“‘I Do Not Understand a Single Word of What I Wrote in My Book’: Rav Kook, Saul Lieberman, and a Literary Mishlo’aḥ Manot Exchange”

By Aviad Hacohen

The festival of Purim, with its customs and traditions, has long constituted a broad and fertile field for a vast body of research, folklore, and ritual practice associated with the “Jewish carnival.”^[1] The drinking of wine, the wearing of costumes (which have no foundation in early sources and, in the view of many scholars, were influenced by the Venetian carnival),^[2] the use of noisemakers for the purpose of “blotting out Amalek,”^[3] and the practice of mishlo’aḥ manot have all added layers of joy and exuberance to the festival, at times reaching the point of genuine revelry and even debauchery,^[4] and giving rise in certain historical contexts to acts of mockery, hostility, and ritualized violence that have attracted sustained scholarly attention.^[5]

Two of the day’s commandments explicitly mentioned in the Scroll of Esther are “the sending of portions, each man to his fellow, and gifts to the poor.”^[6] Whereas the giving of charity to the poor assumed a more or less uniform form, the “sending of portions” became a platform for no small measure of creativity. Already in the Talmud,^[7] it is related that the amora Rabbi Yehudah Nesi’ah (the grandson of the tanna Rabbi Yehudah ha-Nasi)^[8] sent his colleague Rabbi Hoshaya an especially splendid mishlo’aḥ manot, consisting of choice veal and an entire jug of wine.

To this day, one may observe throughout Israel, particularly in Haredi concentrations, especially elaborate mishlo’aḥ manot, laden with assorted and varied food items, accompanied by ornate trays and crackling cellophane wrapping. Alongside the traditional commandment, in recent decades in particular, a rich vein of humor has developed portraying the familiar bottle of wine and dry cake as completing an entire “circuit” within the community, passed from hand to hand as a repeatedly re-gifted mishlo’aḥ manot, until it ultimately returns to its original sender.^[9] In light of this reality, many today prefer to refrain from preparing an individualized mishlo’aḥ manot, much of whose content is ultimately discarded after the festival, and instead opt for a standardized communal mishlo’aḥ manot distributed collectively to members of the community. The funds thereby saved, rather than being expended on redundant food items and decorative packaging, are redirected toward a range of charitable and benevolent causes.

These contemporary developments, however, merely underscore a broader point: the commandment of mishlo’aḥ manot has long been characterized by considerable elasticity in both form and practice. Indeed, halakhic literature contains an extensive discussion concerning the question of how one may properly discharge one’s obligation with respect to this commandment. One of the more intriguing debates in this context concerns whether one may fulfill the obligation of mishlo’aḥ manot not through edible “portions,” but rather through “words of Torah,” by sending a book, each person to his fellow. There is, in fact, no small body of testimony regarding sages of Israel, such as Rabbi Shlomo Alkabetz and Rabbi Yehudah Aszod, who sent, as “mishlo’aḥ manot, each person to his fellow,” their own Torah novellae or scholarly compositions.^[10]

This halakhic discussion is not merely theoretical. In the course of my research on Rabbi Professor Saul Lieberman (1898-1982),^[11] I encountered a striking modern resonance of precisely this idea, one that illuminates the enduring cultural and intellectual valences of mishlo’aḥ manot beyond its strictly culinary expression. Although he arrived in Jerusalem at a relatively late age, being about twenty-nine, Lieberman quickly became integrated into Jerusalem’s intellectual milieu. As a member of the first cohort of students at the Institute of Jewish Studies at the Hebrew University on Mount Scopus (which had been founded only a few years earlier), he listened with great thirst to the teachings of the leading scholars in Jewish Studies and in classical studies, among them his teacher and master Professor Yaakov Naḥum Epstein,^[12] Professor Shmuel Klein, and Professor Moshe Schwabe,^[13] one of the foremost scholars of classical culture.

Alongside his academic studies, he soon acquired a reputation as an exceptionally great Torah scholar, for whom no secret of rabbinic literature was lo anīs lei, that is, nothing lay beyond him and nothing escaped his grasp. For many hours he would labor diligently over his learning, memorizing Mishnayot and Talmud – Bavli and Yerushalmi – by heart,^[14] and within a few years he produced several exemplary works, such as On the Yerushalmi (1929) and The Talmud of Caesarea (1931), which to this day are regarded as foundational texts in the scholarly study of rabbinic literature.^[15]

Upon the completion of his studies, Lieberman began teaching in the Talmud preparatory program of the Institute of Jewish Studies, while simultaneously devoting himself to the composition of The Yerushalmi According to Its Plain Meaning (Ha-Yerushalmi Ke-Peshuto) (1935), intended as a comprehensive commentary on the entire Jerusalem Talmud.

On the personal plane, life did not treat him kindly. A short time after his arrival in the Land of Israel, he was bereaved of his youthful wife, Rachel née Rabinowitz, daughter of the rabbi of Pinsk and a descendant of a distinguished rabbinic dynasty. Some time later, he married his second wife, Judith, likewise of illustrious lineage in her own right, the daughter of Rabbi Meir Berlin (later, Bar-Ilan), leader of the Mizrachi movement, and granddaughter of the Netziv of Volozhin. She accompanied him faithfully until the end of her days. The couple did not merit children, and Lieberman immersed himself in his learning.^[16]

In the course of these years he became integrated into the “circle of Jerusalem sages,” forming close friendships with many of its members, among them the writer S.Y. Agnon^[17]; the scholar Gershom Scholem^[18]; the bookseller and proprietor of the Darom publishing house, Michl Rabinowitz; the educator Eliezer Meir Lifshitz; and the merchant and cultural patron Shlomo Zalman Schocken,^[19] who in those days founded the Institute for the Study of Medieval Hebrew Poetry.^[20]

One figure with whom Lieberman developed an especially close relationship was the Chief Rabbi of the Land of Israel, Rav Abraham Isaac Hacohen Kook. Rav Kook was revered by many members of the Yishuv, among them Berl Katznelson and S.Y. Agnon, and even by self-described “heretics” such as Gershom Scholem and Justice Haim Cohn, who in his youth studied Torah for a year in Rav Kook’s yeshiva together with his cousin, the journalist Azriel Carlebach.^[21]

Despite the age gap between them (Rav Kook was twenty-seven years older than Lieberman), the two formed an exceptionally close bond, so much so that Rav Kook, despite being heavily burdened with unceasing rabbinic and public responsibilities, agreed to reserve a fixed hour each day to study in ḥavruta with Saul Lieberman the Tur on Ḥoshen Mishpat, together with Rabbi Joseph Karo’s Beit Yosef.^[22]

Like many others, Lieberman, who would later come to be recognized as the greatest scholar of the Talmud in the twentieth century, continued to revere Rav Kook until his final days, and on more than one occasion cited his teachings. Thus, for example, in a letter dated 29 December 1981 to his younger colleague, Professor Ephraim E. Urbach, Lieberman opens with the following sentence:

“You wrote to me that ‘you were ill,’ and I was reminded of the words of Rav Kook, of blessed memory, who said: I prefer to hear ‘I was ill’ rather than ‘I was wealthy’….”^[23]

According to a widespread Jerusalem legend, Lieberman and Rav Kook stipulated that they would not cancel their daily study session for any amount of money in the world, and that should either of them violate this condition, he would be required to pay a substantial “fine” to his counterpart. For Lieberman, whose daily schedule was relatively free, fulfilling this condition was easy. For Rav Kook, who in those days was already in poor health and burdened to exhaustion with the needs of the public, fulfilling it was far more difficult, almost impossible.

And indeed, on one such day Rav Kook was compelled to cancel the study session after being invited to serve as sandek at the circumcision of the child of one of Jerusalem’s notable residents. Lieberman, of course, did not forget the matter,^[24] and resolved to vindicate the affront at an appropriate time.

In the late afternoon of the “Purim of the unwalled cities,” the fourteenth of Adar 5695 (1935), when Rav Kook was preoccupied with the final preparations for the reading of the Megillah that night in Jerusalem and with organizing the charity funds of matanot la-evyonim to be distributed the following day (for in Jerusalem Purim is celebrated on the fifteenth of Adar), Lieberman appeared unexpectedly at his home and demanded payment of the “fine”: one hour of study in exchange for the hour that had been cancelled several months earlier.

Rav Kook, who recognized the justice of the claim, had little choice. He set aside all his affairs, and the two sat and studied together for a full hour.

Thus far the story, which circulated in Jerusalem for many years. I confess that for a long time I regarded it as no more than a charming “urban legend,” one of those anecdotes that naturally crystallize around towering figures, depicting them not only in their greatness in Torah but also, in the manner of the early sages, as men of wit who knew how to tease one another with affectionate irony.

