah that Mrs. Abrams – whom he called as a Tzadeikes – succeeded in convincing others to observe. Mrs. Abrams was passionate about Taharas HaMishpacha and would speak to the young married women of Clarksdale about how important that Mitzvah was for their marriages, and their families’ futures. However, Clarksdale had no Mikvah. If women were not willing to travel nearly 75 miles to Memphis and back (before modern highways would make that journey more manageable) how could they possibly observe this Mitzvah? Amazingly, on many nights a month, Mrs. Abrams would accompany women from Clarksdale to the nearby Mississippi River where she would help them discreetly immerse in its murky moving waters!

Rav Nota became emotional as he shook his head and exclaimed, “Can you believe it? Mrs. Abrams would take women – just about all of whom were far from keeping Mitzvos – to be Tovel themselves in the Mississippi River! If I wouldn’t have known her, I never would have believed it. But I knew her well, and it’s true!”

I listened in astonishment as Rav Nota described how over the course of many years, Mrs. Abrams had personally reached out to the Jewish women of her community, and respectfully spoke to all who would listen. In an era when everyone around her was dropping Mitzvah observance, somehow, Mrs. Abrams succeeded in encouraging many women to keep Taharas HaMishpacha. She did not persuade those women to visit a pristine new Mikvah. On the contrary, on an untold number of nights, this heroine of the Delta accompanied numerous young marrying and married women to the nearby silt-filled Mississippi River. There, in a spot she had cordoned off along the muddy riverbank, Mrs. Abrams would serve as both a Mikvah lady and a lifeguard!

I was in awe as Rav Nota spoke about Mrs. Abrams. She wasn’t just some sort of a “last of the Mohicans” when it came to Halachic observance in Clarksdale. From the way Rav Nota described this incredible woman, she had been the catalyst for many Jewish women of her locale observing the Mitzvah which was most uniquely theirs. The fact that she succeeded to the degree which she did – and under the most challenging of circumstances – boggled my mind.

As I left Shul and walked Rav Nota to his car, he added another detail about Mrs. Abrams. In speaking with her on his numerous Bris Milah runs to Clarksdale, she had demonstrated extensive knowledge of the other small communities of Jewish merchants living in towns across Mississippi. As such, Rav Nota reached out to her on many occasions to verify the Jewish credentials of people originating from her environs when matters arose pertaining to marriages, Gittin, and funerals. He told me that he had trusted Mrs. Abrams absolutely, and that she had been a vital resource for him in a number of cases that had come his way over the years.

I remember making a mental note to find out more about Mrs. Abrams and Clarksdale, MS, but other pressing issues always seemed to demand my attention. I filed this conversation with Rav Nota in my notes, and I nearly forgot about Mrs. Abrams until the summer of 2023.

Part II – Clarksdale’s Jews in the News

On Monday afternoon, September 6, 1926 – almost 100 years before my visit to Clarksdale – two short items concerning that town’s Jewish community appeared on the local newspaper’s front page. The Clarksdale Daily Register’s two articles related to Rosh Hashanah – which would occur later that same week on Thursday, September 9^th and Friday, September 10^th.

The first piece was entitled “Jews Observe Holy Season”, and was subtitled “Services To Be Held For The New Year In Local Synagogue All Week”. The first and last paragraphs of that article read:

“Services commemorative of Rosh Hashanah or the Jewish New Year will be observed here at the Beth Israel Synagogue. Beginning Wednesday evening at 7:30 when the opening service will be held. Thursday morning services will begin at 8. Since the congregation is an Orthodox one, members will observe two days and services will also be held Thursday evening at 7:30 and Friday morning at 8 o’clock. Regular services for the Sabbath will be held Friday evening and Saturday morning …”

“ . . . The New Year’s day is one of solemn joy and greeting of the day “L’shanah tovah,” A Happy New Year, is heard on all sides in the homes and in the synagogue. The festival is observed two days, the 9^th and 10^th of September, by the orthodox Jew.”

Just two columns to the right, Clarksdale’s paper ran a second article pertaining to the local Jewish community’s observance of that year’s Rosh Hashanah. It was entitled: “Pupils Enroll For Semester”, and was subtitled: “Jewish Children May Enroll Saturday Since Thursday and Friday Are Religious Holidays”. The first paragraph of that article reads:

“Due to the fact that Thursday and Friday of this week are Jewish holidays, Supt. Heidelberg of the city schools announced this morning that all Jewish children would be expected to enroll at their respective schools Saturday morning at 8:30, and that it would not be necessary for them to be present on either of the holidays. However, it is very necessary that they be present Saturday morning, at which time they will be classified . . .”

