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

By Edward Reichman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Gift for Rabbi Chaim Yosef David Azulay: On R. Yaakov Shimshon Senigallia, author of the Machshirei Pischa haggada, and his relationship with Rabbi Chaim Yosef David Azulay,‘the Chida’.

Moshe Maimon, Jackson NJ

Every antique sefer collector has his specialty. Some collect first prints, some collect classic editions and some collect the prints from a specific European press. The genres vary as well, with some focusing more on Kabbalah while others focus more on polemical literature. Yet, every collector will tell you, that each sefer has a story, and when you examine the individual characteristics of the sefer, the personalities involved with the sefer – whether it be the author or previous owner or the like – verily come alive and step off the pages to tell you their story.

One such cherished possession in the collection of a friend of mine, is the 1788 edition of the classic haggada, Pesach Me’uvin, by R. Chaim Benveniste, chief rabbi of Izmir in the tumultuous era of Sabbatean messianism and its after wake, and author of the important and voluminous halachic compendium, Kneset HaGedolah which collects and analyzes the considerable halachic literary output of the preceding centuries.

Benveniste’s haggada Pesach Me’uvin, first published in Venice 1692, is likewise an important compendium of halachic rulings pertaining to Passover and the seder night, and is widely quoted in the standard halachic sources. It has since been printed many times, up to the most recent edition (Lakewood 1997) in which the manuscript glosses of R. Yaakov Emden were included. A unique feature of the first publication is that it was printed simultaneously in two editions – one containing the Sephardic rite and one containing the Ashkenazic rite.

The 1788 edition is the second edition of this haggada and it was published in Livorno (Leghorn) by a young and promising scholar from an aristocratic Italian family, R. Yaakov Shimson Shabetai Senigallia of Ancona. Along with the Pesach Me’uvin, this edition included the original work of the publisher, R. Senigallia, called Machshirei Pischa, which continued the work of R. Benveniste concerning the laws of kashering kitchen utensils for Passover. 

This would prove to be the first of many scholarly contributions by R. Senigallia, and by the time of his death in 1840 he had built up a reputation as a great scholar, as well as a pious and saintly individual, with many important publications to his credit.[1] This work too would stand the test of time, and a hundred years later, in 1889, when the Netziv of Volozhin had his own commentary on the haggada, Imrei Shefer, published in Warsaw, he had it printed together with the Pesach Me’uvin and Machshirei Pischa.

At some point during the Chida’s tenure in Livorno, R. Senigallia became personally acquainted with him,[2] and the two would maintain a friendly correspondence throughout the years. R. Senigallia would refer frequently in his writings to the Chida’s own works, always with great honorifics, and after the passing of the latter, R. Senigallia was wont to chastise a fellow rabbinic scholar when he felt not enough deference had been shown in arguing with Chida’s halachic rulings.[3]

Before presenting the Chida’s copy of R. Senigallia’s haggada, a brief summary of the surviving record of their correspondence, preserved in the Chida’s letters published by Dr. C. Rosenberg,[4] is in order. Only one actual letter to R. Senigallia from the Chida has survived (#7 p. 11), a critical edition of which is appended at the end of this article, but in his other letters the Chida often makes mention of R. Senigallia, from which we can reconstruct a partial record of their correspondence and from which we can gage the nature of the close relationship they shared. 

The earliest mention of R. Senigallia is in a letter (#3 p. 7) the Chida wrote in the summer of 1787 to his erstwhile pupil and confidante, R. Yoel Camis of the Ancona Beth Din, in which he shares that he had received requests from R. Senigallia and R. Elia Nahamo, they too of Ancona, to give his haskama on the forthcoming publication of R. Senigallia’s aforementioned haggada. The Chida writes that he is unable to comply as he has already made a firm decision not to grant any haskama, and he has already had occasion to turn down many persistent entreaties from close acquaintances on account of this decision.[5 ] Concurrently, the Chida requests of R. Camis to make peaceful overtures towards the aforementioned rabbis and beg them to excuse him.

The mention of R. Senigallia in this letter is not accompanied by the terms of endearment we find in later references to him in the Chida’s letters, and perhaps we may surmise from this that they had not yet developed the close relationship they would later share. This assumption is bolstered by the fact that R. Senigallia apparently did not feel he could rely on the merit of his own relationship in approaching the Chida, and therefore turned to R. Nahamo, whose own haskama graces the sefer, for help in requesting the Chida’s haskama.[6]

Aside for the one letter in the collection addressed to R. Senigallia, the remaining references to R. Senigallia are found in the Chida’s letters to his son, R. Raphael Yeshaya Azulay, who had assumed the position of Chief Rabbi of Ancona in the summer of 1788. The Chida played an integral role in the negotiations with communal leaders to have his son elected to this position,[7] and he remained very appreciative of the efforts of the Anconians who had helped with this appointment.[8] It is difficult to ascertain if R. Senigallia had himself assisted in this matter, but the fact remains that from this point forward, he is mentioned frequently in the letters from the Chida to his son,[9] and we may rightly surmise that he had quickly become a close member of the inner circle of the new rabbi of Ancona.

Almost all of the references to R. Senigallia are in the context of the Chida’s request that his son extend warm greetings to R. Senigallia in his name, and the Chida often adds that he prays for R. Senigallia constantly. The Chida also says as much himself in his letter to R. Senigallia, where he also makes mention of his learning and praying for a few other philanthropists in Ancona as well. Likely this is indicative of the gratitude the Chida felt towards these individuals for the financial support they may have extended to the Chida,[10] and this is why the Chida wanted them to know that he was repaying his debt of gratitude.

Besides for learning and praying for the merit of his benefactors, the Chida would also honor them with his letters, and his holiday greetings to R. Senigallia in the letter to him preserved in this collection (a critically edited version of which is appended below) would seem to fit that bill perfectly.[11] Yet, the terms of endearment with which the Chida consistently refers to R. Senigallia, such as ידידינו אהובינו (our very dear beloved) and מאור עינינו (the light of our eyes), indicate clearly the genuine affection he felt for the latter. In one letter (#22 p. 35) he calls him ידידינו חמודינו נשמת רוח חיים (our very dear cherished breath of life), in which חיים meaning life, is a double entendre, also being the Chida’s first name – indicative of how important R. Senigallia was to him.

The letters also discuss other interactions the Chida had with R. Senigallia, such as the gifting to him of the Chida’s works Sha’ar Yosef (#24 p. 39) and Shem HaGedolim (#32 p. 49), or the distribution through him of other sefarim (#26 p. 43; #51 p. 67). We learn from these letters of instances (#10 p. 18; #11 p. 21) where R. Senigallia had turned to the Chida for his assistance in communal affairs, and in one case (#36 p. 53), the Chida asks his son to reply in his name regarding a request made of him by R. Senigallia for a segula needed for an acquaintance who had taken ill.[12]

All in all, this sampling serves well in painting a picture of a cordial relationship that blossomed with time and eventually became a deep and abiding friendship. At one point, their correspondence had reached a point where the Chida would become greatly distressed when too much time had elapsed without a letter from R. Senigallia (#25 p. 42), and by 1793, five years after R. Senigallia had published his Machshirei Pischa, a scant two weeks without hearing from him would give the Chida pause (#34 p. 52).