The story took root, and its echoes may be found in various books as well, albeit in an imprecise form, such as in the writings of Rabbi Moshe Tzvi Neria on Rav Kook.^[25] The source material for Rabbi Neria’s account is preserved in his personal archive, now housed in the National Library of Israel, and includes a remarkable series of recollections that Lieberman shared with him in the summer of 1979.^[26]

To my astonishment, however, two concrete pieces of evidence that have come to light in recent years in the course of my research on Lieberman do more than merely gesture toward the plausibility of the account. They substantially corroborate it. The first emerged many years ago in the main library of Yeshivat Mercaz HaRav – a library endowed in the name of Markus Cohn, the father of Arthur Cohn, the eminent Hollywood producer who passed away only recently.^[27]

On the first volume of The Yerushalmi According to Its Plain Meaning (Ha-Yerushalmi Ke-Peshuto) (also the last, for Lieberman ultimately decided to abandon his projected commentary on the Yerushalmi and to turn instead to the Tosefta, on which he produced his monumental Tosefta Ke-Peshutah), there appears a dedication that Lieberman wrote to Rav Kook, composed, as was customary, in rabbinic idiom and in abbreviations:

“In honor of our master, the rabbi of the Land of Israel and of all the Diaspora, the Gaon Rav A.I.H. Kook, may he live a long and good life, with feelings of admiration and respect, from the author.”

Attention should be paid to the date on which these words were written. The work was published in 5695 (1935). Lieberman signed his introduction at the beginning of that year, on Sunday, 7 Tishrei 5695, between Rosh Ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur, corresponding to 16 September 1934.

Obviously, the printing also took a certain period, probably a few months.

Greater precision can be established regarding the date of publication. A notice announcing the appearance of Ha-Yerushalmi Ke-Peshuto was printed on the front page of Kol Yisrael, the organ of Agudat Israel in Jerusalem (edited by Rabbi Moshe Blau), on 8 Kislev 5695 (15 November 1934). The advertisement’s conspicuous placement on the newspaper’s front page indicates that the volume had only recently emerged from the press and was then being introduced to the reading public. It therefore provides a reliable terminus post quem for any presentation of the work to Rav Kook.

Lieberman therefore could not have presented the book to Rav Kook before that date. The possible window is accordingly narrow: from mid-November 1934 until the onset of Rav Kook’s final illness around Passover 5695 (April 1935). It is thus plausible that Lieberman brought the newly printed volume to him on the eve of Purim of that year, perhaps as mishlo’aḥ manot, or shortly beforehand, and that Rav Kook, in return, presented him with a copy of Rosh Milin bearing the distinctive Purim dedication.

Rav Kook passed away in Elul of that year. Approximately six months earlier, around Passover, he had contracted his final illness and was already confined to his deathbed in a state of severe suffering. Consequently, even had Lieberman wished to do so, he could only have presented him with the work during the brief period at the beginning of that year, from the book’s publication until Passover.

The second surprise came to my attention several years ago, when a friend sent me a photograph of the title page of Rav Kook’s small and enigmatic kabbalistic work, a copy of which was in his possession.

The work, Rosh Milin, on the Hebrew letters, was written in 1917, during Rav Kook’s exile in London in the course of the First World War.^[28] Thus did Rav Kook write, in the affectionate dedication he inscribed to his young colleague and ḥavruta:

“A gift of true love to the chosen of my heart, Rabbi Saul Lieberman, may he live a long and good life. Abraham Isaac, the small [i.e., the humble one]. Purim of the unwalled cities, 5695 [1935].”

Anyone familiar with the dedications and expressions of esteem that Rav Kook addressed to various individuals, including leading Torah scholars, will recognize that the phrase he wrote to Lieberman, “true love to the chosen of my heart,” is striking in its exceptional character.

Incidentally, Gershom Scholem later related that, despite his expertise in Kabbalah, he did not succeed in understanding Rosh Milin. He further added – “on the testimony of trustworthy informants,” by which he meant his close friend Saul Lieberman (and he even recorded the remark in his personal copy of the book, now preserved in the National Library of Israel) – that Rav Kook himself told Lieberman:

“Regarding this book, the author [i.e., Rav Kook] said to my friend Saul Lieberman, shortly before his death – when he presented him with a copy as a gift – that he now does not understand a single word of what he wrote in it, even though at the time of writing he fully grasped the meaning and intent of the matters.”^[29]

Although Lieberman was as far removed from engagement with Kabbalah as east is from west, he once gave memorable expression to this distance when asked to introduce a lecture by his close friend Gershom Scholem. Lieberman opened his remarks with an immortal quip about Scholem’s field of research, Kabbalah and Jewish mysticism: “Nonsense is nonsense, but the study of nonsense may be a science….”^[30] Nevertheless, Rav Kook chose, of all his writings, to present Lieberman with this particular book as a gift, perhaps so that it might serve as a kind of “amulet,” or perhaps as an act of Purim mischief on the part of the aged rabbi; we cannot know.

The unusual date recorded in the dedication, “Purim of the unwalled cities, 5695,” suggests that the booklet was presented to Lieberman on that very occasion, when, according to the account, he chose to collect the aged Rav Kook’s “debt” during their joint study session, perhaps their last, on Purim of that year.

It is entirely plausible that on that occasion Lieberman brought Rav Kook his newly published work, The Yerushalmi According to Its Plain Meaning, and that in return Rav Kook presented him with mishlo’aḥ manot in the form of his small and enigmatic book.

Thus the Jerusalem legend seems to acquire flesh and sinew, and what once appeared to be no more than a charming anecdote may in fact preserve a genuine historical memory: a literary mishlo’aḥ manot exchanged between two towering figures, in which Torah, affection, and Purim playfulness were delicately intertwined.

Appendix A: Rabbi Moshe Tzvi Neria’s Archival Notes on Saul Lieberman’s Recollections of Rav Kook (Summer 1979)

The following translation is based on Rabbi Moshe Tzvi Neria’s handwritten notes preserved in his personal archive, currently housed in the National Library of Israel (Jerusalem). The notes record a conversation held during Summer 1979 in which Rabbi Professor Saul Lieberman recounted a series of episodes relating to Rav Abraham Isaac Hacohen Kook and the influence that Rav Kook exerted upon him. The material corresponds in its essentials to passages later published by Rabbi Neria, but the archival version preserves additional details and a more expansive formulation of Lieberman’s testimony.

Rabbi Neria was accustomed to preserving every scrap of paper containing substantive content that passed through his hands. Alongside newspaper clippings in which several articles about Lieberman appeared, Rabbi Neria preserved the remarks he heard directly from him in the summer of 5739 (1979). According to his account, Lieberman requested that he telephone him in the early morning (“from eight o’clock onward I disconnect the telephone, lock the door, and engage in my Talmudic study without interruptions”), and he did so.

Lieberman told Rabbi Neria that his first visit to Rav Abraham Isaac Hacohen Kook took place on the night of Shavuot:

“I heard that he was teaching Sefer ha-Mitzvot [i.e., Maimonides’ Book of the Commandments]. I came and sat down by the table. In the course of the study I made a remark, and the Rav answered me briefly. Later I made another remark, and again I received a brief reply. When I remarked upon his words a third time, the Rav turned to me and said: ‘Come in to me tomorrow.’ When I came after the festival, the Rav received me with great warmth, asked about my family, and it emerged that he knew several rabbis among my relatives. After a Torah conversation, he asked that I come to him frequently, and thus I did. On the way to the Rav’s visit to the Gerrer Rebbe (to R. Neḥemyah’le [??]), the Rav delayed at my apartment and became engrossed in a halakhic give-and-take concerning a matter I was then studying. I would come and present my novellae before him, ask about what had been difficult for me, and the like. His warm attitude toward me greatly encouraged me. He had a mystical influence upon me, even though I am far from mysticism. I had ‘tests,’ and he influenced me to remain in the study of Torah.”

Lieberman recounted to Rabbi Neria one such “test.” According to his account, a dispute arose between Rabbi Fishman [i.e., R. Yehudah Leib Maimon] and Bank Mizraḥi. The parties decided to submit to arbitration before attorney Mordechai Eliash. Lieberman represented Rabbi Fishman, whereas the bank was represented by attorney Mordechai Levanon. Rav Kook summoned Lieberman and instructed him to cease representing him in the arbitration:

“You have acquired a reputation for involving yourself in arbitration, and that will draw you away from your learning.”

Rabbi Neria further adds and cites in Lieberman’s name words of admiration and reverence for Rav Kook:

“Not only did his greatness in Torah exert influence – and he knew the entirety of Torah – but his entire personality. Matters of the people of Israel and the Land of Israel were not for him merely pathetic rhetoric; rather, they overflowed from his depths, from his hidden world, and there was something mystical in it. This was a figure overflowing with light, and his light would penetrate in its own ways… The Rav was an artist. Not merely a man with poetic sensibility, but truly an artist. In his writing there is a sacred grandeur. His words are like the tones of the shofar’s sound. The ease of his writing is astonishing, yet it is the result of abundant knowledge. They once told of a certain wealthy man who marveled at the request of a great painter to receive an enormous sum of money for a sketch he drew within ten minutes. ‘Not so,’ replied the painter; ‘I labored sixty years in order to attain an ability to draw in such a manner.’”

