על הלכות בעל קרי בסידור בית יעקב

by: Gabriel Wasserman

How the “Songs of the Day” Were Chosen

By David Farkas*

The morning prayer service concludes with the Song of the Day, the שיר של יום. All of them are taken from Tehillim, the Psalms. The question is, why were these particular Psalms selected for the different days of the week?

This question is squarely addressed by the Gemara. For this reason, understandably, most commentaries to the Siddur that address it simply refer to the relevant passage, and proceed no further. Yet, as we shall see, the matter does not quite end there alone.

The Custom

During the Temple period, when the daily Tamid offering was brought by the Kohanim, the Levites would accompany the service with song while the drink offerings were poured. Which songs? The Mishna in Tamid (7:4) tells us:

As one can see, each day a different Psalm was sung, including, in order, Psalms 24, 48, 82, 94, 81, and 93. On Shabbos the Levites would recite Psalm 92, מזמור שיר ליום השבת. This was the custom of the Levites during the times of the Temple.^[1]

The selection of Psalm 92 for Shabbos appears relatively straightforward. Though the tannaim debate whether the “Shabbos” refers to Saturday or a future world to come, the connection of the Psalm to some kind of “Shabbos” is apparent on the surface and will not concern us here. But what about the remaining six weekdays? What connection do these Psalms have with the various days of the week?

The Gemara in Rosh Hashana 31a addresses the question head-on:

It is far from clear what these interpretations mean. Rashi gives an explanation for most of them. Other Rishonim, like Rabbeinu Chananel and Rabbeinu Bechaye (Exodus 29:40) offer additional explanations of the passage, or various nuanced differences of Rashi’s explanations. All, however, base their words on the sparse language of the Gemara.

And yet, an intellectually honest reader must admit, if only to himself, that these explanations seem, upon review, very forced. For example, Rashi explains that the Tuesday Psalm, which opens with the words
אֱלֹקים נִצָּב בַּעֲדַת קל,
was chosen because on this day God exposed the land masses, paving the way for animal and vegetative life and ultimately, for God’s assembly, Israel, which is situated on land. Thursday was selected because when Man sees the myriad species of birds that were created this day, his soul is uplifted, causing him to sing the words הַרְנִינוּ לֵאלֹקים עוּזֵּנוּ.

Can these ideas really be called the theme of the Psalm? Do these Psalms focus on the concepts mentioned by the Gemara, or are the phrases merely mentioned among the other verses? Could not one employ similar methods of drush to read the same concepts into almost any other Psalm?

While not exactly common, commentators will occasionally explain a Mishna differently from the Gemara, if it does not affect practical halacha.^[2] Thus, the question must be asked: Is this passage in Rosh Hashana the last word on the subject?

Suggested Explanations – The Traditional Approach

As a matter of fact, it is not. Several attempts have been made to explain the connection between the days and the Psalms, independently of the Gemara. The following is a brief survey of these explanations, the first two of which can be found in a comprehensive book on the subject of the Song of the Day, by R. Peretz Shmuel HaLevi Mantel, entitled שירת שמואל – על אמרת שיר של יום (Bnei Brak 2003).^[3]

The Chasam Sofer (R. Moshe Sofer, 1762–1839) in his collected Drashos (Vol. I, p. 12) references the Gemara’s explanations, and finds them “very forced”. ( הנה טעמים שאמר התנא דחוק מאד לכוון דבר יום ביומו). Instead, the Chasam Sofer posits that the seven days represent seven distinct periods of history. The first period was a time when God’s glory filled the earth, hence the Sunday Psalm speaks of לה’ הארץ ומלואה. In the second period wickedness began to prevail, and so God restricted His glory to Jerusalem and the Temple; hence, the Monday Psalm speaks of גדול ה’ ומהולל מאד בעיר אלוקינו הר קדשו . In the third period wickedness extended further and so God restricted his presence to the 4 cubits of halacha, or stated otherwise, to Judges; thus, the Tuesday Psalm speaks of אלוקים נצב בעתת אל בקרב אלוהים ישפוט. In a similar fashion the Chasam Sofer explains the ensuing days of the week – with no attempt to conform to the words of the Gemara.

The Vilna Gaon (1720 – 1797)) in his commentary to Tamid also offers an independent explanation, citing a statement in the Zohar to the effect that each Song of the Day corresponds to a thousand years of the eventual six thousand years the world is destined to endure, the final day of Shabbos referring to a time to come after the initial 6,000 year period. Having established this background, the Gaon adopts a similar approach as the Chasam Sofer in characterizing each thousand-year period, and then finding a reference in the Psalms to that period. Thus, for example, in the third thousand the Torah was given and holiness descended unto the world, hence the reference in the Tuesday Psalm to אלוקים נצב בעדת קל. In the fourth thousand the Temple was destroyed, prompting God to promise revenge, and hence the Wednesday reference to God as קל נקמות.

A problem with this approach, as noted by the aforementioned R. Mantel, is that there is actually no such passage in the Zohar. (In fact, as will be shown presently, the Zohar offers a completely different explanation, at least for the Monday Psalm.) The 6000-year duration of the world is well-known from various Talmudic passages, but there is no known statement connecting the Song of the Day to this tradition. Presumably, R. Mantel suggests, the Gaon was referring to Rashi’s statement in Avoda Zara 9a that “the six thousand years correspond to the days of the week, and Shabbos refers to the calm that will befall the world in the seventh thousand.” This statement, however, makes no connection whatsoever to the Songs of the Day.

In addition to the foregoing explanations, one can also find other suggestions that do not truly accord with the passage in Rosh Hashana. Some, like R. Tzadok HaKohen of Lublin (1823 – 1900) ostensibly make efforts to work their suggestions into the words of the Gemara, but it is quite apparent that they are really offering their own interpretations. The unique style of R. Tzadok makes his words sometimes difficult to understand, and almost impossible to translate, without copious explanatory notes. The interested reader is referred to the article שיר של יום בתורת ר’ צדוק הכהן by R. Yishayahu Hadari (סיני # נג, תשכ”ג עמודים עה-צא).

Finally, there are also individual explanations that, although structured to appear merely as commentary to the above Gemara, a close reading shows they are really the commentator’s own explanations. The Ben Ish Chai, for example, states that the Sunday Psalm is auspicious (a סגולה) for one’s livelihood, which is why it is recited communally after the evening prayers on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. Thus, the first day of the working week is appropriate for its recitation. The Zohar (Vayikra 56b Margolios ed.) states that the Monday Psalm was selected for the second day because the sons of Korach who authored it sing for their brothers doomed to sit by the entrance of hell, which was created on the second day.^[4] Rabbeinu Bechaye (Ibid.) asserts that the Thursday Psalm was selected because it speaks of God redeeming us from Egypt, and we find Biblical comparison of Pharoah to a crocodile; hence, the Psalm is recited on Thursday, the day such creatures were created.^[5] As one can see, none of these explanations are actually founded on the words of the Gemara.^[6]

From the foregoing, it is apparent that the passage in Rosh Hashana, though it looms large over all discussion on the topic, is not necessarily the last word. Even the greatest of Rishonim and Achronim have offered alternative explanations. Yet, while they are not based on the Gemara that actually addresses the question, all these explanations are still based on other Gemaras or Midrashim that seem to bear on the topic. However, there is another approach that must be explored as well.

The Non-Traditional Approach

The Bar Ilan University publishes a weekly D’var Torah, under the auspices of the official campus Rabbi. In a short, 2-page article for the 2008 edition of פרשת בחוקתי, Dr. Rachel Reich observes the following: In each of the Psalms for the week, the name of God appears in the numbered word associated with the day.

That is, the brief note of introduction to the Psalm (the כותרת, i.e, לדוד מזמור, מזמור לאסף, etc.) should be set aside, focusing only on the actual Psalm itself. On Sunday, the opening phrase is לה’ הארץ ומלואה – the name of God for the first day appears as the first word. On Monday, the Psalm begins גָּדוֹל ה’ וּמְהֻלָּל מְאֹד – again, the name of God for the second day appears as the second word. On Tuesday the phrase is אֱלֹהִים נִצָּב בַּעֲדַת-קל, the name of God again appears as the hyphenated third word for the third day. On Wednesday אֵל נְקָמוֹת ה’ קל נְקָמוֹת הוֹפִיעַ it appears as the fourth word for the fourth day. On Thursday it is הַרְנִינוּ לֵאלֹהִים עוּזֵּנוּ, הָרִיעוּ לֵאלֹקֵי יַעֲקֹב, the fifth word for the fifth day, and on Friday we have ה’ מָלָךְ גֵּאוּת לָבֵשׁ לָבֵשׁ ה’ֹ again, the name of God appears as the sixth word, on the sixth day.

This explanation is so simple and straightforward that one might perhaps doubt it for that reason alone. It can’t be that simple! And indeed, Dr. Reich herself acknowledges several problems with this solution. For one, these are not the only Psalms that have God’s name in the right spaces. For example, in Psalms 3 and 8 God’s name appears as the first word. In Psalm 9 it is the second word. Why, then, should these particular Psalms have been chosen among the others? It might also be noted that in some of these Psalms, the name of God also appears prior to the appearance under the word corresponding to the correct day. These indeed represent problems with the proposed solution.^[7]

In an article I came upon years after writing this article, Rabbi Dr. Raymond Apple also cites Dr. Reich’s explanation.^[8] While acknowledging the suggestion to be ingenious, Dr. ApplDe finds the suggestion too mechanical, and thinks it doubtful that the priests and poets of the First and Second Temples favored such “artificial devices.” Dr. Apple concludes, “There is no clear reason why particular psalms were designated to be recited on different days of the week” and “the reason why they were originally chosen remains a mystery.”^[9]

Nevertheless, I believe Dr. Reich has hit upon the truth. Some might say that the very simplicity of the solution is itself the best indication of its truth.^[10] Certainly, this explanation is not radically different from other Mishnayos that are explained by the Gemara by way of numerical explanations, such as gematriyos. The Mishna in Nazir (1:3) for example, positing thirty days as the default length of Nezirus, or Shekalim (1:3), requiring Kohanim to also contribute the annual half-shekel, are each explained by the Bavli and Yerushalmi respectively to be based on Gematrias of the word יהיה and זה. Thus, methodologically speaking, attributing an ancient practice to a numeric basis, even when the source Mishna doesn’t say so explicitly, is perfectly sound.

However, I also believe Dr. Reich is correct because there are other Talmudic passages that I think take the matter beyond doubt. Further, I do not think the questions she herself asks are problematic, and to the contrary, I think they work hand in glove together with the passage in Rosh Hashana to give us the complete picture we need.