From the front page of the Clarksdale Daily Register, Monday Afternoon, September 6, 1926

The sad irony of that second article was not lost on the Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience.[2] Their newsletter of September 2022 opened with the following paragraphs:

“In 1926, the city of Clarksdale, Mississippi, unknowingly scheduled school registration for the two days of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. This didn’t sit well with the Jews of Clarksdale, so they asked for and got an accommodation: Jewish children could register for school on Saturday, instead of the Thursday and Friday of Rosh Hashanah.

This accommodation, in a way, encapsulates well the Southern Jewish experience: Clarksdale’s Jews stood up for their religious identity and the town acceded. But at the same time, there was an accommodation on the Jewish side, as well. Saturday is Shabbat, the Jewish sabbath. By the 1920s, most (but not all) of Clarksdale’s Jews were Reform, keeping their stores open on Saturdays, the busiest shopping day of the week. This was a necessity in a region where Sunday Closing Laws were the norm.

The Southern Jewish experience has always been about adapting, accommodating, and conforming to new surroundings, while at the same time embracing, sustaining, and celebrating our history, culture, and religious practices . . .”[3]

This commentary on the Clarksdale’s Jewish community’s 1926 Rosh Hashanah dilemma offers an eye-opening window into their struggles with religious observance. It also helps resolve the apparent contradiction between the two stories appearing on their newspaper’s front page. Although the first article twice stressed that the congregation was an Orthodox one, the second article described a synagogue whose membership overwhelmingly did not observe Shabbos in an Orthodox fashion. It seems that the condition of Clarksdale’s Beth Israel was much like that of many other early 20^th century American synagogues. Though the congregation’s services may have been conducted in an Orthodox manner, by 1926, the lifestyles of many of that congregation’s families were not necessarily congruent with Halacha.

Discovering this eye-opening tidbit of Mississippi Jewish history made me curious to learn more about the Jewish community that once existed in Clarksdale.

Part III – Clarksdale: The Lifecycle of a Jewish Community in the Mississippi Delta

Thankfully, a good deal of research has already gone into the history of Clarksdale’s Jewish community. What follows are excerpts from two excellent articles published by The Goldring/Woldenberg Institute of Southern Jewish Life (ISJL)[4] and the Jewish Historical Society of Memphis and the Mid-South.[5] For the purpose of this article, I took the liberty of combining excerpts from both of those articles. I also rearranged the order in which some of those excerpts originally appeared.

“Clarksdale, Mississippi, sits on the Little Sunflower River a few miles east of the Mississippi River. The seat of Coahoma County, Clarksdale emerged as a trading hub in the late 19th century and has long served as an important cultural center for the Mississippi Delta region . . .

. . . The town’s population more than doubled during the 1890s, reaching 1,773 residents by 1900. Migrating African Americans—many of them formerly enslaved—contributed to this population increase, as they sought to make a living in the area’s booming cotton economy . . . .

. . . Prior to the depression of 1921, The Wall Street Journal reported Clarksdale as “the richest agricultural city of the United States in proportion to its population” . . .

. . . Jewish history in Clarksdale and surrounding towns dates to the arrival of German speaking Jews around 1870. Jewish organizational life began in the 1890s and continued to grow in the early 20th century. In the 1930s, the area’s Jewish population reached 400 individuals, and for a time Clarksdale boasted the largest Jewish community in the state. Although Jewish communal life remained vibrant into the 1970s, the Jewish population declined for the next few decades. In 2003 Clarksdale’s only Jewish congregation, Congregation Beth Israel, closed its synagogue . . .

. . . Jewish occupational patterns in Clarksdale mirrored trends not only in other developing towns in the Mississippi Delta but also in new sites of Jewish migration throughout the world. Jewish settlers often began as peddlers before founding dry goods or other retail stores, and they served customers from town as well as the surrounding countryside . . .

. . . By 1896, enough Jews lived in Clarksdale and the surrounding area to hold religious services. That year, five Clarksdale Jewish families founded a congregation known as Kehilath Jacob . . . Early worship services followed Orthodox practice . . .

. . . Kehilath Jacob continued to hold services in borrowed or rented spaces until 1910, when the congregation dedicated its first synagogue, a white stucco building at 69 Delta Avenue. With the erection of their first synagogue came a name change, and the congregation was known as Congregation Beth Israel from that point on . . .