According to Rabbi Neria, Lieberman told him that he was occupied with printing Ḥasdei David, the commentary of R. David Pardo on the Tosefta, and that through printing his own work on Seder Ṭohorot he repaid his debt…

In this context Lieberman added:

“I also must repay a debt to the Rav [i.e., Kook]. He greatly encouraged me in the study of the Jerusalem Talmud. Several times I presented before him my Torah insights in elucidating difficult passages in the Jerusalem Talmud, and he took great pleasure in them.”

In response to Rabbi Neria’s question, “Was the Rav [i.e., Kook] as proficient in the Jerusalem Talmud as in the Babylonian?” Lieberman replied:

“The Rav was proficient in everything: Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmud, Tosefta and Midrashim, Rishonim and decisors. The Rav was the only one who encompassed the entirety of Torah, and this influenced his encompassing vision. The Rav’s vast scope contributed greatly to the richness of his personality. This was also the greatness of the Netziv, who knew the whole of Torah. I am deeply impressed by the Netziv. So too was R. Meir Simḥah [of Dvinsk, author of Or Sameaḥ].”

In this connection, Rabbi Neria cited words written by Rav Kook:

“The originality of the ‘ever-strengthening spring’ and the ‘river that does not cease’ (Avot, beginning of ch. 6) is the primary aspiration of one who engages in Torah for its own sake, which comes from divine cleaving. The inner spiritual bond with that which is all, the source of all, and beyond all. The desire filled with purity, which steadily intensifies to absorb the distilled essence of the supernal sap within the supernal realms—these are they who always seek the ennobled renewal in its vigorous force” (Iggerot ha-Ra’ayah, vol. 3, p. 4).

(“The Rav’s [i.e., Kook’s] vast scope contributed greatly to the richness of his personality. His opponents fought against him because they recognized his power, because they knew his greatness.”) According to Rabbi Neria, Lieberman described the Rav’s words as expressing a “sacred grandeur.”

Rabbi Neria further relates, in Lieberman’s name, that in the summer of 5690 (1930) Rabbi Moshe Ostrovsky came to the apartment where Rav Kook was staying in Kiryat Moshe in order to pressure him to agree to the compromise proposal then being circulated, according to which the people of Israel would relinquish part of their rights in the Land of Israel, including at the Western Wall. Lieberman was present. The visitor wished that he leave the room so that he could speak with Rav Kook privately; however, Rav Kook detained Lieberman and instructed him to continue sitting there.

Years later, after the passing of Rav Kook, Rabbi Neria heard at a memorial gathering held in the Jewish Agency building that Rav Kook had told Rabbi Ostrovsky:

“The people of Israel has not empowered any person to relinquish the Western Wall. If we relinquish it, the Holy One, blessed be He, will not wish to restore it to us.”

Rabbi Neria testifies that while he lived in Jerusalem in the 1930s, Rabbi Professor Saul Lieberman would customarily pray on the High Holy Days together with the students of Yeshivat Merkaz ha-Rav, who had established their place of prayer at Yeshivat Etz Ḥayyim in the Maḥaneh Yehudah neighborhood.

Among other matters, Rabbi Neria wrote down what he heard from Lieberman regarding his shared study with Rav Kook, and according to what is stated there. The accounts found in Rabbi Neria’s handwritten notes correspond in their essentials to what he later presented in his book.

Alongside them, I found in this archive and in additional archives details concerning Lieberman’s involvement, at the request of his friend (and relative) Rachel Yanait Ben-Zvi, wife of the late President Yitzḥak Ben-Zvi, in the establishment of a yeshivat hesder in Peki’in. Within this framework he approached Rabbi M. Z. Neria and asked him to assist in realizing the idea in practice. Concerning this episode I intend to write, God willing, elsewhere.

Notes

I would like to express my sincere gratitude to my friend and colleague Mr. Menachem Butler, who devoted considerable effort to translating and editing this article into English. I am also grateful for his valuable contributions, including bibliographical references and precise citations.

