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The Haftarot of the Sabbaths of Hanukkah and the Haftarah of the Sabbath of Rosh Ḥodesh Tevet

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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. ↑

 



Chanukah Controversies, Customs and Scholarship: A Roundup & Update

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Chanukah Controversies, Customs and Scholarship: A Roundup & Update

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

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

Controversies and Contested History

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

Games, Mathematics, and Mythmaking

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

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

Customs, Food, and Forgotten Practices

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

The Menorah in Text and Image

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

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

New and Notable

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

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

Sefer Minhagim, 1724, Gross Family Collection

Chanukah Samach!



On the Times Commonly Presented for Birkat HaL’vana: Part 1

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On
the Times Commonly Presented for Birkat HaL’vana: Part 1
Avi
Grossman
 
Abstract
 
Typical
Jewish calendars list two particular z’manim for “the
first time that one may begin to recite kiddush l’vana (or
birkat hal’vana).” The first is referred to as minhag
yerushalayim or minhag haperushim, or simply “the
three-day minhag,” and the second time, to wait for seven
days to pass from the start of the lunar month to recite the
blessing, is attributed to the Shulhan Aruch. These two times are
calculated as exactly either 72 hours or 168 hours after the average
molad of each Hebrew month. These positions do not truly
reflect those of our sages, nor of the Rishonim, and nor of the
Shulhan Aruch. The usual shul calendars,
like the Ittim L’vina calendar and the Tukachinsky calendar,
mislead the public with regards to when the earliest time for saying
the blessing really is. The issue is based on a number of fallacious
calculations, including misapplying a chumra of the Pri
M’gadim regarding an opinion of the Rema to an opinion of the
Shulhan Aruch, and assuming that the
Shulhan Aruch completely dismissed the
halacha as described by the Talmud in favor of a later, kabbalistic
opinion. The purpose of this article is to argue for a reevaluation
as to how the typical calendars present these issues to the laymen
and to call for a more accurate presentation of the z’manim
as understood by Rishonim like Maimonides.
Introduction
If
you take a look at the usual Jewish calendars, you will find that
every month two particular z’manim are presented for “the
first time that one may begin to recite kiddush l’vana (or
birkat hal’vana).” The first is based on the writings of
the Vilna Gaon, and referred to as minhag yerushalayim or
minhag haperushim, or simply “the three-day minhag,”
and the second is attributed to Rabbi Yosef Karo, the author of the
Beth Yosef and the Shulhan Aruch, who was
usually referred to by the name of his former work. The Shulhan
Aruch makes mention of waiting for seven days to pass (ostensibly
from the start of the lunar month) to recite the blessing. These two
times are calculated as follows: exactly 72 hours (3 times 24 hours)
or 168 hours (7 times 24 hours) after the average molad of
each Hebrew month, the molad that is announced in the
synagogue before each Rosh Hodesh and used to calculate when each
Tishrei is to start, thereby making it the basis for our set
calendar.
It
is my goal to show that these positions do not truly reflect those of
our sages, nor of the Rishonim, and that Beth Yosef himself actually
held like the majority of Rishonim, while his seven-day minhag
is also misrepresented in the printed calendars. The usual shul
calendars, like the Ittim L’vina calendar and the Tukachinsky
calendar, mislead the public with regards to when the earliest time
for saying the blessing really is. I have tried to speak to the
publishers about this issue, but to no avail.
Talmud
And Rishonim: Birkat Hal’vana Ideally On Rosh Hodesh
Rabbi
David Bar Hayim maintains that the monthly recitation of birkat
hal’vana
should, in accordance with the plain meaning of the Talmud and the
opinion of the rishonim, ideally be on Rosh Hodesh, and in the event
that that cannot be done, as soon as possible thereafter. See here.
His first proofs are the most elegant.
 
“Whoever
recites the b’rakha over the new moon at the proper time
(bizmano) welcomes, as it were, the presence of the Sh’khina”
(Sanhedrin 42a). What does bizmano mean if not that one
should strive to recite this b’rakha at the earliest
opportunity? In a number of manuscripts we find a variant reading –
“Whoever recites the b’rakha for Rosh Hodhesh…” – which
leaves no room for doubt as to R. Yohanan’s
intention.
 
It
should also be noted that throughout the rest of the Talmud, “z’mano”
of the new moon is the night it is supposed to be sighted, i.e., the
first night of the month. He also points out that
The
Talmud Y’rushalmi (B’rakhoth 9:2) speaks plainly of reciting the
b’rakha at the time of the moon’s reappearance (HaRo’e
eth HaL’vana b’hidhusha).
This is also the very deliberate wording of both Halakhoth G’dholoth
and Riph (Chap 9 43b). This expression can only be understood as
explained above.
 
This
is also the language utilized by Maimonides and the Shulhan
Aruch, and will become crucial when we seek to understand the opinion
of the Beth Yosef. Rabbi Nahum Rabinovitch,
the math professor turned Rosh Yeshiva, also told me that such is the
halacha, and it is proper to make others aware of this. There is a
group called the Israeli New Moon Society that keeps track of the
sightings of the new moon and publishes online guides for amateurs
who wish to spot the new moon. The society enjoys Rabbi Rabinovitch’s
support, and he used the society’s founder’s diagrams in his own
commentary on Maimonides’s Hilchot Kiddush
HaHodesh.
This
position should come as a surprise to many. In America, the
prevailing practice is to wait specifically for after the Sabbath,
while here in Israel most are used to hearing about the three-day or
seven-day customs.
We
should begin our discussion with the relevant Talmudic sources, YT
Berachot 9:2 and BT Sanhedrin 42-43, which state that one has until
the sixteenth of the month to recite birkat hal’vana. The
running assumption of the rishonim and logic is that the assumed
first time to recite the blessing is right at the beginning of the
month, similar to the obvious point that if one were told to perform
a commandment in the morning and that he had until 9am, then it would
be understood that he can start doing it when the morning starts.
After all, is he supposed to do it before the morning, while it is
still the preceding night? This position is explicit in Rashi’s
comments to the gemara, the Meiri’s explanation thereof, and in
Maimonides’s codification of the law (Berachot, 10:16-17), but is
also the only way to understand the halacha unless other
considerations are introduced. A simple reading of the both Talmudim
indicate without a doubt that the blessing is to be recited on Rosh
Hodesh. Rabbi Kappah, in his commentary to the Mishneh Torah (ibid.),
writes that this is and always was the Yemenite practice. Note also
that this halacha makes no mention of the molad or of any
calculation concerning the first time for reciting this blessing,
because as one of the birkot har’iya, it only depends on
seeing something.
I
believe that Hazal instituted this blessing specifically for the
first sighting of the moon because, once upon a time, the Jewish
people joyously anticipated the first sighting of the moon. The
Mishna in Rosh Hashana (chapter 2) describes how the Sanhedrin
actually wanted to encourage competition among potential witnesses!
Jewish life once revolved around the calendar, which itself was not
predetermined. Thus, every month, Jews throughout ancient Israel and
the Diaspora were involved in keeping track of the sighting of the
new moon, as it affected when the holidays would be. Imagine not
knowing during the first of week of Elul if the first of Tishrei was
going to be on Thursday or perhaps on Friday some weeks later. It can
have a major effect on everyone’s holiday plans.
However,
most of the calendars do not take into account when the actual first
sighting of the moon will be every month. Instead, they follow a
different interpretation of a view cited in the Beth Yosef, thus
presenting a first time for birkat hal’vana
that is sometimes as many as three days after the actual first
opportunity.
Massechet
Sof’rim And Rabbeinu Yona: Other Considerations
 
