Sixty Years Since Rabbi Dr. Yechiel Yacov Weinberg, the Seridei Eish:
A Fire the World Still Needs

By Jacques (Yacov) R. Rothschild

This week marks sixty years since the passing of Rabbi Dr. Yechiel Yacov Weinberg, the Seridei Eish. He left this world on the 4th of Shevat in 1966, well before I was born, yet his presence has never felt distant to me – because it lived, vividly and lovingly, in my mother’s voice. “Shema b’ni musar avicha, v’al titosh Torat imecha” – “Hear, my child, the instruction of your father, and do not forsake the Torah of your mother.” For me, Rav Weinberg’s Torah was transmitted precisely this way: not first through books or institutions, but through a mother who spoke of him with reverence, warmth, and quiet awe.

The following brief sketch cannot do justice to the full arc of his life. Readers seeking a comprehensive biographical and intellectual account may consult Professor Marc B. Shapiro’s authoritative study, Between the Yeshiva World and Modern Orthodoxy: The Life and Works of Rabbi Jehiel Jacob Weinberg, 1884-1966 (London: Littman Library, 1999), as well as subsequent scholarly and popular essays. What follows outlines only the essential contours.

From a young age, Rav Weinberg displayed extraordinary promise. Born in Ciechanowiec in 1884, he rose from an unassuming background to become known as the Illuy of Czechanowic. As a teenager he was already delivering public shiurim, and at seventeen he entered the Slabodka Yeshivah, studying under the Alter, Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel, and becoming a chavrusa of Rav Naftali Amsterdam, the foremost disciple of Rav Yisrael Salanter. There he absorbed a worldview that would shape him for life: uncompromising halakhic rigor joined to the Mussar movement’s insistence on human dignity, ethical seriousness, and disciplined moral self-formation. He forged close ties with leading figures of the Mussar world. Already then, he embodied a rare synthesis – intellectual rigor, spiritual sensitivity, and moral seriousness.

In the years that followed, Rav Weinberg served as Rav of Pilwischki and spent formative time in Warsaw, moving within the orbit of leading rabbinic, intellectual, and communal figures. In 1936 he published Lifrakim, a collection of essays in Hebrew, German, and Yiddish that already displayed the breadth of his mind: halakhic sensitivity, historical consciousness, literary power, and a refusal to simplify Judaism for ideological convenience. His path then led westward to Germany, where he became Rosh Yeshiva and effectively rector of Rav Esriel Hildesheimer’s Rabbinerseminar in Berlin, shaping a generation of rabbanim who carried Torah with courage, thoughtfulness, and depth, as he was confronted with unprecedented historical and theological upheavals. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he neither viewed engagement with general culture and academic scholarship as a betrayal of Torah nor mistook accommodation for capitulation. His posture was one of disciplined openness, with Torah sovereign yet resilient rather than brittle.

During the war, he served as president of the Agudas HaRabbanim of Warsaw and was also a lecturer at the University of Giessen. Universally recognized as a master of Shas and poskim, his knowledge extended far beyond Torah, encompassing history, philosophy, and Judaic studies.

He survived the destruction of European Jewry, but survival came at a severe cost. Rav Weinberg lost his entire immediate family in the Holocaust. His health was permanently damaged, and the world in which he had lived was gone. When the war ended, he emerged alone. He eventually found refuge in Montreux, Switzerland, carrying with him a loss that did not recede with distance or time. And yet it was there, after all of this, that the most consequential part of his written legacy still lay ahead.

Montreux was a quiet, picturesque town overlooking Lake Geneva and home to Yeshivat Eitz Chaim, a small and demanding institution that drew refugees, scholars, and young men who would later assume positions of leadership. Giants passed through its modest halls, carrying only fragments of the world that had been destroyed, unsure whether those fragments could be assembled into anything lasting. Torah life there was serious and inward, marked by uncertainty and strain. It was not sustained by institutions or prestige, but by individuals who lived with loss as a daily fact and understood responsibility as something that could not be deferred.

It was no accident that Rav Weinberg felt at home in Montreux. The town’s quiet dignity mirrored his own. Removed from ideological battles and institutional power, he could think clearly and write honestly. From this tranquil place, Torah once again flowed outward. Letters and visitors arrived from across the Jewish world: rabbanim, authors, medical researchers, historians, and even leaders of the young State of Israel, including David Ben-Gurion (a meeting my mother attended). Though physically distant from centers of authority, his voice remained indispensable. He was offered the position of Chief Rabbi of Israel, which he declined, choosing instead an obscurity that enabled him to remain faithful both to halakha and to the damaged human reality it was now required to address.

“From Montreux,” writes Professor Marc B. Shapiro, Rav Weinberg “resumed his correspondence with students, friends, and colleagues, writing many hundreds of letters a year, most of which have been lost to posterity.” Yet Montreux also imposed real constraints. Far from the great libraries and scholarly settings that had once sustained his academic work, serious research was difficult. More significantly, the shift from public authority to private existence carried a personal cost. For a man who had stood at the center of a major rabbinic institution, life in a small town brought with it a sense of narrowing that no material stability could fully counterbalance.

It was in Montreux, despite his broken health, that Rav Weinberg published three volumes of Seridei Eish – in 1961, 1962, and 1966 – with a fourth appearing posthumously. Seridei Eish, “Remnants of Fire,” was both literal and symbolic: much of his Torah had been lost in the Holocaust, yet what remained burned with clarity, depth, and moral courage.

It was also to Montreux that my mother arrived after the war as a young girl. She had lost the overwhelming majority of her family in Nazi Germany, surviving only through her mother’s courage in escaping clandestinely to Italy. Upon entering Italy illegally, her mother was suspected of being a spy, arrested and imprisoned, and the two young girls – my mother and her sister, both under five – were sent to a monastery. By miracle, they were reunited after the war and eventually reached Switzerland, settling in Montreux.

There, while my mother was entertained in school by Charlie Chaplin’s daughter, she also encountered Rav Weinberg, beginning a relationship that would quietly shape her life.

Starting as a teenager, my mother assisted him by typing his correspondence and helping with administrative work. She knew how to type, spoke several languages, and worked at a local Swiss bank. None of these skills was remarkable on its own; in combination, they answered a very specific need. For several years she assisted Rav Weinberg on a daily basis. She typed his responsa as he dictated them, organized and mailed his correspondence, and attended to the practical details that made sustained scholarly work possible. She sat with him for hours as he formulated replies to inquiries arriving from across the Jewish world, one after another, without interruption.

Jews in Montreux and neighboring towns knew she had daily access to Rav Weinberg, so they entrusted her with questions that structured postwar Jewish life. They would leave chickens – with kashrut questions – for her to bring to him. Kosher shechita was forbidden in Switzerland then, as it remains today, and Jews relied on mail-order poultry from France, salting their chickens at home. Observance was fragile, complicated, and deeply human.

These chickens carried more than halakhic questions; they carried hope. For Jews in post-war Europe, having a kosher chicken – literally examined and approved by a Gadol – was a way to sanctify Shabbat, to reclaim dignity and spiritual normalcy after devastation. Rav Weinberg approached each case with extraordinary care, ensuring that his rulings remained halakhically rigorous while never shattering the fragile dreams of Jews striving to observe Shabbat properly. This was not halakha in theory. This was Torah meeting kitchens, trauma, and lives slowly rebuilding.

Despite his circumstances, Rav Weinberg never sought popularity or easy acceptance. Some of his rulings were difficult and, at times, controversial – precisely because his deliberations reached beyond the present moment. He anticipated developments in science, technology, medicine, and society before they became unavoidable crises. Yet throughout, his loyalty to halakha and to Sinai was absolute, insisting that halakha be applied with foresight rather than reaction. For him, innovation did not mean rupture or accommodation. It meant responsibility, assumed fully and without evasion. His Torah moved deliberately, listened deeply, and spoke only after accounting for the full weight of human reality.

The questions that reached him were often complex and carried real consequences for those who asked them. At times Rav Weinberg did not respond immediately. My mother later recalled that he insisted on thinking matters through, and would occasionally ask her to walk with him along the shore of the lake while he worked through the questions before him. Only afterward would he commit his rulings to paper.

His involvement in my family’s life extended beyond advice and correspondence. He personally guided the shidduch of my mother’s older and only sister, and later that of my parents. These actions reflect the same moral world in which he lived and worked – a Torah attentive not only to texts and communal questions, but to the concrete ordering of individual lives from what remained after destruction.

Very recently, I learned something that cast this inheritance in an even deeper light. My sister discovered, quite by chance, a copy of Rav Weinberg’s German book Das Volk der Religion in my parents’ archives. Inside was a handwritten dedication by Rav Weinberg himself, addressed not to my maternal grandmother, whom he knew well from Montreux, but to my paternal grandmother – my mother’s future mother-in-law – Flora Rothschild. The inscription, written in German, is dated 4 Nissan 5709 (April 4, 1949), almost twenty years before my parents would marry, at a time when they were still in their early teens:

“In fond memory and in friendship of your visit to me in Montreux this past 4th of Nissan 1949.

Mrs. Flora Rothschild, the tireless one.

In admiration of our continued mutual cooperation for the fight to preserve Torah, the Jewish people and spirit, and the Land of Israel.

Best wishes and continued success.

Montreux, 4th of Nissan 5709.”

Only now does the deeper resonance of this moment emerge. Long before my mother could have imagined her future – and entirely unbeknownst to her – Rav Weinberg had already met the woman who would one day become her mother-in-law and formed a bond of respect and friendship with her.

Flora Rothschild, my paternal grandmother, was herself a remarkable woman, selflessly involved in the rebuilding of Jewish life after World War II. After surviving the camps, she settled back in Antwerp, having lost her husband, daughter, parents, and siblings to the Nazis. Read against this background, the dedication takes on added weight.

My grandfather, Tzvi Hersh Lerner HY”D – my mother’s father – whose yahrzeit falls on the 2nd of Shevat, was murdered in Sachsenhausen in 1939 after intervening on behalf of a young Jewish boy who had been caught stealing a piece of bread in the camp. His death left my mother without a father and forced my grandmother to flee Berlin with two small children. She moved first into hiding in Italy and, after the war, on to Switzerland, where they eventually settled in Montreux. And yet, even then – long before anyone could have named an outcome – quietly and almost imperceptibly, the threads of the next generation were already being woven.

This discovery opens a vivid window into the deeply human side of Rav Weinberg: his attentiveness to individual lives, his capacity for enduring relationships, and his role as a bridge between shattered pasts and rebuilding futures.

I never met the Seridei Eish, though I have studied his responsa. My mother knew him. She typed those responsa as he dictated them. She walked with him through Montreux. She carried chickens to his door so that he could examine them. Because of that, his presence never belonged to the past for me. It was part of the daily texture of my childhood. His Torah reached me not through institutions or ceremonies, but through work done repeatedly, quietly, and without display. In that way, what survived was not only his Torah, but the way it was lived.

Studying the Seridei Eish is for me a Torat imecha, grounded in my mother’s experience and in her years assisting Rav Weinberg in Montreux. To honor his memory is not only to study his writings, but to reckon with what his absence has cost, and with the kind of Torah leadership his life continues to require.

When Rav Yechiel Yacov Weinberg passed away at the age of eighty-eight, the Jewish world lost not only a great rabbinic scholar, but a model of Torah leadership grounded in judgment, humility, and moral seriousness. He combined intellectual breadth with personal restraint, and independence of thought with unwavering fidelity to halakha. Such a voice is acutely lacking today, especially in moments of internal crisis, when slogans replace deliberation and affiliation eclipses responsibility.

Even in death, Rav Weinberg did not fit neatly into any one world. Having no surviving children, his burial in Jerusalem became the subject of controversy. The two worlds that claimed him were the Chareidi and the Mizrachi. Though Rav Weinberg had requested to be buried beside his friend Rav Yitzhak Isaac Halevi Herzog, Chareidi leaders diverted the funeral to another cemetery, claiming him as their own. The tension itself was revealing: a man too broad for easy categories, too principled to be fully absorbed by any camp.

And perhaps the truest way to honor his memory is not only to study his writings – but to recognize how deeply the world still misses him, and how desperately it still needs leaders formed in his image.

Yehi zichro baruch, and may Rav Yechiel Yacov Weinberg’s purified soul be a melitz yosher for Am Yisrael.

 

The Aderet (part 2); Sonya Diskin and R. Yitzhak Yeruham Diskin; Zvi Glatt; and a New Letter from R. Herzog

Marc B. Shapiro

Continued from here

1. Regarding R. Kook and the Aderet (R. Eliyahu Rabinowitz-Teomim), we find that R. Kook omitted something that the Aderet wrote. I don’t know if, strictly speaking, we can call this censorship, but R. Kook definitely omitted something that he was not comfortable with. Here is the Aderet speaking about himself in Nefesh David, p. 113, published by a leading student of R. Kook, R. Moshe Zvi Neriah (and printed together with the Aderet’s autobiography, Seder Eliyahu.[1a]).

Look at the second paragraph of section 5 and section 6. The Aderet first speaks of his great love for Torah scholars. In the next paragraph, the first one of section 6, he speaks of his hatred for sinners. Finally, in the second paragraph of section 6, he says that he has no ill feelings toward non-Jews who do not hate Jews, and that he only hates those whom the Sages commanded us to hate.

Now, look at R. Kook’s Eder ha-Yekar, published in 1906, beginning with the last line on p. 71 and continuing to the end of the paragraph on p. 72.

 

If you compare this to Nefesh David, sections 5-6, you will find that R. Kook leaves out the three paragraphs I mention above. I can see why he would leave out the second paragraph, about sinners, as it would not be in line with his own understanding of the irreligious in the Land of Israel. But why also leave out the first and third paragraphs? The only explanation I can think of is that he figured that by removing the entire section—where the Aderet speaks of his love for Torah scholars, hatred for sinners, and his lack of negative feelings toward non-Jews—this would not be regarded as censorship, as he is removing the whole section, even the non-objectionable parts. If anyone has a better idea, I would love to hear it.

Speaking of the Aderet and censorship, see the article by Yaakov Fuchs here which shows how the Aderet’s strong criticism of the Rogochover was censored. Fuchs has also found that when the Aderet’s book Shema Eliyahu was published (under the title Over Orah [Jerusalem, 2003]) there was also censorship of the Aderet’s negative judgment of the Rogochover, whom he saw as disrespecting great sages of the past. The original manuscript of the Aderet can be seen here, and below is a transcription of the missing passages as prepared by Fuchs, which can be compared with the censored version that appears in Over Orah, pp. 43-44.