Historic marker in front of Beth Israel Congregation’s first building in Clarksdale, MS
Photo by Rabbi Akiva Males

. . . As of 1920, the local community consisted of approximately 40 Jewish families in Clarksdale, with additional congregants in outlying areas . . . Temple Beth Israel accommodated a variety of Jewish observances during its early decades, but younger members began to push for Reform services with more English prayers. The rift between Orthodox and Reform congregants threatened to split the congregation during the 1920s, until the construction of a new synagogue in 1929 allowed Temple Beth Israel to hold two concurrent services on separate floors . . .

. . . The Orthodox members used the lower auditorium and the Conservative and Reform used the upper floor. It was the only synagogue in Mississippi that provided for Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform worship in the same sanctuary . . .

. . . As the 20th century progressed, Jewish shops remained a visible presence in downtown Clarksdale. Of fifteen dry goods stores listed in Clarksdale’s 1916 city directory, at least two-thirds belonged to Jewish merchants. Other Jewish retail businesses included “general goods” and grocery stores, as well as later department stores . . .

. . . The arrival of Rabbi Jerome Gerson Tolochko in 1932 marked a turning point for Beth Israel. Not only was Rabbi Tolochko the congregation’s first formally ordained resident rabbi, but his training at Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati reflected the Jewish community’s movement toward Reform Judaism . . .

. . . Clarksdale was home to nearly 300 Jewish residents at the end of World War II . . . In 1970 Congregation Beth Israel still claimed 100 families, but a series of economic changes had begun to have a visible effect on the Jewish community. The agricultural labor force in the Mississippi Delta had declined in preceding decades, as a consequence of New Deal programs that paid landowners to reduce crop production and the introduction of mechanical cotton pickers in 1947. As the number of sharecroppers and other agricultural workers decreased, so too did the customer base for many Jewish retail stores . . .

. . . During the late 20th century, the rise of chain discount stores accelerated the decline of Jewish retail businesses, and Clarksdale’s Jewish population continued to shrink . . . Many members relocated to Memphis but continued to support the Clarksdale congregation and maintained ties to the Clarksdale community.

In the early 21st century, Beth Israel’s remaining 20 members decided they could no longer sustain a congregation. They made plans to close the synagogue and organized a deconsecration service on May 3, 2003 . . . The building was ultimately sold, leaving the Jewish cemetery as the landmark that most explicitly testifies to the existence of a once vibrant Jewish community . . .”

Elsewhere,[6] I learned that Beth Israel’s cemetery was established in 1919. In recent decades, a fund was established to ensure the perpetual care of the final resting place of Clarksdale’s Jewish community. Indeed, I can attest to that cemetery’s dignified upkeep.

Part IV – Finding Mrs. Abrams

Rav Nota Greenblatt’s amazing story about Mrs. Abrams had piqued my curiosity about Clarksdale’s Jewish history. The articles I discovered helped me better understand that community’s rise and decline. However, as I reflected on Mrs. Abrams’ excursions to the Mississippi River with the Jewish women of her locale, there were more details I wanted to learn about that incredible woman:

• What was her first name?

• What was her background?

• How did she remain so committed to Torah and Mitzvos in a place without a supportive populace or infrastructure?

• What compelled her to remain in Clarksdale when she obviously desired to live a fully observant Jewish life?

• How did she deal with Clarksdale’s 1926 Rosh Hashanah / Shabbos dilemma?

• How did she successfully convince numerous women who were not seriously committed to Jewish observance to use the Mississippi River as a Mikvah?

• How did she ensure the safety of the women she led into that mighty river?

Unfortunately, on Friday, April 29, 2022 (28 Nissan 5782) Rav Nota Greenblatt, zt”l, passed away. Although I asked some of Rav Nota’s children and Talmidim if they had more information on Mrs. Abrams, no one seemed to know more about her than what he had shared with me.

Rav Nota Greenblatt, zt”l, in his home study on Erev Pesach 2017
Photo by Rabbi Akiva Males

Through some internet sleuthing, I discovered a grandson of Mrs. Abrams, and he was excited about my interest in his grandmother.

When we spoke, I learned that her first name was Ethel, she was born on December 10, 1876, and that she hailed from a renowned Rabbinic family named Bronitsky from the vicinity of Minsk and Pinsk in Russia (modern-day Belarus). Ethel married her husband David (1877 – 1947) back in the Old Country, and that’s where their daughter and son were born. In search of a livelihood, David Abrams came to America in either 1904 or 1905, and a job opportunity brought him to Clarksdale, MS. The family was reunited in 1908 when Ethel and her two children were able to join David in Clarksdale.