We are now in position to better appreciate the Chida’s inscription in the copy of this haggada gifted to him by R. Senigallia. We don’t know for certain when the haggada was given, but knowing of R. Senigallia’s interest in having the Chida’s recommendation on his work, it is likely that it was gifted shortly after it was published. The Chida’s apparent delight in the gift is evident in his inscription:

 מתנה מנצב על הכושרים מכשירי פסחא ששי”ם ושמחים יצ”ו להצעיר חיד”א ס”ט

Loosely rendered, it reads thus (and we emphasize “loosely”, as the Chida’s melitza is not given to literal translation): “A present from the one who stands over and guides those who are kashering and readying the preparations for Pesach joyously and happily to the humble Chida”. This clever inscription incorporates the title of the sefer Machshirei Pischa (“preparations for Pesach”), the nature of the sefer (“stands over and guides those kashering”) and even the name of the author whose initials make up the word ששים (“joyously”).[13]

Evidence of the Chida’s having studied the sefer comes from his gloss on the last page of the Machshirei Pischa section where R. Senigallia references the discussion of the Safed practice for kashering baking utensils. R. Senigallia quotes the sefer Eshel Avraham (Orach Chaim 453)14 who in turn quotes the respona of R. Yosef David of Salonika, Shu”t Bet David (Salonika 1740), who discusses this practice. R. Senigallia further cites the responsa of R. Moshe Amarilio, Shu”t Dvar Moshe (#30) who he says also discusses this particular practice. 

The Chida’s sharp eye, tremendous bekiut and keen bibliographical sense were on full display in his comment on this:

הוא טעה והלך אחר טעותו וברור כי במקום בי”ד שכתוב באשל אברהם צ”ל דבר משה והסי’ מוכיחים ופשוט והכותב שראה דבר משה לא הרגיש ואין להאריך

The Chida was quick to realize that by citing Shu”t Dvar Moshe as an additional source to the Bet David cited in Eshel Avraham, R. Senigallia was unwittingly duped by a typographical error in the Eshel Avraham. When the Eshel Avraham originally cited the Bet David, it was a mistake (as evidenced by the inaccurate citation), and in fact should read Dvar Moshe, which, it turns out, is the only source to discuss this practice.

I imagine that over the course of their long and fruitful correspondence, the Chida must have had occasion to bring this correction to the attention of R. Senigallia, and I imagine R. Senigallia must have been just as overjoyed – ששי”ם – with the knowledge of the Chida’s delight in his gift and his interest in the sefer, as we have been to learn all about the lives and emotions of these two great individuals as they come to life and step right off the pages of this cherished haggada.

*****

[1] See the entry for R. Senigallia in R. Mordechai Shmuel Girondi’s Toldot Gedolei Yisrael (Trieste 1853, p. 158). It should be noted that the list of publications there is scant compared with the fuller listing in Dr. C. Rosenberg’s Igrot M’Harav Chida (Budapest 1927, pp. 11-12). It should be further noted that some of the titles listed in R. Girondi’s work as manuscripts, such as Yaakov L’chok and Shomer Shabbat, had actually been published earlier together with other works of R. Senigallia. For a complete bibliography of his works, in print and in manuscript, see the entry for R. Senigallia in Asher Salah’s Le Republique Des Lettres, Brill 2001, p. 617.
[2] One meeting is recorded by R. Senigallia in his responsa, Meged Shamayim, Livorno 1844, p. 22a, in which R. Senigallia remembers debating the Chida with regards to a problematic text in Shu”t Rashbash. This meeting is said to have take place twenty years before the writing of this responsum, though the responsum is undated and all we know is that it was written after the Chida’s passing in 1806. Presumably, R. Senigallia was in Livorno for the 1788 printing of Machshirei Pischa, and perhaps that is when he met with the Chida, though there is no way to know for certain. R. Avraham Tikotzky writes in his preface to the Jerusalem 1986 edition of R. Senigallia’s Matan B’seter – Niddah (p. 10) that the Chida never met with R. Senigallia in person save for the one time when the Chida saw R. Senegallia as a youth (כשהחיד”א ראה את רבינו בעודו בחור). No source is given for this contention, and this is hardly evident from the aforementioned source in Meged Shamayim.

Despite the more than 200 miles separating Ancona on Italy’s east coast and Livorno on her west coast, it is likely that over the course of the Chida’s twenty six or so years in Livorno the two had more than one occasion to meet up, either in Livorno or Ancona. This is all the more likely when we consider that the Chida’s eldest son served as Chief Rabbi in Ancona from 1788 and on, and on at least one occasion, in the summer of 1791, the Chida did make the journey to Ancona to visit with him (See letter 22 on p. 34 and Dr. Rosenberg’s note there, see also p. 12 fn. 3 where he surmises the Chida’s wife, whose warm regards for R. Senigallia’s wife are expressed in the Chida’s letter to him, owed her acquaintance with Mrs. Senigallia to this visit).
[3] See Meir Benayahu’s biography: Rabbi Chaim Yosef David Azulay (Jerusalem, 1959 pp. 122-123, the reference in Asher Salah’s aforementioned bibliography to pp. 112-113 in this book should be corrected).
[4] Hatzofeh L’Chochmat Yisrael, Vol. 11 (Budapest 1927, pp. 241-309). This collection has likewise been printed in a separate pamphlet, also in Budapest 1927 (available here), and the references to this work in the present article follow the pagination in this pamphlet.
[5] The Chida emphasizes this point with the following melitzah (wordplay): ואין לדרוש בקל וחומר כי אם בגזרה שוה. This phrase which is a spinoff of the Talmudic phrase found in Pesachim (66a) and elsewhere (דאין אדם דן גזירה שוה מעצמו אלא קל וחומר) has been explained by Dr. Rosenberg in a footnote to mean that Chida’s refusal to grant haskamot was on account of his humility; he did not want to appear important (חמור) at the expense of others (קל), but rather wished to be viewed as an equal (שוה).