Synthesis

A clue to the ultimate resolution lies, I believe, in how the Psalms are identified both in the Mishna and in the Gemara. Notice that each Psalm is identified only by the first line in the Psalm. Psalms are not always so identified in Rabbinic literature. In fact, they are often referred to by their nicknames: Thus, for example:

• Psalm 91 is referred to as שיר של פגעים, ויש אומרים שיר של נגעים (Shavuos 15a).
• Psalm 136 is referred to as הלל הגדול. (Taanis 19a).
• 145 is referred to as אשרי, a word not actually part of the Psalm. (Brachos 4a)

In other words, Psalms are sometimes referred to by nicknames that reflect their character. By marked contrast, then, in the Mishna of Tamid and the Gemara of Rosh Hashana, where no character-defining name is given, and where the Psalm is identified only by the first line, we can infer that it is indeed only the opening line of the Song that is significant, because of the placement therein of God’s name.^[11]

The clincher, though, I believe, comes from a passage at the end of Sukka (55a). There we find as follows:

In this passage the Gemara details the Psalms the Levites would sing during the Chol HaMoed service. But when referring to the relevant Psalm, the Gemara identifies it specifically by the verse within the Psalm that is alluded to. Again, contrast this with our Mishna and Gemara, which both only identify the Psalm by the first verse. This is especially apparent in the Thursday and Friday Psalms (81 and 82) which are mentioned both in this Chol HaMoed passage, and in the Song of the Day passage with which we began. They thus make for a clear contrast: For purposes of Chol HaMoed, they are identified by specific verses within the Psalm; but for the Song of the Day, they are identified only by their first verse. Thus, it is apparent that the Song of the Day was selected because of something in, and only in, the first sentence. Thus, one may be justified in thinking that the placement of the name of God in the first sentence is indeed the reason these Psalms were selected.^[12]

The sole remaining question then, is why were these particular Psalms chosen, when there are other Psalms that also have God’s name appearing on the first or second or third word? It is here where the Gemara’s explanation comes in. If we are correct, then R. Akiva, the author of the passage in Rosh Hashana, almost certainly understood that the reason these Psalms were chosen was for the simple and easily-grasped reason that God’s name was said at the right point, exactly as posited by Dr. Reich. (There may even have been some kind of musical way of underscoring this point to the pilgrims gathered in the Temple.) But why those Psalms more than any other Psalm in which the name appears on the right word? It is because of the underlying reasons explained in the passage. Because, asכתבי קדש , the Psalms contain layers of inspired meaning, and R. Akiva saw the connection between these Psalms and the items created on the days in which they were to be read.

In short, what emerges from all this is that R. Akiva’s explanation in the Gemara is drush to the halacha embodied in the Mishna. The halacha of what song to sing is based on the simple and straightforward reason of where the name of God appears in the Psalm. Stated otherwise, perhaps, the halacha looks at the exterior form and format of the Psalm. The drush behind it, by contrast, explains why these Psalms were selected out of a number of other possibilities. By focusing on the character of the day, as reflected in the items created on the various workdays, it looks to the inner meaning, rather than the exterior. The halacha and the drasha come together, like the voices of the Levites themselves, in perfect harmony.^[13]

*David Farkas is an attorney in Cleveland. His notes on the Talmud Bavli were recently published by Machon Aleh Zayis as HaDoresh Vi-HaMivakesh.

1. Even today the custom continues, see Rambam סדר תפלות כל שנה (Warsaw-Vilna Ed.) stating: נהגו מקצת העם לקרוא בכל יום אחר תחנונים אלו שיר מזמור שהיו הלוים אומרים בבית המקדש באותו היום.The custom of the formal declaration preceding the actual Psalm, היום יום פלוני של שבת, entered the Siddur, like certain other customs, by way of the Kitzur Shla, and appears to be based on the comments of the Ramban in Shemos (20:7) urging the daily mention of Shabbos. See סדור עליית אליהו. ↑
2. See the comments of Tosfos Yom Tov to Nazir 5:5 אף על פי שבגמרא לא פירשו כן, הואיל לענין דינא לא נפקא מינה ולא מידי, הרשות נתונה לפרש וכו’.. The comments of Tosfos Yom Tov are actually based on the interpretation of Rambam there, and both are cited approvingly by Rashash to Pesachim 74a, who states “וכבר הרשנו הרמב”ם בפרק ה’ דנזיר משנה ה’ לפרש משנה נגד הגמרא היכא דליכא נפקותא לדינא, עיין שם בתוי”ט ועיין מה שכתבנו בברכות מ”ט ב במשנה שגם הגר”א ז”ל עשה כן.” ↑
3. This book was also cited by Eliezer Brodt on Seforim Blog here, https://seforimblog.com/2009/09/source-for-recitation-of-ledovid/ and see also Dan Rabinowitz’s article here https://seforimblog.com/2006/09/custom-of-reciting-ldovid-hashem-ori. ↑
4. See Shemos Rabbah (15:22) ↑
5. See Ezekiel 29:3 הִנְנִי עָלֶיךָ פַּרְעֹה מֶלֶךְ מִצְרַיִם הַתַּנִּים הַגָּדוֹל הָרֹבֵץ בְּתוֹךְ יְאֹרָיו. (I have translated תנים הגדול as “crocodile”. It might also be translated as serpent or sea monster.) ↑
6. The alternative explanations cited in this paragraph are all mentioned by R. Mantel in his comprehensive book mentioned above.With brilliant insight, R. Yechezkel Katzenelbogen (1667-1749) in שו”ת כנסת יחזקאל ס’ קט posits that the Tannaitic debate in the Gemara alluded to above over the meaning of the Song for Shabbos hinges upon whether or not King David, as the author of the Psalms, intended the selected Psalms to be associated with the various days of the week, or the Levites merely selected them based on their own interpretation of them. R. Yechezkel’s understanding is based on a very fine reading of the text, which, unfortunately, would require background well beyond the scope of this inquiry. ↑
7. Dr. Reich, after acknowledging these difficulties, concludes her article with a sincere request, “אם ידע מישהו להציע הסבר אחר לבחירת מזמורים המכונים שיר של יום, תבא עליו ברכה.” And indeed, the Dvar Torah drew a response several weeks later, in the פרשת נשא edition of the Bar Ilan weekly, from Dr. Gavriel Cohen. In addition to pointing out the significant flaw that Dr. Reich failed to mention the Gemara in Rosh Hashana, Dr. Cohen also notes that others had addressed the issue as well. It is from Dr. Cohen’s letter that I learned of Rabbi Mantel’s sefer, as well as the above-mentioned article of Rabbi Hadari. Dr. Cohen’s letter also references an explanation of Meir Hillel Ben Shammai, in a 91-page monograph entitled שיר של יום בעבודת התמיד. Ben Shammai claims, based on a reading of I Chronicles (16:7-36) that the Psalms mentioned in the Mishna were not exclusive, and in fact, the Levites would often change them to whatever they felt was appropriate This monograph, however, also fails to cite the Gemara (or any other commentator) on the topic, and I found it speculative and unconvincing. ↑
8. Jewish Bible Quarterly, Vol. 42, no. 2, April-June 2014. ↑
9. Id. Interestingly, Dr. Appel also cites the explanation of the Zohar, but without a source. As mentioned above, there actually isn’t any source for this Zohar. He does, however, cite secondary sources, Biurei Ha-Gra and Kehati to the Mishna in Tamid we began with. ↑
10. See various encyclopedia entries for the logical principle known as Occam’s Razor. ↑
11. To be sure, Rashi’s explanation of the passage too, perhaps based precisely on the above point, also focuses on the first line. However, the forced nature of Rashi’s interpretation still exists, and it is clear from other commentators cited above (including Maharsha on the passage) that they felt the explanation of the Gemara rests also upon other verses later in the Psalm. ↑
12. In a passage just before the passage we opened with in Rosh Hashana, the Gemara also refers to the Thursday Psalm (81) as הסירותי מסבל שכמו and not by citing the first verse. However, the Gemara there is referring to the second half of the Psalm, and thus the point is not as strong as the Chol HaMoed passage in Sukkah. ↑
13. I thank Dr. Eliezer Brodt for his review of this article and all the Torah I have learned from home over the years. Dr. Brodt drew my attention to the sources in fn.3, and also adds the following: על הנושא כולו ראה: יעקב שפיגל, ‘דרך קצרה בלשון תנאים ועל פשט ודרש במשנה’, אסופות ד (תש”ן) עמ’ ט-כו; חנן גפני, ‘פשט ודרש במשנה: לגלגוליה של מסורת מבית מדרשו של הגר”א’, סידרא כב (תשס”ז), עמ’ 5-19; הנ”ל, פשוטה של משנה ↑

 

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

Haftarah	Source(s)
I Kings 7:51	Tractate Soferim; piyyutim of Yannai, Kalir, Rabbi Yeshuah; Pesikta Rabbati
Zephaniah 1:12	Piyyutim of Kalir; Pesikta Rabbati
Jeremiah 30:18	Piyyutim of Kalir
I Kings 8:63	Piyyutim of Kalir
I Kings 6:14	Piyyut of Kalir

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. ↑

 

KEDUSHAH, KEDOSHAH, OR B’K’DUSHAH in KEDUSHAH D’YESHIVAH?

Wayne Allen

In his classic study of the content and evolution of Jewish prayer, Abraham Millgram (Jewish Worship, p. 134) asserts that “the most significant addition to the liturgy after its redaction at Yavneh was that of the Kedushah, a prayer in which the community of Israel together with the heavenly host proclaim God’s holiness.” Yavneh was the town in which rabbinic Judaism retrenched after the destruction of the Second Temple in the year 70 C.E. Millgram further contends that the Kedushah prayer “is obviously mystic in nature” and Babylonian in origin (ibid.). It was during the early Rabbinic period that Babylonian mystics “were engrossed in speculations regarding the nature, appearance, and functions of the…angelic sanctification of God” as described in Isaiah 6:3 and Ezekiel 3:12 which, along with Psalm 146:10 make up the central elements of the Kedushah prayer, surrounded by appropriate introductions and connecting phrases.

In his commentary on the Bible, Rabbi Meir Leib ben Yehiel Mikhel Malbim (1809 – 1897) explains that when, as described by the prophet Isaiah, the angels on high proclaim God’s holiness (kedushah, in Hebrew), they are, in essence, attesting that “God is separated from earth in that He is immaterial; He is separated from time in that He is everlasting or eternal; and He is also separated from the heavens in that He is insubstantial.” This threefold separation is what characterizes holiness. Rabbi Hayim Halevi Donin (To Pray as a Jew, p. 126–7) adds that “not only is God above and beyond man and his world, but the angels proclaim God to be above and beyond their world as well” leading to the inevitable question: “if the angels so proclaim, can mortal man say less?”

When the Babylonians introduced the inclusion of the Kedushah, it was fittingly placed immediately before the third blessing of the Amidah which concludes with an affirmation of God’s holiness. It quickly became the apotheosis of the public prayer service. After some initial resistance, the Kedushah gained currency among Palestinian Jews as well. Millgram (Jewish Worship, p. 136) surmises that Jews unable to attend synagogue services daily felt deprived of the privilege to recite Kedushah so the rabbis inserted an abbreviated form of Kedushah in the text leading up to the first blessing before the recital of the morning Shema as well as incorporating the key verses of the Kedushah in the paragraph near the end of the morning service, perhaps for late-comers. This form of the Kedushah did not require a quorum of worshippers, thus enabling all worshippers – whether or not in synagogue – to declare God’s holiness in the mystical words of the prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel. To distinguish the standing, public recital of the Kedushah during the reader’s repetition of the Amidah, the early recital of the Kedushah was termed Kedushah D’ Yeshivah (the “sitting” Kedushah or Kedushah D’Yotzer, referring to the blessing it precedes, cf. Resp. Otzar HaGe’onim, Berakhot No. 46) and the later recital of the kedushah was called Kedushah D’Sidra (See Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 49a; Shabbat 116b; Resp. Otzar HaGe’onim No. 320).