The Aderet’s words are very sharp and align with how he spoke about other rabbis whom, for one reason or another, he had a negative view of. Regarding the Rogochover, while recognizing his unbelievable knowledge, the Aderet could not accept what he saw as the Rogochover’s disregard for the accepted conventions of halakhic procedure and his disrespect for prior sages. He goes so far as to state that if we lived in a time of great rabbis—rabbis who had real authority—they would not allow the Rogochover to issue halakhic rulings.

Eliezer Brodt called my attention to another sharp comment by the Aderet against the Rogochover, found in Shmuel Kol, Ehad be-Doro, vol. 1, p. 202. Brodt also noted that this was censored when reprinted in a footnote in the Mossad ha-Rav Kook edition of the Aderet’s Seder Eliyahu, p. 122, and the Rogochover’s name was omitted when the passage was included in an article in Etz Hayyim 19 (5773), p. 55.

The Aderet, who was older than the Rogochover, can be forgiven for speaking the way he did, and he was not the only contemporary of the Rogochover who had these feelings.[1b] But just as we can find negative statements by great rabbis about other rabbis who were their contemporaries, and now we can see how misguided these negative statements were,[2] I think it is the same with regard to the Aderet and the Rogochover. The rabbis of the generation after the Aderet all related to the Rogochover with enormous respect, even if they did not accept his halakhic rulings.

Regarding the Aderet’s book Shema Eliyahu, one thing that was not censored when it was published appears on p. 223, and I thank Yosef Ginsberg for calling it to my attention.

We see that the Aderet and his interlocutor, R. Getzel Horowitz, assumed that the concept of Tikkunei Soferim is to be taken literally, meaning that the text of the Torah was changed from its original version given to Moses. The Aderet suggests that the Tikkunei Soferim are actually halakhah le-Moshe mi-Sinai.

For more concerning the Aderet and censorship, or rather non-censorship, I must recall my very first post on the Seforim Blog, from January 25, 2007, found here. It is titled “Uncensored Books”. I provide two examples where I state that had the publishers known who was being spoken of, they would have censored the text. Regarding the Aderet, I wrote as follows:

Recently many books by the Gaon R. Eliyahu Rabinowitz-Teomim (the Aderet) have appeared, by publishers with very different hashkafot. The volume of teshuvot, Ma’aneh Eliyahu, was published by Yeshivat Or Etzion in Israel, whose Rosh Yeshivah is R. Hayyim Druckman. It is obvious that the editors have no knowledge of American Jewish history, otherwise, the words I quote (from p. 352) would never have been allowed to appear. The editors no doubt assumed that the Aderet was attacking some phony. The name Jacob Joseph [called Jacob Harif by the Aderet] means nothing to them.

וידענו היטב היטב את האיש ואת שיחו תהלוכותוי ותחבולותיו מתחילה ועד סוף . . . ואותו הרב ה’ יעקב, שלא שמש תלמידי, חכמים ומלך מעצמו, ע”פ תבונתו כי פקח גדול הוא אינו מגיע לקרסולי תלמידי תלמידיו של הגאון חתם סופר ז”ל, לא בתורה ולא במעשים טובים, והרי לפנינו שעזב עיר ווילנא תפארת ליטא, והלך לנוע אל ארצות אמעריקא להיות שם רב ראשון בנויארק כחלומו אשר חלם. והרואה דברי הר”מ פ”ו ה”א מדיעות, יעוי’ שם היטב בלשונו, יראה עד כמה מלאה לבו יראת שמים לעשות כן

He goes on demeaning the Chief Rabbi of New York, but you get the picture.[3]

Ad kan what I wrote in the post. After the post’s appearance it was pointed out to me that the index to Ma’aneh Eliyahu properly identifies R. Jacob Joseph (Harif). So perhaps I was mistaken, or it is also possible that the people who put the sefer together did not know who R. Jacob Joseph was, and the person who put together the index was someone else entirely.

Returning to haskamot, let me mention another interesting point. Someone recently sent me a picture of a haskamah to the newly published book by the late R. Dov Yaffe, Ha-Va’adim shel Motzaei Shabbat.

What makes the haskamah (mikhtav berakhah) so significant is that it is by a woman, namely, his widow. I was also surprised that she is identified by her first name, something not always seen in haredi circles in Israel.

This is actually not the first published letter of this sort by a woman. R. Yehoshua Zev Zissenwein’s Tzir Ne’eman was published in Jerusalem at the end of the nineteenth century.[4]

After a group of haskamot from a wide range of rabbis whom he got to know in his work as a meshulah (including R. Jacob Joseph and R. Hillel Klein of New York and R. Abraham Abba Werner of London), comes what is called Mikhtevei Tehillah. This is a list of people who signed up to receive the book and positive comments they made. On the last page the names of three women are given, including Sonya (Sarah) Diskin,[5] the widow of R. Joshua Leib Diskin.[6]

Sonya Diskin was a very influential person in the Old Yishuv community of Jerusalem, because she had a great deal of influence on her husband. After her passing, the following letter appeared in Eliezer Ben Yehuda’s newspaper Hashkafah,[7] signed by someone who called himself a student of the Brisker Rebbetzin (i.e., Sonya Diskin, whose husband was rav of Brisk before moving to Jerusalem).[8]

There is a lengthy and fascinating Wikipedia entry on Sonya Diskin here, from which I learned that her marriage to R. Diskin, which was a second marriage for both and did not produce any children, even made its way into an Agnon story. For other stories told about her, see Yitzchak’s Seforim Blog post here, and the כבר היה לעולמים blog here. You can definitely say she “made it”, as she had a pashkevil directed against her in Jerusalem, which I am certain makes her the first woman to be given this honor. Also of note is that the pashkevil dates from when her husband was still alive. (In later years, Golda Meir and Aliza Bloch, the mayor of Beit Shemesh, also had paskevilim directed at them.)

The pashkevil is found in Binyamin Kluger, Min ha-Makor, vol. 3, p. 46, and in what it regards as fake piety, it refers to how Sonya Diskin wore tzitzit and that she put socks on her cat, so that the cat would not move crumbs of hametz from room to room. (Elsewhere it is reported that she did this on Passover and her fear was that the cat would bring in hametz from the street on its feet.[9] According to Pesahim 9a we need not be concerned for this.) Regarding Passover, it is also reported that Sonya Diskin told her husband, after he scolded her for her humrot, “If I rely on you and your Shulhan Arukh, we’ll be eating chametz on Passover.”[10]

The latter story is very similar to a story told about Mrs. Tonya Soloveitchik, the wife of R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik. The way I heard the story, in the name of Prof. Haym Soloveitchik, is that when Mrs. Soloveitchik came home from the hospital and saw milk and meat plates in the sink, she started rebuking her husband. The Rav defended himself: “According to the Shulhan Arukh, this is OK.” To this, Mrs. Soloveitchik replied: “Your Shulhan Arukh is going to treif up my kitchen.”

After seeing what Sonya Diskin told her husband, I found it too much of a coincidence that two great rebbitzens would have expressed themselves in the same fashion. I turned to Prof. Soloveitchik, presented him the story with his mother as I heard it, and asked if it is true. He replied as follows: “The story is half-true. My mother said: ‘You are making my kitchen treif.’ My father said nothing and neither did I. People have prettied-up the story by fusing it with the well-known story of Sonya the rebbetzin, the wife of R. Yehoshua Leib Diskin.”

There is another Passover story told about Sonya and her husband: R. Diskin saw Sonya working very hard to clean the house of hametz. Exasperated, he jokingly said to her that the only hametz in the house is her. To this, she replied bitingly: “Don’t worry about me. A long time ago my father sold me to a goy [i.e., R. Diskin].”[11] This is actually an old Yiddish joke, see here, that was apocryphally connected to Sonya.

Returning to Zissenwein’s book, the introduction is noteworthy as it reveals that Zissenwein was one of the founders of the early settlement Yesud ha-Ma’ala, and that this was done at the direction of R. Diskin.

Regarding R. Diskin, it is notable that R. Jacob Moses Harlap wrote to R. Kook about a dream he had in which R. Diskin requested that R. Harlap ask R. Kook not to hold anything against his son, R. Yitzhak Yeruham, and not to degrade him. R. Diskin explained that his son is his only child, and his mistake did not come from a bad place.[12] What this alludes to is that R. Yitzhak Yeruham was opposed to R. Kook being appointed rav of Jerusalem. In fact, there is a letter from R. Zvi Pesah Frank to R. Kook explaining that R. Yitzhak Yeruham wanted to be appointed rav himself, and he was upset with R. Frank for not supporting him in this matter.[13] (R. Frank was a big backer of R. Kook.[14])

Innocent mistake or not, in later years, R. Yitzhak Yeruham, together with R. Joseph Hayyim Sonnefeld, would give cover to those who continuously degraded R. Kook in the most objectionable ways imaginable. Yet for the sake of the Yishuv in Eretz Yisrael, R. Kook told R. Diskin and R. Sonnenfeld that he forgave everyone who attacked him and wanted to work together with R. Diskin and R. Sonnenfeld. Here is his open letter in Iggerot ha-Re’iyah, vol. 4, no. 274, where he is very direct in telling R. Yitzhak Yeruham and R. Sonnenfeld that they have not behaved in a manner befitting Torah scholars.

 

 

See also this letter in Iggerot ha-Re’iyah, vol. 4, no. 201, where R. Kook mentions that R. Yitzhak wanted to be appointed rav of Jerusalem, and that out of respect for him and his late father, R. Diskin, R. Kook delayed accepting the offer to become rav of Jerusalem.

 

Regarding R. Yitzhak Yeruham, it is worth noting that when he was still in Europe, he was regarded as a very modern person who dressed in European fashion, knew French, and valued secular studies. It is even reported that he identified as a Zionist. This all changed when he came to Eretz Yisrael.[15]

Since this post has dealt with the Aderet as well as various women, it is a good place to note that R. Baruch Epstein mentions that the sister of the Aderet was quite learned and that a comment of hers was published in the Odessa Torah journal Yagdil Torah.[16] I searched Yagdil Torah on Otzar ha-Hokhmah but could not find what Epstein referenced. I thank Eliezer Brodt for solving this mystery, as he called my attention to where the Aderet mentions his sister, in Yagdil Torah, vol. 9, no. 128. This issue is not found on Otzar ha-Hokhmah, and must be what Epstein was referring to.

Brodt also mentioned to me that in his Zekhor le-David, pp. 69-71, the Aderet has a list of learned women mentioned in rabbinic literature.

2. In the prior post I mentioned that, while studying in Israel, the first sefer I read was written by R. Moshe Zuriel. Not that anyone is wondering, but the second book I read was Zvi Glatt’s posthumously published Me-Afar Kumi.

This book focuses on the importance of living in Eretz Yisrael and is divided into halakhic and aggadic sections. For those who don’t know, Glatt, who was a student at Merkaz ha-Rav, was killed in a terrorist attack in Chevron. Of particular interest is the chapter where Glatt takes issue with R. Moshe Feinstein’s position that living in Israel is a mitzvah kiyumit rather than an obligatory mitzvah. R. Moshe wrote a haskamah to Me-Afar Kumi and responds to Glatt’s discussion, stating that he thinks that Glatt went too far (הפריז על המדה) and that he sees no reason to retract his view.

Also of note are the approbations from R. Avraham Shapiro and R. Shaul Yisraeli, roshei yeshiva at Merkaz ha-Rav. R. Yisraeli notes that Glatt, who could have studied at great yeshivot in the U.S., chose to come to Israel. Glatt could not understand why religious Jews in the Diaspora, by and large, choose to ignore the very important mitzvah of settling the Land of Israel, and it was this focus on Eretz Yisrael that led him to write the sefer.

From a halakhic perspective, the most important aspect of the sefer is the appendix by R. Avraham Shapiro, in which he takes issue with R. Moshe’s opinion. According to R. Shapiro, when it comes to mitzvot mentioned in the Torah, there is no concept of a mitzvah kiyumit as advocated by R. Moshe (namely, that there is no obligation to live in Eretz Yisrael, but if you do, you fulfill a mitzvah and receive reward). Some have compared R. Moshe’s view to the wearing of tzitzit, where there is no obligation to wear them unless you choose to wear a four-cornered garment. Yet R. Shapiro states that tzitzit is absolutely a mitzvah hiyuvit (an obligatory mitzvah). True, one can choose whether to wear a four-cornered garment, but once one puts it on, tzitzit is now an obligation. My question to the learned readers is: Is R. Shapiro correct in saying that there is no concept of a mitzvah kiyumit about one of the 613 mitzvot? Isn’t shehitah an example of a mitzvah kiyumit? You don’t have to eat meat, but if you choose to, you can fulfill the mitzvah of shehitah. Furthermore, in criticizing R. Moshe’s position, R. Shapiro refers to the mitzvah of living in Eretz Yisrael as one of the 613 mitzvot, which makes the concept of it being a mitzvah kiyumit problematic. Yet there is no reason to think that R. Moshe regarded living in Eretz Yisrael as one of the 613 mitzvot, and that is precisely why it could be regarded as a mitzvah kiyumit.

It appears that the Vilna Gaon has the concept of mitzvah kiyumit in mind when he speaks of eating matzah on all days of Passover as a mitzvah but not an obligation, as only on the first night is there an obligation. It seems that he regards the eating of matzah after the first night as a mitzvah kiyumit. Here is how his view is described in Ma’aseh Rav, no. 185:

“שבעת ימים תאכל מצות”, כל שבעה מצוה, ואינו קורא לה רשות אלא לגבי לילה ראשונה שהיא חובה, ומצוה לגבי חובה רשות קרי לה. אעפ”כ מצוה מדאורייתא הוא

Hizkuni makes a similar point in his commentary to Ex. 12:18:

יש לך דברים שמקבלין שכר בעשייתן ועונש כשאין עושין אותן, כגון מצה בלילה הראשון, ויש לך דברים שאין מקבלין שכר בעשייתן ועונש כשאין עושין אותן, כגון מצה מליל ראשון ואילך, ומ”מ מצות תאכלו שבעת ימים כתיב, כלומר אם אכל מצה כל שבעת הימים מכל מקום קיים הוא הפסוק זה של: שבעת ימים מצות תאכלו

3. In my new book on Rav Kook, available here, I discuss how R. Isaac Herzog struggles with the conflict between the biblical record of how long humanity has been on earth and the historical record accepted in the academic world. I cite several of his letters on this topic, in which he suggests that it could be that the Torah’s “history” at the beginning of Genesis is not meant to be regarded as factual.