Whether this is indeed the Chida’s rationale for withholding his haskamot is debatable (and Benayahu in his biography (pp. 96-97) has made the convincing case that there must have been other factors as well), but it is clear that Dr. Rosenberg, who in any event had little appreciation for the melitzah of the Chida (as per his own comments in the introduction to his edition of Igrot), missed the innuendo in this melitzah as well. In this context, it is clear that what the Chida meant to say was that he does not want to be strict (חמור) with some requests for haskamot and lenient with others (קל), but rather must apply his decision (גזרה) to everyone equally (שוה).
[6] Benayahu writes in his biography (p. 97) that R. Senigallia had turned to R. Camis for help in obtaining the haskama, but this is a mistake and should say R. Nahamo in place of R. Camis, as is evident from the above quoted letter. R. Tikotzky, who seems unaware of Dr. Rosenberg’s edition of Igrot, shows his hand when he writes in his preface to the Jerusalem 1986 edition of R. Senigallia’s Matan B’seter – Niddah (p. 10): כשעמד רבינו להדפיס בשנת תקמ”ז את הספר “פסח מעובין” עם הוספותיו בשם “מכשירי פסחא” הכולל דיני ליבון והגעלה, ביקש מחברו ר’ יואל חמיץ מאנקוה (צ”ל אנקונה) כי ישפיע על החיד”א שיתן הסכמה לספר.
[7] See the documents detailed by Benayahu in his biography from p. 504 and on. Some important documents from this episode are reproduced, transcribed and translated in R. Dessler’s Shnot Dor V’dor vol. 2 (Jerusalem 2004, pp. 71-98).
[8] Cf. Dr. Rosenberg’s comments on p. 18 fn. 5.
[9] He is mentioned in 15 out of the 47 letters the Chida wrote to his son in this collection (they are: #10,11,22,24,25,26,32,33,34,36,37,40,45,46,51).

According to Dr. Rosenberg, the additional mention of סי’ ר’ יעקב, among the addressees to whom the Chida mailed letters from Firenze (listed in a 1791 letter to his son, #23 p. 37), is none other than our R. Senigallia, however I am inclined to doubt that on account of the fact that the Chida always refers to him by the name or initials of יעקב שבתי, and also always preceded with the honorific כמה”ח, which stands for כבוד מורנו החכם (contra Dr. Rosenberg p. 67 fn. 5). More likely, this סי’ ר’ יעקב is to be identified with סי’ יעקב who was one of the wealthy patrons of the community mentioned in letter #24 (p. 39), as the title סי’ (Signor), a respectful title for a layperson, would suggest.
[10] Among the Chida’s personal effects, we find a paper published in Benayahu’s biography (pp. 466-467) containing the Chida’s accounting of income for the year 1781, among which are listed several entries of subsidies he had received from various philanthropists. From what we can glean from the Chida’s correspondence, these subsidies most likely took the form of sponsorships for the Chida’s prolific sefarim output (cf. p. 38 fn. 2; p. 48 fn. 1 – the reference there to letter #23 should be corrected to #24; see also #34 pp. 51-52).
[11] Cf. #46 p. 63 where the Chida writes to his son informing him of the letter he had penned to R. Senigallia, along with that of another patron, and also asks him to deliver the letters and to elaborate on them on his own in order to compensate for the brevity of these letters.
[12] Interestingly, none of our letters are indicative in any way of a scholarly correspondence between the two, and I know of no basis for the claim put forth by R. Tikotzky in his preface to the Jerusalem 1986 edition of R. Senigallia’s Matan B’seter – Niddah (p. 10): בין החיד”א לרבינו נסבו בדרך כלל המכתבים מענייני הלכה ופלפול, אך אף בענייני קבלה החליפו מכתבים ביניהם, והחיד”א אף כותב לבנו, כי שלח קמיעות רבות לאנקונה מקום מושבו של רבינו (Our rabbi and the Chida generally corresponded in pipulistic and Halachic matters, however they also corresponded in kabbalistic matters, and in fact, the Chida even writes to his son of the many kemayas he had sent to Ancona where our rabbi resided). As far as I can tell, the only kernel of truth in this flight of fancy is the (one and only) kemaya the Chida sent to R. Senigallia, mentioned in his letter to him, and referenced in various letters to the son; however this kemaya was not intended for R. Senigallia at all, but to be used as an amulet for an ailing patron, and in any event says nothing about any supposed kabbalistic dealings between the two rabbis.
[13] This is so because the Chida uses מ for the last name, for מסיניגאליא. Although on the title page the last name is spelled סיניגאליא without the prefix מ (from), the name indicates that the family hailed from the city of Senigallia, and our rabbi sometimes spells it himself with the מ, such as on the title page of his Abir Yaakov (Pisa 1811).
[14] This is the work of R. Avraham Oppenheim first published in Amsterdam 1769 and printed in the margin of most editions of the Shulchan Aruch, and should not be confused with the similarly named work by R. Avraham David Wahrman of Butchatch, whose own Eshel Avraham, found in the back of contemporary editions of the Shulchan Aruch, was first printed in 1889, a hundred years after the Machshirei Pischa. I note this because there appears to be some confusion about this, and even the tremendously helpful Sefaria website has the former sefer listed under the authorship of the latter.

ADDENDUM:

העתק מכתבו של הרחיד”א לר’ יעקב שמשון סיניגאליא ע”פ צילום כת”י[15]5

ב”ה  ער”ח ניסן תקנ”ה[16]6

ידידנו ואהובינו חכם לב איש חסיד[17] כמהח“ר יעקב שמשון סיניגאליאה[18] יצ”ו נר”ו

ונתתי ש'[19] בארש[20]. מקוצר רוח ממה שעברתי אברים קודמין[21] יעברו חלוש‘ים[22] ודחקתי לכתוב 

שתי אותיות בפרו”ס הפסח[23] כפור”ס מן החיים[24] סוכת ש’ ולברך שמו הטוב ולכל אשר באהלי יעקב 

יחוגו הג הפסח לחיי“טם ט‘ ולש’ ובעושר וכבוד ושמחה רבה כי”ר 

מעיד אני עלי שמים וארץ כי ברוב הימים אני מברך שמו ושם אהוב ונחמד סי’ ש”םמ ‏ יצ”ו 

וסי’ יש”ע יצ”ו ואני לומד איזה ד”ת לשם יש”ע וכה יאמר להם ושלחתי הקמיעאה ליד יש”ע

על יד יאו”ר לי[25] הבן יקיר נר”ו. מצד נ”ב להגברת נ”ב מ’ ש”ר ולהבנים היקרים אצוה את ברכתי 