It is the Kedushah D’Yotzer that is the subject of a wording dispute. Four Hebrew words describe the manner in which the angels proclaim God’s holiness. The dispute centers on whether these four words constitute two pairs of phrases with each phrase consisting of a noun and a modifying adjective, or one phrase consisting of a noun followed by two modifying adjectives and then a proper noun. The first view would read this phrase as בְּשָׂפָה בְרוּרָה, meaning “with clear speech,” followed by וּבִנְעִימָה קְדשָּׁה, meaning “and in sacred melody.” The readers would treat the four-word phrase as if there were a comma between the two pairs of words even if a comma did not appear in the text. According to the second view, the phrase should read בְּשָׂפָה בְרוּרָה וּבִנְעִימָה. קְדֻשָּׁה, meaning “in clear and melodious speech. [They proclaim] the Kedushah.” On the first view, the phrase is simply descriptive of the way the angels would proclaim God’s holiness, without indicating the nature of the proclamation. On the second view, the phrase describes the way the angels recite the Kedushah. A survey of various prayerbooks demonstrates how this dispute plays out.

Prior to the publication of the Artscroll prayerbook in 1984, the most popular siddurim used in Orthodox synagogues were the De Sola Pool prayerbook and the Birnbaum prayerbook. The Traditional Prayer Book for Sabbath and Festivals was edited by Rabbi David De Sola Pool who served Congregation Shearith Yisrael, the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in New York City for more than forty years. His acknowledged erudition led to the official adoption by the Rabbinical Council of America of this prayerbook for all Orthodox congregations in the United States in 1961. Both the 1940 and 1960 edition (p. 53) translated the disputed phrase as:

Mutually accepting for themselves His heavenly rule, in unison they all give one another the word to hallow their Creator in serene, pure utterance of sacred harmony…

That De Sola Pool considered the first view as the correct one is confirmed by the punctuation in the Hebrew text which puts a period after the word Kedoshah which is vocalized with a holom, that is, a dotted vav, making it an “o” as in “so” sound, and rendering it as the modifier of “ne’imah.” Likewise, Ha-Siddur Ha-Shalem edited by Philip Birnbaum and mass distributed by Hebrew Publishing Company adopts the same view. The 1949 edition reads (p. 73):

In serene spirit, with pure speech and sacred melody, they all exclaim in unison and with reverence…

The Hebrew is vocalized the same way as De Sola Pool.

The series of prayer books published for or by the Conservative movement follows suit. The Prayer Book, edited by Rabbi Ben-Zion Bokser, long-serving rabbi of the Forest Hills Jewish Center in Queens, New York, and published by Hebrew Publishing Company in 1961 reads (p. 47):

They sing a hymn of allegiance to the Divine power, each bidding the other go be first in acclaiming their Creator, With soft and clear tones, they chant in unison a sacred melody declaring…

Bokser took the editorial liberty of interpolating the action taken by the angels, i.e. chanting in unison, to make the word flow smoother but he obviously holds that the text is composed of two pairs of phrases with a noun (“tones” in the first phrase and “melody” in the second) and a modifier (“soft and clear” in the first phrase and “sacred” in the second).

The Sim Shalom prayerbook, based on the work of the eminent liturgist Rabbi Jules Harlow, was published by the Rabbinical AHssembly in 1998. Here, the disputed phrase is rendered (p. 97):

One to another they vow loyalty to God’s sovereignty; one with another they join to hallow their Creator with serenity, pure speech, and sacred song, in unison, chanting with reverence…

With his talent for a more poetic rendering of Hebrew, Harlow matches the phrase “one to another” to “one with another” in describing the angelic choir. Notably, Harlow also give his nod to the first view, supported again by the Hebrew text with a comma between the two phrases and the vocalization of K’doshah.

Interestingly, the Jewish Welfare Board, tasked with unenviable mission of producing a prayer book that would serve Jewish troops of all affiliations, translated the disputed phrase in its 1969 High Holiday Prayer Book for Jewish Personnel in the Armed Forces as follows (p. 101):

All of them act with harmonious accord, with purity of purpose and with united strength to perform reverently the will of their Creator. They all break forth into song of pure and holy praise, while they bless, glorify, and proclaim…

The “song of pure and holy praise” conforms with the first view of the disputed phrase. Also of note, the description of the angelic proclamation as a “song” conforms to the Talmudic text as will be noted below.

In contrast, since 1984 and in line with siddurim published in Israel, the second view has ascended in prominence. The Complete Artscroll Siddur (1992 edition, p. 87), translated by Rabbi Nosson Scherman, is paradigmatic:

Then they all accept upon themselves the yoke of heavenly sovereignty from one another and grant permission from one another to sanctify the One Who formed them, with tranquility, with clear articulation, and with sweetness. All of them as one proclaim His holiness and say with awe…

While the identification of the name of the angelic proclamation as the Kedushah is not explicit, this translation accepts the notion that “clear articulation and sweetness” go together in describing it, clearly evident in the Hebrew and its punctuation with a period after the word u-v’ne’imah. This is a pattern followed by Siddur Rinat Yisrael, the mainstream Israeli prayerbook and the popular Koren Siddur under the guidance of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.

The question of which view is correct or which version is the more authentic is not easily resolved. One of the earliest Jewish prayerbooks, the ninth century Seder Rav Amram (Goldschmidt ed., p. 13), is ambiguous. Lacking any punctuation or explication, the four-word Hebrew phrase in question can be read either way. The same is true with Mahzor Vitry, an enhanced prayerbook produced by the twelfth century school of Rabbi Shlomo Yitzhaqi of Troyes (Horowitz ed., Part I, p. 65). However, the Frumkin edition of Seder Rav Amram published in 1912 notes (p. 188) that a British Museum manuscript vocalized the text to read “k’doshah” in reference to the angelic melody, supporting the first view, while RaShI’s commentary on Isaiah 6:3 (“Holy, holy, holy! God of Hosts—Whose presence fills all the earth!”) includes the observation: “This is the basis for the prayer in Yotzer Ohr, Kedushah: all together proclaim,” that supports the second view. It seems like the Tosafists agree (Babylonian Talmud, Hagigah 13b, s.v. mi-zei-atan).

Fourteenth century Spanish Rabbi David Abudraham, aware of the dispute, seeks to resolve it in his authoritative compendium on Jewish prayer. In the 1963 edition of Sefer Abudraham (p. 73), he explains the parallelism in the text. “Because the author called the language of the angels ‘clear,’ by extension, he also called the melody ‘sacred.’” In other words, the phrase in question consists of two pairs of words, each pair with a noun and a modifying adjective, implying that the text ought to be read as safah berurah and ne’imah kedoshah. He goes on to acknowledge that “some read ‘Kedushah,’ but the first version is correct.” In his multi-volume study of Jewish prayer, Netiv Binah (Vol. I, p. 235, n. 8), Rabbi Y. Jacobson cites Abudraham’s opinion as decisive. He also includes as support the Yemenite prayerbook that reads u-v’ne’imah t’horah, that is, “and with pure melody.” Even though the wording differs from the Ashkenazi prayerbook (t’horah instead of k’doshah), Yemeni Jews agree that the word that follows after “ne’imah” is an adjective. Hence, “Kedushah” would be incorrect.

But all is not settled. Complicating matters, thirteenth century authority on Jewish law, Rabbi Tzedekiah ben Abraham Anaw (Shibbolei Ha-Leket, Sec 13) reports that he had found a text ascribed to eighth century Rabbi Natronai Gaon that reads: “with clear speech, melodiously, and devoutly.” On this version, the phrase in question uses three terms to describe the manner in which the angels proclaim God’s holiness: clearly, melodiously, and devoutly. It certainly does not comport well with the second view that specifies that the angels recite Kedushah, but neither does it support the first. Likewise, the prayerbook of Italian Jews, Mahzor Italiani (Luzatto, ed., Vol. I, p. 14) reads: b’safah berurah, b’ne’imah, u’vik’dushah, best translated as “with clear speech, melodiously, and with sacred devotion.”

To sum up, there are actually three views on the proper reading of the phrase in question. The first view would stipulate reading: b’safah berurah, u-v’ne’imah k’doshah. This view is supported by Natronai Gaon, the British Museum manuscript of Seder Rav Amram, the Yemenite Siddur, and Abudraham. The second view would stipulate reading: b’safah berurah u-v’ne’imah, Kedushah. This view is supported by RaShI and the Tosafists. And the third view would stipulate reading: b’safah berurah, b’ne’imah, u’vik’dushah. This view is supported by the opinion of Natronai Gaon and the Mahzor Italiani. Jewish worshippers, then, are left with a conundrum. Each view has its defenders.

However, three further considerations make a better case for the first view. First, the preponderance of authorities favors this view. Late thirteenth century Spanish Rabbi Yom Tov Ishbili (Hiddushei Ha-RITVA, Meg. 23b, s.v. u-midivrei rabbotai) mentions the tradition of his teachers reciting b’safa berurah u-v’ne’imah kedoshah kulam k’ehad onim b’eimah v’omrim b’yir’ah Kedushah, meaning with clear speech and in sacred melody, together as one, the angels say the Kedushah with trepidation. The RITVA acknowledges that the angels recite the Kedushah. But they do so with clear speech and sacred melody (ne’imah k’doshah) which is the reading of the first view. In fact, reading k’doshah as Kedushah would make no sense since Kedushah here would be redundant, being mentioned at the end. Fifteenth century Spanish Rabbi Abraham Saba (Tzror Ha-Mor, Bereshit, s.v. v’od) identifies two kinds of speech: what comes from the mouth and what comes from the heart. The latter is the superior and is endemic to the angels. He implies that the distinction is embedded in the phrase in question: safah berurah and ne’imah k’doshah. Sixteenth century Turkish Rabbi Moses Alshikh (Commentary on Exodus 28, s.v. v’hayya) also seems to follow b’safah berurah, u-v’ne’imah k’doshah.

Further, Rabbi Joseph Karo (Bet Yosef on Tur, Orah Hayyim 59, s.v. katuv) cites the Orhot Hayyim who accepts the first view and adds “I heard that the leading authorities of the generation follow this version.” Likewise, Rabbi Moses Isserles, agrees (Darkhei Moshe HaKatzar, Orah Hayyim 59:2) and, in Tur, Orah Hayyim 59, n. 2 states that “this is how it is arranged in our prayerbooks.” Eighteenth century Rabbi Jacob Emden (Siddur Bet Ya’akov, Warsaw ed. 1910, p. 120) acknowledges that while some versions have the word “Kedushah” vocalized with the shuruk (vowel sound “oo”) treating it as a noun, the preferred version is to read the phrase in question as b’safah berurah u-v’nei’mah k’doshah with a pause after “berurah,” and a holom after the letter “daled,” because the word “k’doshah” is an adjective modifying “ne’imah.” And Siddur Ha–Ya’avetz, Amudei Shamayim (ed. Deutsch [2016] p. 86) has Emden punctuating the phrase in question with a comma after the word “berurah”(indicating in his notes a need for a pause) and vocalizing the noun in the ensuing phrase as “k’doshah.” Tellingly, the standard reference work for the Ashkenazi nusah, Seder Avodat Yisrael, arranged and annotated by Isaac Seligman Baer (see Robert Scheinberg, “Seligmann Baer’s Seder Avodat Yisrael (1868): Liturgy, Ideology, and the Standardization of Nusah Ashkenaz”), adopts the first view. Moreover, in his notes (ed. Rödelheim [1868], p. 78), Baer relies on Abudraham as authoritative and claims that ne’imah k’doshah was Abarbanel’s version as well. He also claims that he had a manuscript reading of RaShI on Isaiah 6:3 which does not include “Kedushah.” The Siddur Rav Shabbetai Sofer of Przemysl (or Premslow), an authoritative compendium of prayers for Polish Jewry, includes both views, with ne’imah kedushah followed by ne’imah k‘doshah in parentheses, identified as “another version.” In his notes, Sofer indicates that the parenthesized version is that of Abudraham. And, like nineteenth century Rabbi Yehiel Mikhel Epstein (Arukh HaShulhan, Orah Hayyim 59:10), former Chief Rabbi of Israel Ovadiah Yosef (Resp. Yabi’a Omer, Pt. 8, Orah Hayyim, No. 11, Sec. 15) acknowledges that there is support for both the first and second view, it seems that the latter gives greater credence to the first view.