Only after the book was already near publication did I find another letter from R. Herzog on this very issue, which I share with you now.[17]

The original letter, which R. Herzog would have signed, was sent to R. Zev Gold and is dated December 30, 1952. R. Herzog made copies of the letter, which he must have also distributed, and that is how it made its way to R. Moshe Zvi Neriah, where I found it among his papers.

R. Herzog focuses on his often-discussed—but never realized—plan to write a modernGuide of the Perplexed, addressing new intellectual problems that have arisen for traditional Jews. Without a proper response to these issues, people might be led to deny the doctrine of Torah from heaven. R. Herzog tells R. Gold that his approach in dealing with conflicts between what appears in the Torah and the historical record as established in the academic world is based on two principles:

1. The Torah speaks in the language of man. What this means is that the Torah can describe matters in the way they were generally understood by people at the time the Torah was given, even if this is not strictly factual. In Renewing the Old, Sanctifying the New, I cite a letter from R. Herzog to Aron Barth where he makes the same point.
2. Maimonides’ statement in Guide for the Perplexed 2:25, where he asserts that he would be able to explain the Torah in accord with the doctrine of the eternity of the world, should this idea be proven.[18] In other words, if there is a proven fact in contradiction to the Torah’s simple meaning, then the Torah needs to be reinterpreted.

R. Herzog tells us that the most pressing intellectual challenge to Jewish traditional faith comes from archaeology. So, for instance, if we know from archaeology that there were communities of humans 10,000 or 100,000 years ago, and this is a fact—not just a theory—then, in line with Maimonides’ guidance, we would have to reinterpret the Torah’s chronology which puts humanity on earth for under 6000 years. While in R. Herzog’s time, people in the religious world were focused on the scientific view of a universe billions of years old versus the Torah’s record of when creation occurred, or what to do with dinosaurs that predate the Torah’s account of creation, R. Herzog was focused on a more problematic matter which, for some reason, did not get the same attention: If the historical record shows that people have been living continuously all over the world for a lot longer than 6000 years, what are we to do with the biblical record that places humanity in the world for less than 6000 years? What are we to make of the biblical idea that everyone is descended from Adam and Eve, and also descended from Noah? How are we to understand the stories of the Flood and Tower of Babel?

These are issues that cannot be answered with the famous Midrash that God created worlds and destroyed them, because R. Herzog is concerned with the current world and how long humanity has been part of it. He recognizes that there are passages in the Torah that might need to be reinterpreted in a non-literal fashion. What he is struggling with is what the religious boundaries are, beyond which one cannot go. In other words, when can you interpret the Torah in a non-literal fashion, and when not? Or, to put the matter differently, beginning with which chapter in Genesis must we assume that the Torah is speaking historically and, therefore, non-literal interpretation is not permitted? This was to be a major focus in R. Herzog’s planned work, which, to our great misfortune, was never authored.

He adds that philosophy will also have to be a part of this book. Knowing that this was not one of his many areas of specialty, he points to R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik as the only person in the generation who could make a vital contribution to his project from the philosophical side. While R. Herzog would focus on the historical problems I have just mentioned, R. Soloveitchik would provide a Jewish response to philosophical challenges.

2. In the last post I noted how the Chafetz Chaim wondered how he could eat at inns if the owners did not tovel their dishes. He did not question the kashrut of the food, and we see both then, and today, that one can be regarded as strict in matters of kashrut while not toveling one’s dishes, which for some reason has not always been regarded by all as an important halakhah.[19] We also find regarding other halakhic matters that people who are strict in one sphere do not necessarily lose their halakhic reliability if in a different area their halakhic observance leaves something to be desired.[20]

Based on this notion, we can understand the following 1955 letter from R. David Grunwald, rav of Santiago, to R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg.[21]

R. Grunwald wanted to know whether one can rely on the kashrut of the owner of an inn if the man also serves non-kosher wine to the guests. Today, people would find the question incomprehensible, but it wasn’t that long ago when many otherwise observant Jews were not careful about kosher wine.[22] It is also important to note that R. Grunwald was referring to the old type of inns where people ate there because they trusted the kashrut of the owner. These establishments did not have any official hashgachah.

R. Grunwald refers to a famous responsum of R. Akiva Eiger, no. 96, where R. Eiger notes that Jews who shave with a razor are still able to be accepted as witnesses in a beit din. This is because shaving with a razor was so common in the Orthodox world, that people who did so did not realize how serious the prohibition is.

י”ל דהשחתה בתער דנתפשט בעו”ה אצל הרבה לא חשב שזהו איסור כ”כ דלא משמע להו לאינשי דאסור, וכאשר באמת נזכר בג”ע דהשיב להמוכיח שהרבה אנשים חשובים עושים כן, וכיון דבאמת פשתה המספחת בזמנינו גם לאותן הנזהרים בשאר דברים נדמה להם דאינו איסור כ”כ

If R. Eiger adopted this approach with the Torah prohibition of shaving with a razor, all the more so, R. Grunwald suggests, that it should apply to the rabbinic prohibition of non-kosher wine. This would mean that religious Jews could stay at the inn in question, enjoy the food, and simply avoid the non-kosher wine. Yet not willing to make this decision on his own. R. Grunwald turned to R. Weinberg, and unfortunately we do not know if R. Weinberg replied.[23]

Related to R. Grunwald’s question, I was told that in its final years, Grossinger’s hotel offered non-kosher wine in the dining room. I don’t know if this was after R. Chavel’s passing in 1982. (The hotel continued until 1986). There used to be a restaurant in a major European city that was kosher, but the bar in the restaurant served non-kosher wine. The philosophy of the hashgachah (which was not a weak hashgachah) was that they are giving a hashgachah on the food. What happens at the bar is not their concern, and if someone brings a glass of non-kosher wine to the table that also is not their concern. This is not something that would ever be allowed by mainstream hashgachot in America, but in places without large observant Jewish populations, sometimes the rabbis feel they have to adopt a different approach in order to enable a kosher restaurant to be viable. Some years ago, there was a kosher Indian restaurant under the hashgachah of the late R. Yaakov Spivak. This restaurant allowed people to bring their own bottles of wine (maybe because it didn’t have a liquor license and thus couldn’t provide kosher wine). I asked R. Spivak why he allowed this, and he replied simply that there is no halakhic issue if people bring their own non-kosher wine. Again, this is not something that a mainstream U.S. hashgachah would allow.

Returning to the Aderet’s report of the Chafetz Chaim asking about eating in kosher inns where the dishes were not toveled, when I read that I thought of something similar. In the past, I have written about various kosher establishments that were not under hashgachah, but people ate there because they trusted the owners. Perhaps the most famous of these places was Sam Schechter’s and Leo Gartenberg’s Pioneer Country Club in Greenfield, N.Y. The kashrut there was trusted by all, and Agudath Israel held its annual conventions there. Here is a picture I published some years ago.[24]

The picture was taken at the wedding of R. Moshe Dovid Tendler’s daughter, Rivka, to R. Shabtai Rappaport. The man on the left is R. Isaac Tendler, R. Moshe Dovid’s father. The wedding took place at the Pioneer on June 17, 1971. I thank Jack Prince who was at the wedding for allowing me to make a copy of the picture in his possession.

Regarding the Pioneer Country Club, I think the younger readers will have a hard time understanding not only how even the most religious would stay at a hotel without a hashgachah, but the Pioneer also had mixed swimming and evening entertainment, including mixed dancing and women singers. (I wonder if out of respect, these things did not take place during the Agudah conventions.) It was a different era and people of different religious levels were happy to stay together in one resort.[25] I am sure many readers from my generation and older remember Grossinger’s which was the same sort of place, although, as mentioned, Grossinger’s was under R. Chavel’s hashgachah.

I bring all this up because of a fascinating tape of R. Fabian Schonfeld discussing R. Aharon Kotler available here. At minute 22:25 he tells how R. Aharon was at the Torah u-Mesorah convention which was held at the Pioneer. R. Aharon learned that the kitchen was not careful with having a Jew light the pilot light. R. Aharon explained to Gartenberg what the halakhah required in this matter. and he trusted Gartenberg that from that point on there would be no bishul akum issues. Today, such a scene would be unimaginable, as the mashgiach would be careful about this matter, but as mentioned already, we are talking about a different era.

I wonder if the general practice among Orthodox Jews in America in those days was to rely on either the view of R. Abraham ben David that there is no bishul akum when a non-Jew cooks in a Jew’s home, or the view held by others that there is no bishul akum with hired help.[26] According to R. Moses Isserles, although the halakhah is not in accord with R. Abraham ben David’s view, bediavad, food cooked by a non-Jew in a Jew’s home can be eaten. He then adds the following which might explain how a more lenient approach to bishul akum developed than what is standard today:

ואפילו לכתחלה נוהגין להקל בבית ישראל שהשפחות והעבדים מבשלים בבית ישראל כי אי אפשר שלא יחתה אחד מבני הבית מעט

See also here where R. Schonfeld recollects about the early history of Jewish Kew Gardens Hills. He recounts that the only halakhically reliable kosher butcher was the Main Street Kosher Meat Market owned by Mr. Herman. This was not under hashgachah, but since, R. Schonfeld tells us, Mr. Herman was known as a pious Jew, “this was the only one [butcher] at that time that we could tell people you can buy [from]”

* * * * * * *

[1a] Regarding censorship of Seder Eliyahu, see Dan’s earlier post here and also the discussion here.
[1b] See R. Raphael Mordechai Barishansky, Mikhtavim Mehutavim, pp. 167ff., where he responds to the Rogochover’s demeaning comment about the Vilna Gaon. I published the Rogochover’s interview, which so upset Barishansky, in the Jewish Review of Books, Summer 2017, available here.
[2] Readers will probably be thinking about how great rabbis spoke of the early hasidic leaders, R. Moses Hayyim Luzzatto, and R. Jonathan Eybschuetz. Another example is how great rabbis spoke about the leaders of the Mussar movement. My 19-part series on the Mussar Dispute is available on youtube here.
[3] Interestingly, in R. Jacob Joseph’s haskamah to R. Shalom Israelson, Neveh Shalom (Chicago, 1905), he refers to the Aderet as his friend. This point is also mentioned here.
[4] The first title page has the year 1897, but the second title page has 1898. Rabbi Mendel Moinster’s haskamah is dated Nov. 28, 1898, so it is possible that the book was only published in 1899.
[5] Regarding her, see most recently Menachem Keren-Kratz and Motti Inbari, “The Sociological Model of Haredi Rebbetzins: ‘Two-Person Single Career’ vs. ‘Parallel-Life Family,’” AJS Review 46 (2022), pp. 270-290.
[6] I have not been able to determine when the name “Moses” was added to his first names.
[7] Nov. 2, 1906, p. 3 (Issue 8:10). See also the eulogy for her in Hashkafah, Oct. 19, 1906, pp. 2-3 (Issue 8:6). There is something very unusual about this paper. Here is the first page of the November 2, 1906, issue.

Look at the date: 14 Heshvan 1838. Rather than using the date from Creation, Ben Yehuda used the years since the destruction of the Temple, which he assumed to be the year 68.
[8] In this regard, I would like to call attention to another interesting reference to a woman that I learned about from R. Dov Katz, Tenuat ha-Mussar, vol. 2, pp. 107–108. In 1938, R. Moshe Rosenstein, the mashgiach of the Lomza Yeshiva, published the second volume of his work Yesodei ha-Da’at. In the introduction, he mentions three teachers to whom he owes so much: R. Zvi Braude, R. Yerucham Levovitz, and R. Shimon Shkop. He then refers to his fourth “teacher,” Nechama Liba, the daughter of R. Simhah Zissel of Kelm, describing her as a great student of her father and emphasizing how much he learned from her.

Such a description would never appear in haredi literature today. First of all, the very notion that a yeshiva leader mentions learning so many things from a woman—והרבה הרבה למדנו ממנה— would not be allowed to appear in print. Also, look at his description of how he observed her wisdom and piety:

והיה לי ההזדמנות להתבונן על דרכיה ומנהגיה ותהלוכתיה בחכמה ויראת ה’ ומעשיה הטובים

I believe that today such a description would be regarded as lacking in tzeniut, as it showed that he paid attention to the actions of a woman.
[9] See Margalit Shilo, Princess or Prisoner, trans. David Louvish (Waltham, 2005), p. 78, and here.
[10] Elimelekh Weissblum, Havai Tzefat (Tel Aviv, 1969), p. 34, translated in Shilo, Princess or Prisoner, p. 78. See also here.
[11] See R. Michael Abraham’s post here. Regarding women cleaning for Passover, in a comment to Abraham’s post, a reader referred to the following fascinating passages in R. Moses Sofer’s responsa.

She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, vol. 1, Orah Hayyim, no. 136:

והיותי חוץ לחדר לימודי כי גרשוני נשים צדקניות המכבדים ליום טוב של פסח על כן לא יכולתי להאריך ככל הצורך

She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, vol. 6, no. 30:

יקרת מכתבו הגיעני בימים האלו ימי טלטולא דגברא דהני נשי דידן מפנים חפצים מזוית לזוית אפילו ספרים אינם מוכנים לי לעיין

[12] Harlap, Hed Harim (Elon Moreh, 1997), pp. 94-95.
[13] Kook, Iggerot ha-Re’iyah, vol. 3, p. 306.
[14] See R. Frank’s letter in R. Hayyim Hirschensohn, Malki ba-Kodesh, vol. 4, pp. 22-23, where he explains the situation in Jerusalem, and how the extremists controlled Rabbis Sonnenfeld and Yitzhak Yeruham Diskin.
[15] See Menahem Mendel Porush, Be-Tokh ha-Homot (Jerusalem, 1948), pp. 199ff., Or Hadash 17 (2012), pp. 68ff. R. Yitzhak Yeruham’s father, R. Diskin, was also more open-minded before he moved to Eretz Yisrael. See the valuable post by Zerachya Licht here and his earlier post here.
[16] Mekor Barukh, vol. 4, pp. 1957-1958.
[17] The letter is found in the Moshe Zvi Neriah Archive, Israel National Library, ARC.4*21300411.
[18] For my understanding of Maimonides, which diverges from that of R. Herzog and what seems to be the standard approach, see my Seforim Blog post here. I argue that Maimonides was only prepared to accept Plato’s view of eternal matter, but not Aristotle’s view of the eternity of the universe, though Maimonides acknowledges that the biblical verses can be read in accord with Aristotle’s approach.
[19] Perhaps there is a limud zekhut for these people in that the Rogochover held that utensils produced by non-Jews for commercial purposes do not require tevilah. See Tzafnat Paneah, Ma’akhalot Asurot 17:3 (called to my attention by Rabbi Sholom Berger). R. Abraham Price reacted with shock at this radical ruling which completely abolishes the whole concept of tevilat kelim in the modern world. See his edition of the Sefer Mitzvot Gadol, vol. 2, p. 444:

ונדהמתי לראות דברים כאלו כתובים מידי גאון אדיר, כי לפי דבריו בזמנינו בטל כל דין של טבילת כלים, שיש הרבה ראשונים הסוברים שהוא דאורייתא כדלעיל. שהרי כמעט כולנו קונים רק כלים הנעשים בבית תוצרות של נכרים ואין אחד מן רבבה שיקנה כלים ממה שהנכרי עשה בשביל עצמו. ודברים הנ”ל של הצ”פ הם כנגד דברי הש”ע וכנגד כל הראשונים

R. Price says that the Rogochover’s view is against “all therishonim.” Yet see R. Yehoshua Ben-Meir,Mi-Pekudekha Etbonen, pp. 276-277, who argues that the Rogochover’s view is also held by Rashi, Rashba, and Ritva.