ברכת הדיוט. לגיסיו האהובים יצ”ו ש”ר. לכל שואל בש’ ש”ר. ואני תפלה הצעיר וזעיר 

מתפלל בעדו תמיד 

חיד”א ס”ט

אהובינו סי’ יש”ע יצ”ו יעלה עלי

‘הכתוב כאן כאלו לו לבת נתנת הארש וש

15. בספריית בית המדרש לרבנים מספר 5397 (ניתן להוריד צילומו כאן, והמכתב מופיע בעמ’ 18 בתדפיף). המכתב נדפס ע”פ כתה”י ע”י ח’ רוזנברג בספרו ‘אגרות מהרב חיד”א’ (בתדפיס מיוחד מתוך ‘הצופה לחכמת ישראל’ שנה יא, בודפסט תרפ”ז, עמ’ 11-12, ניתן לצפות בו כאן). העתקתו של רוזנברג לקויה בחסרות ויתרות (לרוב בלתי משמעויות) שתוקנו כאן בגוון אדום. תודתי נתונה בזה למכובדי הרב שלמה דיין נר”ו שעזר על ידי בפיענוח כתה”י.
16. באותו יום ערך מכתב לבנו (אגרות מהד’ רוזנברג עמ’ 62-63), ובין הדברים כתב לו אודות מכתבו הנוכחי להריש”ש סיניגאליא: “בדוחק אני כותב שתי שורות לסי’ ש”ם וכמהחרי”ש הי”ו נא לתתם בידם וישלח דברו להשלים ולגמור חסרי”.
17. אני משער שתואר זה, הבנוי כנראה על לשון הכתוב במשלי (יא:יז) ‘גומל נפשו איש חסד’ (וממנו בפיוט יגדל ‘גומל לאיש חסד כמפעלו’) מרמז על חסדו של הריש”ש סיניגליה שתיווך בין הרחיד”א להגבירים הנרמזים במכתב זה ושכנראה התפרנס הרחיד”א מהם באיזה שהוא אופן (מן הסתם ע”י התרמתם להדפסת ספריו), ולכן חש הרחיד”א כלפיהם יחס של גומלים, והוא מברך את שמם ולומד ומתפלל בעדם. להגביר האחד ‘ש”ם’ ערך הרחיד”א מכתב נוסף באותו יום כנזכר באגרתו בהערה הקודמת, ולהגביר השני ‘יש”ע’ שלא ערך לו מכתב בפני עצמו (אולי מפני חולשת בריאותו) הוסיף שתי שורות הנכתבות להלן בסוף המכתב (המועתקות כאן לראשונה) להודיע לו שיקרא אגרת זו הנוכחית כאילו שהיא נכתבה אליו בעצמו.
18. לא הרגיש המעתיק שנשמר הרחיד”א מלכתוב האותיות יו”ד וה”א ברצף ממדת חסידות, ולכן יש שאף שינה וכתב אל”ף במקום ה”א כמו ‘יאודה’ במקום ‘יהודה’, וכן אצל שם בנו הר”ר רפאל ישעיה נהג לפעמים לכתוב ‘ישעיא’ כנראה מצילומי הכתיב שע”ג המטעפות בתוך קובץ כתה”י, ואולם המעתיק העתיק תמיד ‘ישעיה’ באין מבין.
19. קיצור ל’שלום’ (וכזה תמצא עוד שבע פעמים להלן), וכבר בספרו ברכי יוסף (או”ח פה:ח) צידד הרחיד”א כשיטת האומרים ששלום הוא מן השמות שאינן נמחקין ואשר אין לכותבן באגרות שלומים.
20. מליצה ע”פ לשון הכתוב (ויקרא כו:ו) ‘ונתתי שלום בארץ’, ונשתמש בה הרחיד”א בעוד כמה אגרות, ור”ל הנני מקדם פניך בדיבור (ארש) של שלום.
21. מליצה ע”פ לשון חז”ל שאנו אומרים בתפלה כל יום בסדר המערכה, ובפירושו כתב ר’ חנניה חביב אזולאי בהערה לאגרות הרחיד”א מהד’ רוזנברג (עמ’ 44) ש’קודמין’ ר”ל החליים הישנים שבאיברי גופו, ואולם לדידי חזי לי שהכוונה לאברים שבחלק הקדימה שבגוף כמו האיצטומכא, שכן סבל הרחיד”א בימים אלו הרבה מחולי המעים כנזכר באגרתו מט”ו אדר בשנה זו (עמ’ 61) ע”ש. 
22. מליצה ע”פ לשון הכתוב בבמדבר (לב:ל) ‘יעברו חלוצים’. על חולשת אבריו והתרופפות מצב בריאותו בימים אלו, ראה אשר כתב הרחיד”א באגרת לבנו באותו יום  (עמ’ 63): “שם כתבתי כי הא גופא קשיא וכאבי נעכר ועתה רווח פורתא שאין הענין בחוזק כאשר היה ה’ ירפאני רפואה שלמה”. ואולם למרבה הצער תקוותיו של הרחיד”א להחלמה גמורה לא התגשמו, ראה אשר כתב אח”כ באגרת לבנו (אגרות מהד’ רוזנברג עמ’ 13): “נהייתי ונחליתי יותר מחודש וכל הפסח לא יכולתי לילך אפילו לישיבה ועד האידנא חייך הידיד לא איפרק מחולשא”.
23. חמשה עשר יום לפני הפסח נקרא פרוס הפסח בלשון המשנה (שקלים ג:א), ומליצת הרחיד”א רומזת שהוא פורס בשלומו בפרוס הפסח (שכן נכתב המכתב ער”ח ניסן כנזכר בתאריך).
24. מליצה ע”פ לשון הגמ’ בקידושין (סו:): “אמר ליה ר’ טרפון: עקיבא כל הפורש ממך כפורש מן החיים”, והכוונה כאן ש’חיים’ (שמו הפרטי של הרחיד”א) מבקש שיפרוס סוכת שלומו של הנמען.
25. מליצה שגורה בפי הרחיד”א לבנו בכורו ר’ רפאל ישעיה אב”ד אנקונה, המכילה ר”ת של שמו (י-שעיה א-זולאי ר-פאל), וכאן היא בנויה על לשון הכתוב בשמות (ב:ה): ‘על יד היאור’, וביחזקאל (כט:ג): ‘לי יאורי

Towards Decoding Ha-Yeriah Ha-Gedolah (The Great Parchment), A Cryptic 14th Century Italian Kabbalistic Text

By Ezra Brand

Ezra Brand is an independent researcher based in NYC. He has an MA from Revel Graduate School at Yeshiva University in Medieval Jewish History. His main research focus is currently 13th and 14th century sefirotic Kabbalah, and he is interested in using digital and computational tools in historical research. His previous contributions to the Seforim Blog can be found here, and a selection of his academic research can be found here. He can be reached at ezrabrand-at-gmail.com; any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.^[1]

Sefirotic Kabbalah has its origins in thirteenth century Provence and Spain. It reached its apotheosis in the Zohar, which began to appear in Castile in the late thirteenth century. Kabbalistic literature started appearing in Italy soon after. Moshe Idel, in his masterly survey of kabbalah in medieval Italy, shows how “Rome was a place where Catalan Jewish culture, philosophical and kabbalistic, were already well established in the 1280s.”^[2] And further: “Thus, in one decade, approximately 1280-1290, the Jewish culture in Rome was enriched by the arrival of a variety of Jewish esoteric material: theosophical and ecstatic Kabbalah, as well as Ashkenazi esoteric material.”^[3] Idel raises the possibility that “a massive importation of kabbalistic literature took place in Italy at the very end of the thirteenth century.”^[4] Idel make programmatic statement that “a pluralistic vision of the history of Kabbalah, which entails deemphasizing the centrality of Spain in the history of Kabbalah, will help to distinguish more precisely the specific contributions of Kabbalah in Italy.”^[5]