1. See Harold Fisch, “Reading and Carnival: On the Semiotics of Purim,” Poetics Today, vol. 15, no. 1 (Spring 1994): 55-74. ↑
2. See, for example Yaakov Shmuel Spiegel, “Cross Dressing for Special Occasions,” in Joseph R. Hacker, Yosef Kaplan, and B.Z. Kedar, eds., Rishonim ve-Aharonim, From Sages to Savants: Studies Presented to Avraham Grossman (Jerusalem: Shazar, 2010), 329-352 (Hebrew), available here; and Gedalia Oberlander, “The Custom of Disguising Oneself on Purim,” Or Yisrael, vol. 2, no. 3 [#7] (April 1997):125-131 (Hebrew), available here; Moshe Leib Halberstadt, “Costumes on Purim and at Various Events,” Yerushatenu, vol. 5 (2011): 169-175 (Hebrew). ↑
3. See Shamma Friedman, “Erasing Haman,” Leshonenu, vol. 61, no. 3 (June 1998): 259-263 (Hebrew), available here; Daniel Sperber, “Destroying the Name of Haman,” Shana be-Shana, vol. 32 (2001): 203-211 (Hebrew), available here; and Daniel Sperber, How To Strike Haman (Jerusalem: The Wolfson Museum of Jewish Art, 2002; Hebrew), available here. For a comprehensive survey of the halakhic and historical sources concerning this custom, see Eliezer Brodt, “The Pros and Cons of Making Noise When Haman’s Name is Mentioned: A Historical Perspective (updated),” The Seforim Blog (22 March 2016), available here. ↑
4. See Dan Rabinowitz, “Purim, Mixed Dancing, and Kill Joys,” The Seforim Blog (6 March 2006), available here. ↑
5. See Elliott Horowitz, Reckless Rites: Purim and the Legacy of Jewish Violence (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006). ↑
6. Esther 9:22. ↑
7. Megillah 7a. ↑
8. See Alan Appelbaum, “Why the Rabbis of the Yerushalmi Called R. Judah Nesiah ‘a Great Man’?” Journal of Ancient Judaism, vol. 3, no. 3 (December 2012): 339-365. ↑
9. One can hardly help but wonder how long it will be before a kunṭres devoted to the halakhic parameters of re-gifting mishlo’aḥ manot appears, if indeed one has not already been published, systematically treating such questions as whether the initial recipient must effect a formal kinyan; whether the mitzvah requires that the gift be given mi-shelo (“from one’s own”); the respective roles of the giver’s kavvanah and the recipient’s awareness; the permissibility of re-gifting absent the donor’s consent (da‘at ba‘alim); whether the obligation may be discharged through an intermediary (shaliaḥ); whether one may fulfill the mitzvah with an item received earlier that same day; and whether a package that circulates through multiple hands constitutes mishlo’aḥ manot at all, or merely an elaborate exercise in communal redistribution, together with the host of subsidiary questions such a case inevitably generates. ↑
10. For more on this practice, see Meir Wunder, “Books as Mishlo’aḥ Manot,” Moriah, vol. 5, no. 5-6 [#53-54] (November 1973 – January 1974): 83-86 (Hebrew); and Tovia Preschel, “Mishlo’aḥ Manot of Books from Authors,” ha-Doar, vol. 53, no. 19 (8 March 1974): 295 (Hebrew). ↑
11. I am currently at work on a biography of Professor Saul Lieberman; for now, my earlier writings on him, see Aviad Hacohen, “Two Scholars Who Were in Our City: Correspondence between Saul Lieberman and Jacob David Abramsky,” ha-Tsofeh Literary Supplement (21 April 1984): 5 (Hebrew), available here; Aviad Hacohen, “Schlemiel, Schlimazel, and Nebbich: Letters from Saul Lieberman to Gershom and Fania Scholem,” Haaretz Literary Supplement (25 April 2000): H1 (Hebrew) , available here; Aviad Hacohen, “The Tannah from New York: A Selection of Professor Saul Lieberman’s Letters,” Jewish Studies, no. 42 (2003): 289-301 (Hebrew), available here; Aviad Hacohen, “Six Days and Seven Gates: Between Israeli President Izhak Navon and Professor Rabbi Saul Lieberman,” Oneg Shabbat (9 June 2023), available here; Aviad Hacohen, “Lieberman Kifshuto: Personal Letters Revealing the Sensitive and Playful Side of a Talmudic Genius, On the 40th Yahrzeit of Professor Saul Lieberman,” Makor Rishon, Sabbath Supplement, no. 1338: Parashat Tzav (31 March 2023): 8-11 (Hebrew), available here; Aviad Hacohen, “The Generation Did Not Appropriately and Duly Appreciate Mr. Schocken [Eulogy by Rabbi Prof. Saul Lieberman for Shlomo Zalman Schocken, March 1960],” Haaretz Literary Supplement (28 April 2024): 1 (Hebrew), available here; Aviad Hacohen, “The Story of the Rabbi Who Rejected the Maxim: ‘Torah Scholars Increase Peace in the World’,” Haaretz Literary Supplement (25 May 2023): 8 (Hebrew), available here; and Aviad Hacohen, “‘A Lithuanian Mind in Its Lithuanian Essence, From Volozhin to Jerusalem’: R. Shaul Lieberman’s Intellectual Kinship with the Legacy of Lithuanian Torah & Its Bearers,” in Martin S. Cohen, ed., Essays in Jewish Studies in Honor of Rabbi Prof. David Golinkin (Jerusalem: Schechter, 2025), 101-139 (Hebrew), available here. ↑
12. See Shmuel Glick and Menachem Katz, “‘A Threefold Cord’: On Saul Lieberman and His Relationship with the Hazon Ish and Jacob Nahum Epstein,” in Shmuel Glick, Evelyn M. Cohen, Angelo M. Piattelli, et al., eds., Meḥevah le-Menaḥem: Studies in Honor of Menahem Hayyim Schmelzer (Jerusalem: Schocken, 2019), 269-289 (Hebrew). ↑
13. See Saul Lieberman, “Ten Words,” in Texts and Studies (New York: Ktav, 1974), [1-20], where Lieberman refers explicitly to “my teacher, Prof. Moshe Schwabe, of blessed memory,” and describes Schwabe’s long-standing aspiration to produce a new dictionary of Greek and Latin loanwords in rabbinic literature. For the subsequent realization of this lexicographical program in systematic form, see Daniel Sperber, A Dictionary of Greek and Latin Legal Terms in Rabbinic Literature (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University Press, 1984); Daniel Sperber, My Rabbinic Loanwords Card Index of More Than a Half-Century: A Companion Volume to Professor Samuel Krauss’ Griechische und Lateinische Lehnwörter im Talmud, Midrasch und Targum, ed. Menachem Butler (Cambridge, MA: Shikey Press, 2022), esp. the introduction, available here, where Sperber describes the work as the product of “more than fifty-years of collection and research,” originally conceived as an annotated continuation of Krauss’s Lehnwörter, and acknowledges Lieberman’s personal role in encouraging his philological work, noting that Lieberman “adopted me as his disciple in this field.” Sperber also reproduces a letter of approbation from Lieberman dated 19 Shevat 5738 (27 January 1978), praising Sperber’s “objective evaluation of Krauss’s volume” and commending the “great progress” reflected in his conclusions. ↑
14. A fine “real-time” description of his path during those years appears in a letter written at the time by his father-in-law, Rabbi Meir Bar-Ilan, leader of the Mizrachi movement. Writing to his son Tuvia (a chemist and later the first Director-General of Bar-Ilan University) on 25 Marḥeshvan 5694 (5 November 1933), Bar-Ilan remarked“…And so, my dear, everything I have found here: outwardly nothing has changed in our home, but inwardly part of our apartment has been transformed into a beit midrash. For our Shaul sits and engages in Torah and scholarship with remarkable diligence. Your small room has been turned into a library, for Shaul has many books – among them items of precious value – and there he labors over them, if I am not mistaken, some ten hours a day and at night. Apart from those hours in which he teaches at the Teachers’ Seminary and at the university – only twice a week – he sits “over Torah and avodah.” He is engaged in writing a great book [this refers to Ha-Yerushalmi Kifshuto, published in 5695 (1935)], which, upon its completion and publication, will, it seems to me, renew a momentum among Talmudic circles and scholars of Israel with respect to the Jerusalem Talmud. Shaul is great – loftier than I had known – “full and overflowing” in an excellent measure; his knowledge is astonishing and his intellect clear, and beyond this he is an outstandingly diligent scholar. I do not know whether he will persist in his diligence, for it is possible that only on account of his literary work does he not divert his mind from his studies, but at present he continues his work with diligence and industriousness…” ↑
15. See, recently, Moshe Assis, Saul Lieberman’s Marginalia on Talmud Yerushalmi (Jerusalem: Carmel, 2022; Hebrew). ↑
16. On Judith Berlin Lieberman’s lineage, intellectual formation, and educational career, see Judith Berlin Lieberman, Autobiography and Reflections, eds. Menachem Butler and Abraham Lieberman (Cambridge, MA: Shikey Press, 2022), available here. See especially the autobiographical memoir (pp. 20-38) and the introductory essay by her nephew Hillel Halkin (pp. 15-19). ↑
17. See Aviad Hacohen, “‘Honey and Milk Are Under His Tongue, Yet Beneath It Burns a Blazing Fire’: On the Relationship between S.Y. Agnon and Saul Lieberman,” Haaretz Literary Supplement (6 October 2023): 7 (Hebrew), available here. ↑
18. See Aviad Hacohen, “Schlemiel, Schlimazel, and Nebbich – Letters from Saul Lieberman to Gershom and Fania Scholem,” Haaretz Literary Supplement (25 April 2000): H1 (Hebrew), available here. ↑
19. See Aviad Hacohen, “The Generation Did Not Appropriately and Duly Appreciate Mr. Schocken [Eulogy by Rabbi Prof. Saul Lieberman for Shlomo Zalman Schocken, March 1960],” Haaretz Literary Supplement (28 April 2024): 1 (Hebrew), available here. ↑
20. See, for example, Menahem Zulay, “The Research Institute for Hebrew Poetry,” Haaretz Literary Supplement (31 October 1947): 9 (Hebrew); and A.M. Habermann, “Salman Schocken and The Research Institute for Hebrew Poetry: On His Fifth Anniversary of His Death,” Haaretz Literary Supplement (17 July 1964): 13 (Hebrew). ↑
21. See Aviad Hacohen, “If every Sabbath were like Yom Kippur: An Interview with Haim Cohn,” Meimad, no. 17 (August 1999): 12-15 (Hebrew), available here; and Aviad Hacohen, “Apikores with Divine Grace – Review of ‘Being Jewish: Culture, Law, Religion, State’, by Haim Cohn,” ha-Tsofeh Literary Supplement (27 April 2007): 10, 13 (Hebrew), available here; and see also Azriel Carlebach, “The Rav Renowned for Halakhic Expertise,” Maariv Literary Supplement (19 February 1956): 4 (Hebrew), and Haim Cohn, “The Yeshiva of Rav Kook,” in Haim Cohn, A Personal Introduction: Autobiography, ed. Michal Smoira-Cohn (Kinneret: Dvir, 2005), 96-102 (Hebrew). ↑
22. Ari (Yitzchak) Chwat, “Rabbi Kook’s Connections with Prof. Rabbi Saul Lieberman as a Model for His Attitude Towards Critical Torah Research,” Tzohar, vol. 35 (2009): 59-66 (Hebrew), is especially important for situating the Rav Kook-Lieberman relationship within the broader question of Rav Kook’s principled openness to rigorous philological and historical methods in Torah study, and for treating Lieberman as a case study for the category Rav Kook termed ḥokhmat yisrael be-qedushatah. For further development of this concept, see Ari (Yitzchak) Chwat, “‘Hokhmat Yisrael in Its Holiness’: Rav Kook’s Vision for True Critical-Scientific Study,” Talelei Orot, vol. 13 (2007): 943-976 (Hebrew). ↑
23. The letter, preserved in the Professor Ephraim E. Urbach Archive at the National Library of Israel in Jerusalem, is scheduled for publication in my forthcoming volume, Pirkei Shaul, which, God willing, is expected to appear in the coming year. ↑
24. Many stories concerning Lieberman’s extraordinary powers of memory circulated among people already during his lifetime. One of the sages of Jerusalem, who sought to clarify the difference between Lieberman and other great Torah scholars endowed with remarkable mnemonic ability, described it as follows: “So-and-so, the gaon, knows the entire Talmud by heart. Say to him a particular word, and he will immediately tell you where it appears throughout the whole of the Talmud. Lieberman is greater than he: he can tell you with certainty that a particular word does not appear anywhere in the entire Talmud…” ↑
25. See Moshe Tzvi Neria, “From the Testimony of Rabbi Saul Lieberman,” in Likkutei ha-Ra’ayah, ed. Moshe Tzvi Neria, vol. 2 (Kefar ha-Ro’eh: 1990), 336–341 (Hebrew), which preserves a version of the Rosh Milin anecdote attributed to Lieberman (based on an interview conducted by Neria in Summer 1981), though without the later bibliographic framing and transmission history found in Scholem’s formulation. Neria’s presentation should also be situated within his broader editorial enterprise of collecting and disseminating Rav Kook-related reminiscences for a wide Hebrew readership, both in his books and in his ha-Tsofeh newspaper columns in the Religious Zionist press. ↑
26. For a translated excerpt from Rabbi Neria’s handwritten archival notes recording his 1979 conversation with Saul Lieberman, see Appendix A below. ↑
27. See Yair Sheleg, “King Arthur: Members of the Family of Arthur Cohn, Who Passed Away Last Week, Recount His Scrupulous Observance of the Sabbath Even on the Most Prestigious Stages, and His Profound Love for the State of Israel, Expressed Not Only Through Generous Donations,” Makor Rishon, Sabbath Supplement: Parashat Vayigash (25 December 2025; Hebrew), available here. ↑
28. See Aaron Ahrend, “About Rav Kook’s ‘Rosh Millin’,” Da’at, no. 27 (Summer 1991): 73-85 (Hebrew), available here; and Aaron Ahrend, “Further on Rav Kook’s ‘Rosh Millin’,” Sinai, vol. 110 (June – July 1992): 190-192 (Hebrew), available here. ↑
29. Zvi Leshem, “‘He Does Not Understand a Single Word of What He Wrote’: Gershom Scholem and Rabbi Abraham Isaac Hacohen Kook – A Story of a Marginal Note,” Ha-Safranim, Blog of the National Library of Israel (19 August 2019), available here and here.Rabbi Moshe Tzvi Neria transmitted these remarks in the name of Saul Lieberman himself. See Moshe Tzvi Neria, “From the Testimony of Rabbi Saul Lieberman,” in Likkutei ha-Ra’ayah, ed. Moshe Tzvi Neria, vol. 2 (Kefar ha-Ro’eh: 1990), 339 (Hebrew). On the affinity between the Rav Kook and Saul Lieberman, see ibid., pp. 92, 337-341, 369. From there also in Elijah J. Schochet and Solomon J. Spiro, Saul Lieberman: The Man and His Work (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 2005), 52-53, 101. ↑
30. See Daniel Abrams, “Defining Modern Academic Scholarship: Gershom Scholem and the Establishment of a New Discipline,” The Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy, vol. 9 (2000): 267-302, esp. 268n1, where he writes:“Lieberman’s statement has been circulating as an oral tradition amongst scholars and students of the Jewish Theological Seminary. The only printed reference to it I have found is offered by Joseph Dan in his “The Revelation of the Secret of the World: The Beginning of Jewish Mysticism in Late Antiquity” (Brown University Program in Judaic Studies, Occasional Paper Number 2, Providence 1992, p. 3): “We all know that mysticism is nonsense, but the history of mysticism is a science.” See however Lieberman’s article “How much Greek in Jewish Palestine,” Biblical and Other Studies, ed. A. Altmann, Cambridge, Mass. 1962, p. 135 [reprinted in Texts and Studies, New York 1974, p. 22), Lieberman offered the following formulation: “Nonsense is nonsense, but the history of nonsense is a very important science. In certain respects it is more revealing than the history of sciences based on reason.” (see also Mortimer Ostow, Ultimate Intimacy; the Psychodynamics of Jewish Mysticism, London 1995, p. 362) Lieberman apparently regretted his statement and wrote an appendix for Scholem’s Jewish Gnosticism based on these lectures.” ↑