Rabbeinu
Yona (attached to the Rif’s rulings at the very end of the fourth
chapter of BT Berachot, page 21a in the Vilna printing, and cited by
the Beth Yosef to Tur Orah Hayim 426, “garsinan
b’masechet sof’rim;”)
describes three ways to understand what Massechet Sof’rim
meant by not reciting the blessing “ad
shetitbassem.” Evidently, his version of Sof’rim was
different from ours, in which the first line of chapter 20 begins
with “ad motza’ei shabbat, k’shehu m’vusam.”
This verb, titbassem, is from the root b-s-m, and like most
future tense forms with the prefix tau but no suffix, it can
either have a second-person masculine singular
subject (in this case, the one reciting the blessing), or a feminine
third-person singular subject (the moon). Rabbeinu Yona
rejects the interpretation that it means to wait until Motzaei
Shabbat, when we recite the blessing over the besamim, because
Saturday night and Sunday have nothing to do with Rosh Hodesh more
than other days of the week. Our Rosh Hodesh is actually distributed
perfectly evenly among the days of the week. That is, one out of
every seven days that we observe as Rosh Hodesh is a Sunday, and
waiting for Saturday night every month can often considerably delay
the blessing. What if Rosh Hodesh was Monday? Why wait practically a
whole week to recite birkat hal’vana? The idea does not fit
with the typical halachic principle of trying to perform a religious
function as soon as possible.
Rabbeinu
Yona does not then entertain the reading of Sof’rim we possess,
which offers a different connection between the root b-s-m and
Motza’ei Shabbat, but instead offers his own interpretation: that
the moon should look like a “canopy.”
If only about a 90 degree arc is visible, it is a stretch to say that
it looks canopy-like, but if it is closer to 180 degrees, then it
looks like what he is describing. This opinion was apparently not
accepted by any subsequent scholars, because it finds no mention in
subsequent literature. Lastly, Rabbeinu Yona offers his own mentor’s
understanding, and this is the basis for all later misunderstandings:
titbassem refers to the light of the
moon being significantly “sweet,” a
state that it only achieves “two to (or
‘or’) three days” into the new lunar cycle. He uses
intentionally vague language, because no
two months are the same. By the time the moon becomes visible for the
first time, it could be that the molad
itself was anywhere from approximately twelve hours to 48 hours
before that, and each month has its own set of astronomical
conditions that affect this.[1] The possibilities are endless, and there is no objective rule for
determining how much time the moon takes each month to get to the
stage Rabbeinu Yona’s mentor describes, and that is why he used the
vague terminology “two to three days.”
More importantly, the “two to three days”
statement is just an example of how long it takes, but the underlying
rule is when the light becomes “sweet.”
I
will give an analogy.
Rubin
wished to buy a silver goblet from Simon. Simon asked Rubin for $200
in exchange for the goblet. Rubin, searching through his wallet,
realized he had not the cash, but he needed the goblet very soon.
Turning to Simon, he said, “Right now, it
is about 9:30 Wednesday morning. I need this goblet at lunch today,
and if you give me two to three days to come up with the cash, I
would be grateful.” Simon agreed, because he knew that Rubin was
going to go back to his own business selling tomatoes and shoes, and
that sometimes he did not work Fridays, and the odds were good that
Rubin would have enough left after sales and buying his children
snacks to pay Simon. Now, we would all consider it perfectly
reasonable for Rubin to come back to Simon Thursday night at 8pm, or
Friday morning at 10am, or right before Shabbat, or even right after
Shabbat, because in languages like 13th-century Rabbinic Hebrew and
Modern Hebrew and English, “two to three
days” or “two or three days” allow
for all of those possibilities. The halacha also allows for that.
Thursday evening is at the end of two business days, right before
Shabbat is at the end of three, and right after Shabbat is the end of
the third day from when Rubin asked for more time. But all can be
described as having as taken place “two
to three days” from when Rubin made his request.
Back
to the moon: it seems that in every subsequent work you can find
(with the very important and critical exception of the Beth Yosef),
the opinion of Rabbeinu Yona’s mentor is referred to as “Rabbeinu
Yona’s opinion,” even though he offered
one that actually differed from that of his mentor, and it is
inaccurately reported as “waiting for three days after the molad,”
taking out the critical “two or/to.”
Even later, it is further transformed into waiting until after three
full days have passed, i.e., at least 72 hours. This
evolution is clear from reading the sources as they appear in the
halachic record in chronological order. This is unfortunate and also
illogical, because we saw above that the whole idea of “two
to three days” is only offered as a way to describe how long it may
take the light of the moon to become “sweet.”
It could actually vary, because the sweetness is the point.
A
typical example was Rosh Hodesh Adar 5777,
when both the mean molad and the
actual molad happened
early Sunday morning, e.g. between 4 am and 9 am, the moon was
not visible Sunday night, nor visible all Monday during the day, but
Monday night, after sunset, which is halachically Tuesday, the new
moon became visible to most people, assuming cooperative weather
conditions. Thus, it takes “two to three
days,” i.e., a vague window of 26 to 72 hours, for the new moon to
show up after the molad. In our
case, it took most of Sunday, all of Monday, and just the beginning
of Tuesday, about 40 hours later, for the moon to reappear. Rabbi
Rabinovitch’s son, Rabbi Mordechai Rabinovitch, pointed this out to
me some years ago. The idea that miktzat hayom k’chullo,
that a part of the day is considered a full halachic day, is well
grounded in halacha. To sum up, Rabbeinu Yona did not mean “three
days, in every single situation, no matter what,” and even if he
had said that the underlying rule is to wait three days from the
beginning of the cycle, why did later authorities add that “at
least” modifier?
The
Beth Yosef and others who came after Rabbeinu Yona mentioned that the
new lunar cycle officially starts with the molad. Now, the
molad as discussed by the
authorities is just an average; the actual conjunction is usually a
few hours before or after it. It takes some time after the actual
conjunction for the new moon to become visible. Enough time has to
elapse from the conjunction for the moon to be both objectively large
enough to actually be seen and far enough from the sun’s location
in the sky for it not to be out shone. The first time any moon is
visible is usually after sunset the day after the actual molad,
and sometimes only after the sunset two days after the molad.
In practice, it is usually impossible to see the new moon on the
halachic day of the molad or on the
halachic day after the molad. Only
on the third day, which starts at sundown concluding the second day,
is the new moon visible.[2]
This
is the first premise of the misunderstanding: the actual first
sighting of the new moon will, in the overwhelming majority of cases,
satisfy Rabbeinu Yona’s rule as actually stated, but if one were to
decide to wait to recite the blessing the maximum interpretation of
“three days” from the molad,
and only decide to use the mean molad,
which has no actually bearing on the reality of the moon’s
visibility, then he would wait 72 hours from that molad,
and in the vast majority of months the end of that 72 hour period
will either greatly precede the next possible citing of the moon or
just miss that sighting. Because the new moon is visible for a few
minutes to an hour and a half or so after the sunset, if those 72
hours do not terminate around then, one will have to wait for the
next night to recite the blessing. In our example above, such a
person would wait until Wednesday morning between 4am and 9am to
recite the blessing, when the moon by definition is not visible due
to its proximity to the sun, and then be forced to wait even longer,
until Wednesday night, which is halachically Thursday, in order to
recite the blessing “at the first
opportunity”! Thus, he has delayed the recitation two full days! It
gets more extreme, when for some reason, the calendar invokes the
(not so talmudic) rule that the blessing not be recited on Friday
night even when it is the “first
opportunity,” pushing off the blessing to Saturday night, three
days after the true first opportunity.[3]
Why
would anyone do such a thing? Who would read Rabbeinu Yona such a way
and then rule that normative practice should follow it? The Beth
Yosef himself does not subscribe to Rabbeinu Yona’s rule to begin
with.
The
answer is the Pri M’gadim, but first some more background.
The
Last Time For Birkat Hal’vana
According
to BT Sanhedrin (ibid.), the last opportunity for the birkat
hal’vana is the 16th of the month. Now, the Gemara is speaking
quite generally. It assumes that a month is 30 days long, thus making
the 16th night the beginning of the second half of the month, and
usually marking the point that the moon is beginning to wane. Indeed,
in deficient, 29-day months, it makes sense that the last opportunity
should be the night of the 15th. The Beth Yosef (ibid., “uma
shekathav rabbeinu w’hanei shisha asar”)
makes note of this and other similar issues, and then notes that
there are more exact ways of determining the midpoint of the lunar
month.
That
is, the Talmud gave a very imprecise sign for determining when the
moon is no longer waxing, but leaves room for more precise
calculations. The Tur, (ibid.) for example, mentions that the true
last time for the blessing is exactly half the time between the
average moladoth, what the pos’kim
call me’et l’et
(literally, “from time to time”), and
often meant to mean exactly 24 hours after a certain event. In this
case, it means exactly half the time between the moladoth,[4] which, as pointed out by many commentators, can actually fallout
before or after the 16th (or 15th) night of the month. This is the
opinion adopted by the Rema (Orah Hayim 426:3) for determining the
final time for the blessing. The Beth Yosef (ibid.) mentions an even
more exact determination of the middle of the lunar month: the lunar
eclipse, which by definition occurs at the exact midpoint of the
month.
Presumably,
in a month absent a lunar eclipse, the midpoint of the month could be
calculated by studying the actual moladoth
before and after that month, and there are now many free computer
programs that can easily do this. The Shulhan
Aruch thus rules that one can stick with the most inexact calculation
(Orah Hayim 426:3), but the Pri M’gadim (Eshel Avraham 13 to
Orah Hayim 426) declares that just like we, the Ashkenazim, follow
the Rema, who said that the yard stick for measuring the last time of
the blessing is me’et
l’et, exactly half the time between
the average moladot,
so too, with regards to the first time of the blessing, the practice
is to wait three days me’et
l’et, exactly 72 hours, from the
molad, before reciting
the blessing!
The
Pri M’gadim makes no explanation as to why that should be so, and
it is especially hard to justify his claim, as the first time for
saying the blessing should strictly depend on the first sighting of
the moon, whereas the final time for the blessing should depend on
when the moon is full. Further, the Rema himself made no actual
mention of when he believes to be the first time for the recitation
of Birkat Hal’vana, and without this interjection of the Pri
M’gadim, one would figure that the Rema holds like the implication
of the Talmud above, that the ideal time for the blessing is on Rosh
Hodesh, or at least perhaps when Rabbeinu
Yona says it should be.
Despite
this, the Pri M’gadim’s opinion is mentioned by the Mishna Berura
(426:20), and that has ended the discussion for the calendar
printers, despite the fact that it was clear for millennia before the
Pri M’gadim, who was born in 1727, that the first opportunity for
the recitation of this blessing should not be delayed. After all, how
many of us ever delay the blessing over seeing the ocean or
lightning? Further, one cannot derive that there is a both a rule as
to how luminous the moon needs to be and about how Saturday night is
ideal because they are mutually exclusive, alternate readings of the
same line in Sof’rim. The whole idea that the authorities ever
accepted that the moon needs to be a minimum size was never fully
accepted, and even if there were those who subscribed to Rabbeinu
Yona’s vague position, none of them
before the Pri M’gadim assigned a
strictly quantifiable time period to that standard.
We
now need to address the following questions: 1. If it is clear from
the Gemara and Rishonim that the blessing should be recited as soon
as possible during the lunar month, why did Rabbeinu Yona’s novel
opinion gain so much support? 2. Why has this opinion of the Pri
M’gadim become so popular? Does it not misunderstand an opinion
that itself should be discounted?
In
Maaseh Rav 159, it is recorded in the name of the Vilna Gaon (who was
a contemporary of the Pri M’gadim) that birkat hal’vana
should not be postponed until seven days after (the start of the
month), nor until Saturday night, but rather “we sanctify
immediately after 3 days from the molad.” This seems to be
an endorsement of Rabbeinu Yona’s position and the source for
minhag yerushalyim, but as we have just argued, it would be a
stretch to say that it could only be understood as the Pri M’gadim
did. It would seem to make more sense to interpret this as Rabbeinu
Yona himself wrote, “2 or 3 days” which allows for periods of
time much shorter than the maximum 72 hours.
We
have thus shown that with regards to general Ashkenazic practice, the
calendars present a time for birkat hal’vana that has little
basis in the oldest sources. I have not found a single work that
takes up the problem of the Pri M’gadim declaring what the Rema’s
position is with regard to the first time of birkat hal’vana,
and the contemporary scholars familiar with the matter all hold like
the simple understanding of the gemara according to Maimonides,
namely that birkat hal’vana should be recited as soon
as the new moon can be seen, with no consideration of how much time
that actually takes after the molad. It would seem that the
calendars, if they were to be honest, would notify their readers of
when the moon is first technically visible each month, as per the
Israeli New Moon Society’s charts, which usually satisfy Rabbeinu
Yona’s and anyone who subscribes to his position’s conditions,
and then to present the Pri M’gadim’s position, and refer to it
as such.
To
be continued in part 2.
[1] See this chart.
Notice that no two months share a percent illumination, nor location
in the sky, and each has its own level of difficulty being spotted.
When two days are shown consecutively, it is because the first day’s
conditions were not sufficient for most to have actually enjoyed or
even seen the light of the moon.
[2] As pointed out on the last page of the linked file in note 1, Maimonides did feel that there was a mathematical formula for determining minimal visibility.
[3] The Mishna Berurah (426:12 and Sha’ar Hatziyun ad loc) mentions that based on Kabbala, birkat hal’vana should not be said on Friday night, probably lest reciters come to dance, However, the way the halacha stood for millennia never included this novel rule, and the prohibition against dancing on the Sabbath and Festivals is itself a Rabbinic “fence” around a Biblical prohibition, and there is a Talmudic rule that we do not make “decrees to protect decrees.” More so, even though there are still some lone holdouts who maintain that this prohibition against dancing is still in force, most communities follow the opinion of the Tosafists (Beitza 30a) that nowadays there is no such prohibition. Thus, the almost universal custom of hakafot on Simchat Torah, which, if not for the Tosafists’ leniency, would be rabbinically forbidden.
[4] 29 days, 12 hours, and 793 chalakim. Each chelek is 3 and 1/3 seconds, so 793 chalakim equals 2643 and 1/3 seconds, or about 44 minutes. The half way point between the moladot would therefore be 14 days, 18 hours and 22 minutes or so after the first molad.