Ha-Yeriah Ha-Gedolah (from here on: YG) is a fascinating, enigmatic work, which provides a window into this first flourishing of Italian Kabbalah. According to Giulio Busi, the academic scholar who first published YG from manuscript in 2004, “Ha-Yeri‘ah ha-Gedolah was probably written at the beginning of the 14th century by an author whose name remains unknown to us. Most likely, he was an Italian kabbalist, since all the preserved manuscripts have been copied by scribes working on the Italian peninsula.”^[6]

The first modern academic scholar to mention YG was Gershom Scholem in his 1937 list of commentaries on the Ten Sefirot. Scholem also mentioned the line-by-line commentary on YG written by the fourteenth-century Italian kabbalist Reuven Tzarfati.^[7] Scholem’s student Efraim Gottlieb, in a pioneering study on Tzarfati, discusses YG briefly.^[8]

In 2004, Giulio Busi, with Simonetta M. Bondoni and Saverio Campanini, published YG for the first time, based on the extant manuscripts.^[9] It comes out to 71 pages, with at most around 13 lines on a page.^[10] Busi gives an introduction summarizing previous research and presenting his own research on this work, and an overview of the extant manuscripts of YG and Tzarfati’s commentary. (Busi’s introduction is available online.)

Like the thirteenth-century Zoharic literature^[11] and related kabbalistic works, YG interprets biblical stories and topics in terms of the interplay between the sefirot. Busi describes it as a “forgotten masterpiece of kabbalistic literature,^[12] and as “one of the most obscure texts of the whole kabbalah”.^[13]

Even after its appearance in print, YG does not appear to have evinced very much interest, either among academic scholars or among enthusiasts of Kabbalistic literature. I am not aware of any further scholarship on this work. In a previous paper of mine, I gave an overview of some aspects of YG. Here, I’d like to revisit this enigmatic work, provide some suggestions for a way forward in decoding it, and hopefully spur further interest and research.^[14]

YG is set up as work made up of sixteen “Sections” (sippurim).^[15] Busi describes YG as “a booklet of a few extremely dense and symbolic pages.”^[16] He further writes: “There is no doubt, however, that the Great Parchment is one of the most obscure texts of the whole kabbalah.”^[17] Busi in his introduction gives an overview of each story based on Tzarfati’s commentary, prefacing: “Obviously, there is no guarantee that Sarfatti’s exegesis always reflects the thought of the unknown author of the work. Nevertheless, the detailed analysis of this early commentator represents the only starting point we possess with which to explore this still unknown chapter of late medieval kabbalah.”

I would claim that Busi overstates the obscurity of this work. I would like to point out a few aspects of YG that would aid in making progress in decoding this fascinating work.

Indexing Sefirotic Correspondences

Busi writes: “Apparently rebelling against the laws of meaning, [YG] is striking for its capacity to evoke waves of esoteric implications without ever mentioning directly the kabbalistic secrets.”^[18] And further: “The key is offered by a scheme of correspondences that the author never enunciates openly but the reader must be aware of”.^[19]

Again, I believe that this is somewhat overstated. Admittedly, the overarching narrative of the sections is often unclear.  The work is dense with biblical and Talmudic quotations and allusions, and written in a kind of associative, stream-of-consciousness style, making the overall narrative difficult to untangle. There are often what appear to be throwaway lines that don’t seem to be relevant in context. As I mention below, it may be that the author was simply writing with stream-of-consciousness, and never intended every line to have a deeper meaning. In any case, YG is by no means the only esoteric work to have been composed in a purposefully enigmatic style.

With all this in mind, the fact is that throughout the work, YG explicitly mentions sefirotic correspondences. Unlike the Zoharic literature, YG is replete with explicit usage of the standard terms for the ten sefirot. The Temple is a clear theme throughout (see below), and YG explicitly indexes the one-to-one correspondences between ten items in the Temple and the ten sefirot, using the sefirot’s standard names.^[20] Another explication of symbols can be found in YG’s discussion of Ezekiel’s Vision of the Chariot, where the correspondence of the Four Faces with specific angels, cardinal directions, and sefirot are given, again using the sefirot’s standard names.^[21]

Certain terms are used consistently for Evil (or closeness to Evil) throughout, such as Sha’atnez, Woman, Snake, Calf, Donkey, Limping Thigh, Mixture.^[22] Specific terms recur with presumably consistent sefirotic equivalences, such as Ruth and Upper Pool.^[23]

Even if YG never explicitly defines the meaning of a symbol, comparison with other thirteenth- and fourteenth-century works should allow for fairly certain elucidation.^[24]

Close Commentary of Biblical Texts or Specific Topics

In many sections, YG very closely hews to biblical texts, quoting the biblical words and performing an extremely close interpretation, sometimes phrase-by-phrase, or even word-by-word. Busi’s edition does a tremendous service by italicizing the biblical quotes, but many quotes fall through the cracks and are not italicized. YG is often written in a way that only a single word is added to biblical text, or a biblical word is paraphrased, the order of words is switched, words are skipped words, or a pastiche between two biblical verses is made. These techniques presumably impart meaning. Closely separating the biblical quotes from YG’s additions or paraphrase helps clarify what exactly YG is attempting to convey.

Even when YG is not closely interpreting a biblical text line-by-line, the topic is often still clearly defined.

By comparing how other thirteenth- and fourteenth-century kabbalistic works interpret these biblical stories and topics, it is likely that much light would be shed on the discourses of YG.

Please see the appendix of this article for a chart comparing YG’s Sections with corresponding biblical stories or topics.

Word Associations

A striking aspect of YG is the continuous flow of writing, using word associations and wordplay. This is true both in terms of how it interprets biblical verses, as well as how it segues into new topics seemingly based on linguistic similarities alone. This interest in wordplay likely ties in to the ideas of “Linguistic Kabbalah,” which were influenced by Abraham Abulafia.^[25] As mentioned earlier, YG was most likely written by an Italian kabbalist at the beginning of the fourteenth century, a time when Abulafia’s influence was strongly felt.