According to family tradition, Mrs. Abrams was deeply unhappy about the decreasing levels of Jewish religious observance she witnessed all around her. Her determination to adhere to the Torah and Mitzvos must have caused her to feel quite isolated – yet she held firm. I learned that Mrs. Abrams raised chickens in her backyard, and that her husband would travel to Memphis by train with some of them on Friday mornings. Once there, they would be properly slaughtered, and he would take the train back to Clarksdale so those chickens could be prepared for Shabbos. Memphis was also where the Abrams family procured the Matzah and other staples they required for Pesach. On December 8, 1968 Mrs. Ethel Abrams passed away – just two days shy of her 92^nd birthday.

I told Mrs. Abram’s grandson the beautiful story Rav Nota had told me about her, the Mississippi River, and the numerous Jewish women of Clarksdale who observed Taharas HaMishpacha because of her. He was not aware of these details about his grandmother, and he greatly appreciated my sharing those gems with him.[7]

As our friendly conversation drew to a close, I felt glad to have gained many biographical details of Mrs. Abrams’ life. Unfortunately, I also realized that I would never learn all that I wanted to understand about her. After all, no one could truly answer my questions about her thoughts and experiences other than Mrs. Abrams herself – and she did not seem to have left a written record before passing away in 1968. I thanked Mrs. Abrams’ grandson, and told him that I looked forward to visiting Clarksdale in the coming weeks.

Part V – Visiting Mrs. Abrams

As I stood before Mrs. Abrams’ tombstone on that July morning, I thought about her iron-clad resolve to remain true to Torah and Mitzvos in the midst of the most trying times and circumstances. I glanced at the many graves to her right and left and wondered how many of those neighbors had immersed themselves in the Mississippi River because of her. I recited a Perek of Tehillim followed by a Kel Maleh, and I pledged to give some Tzedakah in memory of that Tzadeikes upon returning to Memphis. As I exited Beth Israel’s cemetery, I looked back, and mentally bid farewell to Clarksdale’s Jewish community. After shutting the gate behind me, I returned to my car.

While driving back to Memphis, I thought of the famous Midrash[8] about why the Torah refers to Avraham Avinu as Avraham Ha’Ivri.[9] According to Chazal, Avraham did not simply come to Canaan from the other side of the river (which the word Ha’Ivri connotes in its plain meaning). Rather, Avraham Avinu earned the honorific title of Ha’Ivri because he found the strength to swim against the tide – living a life that was distinct from all who surrounded him. Even when the rest of the world metaphorically positioned themselves on one side of a river, Avraham was at peace remaining in solitude on the other side. Furthermore, not content in just behaving differently than his neighbors, Avraham Avinu also tried his best to persuade a great number of them to join him in his worldview and way of life – on his side of the river.

Like her forefather Avraham Ha’Ivri, Mrs. Ethel Abrams found the strength to go her own way, and not live her life by following the crowd. Regardless of her surroundings, Mrs. Abrams followed her own convictions, and also did her best to persuade others to observe Mitzvos – especially Taharas HaMishpacha. The river associated with Avraham Ha’Ivri was the Euphrates. In Mrs. Abrams’ case it was the Mississippi. After visiting her grave, I will always associate this Midrash with her. As far as I’m concerned, Mrs. Ethel Abrams was Ettel Ha’Ivriya of Clarksdale, MS.

Yehi Zichrah Baruch.

_____________________

Rabbi Akiva Males serves as the Rabbi of Young Israel of Memphis. He also teaches at the Margolin Hebrew Academy-Feinstone Yeshiva of the South. He can be reached at rabbi@yiom.org

When Rabbi Meir Kahane’s Father Translated the Torah

By Yosef Lindell

Yosef Lindell is a lawyer, writer, and lecturer living in Silver Spring, MD. He has a JD from NYU Law and an MA in Jewish history from Yeshiva University. He is one of the editors of the Lehrhaus and has published more than 30 articles on Jewish history and thought in a variety of venues. His website is yoseflindell.wordpress.com.