PIYYUT ON THE SURVIVAL OF THE JEWS OF BRECLAV (LUNDENBURG) ON JANUARY 23, 1698

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PIYYUT ON THE SURVIVAL OF THE JEWS OF BRECLAV (LUNDENBURG)[1] ON JANUARY 23, 1698
By David Roth[2]
I found a printed pamphlet in the National Library of Israel[3] entitled סליחות מה שאומרים כאן ק”ק לונדענבורג בי”א טבת בכל שנה והמאורע יבואר בתוך הסליחות …, translated as “the selihoth prayers that are recited here [in] the community of Lundenberg (Břeclav), on the 11th of Teveth every year, and the event [commemorated] will be told in the selihoth”.  The pamphlet was published in 5655 [1894-1895], almost two hundred years after the event took place, meaning that the practice of commemorating this date lasted for quite a long time, very possibly until the outbreak of World War II.[4]
What happened to the Jewish community of Lundenburg?
In the חטאנו piyyut contained in this pamphlet, we have a description of the events of 11 Teveth 5458, corresponding to January 23, 1698.[5]  On that day, the dome of the Synagogue collapsed, and the members of the community were almost killed, but they were miraculously saved.  As such, the community established for itself and future generations to fast half a day, and to celebrate the other half of the day, a construct commonly referred to as a “Purim”.  Note that this is the day after a public fast day, so by establishing this fast, the community accepted upon itself to fast half a day immediately after fasting a full day, something that is fairly unusual.  While the practice of establishing local fasts and Purim celebrations is well documented[6] and was practiced in many communities, this particular holiday celebrated in this community is not so well known.
About the order of the selihoth:
The order of the selihoth in the pamphlet is as follows:
  • The pamphlet begins with an instruction that the chazzan repeats the Amidah until מחל לנו מלכנו כי פשענו and then begins the selihoth, something that was common to all selihoth for fast days.
  • It then contains a selihoth service, including the full text of the piyyut איה קנאתך וגבורתך, the pizmon יי יי א-ל רחום וחנון, and the akeidah [7]אם אפס רבע הקן, with the thirteen attributes of mercy (י”ג מדות הרחמים) before and after each piyyut.
  • The service then continues with זכור רחמיך, until חטאנו צורינו, at which point the חטאנו piyyut, described at length below, is recited.
  • After the חטאנו, the service continues with זכור לנו ברית אבות[8], שמע קולינו,and וידוי until הרחמים והסליחות, with an instruction to continue ואל יעכב, meaning that at this point the chazzan finishes his repetition of the Amidah.
In addition to the pamphlet already mentioned, in אוצר השירה והפיוט (index of piyyutim), Davidson makes reference to this piyyut (number 8498א), and he refers to an article where this piyyut was previously published – אוצר הספרות ח”ב, עמ’ 112.  The article – entitled מקורות לקורות בני ישראל by דוד קויפמאנן, was published in תרמ”ח (1888), before the other pamphlet of the selihoth described above, meaning that it must have been based on an earlier printing or manuscript of this piyyut.  In the article, the earlier piyyutim (meaning everything prior to the chatanu) are not printed in full, but rather the service is summarized as follows:
והם הסליחות שאומרים בי”א בטבת
איה קנאתך וגבורתך, סימן ו
פזמון י”ג מדות יי יי א-ל, [סימן] פה
עקידה מצום גדליה: אם אפס, [סימן] מט
זכור: עד אל רשעו ואל חטאתו
ואחרי כך סליחה זו:
[טקסט השלם של החטאנו]
And for a rough translation of the service summary:
Ayei kinathecha u-gevorothekha – number 6
Pizmon – 13 attributes – [number] 85
Akeidah for the Fast of Gedaliah – im afes – number 49
Zekhor until el rish’o ve-el hatatho, and afterwards he says this: [the full text of the chatanu piyyut].
Based on this, we can infer that the selihoth service was originally distributed to members of the community as an insert to put in their selihoth book for yamim noraim.  Furthermore, the numbers listed in this description for the first three selihoth show that this community recited selihoth according to the Bohemian rite, one of the forms of the Eastern Ashkenazic rite.
Noteworthy observations:
The presence of one selihah, a pizmon, an akeidah, and a chatanu is in and of itself something very unusual, as usually a selihot service would have more than one selihah, and the presence of an akeidah would imply a longer selihot service since this type of piyyut is not always present in a selihot service.[9]
There are several unusual things that must be noted about this chatanu piyyut.  As discussed earlier, this community recited selihoth according to the Bohemian rite, one of the Eastern Ashkenazic selihoth rites. The existence of a חטאנו piyyut in an Eastern Ashkenazic selihoth rite is, in and of itself, a phenomenon that is worth noting.  While Western European rites recite a חטאנו piyyut at almost all occasions that they recite selihoth, חטאנו piyyutim in Eastern European rites, at least in print, rarely recite chatanu piyyutim.[10] It is surprising that somebody who is, most likely, not extremely familiar with this type of piyyut would see it fit to write one for this occasion.
Additionally, the structure of the piyyut is extremely bizarre.  In general, chatanu piyyutim repeat the phrase חטאנו צורנו סלח לנו יוצרנו after every two stanzas; in this piyyut, there is an instruction to recite this phrase after every stanza.  Furthermore, in most חטאנו piyyutim, there is שרשור (anadiplosis), meaning that the last word of each stanza is identical to the first word of the next stanza; this poetic phenomenon does not exist in our piyyut.  This leads me to believe that our poet either wrote this as a chatanu without fully understanding the structure of a chatanu, or it is possible that he wrote it as a different type of piyyut and somebody else inserted it in this place and added the refrain of חטאנו צורנו after each stanza.
The piyyut is signed “אני אלעזר הלוי אב”ד בקהלתינו ל”ב חזק ואמץ, I am Elazar the Levite, Rabbi our community L.B. (=Lundenburg), be strong and courageous.”  Although special emphasis is not given to all of the letters, the letters אבד, which in the context of our piyyut means “was lost” but can also serve as the abbreviation for אב בית דין, “Rabbi of the community”, are written as א”ב”ד, making clear that it is supposed to be part of the acrostic.  Unfortunately, I was not able to find any additional information about this Rabbi, although he was presumably the Rabbi of Břeclav/Lundenburg at the time of this event or slightly afterwards, and the אוצר הספרות article says that he was the rabbi at the time of the event although doesn’t cite a source for that claim.
Text and translation of Piyyut:
Below, I have typed up the text of the פיוט.  The אוצר הספרות version of the piyyut is unvocalized; the version in the pamphlet is vocalized, but the vocalization is at times problematic and contains obvious errors. As such, I have used the pamphlet as my base text, but corrected obvious problems to the vocalization.  I have also added notes on where I think there may be an alternative reading, and noted any major (anything other than מלא/חסר) variants in the other text of the piyyut I have available to me.  I have also added references to idioms from Tanakh and Rabbinic sources, and provided an approximate translation.
Text in Hebrew:
חָטָאנוּ צוּרֵנוּ סְלַח לָנוּ יוֹצְרֵנוּ
  אֶ֯ת יי נוֹדֶה בְּפִינוּ וּבְתוֹךְ רַבִּים נְהֲלְּלֶנּוּ
  אֲמִתְּךָ וְחַסְדְּךָ תָּמִיד יִצְּרוּנוּ
  יֵאָמְנוּ צִדְקוֹתֶיךָ אֲשֶׁר בְּךָ מִבְטָחֵינוּ
  מַה נְּדַבֵּר וּמַה נִּצְטַדָּק[11] אֶל אֱ-לוֹהֵינוּ חטאנו
5  נִ֯כְלַמְנוּ בַּעֲווֹנֵינוּ בּוֹשְׁנוּ בְּמַעֲשֵׂינוּ
  וְנָהִינוּ נָא אַל תִּזְכָּר לָנוּ אֶת עֲווֹנוֹתֵינוּ
  לְקִרְיַת נָוְךָ נַהֲלֵינוּ
  בְּךָ תוֹחַלְתֵּינוּ וְאַתָּה יי מְחוֹלֲלֵינוּ חטאנו
  י֯וֹם זֶה קָבַעְנוּ לָנוּ לְצוֹם וְלִזְעָקָה
10 חֲצִי לַיי וַחֲצִי לָכֶם[12] לְחַלְּקָה
   לְהוֹדוֹת וּלְהַלֵּל עַל הַנִּיסִים[13] שֶׁעָשָׂה לָנוּ לְתָמְכָהּ וּלְחָזְקָהּ
   לְבַל הָיָה[14] לָנוּ לְמִכְשׁוֹל וּלְפוּקָה חטאנו
   אֶ֯ל֯ בֵּית מִקְדָּשֵׁינוּ מְעַט[15] לְהִתְפַּלֵּל מִנְחָה הָלַכְנוּ בְּאוֹרַח יְשָׁרָה
   דָּפַקְנוּ דַּלְתוֹת הַבַּיִת יָבֹא אֶל הַקֹּדֶשׁ בְּיִרְאָה וּבְמִצְוַת בָּרָה
15 פִּתְאוֹם הָיִינוּ נִלְכָּדִים ח”ו בִּמְצוּדָה רָעָה[16] זוּ תּוֹרָה וְזוּ שְׂכָרָהּ[17]?!
   בְּי”א בְּטֵבֵת שְׁנַת חָתָ”ן תּוֹרָה
חָטָאנוּ צוּרֵנוּ סְלַח לָנוּ יוֹצְרֵנוּ[18]
   עֵ֯זֶ֯ר וּתְרוּפָה הָיָה לְכוּלָּנוּ
   לוּלֵי יי עֶזְרָתָה לָּנוּ
   כִּמְעַט כִּסְדוֹם הָיִינוּ וְלַעֲמוֹרָה דָּמִינוּ
20 יְהִי חַסְדְּךָ יי עָלֵינוּ[19] חטאנו
   הַ֯לְ֯וִ֯יִּ֯ם וְאַהֲרוֹנִים, וְכָל הָעֵדָה רוּבָּם כְּכוּלָּם הָיִּינוּ עוֹמְדִים לִפְנֵי הַר הַבַּיִת לַעֲרוֹךְ