S.Y. Agnon’s Forgotten Purim Parody

A humorous tale published by the teenage S.Y. Agnon, using the penname “Mazal Tov,” appeared in a Purim supplement to a Kraków newspaper in 1908 but was not later included in his collected works — translated for the first time from Hebrew by Jeffrey Saks.

“Those Who Err All Their Days, and One Man Who Erred Not At All”—A Tale in Honor of Purim

They were both mistaken in a matter of halakhah.

Such is the way of the world: shrewd men commonly have ugly wives, while the wives of fools are fair. When the husband looked at his wife and saw how repulsive a creature she was—how ugly her countenance, how displeasing her face—he said in his heart: this proves that there is no wiser man in the world than I. And when his wife looked at him and saw what a fool he was, she supposed that there was none more lovely than herself. Through error they raised daughters instead of sons, and in error they married off one of those daughters.

They imagined that the young man they had chosen for her was truly a great gem, the like of which does not exist: a prodigious scholar, God‑fearing, and possessed of many other virtues. But they looked into it and soon found that he had nothing in this world but his folly. He read heretical books, burying his head in them all day long, and his heresy preceded his fear of Heaven. Not only this, but he was a coarse and lustful fellow—may the Merciful One save us—running after temptation and indulging in crass talk. And they found proof for their estimation when they saw erotic poetry falling from his lap.

When they realized this, it would have better suited them had he never been born rather than see what had come of him. He could forgo a few drops of his blood, but not these drops of ink with which his poems had been written. How beautiful this poem was in his eyes! How excellent it was! How he delighted in it! Each time he recited it he sounded the rhymes into his own ears with real feeling:

Oy! Oy! Oy! Hadassah!
So beautiful, so very fair.
My love for you has not ceased,
Entangled in the thicket’s snare.

Great is my love for you,
Hadassah—forever and a day.
For your sake even my lawfully married wife,
I shall divorce at once and without delay…

The words were still upon his lips when his wife flung herself upon him. All ten of her fingernails were sunk into him, raking the skin of his face. She struck him, and a voice burst forth from her throat, crying: “Just who do you say you’ll divorce? Take care lest I ‘divorce’ your soul from your body, you sinful scoundrel! Who is this whose heart drives him to chase foreign women? First I’ll bash in your skull—and the skull of your beauty as well!” Nor did her fury subside until she seized the page on which the poem was written, bundled it together with his pile of other papers lying before her, tore them to bits, and treated them with every manner of disgrace.

In vain did the husband seek to argue in his own defense: that he never chased after women, that he had no connection whatsoever with another, and that it was not his intention—God forbid—to divorce his wife. Rather, this poem spoke of none other than Queen Esther—she who is called Hadassah.

He then began telling her how much labor he had invested in this work, and how he had nearly completed a stage-play for the Yiddish theater, in which the beautiful tale would be told: how a certain man fell in love with Esther before King Ahasuerus had taken her to wife, but she, in her modesty, paid the man no heed. On account of his great heartbreak the man cast himself into the sea, where a great fish happened by and swallowed him whole. And for the banquet that King Ahasuerus made on the day he married Esther, fishermen hooked this great fish and hauled it up. As King Ahasuerus sat with his new queen, making merry together, a dish full of fish was set before them. When Esther stabbed her fork into one of them, a heavenly voice rang out, and a man leapt forth—the very man who had drowned himself in the sea because Esther had not yielded to him. A scandal ensued, and here began those fine and fascinating matters.

In the end, the poet’s wife was appeased. When she saw that her husband was innocent, she regretted her earlier deeds. She had been a fool, and she had erred in thinking that this Hadassah over whom her husband strayed in thought was an actual woman of flesh and blood.

But the husband could not be consoled. It pained him to see his hard work go down the drain. Had he produced his play for the Yiddish stage, his renown would have gone out into the world and his name would have been sung in praise. This, indeed, is a matter in which there is no error…

—Mazal Tov

Afterword by Jeffrey Saks

Shmuel Yosef Czaczkes (1887–1970)—later, Nobel laureate S.Y. Agnon—began his literary career in the newspapers of his native Galicia. Starting in 1904, dozens of short stories, poems, and even brief journalistic reports on events in his town of Buczacz flowed from his adolescent pen in Yiddish and Hebrew. Agnon signed his writings under various literary names: “One of the Townsmen,” “A Galician,” “A Zionist,” at times with initials: Sh. Y. Cz., or—as in the story presented here—“Mazal Tov.” Almost none of these writings were later anthologized in editions of Agnon’s collected works. The mature author apparently regarded them as “unripe fruit” and did not attempt to refine or restore them in his later writings.

This story appeared in the Kraków Hebrew newspaper, HaMitzpeh (March 13, 1908), pp. 4–5, in a special Purim parody supplement playfully titled HaChutzpah. It bears several features characteristic of Purim‑spiel literature: the element of turn-about and reversal, double identity and mistaken recognition, and fish (of the Pisces season at that time of year)—here in a variation upon the Book of Jonah and the well‑known Talmudic legend of “Joseph Who Honors the Sabbath” (Shabbat 119a). This early tale also shows Agnon’s penchant for intertextuality, weaving in allusions to the biblical and rabbinic texts. In keeping with the Purim genre, there is also a light whiff of provocation—bold, playful, and faintly erotic. Is Hadassah the husband’s lover? Or is Hadassah in fact his fictional stand-in for the biblical Queen Esther?

Beyond the glimpse it affords of the raw talent of a tyro artist, the significance of this story lies in the fact that it was the last to be published while Agnon still dwelled in Europe. A few weeks after Purim 1908, the young Galician Czaczkes left his land, his birthplace, and his town, and set sail upon the heart of the seas on his way to become “Agnon” in the Land of Israel.

Rabbi Jeffrey Saks, Director of ATID and its WebYeshiva.org program, is Director of Research at Agnon House in Jerusalem and editor of the journal Tradition.

S.Y. Agnon, né Czaczkes, around 1908.	Purim supplement to HaMitzpeh newspaper (Kraków, March 13, 1908): Agnon’s story begins at bottom.