See also R. Menasheh Klein, Mishneh Halakhot, vol 5, no. 110 (end), who mentions the Rogochover’s view and is not prepared to accept it. However, he raises the question about utensils that are produced by machine, and all the non-Jew does it touch a button. R. Klein think that it is possible that in such a case tevilah is not required, although he does not rule this way in practice.

Even as we continue to tovel dishes produced by non-Jews for commercial purposes and also by use of machine, I wonder if the doubts that have been raised mean that all toveling should be done without a berakhah. I have not seen any posek make this point.
[20] See R. Shmuel Khoshkerman’s responsum in Sefer Zikaron Penei Moshe, pp. 289ff., where he permits a man who is careful about Shabbat, kashrut and tefillah, but does not observe taharat ha-mishpahah, to serve as a kashrut mashgiach. Among the sources he cites is Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh Deah 2:7: מומר לערלות דינו כמומר לעבירה אחת

He also cites Yoreh Deah 119:7:

מי שהוא מפורסם בא’ מעבירות שבתורה חוץ מעבודת כוכבים וחלול שבת בפרהסיא או שאינו מאמין בדברי רבותינו ז”ל נאמן בשאר איסורים ובשל אחרים נאמן אפילו על אותו דבר לומר מותר הוא

He further cites R. Yitzhak Zilberstein, Hashukei Hemed, Bekhorot 30b, who thinks that someone who does not wash before eating bread is not to be disqualified from serving as a mashgiach. This is because his personal sins do not affect his feeling of responsibility to the community, and there is no reason to think that he would allow others to eat non-kosher just because he is not careful with netilat yadayim. R. Zilberstein does, however, cite his brother-in-law R. Chaim Kanievsky, who disagreed.

R. Khoshkerman explains his own lenient view:

והנה עינינו הרואות שהרבה אנשים זהירים בכשרות יותר מטהרת המשפחה, כיון שהוא יודע שאם הוא לא יהיה זהיר בכשרות הוא חוטא ומחטיא את הרבים, אבל בדיני טהרת המשפחה רק הוא חוטא. לפיכך נראה שיכולים לסמוך עליו. ועוד שאינם יודעים גודל חומרת האיסור של טהרת המשפחה, אבל על כשרות המטבח הם מקפידים, וכן על מצוות אחרות כגון שבת טלית ותפילין

R. Khoshkerman concludes:

המורם מכל האמור: שאדם שחשוד על טהרת המשפחה, אינו חשוד על כשרות, ולכן יכולים לסמוך עליו בתור משגיח כשרות. אבל רק בתנאי שהוא שומר מצוות אחרות כמו תפלה, טלית ותפילין ושבת, ורק על ענין טהרת המשפחה הוא עובר, או מפני שאינו יודע שזה דבר חמור, או מסיבות אחרות

R. Shalom Mordechai Schwadron, She’elot u-Teshuvot Maharsham, vol. 2, no. 62, already wrote as follows (and R. Khoshkerman will no doubt see this as support for his conclusion):

 די”ל שמ”מ לאינשי חמיר טפי איסורי מאכלות ועינינו רואות בכמה נשים שאין טובלות לנדתן ועוד כהנה ובכ”ז נזהרין מאיסורי מאכלות

I would also add that R. Moses Isserles’s words in Yoreh Deah 119:7 are relevant:

מי שהוא חשוד בדבר דלא משמע לאינשי שהוא עבירה לא מקרי חשוד

[21] The letter is found in Ganzach Kiddush ha-Shem in Bnei Brak.
[22] R. Aharon Rakeffet has often told about his shock in discovering, soon after being hired in 1961, that congregants at the Lower Merion Synagogue, his first rabbinic pulpit, drank non-kosher wine. He would have found the same thing at Modern Orthodox synagogues across the country. Rakeffet has also recorded his story in From Washington Avenue to Washington Street (Jerusalem, 2011), pp. 167-168. I discuss Jews drinking non-kosher wine in Changing the Immutable, and will return to it in a future post
[23] Jews shaving with a razor is also mentioned by R. Ezekiel Landau, Noda bi-Yehudah, Orah Hayyim Tinyana, no. 101, and R. Moses Sofer, She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, Orah Hayyim, no. 154: בעו”ה רבו המשחיתים בעם בתער

This was a such a problem among otherwise observant Jews in early twentieth-century America that R. Hayyim Hirschensohn tried to come up with a heter for shaving with the modern T-shaped razors. See Hiddushei Ha-Rav Hayyim Hirschensohn, vol. 3, no. 12. R. Hirschensohn’s position is discussed by R. Nachum Rabinovitch, Melumdei Milhamah, pp. 283-284.
[24] For stories of R. Moshe Feinstein and the Pioneer Country Club, see R. Yaakov Heftler (Leo Gartenberg’s son-in-law), “Zikhronot,” Kol ha-Torah 54 (2003), pp. 67ff. One story Hetfler describes is how his father passed away on the Shabbat of his aufruf, which took place at the Pioneer with some 250 guests in attendance. The wedding was supposed to be on Sunday. However, R. Moshe Feinstein, who was at the hotel in honor of the simhah, ruled that the funeral should be postponed to Monday and the wedding should take place on Sunday, when Heftler was an onen.

Here is the report about the wedding in Ha-Pardes, Tishrei 5720, p. 47.

[25] There was a well-known askan named Julius Steinfeld. You can read about him here. He did amazing things during the Holocaust and was responsible for saving thousands of Jews. I mention him here because he was very upset that the Agudah had their convention at the Pioneer and wrote a very sharp letter of protest. He even rejects the entire concept of a convention in which both men and women are in attendance.

[26] See Tosafot, Avodah Zarah 38a, s.v. Ela mi-de-Rabbanan, and the wide discussion of R. Ovadiah Yosef, Yehaveh Da’at, vol. 5, no. 54.

Book review – Nafshi BiShe’elati: The Halakhot of Mental Health

Ben Rothke

 

T.J. Hooper was a precedent-setting tort case[1] in 1932. Two tugboats, one of which was The T.J. Hooper, were towing barges. During a storm, the barges sank, and their cargoes lost. The owners of the cargo sued the barge owners, who in turn sued the tugboat owners. The barge owners claimed that the tug operators were negligent because they failed to equip their tugs with radios that would have warned them of the bad weather.

The tugboat companies defended under the prevailing practice theory. They claimed that because no other tugboat operators in the area were using radios, this constituted the industry standard of care.

Judge Learned Hand found the tugboat companies liable because they did not use readily available technology, radio receivers, to listen for broadcast weather reports, even though radio use was not yet standard industry practice 

Judge Hand observed, “Indeed, in most cases, reasonable prudence is, in fact, common prudence, but strictly it is never its measure. A whole calling may have unduly lagged in the adoption of new and available devices. Courts must in the end say what is required. There are precautions so imperative that even their universal disregard will not excuse their omission”.

I thought of the T.J. Hooper case when reading a most remarkable new book Nafshi BiShe’elati: The Halakhot of Mental Health[2] by Rabbi Yonatan Rosensweig and Dr. Shmuel Harris. Mental health is virgin ground in halacha and requires the subtle judgment of the most seasoned poskim. When Rav Asher Weiss used the term OCD in his teshuva in 1994 (Minchat Asher 2:134), it was, as I understand it, the first usage by a posek of the term OCD.

The authors quote Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach (1910-1995) who was asked if one may turn on an electronic device on Shabbat to play music for a choleh sheyesh bo sakana who likes it. Rav Auerbach responded, “My son may permit this, but I have difficulty.”

He explained, “When I was growing up, a sick person needed warmth, food, and drink. While I can understand these new psychological needs, like music, are in fact needed—of course you are right—it is very difficult for me to permit them.”

A century ago, giving the sick person, be it one who was physically ill or with a mental malady, warmth, food, and drink was all one could do. This was an era where ear infections were fatal, and those with mental illnesses were considered incapable of being productive members of society or even counted as part of a minyan.

Today, with far-reaching advances in mental health care and pharmacology, a rabbi today who provides a congregant with warmth, food, and drinks instead of a referral for psychological care may have blood on his hands. The authors write that rabbis should avoid trying to provide psychological treatment in place of a licensed professional.

This is required even though the rabbi’s role throughout history as a spiritual guide in whom his disciples and community can confide is still as crucial as ever. He should differentiate between someone in need of sage counsel or an attentive ear and someone with a mental illness who needs professional care. Consequently, it is imperative that rabbis receive mental health training so that they can adequately distinguish between mental states and identify signs that warrant referral for professional treatment.

The authors are a remarkable pair with Rosensweig, the accomplished rabbinic scholar, and Harris, the physician. Rosensweig serves as the Rabbi of the Netzach Menashe synagogue in Beit Shemesh, Israel. He also teaches in various post-high school institutions and is the author of a number of books. In 2021, he founded Maagalei Nefesh[3], on an organization that deals with issues about mental health and halakha.

Harris is a psychiatrist who has served as the former head of psychiatric services at Hadassah Mt. Scopus. He is also the founder of Machon Dvir[4], a mental health organization servicing the English-speaking community in Israel.

The late Chicago-based posek Rav Gedalia Dov Schwartz said when dealing with transgender issues, “They didn’t really prepare me for this in yeshiva.” Schwartz echoed the sentiment that what was studied in the pristine study halls was often theoretical and abstract and didn’t match what was occurring in the real world.

When it comes to mental health, many communal rabbis are finding that yeshiva didn’t prepare them to deal with congregants who have mental health issues. Many of which can be exacerbated by halacha. These rabbis must be educated in various areas and understand the many mental health issues to properly and effectively minister to their congregants.

Eating, for example, plays a large part in Jewish life. Between the weekly Sabbath meals, the Passover seder, and various holiday meals, nearly 20% of the Jewish calendar revolves around meals or a fast.

So when a rabbi has a congregant with anorexia nervosa or other types of eating disorders, how they respond can have life or death repercussions as eating disorders have one of the highest mortality rates in comparison to other psychiatric illnesses, as 20% of anorexia nervosa deaths, are due to suicide. In addition, those with eating disorders are much more likely to engage in self-harm and experience suicidal ideation.

Anorexia nervosa is germane not just to eating but to fasting also. The authors detail situations where a person suffering from anorexia nervosa would be obligated to eat on a fast day, including Yom Kippur.

Most rabbis will wear out their copies of Hamadrich, The RCA Lifecycle Guide[5], as it is the go-to guide for various lifecycle events. Yet when it comes to mental health and halacha, there is no Hamadrich. And that is precisely the gap that Nafshi BiShe’elati brilliantly fills.

The book deals with every area where mental health and halacha intersect: Shabbat and holidays, marriage, divorce, relationships, prayer, kashrut, and much more.

As the authors live in Israel, they quote heavily on Israeli poskim. Readers will be introduced to poskim such as Rabbis Eliyahu Abergel, Reem Hacohen (Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Otniel), Yuval Cherlow (Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Hesder Amit Orot Shaul), and more.

In many areas, halacha addresses the status of the shoteh, someone not in total control of their mental facilities. The concept of shoteh is a difficult one to define and has been applied in relation to many different cases. The most common uses of the term have been reserved for and most closely describe the clinical phenomenon of psychosis, the state in which the individual lacks the ability to distinguish reality from fantasy.

With that, the book open with an analysis of shoteh, and the different levels it entails, including shoteh gamur, general shtut, shoteh ledavar ehad, and more. Defining what and who a shoteh is not an academic exercise. It can, in fact, have life-and-death consequences.

One is allowed to violate the sabbath for someone as the presumption is that it will enable them to observe many sabbaths in the future. One could argue, although the halacha is not like this, that Shabbat may not be violated to save a shoteh, as it will not bring them to observe more Shabbatot.

While a shoteh is exempt from the performance of mitzvot, the Maharil writes that if a man has a son who is a shoteh, he has fulfilled the mitzva of procreation, as writes that the shoteh has a soul, is a bar mitzva, and those of sound mind are cautioned about him.

The authors quote heavily from the late Rav Nahum Rabinovitch (former Rosh Yeshiva of the hesder yeshiva Birkat Moshe in Ma’ale Adumim). Rav Rabinovitch’s genius was matched by his sensitivity to the human condition.

Rav Rabinovitch believed that the very act of performing a mitzva can preserve a sense of being in good health for the shoteh, so it is important for them to perform mitzvot with or without assistance.

In Rupture and Reconstruction: The Transformation of Contemporary Orthodoxy[6] Professor Haym Soloveitchik writes of the swing to the right, where a significant increase in chumras has had significant consequences for Jewish society and the nature of Jewish spirituality.

When dealing with the halachic needs of those with mental health issues, the authors quote valid halahic sources which show how far right and strict things have become as normative halacha. This includes countless things from running and jumping on Shabbat, having non-Jews play instruments on Shabbat for newly married couples (which was the custom in Ashkenaz during the Middle Ages), certain aspects of mikvah usage for women, and more.

As to mikvah use, women with anorexia suffer intensely whenever they must attend to their body or appearance. Cleaning the body and preparing it for mikvah immersion is not a simple affair for them, as it brings negative feelings about their body, sometimes including disgust, to the surface.

The authors write that it is very important for rabbis answering questions from women with eating disorders to be sensitive to their tremendous difficulties and instruct them to go easy on the mikvah preparations and do only the absolute minimum required by Halacha.

Similarly, the mikveh attendants must be aware when someone has an eating disorder and should respect their privacy and do their best to create a pleasant and relaxed environment for them.

The concept of yeridat hadorot is the belief in the intellectual inferiority of subsequent and contemporary Torah scholarship and spirituality compared to that of the past. Yet when it comes to dealing with those who are deaf, mute, or both; and those with mental health issues, one can certainly say it is aliya hadorot. Our ability today to deal with and integrate Jews with those maladies pales in comparison to how they were handled and treated in generations past.