In 1962, the Jewish Publication Society published a new translation of the Torah. The product of nearly a decade of work, the new edition was the first major English translation to cast off the shackles of the 1611 King James Bible. Dr. Harry Orlinsky, the primary force behind the new translation and a professor of Bible at the merged Reform Hebrew Union College and Jewish Institute of Religion, explained that even JPS’ celebrated 1917 translation was merely a King James lookalike, a modest revision of the Revised Standard Version that “did not exceed more than a very few percent of the whole.”[1] This new edition was different. As the editors wrote in the preface, the King James not only “had an archaic flavor,” but it rendered the Hebrew “word for word rather than idiomatically,” resulting in “quaintness or awkwardness and not infrequently in obscurity.”[2] Now, for the first time, the editors translated wholly anew, jettisoning literalism for maximum intelligibility. More than sixty years later, JPS’ work remains one of the definitive English translations of the Torah.

The new JPS may have left the King James behind, but it didn’t satisfy everyone. In addition to making the Torah more intelligible, the editors incorporated the insights of modern biblical scholarship, both from “biblical archeology and in the recovery of the languages and civilizations of the peoples among whom the Israelites lived and whose modes of living and thinking they largely shared.”[3] So when asked by Rabbi Theodore Adams, the president of the Rabbinical Council of America, whether the RCA could accept an invitation from Dr. Solomon Grayzel, JPS’ publisher, to participate in the new translation, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik demurred. He wrote in a 1953 letter to Adams, “I am afraid that the purpose of this undertaking is not to infuse the spirit of Torah she-be-al peh into the new English version but, on the contrary, … to satisfy the so-called modern ‘scientific’ demands for a more exact rendition in accordance with the latest archeological and philological discoveries.”[4]

Just one year after JPS released its volume, in 1963, R. Soloveitchik’s wish for a more “Torah-true” translation was answered, but likely not in the way he expected. The two-volume Torah Yesharah published by Rabbi Charles Kahane (1905-1978) relies heavily on traditional Jewish commentary in its translation.[5] But as we’ll explore, because of its lack of fidelity to the Hebrew text, it can hardly be called a translation at all.

Here is the title page (courtesy of the Internet Archive):

The strategically placed dots on the title page indicate that Yesharah is an acronym for the author’s Hebrew name—Yechezkel Shraga Hakohen. R. Charles Kahane was born in Safed and received semichah from the Pressburg Yeshiva in Hungary. After immigrating to the United States in 1925 and receiving a second semichah from Yeshiva University’s Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary, he served as rabbi of Congregation Shaarei Tefiloh in Brooklyn for most of his professional career, a shul which drew over 2,000 worshippers for the High Holidays.[6] He was a founding member of the Vaad Harabbanim of Flatbush and helped Rabbi Avraham Kalmanowitz re-establish the Mir Yeshiva in Brooklyn. Today, however, he is known as the father of Meir Kahane, the radical and controversial Jewish power activist and politician who needs no further introduction. The father does not seem to have been directly involved in his son’s activities, but he took pride in Meir’s accomplishments and was a staunch supporter of the Irgun in Palestine, Ze’ev Jabotinsky’s Revisionist Zionist movement, and Jabotinsky’s youth group, Betar.[7]

R. Kahane told the New York Times that Torah Yesharah was inspired by Bible classes he gave to his adult congregants where many people did not understand the text even in translation.[8] (Recall that the new JPS translation was not yet available, and other English translations relied on the archaic King James.) He wanted to rectify this problem; indeed, the title page states that the work is a “traditional interpretive translation,” suggesting that it was intended to be more user-friendly. But calling it user-friendly does not do justice to what Kahane did. Here is most of Bereishit 22—the passage of Akedat Yitzchak:

Most translators try to approximate the meaning of the Hebrew. Not so R. Kahane. Nearly every single English verse here contains significant additions not found in the original. The first verse, for example, which states that the Akedah was meant to punish Avraham for making a treaty with Avimelech, follows the opinion of the medieval commentator Rashbam, who, notes that the words “and it was after these things” connect the Akedah to the previous episode—the treaty with Avimelech (Rashbam, Bereishit 22:1). But it’s hard to imagine that Rashbam, famous for his devotion to peshat—plain meaning—would have been comfortable with his explanation being substituted for the translation itself. Many other verses on this page provide additions from Rashi and other commentators. 