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

by: Eli Duker

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Piska “Elijah took” (4) we find:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Summary of Haftarot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is recorded in Ma‘asei ha-Geonim:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We find Maḥzor Vitry (239):

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chanukah Controversies, Customs and Scholarship: A Roundup & Update

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

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

Controversies and Contested History

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

Games, Mathematics, and Mythmaking

The dreidel’s supposedly ancient Jewish pedigree is thoroughly debunked in “April Fools! Tracing the History of Dreidel Among Neo-Traditionalists and Neo-Hebraists.” Despite persistent legends that brave Jews used dreidels to disguise Torah study during Greek persecution, the game has no such heroic origins. That hasn’t stopped it from generating interesting mathematical questions: which player has the best advantage? How long does a typical game last? Thomas Robinson and Sujith Vijay tackle the latter in “Dreidel Lasts O(n²) Spins.”

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

Customs, Food, and Forgotten Practices

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

The Menorah in Text and Image

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

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

New and Notable

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

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

Chanukah Samach!

April Fools! Tracing the History of Dreidel Among Neo-Traditionalists and Neo-Hebraists

These explanations [for playing with the sevivon] are far from reality. Why do no sources dating from the Maccabean period, and only in the last few hundred years, mention playing sevivon? If “Hakhamim” decreed it, or it was the custom in ancient times, of if “Beis Din shel Hashmonaim” established it, why is it not mentioned for all these generations?

Yitzhak Tesler, “Ha-Dreidel (Sevivon) be-Chanukah: Mekoroseha, Ta’amyah, u-Minhagyah,” Or Yisrael, 14 (1999), 50.

I have seen a toy in London called a Teetotum. It is exactly like a Hanucah Trendel with English letters instead of Hebrew on it. But why it is called by its peculiar name, no one can tell me. Of course, the name comes from the letter T, which is inscribed on one of the four sides of the toy; thus T Totum or T takes all. This reminds me of the noted Latin epigram addressed by the boy to the twirling Teetotum Te, totum, amo, amo, te, Teetotum.

Leopold Dukes to Leopold Löw, September 1864.

Only two mitzvot of Chanukah are mentioned in Rabbinic sources: lighting candles and reciting the full Hallel. Over the centuries, many other practices came to be associated with Chanukah. Some are unique to specific geographic regions, while others saw universal adoption. One that is lesser-known today is the custom of Venetian Jews to travel on gondolas, rowing through the city, and greeting each house with a blessing and “a merry Hebrew” carol. Or the custom in Avignon, France, recorded in 1779, that women were permitted in the men’s section of the synagogue during the eight days of Chanukah.[1] Many Jews accept these as the evolution of Jewish practice without requiring any sacred reasons; others are unwilling to do so. These neo-traditionalists locate the practices within the rubric of Jewish ritual and even claim historical legitimacy when there is none. The dreidel is an example of this phenomenon.

The dreidel toy is not Jewish in origin. Instead, dreidel is the ancient game of teetotum that remained popular until at least the twentieth century. Teetotum, at its most basic, is a four-sided dice with a stick in the middle. While some versions use dots or numbers to denote players’ actions, letters are the most commonplace. The letters vary based upon the vernacular, with the name teetotum from the Latin version of T (totum-all), and the remaining letter instructions, A (aufer-take), N (nihil-nothing), D (depone-put down). Even the Hebrew letters are merely a transliteration of the German version: G (ganz-all), H (halb-half), N (nischt-nothing), and S (schict-put).

Figure 1 Detail: Pieter Bruegel, Children’s Games, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

Teetotum is documented in Vienna’s Kunsthistorisches Museum displays Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s (1525/30-1569) masterpiece, “Children’s Games” (1560). Another of his works in the museum is the “Tower of Babel,” which is the subject of a forthcoming post. Children’s Games depicts over two hundred children playing eighty different games. Bruegel’s encyclopedic pictorial catalog of games is unique in the annals of art. A small child is at the bottom left corner, her arms raised, holding a teetotum. (See here for a detailed view and here for Amy Orrock’s excellent article, “Homo ludens: Pieter Bruegel’s Children’s Games and the Humanist Educators,” discussing the purpose and interpretation of the painting within Erasmus’s views on the benefits of play.) Teetotum also appears in the list of games of Bruegel’s near contemporary French author François Rabelais’s (d. 1553) satirical work, Gargantua. The Oxford English Dictionary identifies it as “a favorite Victorian toy.” It appears in well-known English literature such as Lewis Carol’s Through the Looking Glass, where the White Queen (then a white sheep) asks Alice, “Are you a child, or a teetotum.” Other examples are Charles Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend, Edgar Allen Poe’s The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether, and James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake as “finfoefom” (based on Joyce’s unique lettering system).[2]

Despite the widespread awareness of teetotum in Europe from at least the 1500s, the earliest Jewish sources connecting it with Chanukah date to the nineteenth century. Other Chanukah games boast much earlier recognition. For example, R Yosef Yuspa Nördlinger Hahn (1570-1637) mentions chess, tic-tac-toe, cards, and possibly backgammon.[3] Likewise, a 1638 herem banned cards and dice on Chanukah, although chess was excepted.[4] In subsequent Jewish literature, card playing has the most mentions, but that is due to their moral and ethical concerns rather than approval. None of these mention dreidel or any similar game.

The lack of historicity and mesorah was no barrier for 19^th-century rabbis, nearly all Hassdic, from asserting Jewish relevance and stating that it is among the customs that qualify as minhag Yisrael Torah. R. Tzvi Elimelech Spira of Dinov is perhaps the most well-known example. In his Bnei Yissaschar, he contrasts the operation of the dreidel with the other Jewish play toy, the Purim gragger. The dreidel is activated from the top, symbolic of the heavenly source of the Chanukah miracle. The gragger is turned from the bottom because the catalysts of the miracle were Mordechai and Ester.

Others explain the symbolism of the dreidel’s letters, נ, ג, ה, ש. According to one explanation, these allude to the two rabbinically sanctioned mitzvot that we have on Chanukah, נרות שמונה (candles all eight nights) and הלל גמר (the complete Hallel). Others note the gematria (numerical value) of the letters, which correspond to the same gematria as משיח (the Messiah). Others still link the letters with גשנה the city Yosef secured for his family in Egypt that appears in the weekly Torah reading that coincides with Chanukah.[5]

None of these, however, locate the dreidel within the Chanukah story, and for that, we need to wait until the early twentieth century. According to this modern origin story, after the Greeks prohibited Torah study, Jewish teachers and students continued to do so surreptitiously in caves. When the authorities discovered these groups, they quickly switched from studying to playing dreidel.

The first appearance of this account appears in a collection of customs published in 1917 in Saint Louis. R. Avraham Eliezer Hirshovitz (1859-1924), originally from Kovno (today Kaunas), Lithuania, and in 1908 emigrated to the United States and was the preacher of Shaary Torah and taught children in Pittsburg, PA.[6] In 1892, he published the first edition of his book on Jewish customs, Minhagei Yeshurun, in Vilna. It includes three haskamos (approbations). The only discussion regarding Chanukah is the source of the name. Seven years later, he published an expanded second edition in Vilna, with 280 customs and now eight additional approbations (he omitted one from the first edition), most notably one from R Yitzchak Elchanan Spektor. R Spektor caveats that he only had time to read a few lines but that “it is a nice work.” Another approbation is from the maskil, Kalman Schulman.[7] We are unaware of any other religious book that bears his approbation. Hirshovitz provides that he obtained “many other approbations and letters of support” that he did not include. Neither of these editions discusses dreidel.

In 1899, Hirshovitz published a further expanded version in Yiddish in Vilna. By then, he had emigrated to the United States. He discusses game playing on Chanukah for the first time, although only cards. He explains that some play cards as it is like war, evoking the military victory over the Greeks. Nonetheless, he disapproves of playing cards, noting that cards are non-Jewish (he does not mention any halakhic reasons or the numerous Jewish sources that explicitly prohibit cards and other forms of gambling on Chanukah).

Finally, in the first American edition, published in Saint Louis in 1918, now with approximately 500 customs, Hirshovitz addresses the custom of playing dreidel. He does not mention any of the Hassidic explanations. Instead, he tells the story of the dreidel and how it was used to hoodwink the Greeks.[8] Despite the complete lack of evidence and the absurdity of the Greeks falling for such a simplistic and completely unrealistic ruse, Hirshovitz’s narrative quickly entered the Jewish collective consciousness. For example, in the collection of customs, Pardes Eliezer devotes an entire chapter to dreidel and explains “that despite the fact dreidel doesn’t appear in the sifrei ha-achronim it does not prove it is a recent custom.” Rather, “kama hokerim” (many scholars) describe it as “an ancient custom, dating to the Hasmonic period,” and then uses Hirshovitz’s story. Or, in the book Minhag Yisrael Torah, Hirshovitz’s narrative is “the simple” explanation.[9] Today, if one does a cursory search on the internet, there are articles from the Aish.com website regarding dreidel entitled “A Serious Game,” or on Chabad.org that describes Hirshovitz’s rationale as “the Classic” and “common” reason, and many others.