Some particularly notable examples of this can be found in Section 7, which is devoted to Jacob/Tiferet. I’ll adduce one example from there, a riff on the word “Tiferet” (my underlines, italics of biblical verses and biblical citations in Busi’s original, with small changes in punctuation where it seems appropriate):^[26]

ועל כן לא יאכלו בני ישראל את גיד הנשה [בראשית לב לג]. לא יכרתו החוט הבא עליהם בשפע אמיתי, הנשה שלא ישכחו התורה, הה״ד ישראל לא תנשני [ישעיה מד כא]. והחוט הוא הוא״ו הנאצלת על תפארת הה״ד <ישראל> אשר בך אתפאר [ישעיה מט ג] ולקדוש ישראל כי פארך [ישעיה ס ט] זה ואלהי יעקב.^[27] אפריון עשה לו המלך שלמה מעצי הלבנון [שיר השירים ג ט]. ובית תפארתי אפאר [ישעיה ס ז]. ועם כל זה לא תפאר אחריך [דברים כד כ] בעשרה היניקות היונקות ונאצלות מן הקו האמצעי קדוש ונורא [תהלים קיא ט]. כי תחלת העשרה הוא השם הגדול א׳^[28]. על כן <לא> תסיר האצילות מהם. אם הם שפלים (אם) בעיניך, פאר הראש הם וגדולים, כי בן בג בג עומד על גבה. 

The overall message of this passage is fairly clear: First, the author closely interprets the verse in Genesis as saying that Jews should not block the flow (YG interprets “gid” to mean “chut”), and should not forget the Torah (interpreting the next word “hanashe” to mean “forgetting”, using the verse in Isaiah to show that “hanashe” can mean forgetting^[29]).

The passage then clearly begins to riff on the root “Pe’er,” which is the root of the word Tiferet, the sefirah under discussion in this Section. YG brings quotes which use “Pe’er” in five different ways (התפאר, פאר, אפריון, תפארת, פיאר). The passage is saying not to “remove” the ten sefirot which emanate from Tiferet,^[30] since the beginning of the ten sefirot are Keter. It may very well be that the individual verses do not add an additional mystical meaning, and the author is simply reveling in adducing additional verses with the same root.

Post-Biblical Sources

As mentioned, YG is dense not just with biblical quotes and allusions, but also with quotes of and allusions to Talmud, Midrash, and other medieval sources.^[31]

YG mentions the messianic figures of Menachem ben Amiel and Nehemiah ben Hushiel,^[32] who appear in early medieval works, such as the apocalyptic Sefer Zerubavel and Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer.

YG supports an idea with a quote that seems to be an adage that was popular among medieval Jewish authors:^[33]

״הה״ד אשרי המדבר באוזן שומעת״

The first source that I could find for this adage is Ramban in his early work Milhamot Hashem, at the end of a long piece, where he lyrically writes that a certain opinion is correct:^[34]

״והדברים מודיעים שכולם נכוחים למבין וישרים למוצאי דעת ואשרי המדבר לאוזן השומעת״

It therefore seems clear that YG’s ״באוזן״ should correctly be ״לאוזן״ as the Munich manuscript has it.^[35] Soon after Ramban, this saying is used by Meiri and Sefer HaHinuch in a similar way: As an exhortation at the end of passage, and certainly not as a quote.^[36]

Some Greek philosophical concepts are mentioned in YG, such as the Five Senses and the tripartite soul.^[37]

A sampling of interesting scientific statements made by YG: “Water is good at all times and for all living creatures, which is not the case for other liquids”. ^[38] “The dove has no gallbladder.”^[39]

While discussing YG’s sources and quotations, I can’t help but discuss a fascinating passage found in the discussion on the Sotah:^[40]

״מה שאמרו ז״ל סוטה לא הייתה ולא נבראת, ר״ל במעשה מפורסם, ואם תאמר המעשה שמביאין שאשה אחת שתתה מי סוטה בחילוף אחותה ולא הזיקו לה ואחרי כן <באה> אצל אחותה ונקשה ומן הריח מיד <וצבתה> בטנה ונפלה ירכה [במדבר ה כז] כי היא הייתה טמאה, זה סיוע לדברינו, ורצו באומרם [זה המעשה]^[41] כי כל הדיעות^[42] חוצבו ממקום אחד ואדם אחד ישיג השגת <העדן ואדם אחד ישיג השגת> גיהנם.״

YG starts off with a(n allegedly) rabbinic quote which makes the shocking statement that the Sotah ritual never actually happened. The quote is cryptically explained by YG to mean “במעשה המפורסם”, presumably meaning that in fact the Sotah ritual occurred, but that there was never a “famous” (or “publicly-known” or “well-known”) case.^[43] YG then continues that if you may question this explanation on the basis of “a story which is brought” (״ואם תאמר המעשה שמביאין״). The story appears as described in more than one Midrashic source.^[44] For convenience, I’ll quote the Midrash Tanhuma’s rendition with the online Sefaria translation:

“[There is] a story about two sisters who resembled each other. Now one was married in one city and the other was married in another city. The husband of one of them wanted to accuse her of infidelity and have her drink the bitter water in Jerusalem. She went to that city where her married sister was. Her sister said to her, “What was your reason for coming here?” She said to her, “My husband wants to have me drink [the bitter water].” Her sister said to her, “I will go in your place and drink it.” She said to her, “Go.” She put on her sister’s clothes, went in her place, drank the bitter water, and was found clean. When she returned to her sister’s house, she joyfully went out to meet her, then embraced and kissed her on the mouth. As soon as the one kissed the other, she smelled the bitter water and immediately died, in order to fulfill what is stated (in Eccl. 8:8), “No human has control over the wind to contain the wind, nor is there control on the day of death […].”

YG goes on to say that on the contrary, this story actually supports his explanation (״זה סיוע לדברינו״). It is likely that what YG means is that since in the story of the two sisters the actual death of the sister occurred in private, it was not a publicly-known case.^[45]

YG next says the story of the two sisters can be understood allegorically to mean that all “knowledge” (or “evil”) comes from one place. In other words, the story of the Sotah water being passed from the innocent sister to the guilty sister should be understood allegorically. The Sotah water has inherent power, but the power that it has really depends on the person imbibing it. The innocent sister was unharmed by the Sotah water, but when it reached her unfaithful sister, it had an effect. In the same way, all knowledge starts off the same, but whether this knowledge is reified as good or evil depends on the person comprehending the knowledge.

I could not find any source for YG’s quote that “סוטה לא הייתה ולא נבראת”. YG prefaces the quote with ״ומה שאמרו ז״ל״, which generally means that it’s a quote from the Talmud or Midrash.  The Talmud Bavli in Sanhedrin 71a uses the formulation “לא היה ולא נברא” regarding the Wayward Son and City of Idol Worshippers (בן סורר ומורה ועיר הנידחת), but not about Sotah.