Pretty much every page of R. Kahane’s translation looks similar: Hebrew on one side and an expansive interpretive translation drawn from the classical commentators on the other. Kahane makes no effort to distinguish between the literal meaning of the Hebrew and his interpretive gloss.[9] Dr. Philip Birnbaum, the famed siddur and machzor translator, criticizes this aspect of the work in his (Hebrew) review, noting that Kahane’s interpretations are written “as if they are an inseparable part of the Hebrew source, and the simple reader who doesn’t know the Holy Tongue will end up mistakenly thinking that everything written in ‘Torah Yesharah’ is written in ‘Torat Moshe.’”[10]

To be fair, R. Kahane cites sources for his interpretations, but only at the back of each book of the Torah and only in Hebrew shorthand:

Thus, a reader not already fluent in Hebrew and the traditional commentaries would have little idea where Kahane was drawing his “translation” from and might not grasp how much the translation departed from the Hebrew original.[11]

Yet perhaps this was the point. R. Kahane considered literal translation to be illegitimate. In the preface to Torah Yesharah, Kahane contrasts Targum Onkelos, which is celebrated by the Sages, with the Septuagint translation of the Torah into Greek, which the Sages mourned. Kahane suggests that a Targum, which is an interpretation or commentary, is superior to a direct translation. Targum Onkelos, he writes, was composed under the guidance of the Sages and based on the Oral Law, and therefore it was “sanctified.” According to Kahane, “The Torah cannot and must never be translated literally, without following the Oral interpretation as given to Moses on Sinai. … It is in this spirit that the present translation-interpretation has been written.”[12]

Kahane was not the only Orthodox rabbi of his time to criticize translation unfaithful to rabbinic interpretation. We’ve already noted R. Soloveitchik’s concerns about the new JPS.[13] Similarly, the encyclopedist Rabbi Judah David Eisenstein reported that in 1913, when JPS was preparing its initial translation, Rabbi Chaim Hirschenson of Hoboken, NJ, convinced the Agudath Harabbanim to protest JPS’ efforts so the new work should not become the “official” translation of English-speaking Jewry the way the King James had become the official translation of the Church of England. The Agudath Harabbanim noted the Sages’ disapproval of the Septuagint and explained that only Targum Onkelos and traditional commentators that based themselves on the Talmud were officially sanctioned.[14]

R. Kahane’s approach also harks back to a series of articles in Jewish Forum composed in 1928 by Rabbi Samuel Gerstenfeld, a rosh yeshiva at RIETS (a young Rabbi Gerstenfeld is pictured below), attacking the original 1917 JPS translation. Gerstenfeld labeled the JPS translation Conservative and sought to demonstrate its departure from Orthodoxy by comprehensively cataloging all the places where the translation departed from the halakhic understanding of the verse. So, for example, he criticizes JPS for translating the tachash skins used in the construction of the Mishkan as “seal skins,” because according to halachic authorities, non-kosher animal hides cannot be used for a sacred purpose.[15] He believed that the word tachash should be transliterated, but not translated.[16] Gerstenfeld concludes that the JPS translators “missed a Moses—a Rabbi well versed in Talmud and Posekim, who would have been vigilant against violence to the Oral Law.”[17]

Still, R. Kahane’s interpretive translation with additions goes far beyond what R. Gerstenfeld was suggesting. To give one example: Gerstenfeld quibbles with JPS’ translation of the words ve-yarka befanav in the chalitzah ceremony (Devarim 25:9). The 1917 JPS translates that the woman should “spit in his face” (referring to the man who refuses to perform yibbum). Gerstenfeld notes that rabbinic tradition unanimously holds that the woman spits on the ground. He suggests that “and spit in his presence” would be a better translation.[18] Gerstenfeld’s suggestion is reasonably elegant—it gives space for the rabbinic reading without negating the meaning of the Hebrew. Kahane makes no such attempt to be literal, instead translating that she will “spit on the ground in front of his face.”[19] As we’ve seen, Kahane had no compunctions about adding words.

Thus, there is no English-language precedent for Torah Yesharah of which I am aware. As the preface suggests, R. Kahane was inspired by the Aramaic targumim, but it would seem more by Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel than Targum Onkelos. Onkelos translates word-for-word in most circumstances, typically departing from the Hebrew’s literal meaning to address theological concerns, such as a discomfort with anthropomorphism. Targum Yonatan, on the other hand, seamlessly weaves many midrashic additions into its translation and looks more like Torah Yesharah. For example, at the beginning of the Akedah passage, Targum Yonatan goes on a lengthy excursus suggesting that God’s command to sacrifice Yitzchak was in response to a debate between Yitzchak and Yishmael where Yitzchak boasted that he would be willing to offer himself to God. This digression is akin to Kahane’s addition of the Rashbam into his translation. If anything, Targum Yonatan is more expansive than Torah Yesharah.