Not all were so taken with Hirshovitz’s work. R Shmuel Kraus published a highly critical article in Kiryat Sefer in 1933 that highlights numerous methodological issues with Hirshovitz’s work.[10] While Kraus notes the book was sloppily published with omissions and other defects, he reserves the bulk of his article is devoted to Hirshovitz’s hallucinatory customs and corresponding sources. While the article does not discuss the dreidel, it criticizes Hirshovitz for identifying sources for the “custom” to trick people on April 1, the word “daven” that is identified as either Aramaic or from the English word Dawn and provides a reason why in Europe a Bar Mitzvah boys give a “derasha,” but in the United States a “speech.” Hirshovitz sometimes tries to adopt a more substantive and historically defensible explanation, even citing an article from JQR regarding the Magen David.[11]

While Hirshovitz’s explanation is unsupportable, one hypothesis is worth mentioning. Israel Abrams, in an article that initially appeared in The American Hebrew and republished in his collection Festival Studies, posits that Teetotum:

It is a very ancient game, known to the Greeks and Romans. But why was it specially favoured on Hanucah? No answer has ever been given to this natural question. It may be that the Teetotum was regarded as a very innocent form of gambling, if that be not altogether too harsh a word to use. Many pious people never played cards or any other game of chance, but they may have felt that so simple a game as this was lawful enough. But I can now supplement this with a new suggestion. Teetotum is still in parts of Ireland the indoor recreation of the peasantry at Christmas tide. Now it is well known that such games seldom change their seasons. I should wonder if the Teetotum was a favourite toy elsewhere at Christmas. If so, the Jews may have transferred it to Hanucah. For they never invented their own games, except those of intellectual species such as Hanucah Ketowes [riddles]. The Ketowes even gave rise to a folk proverb: “Zechus Owes, Kein Ketowes,” i.e., I suppose merit of the fathers is not the solution of life’s riddle. Indeed, the moral of Hanucah, is after all, that Judaism must rely on present effort of the children as well as on the past merits of their sires, if it is to remain in any true sense a “Feast of Light.”[12]

The Case of the Origin Story of the Creation of the Word Sevivon

Another mythical story associated with dreidel occurs with the origin of the modern Hebrew word for the toy, sevivon. The most well-known history is found in the autobiography of Eliezer Ben Yehuda’s son, Itamar ben Avi (1882-1943), Im Shahar Atzmotenu, published in 1961. Rochel Berlov, in her article “Me Hidush ha-milah ‘Sevivon’?”, however, demonstrated that the term long predated Itamar. (See also Ester Goldenberg’s article).  David Yeshayahu Silberbusch coined it and first appeared in Hayyim Zelig Slonimski’s journal Ha-Tzefirah on December 24, 1897 (See Zerachyah Lict’s comprehensive article regarding Slonimski’s challenge to the miracle of the oil and Marc Shapiro’s subsequent discussion). A week and a half later, Silberbusch used the word as the title of a satirical article, and it subsequently regularly appeared in the newspaper. In 1923, Levin Kipnis published his now famous song, sevivon, sov, sov, sov. Itamar wrote his autobiography when he was fifty, and it was published posthumously. He tells the story of how

one day, when he and his family were preparing to go on a trip outside the city, outside the wall, I suddenly jumped towards my parents: Mother! Mother! I found a sevivon for Chanukah. My mother hugged and kissed me with admiration. “How beautiful is the word you created, my son!” This is how the word sevivon was created and became standard for decades among all Jewish children. I, the writer of these memories and the one who created it when I was a child, among countless other words that are now incorporated into our language, but [not everyone] recognizes who created them.

Despite this story, the word does not appear in any newspapers his father, Eliezer Ben Yehudah, edited. Moreover, Ben Yehudah did not include it in his monumental dictionary of modern Hebrew. Nonetheless, Itamar’s story was retold countless times in children’s books and treatments of Itamar (and some still think the issue remains unsettled). Zohar Shavit’s assessment of Itamar’s book, which can be equally applied to Hirshovitz’s dreidel origin story, aptly sums up the willingness to accept such tall tales:

Above all, he understood the importance of creating an interesting and fascinating story, apparently even at the expense of historical credibility… It is quite clear that in some of his personal stories, Ben-Avi prefers the interesting story over fidelity to the facts.

Notes:

[1] Recorded in Israel Abrahams, “Hanucah in Olden Times,” in Festival Studies Being Thoughts on the Jewish Year (Philadelphia, 1906), 146, 152.

[2] Joseph Shipley, The Origins of English Words: A Discursive Dictionary of Indo-European Roots (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001), 411; John P. Anderson, Joyce’s Finnegans Wake: The Curse of Kabbalah (Universal Publishers, 2008), 211-12.

[3] Yosef Kosman, Noheg ka-Tzon Yosef, (Tel Aviv, 1979), 188 n.12; Herman Pollack, Jewish Folkways in Germanic Lands (1648-1806): Studies in Aspects of Daily Life (MIT Press, 1971) 181, 330n184.

[4] Minhagei DK”K Vermisia, Yitzhak Zimmer, ed., vol. 1 (Mefal Toras Hakhmei Ashkenaz, 1988), 238-39.

[5] See R. Yitzhak Tesler, “Ha-Dreidel (Sevivon) be-Chanukah: Mekoroseha, Ta’amyah, u-Minhagyah,” Or Yisrael, 14 (1999), 50-60 (collecting these and other sources).

[6] For biographical and complete bibliographical information, including a discussion of variant versions, see Yosef Goldman, Hebrew Printing in America 1735-1926: A History and Annotated Bibliography (Brooklyn, 2006) n583&622 (see here and here for our review of this work).

[7] For biographical information, see Hillel Noah Steinschneider, Ir Vilna, vol. 2, Mordechai Zalkin, ed. (Hebrew University Magnes Press, Jerusalem, 2002), 182-83.

[8] Avraham Hirshovitz, Otzar Kol Minhagei Yeshurun (St. Louis, 1918), 57. Hirshovitz cites “HaRav Ziv” as his source. But otherwise, it provides no information regarding this person. Two authors from that period use “Ziv,” Yehoshua ben Aba Ziv, who wrote a book of songs and a fictional work in Yiddish on the life of a Yeshiva student. The book of songs, Asifas Shirim: Al Mo’adei ha-Shana (Vilna, 1875), 13-15, includes a song for Chanukah but does not mention dreidel. The other possibility is Nehemiah Shmuel Libowitz, who used the pseudonym “Ziv.” Libowitz was a contemporary of Hirshovitz in America, and although we have not discovered any evidence, it’s possible they met in the United States. That may account for Hirshovitz’s inclusion of the dreidel story in his U.S. edition. Nonetheless, none of Libovitz’s published works include Hirshovitz’s Dreidel story, which includes the book Herod and Agrippa, which touches upon the Hashmonim.

[9] Kollel Damesek Eliezer, Pardes Eliezer, Hanukah, vol. 2 (Machon Damesek Eliezer, Brooklyn, 2004), 650-51; Yosef Lewy, Minhag Yisrael Torah, vol. 3 (Brooklyn, 1997), 216. Gavriel Zinner  however, in his extensive discussion of Chanukah customs and dreidel in his Neta Gavriel, does not mention Hirshovitz’s reason.

[10] Shmuel Kraus, “A.Y. Hirshovitz, Otzar kol Minhagei Yeshurun,” in Kiryat Sefer 11,3 (1934), 311-12.

[11] See Hirshovitz, Otzar Kol Minhagei Yeshurun, 4 (April fools), 28 (speech versus derasha), 88 (JQR).

[12] Abrahams, “Hanucah,” 154-55.

Pesach, Haggadah, Art & Sundry Matters: A Recap of Important Seforimblog Articles

Among the more interesting aspects of the history of Haggados, is the inclusion of illustrations. This practice dates back to the Medieval period and, with the introduction of printing, was incorporated into that medium. Marc Michael Epstein’s excellent book regarding four seminal Haggadah manuscripts, The Medieval Haggadah: Art, Narrative & Religious Imagination, was reviewed here, and a number of those illustrations, were analyzed in “Everything is Illuminated: Mining the Art of IllustratedHaggadah Manuscripts for Meaning.” Epstein edited and wrote an introduction to the recently published facsimile edition of the Brother Haggadah, which resides in the British Library. This is the first reproduction in full color of this important manuscript. Another recent reproduction of a manuscript Haggadah is Joel ben Simon’s Washington Haggadah. This Haggadah is particularly relevant this year, as it contains an alternative text for  Eruv Tavshilin blessing. Whether or not this was deliberate was the subject of some controversy, see “Eruv Tavshilin: A Scribal Error or Deliberate Reformation?”