Ishay Rosen-Zvi made this very same claim from a critical historical perspective in his 2008 book (based on his doctoral dissertation), that the Sotah ritual never actually happened and was essentially a purely theoretical law.^[46] Meir Bar-Ilan harshly criticized Rozen-Zvi’s thesis, in a review article called “Between False Reality and Fictional History”, available on his homepage here.^[47] Bar-Ilan admits that there are instances where even the Talmudic rabbis said that a biblical story or a biblical ritual never actually occurred, but he believes that Sotah is not one of these cases. It would be interesting to discover additional traditional sources that state that the Sotah ritual (or “Sotah ordeal”, as Bar-Ilan believes is the more accurate appellation) never actually took place.

Let me point to another case of YG claiming that a story recounted in an authoritative text was not an actual historical event. This time, shockingly, it is regarding the Sacrifice of Isaac, where YG claims that this was a dream:^[48]

“שעשה חסד לעקוד את יצחק בנו להיות זריז על מצות המלך שעקדת יצחק חלום היה ולא דבר אחר”.

 Marc Shapiro in his book Changing the Immutable cites other medieval sources (including possibly Maimonides) which also say that the Sacrifice of Isaac never happened, and shows how this idea was considered so problematic by a later printer of Moreh Nevuchim that it was censored out of the Ephodi commentary.^[49]

In any case, the two parts of the statement would seem to contradict each other : If YG assumes that the Akedah was only a dream, then what was the great “kindness” (״חסד״) to offer up Isaac? It is very likely that this line in YG needs to be read sefirotically: Isaac is a common reference to Gevurah while Abraham is a reference to Hesed. The Akeda is being read as an amelioration of Gevurah by Hesed. If this is true, the meaning of this line in YG is as follows: Since the Akedah was a dream, and not a historical event, we cannot explain the story in a straightforward way, for example as illustrating Abraham’s submission to God’s will. Rather, it must be understood sefirotically, as illustrating the interplay of Gevuah and Hesed.^[50]

Temple Vessels and Rituals

Many of the of biblical sections interpreted by YG, as well as topics discussed, relate to the Temple. As I mentioned earlier, YG clearly indexes the correspondences between items in the Temple and the sefirot.^[51] A majority of the Sections begin with an item from the Temple. The Scapegoat, sent into the desert by the High Priest on Yom Kippur as part of the Yom Kippur Temple service, is a recurring symbol of evil in YG.^[52] Most of Section 11 is an extended discussion of the Candelabrum, in turn interpreting the verses relating to the Candelabrum in Zachariah, Ezekiel, and the Pentateuch. The entireties of Sections 14 and 15 are devoted to verse-by-verse interpretations of the Bible verses on the Sotah and the Red Heifer, respectively. Both of these rituals were performed at, or at least near, the Temple.

Conclusion

YG is an early, fascinating, and cryptic work. I have attempted in this article to give an overview of some themes of the work, as well as some fascinating statements that I could not find elsewhere. I am hoping that someone will take upon themselves to publish Reuven Tzarfati’s commentary in some form, which should greatly further progress in understanding YG.^[53]

Appendix

Breakdown by Section of Interpretation of Biblical Texts or Topics

^[1] I would like to thank Binyamin Goldstein and my father  for looking over a draft of this article and making very helpful comments and corrections.

^[2] Moshe Idel, Kabbalah in Italy, 1280-1510: A Survey, pg. 99.

^[3] Idel, pg. 102.

^[4] Idel, pg. 111.

^[5] Pg. 113.

^[6] Pg. 23.

^[7] For more on Tzarfati, see Idel, Kabbalah in Italy, pp. 148-150, and index.

^[8] In Efraim Gottlieb, Studies in the Kabbala Literature (Hebrew), ed. J. Hacker (Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1976).

^[9] Busi’s book includes Flavius Mithridates’s Latin translation of YG, which Mithridates had prepared for the well-known fifteenth-century Italian Renaissance nobleman and philosopher Giovanni Pico della Mirandola. Busi also includes an English translation of the Latin.

^[10] The actual text of YG is pp. 119-191.

^[11] I use “Zoharic literature” to mean “The Zohar”, as is now common in academic scholarship.

^[12] The Great Parchment. Flavius Mithridates’ Latin Translation, the Hebrew Text, and an English Version, Edited by Giulio Busi with Simonetta M. Bondoni and Saverio Campanini, Turin, Nino Aragno Editore, 2004, pp. 21, 28.

^[13] Pg. 29.

^[14] I still have not had a chance to study Tzarfati’s full commentary to YG. Busi says he has a transcription of it (pg. 29, footnote 19). Unfortunately I could not get access to this transcription. A few manuscripts of Tzarfati’s commentary are available through National Library of Israel’s Ketiv website. I read through a few pages of the commentary in Moscow RSL 134, which had the advantage of being available for download (the manuscript pages on Ketiv’s online reader load very slowly, and often buffer endlessly and don’t load at all).

I was excited to discover a new automated tool being developed for transcribing Hebrew manuscripts, which launched a few months ago, called Tikkoun Sofrim:  https://tikkoun-sofrim.firebaseapp.com/en. I read their documentation and contributed a few lines to each of the two manuscripts they have up, and I was quite impressed. I look forward to being able to use the tool to assist in transcribing additional manuscripts.

^[15] Although YG is called in some manuscripts “Iggeret Sippurim”, “sippurim” in this context likely means “sections”, as pointed out by Gottlieb. This is because there are no “stories” per se being told. For this reason I use the term “Sections” for YG’s “sippurim”, contra Busi who uses the term “Tales” to describe the Sections. That YG doesn’t contain any literal tales is in contrast to the Zoharic literature, where kabbalistic and midrashic interpretations are generally framed within tales of R’ Shimon bar Yochai and his circle. For a recent comprehensive study of this important aspect of the Zohar, see Eitan Fishbane’s, The Art of Mystical Narrative: A Poetics of the Zohar, Oxford University Press, 2018.

^[16] Pg. 21.

^[17] Pg. 29.

^[18] Pg. 28

^[19] Pg. 29.

^[20] Pg. 163, beginning of Section 11.

^[21] Pg. 169. The correspondences there are not completely clear to me, as mixed in with the standard names for sefirot are other superlatives, and it’s not completely clear to me how to punctuate the text. The sefirot seem to be grouped there into four parts as follows: 1) Keter; 2) Tiferet, Chochma, Bina; 3) Shechina (=Malchut); Gedulah (=Chessed), Gevurah; Netzach; 4) Hod, Yesod.

As an aside, I want to point out another confusing detail in this passage :

״וצורת אדם גבריאל ד׳ אלפין מרוח ימה.״

It would appear that רוח ימה in this context actually means East, and not West as it typically does. This is for two reasons: First of all, on pg. 183 YG states explicitly that צורת אדם corresponds with East. In addition, it is clear that it is actually צורת שור that corresponds to West, as it says in the continuation of pg. 169, as well as on pg. 183.

^[22] שעטנז, אשה (חוה), נחש, עגל (הזהב), חמור, ירך צולע, ערב.