Second, the Babylonian Talmud refers to the angelic proclamation as a “shirah” (song) and not Kedushah, as assumed by the second view. Rav Hananel cites the opinion of third century Rav (Hullin 91b) who said:

Three groups of ministering angels recite a song (shirah) every day from the verse “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord”; one says: “Holy,” and another one says: “Holy,” and another one says: “Holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory.”

There is no mention of this “song” as the Kedushah prayer. Avot D’Rabbi Natan (Version A, Chapter 12) explicitly refers to this proclamation as “shirah” as well.

Third, Hebrew grammar makes the second view problematic. If the phrase in question was intended to convey the idea that the angels above recite Kedushah clearly and melodiously, then the grammatically correct way to express that idea would be: b’safah berurah u-v’ne’imah, kulam k’ehad, onim v’omrim Kedushah b’yir’ah. Thus, the translation would be: “with clear speech and melodiously, all the angels together would respond and say the Kedushah in trepidation.” The extant word order does not support this reading. In simpler terms, Kedushah is the object of the sentence and must follow after subject and verb. Saying “Kedushah: all together they respond and say,” as the proponents of the second view would have readers do, is both awkward and ungrammatical. Indeed, this is precisely what Baer (op. cit.) states, describing it as “dohak ha-lashon,” difficult language.

Solomonically, Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef (op. cit.) concludes that either way, the first view or the second view, is acceptable. But which is “correct?” Ideally, worshippers should adopt the first view and follow the text as was printed in the Birnbaum and De Sola Pool prayerbooks as well as those published by or for the Conservative movement. (Why the Rabbinical Council of America pivoted away from the original De Sola Pool prayerbook is a mystery.) However, it is entirely proper to follow the text of the synagogue where one is worshipping. Maimonides (Resp. RaMBaM, No. 181) rules that congregational unity is more important than loyalty to the established text. The view of Rabbi Moses Schreiber is also apropos. Asked which mode of prayer is preferred, Ashkenazic or Sephardic, he answers that the Sephardic is preferred but “what we pray according to the formulations of Ashkenazi prayer is heard [by God] as well” (Resp. Hatam Sofer, Orah Hayyim, No. 15). Here, too, we may have the assurance that whichever way the disputed phrase is articulated, God will accept it in the spirit it is offered.

A Tale of Two Zionist Siddurim in Exile
Seth (Avi) Kadish

 

Zionist Siddurim and Modern Orthodoxy

Modern Orthodoxy today, in America and throughout the diaspora, is largely a Zionist world. It is, in a sense, the English-speaking wing of Religious Zionism outside of Israel.[1] It is a world of synagogue communities with very close ties to Israel. Most people in Modern Orthodox synagogues have visited Israel, have family and friends who live in Israel, and support Israel. They see Israel as a blessing from God. They say prayers for the State of Israel and the IDF in their synagogues, and many of them celebrate Israel’s Independence Day with public prayers of thanks, including Hallel. At least some of these prayers are included in those siddurim which are designed for Modern Orthodox communities.

In this sense, a Modern Orthodox siddur is a Zionist siddur. But it is also invariably a bilingual siddur. Despite their love of Hebrew-speaking Israel, Modern Orthodox Jews are often uncomfortable with a siddur in Hebrew alone. Therefore, Modern Orthodox siddurim are typically published with introductions, translations, instructions and commentaries which are all in the vernacular. This format is so typical of the Modern Orthodox world that there is a small but competitive industry that produces and markets bilingual Modern Orthodox siddurim, and even a minor literature devoted to reviewing, evaluating and comparing them.

Even a Modern Orthodox Jew who makes ‘aliyah to Israel is likely to continue using a bilingual siddur. In Israel and abroad there is a much larger market for all-Hebrew siddurim, but most of those who prefer an all-Hebrew siddur are not Modern Orthodox Jews. Rather, they are native Israelis or haredim. That is why all-Hebrew, Zionist siddurim are usually published with native Israelis in mind, and sold mainly in Israel.

However, there have been exceptions to this rule. I am aware of two all-Hebrew, Zionist siddurim whose editors were Torah-observant scholars outside of Israel. These two siddurim were published, marketed and sold in pre-Holocaust Europe or in America, even though they contain no translation and their introductions, instructions and commentaries are all in modern Hebrew. The stories of these two siddurim and their editors reveal some important and moving aspects about Zionism since the dawn of the 20th century, including cultural movements and historical events that have largely been forgotten.

The publication of a siddur can reveal the soul of its publisher or point out the condition of communities, because a siddur is not just a prayerbook. Its core blessings and prayers have been the most basic component of oral Hebrew culture for thousands of years, and the same has been true for the siddur as a mass-produced physical book since the invention of printing. In many times and places the siddur was the Hebrew text most familiar to the majority of Jews, sometimes better known than the Bible itself. The two siddurim that we will discuss bear witness to the life of the Hebrew language over the past two centuries. They can help us understand the circumstances under which the Hebrew language has struggled or failed or been snuffed out, or to the contrary, where and when it lived and grew and flourished.

The two siddurim and their respective editors also highlight something fundamental and deeply traditional about Jewish prayer, which goes straight to the roots of the Torah. Namely that, in prayer, the nation of Israel stands before the God of Israel. Yet in order for Israel to stand before its God, it must first be a nation, an ‘am in Hebrew, which shares a language, a homeland and a common fate.[2]

1. Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah, edited by Ḥayyim David Rosenstein (Vilna, 1909)[3]

Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah was first published in Vilna, 1909. It was issued in the two versions that were most important to eastern European Jews, namely Ashkenaz and the hasidic Sefard. It was reprinted a great many times since then, and is still on the market to this very day. 

The text of Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah is laid out with great care, and marked with modern punctuation. It is accompanied by concise instructions in vowelized Hebrew as well as a short commentary on the bottom of the page, also in vowelized Hebrew, which explains difficult words and phrases in the Hebrew prayers. Prayers in Aramaic (such as Berikh Shemeih and Yequm Purkan) are accompanied by translation into Hebrew. Shirah Ḥadashah is an appealing edition of the siddur and a pleasure to browse.

Who published a siddur like this in eastern Europe at the beginning of the 20th century, and why? Its editor, Ḥayyim David Rosenstein (1871-1934) lived his entire life in Minsk (Russia and then USSR, now the capital of Belarus), which had a Jewish majority at the turn of the 20th century. Rosenstein was a Torah scholar, a Hebraist, a Zionist activist and above all an educator. In Minsk he was known in Yiddish as Der Hoikhe Melamed (“the tall teacher”), which referred not just to his physical stature but also to the great esteem in which he was held by the people of the city. He was also known in literary circles by his Hebrew initials חד״ר (like cheder in Yiddish) or as חד”ר מד”ן (taking the first and last letters of his name). 

Rosenstein was the founder and principal of a cheder in Minsk, but it was no ordinary cheder. It was rather called a ḥeder metukan in Hebrew, i.e. an “improved” cheder in that it included secular studies along with Torah study, and employed modern pedagogical techniques in all disciplines. It prepared its students as Jews and for success in the modern world. But above all, it taught the Hebrew language and other subjects not in Yiddish nor in Russian but rather in Hebrew (‘Ivrit be-‘Ivrit). Rosenstein’s Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah was designed for students in schools like his own. By 1903, there were 934 ḥadarim metukanim in Tzarist Russia. Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah became a bestseller not just among their students, but also among Hebrew-oriented Jews throughout Europe, and it was even exported to North America and to the Hebrew-speaking settlements in Ereẓ Yisra’el.

The ḥeder metukan was vociferously opposed by the traditionalists of the time, who sarcastically called it a cheder mesukan in the Ashkenazic pronunciation (i.e. “a dangerous cheder”).[4] The ḥeder metukan also raised the ire of assimilationists, who wanted Jews to learn Russian, drop their separate national identity and fully join Russian society. But the ḥeder metukan was most fiercely opposed by Jewish socialists and communists, who despised its traditional nature, its nationalist pretensions, and its promotion of Hebrew. In their view every nationality, including Jewish nationality, took a back seat to the international revolution of the proletariat. And if an ethnic Jewish culture was to be promoted, they argued, then that culture must be Yiddish culture. They saw Hebrew as the language of a repressive religious tradition, of privileged rabbis and scholars. It was not the mother tongue of the Jewish masses in Europe, and it must therefore not be part of a tolerated culture in a future communist country.

Despite all of this harsh opposition, Rosenstein’s ḥeder metukan in Minsk was highly successful following its founding in 1903. During its golden years, it educated many students who eventually made ‘aliyah and contributed to the rise of the State of Israel. Rosenstein’s son, Avraham, told the following story which illustrates something of the educational spirit of the school at its very best:

Years passed, and I was in the upper class of the cheder—in my father’s cheder. Some eighteen 10-year-olds were attending lessons on Torah and Nevi’im and Ketuvim, on Hebrew grammar, Mishnayot, on the early history of Israel. And all of it was, of course, in Hebrew: Hebrew in the lessons, Hebrew during recess, in conversations and in games. All of us were all proud of the fact that we were in Rosenstein’s cheder, myself among them. I felt no embarrassment, or, to the contrary, “privilege” or “advantage” over my fellow students because the teacher was my father … In his keen pedagogic instinct, my father gave me no cause to feel “privileged” or “near to the throne”—neither in my eyes nor in the eyes of my fellow students. [I was] one student among all the others, and there was an equal and fatherly attitude towards each and every one, in accordance with his attitude toward his studies.

Of all the classes, the ones in Tanakh are carved most deeply into my heart. My father immersed his entire soul and all of his enthusiasm in them, infecting all of us [students] as well. We would learn complete chapters by heart but felt no onus or burden in it.

I remember one episode extremely well from those school days.

One day we began to study the book of Proverbs, after we had learned a selection of Psalms. The “modern” commentaries we had sometimes resorted to, apart from Rashi and the “Meẓudot”, were the “Miqra Meforash” (“Explanatory Tanakh”) of Treves, Notik and Levin. For the Book of Proverbs, father told us, no Miqra Meforash had yet been published, so we would have to make due with the traditional commentaries and supplement them with father’s explanations, which we would jot down for ourselves.

Or if you want, added father with a smile, you may compose your own Miqra Meforash…

I do not recall how my classmates reacted to that “invitation,” but I certainly do recall that the words entered my heart and together with my friend David Lifshitz, an outstanding student in the class, we decided to take up the task—to compose an edition of the Book of Proverbs with a new commentary in the format of Miqra Meforash, based on the commentaries of my father and other commentaries that we had at our disposal…

When our plan was revealed to father, he smiled and asked, “So what shall you call your commentary?” Upon seeing the confusion in our eyes, he added, “Look carefully at Psalm 110, which we studied not long ago, perhaps you will find a suitable name there…”

Indeed, after we read and reread the psalm with care, David extracted from it the phrase טַל יַלְדוּת (“the dew of youth”), and we decided that this was surely what father had meant, for it was quite fitting to our work and the age of its “authors.”

For many weeks we worked in the evenings at the “sacred labor” of the commentary, writing and erasing and rewriting. David, who had a very fine hand, would copy inside a thick notebook, in large and handsome letters, the biblical text up to the middle of the page, and then I would copy, in small letters in the lower half, the exegesis we had worked out together, and all of it of course with full vowelization!