The first illustrated printed Haggadah, Prague, 1526, introduced new illustrations and recycled and referenced some of the common ones in manuscripts (see here for a brief discussion and here for Eliezer Brodt’s longer treatment). That edition would serve as a model for many subsequent illustrated Haggados but also contains surprising elements, at least in some religious circles, regarding the depiction of women, and was subsequently censored to conform with the revisionist approach to Jewish art. See, “A Few Comments Regarding The First Woodcut Border Accompanying The Prague 1526 Haggadah,” and Elliot Horowitz’s response, “Borders, Breasts, and Bibliography.” The Schecter Haggadah: Art, History and Commentary, a contemporary treatment of the art and the Haggadah, (for Elli Fischer’s review, see here), that unintentionally reproduced a version of one of the censored images in the first edition. It was restored in subsequent editions. Women appear in other contexts in illustrated Haggados. The most infamous example is the “custom” that implies a connection between one’s spouse and marror (discussed here), but our article, “Haggadah and the Mingling of the Sexes” documents more positive and inclusive examples of women’s participation in the various Passover rituals in printed Haggados.  Similarly, the c. 1300 Birds Head Haggadah has an image of female figures in snoods preparing the matza and a woman at the center of Seder table.

As detailed in chapter 8 of Epstein’s Medieval Haggadah, the early 14th Century Golden Haggadah is perhaps the most female-centric Haggadah and may have been commissioned for a woman. That manuscript emphasizes the unique, positive, and critical role women played in the Exodus narrative. Although it also depicts the practice of overzealous cleaning with a woman sweeping the ceiling. The 1430 Darmstadt Haggadah has a full-page illumination of women teachers, but its connection to the text is opaque. Finally, we argue that one printed Haggadah uses a subtle element in explicating the midrashic understanding of the separation of couples as part of the Egyptian experience.

One of the most creative contemporary Haggados was produced by the artist, David Moss. Moss was commissioned by David Levy to create a Haggadah, on vellum in the tradition of Medieval Jewish manuscripts. Moss worked for years on the project the result surely equals, if not surpasses, many of the well-known Medieval haggados, both artistically and its ability to bring deeper meaning to the text. The manuscript is adorned with gold and silver leaf and contains many paper-cuts (technically vellum-cuts).  One of the most striking examples of the silver decoration is the mirrors that accompany the passage that “in each and every  generation one is obligated to regard himself as though he personally came out of Egypt.” The mirrors appear on facing pages, interspersed with one with male and the other with female figures in historically accurate attire from Egypt to the modern period. Because the portraits are staggered when the page opens, each image is reflected on the opposite page, and when it is completely opened, the reader’s reflection literally appears in the Haggadah — a physical manifestation of the requirement to insert oneself into the story. The page is available as a separate print.

After completing the Haggadah, Moss was asked to reproduce it, and, with Levy’s permission, produced, what the former Librarian of Congress, Daniel Bornstein, described as one of the greatest examples of 20th-century printing. The reproduction, on vellum, nearly perfectly replicates the handmade one. This edition was limited to 500 copies, all of which were sold. From time to time, these copies appear at auction and are offered by private dealers, a recent copy sold for $35,000. President Regan presented one of these copies to the former President of Israel, Chaim Herzog, when he visited the White House in 1987. While that is out of reach for many, this version is housed at many libraries, and if one is in Israel, one can visit Moss at his workshop in the artist colony in Jerusalem, where he continues to produce exceptional works of Judaica and view the reproduction.  There is also a highly accurate reproduction, on paper that is available (deluxe edition) and retains the many papercuts and some of the other original elements, that is still available. This edition also contains a separate commentary volume, in Hebrew and English. (There is also one other available version that simply reproduces the pages, but lacks the papercuts.)

While the entire Moss Haggadah is worth study, a few examples. One paper-cut is comprised of eight panels, each depicting the process of brick making, the verso, using the same cuttings, depicts the matza baking process, literally transforming bricks into matza. The first panel of the matza baking is taken from Nuremberg II Haggadah, which we previously discussed here, and demonstrated that it preserves the Ashkenazi practice of only requiring supervision from the time of milling and not when the wheat was cut.

The illustration accompanying the section of Shefokh, reuses the illustrations of Eliyahu from the Prague 1526 and the Mantua 1528 Haggados to great effect. In the original and vellum reproduction, the cup of Eliyahu physically turns without any visible connection to the page — an extraordinary technical achievement. This section and the illustrations were discussed by Eliezer Brodt in “The Cup of the Visitor: What Lies Behind the Kos Shel Eliyahu, and, in this post, he identified an otherwise unknown work relating to the topic, for another article on the topic, see Tal Goiten’s “The Pouring of Elijah’s Cup (Hebrew).”  Eliezer revisited the topic in (here) his conversations with Rabbi Moshe Schwed, in the series, Al Ha-Daf. In last year’s conversation, he discussed a number of other elements of the history of the Haggadah, and three years ago the controversy surrounding machine produced matza. (All of the episodes are also streaming on Apple Podcasts, Spotify & 24Six.) Additionally, he authored “An Initial Bibliography of Important Haggadah Literature,” and two articles related to newly published Haggados, “Elazar Fleckeles’s Haggadah Maaseh BR’ Elazar ” and XXI. Rabbi Eliezer Brodt on Haggadah shel Pesach: Reflections on the Past and Present ,” regarding Rabbi Yedidya Tia Weil’s (the son of R. Rabbi Netanel Weil author of “Korban Netanel”) edition, and a review of David Henshke’s monumental work, Mah Nistanna. 

In one of the first haggadot printed in the United State published in 1886 Haggadah contains a depiction of the four sons.  Depicting the four sons is very common in the illustrated manuscripts and printed haggadot. In this instance, the wicked son’s disdain for the seder proceedings shows him leaning back on his chair and smoking a cigarette. According to many halakhic authorities, smoking is permitted on Yom Tov, nonetheless, the illustration demonstrates that at least in the late 19th-century smoking was not an acceptable practice in formal settings. (For a discussion of smoking on Yom Tov, see R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin, Mo’adim be-Halakha (Jerusalem:  Mechon Talmud Hayisraeli, 1983), 7-8).

The cup of Eliyahu is but one of many Passover food-related elements. The identification of Marror with the artichoke in Medieval Haggados, is debated by Dan Rabinowitz and Leor Jacobi , while Susan Weingarten provides an overview of the vegetable, in “The Not-So-Humble Artichoke in Ancient Jewish Sources.” Jacobi also discusses the fifth cup in his article, “Mysteries of the Magical Fifth Passover Cup II, The Great Disappearing Act and this printed article.  The history of the restriction of Kitniyot and the development of the practice of selling hametz is discussed in our article, “Kitniyot and Mechirat Chametz: Paradoxical Approaches to the Chametz Prohibition,” and was revisited on Rabbi Drew Kaplan’s Jewish Drinking podcast (and in an audio version on apple podcasts and spotify). Another guest was Marc Epstein, discussing his book on Medieval Haggados, and Dr. Jontahan Sarna where he gives an overview of the use of raisin wine for the kiddush and the four cups, based on his article, “Passover Raisin Wine,” as was the frequent contributor to the Seforimblog, Dr. Marc Shapiro. His interview, like many of his posts and his book, Changing the Immutable, discusses censorship and, in particular, the censored resposum of R. Moshe Isserles regarding taboo wine (also briefly touched upon in Changing the Immutable, 81-82, and for a more comprehensive discussion of the responsum, see Daniel Sperber, Nitevot Pesikah, 104-113).  For another wine related post, see Isaiah Cox’s article, “Wine Strength and Dilution.” The history of Jewish drinking and Kiddush Clubs was briefly discussed here.

Whether coffee, marijuana and other stimulants falls within the Kitniyot category appears here. Marc Shapiro’s article, “R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin, Kitniyot, R. Judah Mintz, and More,” regarding Artscroll’s manipulation of R. Zevin’s Moadim be-Halakha regarding kitniyot. Another coffee related article explores the history and commercial relationship between the Maxwell House Haggadah.  Finally, the last (pun intended) food discussion centers on the custom of stealing the afikoman.

The Amsterdam 1695 Haggadah was an important milestone in the history of printed illustrated Haggados, it was the first to employ copperplates rather than woodcuts. This new technique enabled much sharper and elaborate illustrations than in past Haggados. While some of the images can be traced to earlier Jewish Haggados, many were taken from the Christian illustrator, Mathis Marin. It also was the first to include a map. As we demonstrated that map, however, is sourced from a work that was a early and egregious example of forgery of Hebrew texts. For an Pesach related plagiarism, see “Pesach Journals, Had Gadyah, Plagiarism & Bibliographical Errors.” Kedem’s upcoming auction of the Gross Family collection includes, with an estimate of $80,00-$100,000, one of the rarest, beautiful, and expensive illustrations of Had Gadya by El Lissitzky published by Kultur Lige, Kiev, 1919. Eli Genauer reviews another number related edition, not in price, but convention, “The Gematriya Haggadah.”

Chag kasher ve-sameach!