תַּחֲנוּנִים
   וּבְיַד צִיר נֶאֱמָן[20] הַמִפְתֵּחוֹת לִפְתּוֹחַ בּוֹנִים[21]
   וּבְפָתְחוֹ הַדְּבִיר עָמְדוּ כָּל הָעָם לִכְנוֹס לִפְנַי וְלִפְנִים[22]
   כִּי לְכָל דָבָר שֶׁבִּקְדוּשָּׁה[23] הֵמָּה רִאשׁוֹנִים חטאנו
25 אָ֯בַ֯ד֯ הָיָה כִּמְעַט תִּקְוָתֵינוּ וּמִבְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל[24] וּמֵהוֹנוֹ כָּל אֶחָד יוּפְרָשׁ
   כִּי בְּזוּ הָרֶגַע נָפְלָה הַכִּיפָּה מִבֵּית יי וּכְמוֹ טִיט הַיּוֹצֵר הָיִינוּ רְמָס
   לֹא נִשְׁאַר מִשֹּׂנְאֵינוּ[25] שָׂרִיד וּפָלִיט רַק צָרָה וְצַלְמָוֶת יִירָשׁ
   וְאַתָּה יי בִּזְכוּת נָשֵׁינוּ וְטַפֵּינוּ הִצִּיל אוֹתָנוּ וְשָׁפַךְ חֲמָתוֹ עַל עֵצִים וַאֲבָנִים[26] וְהָיוּ לְמִרְמָס
חטאנו
   בִּ֯קְ֯הִ֯לָּ֯תֵ֯י֯נ֯וּ֯ הַקְּדוֹשָׁה קִבַּלְנוּ עָלֵינוּ וְעַל זַרְעֵינוּ
30 לִגְזוֹר תַּעֲנִית[27] בְּזֶה הַיּוֹם בְּכָל שָׁנָה וְשָׁנָה עַד בִּיאַת מְשִׁיחֵנוּ
   קְרָאנוּךָ בֶּאֱמֶת מְהֵרָה חוּשָׁה לְעֶזְרָתֵינוּ וּלְהוֹשִׁיעֵנוּ[28]
   פָּנֶיךָ אַל תַּסְתִּיר אֵלֶיךָ בְּשַׁוְעֵינוּ חטאנו
   לֵ֯ב֯ חָכָם יַשְׂכִּיל פִּיו וְעַל שְׂפָתָיו יוֹסִיף לָקְחָה
   אֲשֶׁר הִצִּיל אֹתָנוּ מִמָּוֶת לְחַיִּים מַעֲרָכָה מוּל מַעֲרָכָה[29],[30]
35 כְּבִימֵי הָמָן עָמַד לָּנוּ הַצָּלָה וְהַרְוָחָה
   עַל כֵּן קָבַעְנוּ אַחַר חֲצוֹת הַיּוֹם לְמִשְׁתֶּה וּלְשִׂמְחָה וְלִיתֵּן הוֹדָיָה וּשְׁבָחָה חטאנו
חִ֯זְ֯ק֯וּ וְ֯אֲ֯מְ֯צ֯וּ[31] לְבַבְכֶם אֶל יי אֱ-לוֹהֵינוּ
שְמַע יי קוֹל תַּחֲנוּנֵינוּ
בְּשַׁוְעֵינוּ אֵלֶיךָ נוֹרָאוֹת בְּצֶדֶק תַּעֲנֵינוּ
40 הֲשִׁיבֵנוּ יי אֵלֶיךָ וְנָשׁוּבָה וּכְקֶדֶם חַדֵּשׁ יָמֵינוּ[32] חטאנו
   רְצֵה נִדְבַת שְׂפָתֵינוּ בְּשִׁלּוּם פָּרִים
   סְלַח וּמְחַל לְכָל קְהַל הֲמוֹנִים
   וְאַל תְּבִיאֵנוּ בָּאֵשׁ וּבַמַּיִם[33] הַזֵּדוֹנִים
   כִּי שֹׁמֵעַ אֶל אֶבְיוֹנִים חטאנו
45 חַסְדֵּי הַקַּדְמוֹנִים זְכוֹר וּמִלְפָנֶיךָ רֵיקָם אַל תְּשִׁיבֵינוּ
   לְמַעַנְךָ עֲשֵׂה חִישׁ וּפְדֵנוּ
   יָשׁוּב נָא אַפְּךָ וּתְנַחֲמֵנוּ
   וְסָלַחְתָּ לַעֲו‍ֹנֵנוּ וּלְחַטָּאתֵנוּ[34]
חָטָאנוּ צוּרֵנוּ סְלַח לָנוּ יוֹצְרֵנוּ
Translation of Piyyut:
            We have sinned, our Creator, forgive us, our Maker.
   We will thank G-d our mouths and praise Him publicly.
   Your mercy and truth have always preserved me
   We rely on your righteous ways
   What should we say and how can we justify ourselves to G-d
(We have sinned …)
5   We have perished with our sins, and we are embarrassed by our actions
    And we cried out to G-d not to remember our sins
    To Your chosen place, you should guide us
    We rely on You, for You are our creator
(We have sinned …)
This day we established for fasting and prayer
10 To be divided half for G-d and half for you [to enjoy]
    To praise and give thanks for the miracles He did to support us
    So that we shouldn’t stumble
(We have sinned …)
To our Synagogue we went to pray Mincha, we went in a direct route
    We were about to go inside with fear and trembling
15 Suddenly we were, Heaven forbid, trapped in a bad trap. Is this Torah and its
         reward?!
    On the 11th of Teveth the year of Chatan Torah [5458 – 1698]
(We have sinned …)
    Help and healing was given to all of us
    Were it not for G-d we would have been in trouble
    We were almost overturned like Sodom and Gomorrah
20 G-d’s mercy should be upon us
(We have sinned …)
The Levites and Kohanim and all of the people we were standing in front of the
         synagogue to pray
     And with the hands of the reliable shepherd the keys were held
     And when they opened the Synagogue everyone stood up to go inside.
     They were first for all holy matters.
(We have sinned …)
25 We almost lost hope and at this time everyone will be separated from his wealth
    The roof of the Synagogue collapsed and we were trampled
    And nobody would have survived
    And You G-d, in the merit of our wives and children, saved us and let out Your
         anger on wood and stones and they were trampled.
(We have sinned …)
In our community, we accepted upon ourselves
30 To accept a fast day every year on this day until the coming of Messiah
    We called to You to listen to our prayers
    And to save us and listen to our prayers
(We have sinned …)
    The smart ones will thank G-d who saved us from death to life
    In battle after battle[35]
35 Like in the days of Haman he brought about a salvation
    Therefore, in the afternoon we established a feast to give praise and thanks.
(We have sinned …)
    Strong and courageously pray to G-d
    G-d should listen to our prayers
    When we pray to You, you should answer us
40 G-d should return to us and we will return, and like old He will return things to
         the way they used to be
(We have sinned …)
    Accept the saying of our mouths as if we brought sacrifices
    Grant forgiveness to all of the people of the multitudes
    And do not bring us to the destructive fire and waters
    For He hears the pleas of the needy
(We have sinned …)
45 The good deeds of the forefathers remember and do not return our prayers
         unanswered
For your own sake do, listen, and redeem us
    You should return from your wrath and comfort us
    And forgive us for our sins.
(We have sinned …)
[1] Lundenburg is the German and Yiddish name for the city, but the Czech name is Břeclav.  See, for example, here, accessed 19 October 2017.
[2] I would like to thank my Mother, Avraham Fraenkel, and Gabriel Wasserman for their invaluable comments and suggestions for this article.
[3] See here, accessed 19 October 2017.
[4] Nevertheless, I did not find any mention of this holiday in the ledger of the Hevreh Kadisha (Burial Society) of this community (Budapest – Orszagos Rabbinkepzo Intezet Konyvtara K 47), a microfilm of which is found in the Institute of Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts (47032).  This is not extremely surprising since this ledger only begins with 5522 (1762), some sixty-five years after the occurrence of the miracle, but the community was certainly still commemorating these events during this time period, so it would not have been surprising if I would have found something about this holiday in the manuscript.
[5] 11 Teveth 5458 corresponds to January 23, 1698 on the Gregorian calendar.  At this point, many countries in Europe were still using the Julian calendar, according to which this Hebrew date would have corresponded to January 13, 1698.
[6] See, for example, חיי אדם, כלל קמה, סי’ מא.  See also Zunz, Ritus, pages 127-130 (131-133 in Hebrew edition) for a list of many such local holidays.
[7] The fact that the akeidah piyyut appears after the pizmon is an indication that this community recited selihot according to an Eastern Ashkenazic rite, as Western Ashkenazic rites (as well as the Lithuanian Eastern rite) always recite an akeidah before the pizmon.
[8] The presence of שמע קולינו is also an indication that this community recited סליחות according to one of the versions of the Eastern Ashkenazic rite, as שמע קולינו is not found in the selihoth of Western Ashkenazic rites.
[9] Akeidah piyyutim are generally not recited at all on fast days, or on the days of selihot up until Erev Rosh Hashanah.
[10] Chatanu piyyutim are recited in the Eastern Ashkeanzic rite at all of the prayers of Yom Kippur.  In addition, the piyyut of א-ל נא רפא is recited in Eastern Ashkenazic communities on fast days, especially the Fast of Esther or if children are ill within the community.  Aside from these, I am not aware of any chatanu piyyutim in any printed Eastern Ashkenazic rite.
[11] בראשית מד:טז.
[12] ע”פ פסחים סח ע”ב ועוד.
[13] ע”פ פסחים קטז ע”ב.
[14] במהדורת אוצר הספרות: יהיה.
[15] ע”פ יחזקאל יא:טז.
[16] ע”פ קהלת ט:יב (ובפס’ כתוב מצודה רעה עם חולם, אבל בקונטרס הסליחות מנוקד עם שורוק).
[17] מסכת שמחות ח:יב.
[18] משום מה, אחרי מחרוזת זו, ‘חטאנו’ מודפס בשלימות במהדורת תרנ”ה, וכך העתקתי פה.
[19] תהלים לג:כב.
[20] משלי כה:יג.
[21] כך כתוב, אבל אולי צ”ל לפתוח כֵּוָנִים, ובמובן המשנה תמיד ג:ו שפותח כֵּיוָן היינו לפתוח ישר = directly.
[22] ברכות ז ע”א ועוד.
[23] מו”ק כח ע”ב ועוד.
[24] במהדורת אוצר הספרות במקום “ומבני ישראל”: ומבי’.
[25] ע”פ שמות יד:כח.
[26] ע”פ איכה רבתי פרשה ד, סי’ יא.
[27] ע”פ משנה תענית טו ע”ב ועוד.
[28] במהדורת אוצר הספרות: חושה להושיענו (ולא גרסינן לעזרתינו).
[29] ע”פ שמואל א יז:כא. הפייטן מדמה את המות והחיים לקרב שעומד כמו בין שני אויבים, והקב”ה הציל אותם בנצחון החיים.
[30] החרוז ‘מערכה’ לא מתאים לחרוז ‘לקחה’ ‘והרוחה’ ‘ושבחה’.  ואם כן אולי זה לא סוף שורה, ובמקום חיתוך זה צריכים לחתוך את שורה 36 ב-‘למשתה ולשמחה’, אבל אם כן הסימטריה של אורך השורות לא הגיונית, וצ”ע.
[31] הניקוד פה יכול להיות וְאֲמְצוּ או וְאִמְצוּ.  ובמקור מנוקד וְאַמְצוּ.
[32] ע”פ איכה ה:כא.
[33] ע”פ תהלים סו:יב.
[34] שמות לד:ט.
[35] The poet is metaphorically comparing life and death to two enemies standing at battle, and G-d saves them and makes life win.