And so it was day after day and week after week, page after page and chapter after chapter.

What became of our “creation” inspired by father, whether it was completed or left unfinished—I cannot recall.[5]

In a footnote to the above story, Rosenstein’s son added the following: “I hope that this same dear friend, who is today Rabbi David Lifshitz, one of the heads of Yeshiva University in the United States, will not resent the exposure of these ‘youthful indiscretions’…”.[6]

Rosenstein’s three sons succeeded in making ‘aliyah to Ereẓ Yisra’el by 1925. For years they made strenuous efforts to bring their parents and sister. Finally, in 1934, they were able to secure official permission for them to leave the USSR, along with entry permits from British Mandate officials. Yet Rosenstein never saw Ereẓ Yisra’el.

After the Bolshevik revolution he continued to secretly teach Hebrew and engage in Zionist activities. His house was searched repeatedly for forbidden works in Hebrew. More than 60 unpublished manuscripts by Rosenstein—including a complete modern edition of ‘Ein Ya‘akov for Hebrew-speaking students—were confiscated by the Yevsektsiya or the Cheka and lost to posterity. The Soviet authorities arrested and tortured Rosenstein several times, but he always returned to teaching and writing in Hebrew. Weak and ill, he died in exile in Minsk in 1934, just before one of his sons was due to arrive from Ereẓ Yisra’el and bring home the rest of his family. His wife and daughter buried him in the Jewish cemetery of Minsk, shortly before they left for Ereẓ Yisra’el. No stone marks his grave. His wife is buried on the Mount of Olives.

Rosenstein’s writing following the revolution describes the plight of Jewish decency in an age of totalitarian terror. Today, when we hear the term anusim we mostly think of medieval Spain (conversos or Marranos), and when we mention “Prisoners of Zion” it usually refers to heroes from the 1970s and 80s. Yet there were Prisoners of Zion in the USSR ever since 1917, and Rosenstein was one. A posthumous collection of his surviving writings, based on notebooks brought home to Ereẓ Yisra’el by his wife and daughter following his death, contains short stories in Hebrew on subjects such as “Pesaḥ Anusim”—one Jew’s doomed attempt to hold a Passover seder with his wife behind closed doors instead of attending a mandatory Passover pork festival, complete with four cups of vodka, at the Yiddish cultural center (a former synagogue). Another story is about the daughter of a former dayyan (rabbinical judge) in Minsk who disobeyed her parents by attending a forbidden gathering of Zionist youth. This indiscretion empowered a Jewish officer in the Cheka to force her to be his consort and bear his child; the story ends with a clandestine circumcision. At the very same time, along with these terrifying themes, Rosenstein continued to write children’s stories and poems in Hebrew, as well as modern Hebrew editions of Torah texts and articles about pedagogy or wider issues in the Jewish world, until his dying day.

In 1949, Eshkol publishers of Jerusalem reissued Rosenstein’s Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah in an edition that was newly typeset, revised and expanded for use in the brand new State of Israel. The 1949 edition contains the Prayer for the State of Israel at the very end of the volume, and was one of the very first siddurim in the world to include it.

Shirah Ḥadashah has been reprinted in Israel many times. One later, undated edition includes not just the prayer for the state, but also prayers for Israel’s 3rd president Zalman Shazar (who was in office 1963-1973), for peace in the world, for remembering Holocaust victims on ‘Asarah be-Tevet, for fallen Israeli soldiers, for Israel’s Memorial Day and Independence Day, and the prayer for the well-being of IDF soldiers. Shirah Ḥadashah’s popularity began to diminish after Siddur Rinat Yisra’el was published 1970, as the latter quickly became the standard siddur in many of Israel’s Zionist synagogues, but it still continued to be used.[7]

When the founder of Eshkol publishers, Rabbi Yaakov Shaul Weinfeld, died in 1989, his sons divided the rights to its publications into two separate ḥaredi publishing houses. One of them is called Shai la-Mora, which continues to publish Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah to this day. However, its title page no longer credits Ḥayyim David Rosenstein, and all prayers related to the State of Israel have been removed.[8]

In a brief introduction to the 1949 edition, Eshkol publishers thanked the author’s son Avraham for editing the Israeli version of his father’s siddur, and for writing a Hebrew commentary to the newly added sections in the spirit of his late father’s work. The publisher’s acknowledgment is credited not to Avraham Rosenstein, but rather to “the teacher A. Even-Shoshan of Jerusalem.” The Hebraified version of “Rosenstein” was “Even-Shoshan,” the name which the family adopted in Ereẓ Yisra’el with the blessing of their father, who himself had used Even-Shoshan as a Hebrew pen name in his youth.[9] Avraham Even-Shoshan (1906-1984) was one of the great Hebrew lexicographers of the 20th century and author of the multivolume Even-Shoshan Dictionary. During his lifetime, Ḥayyim David Rosenstein expressed two unfulfilled literary desires to his children: He wanted Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah to be republished in a new edition, and he thought there was a great need for a new, accessible Hebrew-language dictionary. Both of these wishes were fulfilled by his son Avraham in Israel. 

2. Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el, edited by Paltiel Birnbaum (New York, 1978)

Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el was published in New York, 1978 by Dr. Paltiel (Philip) Birnbaum (1901-1988).[10] It is an all-Hebrew version of Birnbaum’s best-selling Daily Prayer Book (Ha-Siddur Ha-Shalem), which was first published in 1949 and used widely by generations of American Jews. Most of the text consists of images that were reproduced mechanically from the Hebrew part of his earlier bilingual siddur, but in some places it was altered to conform with the Ashkenazic custom prevalent in Israeli synagogues.[11] The editor’s introduction is in Hebrew, as is sporadic commentary in the form of explanatory notes at the bottom of some of the pages.[12] The Prayer for the State of Israel—which appeared at the very end of Birnbaum’s original 1949 bilingual siddur, making it, too, one of the very first in the world to include it along with Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah that very same year—appears here within the Shabbat morning prayers right after the prayer for the government (outside of Israel),[13] and is immediately followed by the prayer for the IDF. 

The end of the volume contains significant material that did not appear in the original siddur: prayers for Israel’s Independence Day (pp. 420-427); Torah readings for Shabbat afternoon, Monday and Thursday (pp. 428-459); two lists of holiday Torah readings, one for Israel and one for the diaspora (pp. 460-461); and “Months of the Year,” a summary of laws and customs in Hebrew (pp. 462-466).

The volume’s cover is dominated by the color blue, which reminds one of the Israeli flag. All writing on the cover (such as the volume’s title) is in black letters, which continue as black stripes surrounding an area of grey that wraps around to the back cover. The title of the volume on the front cover, namely Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el, connects via that orange area to further text on the back cover which reads: Ki attah shomea‘ tefillat ‘amekha Yisra’el be-raḥamim (“for You hear in mercy the prayer of Your nation Israel”). Birnbaum chose a title for his all-Hebrew siddur which emphasizes that Israel stands united before God in prayer.[14]

The most important fact about this volume, in terms of its public impact, is that it was never reissued. Unlike Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah, for which there was public appreciation expressed as market demand over several generations in Europe and Israel, Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el seems to have left no mark.[15] It is notable that in Rosenstein’s introduction to the original 1909 edition of Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah, he described the practical need which led him to produce a new siddur designed for use in schools. Birnbaum too, in the introductions to his successful bilingual editions of the siddur and the maḥzor, took pains to describe the widespread need for a new edition with clear instructions and a modern translation, accompanied by a clear and accurate Hebrew text with modern punctuation. But he mentions no such need in his introduction to Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el. This leads one to suspect that Birnbaum published his all-Hebrew siddur not in response to public demand, but rather out of a personal desire to see his siddur published in a purely Hebrew form, without material in a foreign tongue. The story of his life supports this suspicion.

Paltiel Birnbaum immigrated to the United States in 1920, at age nineteen, alone without his family. The village of Żarnowiec (Chernowitz), Poland, where he was born in 1901, was about half-Jewish at the time and highly traditional. Little is known about his childhood or education, except for an anecdote told by relatives which “remembers him sitting at night under the table with books and candles, always studying.” Birnbaum grew up in Rosenstein’s world, namely the centuries-old communities in eastern Europe whose many millions of Jews provided a thick, thriving Jewish environment that enabled Jewish and Hebraic culture to flourish. The young Birnbaum appears to have been an autodidact with a deep love for both the traditional and modern scholarship of his people. As a young man in America, he financed his undergraduate degree by tutoring Hebrew and Greek. His Ph.D. dissertation analyzed a Karaite commentary on Hosea in Judeo-Arabic.[16] His entire career indicates a love for his people’s literature and especially for the Hebrew language. 

Throughout much of his life in America, Birnbaum administered and taught in local community Hebrew Schools. He became famous as the editor and translator of bilingual prayer books, as well as the author of popular volumes in English that were designed to enlighten and inform the American Jewish masses. He was heartbroken that so many American Jews were bereft of their heritage: “We are losing our people because of ignorance,” he said. “People are ignorant of their ignorance.”[17]

Hebrew language and literature survived in 20th century America, but mostly within a small circle of intellectuals, along with some schools they established in which a small minority of American Jewish youth studied in Hebrew. Birnbaum was active in this somewhat lonely environment. He served on the board of the Histadrut Ivrit of America and contributed regularly to its journal Hadoar and other Hebrew literary forums that existed at the time. He also founded a Ḥug ‘Ivri (a social club for people to study Hebrew and speak it to each other) in his Wilmington, Delaware community, where he lived for 20 years.

Birnbaum’s first book aimed at a popular audience was an abridged version of Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah in vowelized and punctuated Hebrew, along with explanations of various Hebrew words, phrases and concepts in English at the bottom of the page (New York, 1944). A short, educational biography of Maimonides in vowelized Hebrew comes just before the text. Birnbaum hoped that this volume would enable its readers to access the original Hebrew text by Maimonides, so that it might be a window for them into the language and literature of Israel and serve them as a concise encyclopedia of Judaism. But years later, in 1967, he republished the very same Hebrew text with a full, facing English translation instead of brief explanations. Although Hebrew illiteracy was painful to him, Birnbaum was never stingy with his American Jewish audience. He provided them with any tool he could in his literary efforts to tackle their ignorance. Indeed, in a passionate Hebrew-language review of a book written in Hebrew on the story of the Hebrew language, Birnbaum remarked that “the main purpose of having precise translations is that they make it easier to understand the Hebrew original.” Even though his review made it clear, through lengthy citations, that there can be no Jewish future without Hebrew, Birnbaum nevertheless suggests that the book itself “should be published in English translation, so that people may know…”[18]

A full volume of Birnbaum’s collected writings in Hebrew entitled Peleitat Soferim was published by Mossad Harav Kook (Jerusalem, 1971). It contains numerous book reviews, biographical portraits of traditional and modern Jewish scholars of Judaica, and articles on other classic Judaica topics. But the final essay stands out. In it, Birnbaum passionately described his five-week visit to Israel following the Six Day War in 1967. It was his fifth trip, at a time long before Birthright, when the vast majority of American Jews never visited Israel even once in their lives. “This visit, my fifth to the Land of Israel, was an experience that I will never forget. This time I felt in every fiber of my being that I was treading the soil of the land of our fathers, the land of our longing, the goodly heritage, the source of our millennial culture…” Birnbaum wrote of the desperate need for olim[19] to fill the vast space he encountered from the Sinai desert to the Golan Heights.[20] He wondered whether Israel should deal with these precious places in terms of their history, the national longing of countless generations, or in terms of the practical need for defensible borders.[21] He further recounted the strange experience of being a Hebrew-speaking tourist in Israel: “A tourist who speaks fluent Hebrew is assumed to be a yored.[22] People immediately want to know where he learned such Hebrew. If an American citizen, for instance, speaks fluent Hebrew, residents of the State see that as a sign that he once resided in Israel and then left…”[23] He described his visit to Masada[24] and wrote at great length about his encounter with Samaritans, their history and their version of the Torah.[25] It is with this essay about his visit to Israel that Birnbaum chose to close the volume of his collected writings in Hebrew.

Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el was published a decade after that visit to Israel. To publish his siddur in an all-Hebrew version, with changes needed to make it suitable for use in Israel as well as America, seems to have been the realization of a dream for Birnbaum. Perhaps he felt that in 1978 there were already enough literate, observant, Zionist American Jews who might want to use such a siddur. Perhaps he hoped that his siddur would also be marketed in Israel. Yet given his outlook, it makes the most sense to view Birnbaum’s publication of Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el as an expression of Birnbaum’s ideal and of his dream, namely for the nation of Israel to know and love its own language and foundational texts with no need for crutches in a foreign tongue.

When Birnbaum died in 1988 he left no family, as he never married. But he did belong to an active Jewish community (the Jewish Center in Manhattan) and received a proper Jewish burial. The tombstone provided by his community contained very little Hebrew (not even his Hebrew name), and its English text was marred by three errors. In 2022, Yosef Lindell spearheaded an effort in cooperation with the Jewish Center to replace Birnbaum’s tombstone with a new one that would not only be more accurate, but also contain a small amount of elegant text in Hebrew and English to give tribute to his life’s work. The Hebrew sentence on the new tombstone reads, in translation, “He instructed the mouths of his nation so that they err not in their language nor falter in their speech.”[26] This beautiful rephrasing of an ancient prayer may be taken to refer not just to Birnbaum’s great care for language, Hebrew and English alike, but also to his love of Israel as a nation. “He instructed the mouths of his nation,” ‘ammo in Hebrew, referring to a man who devoted his life and his wisdom to his nation and its language, while simultaneously yearning for its land. 

Prayer, Torah and Hebrew Nationhood

Throughout our history, when the communities of Israel in exile were either unemancipated or multitudinous, the Hebrew language had a chance to flourish. Before emancipation, Jews in most times and places were typically able to communicate in Hebrew as a matter of course, and did most of their writing in Hebrew. They spoke Hebrew when they encountered Jews who knew a different mother tongue, and sometimes even when there was no practical need. Hebrew was not their mother tongue, yet they became intimately familiar with it “at an extremely early and impressionable age.”[27] It was precisely this familiarity which enabled the revival of Hebrew as a mother tongue in modern times. As Cecil Roth is famously said to have put it, “Before Ben-Yehuda… Jews could speak Hebrew; after him, they did.”[28] The living reality of Hebrew in both of these stages was a remarkable achievement, and may well be considered miraculous, the former no less than the latter.

But in places and times where Jews were both emancipated and constituted a small minority, Hebrew was ultimately doomed. This was true for Jewish enlightenment in the 19th century, which took place in two different tongues. In Western Europe, where emancipated Jews were a small minority, the language of Jewish enlightenment was mostly German and its spirit strove “to wipe out any national memory of ‘Am Yisra’el.”[29] But in eastern Europe, where Jews largely remained unemancipated (or at least unintegrated), and where they often constituted a large minority and sometimes even a local majority, the Hebrew language was able to flourish. Hebrew continued to thrive in eastern Europe (outside of the USSR) right up until the Holocaust as the language of schools, youth movements, newspapers, journals, and books. It was evident to those who took part in this culture that they had no future in Europe, but only a minority escaped.[30]

In the modern, emancipated countries of the 19th century, even Orthodox rabbinic scholars quickly abandoned Hebrew as their natural language for discussing the Torah. Birnbaum cites an example of this from the book he reviewed on the history of Hebrew. Upon receiving a letter from Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, written in German, the Italian-Jewish scholar Samuel David Luzzatto (Shadal) replied in haste on the very same day: “What has happened to the author of The Nineteen Letters? Has he turned into Geiger or Holdheim, that he writes to Shadal in the tongue of the North [=Germany], rather than the language of Judah and Jerusalem?”[31]

Hebrew ceased to be the language of Torah in the West, but not in the East. The difference was rooted in the continued sense of Israel as a nation, or lack thereof. One critical issue that was often debated—it is arguably the most important dilemma for Torah life in modern times—was what attitude the Torah demands towards Jews and Jewish movements when they openly rebel against tradition. Must Jews who are loyal to God and the Torah formally disengage from them? Or would that be an attack on the cohesion of Israel as a nation? In Germany, the practical question was whether a religious denomination now called “Orthodox Judaism,” once it received recognition from the government, must formally break off from the general Jewish community. Rabbinic debate on that issue took place in the form of open letters published in 1877 by Rabbi Seligman Baer Bamberger (against separation) and Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (in favor).[32] Those open letters in literary German, on a critical topic with immense halakhic, hashkafic and practical repercussions, are closed books for nearly all Torah scholars today. In the end, Hirsch’s view was later embraced by most of the yeshivah world.

The same issue rose in eastern Europe, but in Hebrew. An editorial entitled “Right and Left” was published in the Hebrew-language newspaper Maḥziqei ha-Dat, which argued that in an age of anti-religious ideologies and rebellion against tradition, the only way for God-fearing Jews to uphold the Torah was to join together as a separate group and keep themselves far from evildoers.[33] But Rabbi Naftali Ẓvi Yehudah Berlin (the “Neẓiv”), head of the Volozhin Yeshivah and a supporter of Ḥovevei Ẓiyyon, responded that such a move would be “as destructive as swords to the body of the nation and its existence.” In the end it would also fail to uphold the Torah, because every real or seeming deviation would provide cause for endless internal warfare. In order for Israel to return to God, it must remain one nation. According to Neẓiv the correct thing to do, as in the past, was to live together with others and cooperate with them while working hard to spread Torah study and observance in every possible way (“On Right and Left” in Responsa Meishiv Davar I:44). His approach influenced not only his student, Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook,[34] but has been typical of mainstream religious Zionist leaders for the past century.

The Jewish Hebraists in America have been described as follows: “Immigrants from Eastern Europe, they tended to be heder- and yeshiva-educated Jews who had embraced the achievements of modern Western culture while at the same time preserving an ardent commitment to Jewish tradition, the Hebrew language, and the national renaissance that was based in Zionism.”[35] That description fits Birnbaum like a glove to a hand. It was equally true for Hebraists who remained in Europe, like Rosenstein. Men such as these were quite comfortable among Orthodox rabbis, so long as they were not authoritarian in their attitudes and did not demand extreme rejection of modernity. They were similarly comfortable among secular Zionists, so long as the Jewish tradition and the Hebrew language could be promoted with pride within the Zionist movement. They respected serious Jewish scholarship, regardless of the scholar’s affiliations or his lifestyle.[36] Yet they were deeply opposed to modern Jewish ideologies which rejected the totality of Israel as a nation in time and in space. Such rejectionists included Bundists, radical Yiddishists, assimilationists, Reformists, and many of the Orthodox traditionalists.

Rosenstein expressed attitudes like these in journalistic essays, where he described the traditionalists, Zionists, and Reformists of Minsk in the early 20th century. In an essay entitled “On Those Who Slander the Zionists,”[37] he sarcastically described self-righteous Jews in Minsk who publicly derided all Zionists as violators of the Torah, while others demanded that Zionist rabbis and God-fearing Jews break away from Herzl’s Zionist Organisation. Rosenstein responded that those who selflessly come to the aid of beleaguered Jews in Minsk are invariably the Zionists—but never the traditionalists who berate them—and suggested that the beauty of the Zionist Organization lies precisely in the fact that its rabbis and freethinkers work together for the common good of the nation.[38] In another essay he described an effort to establish a liberal synagogue in Minsk (“like the Temples of the enlightened [Jews] in the Lands of the West”). Rosenstein mocked its builders for their cosmopolitan outlook, crude materialism, and utter lack of regard for the needs of Jews in Minsk who lived in dire poverty. At the very same time he wryly noted that such an effort would never have gotten off the ground if not for the unappealing and chaotic nature of the rest of the synagogues in Minsk.[39]

In 1927 there was an American Jewish Hebraist who found it was still possible to send issues of the Hebrew periodical Hadoar from the USA to the USSR. He mailed them to his brother in Minsk, who in turn shared them with Ḥayyim David Rosenstein. In a written response, Rosenstein expressed not just his gratitude for this kindness but also his admiration for Hebrew culture in America:

I’ll tell you the truth, that to me the young American [Hebrew] authors seem much better than the young authors of Ereẓ Yisra’el. But alas, alas for us, the inhabitants of the Soviet ghetto, who are withering away, wasting away for lack of inspiration or a new Hebrew word. Have mercy, dear man, and grant us at least some passages, to quench our terrible thirst for the word of the Lord. There are no longer any seekers of a teacher of Hebrew among us. The conditions of the place are the cause of this. There is no national content to fill the emptiness of our lives.[40]

Rosenstein’s impression of Hebrew culture in America, which he gleaned from afar in the pages of a journal, was poignant and hopeful at the time. But in the end, Hebrew “national content” was ultimately doomed by the warm embrace of America no less than by the cold fist of Soviet totalitarianism. The only place in today’s world where ‘Am Yisra’el can live its national life in its own language is the State of Israel.

In hindsight, the intense and generally positive struggle for the Hebrew language was a highly worthwhile cause and an enormous success. It would have been impossible to unify the Jews of Ereẓ Yisra’el, before and after 1948, and give them a sense of common nationhood, without the Hebrew language as a shared inheritance and subsequently as their spoken tongue. For Jewish immigration flowed into the country from every part of Europe, every corner of the Arab-Muslim world, and beyond. Each tide of immigration brought its own language, and Israel sounded like a Tower of Babel. The synthesizing factor was Hebrew, and its role in deepening the Jewish national spirit cannot be overestimated.[41]

Rosenstein and Birnbaum supported that struggle, and felt that the siddur had a central part to play in it. Yet it is striking that despite being the editors of prayer books, they both mentioned God infrequently in their writing.[42] Perhaps this reflects a kind of modesty, which made it hard for them to write about the sublime, or from a shared aversion to public displays or declarations of piety. Perhaps their very idea of God was somewhat Maimonidean or impersonal and therefore led to fewer words. But it surely had to do with what they saw as the desperate need of the hour: For Rosenstein and Birnbaum, there was a desperate need to strengthen the Jewish national spirit. They saw the siddur as the most basic expression of that spirit, since it expresses the age-old collective yearnings of Israel as a nation in exile, in its own language. Rosenstein and Birnbaum understood that no Jewish religious denomination—no matter how pious, scholarly, enlightened or virtuous it may be—can ever be called Israel. Nor can any Jewish ethnic flavor be thought of as a partner to the ancient covenant. In the siddur, it is the nation of Israel as a collective whole which stands before God in prayer. Rosenstein and Birnbaum appreciated that in order for there to be prayer to the God of Israel, one must first be able to speak of Israel itself. That is why the siddur was critical to them, as the most basic expression of national feeling in Hebrew.