This is a book of unique erudition on a crucial topic, and Nafshi BiShe’elati: The Halakhot of Mental Health is a remarkable guide that is required reading not just for every rabbi but for everyone. Most of us know someone who has a mental health issue or is just one degree of separation from those who do.

It wasn’t that long ago that those with Down Syndrome were never let out of the house, and those with severe mental issues were lobotomized. Society in general, and Jewish society specifically, has come a long way in terms of mental health and how to deal with it. The book shows how Halacha is more than able to deal with these mental health situations. It’s incumbent on every rabbi and member of the Jewish community to understand how to deal with our brothers and sisters suffering from mental health issues.

This extraordinary book should be read by those looking for a serious and scholarly guide about halacha and mental health, a reference completely dedicated to halacha’s fealty.

[1] http://itlaw.wikia.com/wiki/T.J._Hooper
[2] https://korenpub.com/products/nafshi-bisheelati-halakhot-of-mental-health
[3] https://mnefesh.org
[4] https://machondvir.org/
[5] https://korenpub.com/products/hamadrikh-the-rca-lifecycle-guide
[6] https://traditiononline.org/rupture-and-reconstruction-the-transformation-of-contemporary-orthodoxy/

Disputatious Divorces: Public Controversies over Gitten and Couple Relations
by Marvin J. Heller[1]

God said “It is not good that man be alone: I will make him a helper, a counterpart to him.
Therefore, a man shall leave his father and mother and clings to his wife, so that they become one flesh. (Genesis 2:18, 24)
As a rose among the thorns, so is my beloved among the young women.
As an apple tree among the forest trees, so is my beloved among the young men (Song of Songs 2:2,3).
A man takes a woman [into his household as his wife] and becomes her husband. She fails to please him because he finds something obnoxious about her, and he writes her a bill of divorcement (Sefer Keritut, get), hands it to her, and sends her away from his house (Deuteronomy 24:1).

The Bible makes clear that the normal relationship is for men and women to marry and have a warm conjugal relationship, stating this near the opening of Genesis, the first human relationship being formed on the sixth day of creation, the day the both man and women were created. This relationship is emphasized by King Solomon in the Song of Songs (Shir ha-Shirim) who, as noted above, describes the affection each member of a couple has, should have, for each other. Alas, unfortunately, this is not always the case. When that unfortunate occurrence occurs, the Torah mandates a procedure for terminating the relationship, hopefully with a minimum of animosity and acrimony.

In contrast to the above, several contentious divorces in the Jewish community, in the sixteenth through eighteenth centuries, had a very public countenance, this in contrast to the concept that divorce is a private affair. In all of these instances the disputations and the opinions of the prominent rabbis involved were recorded in numerous books of responsa. This article looks at several of those divorces and related publications, one in which none of the participants were Jewish. In that instance, however, halacha was a matter of interest. Background of the disputes are discussed in this article and several of the leading related publications are described. Five contentious divorces are addressed in this article in chronological order, excepting the English royal divorce addressed at the conclusion of the article.

I

1566 – Tamari-Venturozzo affair – We begin with the controversial divorce known as the Tamari-Venturozzo Affair, after its participants, Samuel (Shmuel ha-katan) ben Moses Ventura of Perugia, known as Venturozzo and Tamar, the daughter of Joseph ben Moses ha-Kohen Tamari, “the leading physician in Venice.” Shlomo Simonsohn, begins his description of the “divorce scandal” writing that in contrast to other communal disputes the Tamari-Venturozzo affair, an issue of Jewish law, “roused the Jewish public throughout Italy” and social conflict in the communities.[2]

In 1560, Samuel Venturozzo, was promised, (engaged to) Tamar (Tamari). Three months after the betrothal a dispute between Venturozzo and Tamari, the latter close to the Venetian government, occurred, the former reputedly for violating his marriage vows, customarily made at in Italy at the time of betrothal. As a result, Venturozzo left Venice, claiming that he fled the city because Tamari had reported him to the authorities. Venturozzo moved about in Italy, pursued by Tamari, who demanded a get (bill of divorce) for his daughter, as erusin (betrothal) involving the exchange of marital vows, that is, apart from and prior to nissu’in (marriage), had taken place, necessitating a get.

After four years, Tamari brought the case to the Maharam of Padua (R. Meir ben Isaac Katzenellenbogen, 1482-1565), among the leading rabbis in Italy. He ruled, on February 27, 1564 (4 Adar, 5324), that within a month Venturozzo must either consummate the marriage or divorce Tamar. After considerable difficult negotiations, Venturozzo returned to Venice and formally divorced Tamar, giving her a get. This did not, however, conclude the matter. Venturozzo subsequently reputed the divorce, claiming that he had been compelled to grant the get; Tamari charged that Venturozzo was mercenary. Furthermore, Tamari claimed that Venturozzo’s charges, after the fact, did not negate the get. Rabbinic and secular authorities were marshaled by both sides, in Venice on behalf of Tamari, the rabbinate in Mantua, and Cosimo I, Duke of Florence, on behalf of Venturozzo, who would later be librarian for the Duke’s Hebrew books. Even the Church, represented by Cardinals and the Inquisition, became involved. The dispute occupied the attention of Italian Jewry for seven years.[3]

According to Robert Bonfil the Tamari-Venturozzo controversy was one of several within the Italian-Jewish community. Each dispute involved numerous rabbis, none with sufficient authority to render a final decision. He writes that “the personal authority of the individuals involved was severely weakened by some harsh facts which came to light in the wake of these conflicts.” Furthermore, social tension between ethnic groups was aggravated. “Even in the case of the Tamari-Venturozzo divorce, the Mantua community was divided into two camps: the scholars of the Ashkenazic yeshivot on the one hand, and R. Moses Provenzali and the Italian community on the other.[4]

This dispute over the get divided the Ashkenazic and Sephardic communities of Italy, and, prior to its resolution, involved a wide spectrum of rabbinic authorities, in such locations as Venice, Florence, Ferrara, and Mantua, as well as Italian officialdom and even beyond Italy, in such diverse locations as Salonika, Constantinople and Eretz Israel. Polemic tracts and collections of responsa were issued for and by both sides.

Several works of responsa address this dispute, of those noted here, one was printed in Venice, R. Baruch Uziel ben Baruch Hazketto’s Hatzaah al Odot ha-Get, and two were published in Mantua, R. Samuel ben Moses Venturozzo’s Elleh ha-Devorim and R. Moses ben Abraham Provencal’s Be’ur Zeh Yaza Rishonah.[5]

1566, Hatzaah al Odot ha-Get
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

Hatzaah al Odot ha-Get (Proposal on the matter of the get given by Samuel known as Venturozzo) is a collection of responsa from a number of rabbis in support of Tamari. It was published at the press of Giorgio di Cavalli (Venice, 1565) in a small format (21 cm. 77 ff.). Cavalli, a scion of an ancient Veronese family made Venetian patricians, was an active printer of Hebrew books from 1565 to 1567, issuing more than twenty Hebrew titles. His pressmark was an elephant bearing a turret.

Hatzaah al Odot ha-Get was published by the Tamari family and the rabbis of Venice who supported the family. The book was published at intervals and subsequently assembled as a complete work. R. Baruch Uziel ben Baruch Hazketto (d. 1571, Hazketto is a Hebraized form of his name: ḥazak, forte, פורטי, “strong”).[6] The title-page of Hatzaah al Odot ha-Get states that it’s subject matter is the get given by the young Samuel known as Venturozzo. It is dated 8 Tishrei השכ”ו ([5]326 = Monday, September 3, 1565) and “contains all the details, in general and in particular, from beginning to the end. . . . and in it can be found all the facts of the divorce.” The text begins with an account of the affair from the Tamari perspective. It is followed by correspondence and rulings supporting the Tamari family from rabbis who express their opposition to R. Moshe Provencal (Provencali), who led the rabbis of Mantua, and his supporters, the leading adherents of the Venturozzo position.[7]

Elleh ha- Devorim represents the Venturozzo family’s position. It was published in quarto format (4⁰: pp. 46 ff.) with the assistance of R. Moses ben Abraham Provencal. Although the title-page states it was printed in Mantua the publisher is not known. In addition, a second, this the primary work representing the Tamari family position, was Provencal’s Be’ur Zeh Yaza Rishonah.

R. Moses ben Abraham Provencal (1503–1575), born in and rabbi of Mantua was a prominent Talmudist and among the preeminent contemporary Italian rabbis. Among the many works for which he is known, in addition to his responsa, are an approbation for the printing of the Zohar (Mantua, 1558–60), and other varied works.[8] A leading supporter of Venturozzo, Provencal (1503-1575), invalidated the get, contending it was given under duress. His position was opposed by many rabbis in Italy, as well as rabbis throughout Italy and Turkey. Provencal wrote to the Venetian rabbinate informing them that Tamar could not remarry until the matter was resolved. The Venetian rabbinate sought and gained the support of the rabbis (six) in the Ashkenaz yeshiva in Mantua, who “banned” Provencal, an activity supported by several prominent rabbis in Italy and abroad. Provencal was actually put under house arrest by the authorities in Mantua for his position.[9] Much of the Italian rabbinate supported Provencal.

1566, Elleh ha- Devorim
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

1566, Be’ur Zeh Yaza Rishonah
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

Provencal’s Be’ur Zeh Yaza Rishonah is a small work. It was printed in Mantua in octavo format (8⁰: [22] pp.), the press, as noted above, unknown. The title-page describes Be’ur Zeh Yaza Rishonah as including all the laws concerning women on divorce and betrothal when discord occurs between a man and his wife and the monetary issues when they bring their case to judgment. In addition to the works described here Simonsohn notes several other related responsa, some still in manuscript.

When the matter became so heated there were riots, suppressed by the civil authorities, in Milan. Soon after, however, the public lost interest in the affair and it was quickly forgotten. At the end of the century Provencal’s grandchildren were unable to sell copies of his pamphlet still in their possession.

(TSB Editor note: For more about this controversy see Eliezer Brodt’s recent presentation available here.)

II

Divorce of Vienna, 1611 – Our second contentious divorce, a cause celebre known as the Divorce of Vienna (Get Mi-Vi’en) concerns a young man from Poland, sixteen years of age, who married a young woman from Vienna. He became severely ill. The couple did not have any children. Persuaded by his wife’s family, the husband agreed to divorce his wife, to give her a get, so that she would not have to undergo halitzah after his passing.[10] At the time of the divorce, the husband’s position was based on his being informed that if he recovered the marital relation would be resumed. He was provided with written and oral assurances that if he recovered, he could remarry his wife. The young man did recover, but his wife declined to resume the prior relationship and return to her [ex]husband. The issue came before R. Meir ben Gedaliah of Lublin (Maharam of Lublin, 1558–1616) who determined that because of the husband’s understanding of the situation and recovery the original divorce was invalidated.

Another rabbi of repute to whom the question of this divorce was also addressed was R. Mordecai Jaffe (Levush, 1530-1612). It was his position that the verse in Deuteronomy (24:1–2) that only if his wife does not please him, as in the header verse “he writes her a bill of divorcement, hands it to her, and sends her away from his house . . . And she shall go out of his house and became a wife to another man …” It was the Levush’s contention that a woman can remarry only if she did not find favor in her husband’s eyes. If, however, the divorce was due to other reasons, a “divorce of love” is Jaffe’s term, it “is not effective as an instrument empowering marriage to another.”

In contrast to the above, in a synod of the Polish and Russian rabbinate, R. Shmuel Eliezer Edels (Maharsha, 1555-1631) determined that, given the prior understanding, the divorce was valid. Similarly, R. Joshua Falk (1555-1614), author of Beit Yisrael commentary on the Arba’ah Turim as well as Sefer Meiros Enayim on the Shulkhan Arukh argued that the get was valid, as no explicit condition had been written in the get. Finally, the wife’s family did not permit the remarriage.[11]

(TSB Editor note: For more about this controversy see Eliezer Brodt’s recent presentation available here.)

III

Urbino 1727 – Our next contentious divorce, this quite different from our other separations, took place in Urbino, at one time capital of the province of Pesaro e Urbino, duchy of Urbino, but subsequently later a portion of the States of the Church. Jews may have been resident in Urbino as early as the thirteenth century, albeit in small numbers. The details of the divorce and the participants in the ensuing divorce are detailed in R. Isaac ben Samuel Lampronti’s (1679-1756) multi-volume encyclopedia entitled Pahad Yitzhak, most parts printed posthumously.

Lampronti, a physician, rabbinic scholar, and head of the yeshiva in Mantua, a Sephardic sage in Italy, began to assemble the contents of Pahad Yitzhak when a student in Mantua. It is an encyclopedic and comprehensive work on Jewish subjects, arranged alphabetically. Lampronti worked on Pahad Yitzhak his entire life, but only beginning to publish it when elderly. A thirteen-volume work, the first volume (Venice, 1750) of Pahad Yitzhak was printed at the Bragadin press. It is the only part of Pahad Yitzhak to be published in Lampronti’s lifetime; it is on the letters א and ב. The remainder of the work was published posthumously.[12] Publication of Pahad Yitzhak was completed in Berlin (1885-87), the final volumes published by the Meḳiẓe Nirdamim Society.[13]

1750, Pahad Yitzhak 
Courtesy of Jewish National Library

1866, Pahad Yitzhak
Courtesy of HebrewBooks.org

The case of the Urbino divorce is addressed in Pahad Yitzhak, volume 7 (Lyck, 1866), under the heading safek (doubt). Ninety pages reproduce the various works, responsa, and related correspondence concerning this dispute. The detailed Pahad Yitzhak entry on the disputed Urbino divorce is summarized by Cecil Roth in an article on the dispute. The remainder of this article entry is a concise recapitulation of that summary.[14]

In this occurrence Consolo Moscato, a very attractive orphan girl, was resident in Urbino. She was sought after by many of the local young men, but she chose to wed her cousin Solomon Vita Castello. The match was arranged, but did not take place immediately, Consolo’s father having passed away and her mother, signora Diana, remarried. The couple lived under the same roof, in the home of an aunt. Due to difficult economic conditions the year stipulated for the wedding passed and it was three years before anything was done. At the end of June, 1727 Castello purchased attractive attire for the bride from a merchant for no less than twelve zecchins.

Soon after, however, the groom became ill and his mind was affected. Castello threw himself down a well; quickly saved he was bound hand and foot to prevent another attempt. His madness was followed by periods of lucidity “or what was convenient to consider lucidity.” Castello had relapses, at which time he called upon the Saints for assistance. When his kinsfolk stopped this speech, he responded with blasphemies. When this became known priests were sent by the church authorities to save his soul. There was concern that the church would seize Consolo to accompany Castello. She therefore fled, in terror, to her mother’s home and took steps to annul her engagement.