A Conversation With Professor Marcin Wodziński on Hasidism

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A Conversation With Professor Marcin Wodziński on Hasidism
By Rabbi Yitzchok Frankfurter

This article appeared in Ami Magazine July 11, 2018/ 28 Tamuz 5778 and is reprinted here with permission.

This is not my first conversation with the Polish scholar Marcin Wodzinski. In 2013, following the release of his book on chasidism and politics, he visited my office together with the well-known askan Reb Duvid Singer. Today as then, my conversation with him elicits paradoxical emotions. His knowledge of chasidism, particularly its roots and subsequent development, is shockingly broad. In fact, many chasidim turn to him for information about their origins, and Professor Wodzinski’s research has saved for posterity much of that history.
Of course, the mere fact that chasidism, a vibrant Jewish movement that once thrived in Eastern Europe and Russia, has been reduced to a scholarly discipline for a Polish academician is saddening. Poland was once the center of chasidic and Jewish life in general, but it now has very few Jews living there. And it goes without saying that Poland is devoid of any vibrant Jewish culture.
“That loss,” he tells me, “is very acutely felt in Poland on many levels. One significant expression of this is the Museum of the History of Polish Jews in Warsaw. I was its head historian for some time, as well as the chief designer of the gallery that depicts the 19th century. Three years after its opening, it is now the most successful museum in Poland.”
Unfortunately, it hurts to hear that, because that is precisely what Hitler was trying to accomplish. The Nazis wanted to reduce Jews and Judaism to relics and artifacts found only in a museum, and I tell the sympathetic professor as much.
“That’s true, but I would say that Poland as a country can’t do anything about it because there are so few Jews living there. But in terms of recognizing the tragedy and the loss and as an expression of pain, this museum is extremely important. And there are many other examples of how the non-Jewish community is trying to integrate an understanding of Jewish culture into what it means to be Polish today. There are at least four centers of academic Jewish studies in the country, which is the same number that exists in Israel. Each center has many scholars who are doing valuable research and earning PhDs in the subject. These schools attract people who want to study Jewish history and culture. Many of them write important articles and books that are read by a lot of Poles.
“The Jews are not an extinct race,” he says with fervor, “and this notion among Poles is even stronger today than it was 50 and 100 years ago, when Polish culture was very antagonistic towards Jews and sought to exclude them. Today, an increasing number of people realize that you can’t understand Poland without understanding the Jews.”
Field of Study
Marcin hails from a town in Poland that is 50 kilometers away from Breslau, or Wrocław as it is known in Polish, which before the Holocaust was the epicenter of the haskalah, rather than chasidism. Yet ironically, it was the chasidic movement that drew his interest.
“Of course. There weren’t any chasidim here. The city of Wrocław is best-known for the Beit Midrash l’Rabbanim, which was part of the so-called Conservative movement. Abraham Geiger, who one of the leaders of the Reform movement, was also quite active in Wrocław for over two decades. And the Jewish historian Heinrich Groetz spent his entire academic Marcin Wodzinski accompanying chasidim at a kever. Seen in the background is Reb Duvid Singer. life at its university,” he tells me when I confide in him that given his place of birth and alma mater (he also attended the University of Wrocław), I find his interest in chasidism rather peculiar. “But there were also some important chasidic books that were published in Wrocław, such as the first edition of Kol Simchah, which is the collected teachings of Rav Simchah Bunim of Peshischa.”
“So you’re a goy,” I tease him, “born in the birthplace of the maskilim, but chasidism became your field of interest.”
“That’s right!” he replies good-naturedly. “I’m trying to bridge ideas and interests. My interest in Jewish history and culture began with Jewish cemeteries, which was very typical at the time because it was the most visible presence of both the Jewish presence and absence in Poland in the 1980s. I learned Hebrew so I could write down the inscriptions, and I was fascinated by seeing the rebirth of chasidic pilgrimages to the gravesites of tzaddikim in Lizhensk, Peshischa, Lublin and other places. Then I started researching chasidic life, which is what I’ve been involved in for the past three decades.
“Two weeks ago I published a book called An Historical Atlas of Hasidism, which is going to be very important for chasidic studies. It contains 280 pages of full-color maps and images from the inception of chasidism until today. The maps present an entirely new way of understanding the movement, and there are a lot of previously unknown historical images. The book was published by the prestigious Princeton University Press.
“I also recently published a book entitled Hasidism: Key Questions. That one was printed by Oxford University Press. That is the volume of which I am the most proud, as it summarizes my entire investigation into chasidism. It has seven chapters, each of which addresses a different central question: the definition of chasidus, women in chasidism, chasidic leadership and the role of a tzaddik, the demographics of chasidim historically and today, the geography of where they lived, the economics of chasidic life, and finally, the end of chasidus in Eastern Europe and how it moved to the United States and Israel. I put forth the argument that this shift was not only because of World War II but actually started during the First World War. The book has around 350 pages.”
“What do you think you’ve added to the understanding of chasidus?” I ask.
“There are several things that are unique about my work. First of all, I am equally interested in the lives of the rank-and-file chasidim as I am in the lives of the tzaddikim. To me, a tzaddik isn’t a leader if he doesn’t have followers. That is why I believe that much of the research so far has been misguided by omitting the tzaddik’s thousands of followers from the picture. I think it’s critically important to understand not only the teachings of the great chasidic minds but also—and perhaps more so—to understand how they reached the simple folk and affected their lives. Another innovation in my work is that I don’t just delve into intellectual topics. I also look at the social, economic and other aspects of history, which are aspects that have only been properly addressed by very few scholars. This results in an entirely different perspective.
“But perhaps most importantly, the vast majority of scholarship on chasidism has focused on its early years. We know quite a lot about the Baal Shem Tov and Rav Dovber of Mezritch, and we know some things about their disciples, but we know very little about chasidism in the 19th and early-20th centuries before the Holocaust. We know about some leaders, but very little about the lives of the chasidic communities. Both of these two recent books expand the scope of interest. I call the 19th century the ‘golden age’ of chasidism, because that’s when the number of people who considered themselves chasidim reached its peak. There were many regions of central Poland, Galicia and Volhynia [the region where Ukraine, Poland and Belarus meet] where chasidim constituted the majority of Jews, and it’s critically important to understand what their lives were like then.”
“How much of the actual Torah of the tzaddikim do you study? Is it something you consider necessary for your research, or do you completely ignore it?”
“Obviously, there are many people who are bigger experts on that than I am. I’m not even an am haaretz; I’m a goy!” he says unapologetically, “so it’s not really something for me to study.”
“So you don’t think it’s important or that you’re missing something in your research?”
“It’s obviously important, and that’s why many people study it. But I can’t do everything. I do need to understand the chasidic concepts, but I don’t study them myself; I read what other scholars have written. That’s the best I can do. I can’t be a specialist on everything. What I’m trying to do is to show that beyond Torah, there is a huge area of chasidic life that hasn’t been properly looked into, such as the relative power of individual groups. These are things that everyone would love to know. It also gives you an understanding of the spiritual leadership of various tzaddikim, because if one tzaddik has 100,000 followers, his relationship with his followers is very different from that of a tzaddik with 50 followers.
“We can also see how far the shtieblach were located from the court. For Chabad, the average distance between the court and the shtiebel was 400 kilometers, which means that the vast majority of chasidim only visited the Rebbe once or twice in their lives. For Vizhnitz, which was very strong in Hungary, the average distance was less than 100 kilometers, which means that most of the chasidim came to see the Rebbe several times a year because it was relatively easy to get there. This means that the relationship of the typical Vizhnitzer chasid and his Rebbe was very different from that of the typical Lubavitcher chasid and his Rebbe.
“Then there were courts that were even closer to their shtieblach. For example, Kretchnif’s average distance was 30 kilometers, which means that they could go to their Rebbe every Shabbos and he knew his chasidim personally. The Gerrer Rebbe had 100,000 chasidim, which means that he didn’t know all of them by face and name, with the result that the spiritual inspiration they received was different from that received by chasidim of a smaller chasidus. So while this kind of information isn’t part of the teachings of any particular group, it’s still very important to understand.
“It’s hard to summarize everything I believe I bring to the field. But as I said, I try to capture the totality of chasidic life, not just its spiritual aspects but also its economic, social and cultural ones.”
“Has your work brought you emotionally closer to the Jewish community, or is it just a field of research to you?”
“Whenever anyone chooses a field of research he feels some sort of connection. The most difficult thing for anyone to do is to decipher himself.”
“You speak Hebrew and English fluently, but in which language do you write?”
“Lately, I’ve been writing more and more in English instead of Polish because my books are addressed primarily to international audiences. But I still write articles in Polish, so I’m pretty much bilingual in my academic life.”
“Is the objective of your research to understand Poland or to understand Jews?” I ask next.
“I might be exceptional in some sense because I focus on Jewish history; I don’t research so-called Polish-Jewish relations. I’m interested in chasidism, the haskalah and Jewish cemeteries and that’s it. But I would say that the majority of scholars in Poland who are interested in Jews study the relationship between Poles and Jews.”
“As a non-Jew, are you welcomed by Jewish researchers of chasidism, or do you feel like an outsider?”
“There isn’t any bias against non-Jewish scholars in academia, or at least I’ve never experienced it. As a whole, the scholars studying chasidism are extremely openminded people. I’m very happy to be part of this community and I feel very welcome and supported both intellectually and emotionally. The research I do is very broad, so I often have to rely on support from other people, which is always forthcoming.