^[23] רות, בריכה עליונה.

^[24] Eliyahu Peretz’s index of sefirot of selected thirteenth- and fourteenth-century kabbalistic works is especially useful in this respect: E. Peretz, Ma’alot ha-Zohar, Jerusalem 1987. I would like to thank Dr. Daniel Matt for bringing this work to my attention.

^[25] For more on this, see my previous article on YG, as well as my article “Joseph Gikatilla’s “Hasagot on the Moreh”: A Linguistic Kabbalist Reads Moreh Nevuchim”, which can be found here.

^[26] Pg. 144. Another very interesting illustrative example can be found earlier in that page, where one of the words in the association is not explicit:

״ואשרי המחכה ויגיע [דניאל יב יב] לקץ הימין, בזמן שהם עושים רצון השלשלת העליונה, ולא לקץ השמאל, הצולעה שנשמט מירך יעקב, ולא מישראל כי שרה עם אלהים, שאמר <גרש> האמה <הזאת> ואת בנה [בראשית כא י]״.

It seems clear that the connection being made is due to the wordplay of the homonyms spelled שרה, in the two verses, which is explicitly quoted in the first verse (where it means “struggled”), and implicit in the second verse (where “Sarah” is the speaker). Incidentally, this is an example of the word “Limping” being used a symbol for Evil, “Limping” being a common symbol in YG for Evil.

^[27] “Velohei Yaakov” seems to be a reference to a biblical phrase, which appears three times in the Bible. See Mithradates’ translation (pg. 216). It is unclear to me if Mithradates’ interpretation is correct.

^[28] This letter most likely is a shortening of “Akatriel,” which is used throughout the work to mean Keter.

^[29]  This may also be a play on “Yisrael” used in the verse in Isaiah, which can also mean Jacob.

^[30] The idea of each sefirah having its own secondary emanation of ten sefirot emanating from it, is a theme of YG, as Busi mentions in his introduction.

^[31] Busi’s edition does give those sources a handful of times, but mostly does not, even when a source is explicitly being quoted.

^[32] Pg. 165.

^[33] Pg. 133.

^[34] Milhamot Hashem on Rif Shabbat 12a, last line.

^[35] Apparatus fn. 184.

^[36] Meiri in his commentary to Bavli Berahot 3b s.v. “לעולם” (last line); Sefer HaHinuch, Parshat Va’ethanan, Mitzvah  419, s.v. “ומה שאמרו”. In subsequent generations, the adage is almost exclusively formulated in a more biblical style, as ״אשרי המדבר על אוזן שומעת״, on the pattern of Proverbs 25:12. It is formulated this way already by Meiri in his Magen Avot, Topic 1, s.v. ״ואף בשאלתות״ (last line).

^[37] Pg. 187. The manuscript on which the text is based only has two parts of the soul, but the apparatus in fn. 1025 says that the JTS manuscript has all three parts written.

^[38] Pg. 187: ״המים טובים בכל זמן ולכל בעלי חיים, מה שאין כן בשאר משקים״.

^[39] Pg. 141: ״ועל כן היונה אין לה מרה״. I also found this, using a search, in the Rashba (in his commentary on Bavli Hulin 42a s.v. “kol”) and in other medieval works.

^[40] Pg. 180.

^[41] This word is added in a MS, according to the apparatus.

^[42] According to the apparatus, one MS has “הרעות” in place of “הדיעות”, which may be the more correct version, based on the context.

^[43] See my footnote below for a discussion of this explanation and how to parse the whole passage of YG.

^[44] This story appears in Midrash Tanhuma parshat Naso (on one of the Sotah verses – Numbers 5:12),  §10 in the Buber edition, and §6 in the regular version, and in Bamidbar Rabbah (on that same verse) 9:9. As an aside, the story is also referenced by Rashi in his commentary on Numbers 5:13.

^[45] I would like to thank Binyamin Goldstein for clarifying this for me. Admittedly, the flow of the passage is confusing, with first stating the story as a question, and then suddenly saying that it’s in fact support.

^[46] Rosen-Zvi, The Rite that Was Not: Temple, Midrash and Gender in Tractate Sotah, Jerusalem: Magnes, 2008 (Hebrew).

^[47] Pp. 12-19. (See there pp.19-22 for an interesting discussion about the authenticity of Mishnaic descriptions of the Yom Kippur service in the Temple and the Red Heifer.) Bar-Ilan there in a footnote (fn. 42) points out that another scholar previously posited in her 1984 book that the Sotah ritual never happened and is totally theoretical.

I’d like to point out what appears to be a clear error made by Rozen-Zvi, not pointed out by Bar-Ilan (even though Bar-Ilan, pg. 13, quotes this passage in Rozen-Zvi verbatim). Rozen-Tzvi remarks, pg. 156, in reference to a story about a Sotah in the Mishnah in Eduyot 5:6 (parentheses and exclamation mark in the original):

״זוהי העדות היחידה (בכלל, לא רק בספרות חז״ל!) שנותרה על מאורע מסוים של השקיית סוטה בתקופת הבית.״

The Midrashic story quoted by YG is at least one instance of exactly such a textual witness. (As to whether the Midrash Bamidbar Rabbah and the Tanhuma are within the bounds of “Hazalic literature” is a separate discussion, but Rozen-Zvi explicitly adds there’s no such witness even outside of Hazalic/Talmudic literature.)

^[48] Pg. 138.

^[49] Shapiro, Changing the Immutable, pp. 67-73. I’d like to thank Marc Shapiro for telling me about this by email a few years ago, before Changing the Immutable was published.

^[50] I would like to thank Marc Shapiro and Jonathan Dauber for their insightful comments on this passage, when I was writing my first paper on this topic.

^[51] Pg. 163, beginning of Section # 11.

^[52] See especially the lines at the end of Section #11 (pp. 169-170):

״ושעיר המשתלח הפך המנורה. שמים חשך לאור ואור לחשך [ישעיהו ה כ], הה״ד בפיו ובשפתיו כבדוני ולבו רחוק ממני ותהי יראתם אותי מצות אנשים מלומדה [ישעיהו כט יג]. ושעיר המשתלח היה מעור סמאל. והמשלח את השעיר [לעזאזל] יכבס בגדיו [ויקרא טז כו].״

It is possible that עור סמאל is a play on אור, mentioned earlier in the section quoted,  as עור being the opposite of אור is a common idea in Kabbalah. In general, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the relevant well-known comment of the Ramban in his commentary on the biblical verse of the Scapegoat, where he makes the surprising comment that sending the Scapegoat to the desert is intended as a way to appease the forces of evil.

^[53] Reuven Tzarfati is an important Kabbalist in his own right, whose works deserve further study, according to Moshe Idel, one of the pre-eminent scholars of kabbalah. See Idel, Kabbalah in Italy, 1280-1510: A Survey, pp. 148.