The national life of Israel today is alive and vibrant. It is rich, resilient and strong even as it continues to face extraordinary threats coupled with immense animosity, like no other nation on earth. In order for the siddur to make sense in this reality, those who use it must turn back to the living, personal God of the Bible and Ḥazal who chose that living nation as His own. Rosenstein and Birnbaum correctly understood that the siddur expresses a common language, land, history and fate—critical elements which define many nations. But it is also much more: Quite unlike the harsh dichotomy between nationality and religion typical of the western world, the covenant between God and Israel lies at the heart of the historic national culture of ‘Am Yisra’el.[43] That covenant binds God no less than it obligates Israel. Now that Israel is a living reality, the prayers in the siddur have the potential to live again too, as they did in premodern times before emancipation. The prayers of a nation in exile can become the prayers of a nation that dwells in its land.[44] In fact, never before has the plain meaning of the entire book of Psalms and the extension of all its varied themes as found in the siddur been as literally true as they have become over the past two years. For the siddur to make literal and powerful sense, all it takes now is for communities of ‘Am Yisra’el to turn to the living God of Israel as the nation of the covenant.

Notes:

[1] I refer to “Religious Zionism” as a worldwide movement for well over a century, not to the current Israeli political party which adopted that title.
[2] The premodern sense of “Israel” as a nation, even in exile, is best understood in contrast to the widespread modern use of “Judaism” to signify a religion in the Christian or Protestant sense. For two excellent studies of the latter concept, and how it shaped Jewish identity and thought in modern times, see Leora Batnitzky, How Judaism Became a Religion: An Introduction to Modern Jewish Thought (Princeton University Press, 2011); Avraham Melamed, Dat: From Law to Religion—A History of a Formative Term (Tel Aviv, Hakibbutz Hameuchad: 2014) [Hebrew]. Also see below, n. 37.
[3] Unless otherwise stated, the biographical, historical and literary information in this section is taken from the posthumous edition of Rosenstein’s writings, along with introductions by family members and friends: Ketavim: Ma’amarim, Reshumot, Divrei Sifrut [=Essays and Memoirs] (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1973). I also consulted Shelomoh Even-Shoshan, “Beit Avinu,” Mibifnim 46:4 (1984), pp. 548-553.
[4] Ketavim, p. 14. Haredi opposition to the ḥeder metukan had economic motives as well, because a major form of employment for traditionalists around the turn of the century was as teachers in the chadorim. On this point and on the history of the ḥeder metukan in general, including the information provided here, see Yossi Goldstein, “‘Ha-ḥeder ha-Metukan’ be-Rusya ke-Basis le-Ma‘arekhet ha-Ḥinnukh ha-Ẓiyyonit,” ‘Iyyunim be-Ḥinnukh 45 (1986): 147-157. More information on the ḥeder metukan is available in Hebrew via Yad Vashem. A first-hand description of the project’s initial goals can be found in a letter from Ḥayyim Nahman Bialik to Gershon Stavsky and Yaakov Weinberg in the year 1900, available at Project Ben-Yehuda. Also see M. Ẓ. Frank, “Ha-ḥeder ha-metukan be-Rechytsa,” in He-‘Avar le-Divrei ha-Yehudim veha-Yahadut be-Rusya (volume 16), ed. B. Ẓ. Katz (Tel-Aviv 1969), pp. 85-96.
[5] Ketavim, p. 19.
[6] Unfortunately, during my years at Yeshiva University, I did not know Rav Dovid Lifshitz z”l well, nor did I have any idea why he taught his shi‘urim in Hebrew. This story may shed light on part of the reason.
[7] It is possible that Siddur Rinat Yisra’el itself was partially inspired by Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah in its content (Hebrew commentary and translations) and even in its name (Rinah = Shirah); this suggestion appears in a discussion thread at Forum Otzar HaHochma.
[8] Over the years, sporadic protests against the use of Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah appeared in the ḥaredi press in Israel. A letter to the editor printed in She‘arim 3 (Elul 5735) castigates the siddur for a list  of “‘inaccuracies’ which should really be called misrepresentations” and bemoaned its use in synagogues and yeshivot. A letter to Digleinu (Tishrei 5742) points out that the siddur’s editor was “a certain maskil of the previous generation, and in his preface, which was omitted in the new printing, he boasts that he is one of the founders of the ḥeder metukan (mesukan). His name is Ḥ. D. Rosenstein.” The letter concludes: “This volume, in my humble opinion, is in the category of sifrei minim (heretical works), and it is forbidden to purchase it or bring it into one’s home. And as many good people have failed in this matter, I have felt it my duty to call attention to it.” Here are the texts of these critical letters, via the same thread at Forum Otzar HaHochma (see previous note):

[9] Beit Avinu, pp. 551-552.|
[10] The dates provided here and further biographical information on Birnbaum found below are all based on a well-researched biographical sketch of Birnbaum’s life, including never-before published testimonies to his early life, provided by Yosef Lindell in “Dr. Philip Birnbaum’s Forgotten Ḥumash,” Ḥakirah 35 (Summer 2024), pp. 207-222 (at pp. 208-210). Other biographical facts mentioned below are also based upon Lindell’s fine work. However, despite several excellent essays on Birnbaum which have been published by Lindell and others in recent years, Birnbaum’s Zionism—as a key motivation for his scholarly and popular publications—has been underemphasized or omitted. The description here thus has a different emphasis, but there is nevertheless some unavoidable overlap.
[11] For instance, Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el instructs one to say Morid ha-Tal “during the summer in Ereẓ Yisra’el” (p. 42). Unfortunately, Birnbaum’s adaptation of his original siddur to Minhag Ereẓ Yisra’el was sporadic and incomplete. Apparently, too much text was cut and pasted “as is” from Ha-Siddur ha-Shalem, and wasn’t always changed where it needed to be. Some typical examples: Birnbaum failed to change ve-sabe’enu mi-tuvekha to ve-sabe‘enu mi-tuvah in the ‘Amidah (p. 44). He failed to add Birkat Kohanim, which is said daily in Israel, within the text of the ‘Amidah (e.g. pp. 47-48); instead he added a short note about it at the bottom of the page. He failed to indicate that the final blessing of the ‘Amidah is not changed to ‘oseih ha-shalom during the Ten Days of Repentance in Israel (p. 48). For a complete digital siddur based upon Birnbaum’s original Hebrew version, which fully represents Nosaḥ Ashkenaz in both its traditional and Israeli versions, see Hebrew Wikisource. For a complete list of places in that digital siddur where Birnbaum’s original text has been modified for this purpose, see here.
[12] The introduction is mostly new, not a translation of the English-language introduction to the bilingual Daily Prayer Book. Its first section emphasizes that the fixed community prayers are central to the shared culture of Israel. The second section is a short collection of talmudic maxims on prayer. The third and final section is the longest, a collection of notes by scholars over the generations on the text and procedure of the daily prayers. A number of the items in these three parts are already found in Birnbaum’s original introduction in English, but the Hebrew collection is richer. As for the explanatory notes in Hebrew at the bottom of many pages, they mostly parallel those found in English at the bottom of some of the pages in Birnbaum’s 1949 bilingual Daily Prayer Book, but are not direct translations. In particular, the English-language notes often provide information based on a Hebrew source for which a reference is provided, while in Hebrew that source is cited in its original language. As Yosef Lindell suggested to me in correspondence, Birnbaum may have felt that he could go more in depth with a Hebrew-speaking audience.
[13] In his original bilingual Daily Prayer Book, Birnbaum printed a prayer that was worded specifically for the government of the United States. It asks God to bless “the president and the vice-president and all the officers of this country” (p. 380). But in Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el the Hebrew text was cut down to a simple generic form: “all the officers of this country.” This formulation is artificial, because although it technically fits all countries it actually meets the needs of none. It seems to have been chosen as an easy yet ineffective way to allow the siddur to be used internationally.
[14] I am grateful to Rabbi Gabriel Kretzmer Seed for the color photo of the Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el’s cover. Note that the flash distorts the grey area, which appears more like orange in the photo.
[15] A number of factors may have contributed to the market failure of Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el. It was inappropriate for an Israeli market because it was only printed in Nosaḥ Ashkenaz—the custom of a minority of Ashkenazic synagogues in Israel—and was unsatisfactory in terms of the Israeli version of even that custom (above, n. 11). In addition, the market for a Zionist siddur in Israel had already been captured by Siddur Rinat Yisra’el (Jerusalem, 1970)  which was issued in a more appropriate Ashkenazic version as well as a Sefard version. Then in 1981—just two years after the publication of Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el—Koren publishers issued the first edition of its own siddur, which was also quite popular and more appropriate for use in Israel than Birnbaum’s siddur. Overall, the Hebrew Publishing Company in New York, which marketed all of Birnbaum’s siddurim, never succeeded in penetrating the Israeli market, and was already in its waning years in America when it published Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el in 1979 (see Lindell, pp. 15-16, “The End of the Hebrew Publishing Company”). But the most important factor would seem to be the lack of an audience for a siddur of this type in America: Most American Jewish Zionists who used a traditional siddur preferred a bilingual one.
[16] The Arabic Commentary of Yefet ben ‘Ali the Karaite on the Book of Hosea. Edited from Eight Manuscripts and Provided with Critical Notes and an Introduction by Philip Birnbaum, Ph.D. (Philadelphia: Dropsie College, 1942); doctoral dissertation. He later edited Karaite Studies (New York: Hermon Press, 1971).
[17] Steve Lipman, “Birnbaum version: Bible purged of ‘thees’ and ‘thous’,” The Jewish Week (January 27, 1984), p. 24; cf. Lindell, pp. 5-6.
[18] “Teḥiyyat ha-Lashon ve-Hashpa‘atah” in Peleitat Soferim (Jerusalem, 1971), p. 309 (see the next paragraph regarding this book).
[19] Jewish immigrants to Israel (literally “those who ascend”).
[20] Ibid., pp. 312, 315.
[21]  Ibid., p. 312.
[22] I.e. a former Israeli who has left Israel (literally “gone down”).
[23] Ibid., p. 315.
[24] Ibid., pp. 315-316.
[25] Ibid., pp. 317-320.
[26] On the rededication of Birnbaum’s gravestone, see Ari L. Goldman, “He wrote a beloved prayer book. But his gravestone misspelled his name” (Forward, July 19, 2022); Marla Brown Fogelman, “Bubby and Birnbaum” (Tablet, November 16, 2022). See Yosef Lindell’s blog for links to recordings of and about the rededication ceremony (here). All of these sources describe the new inscription as a reflection of Birnbaum’s great care for language, without mentioning his national feeling. Yet the traditional language which was chosen for the inscription (פיפיות עמו and לשונם) easily conveys that meaning too.
[27] See Cecil Roth, “Was Hebrew Ever a Dead Language?” in his Personalities and Events in Jewish History (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1953), pp. 136-142 (at 136).
[28] The quotation from Roth is found in Jack Fellman, The Revival of a Classical Tongue: Eliezer Ben Yehuda and the Modern Hebrew Language (The Hague: Mouton, 1973), p. 139, but does not appear as cited there in Roth’s “Was Hebrew Ever a Dead Language?” I have not been able to locate its source.
[29] Birnbaum, Peleitat Soferim, p. 306.
[30] Those surviving Jews in modern times who continued to view themselves as ‘Am Yisra’el, managed to preserve just enough national spirit and power to allow for the State of Israel to arise. The Holocaust did not result in the rise of Israel, as is commonly thought today. Rather, Israel was just barely able to rise despite the Holocaust. Watch Yehuda Bauer, “Israel and the Holocaust: Debunking the Myth”.
[31] Birnbaum, Peleitat Soferim, pp. 306-307. This is a play on words, because Hirsh’s Hebrew title for The Nineteen Letters (Altona, 1836) was אגרות צפון.
[32] The open letters are also available via the National Library of Israel (Bamberger to Hirsch and Hirsch to Bamberger).
[33] I have not been able to locate the original editorial. Another version of the newspaper appears here.
[34] A discussion of Rav Kook’s early views on nationhood, universalism, morality and the challenges of modernity may be found in chapters 5-6 of Yehudah Mirsky’s Towards the Mystical Experience of Modernity: The Making of Rav Kook, 1865-1904 (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2019), pp. 233-328.
[35] Michael Weingard, “The Last of the (Hebrew) Mohicans,” Commentary (March 2006), p. 2.
[36] In the “Acknowledgments” at the beginning of his original siddur (1949), Birnbaum thanks a number of scholars who assisted him with his work, beginning with Rabbi Ḥayyim Heller, who is followed by multiple figures associated with non-Orthodox institutions including several from the Jewish Theological Seminary (which was still a highly traditional institution at the time). The “Acknowledgments” page does not appear in the second edition (New York, 1977). On Birnbaum’s opposition to liturgical reform see below, n. 38.
[37] Ketavim, pp. 94-95.
[38] Precisely because Zionism was a national movement, it may be argued that out of all the many competing Jewish ideologies from a century ago, it had the greatest potential for compatibility with the traditional Torah of premodern times, or even to be a fulfillment of that Torah. On a practical level, Zionism in its very nature had room for the entire nation, including those who still strove to be loyal to the ancient covenant. It is therefore not surprising that some of the ḥadarim metukanim eventually joined the Mizrachi movement (founded in 1902).