“I would also say that over time I have established increasingly good relations with the chasidic community and with many individual chasidim who seem to appreciate my research. A big part of the atlas in my book maps out contemporary chasidism. In order to do it I had to ask a critical question—how many chasidim are there today?—because without the answer it’s impossible to continue any further. Are the numbers bigger or smaller than before the war? Where do they live? Which is the biggest chasidic court today? Celebrating at a Belz wedding To obtain the answer, I decided to turn to the chasidic phone directories and counted the number of households. Based on the 42 directories I received I arrived at a total of 130,000, which I believe covers almost all of the chasidic households in existence today. This allowed me to estimate the demographic and geographic distribution of chasidim and many other issues, and it was only possible thanks to the goodwill of the chasidic communities that appreciated my research and shared their directories with me. I am extremely pleased to have gotten support not only from my fellow scholars but also from chasidic people.”
“Which is the largest chasidus today?”
“You know the answer to that: Satmar, with 26,000 households split between the two groups.”
 “Which is second?”
“Chabad, with 16,000, followed by Ger, with 12,000. Belz has 7,500 households. The most difficult to calculate is Breslov because they use different categories for inclusion, but I estimate them at 7,000. Sanz has 4,000; Bobov has 3,000; and another 1,500 for Bobov-45. I am very proud to have done this research.”
Bustling Centers of Chasidic Life
“Where was the center of chasidic activity in the 19th century, Poland or Ukraine?”
“That’s a very good question. I have a set of maps in my atlas depicting where the tzaddikim lived and how this changed over time. I also have a map showing 70% of all the existing chasidic shtieblach at the beginning of the 20th century. This was an enormous undertaking. I managed to locate 2,854 shtieblach, which, as I said, represents some 70% of the total during that time period. It is very clear that the cradle of chasidism was Podolia and Volhynia, which are Ukrainian territories. At the end of the 18th century it moved north to Belarus and west to Galicia. In the 19th century, the epicenter was Galicia and the southern part of central Poland. Then it moved south again into Hungary and Romania.”
“Where does Czechoslovakia, where my own parents hail from, come into play?”
“Slovakia is part of Greater Hungary, because up until 1918 it was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, so when I say ‘Hungary’ I am including Slovakia. By contrast, the area that is now the Czech Republic isn’t significant to us because there were very few chasidim there if at all. In fact, only the eastern part of Slovakia, which later became TransCarpathian Ruthenia and was incorporated into Hungary, Romania and now Ukraine, is relevant to this topic, but it was never a center of chasidic life. As for the Hungarian territories, it was mostly Maramures and Transylvania that were heavily chasidic.”
“According to your calculations, would you say that the majority of the Jews at that time were religious, and a majority of the religious Jews were chasidim?”
“Up until the interwar period in the 1920s and ’30s, the majority of the population was religious, although not all were chasidim; it depended on the area. In Lithuania the majority were Litvish—either misnagdim or ambivalent towards chasidim—while only a minority were chasidim. But in Galicia, especially Eastern and Central Galicia, the majority were chasidim. Many communities were dominated by chasidim. Poland was also divided: Eastern Poland was mostly chasidic, but in Western Poland the numbers were much smaller.
“In general, the vast majority of Eastern European Jews in the 19th century were Orthodox, but this changed radically in the interwar period. In the Soviet Union, the number of religious people dropped dramatically because of the Communists’ anti-religious stance, and the chasidim were heavily persecuted and their leaders sent to Siberia. For example, the Machnovka Rebbe was only allowed to leave his exile in the 1960s. In Poland there wasn’t any religious persecution between the wars, but because of the trend towards modernization and the influence of secularism and politics, the number of people who were still religious dropped to one-third of the Jewish population. Of those who were religious, I’d say that the majority were chasidim. This loss was acutely felt by the chasidic community.
“If you look at the activities of the Piaseczno, Aleksander Rebbe and Gerrer Rebbes, much of their activity was inspired by the crisis of many members of the younger generation leaving the community and becoming communists or Zionists. They understood that they had to reinvent the structure of the traditional chasidic community, particularly during the First World War and immediately afterwards.”
“They say that history is written by the victors. There were many large chasidic courts before the Holocaust but they are no longer remembered, and other chasidic groups are far more dominant now. This makes people believe that they were dominant before the war as well, but it’s not necessarily true.”
“My atlas corrects this misconception. As I told you, I found 2,854 shtieblach in the early part of the last century. By comparing the number of shtieblach of different courts, I was able to establish their relative power, and the numbers are very precise. In Central Poland, 22% of shtieblach were Ger; 13% were Aleksander; 6% were Kotzk and its offspring, followed by Amshinov, Otvotzk (Vorka), and other smaller groups. Perhaps the biggest one that’s completely unknown today is Olik, which may have been the third largest in Volhynia during the interwar period.
“Which was the biggest in Ukraine?”
“Between the wars, the biggest court in Ukraine was Trisk, with 16%. The second largest was Sadigura, which was really in Bukovina, outside Ukraine, with 8%. The third was Olik, followed by Karlin-Stolin, Makarov, Tolne, Chernobyl, Stepan, Lubavitch, Skver, Brzezan, Hornosteipel and others.”
“Where was Lubavitch the most dominant?”
“Lubavitch was the dominant group in Lithuania and Belarus, where they had 32% of all the shtieblach. Every third shtiebel was Lubavitch, and there were other shtieblach belonging to other Chabad courts. Four percent belonged to Kapust; 3% to Liadi, and 3% to Strashelye. If you count all of them together, almost half of the shtieblach were Chabad. The next largest one in Belarus and Lithuania was Karlin-Stolin with 10%, followed by Slonim, Kobrin, Koidanov and several others.”
“Do you see a common denominator between all of these groups despite their differences?”
“Yes, and one of them is their common origin. The understanding that they all come from the Baal Shem Tov informs every single chasidic community. It also affects the relationships between groups, because it is much easier to move from one chasidic group to another than it is to move from chasidism to non-chasidism or vice versa. There are also elements that are shared by every group. The role of the tzaddik is one such element. Even to the groups like the ‘toite chasidim,’ as the Breslovers were once called since they don’t have a live Rebbe, there is still an understanding of the Rebbe as an essential spiritual experience for every chasid.
“Perhaps this is something that distinguishes me from many other scholars of chasidism. Whereas most of them concentrate on the theology and books, my approach is more in line with the statement of Rav Zusha of Anipoli. When he was in the court of Rav Dovber of Mezritch, he said that he learned more Torah from the way his Rebbe tied his shoelaces than he would ever learn from his lectures. To me, the interaction with the Rebbe is what defines the life of the community. My research brings this aspect to light, whereas other scholars tend to overlook it.”
Economic Life and Political Power
“How do you make a distinction in your research between religious Jews and chasidic Jews in terms of their economic, social and cultural lives? They were probably almost the same.”
“That’s true as far as economics is concerned,” he admits. “It’s very difficult to differentiate between chasidim and non-chasidim, and finding sources was extremely difficult. But I managed to locate the complete lists of several communities in Poland and Belarus, and I also came into possession of complete lists of taxpayers and their professions. By comparing the two lists, I could see how chasidim fit into the picture of the general Jewish economic activity.
“There’s a popular stereotype both in the secular world and among chasidic writers that the early chasidim were poor, even in the 19th century. One of the things I wanted to know was whether chasidim on average were richer or poorer than the average nonchasid. I also wanted to know if there was any specific profile for chasidic economic activity. Where did the money they used to sustain their families come from?
“Thanks to the comparison between the lists of chasidim and the lists of other Jews in central Poland and Belarus, I came to the conclusion— which was quite surprising to me—that chasidic communities were on average wealthier than nonchasidic ones. Even more interesting, the chasidim preferred to engage in trade and weren’t so involved in artisanship and crafts. Also, there were very few chasidim who were unskilled workers, although there was a lot overrepresentation when it came to the communal professions such as rabbi, gabbai, shames, mohel and shochet. So when you compare chasidim to other religious groups with similar profiles, you understand why their communal structure was as I described.”
“In what sense?”
“In the sense of emunah and bitachon supporting the economic activity. In the 19th century, the average boy starting an enterprise would get money from his family or in-laws and establish a business. Some of them would succeed, while others would go bankrupt. Many people needed to go bankrupt several times before starting to make money. In the traditional non-chasidic world, a person might start a business once or twice with his family’s support, but if he didn’t succeed he simply went bankrupt.
“Then there was another tier of support in the chasidic world: If a person failed using the money from his family, he could still count on assistance from his community. There is much documentation of chasidic solidarity being very important for internal economic support. If there was a wealthy person in a small chasidic town and he knew that another person had failed at his enterprise, he was willing to help him. This meant that people were given another chance.
“Also, chasidim preferred to be in trade rather than crafts, which usually generates a higher income. Being a chasid actually supported engaging in trade, because a non-chasid’s economic relations extended to his immediate business partners and family, but for a chasid this network was wider since he had to visit the court of the tzaddik several times a year, where he was able to build very strong relationships with people from other towns. This meant that he had access to business partners in a very large geographical region. It was therefore much easier for him to have a successful enterprise because he had a much larger pool of potential partners.
“Another important factor is the role of the tzaddik as arbitrator, not only in spiritual or familial matters but also economically. This is one more level that wasn’t available to a non-chasidic community, and it was enough to put chasidim in a relatively better financial situation.”
“Tell me about the political power chasidim wielded in their various countries of residence in Eastern Europe, which is the subject of the book you released in 2013.”
“It’s very interesting to see that some of the tzaddikim—most prominently Rav Yitzchak of Vurka and later the Chidushei HaRim—functioned as shtadlanim, representatives of the Jewish community to the non-Jewish authorities. It is also very instructive to see that behind their activity there were what I would call legal advisers, people who were very knowledgeable and skillful in navigating the law of the country. These were generally big entrepreneurs who had major financial influence and dealt with the authorities on a day-to-day basis. Those people weren’t visible, however; they lent their expertise to the tzaddik, who was the face of the political power. But it was really a wider enterprise undertaken by the entire community and not just the tzaddikim themselves.”
“Who do you think was the most politically astute and active among the Rebbes?