Subsequently, Consolo became betrothed to Moses Samuel Guglielmi on Friday, October 17, 1727, freeing her from Castello, with whom she had not undergone a formal ceremony. Soon after, however, Castello regained his health and found, to his dismay, that his bride had been estranged. Consolo was now prepared to cancel her new relationship and return to Castello. However, a local rabbi, R. Judah Vita Guglielmi, a relative of Moses Guglielmi, ruled that Consolo’s renewed relationship to Castello was illegal. Consolo and Castello secretly married. It was alleged that Guglielmi had even employed a non-Jewish sorceress to break the couples’ bond. R. Judah Vita Guglielmi, seeing his authority flouted appealed to other rabbis, as did the other side. Leading rabbinic authorities in Italy became involved. After serious contentiousness on both sides, it was agreed unanimously, in the decision of R. Solomon David del Vecchio, that Consolo must be divorced by both of her suitors, neither of whom could be considered her husband. Castello subsequently demanded repayment for his expenses refusing to grant her freedom, with the result that he was excommunicated. He finally consented, the excommunication was withdrawn, bringing the Urbino dispute to a conclusion.

IV

Cleves, 1766-67 – In 1766-67, a dispute arose over a get in Cleves (Kleve), a city in the historic duchy of Westphalia in western Germany, less than 5 miles (8 km) south of the Dutch border. Jews are mentioned in Cleves as early as 1142 and were granted a charter of privilege in 1361. They received patents allowing them freedom of movement (Geleitbriefe) in 1647–51 and 1713–20. Nevertheless, Jewish residence there was small, numbering only four families in 1661, 19 in 1739, and 22 families in 1787.[15] The small number of Jews notwithstanding, there too a dispute over a divorce, the get of Cleves, was contentious and became a wide spread dispute involving leading rabbinic authorities.

Here too the dispute concerns a husband who had intermittent mental illness. In this case the subject was the marriage Isaac (Itzik) ben Eliezer Neiberg of Mannheim to Leah bas Jacob Guenzhausen of Bonn, on Elul 8, 5526 (August 14, 1766). On the Sabbath after the wedding, Isaac (Itzik), took the dowry of 94 gold crowns and disappeared. He was subsequently found, after a widespread search, two days later, in a gentile home in Farenheim and returned home. Not long afterwards, Isaac told his wife’s family that he could no longer remain in Germany because he was in serious danger and that he had to immigrate to England. Isaac stated that he was prepared give Leah a get so that she would not be an agunah (technically still married and unable to rewed). Leah agreed and Cleves was chosen as the place where the get would be given. Afterwards, Leah returned to Manheim and Isaac preceded to England. Although he gave his wife a get the validity of the divorce was questionable; it is necessary that one giving a get be of sound mind. As a result, the validity of the get became an issue of contention between rabbinic authorities in Western Europe.[16]

The divorce was given, on 22 Elul, 5526 (August 27, 1766), under the direction of R. Israel ben Eliezer Lipschuetz, the av bet din (head of the rabbinic court) of Cleves. When Isaac’s father learned of the divorce, he suspected that the whole affair had been arranged by Leah’s relatives in order to extract the money for the dowry from Isaac. Isaac’s father then turned to R. Tevele Hess of Mannheim, who determined that the get was not valid, Isaac not having been of sound mind when he gave it to Leah. Hess sought support for his position, turning to the bet din (rabbinical court) of Frankfurt, headed by R. Abraham ben Zevi Hirsch of Lissau. Abraham ben Zevi Hirsch supported Hess’s ruling but that was not the case with other prominent rabbis such as R. Naphtali Hirsch Katzenellenbogen of Pfalz, R. Eliezer Katzenellenbogen of Hagenau, and R. Joseph Steinhardt of Fuerth. While Abraham ben Zevi Hirsch agreed and even demanded that Lipschuetz invalidate the get, agreeing that Leah was still a married woman, the others did not support him, saying the divorce was valid and Leah might remarry. Furthermore, many other prominent rabbis also validated the get.[17] The Frankfurt rabbinate, here influenced by the Frankfurt am Main dayyan (judge) R. Nathan ben Solomon Maas opposed the validity of the get, publicly burning the supportive responsa of the other rabbis, condemning their support of Lipschuetz and his position. Finally, the couple remarried, and in respect of R. Abraham of Frankfurt, did so without any of the traditional blessings at the ceremony. Instead, Isaac said “with this ring you are still married to me.”

The above events are recorded in two works, both validating the get. R. Aaron Simon ben Jacob Abraham of Copenhagen’s Or ha-Yashar are favorable responsa published in the year “as a sign for rebellious ones לאות לבני מרי (529 = 1769)” (Numbers 17:25) in Amsterdam by Gerard Johan Yanson at the press of Israel Mondavo. Aaron Simon was the secretary of the Jewish community of Cologne. He was also the author of Bekhi Neharot, on the flood in Bonn in 1784 (Amsterdam, 1784). He expresses his agreement with and support of Lipschuetz in Or ha-Yashar.[18] The title-page of that work informs that it was completed in the month that the Torah was given to Israel (Sivan) and is dated “as a sign for rebellious ones לאות לבני מרי (529 = 1769)” (Numbers 17:25). Or ha-Yashar is a 19 cm. ([7], 111, [1], ff.) work. Aaron Simon ben Jacob had followed the events and had himself played a part in the granting of the get. Or ha-Yashar records the complete episode of the Cleves divorce.[19]

1769 Or ha-Yashar
Courtesy of Hebrewbooks.org

1770, Or Yisrael
Courtesy of Hebrewbooks.org

The following year Lipschuetz published Or Yisrael in defense of his position. It is dated with the popular phrase “[Rock of Israel], arise to the aid of Israel קומה בעזרת ישראל (530 = 1770)” in defense of his position. Or Yisrael was published in Cleve at the press of the widow Sitzman as a 20 cm. (120 ff.) work. It is the only Hebrew book to have been printed in Cleve. Or Yisrael is comprised of thirty-seven responsa, primarily concerned with the Cleve divorce. Responsa 34-36, which are very critical of the Frankfurt rabbis, were omitted in their entirety, the numeric order of the printed responsa being 33, 37, while responsum 33 was printed with modifications.[20]

A negative result of this controversy was similar to that of the Tamari-Venturozzo controversy, as noted above. Here too, Mordecai Breuer suggests that in the polemic over the Cleves get “rabbis and rabbinical courts from various communities likewise fought against each other with fierce antagonism. . . . and the Cleves divorce, undoubtably had a detrimental effect on the standing of the rabbinate.”[21]

Or ha-Yashar was reprinted once, in Lvov (1902). This is the only edition of Or Yisrael.[22]

(TSB Editor note: For more about this controversy see Eliezer Brodt’s recent presentation available here.)

V

Henry VIII – We conclude with what is the most unusual of our contentious public divorces, that of Henry VIII (June 28, 1491 – January 28, 1547) king of England. Henry reigned from April 22, 1509 until his death in 1547. He is an important and influential figure in English history. Henry took England out of the Roman Catholic Church, had Parliament declare him, in 1534, supreme head of the newly founded Church of England, beginning the English Reformation. He did this because the pope would not annul his marriage to Catherine of Aragon, who had not provided him with a male heir.[23]

Henry’s first marriage – he married six times, this apart from mistresses – was to the Infanta Catherine of Aragon (1485-1536) in 1509.[24] Catherine was the daughter of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain and the widow of Arthur, his elder brother. Arthur and Catherine did not have children; the related question of levirate marriage, the question of its application to them, will be addressed below. Henry was eighteen at the time and Catherine five years older when they wed. The marriage was a political union, as were many royal marriages at the time. Henry and Catherine did have a child, Mary, born in February 1516. Of the many pregnancies and several births that Henry would have from his many wives, Mary was the only child to survive.[25]

Henry VIII
Hans Holbein the Younger

Catherine was reportedly devoted to her “young, athletic, charming husband.” She was a committed wife and very much wanted to give her husband a male heir. Their first child was a daughter, stillborn in 1510. She was followed by a son, named Henry, born in January 1511, but he lived only 52 days. In October, 1513, Catherine miscarried; in February 1515, she had a stillborn son. “In February 1516, there was happiness as Princess Mary was born. There was joy in the sign that Catherine could bear a vital child which kept alive the hope of a son.” There was, however, sadness with this birth, Catherine having been informed two weeks earlier that her father had passed. One more child was born to the royal couple, in 1518, a stillborn daughter, the last of their children.

After eighteen years of marriage and seven pregnancies, Henry despaired of having a male son with Catherine of Aragon. Winston Churchill writes that by 1525 she was forty years old. Five years earlier, Catherine had been privately mocked by Francis I, king of France, “saying she was already ‘old and deformed.’ A typical Spanish princess, she had matured and aged rapidly; it was clear that she would bear Henry no male heir.”[26]

Henry did have an illegitimate son, daughter of a maid in the court, named Henry, who was made duke of Richmond, but was not an option as successor. Henry VIII became enamored with Anne Boleyn (ca. 1504-1536), a lady in waiting to Catherine, whom he secretly wed in Whitehall Palace. He then attempted to discredit his marriage to Catherine.[27] Henry’s marriage to Anne was also not successful. Anne Boleyn was not a submissive woman. In April 1566, three years later, Anne was accused of high treason, adultery, incest with her brother George, and plotting to kill the king, and tried before a jury. On 15 May, four days later, she was convicted and beheaded. These charges, investigated by historians, are rejected as false.[28]

Henry submitted a request to Pope Clement VII that his marriage to Catherine be dissolved. The pope, however, did not agree to Henry’s request. Cecil Roth writes that the pope would have been prepared to “grant the favor” and annul the marriage but for fear of Catherine’s nephew, Emperor Charles V, who was opposed due to the slight he felt this put upon his house.[29] Henry’s marriage to Catherine was, from a religious, Biblical perspective, questionable, marrying a sibling’s wife, even if he was deceased, being prohibited. The exception to this is where the deceased brother did not have offspring, in which case the commandment of levirate marriage becomes operative.

A complex issue, biblical interpretation and Hebrew tradition assumed importance. Jewish interpretation of scriptures was not readily accessible, as the Jews had been expelled from England by Edward I on 18 July 1290. It was to Italy, therefore, with its notable Jewish community, particularly to the Venice community, that the protagonists turned.[30] Henry sent Richard Croke, an eminent classical scholar and royal tutor, to Venice to seek adjudications on the subject.

Responses both in favor and opposed to Henry’s request are found among the rabbinic authorities in Venice. Among the people that Henry consulted was Mark Raphael, a convert to Christianity who reputedly had previously held a high rabbinic position in Venice.³¹ The subject of Henry’s query was of the legality, according to Jewish law, of his levirate marriage to Catharine.[32]Raphael, who arrived in London on Jan. 28, 1531, held that while Henry’s marriage to Catherine was legal, the king might nevertheless take a second wife conjointly with the first wife. This decision was not acceptable, so Raphael suggested that, as Catherine’s marriage to Arthur had born no children, and Henry had married Catherine without the intention of continuing his brother’s line, that marriage was not legitimate but rather invalid. This position was presented to Parliament, Raphael subsequently being rewarded, being given special import rights in 1532.[33]

Response of Jacob Rafael Peglione of Modena, relating to Jewish marriage law that might apply in the divorce of King Henry VIII from Catherine of Aragon. Italy, 1530.
Courtesy of British Library Board
https://www.timesofisrael.com/dont-divorce-her-rabbis-letter-to-henry-viii-at-heart-of-british-library-show/

Members of the Venetian rabbinate in general were not positive, not supportive of Henry’s position. Among those approached by Henry’s representatives was R. Jacob Raphael Jehiel Hayyim Peglione of Modena. He, however, determined in a responsum that the marriage could not be dissolved. In addition to rabbinic opposition several prominent Venetian physicians opposed Henry’s position, among them Elijah Menahem Halfon, a Talmudist, physician, and kabbalist and Jacob ben Samuel Mantino, physician and translator of philosophical works.[34]

Henry VIII’s offspring did include one son, born to Jane Seymour, a sickly boy, who ruled as Edward VI (1547 – 1553). Edward was succeeded on the throne by Henry’s daughter, Mary, from Catherine of Aragon ( 1553 – 1558), a devout Catholic, remembered today as Bloody Mary, for her attempt to restore Catholicism as the state religion with utmost severity. Henry’s last offspring to rule was the daughter of Anne Boleyn, who ruled as Elizabeth I (1558-1603, reigned from 1558). Elizabeth, was, in contrast to what one might expect from Henry’s relationships with his wives and with Anne Boleyn in particular, that being a short marriage concluding with Anne’s beheading, a popular, successful, and among England’s most preeminent and perchance most significant monarch.

Conclusion – We have addressed five public and contentious divorces. What they have in common is that they were all public and controversial, the opposite of what all parties generally attempt to avoid when marriages fail. As noted at the beginning of this article, what should be a positive and affirmative relationship, should, when it fails, be a private and hopefully not overly contentious dissolution of an unsuccessful bond. The cases described here, over three centuries, were public and unpleasant affairs. They attracted attention not because of the distinction of the subject individuals in the divorces but rather because of the rabbinic participants who were called upon to resolve the issues. The exception to all of this is the divorce of Henry VIII, not Jewish, but whose advisers called upon rabbinic authorities for support.

Again, the above notwithstanding, marriage is meant to be a joyful and positive relationship, as we find in the verses from King Solomon:

As a rose among the thorns, so is my beloved among the young women.
As an apple tree among the forest trees, so is my beloved among the young men.

Review of Jay R. Berkovitz’s The Pinkas of Metz

By Eliezer Brodt & Dan Rabinowitz

Jay R. Berkovitz, Protocols of Justice: The Pinkas of Metz Rabbinic Court 1771-1789, (2 vol., 222 pp. +1084 pp.), Brill 2014

Jay R. Berkovitz, Law’s Dominion, Jewish Community, Religion and Family in Early Modern Metz,(404 pp.) Brill 2022

A decade ago, Professor Jay Berkovitz, a Professor and Chair of Judaic and Near Eastern Studies at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, published the Pinkas (record book or register) of the Rabbinic Court in Metz. Jews began living in Metz, a town in Northeast France near the Moselle River, in the 16^th century. These records require a reassessment of the Jewish legal process and procedure, especially concerning the secular legal system. In 2022, Berkovitz published a self-standing monograph, Law’s Dominion, to fully describe and explicate the impact of the Pinkas. Both works mark significant advancements in modern Jewish history and the theory of the Jewish legal system. Yet, they have not received the proper attention they deserve in the Hebrew book world. The lack of recognition can partially be attributed to the publisher, the distinguished publishing house of Brill. Brill’s publications are not generally available for sale in local Seforim stores, and many are priced outside the reach of laymen (or even scholars). Nonetheless, both are worth seeking out, and we intend to bring these vital works to the attention of Seforimblog readers and describe their significance.