According to Melamed (Dat, pp. 206-277), modern resistance to the concept of “Judaism” as a religion in the Christian or Protestant sense came simultaneously from the “Orthodox” and “National” (=Zionist) camps. In his analysis, he groups religious Zionists together with the “Orthodox” rather than the “Nationalists,” but the opposite approach might have yielded a richer discussion of Hebrew nationalism and its attitude towards the term dat. He also strives to be balanced in terms of anachronism: “They all criticized the Jews who turned Judaism into a religion for having been influenced by alien elements, while ignoring the fact that their own identification of the Jews as an ummah (nation or volk) in the modern sense of the term, is a product of European nationalism, a clear import from without, no less than the identification of Judaism as a ‘religion’ in the modern sense of the term” (p. 245). This is quite true as a matter of principle, yet not in terms of proportion: It would have been impossible for Melamed to write a volume that describes radical, extraordinary changes throughout history in the sense of Hebrew terms like ‘am or le’om, as he did for the word dat, precisely because even the modern meaning of the former terms has much stronger roots in Israel’s past. In other words, the anachronism is indeed “less” than for the word dat.

That the “Orthodox” and the “nationalists” were both able to reject “Judaism” quite easily as an anachronistic modern concept is best explained by their awareness of the historic term “Israel” in its premodern sense, and of the radical sense of otherness that its use conveyed over the ages. That term, and the ramifications of its use before modernity, are barely considered by Melamed and Batnitzky in their respective books (above, n. 2). In fact, nearly all modern writers routinely translate premodern occurrences of the Hebrew word Yisra’el as “Jew” or “Jews” or “the Jewish People” because modern languages like English typically leave them with no other option. Yet this anachronistic conversion of “Israel” to “Jews” is precisely what obscures the traditional outlook at the roots of both religious and secular Zionism, and even the very choice of “Israel” as the name for the state that rose in 1948.

In Christian Europe before emancipation, Jews and gentiles alike considered the Jews to be a separate nation, a disgraced nation that had been exiled and scattered around the world. Their disagreement was a theological one: Did God hate and reject that nation for its sins (the Christian position), or was that nation still beloved by God as “Israel” despite its failings and contrary to appearances (the Jewish position)? This explains why the term “Israel” was invariably used in Hebrew study, prayer, correspondence and formal writing over the ages: On the one hand, “Jew” was a pejorative term preferred by Christians (it implied betrayal). On the other hand, Jews before modern times made every effort to call themselves “Israel,” the still-proud name of their exiled nation and partner to the divine covenant.
[39] Ketavim, pp. 88-89. The text of Rosenstein’s siddur is entirely traditional, and basically identical to other eastern European siddurim in its day. There is no trace in his writing of a desire for liturgical change in the spirit of the times, just as he avoided modifying the original Hebrew language of other classic texts that he presented in modern Hebrew editions (this is the case for Beit Midrash [Vilna, 1906], Mishnah Berurah [Vilna, 1910] and presumably also for his lost edition of Ein Ya‘akov). In this he provides a contrast to Bialik and Ravnitsky’s Sefer ha-Aggadah (Odessa, 1912). He seems to have viewed the siddur as a national cultural treasure that one must learn to appreciate in its classic formulation. Thus, Reuven Gafni’s conjecture that the fully traditional nature of Rosenstein’s siddur may have been by dint of necessity does not seem correct (“Educational Prayer Books and Synagogues in the Land of Israel During the Mandate,” Dor le-Dor 26 [2013], pp. 433-465 [at p. 436]). Similarly, Birnbaum wrote: “The Siddur should never become a source of contention among any segment of our people. One must not fail to realize that the Siddur is a classic similar to the Bible and the Talmud, to which the terms orthodox, conservative or reform do not apply. Editors of the Siddur should not take liberties with the original, eliminating a phrase here and adding one there, each according to his own beliefs. Such a procedure is liable to breed as many different kinds of public worship as there are synagogues and temples. The danger of rising sects is obvious, sects that are likely to weaken still more our harassed people. The ever-increasing modifications in the text of the Siddur are apt to destroy this unique source book of Judaism, designed for old and young, scholars and laymen” (p. XIII; cf. Lindell, p. 14). In short, the root of this reticence for both of them alike seems to be a concern for national unity combined with a deep respect for national culture, which to their mind included the traditional siddur.
[40] Ketavim, p. 17.
[41] This paragraph is a restatement of Abram Leon Sachar, A History of the Jews (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1965), p. 410.
[42] In terms of Birnbaum, Yosef Lindell noticed this about his introduction to the Daily Prayer Book: “Birnbaum waxes poetic about the Siddur’s educational function, but entirely neglects to discuss how prayer facilitates communication with God. He only adds such a discussion in the second edition. One gets the impression that for Birnbaum, prayer was almost the siddur’s secondary function. Cultivating Jewish knowledge was more important” (ibid., p. 6). Not only is this observation quite true, but even in the discussion added to the second edition—which stresses the public aspect of prayer, its deeper meaning, the need for kavvanah, the importance of custom and the history of the siddur—communication with God is hardly central. The same is true of Birnbaum’s Hebrew introduction to Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el, of his essay Ha-Siddur ve-Lashon ha-Tefillot (Peleitat Soferim, pp. 77-106), and it is typical of the rest of his writing.
[43] That the Torah is the center of Israel’s national culture, which makes any distinction between religion and culture artificial at best, is typical in the outlook of early religious Zionists and of their pedagogical approaches. A bold statement to this effect may be found in Rabbi Chaim Hirschensohn’s introduction to his pedagogical manual for teachers of Talmud, Mosedot Torah shebe-‘Al Peh (Jerusalem, 1889). This approach further means that the written and oral Torah form the core of all Hebrew literature, including modern secular literature. On Hirschensohn see Melamed, Dat, pp. 235-238. A similar sentiment seems to have motivated Rosenstein, who in the year 1900 expressed his desire “to revive our language and return it to the days of its youth, when it was a language of qodesh and ḥol at once” (“Litḥiyyat ha-Safah” in Ketavim, pp. 20-22 [at p. 20]).
[44] The traditional view is that fixed public prayer took place throughout the Second Temple Era. Its content consisted of the same themes as in exilic times, but its wording reflected a pre-exilic reality. As Rabbi Shim‘on ben Ẓemaḥ Duran expressed it, “Our wording of prayer today is clearly not the same as how they prayed when the Temple stood. For we pray that that Kingdom of David be restored, that the Temple be rebuilt soon in our days, and that our scattered people be gathered together. But they would pray for the Kingdom of David to continue, for the Temple not to be destroyed, and for Israel not to be exiled from its land. Similarly, when the High Priest prayed the blessing reẓeh on the Day of Atonement, he did not pray using our words…” (Responsa II:161; cf. Ramban on Berakhot 49a). On the views of Duran and others as to whether rabbinic prayer is meant to be a fixed text or more of a general structure, see my Kavvana: Directing the Heart in Jewish Prayer (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1997), pp. 257-357; “Each River and its Channel: Halakhic Attitudes Toward Liturgy” (Torah Musings, October 30, 2011).

 

Book announcement:  New work on Tefilah

By: Eliezer Brodt

דוד הנשקה, לבקש תפלה: תפילות הקבע בתלמודם של חכמים, ב‘ חלקים, 1304 עמודים

I am very happy to announce the publication of an important work (in time for reading over Pesach) which I have been eagerly awaiting; Professor David Henshke of the Talmud Department at Bar Ilan University’s Livakeish Tefilah. The books were published by Magnes Press.

Back in 2016 I announced his work on the Leil Haseder. If you did not get it yet, I highly recommend it. In that post, I highlighted the reason for my excitement and the strengths and uniqueness of that work-something I still stand by.

Relevant to this new work I will quote part of what I wrote than with some minor updates:

Professor Henshke shows a command of two worlds which some feel cannot go together, the Yeshivah and Academic worlds. He learned by various greats of the past including R’ Yisroel Gustman, R’ Binyamin Ze’ev Benedict, and R’ Shlomoh Fisher, has served as a maggid Shiur, worked for Encyclopedia Talmudit for a while, and is extremely familiar with the Yeshivisheh Torah in all areas, including Kodoshim and Taharos. His works shows an incredible command of the relevant sources, from Chazal and onwards, Geonim, Rishonim and Achronim. At the same time, he shows the same impressive breadth in academic literature as well as deep understanding and utilization of the various methodologies. He is careful to examine all the material from scratch, including the manuscripts, to the finest details. This allows him to look at the sugyah with a fresh look. Additionally, he is also a great “Mechadish” and has originated many new ideas on various issues. Professor Henshke is an outstanding example of the tremendous benefit in combining both worlds (a topic for a different time). All this is done with Yiras Shamyim and with proper respect of whoever he is dealing with, even when he is arguing with them.

In general, Professor Henshke’s lectures and written material focus on the Peshat. Basing himself upon a meticulous reading of the texts, he then approaches Chazal (Midrashei halacha and Mishna-Tosefta) by putting each halachah into its proper literary perspective (each corpus reflects the Halachos as learned in a different Bais Midrash; that of R’ Yishmael and that of R’ Akiva). This approach, coupled with his phenomenal scope allows him to connect seemingly non-related halachos, weaving an intricate tapestry worthy of both Rosh Yeshiva and scholastic.

He has written over 140 articles and three books (here, here & here) developing and elaborating on his methods. Many of his articles are available here thanks to the efforts of my dear friend Menachem Butler

In recent years, Tefilah has finally begun receiving the in-depth treatment it needs and deserves, both through the publication of new Seforim, (and reprints of older ones) and through academic works. IY”H, I hope to discuss this in an upcoming podcast episode.

Henshke opens his work with an insightful overview of its goals and limitations before diving into the depths of the sugyos. The current volumes are certainly not a light read, but they provide a profound and original perspective, offering a deeper understanding of numerous sugyos related to Tefilah. This work is sure to become a definitive study on the subject.

If one is interested in reading the introduction or some articles by Professor Henshke that were later updated and incorporated into this work, feel free to email me at Eliezerbrodt@gmail.com

Here are the Table of Contents of this special work. Simply looking at it gives one sense of some of the issues he deals with.

The book can be purchased through me at Eliezerbrodt@gmail.com or via Magnes Press.