“In the 19th century, it is clear to me that the biggest innovation in the understanding of politics among tzaddikim came from Rav Yitzchak of Vurka. Around the same time the Tzemach Tzedek, Rav Menachem Mendel Schneersohn, was also very influential in political matters in Russia. You can see the structure of support from very wealthy Jews in St. Petersburg and Moscow, who brought their expertise into the service of the chasidic community. Those two should be listed as the most skillful political leaders of that period. In a sense they established the path for other segments of the Orthodox Jewish community. In the next century you have the founders of Agudat Yisrael in Poland, but that was a very different concept because by then it was mostly electoral politics predicated on parties.”
“Was the political power held only by the Rebbes or the chasidim as well?”
“I would say that any political activity required a very developed cooperation of many levels of political involvement. The tzaddik would never act alone, and it is obvious that without support he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish what he did. At the same time, without him others would be unable to have power. They were entirely interdependent, so it’s impossible to say which was the more important. The beauty is that they managed to invent new ways of being politically active, because traditional Jewish politics had been based on shtadlanim.
“The way it worked up until then was that the Jewish community would hire a political activist who would go to the Polish court or nobleman and try to obtain certain political privileges. This changed in the late-18th century because there was no longer a Polish court, so the entire legal system changed. Under the new system, the Jewish community was deprived of political power, not because of antiSemitism—which of course existed—but because the authorities claimed that the Jews weren’t a community but only individual citizens. Every citizen could represent his own interests, but no one could speak in the name of a group. Jews were permitted to organize for religious purposes, but they were forbidden to organize politically. This meant having to reinvent how to represent themselves to the government, but somehow the tzaddikim managed to present themselves as the representatives of the entire Jewish population.”
“What’s fascinating is that all of this developed in antiSemitic environments. Would you agree with that statement?”
“The political elite were certainly more or less antiSemitic, but they were trying to present themselves as neutral. Those who were skillful used this supposed ambivalence to their advantage. Rav Yitzchak of Vurka, for example, was as successful as he was because he was able to neutralize the anti-Semitic bias of many politicians. He forced them to act against their will by citing legal precedents in support of his arguments that they couldn’t reject. One such case involved the right of rabbanim to control the kashrut of meat in Poland. Absurdly, the right to sell kosher meat and levy the special tax on it had been given over to a Christian enterprise, which was obviously a major problem. Rav Yitzchak of Vurka managed to present this as destructive to the state budget and contrary to its revenue laws. By using this argument, he managed to help the Jewish community regain control. The political bias and anti-Semitism of many of the politicians was rendered ineffective, because they had to follow the legal procedures established by the law of the land. One of the most important factors in the politics of the 19th century was that even the most oppressive countries were trying to establish themselves as places that operated under the rule of law.”
“Tell me about the Tzemach Tzedek’s successes. What was his style of political activity?”
“He was active in Russia in a different context. When he passed away in 1866 there was a visible break in the political representation in Russia, mainly because his succession was unclear; his sons established other courts in other towns, and his youngest son, Rav Shmuel, remained in Lubavitch. This was only slowly regained by his grandson, Rav Shalom Dovber, but his was a time of lesser political success. Concurrently, the Chidushei HaRim established himself as an extremely successful political leader in central Poland. He was succeeded by the Sfas Emes, who was also very successful, as was his son, the Imrei Emes, who was very involved in the creation of Agudat Yisrael. By then the political climate in central Poland was under Russian control, but because it was ethnically different, it maintained a separate legal system that encouraged political activity far more than Russia. So I would say that after 1866 and the passing of the Tzemach Tzedek, there was no longer a real parallel of politics in Russia and Poland.”
“By ‘political activism’ you mean efforts to benefit Jewish life in the places they lived.”
“I am referring to those actions that were undertaken by chasidic leaders with the support of their constituencies to guarantee certain privileges or rights for the Jewish community at large, not just the chasidic community. Aside from the right to have control over the supply of kosher meat, this would include the ability of Jewish prisoners to have kosher food or the right to establish eiruvin in Jewish districts. This was a very important change from the earlier chasidic involvement in politics like that of Rav Meir of Apta, who was mostly active in defending the rights of chasidim to establish their own shtieblach, or to prevent the persecution of the chasidic community.”
“Every Jewish leader really fought for the rights of the Jewish community, so how were the chasidic leaders different in that regard?”
“True, many of their efforts weren’t very different from those of non-chasidic rabbanim, but the whole structure of chasidism empowered its leaders far more than other rabbanim. Let’s say that there was a rabbi of a town—even a very important posek in a big city. Who was behind him? He had only his personal charisma and his community. The Gerrer Rebbe, however, had 50,000 followers all over Poland. This gave him the ability to engineer a campaign to support his political actions in a very broad way. This structure of support that wasn’t confined to specific territories and could cover large areas of Eastern Europe gave additional power to chasidic representation.”
“Did you get the feeling that the growth of a particular court was dependent on the political skills of its leader?”
“That’s something that’s very hard to establish, because no direct testimonies would say such a thing, that this tzaddik was more powerful because he was politically skilled. But if you observe the correlation between political involvement and the number of followers, it’s very significant that those tzaddikim who became more politically involved eventually gained wider followings and vice versa; by having wider followings they were able to be more effective politicians. So these two phenomena were interdependent both ways.
“This is also very true of the interwar period. The tzaddikim who were engaged in the reinvention of chasidism after the First World War, establishing new school systems and other activities of that kind, eventually turned out to be more effective than others. For example, before WWI the Tchortkover and Belzer Rebbes were equally as powerful. But after the war the Tchortkover Rebbe’s power shrank dramatically, and the same holds true of many other Rebbes in central Poland. Another example would be the Gerrer Rebbe, whose political involvement and institution of new infrastructures in the yeshivos and Bais Yankevs [sic] gave him a very strong boost. He had 100,000 followers in the interwar period, which was unparalleled. So a connection exists between politics and the internal relative power of certain Rebbes.”
Concerns and Lessons
The country of Poland is currently going through difficult political times. Last week, the government effectively forced more than two dozen justices out of their jobs. The purged judges refused to recognize their dismissal, while the government officials insisted that they would no longer be allowed to hear cases. Surrounded by cheering supporters, the top Supreme Court justice took a defiant stand on the courthouse steps, and vowed to keep fighting to protect the Polish constitution and the independence of that nation’s courts. The confrontation was followed by dueling news conferences, fiery speeches and more street protests. I ask Marcin if he thinks Poland is moving towards a more dictatorial type of government.
“Poland has been losing its democratic institutions with increasing rapidity over the last three years since the ruling party took power,” he admits. “I can already see a lot of manifestations of an authoritarian state. While the Supreme Court is currently in the news it’s really only the tip of the iceberg, because we see many such things on a daily basis, such as the use of police against the political enemies of the present government, which is typically authoritarian. Then there’s the use of the media as a propaganda tool for the current government. Using public money in support of one political option totally demolishes the constitutional structure. I am very afraid that if the ruling party wins again next year, that will be the last free election in Poland.”
“Do you think that the Jews who live in Poland and the Jewish community at large should be concerned about this?” I want to know. “The ruling party is right-wing, and in Europe right-wing parties are very closely associated with anti-Semitic ideologies, but they are very wary of being labeled antiSemitic. For this reason, the ruling party won’t openly attack the Jewish community in the foreseeable future. But just by looking at the Holocaust law that was passed in January you can see that even without the direct intention of the regime there’s been a rise of anti-Semitic sentiment, which is fueled by the current political climate. This might be a concern in the long run, and is something that has been expressed by many representatives of the Jewish community over the last year.”
“Are you concerned as an academic about the freedom to do your research?”
“Yes. My understanding of the Holocaust law, which was somewhat rescinded, was that the objective wasn’t to persecute people who discussed the involvement of Poles in the killing of Jews during the Holocaust; it was more about creating a general feeling of fear and auto-censorship of what can be said in public these days.”
My final question to the professor is whether he thinks that what his research reveals about chasidic life contains lessons for the world at large.
“That’s a difficult question for me because I’m an academic; my work isn’t so much about finding moral lessons. But it is very clear to me that chasidism holds a huge cultural and spiritual attraction to the world. If you look at its impact on cultural imagery, the image of the traditional Jewish world to many non-Jews is identical to chasidism. This is a huge success, which is due to the spiritual attractiveness of chasidism. But I’m much more interested in analyzing it as a religious phenomenon that shows the interrelationship between religion and other aspects of daily life. I’m not saying that chasidism isn’t a religious movement; of course it is. But being a chasid is something so comprehensive that it affects cultural expressions, economic life and many other areas of activity.
“My research articulates the totality of the experience and helps people understand chasidism as a vibrant movement that isn’t black and white, which is the way it is often portrayed. It has very rich and complicated structures, which have a very big influence not only on the Jewish community but on the larger, non-Jewish societies in which chasidim live. It is also very deeply embedded in geographical location. My Historical Atlas of Hasidism shows how much the spirituality of chasidism is conditioned by the geographical context in which it developed, which is yet another aspect.
“What I would love to achieve with my publications,” he finally allows, “is to promote the understanding that because chasidism is so unique, it allows us to understand much of the world around us, and not just chasidism itself.”