The Pinkas of the Metz Rabbinic Court covers just 18 years, 1771-1789, yet it is a massive amount of material. Berkovitz’s transcription (albeit with notes) is over one thousand pages. This is truly what one would call a labor of love. Not only did he publish a huge manuscript (over one thousand pages) with valuable indices, but he also mined the work extensively. In 2014, he wrote a volume (222 pp.), in English, dealing with many aspects of the Pinkas (as I will elaborate on below), demonstrating his command of everything possibly imaginable related to this work.

A few years later, in 2022, Berkowitz revisited the Pinkas and published another book, Law’s Dominion, Jewish Community, Religion and Family in Early Modern Metz, updating his previous book with a few more hundred pages.[1]

Berkowitz describes his project as follows:

Though certainly never intended to become a complete history of the Jews of Metz, Protocols of Justice grew to become much larger in size and complexity than originally expected. Despite its expanding into a self-standing monograph, I am very much aware that work on this project is still in its early stages. I present these volumes as an invitation to scholars to continue what has commenced here (p. 25).

Introduction: Pinkasim and their Historic Value

By way of introduction, many people seek out new niches where they can contribute valuable studies about otherwise unknown topics. One such untapped area is the world of Pinkasim. Over the years, numerous kinds of Pinkasim have been published, some in extensive critical editions. But there remains plenty of work in this “field.”

What is a Pinkas?

These records, typically in the form of a notebook or book, transcribe the materials of a particular group, society, or entity. They can be marriage or divorce records, Synagogue protocols, or numerous “Chevrah books.” Even though many have been lost or destroyed, numerous volumes have survived in libraries worldwide. In recent years, some have even ended up in private collections. (After the Holocaust, “Pinkas” is also used to describe a different form of communal books. Survivors from towns in Europe published “memorial books” to document their history and memorialize the murdered Jews. Many of those use Pinkas in the title, for example, Pinkas Zetel, Pinkas Galicia. Although collectively, the genre is referred to as “Yizkor books. New York Public Library collected these, and they are available on its site: Yizkor Book Collection.)

Historians have long recognized the value of Pinkasim generally. When reading the works of various prominent historians before World War Two, they often cite something like this: “In the Pinkasim of the town or city, I found…” One of the more well-known examples of a Pinkas is the Pinkas of the Vilna Gaon Kloyz. This manuscript is currently in New York and has a fascinating story regarding its survival (See David Fishman, The Book Smugglers, 52-55 for more details). R. Shlomo Zalman Hevlin published of the text of this Pinkas in the journal Yeshurun. Shlomo Zalman Hevlin, “The Pinkas of the Gaon’s Kloyz,” Yeshurun 16 (2005), 746-60; “The Kloyz of the Gaon of Vilna Zts”L, Ketayim me-Pinkas ha-Kloyz,” Yeshurun 6 (1999), 678-85.[2]

This Pinkas provides invaluable information regarding ownership of one of the homes where the Vilna Gaon resided. After his death, his children claimed it was part of the estate, while his students argued that it belonged to the community. After some machinations, including changing the board composition that held the property in trust, the court ruled in favor of the children. Some scholars view this property dispute as an attempt to resolve a larger issue of whether Gaon’s children or his students would control his intellectual legacy. After this decision, the children determined which Gaon’s manuscripts would be published rather than the students. (See Dan Rabinowitz, The Lost Library, Brandeis University Press, Massachusetts, 2019, 55-58.)

The Significance of the Bet Din Pinkas.

A subset of Pinkasim are those of Be’tai Din, taking the form of a register of the various disputes and decisions. These, too, are of critical importance. These documents shed light on individuals’ relationships to communal takanot, the power and authority of the Bet Din, and many other areas.

Yet, today, many of the Pinksim no long survive. Sometimes this was deliberate as in the case in the 1600’s of the Frankfurt Bet Din.

כתוב ביש נוחלין… וזה לשונו, קבלה ישנה מאבותי ז”ל שלא להשליך שום חשבון ישן אף על פי שנחשב הכל, כי אולי תבוא עת להוכיח דבר מה מאותו. עד כאן ולדידי הכותב הוה עובדא בזה כמה פעמים שבא לי לאחר ההשלכה לכלל היזק, כי כמעט הייתי מוכרח בכל פסח לשרוף כתבים ופתקאות, לפי שריבויים מפסקי דינים והשלישות וכיוצא ישתרגו עלו על צוארי, שלא היה המועט מחזיק את המרובה. וגם מפני שלא יהיה לי הטורח גדול ביותר בחפשי בחפש מחופש אחר כתב אחד, כאשר גם עתה אחר כל שריפת הכתבים נלאיתי עד כמה שעות בחפשי אחר איזה כתב [יוסף אומץ סי’ שע, עמ’ קח]

Rabbinic scholars eventually recognized the significance of pinkasim.[3] For example, the Nodeh BeYehudah uses one to determine the spelling of names in a get:

הנה אהוביי להיות שאין הגדול מעיד בגדלו על מה שראה בקטנו כ”א דברים ידועים שחשבו רז”ל ולכן אין אני יכול להעיד. אבל אעפ”כ אני אומר לכם נהירנא כד הוינא טליא כבר תשע או כבר עשר ראיתי אצל א“א הרב ז“ל פנקסאות של הגליל קראקא וראיתי פנקסאות משנים קדמוניות היו חתומים בו גאוני עולם זקני הגאון רשכב”ה מוהר”ר העשיל זצ”ל ואחריו דודי זקני הגאון המפורסם מוהרר”ל וגם ראיתי חתימת הגאון בעל תוספות י”ט שמה וכמדומה שבכל מקום שנרשם שם השומא חדשה שעשו שמאים באסיפת הגליל היה נכתב פילטץ עם טי”ת, ואף שאין אני יכול להעיד בבירור כי טליא הוינא וגם מלתא דלא רמיא וכו’ אבל תדעו שהפנקסאות הנ”ל דומה אני שהיה אח”כ ביד המאוה”ג מוהר”ר שלמה ז”ל אב”ד דק”ק פינטשוב שהיה סופר הגליל דרשו שם בק”ק הנ”ל ותמצאו אבל עכ”פ המפורסמות א”צ ראיה וזה דבר ידוע ששם העיר בכל מדינת פולין קורין פילטץ עם טי”ת וכן כותבים בכל האגרות והרי הוחזק שם העיר בלשון היהודים עם טי”ת. [נודע ביהודה, קמא, אבן העזר, סי’ פז].

Basically, one man’s junk became another’s treasure.

At first glance, a Pinkas of the Bet Din might appear to be dry material only of interest to specialists and technicians. But in reality, these contain information that can elucidate and enrich larger Jewish history. Nonetheless, little work has been done with the Pinkasim of rabbinical courts. Recently, however, some have begun publishing and analyzing these records to great effect. Edward Fram’s book, A Window on Their World: The Court Diaries of Rabbi Hayyim Gundersheim Frankfurt Am Main 1773-1794 (2012), inaugurated this approach.

A more focused usage of a Bet Din Pinkas is an article by Moaz Kahana. He identified a short and somewhat cryptic entry in the Pinkas of the Bet Din of Prague regarding a fine levied on two people. From that citation Kahana provides a sweeping exposition on Jewish coffee culture in Prague in the 18^th century. Among other details, in 1765 (during the period that R. Yehzkel Landau was the Chief Rabbi), there were at least six coffee houses in the Jewish quarter, owned by Jews, open on Shabbos, that Jews frequented and sanctioned by the Rabbinate. (Moaz Kahana, “Shabbos be-Beyes ha-Kaffe shel Kehilah Kedosha Prague,” in Zion, 2013 (78), 5-50).

A few years ago, in the prominent journal Yeshurun (24 (2011), pp. 235-297), R’ Dovid Kamenetzky published material from the Pinkas of Frankfurt from the Haflah.[ Avalaibel here and here] R’ Zalman Nechemiah Goldberg commented to the volume editors that he was so excited to read this material. In the course of this post, we hope to explain what his excitement was about. It is safe to imagine that had he seen this material from the Pinkas of Metz, he would have been beyond excited.

What can we learn from this Pinkas?

This Pinkas of the Bet Din of Metz is of especial importance. Berkowitz cites Anthony Grafton that “…courtroom and the lawyer’s study have turned out to be historical alembics where the methods of social and intellectual historians can be mingled in new forms, producing results of unsuspected richness.” that “In the last quarter-century, especially, the courts have been identified as a dynamic arena of social change and as a valuable source for understanding economic history and the changing function of law in society.” Recognizing this value, many scholars have used medieval Jewish records to elucidate those periods’ history. Yet there is a lacuna when it comes to the early modern era. Consequently, the potential of beit din records remains largely untapped (p.3).[4]

Berkowitz acknowledges that, in part, the lack of use of bet din records is due to the many technical challenges, including “proficiency in Hebrew paleography and expertise in the largely unfamiliar territory of Jewish civil and family law. As a result, we know virtually nothing about the kinds of cases that came before rabbinic courts and even less concerning jurisprudence and dispute resolution methods employed there. This is rather ironic in light of the heightened interest in law shown by historians working on late medieval and early modern Europe.” (p. 3)

As mentioned, Berkowitz did two important things: he transcribed this massive work carefully and studied it as a historian of Halacha; he “mined” this work very carefully.

The transcription alone is not a small feat; we are talking about a volume that, in print form, is almost 1000 pages of Hebrew text! The Pinkas also includes obscure words in French and Yiddish, which Berkowitz also deciphers, provides a useful glossary of foreign terms.

An important feature of Berkowitz’s edition of the Pinkas is the extensive indices based on topics, names, and places.

Berkowitz writes:

The economic data contained in the proceedings of the Metz Beit Din will doubtless prove invaluable in gauging the range and intensity of Jewish commercial activity in the pre-revolutionary era… (p. 30)

Then Berkowitz elaborates on this, listing out what exactly one can learn from this Pinkas:

The Metz court records are also filled with resources for investigating the economic complexities of marriage, family, and kinship relations. A profusion of details concerning the social and economic importance of betrothal agreements, dowries, marital property division, and inheritance arrangements represent a treasure trove of historical data. Particularly fascinating are cases that reveal the degree to which law, family, property, and business interests were tightly interwoven. On occasion, the human story comes into view with unusual poignancy, especially in cases of abandoned wives, young widows, and tales of deprivation… Legal mechanisms that came into play in response to evolving social and economic trends in the eighteenth century produced a measure of equality between husbands and wives that is apparent in quite a number of cases that came before the Beit Din. Accordingly, the picture that emerges… to the work women performed beyond their domestic responsibilities. There is abundant evidence suggesting that wives borrowed and extended loans, occasionally without their husbands’ authorization, to help support their families… (pp. 30-31)

Sources for the Law

What do we Know about the Jewish Community of Metz at the time?

Berkowitz writes:

Metz was the western-most outpost of Yiddish-speaking Ashkenazic Jewry in the early modern era (p. 7) With a population of over 46,000, Metz was the tenth largest city in France. During the seventeenth century the Jewish population in Metz increased dramatically and by the end … it numbered nearly 3000 individuals. Slightly less than seven percent of the city’s total population, it constituted the largest Jewish community in France prior to the Revolution (p.8).

In general, there is also great significance to Metz in the world of Halacha at this time, as Berkowitz writes:[5]

The major halakhic works that were produced in Metz or in nearby communities in the eighteenth century and were significant from a regional standpoint include Yaʾir Ḥayyim Bacharach, Resp. Ḥavvot Yaʾir (Frankfurt, 1699); Jacob Reischer, Resp. Shevut Yaakov, pts. 1–3 (Halle, 1710), pt. 2 (Offenbach, 1719), and (Metz, 1789); Joseph Steinhardt, Resp. Zikhron Yosef (Fürth, 1773)[6]; Gershon Coblentz, Resp. Kiryat Ḥannah (Metz, 1789); and Aaron Worms, Meʾorei Or (Metz, 1790–1793) (p. 25)[7]

Why was this Pinkas written in the first place?

Berkowitz explains:

Precious little is known about the production of the Metz Beit Din records. We cannot state with certainty under whose direction these records were produced, for whom they were intended, and toward what end they were preserved in written form. Nevertheless, there was nothing novel or uncommon about providing litigants with written copies of its rulings. Documents issued by the court were intended to confirm an admission of debt, the withdrawal of a claim, the exoneration of an individual from unsubstantiated accusations, or the severance of a widow from her husband’s estate, to name only several of the more common types of validation provided by the Beit Din. In some instances, the court was asked to issue a maʾaseh beit din (a formal judgment) that confirmed ownership over property or established the legality of a particular transaction. Written rulings of this sort were frequently produced as evidence in cases that continued over the course of months or even years. Although the communal register does not contain an explicit directive concerning the actual preservation of judicial records, article 109 of the 1769 community bylaws stated that “every ruling of the Beit Din must be written and signed… It was stipulated, further, that “it is prohibited for either of the litigants to pay the other even a perutah until they have seen the written and signed judgment. (p. 39)

While there is little doubt about the value of the Pinkasim, especially as they relate to the Jewish legal system, they do not offer a complete record of the judicial process. Despite containing hundreds of legal decisions predicated on Jewish law, the Pinkasim do not provide the underlying rationale of those decisions. The decisions distinguish between those based on Jewish law, internal takanas, and custom. But the specifics of the which sources and rationales are compelling are left unsaid. This, however, is unsurprising as most Bet Din decisions, whether recorded in Pinkasim or other sources, seemingly rely upon Rema’s statement that “there is no need to write the rationales and proofs, we only write for them [i.e., for the litigants] the claims and the ruling.”

Who transcribed the Pinkas?

Precisely what role scribes played in determining the content, form, and language of the cases they recorded is unclear. Variations in handwriting, in addition to the assorted signatures affixed at the ends of collations of cases, reveal that several different court stenographers were commissioned to record the judicial proceedings during the eighteen years chronicled in the Pinkas. The largest number of entries appears to be in the hand of a single scribe, Juspa Katz, whose name is recorded in seven cases that span fifteen years (pp. 43-44).