Torah Yesharah received a fair amount of press upon its publication. It was even reviewed by the New York Times, which called it “[a] new and unusual translation” that was intended to make the Torah “more meaningful to Americans.” The article quoted Rabbi Dr. Immanuel Jakobovits, then the rabbi of the Fifth Avenue Synagogue in Manhattan (before he became Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom), as calling it “an original enterprise” and “a most specifically Jewish rendering of the Torah.” While the Times was noncommittal about the work, a critical review in the Detroit Jewish News found Kahane’s language confusing and inferior to the new JPS translation published the prior year.[20] As for Dr. Birnbaum, he praised Torah Yesharah’s reliance on traditional Jewish interpretations and lamented the fact that most other biblical translations “were borrowed from the Christians from the time of Shakespeare,” but criticized the format (as noted above) and some of Kahane’s more tendentious translations.[21]

Despite the interest Torah Yesharah generated, its unique approach was not replicated. One might see echoes of R. Kahane in a better known translation—ArtScroll’s 1993 Stone Edition Chumash. As its editors explained in its preface, the “volume attempts to render the text as our Sages understood it.”[22] To this end, ArtScroll famously follows Rashi when translating “because the study of Chumash has been synonymous with Chumash-Rashi for nine centuries,”[23] even when Rashi is at variance with more straightforward readings of the text. Thus, for example, ArtScroll translates az huchal likro be-shem hashem (Genesis 4:26) based on Rashi as, “Then to call in the name of Hashem became profaned”—a reference to the beginnings of idol worship.[24] However, a more literal translation would run, “Then people began to call in the name of God,” which sounds like a reference to sincere prayer—the opposite of idolatry. It’s also well-known that ArtScroll declines to translate Shir Ha-Shirim literally, adapting Rashi’s allegorical commentary in place of translation.

On the other hand, ArtScroll’s overall approach is different than Torah Yesharah’s. ArtScroll is typically quite literal, translating word-for-word even when the syntax of the verse suffers as a result. An example from the Akedah is again relevant: va-yar ve-hinei ayil achar ne’echaz ba-sevach be-karnav (Genesis 22:13). ArtScroll’s translation, that Abraham “saw—behold, a ram!—afterwards, caught in the thicket,”[25] is awkward, but it preserves the word achar in the precise location that it appears in the Hebrew. When ArtScroll wants to highlight more traditional interpretations of the text in line with Chazal and others, it does so in the commentary, not in the translation itself.[26]

Two recent works—the Koren Steinsaltz Humash (2018) and the Chabad Kehot Chumash (2015)—are much closer to Torah Yesharah in that they insert commentary directly into the English translation. But they still differ in an important respect. Both the Steinsaltz—which is a translation of a Hebrew Humash based on the classes of Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz—and the Kehot “interpolate” a good deal of commentary into the translation (the former is more peshat based and the latter leans more on Rashi and Midrash). Nevertheless, they distinguish between what’s literal and what’s added by using bold font for the literal translation. This approach still has its downsides, as it can still be hard to read the English cleanly without the added gloss getting in the way of the literal meaning.[27] But it’s preferable to Torah Yesharah, where R. Kahane did not provide the reader any means of distinguishing between the text and his additions.

Today, Torah Yesharah is but a historical curiosity. Yet its existence highlights the fact that some mid-20th century Orthodox Jews felt a real need for a translation that followed in the footsteps of Chazal and other traditional commentators. To them, JPS’ translation did not embrace an authentic Torah approach. Before ArtScroll came on the scene, Torah Yesharah filled that niche for a time, but its unusual format blurred the line between the Word of God and the words of His interpreters.

Yosef Lindell is a lawyer, writer, and lecturer living in Silver Spring, MD. He has a JD from NYU Law and an MA in Jewish history from Yeshiva University. He is one of the editors of the Lehrhaus and has published more than 30 articles on Jewish history and thought in a variety of venues. His website is yoseflindell.wordpress.com.