New book announcement

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New book announcement
By Eliezer Brodt
יצחק לנדיס, ברכת העבודה בתפילת העמידה, עיונים בנוסחיה ובתולדותיה, 170 עמודים
This recent work written by Yitz Landes, of the Talmud Blog looks rather impressive and I am sure will be enjoyed by many readers of the blog. What follows is the abstract of the book and the Table of Contents. If you are interested in purchasing the book contact me at eliezerbrodt@gmail.com

The present work traces the history of the ante-penultimate blessing of the Amidah, “Birkat ha-Avodah”, from Second Temple times through the Middle Ages. The first chapter deals with the rabbinic sources that describe its recitation in the Temple and compares versions of the blessing found in siddurim with prayers found in literature from the period of the Second Temple. The second chapter is devoted to the early evidence of the blessing’s formulation located in the 4th century church order, The Apostolic Constitutions. In the third chapter, all of the various versions of the blessing located in siddurim and in medieval halakhic literature are analyzed.  In the fourth chapter, he utilizes a variety of sources, including a large corpus of classical Piyyut, to reconstruct a lost version of the blessing’s doxology. The fifth chapter unpacks the language of cultic worship utilized in the various versions of the blessing and compares it with the understandings of the blessing’s meaning found in classical Piyyut and in medieval sources. In the summary, he provides a new model for understanding the development of the version of the blessing that was eventually adopted and address the ramifications of this study for our understandings of the development of Jewish liturgy and of the substitution of sacrifice in Jewish thought.