[1] Harry M. Orlinsky, “The New Jewish Version of the Torah: Toward a New Philosophy of Bible Translation,” Journal of Biblical Literature 82:3 (1963): 251.
[2] The Torah: The Five Books of Moses (The Jewish Publication Society, 1962), Preface.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Community, Covenant, and Commitment: Selected Letters and Communications (Nathaniel Helfgot, ed., KTAV, 2005), 110.
[5] Charles Kahane, ed., Torah Yesharah (Torah Yesharah Publication: Solomon Rabinowitz Book Concern, NY, 1963).
[6] To the New York Times, Kahane described the shul as “progressive Orthodox,” and it likely lacked a mechitzah. See Robert I. Friedman, The False Prophet: Rabbi Meir Kahane (Lawrence Hill Books, 1990), 20. That, however, was not unusual for those times.
[7] The biographical information in this paragraph is drawn from Friedman (see previous note) and Libby Kahane, Rabbi Meir Kahane: His Life and Thought (Institute for the Publication of the Writings of Rabbi Meir Kahane, 2008).
[8] Richard F. Shepard, “Rabbi Publishes New Bible Study; Works on Early Scholars Are Reinterpreted,” New York Times (June 21, 1964), 88.
[9] Here is another example of a large interpretive insertion concerning God’s decision that Moshe and Aharon would not lead the people into Israel because of their sin regarding the rock (Bamidbar 20:12):

That’s quite a few more words than are found in the Hebrew!
[10] Paltiel Birnbaum, “Targum Angli be-Ruah ha-Masoret,” in Pleitat Sofrim: Iyyunim ve-Ha’arakhot be-Hakhmat Yisrael ve-Safrutah (Mossad Harav Kook, 1971), 75.
[11] Of note, Kahane’s translation is available on Sefaria, but with modifications that obscure its radicalness. For one, the format is different: the Hebrew and English are not juxtaposed in the same way. Second, the sources for each verse are cited directly below the translation in parentheses. This is not the way Kahane presented his sources in the original.
[12] Torah Yesharah, xviii-ix.
[13] Among the most intriguing critics of the new JPS was Avram Davidson, who wrote in Jewish Life in 1957 that because the translation was being prepared by non-Orthodox scholars who intended to depart occasionally from the Masoretic text in light of new archaeological discoveries, it was not “being prepared on the Torah’s terms” and was unacceptable. A.A. Davidson, “A ‘Modern’ Bible Translation,” Orthodox Jewish Life 24:5 (1957): 7-11. Davidson later became a science fiction writer of some renown but by the end of his life had become enamored with a modern Japanese religion called Tenrikyo.
[14] J.D. Eisenstein, ed., Otzar Yisrael vol. 10 (New York, 1913), 309. See also the criticism of the 1962 JPS translation and the discussion of Eisenstein and R. Gerstenfeld’s article in Sidney B. Hoenig, “Notes on the New Translation of the Torah – A Preliminary Inquiry,” Tradition 5:2 (1963): 172-205.
[15] Samuel Gerstenfeld, “The Conservative Halacha,” The Jewish Forum 11:10 (Oct. 1928): 533.
[16] Indeed, ArtScroll’s Stone Chumash leaves tachash untranslated. Interestingly, R. Kahane just translates “sealskins” like JPS.
[17] Samuel Gerstenfeld, “The Conservative Halacha,” The Jewish Forum 11:11 (Nov. 1928): 576.
[18] Ibid., 575-76.
[19] Torah Yesharah, 331.
[20] Philip Slomovitz, “Purely Commentary,” Detroit Jewish News (Aug. 21, 1964), 2.
[21] Birnbaum, 76. It’s interesting that Birnbaum was far more critical of non-literal translations of the siddur. When the RCA incorporated the poetic translations of the British novelist Israel Zangwill into its 1960 siddur edited by Rabbi Dr. David de Sola Pool, Birnbaum wrote a scathing review in Hadoar, accusing Zangwill’s efforts as being “free imitations,” not translations, and of having Christian influence. Paltiel Birnbaum, “Siddur Chadash Ba le-Medinah,” Hadoar 40:6 (Dec. 9, 1960): 85. Birnbaum may have been jealous of the RCA’s siddur, which was a direct competitor to his 1949 edition. Also, he was unimpressed with Zangwill in particular, who had married a non-Jew and was not halakhically observant. For more about this, see my article in Lehrhaus here.
[22] Nosson Scherman, ed., The Stone Edition Chumash (Mesorah Publications, 1993), xvi.
[23] Ibid.
[24] Ibid., 23.
[25] Ibid., 103.
[26] Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan’s 1981 Living Torah translation also bears some resemblance to Torah Yesharah in its tendency to follow Chazal, but it too, despite its exceedingly colloquial approach to translation, does not insert large interpretive glosses into the text.
[27] R. Steinsaltz calls the commentary “transparent” and “one whose explanations should go almost unnoticed and serve only to give the reader and student the sense that there is no barrier between him or her and the text,” but I am not sure I agree. See The Steinsaltz Humash (Koren Publishers, 2015), ix.