Elaborating on this, Berkowitz adds:

In each of these instances, the document was approved by the av beit din, by the judges, or in some instances by the presiding syndic (parnas ha-ḥodesh). Overall, the stylized prose used in recording the proceedings, which are punctuated by the inclusion of biblical phrases and technical expressions drawn from talmudic and halakhic literature, suggest that the text of the Pinkas was the product of meticulous preparation by erudite scholars and well-trained scribes.

The function of the Beis Din

Berkowitz describes: “As a communal institution, the Metz Beit Din filled three principal functions. First and foremost, it was a judicial body that represented the primary, though certainly not the exclusive, public venue for the resolution of disputes among residents of the greater Metz community. Litigants regularly came from the towns and villages of the Moselle countryside as well, and in some instances from more distant localities when business dealings brought them into contact with Moselle residents. Second, as in the case of the French lower courts, the Beit Din performed bureaucratic functions that included the confirmation of legal documents and contracts, the execution of wills, and the appointment of guardians. Third, it enjoyed certain institutional powers related to social control and supervision. Although this range of functions may have resembled the merging of judicial, legislative, and executive tasks in early modern French courts, the Beit Din acted more as an arm of the Kahal executive and coordinated itself with the general policy guidelines set forth by the community’s governing body. Furthermore, on a much smaller scale, the centralized authority of the Kahal was more pronounced than that of the state and, as a result, the independence of the rabbinic court could be expected to be more narrowly circumscribed (pp. 65-66).

Who were the Dayanim on this Beis Din?

One of the critical insights of this volume is the identification of the dayanim of the Beis Din. These are generally not recorded elsewhere. Berkowitz identifies:

Rabbis Moses Narol Cohen, Gershon Ashkenazi, Jacob Reischer, Abraham Broda, Joshua Jacob Falk, Jonathan Eibeschütz, Shmuel Hilmann, and Aryeh Loeb Günzberg. Günzberg… best known as a renowned Talmudist and author of the celebrated Shaʾagat Aryeh (p. 14)

The Shagas Aryeh is well-known as a posek, but this identifies in a lesser-known role, Av Beis Din. (See Oriel Touitou, The Methods of Rabbi Pinhas Ha-Levy of Horwitz and Rabbi Aryeh Leib in Talmud Study and Halachic Decisions, (PhD) Bar Ilan University 2012; R. Peretz Risenberg, Yeshurun 30 (2014) pp. 772-824; Eliezer Brodt, Yeshurun 24 (2011), p. 463.

How many cases did this Beis din Deal with?

Berkowitz writes:

Serving as the primary communal forum where legal disputes were adjudicated, the Beit Din typically met two or three times a week and averaged roughly sixty cases per year. In accordance with standard procedure in Jewish law, three judges (dayyanim) heard each case; in virtually every instance the tribunal consisted of the av beit din (Günzberg) together with two adjunct dayyanim. In the course of the eighteen years that are chronicled in the Pinkas, fifteen rabbinic judges rotated on the Beit Din alongside the chief justice. Of these sixteen judges, four sat on the bench for the entire period and several others performed their duties for most of those years (p. 15).

Methods of the Beis Din

They did not just give verdicts. They personally investigated the facts.

Concerning a dispute over the suitability of the living space in which an orphan resided together with his uncle, the Beit Din decided to pay a visit to investigate whether the physical conditions in the home were as required. It also hired a nurse to provide a medical perspective, and two more to corroborate the opinion of the first. After taking these steps the Beit Din was persuaded that the orphan was not mistreated and there were no grounds for legal action against the guardians (p. 70)

What do we know about the “reach of this Beis din”?

Berkowitz writes:

These are strong indications of the stability and continuity that characterized the work of the court during nearly two decades of service to the community. Equally impressive is the long geographical reach of the Metz Beit Din. Litigants came from near and far, from Augny located just 8 kilometers southwest of Metz and as far as Frankfurt, which was a distance of 260 kilometers. To accommodate individuals who were unable to travel to Metz from distant communities in the Moselle, the rabbinic court occasionally made special arrangements… In order to reduce expenses, the local cantor was deputized by the Metz Beit Din to administer the widow’s oath… in the presence of one witness. Altogether, more than one hundred villages throughout the Moselle countryside and beyond are mentioned in the court proceedings. These distances reveal much about the far-flung commercial and financial dealings of Metz residents and the centralization of authority in the Moselle region and in areas of Lorraine (pp. 15-16).

The Metz Beis Din and Secular Law

Berkowitz writes:

Without surrendering its own authority, the Beit Din regularly acknowledged the interdependence of cases brought before the rabbinic judges and those taken to the French civil court system. But on numerous occasions the Beit Din made it clear that it would need to await the judgment of the French court before it could issue its own ruling. In a case concerning the division of living space, it declared that its decision was valid “so long as the gentile courts do not object.” It is striking that even in matters that were presumably of minimal interest to the authorities, the Beit Din was hampered by contingencies of this sort… the Metz Beit Din enjoyed substantial independence from state interference and control. Whether they were considering contractual matters, offenses against the public order, or the civil consequences of strictly religious affairs, municipal and royal courts firmly imposed their jurisdiction and exercised the right to overturn the decisions of the ecclesiastical courts when there was evidence of a procedural irregularity. Moreover, the powers of ecclesiastical courts were limited to canonical penalties. The Beit Din, with the full support of the Kehillah leadership, was granted greater latitude by the state to resolve internal differences on the basis of Jewish legal traditions that extended primarily to civil matters. Nevertheless, neither the Kehillah nor the Beit Din was able to ignore pressures to coordinate with and adapt to general law…. How the Metz Beit Din functioned alongside the French civil courts may be the crucial question, but, as will become apparent, it is exceedingly difficult to answer. Complicating the issue is the fact that recourse to French civil courts appears to have accelerated as the eighteenth century wore on. Individuals who took their disputes to gentile courts, known in rabbinic and halakhic literature as ʿarkhaʾot shel goyim, were consistently denounced by medieval and early modern rabbinic authorities (pp. 107-108)

Berkowitz continues:

The present study addresses a different set of questions: How did jurists within the rabbinic court system respond to the challenges to Jewish law that were posed by non-Jewish legal systems? Is there any evidence that judicial procedure in the Beit Din, or the interpretation of the law itself, was influenced by French law or by the possibility of recourse to French civil courts? How did the phenomenon of legal pluralism influence the methods of adjudication and jurisprudence employed in the Metz rabbinic court? The impact of legal pluralism may be discerned in the court’s adoption and adaptation of legal perspectives and mechanisms from general jurisprudence, both in the realm of procedure and in substantive areas of law such as the division of marital property. Invariably, the Beit Din’s method of adjudication reveals tensions between its role as guardian of communal autonomy and the political demands imposed by legal centralism—tensions between its role as arbiter of Jewish law and agent of the Kahal, on the one hand, and its awareness of the contingent nature of the relationship between Jewish law and general law, on the other (pp. 109-110).[8]

Power of the Jewish courts in Early Modern France:

The proceedings of the Metz Beit Din provide elaborate details concerning Jewish civil autonomy. Under the aegis of the governing authority of the Kehillah, the Beit Din was authorized by the state to resolve differences among members of the community on the basis of Jewish customs and legal traditions. In this respect the Beit Din enjoyed a level of authority that far exceeded that granted to the ecclesiastical courts… Overall, the Metz proceedings contain little evidence, either direct or indirect, of resistance to its juridical authority (p.53)

Related to this, a case in the Pinkas is worth citing. As Berkowitz summarizes:

In Metz, as in other communities, the authority exercised by the Beit Din and the scope of its jurisdiction were a reflection of the latitude extended to it by royal and municipal authorities. Owing to limitations on the power of the Kehillah to enforce judicial rulings, the Beit Din found it necessary on certain occasions to caution recalcitrant litigants that failure to respond to a summons carried severe consequences. In the case of Gershon Coblentz, who refused to appear before the Beit Din to settle a dispute with Yozel Cahen, the Beit Din threatened to serve him with a contempt of court order (pequdat ḥerem) and to employ “other forms of coercion.” How effective these threats could have been without the backing of the state is questionable. Coblentz remained adamant in his “rebellion and refusal, holding up the words of the rabbis to ridicule,” whereupon Yozel proceeded to seek authorization from the Beit Din to bring his claim to the French court. The Beit Din informed Gershon that it had approved the transfer of the case to the civil court, and following their response that they did not object, the rabbinic court authorized Yozel to take hold of the written documentation, in French, so that he could sue in the civil court (p. 54).

Who represented the people for the Beis Din?

In more than a third of the cases that were brought to the Metz Beit Din, litigants were represented by their own attorneys. This is likely to have been a (sic) commonplace in rabbinic courts in other communities as well. The scope of legal representation in rabbinic courts had widened considerably in the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries (p. 60)

Implications for Jewish History from the Pinkas

Knowledge of French

Berkowitz writes:

Although the foregoing examples suggest that French literacy was more prevalent among Metz Jews than has been generally assumed, there is little doubt that facility in French was far less extensive in the countryside than among the urban elite. Even fifty years after the Revolution there were still Jews in the small towns and villages of Alsace and Lorraine who could not speak French. The records of the Beit Din suggest that although the scribes who had been assigned the task of recording the case summaries were familiar with a wide range of technical French vocabulary pertaining to judicial procedure and financial instruments, their fluency may have been limited to oral proficiency. (pp. 93-94)

In addition to gleaning information regarding the legal and judicial practices, the Pinkas also provide information regarding the day-to-day life of the Jews in Metz and beyond. Some of these lead to the important conclusion that “confirm[s] that even prior to the Revolution, cultural influences transcended social barriers, and this appears to have been true for a larger segment of the Jewish population than is commonly assumed.” (p. 95). Others, however, point to more prosaic elements of the lives of the Jews. Nonetheless, the Pinkas is a primary source for assessing their lifestyle and everyday trials and tribulations, and is essential to paint objective picture of their lives.

Some Interesting cases which show life was rather colorful:

On one occasion, when informed that a woman who was engaged to be married had become pregnant, the Beit Din summoned her and her fiancé in order to ascertain whether he was the father and, assuming he was, to ensure compliance with Jewish law if the couple intended to marry. According to Talmudic law, a man is forbidden to marry a woman who was either pregnant by another man or who is nursing another man’s child until the child is twenty-four months old. In response to a husband’s claim that his wife’s pregnancy was not his doing, the Beit Din proceeded to investigate the matter thoroughly. Based on the wife’s acknowledgment of her extra-marital affair, as well as the testimony of witnesses confirming the utter lack of affection between husband and wife, the Beit Din absolved the husband of all financial responsibility for the child and ordered him to divorce his wife; she, in turn, was required to accept the get, even against her will, on account of her confession. Because marriage and sexuality were matters of vital interest to the public, the Beit Din acted swiftly, in some instances before litigants came forward (pp. 68-69)[9]

Another colorful case discussed by Berkowitz regarded:

Reichle Cahen… approached the Kahal in its meeting room and openly accused Hirtz Oulif of fathering her child; she demanded that he marry her and provide birth expenses and child support. Initially heard by the Kahal, the case caused something of a furor because of the public nature of the young woman’s accusation and owing to her family’s elevated status within the community. The Beit Din was invited to join the Kahal in its effort to stave off the worrisome trend, and the head of the rabbinic court, R. Günzberg, was asked to lead the new initiative. Although ill-health prevented Günzberg’s participation, members of the Beit Din proceeded, together with several syndics, to examine the arguments and testimony presented by Reichle and Hirtz… the Beit Din demanded that Reichle and Hirtz address each other directly, without legal representation. Hirtz proceeded to deny each of Reichle’s claims as utterly false. Aiming “to uphold the bylaws of the community,” the Beit Din responded by imposing the ḥerem on both the young woman and the young man, undoubtedly to convey the message that promiscuous behavior would not be tolerated under any circumstances. But when it came out that there were witnesses willing to testify that the young man was heard boasting of his exploits, the Kahal and the Beit Din altered their approach. They recorded the statements in writing, assembled additional oral testimony attesting to the accuracy of the earlier statements, and subsequently set about to erect “a fence and barrier against the promiscuity of the generation and so that daughters will not act wantonly or be treated as such.” At this point the Beit Din imposed the ban directly on Hirtz until such time as he had appeased Reichle by agreeing either to marry her or present her with monetary compensation. It further required him to deposit 1200 livres with the Kahal until the birth, at which point it would be determined whether Reichle’s paternity claim was plausible. If it was, then the money would be turned over to Reichle; if not, the money would be returned to him. In any event, the Beit Din required him to pay a fine of three hundred lives that would be distributed to the poor…(pp. 147-148)[10]

Seats in Shul

In one instance, the Beit Din authorized a widow to sell two synagogue seats and to collect the total value of her ketubah, even though a lien had been placed on the property of the orphans, earmarking it as a charitable bequest. Selling the seats enabled the widow to remove the lien on her ketubah and tosefta, in accordance with both Jewish and general law. (p. 71)[11]

Looking at the index will show that the Beis Din had to deal with many issues with seats in shul.

Gorel: Lotteries

Numerous cases were resolved via lotteries, as listed in the index. These provide additional materials related to lotteries in Jewish culture. See Yechiel Lash, The Attitudes of Halachic Decisors to the Casting of Lots Within a Decision-Making Process and Their Implications, (Ph.D. Bar Ilan Talmud Department 2012); Shraga Bar-On, Lot Casting, God and Man in Jewish Literature: From the Bible to the Renaissance (heb.), Ramat Gan 2020; Eliezer Brodt, Likutei Eliezer, pp. 56-58; Fram, pp. 47-49.

We learn about the Beis Din’s involvement in helping people experiencing poverty:

… details of charitable giving, including laws regulating confraternities and poor relief, particularly when complications demanded the court’s legal expertise. In nearly a dozen cases, the Beit Din was approached concerning the practice of supplying the itinerant poor with billets, known in Yiddish as pletten. Each Metz householder, in proportion to his wealth, was required by communal law to deposit pletten, inscribed with their names, in a chest. Poor travelers would then draw tickets in order to secure meals and a night’s lodging offered at the homes of community members. Questions ranged from the basis upon which the pletten obligations were to be determined for each resident to how to contend with individuals who refused to share the responsibility… (p. 72)

Another interesting case:

In a parallel dispute concerning the administration of a charitable gift bequeathed by an estate, the Beit Din was asked to decide whether the Kahal had the right to exercise control against the wishes of the heirs. Ẓadok Grumbach objected to the Kahal’s insistence that one of twelve rooms in the beit midrash established with funds donated by his grandfather, Abraham Grumbach, ought to be designated for elementary instructional purposes. His attorney argued that this would violate the will of the deceased and contradict prior judgments of the court. It had been understood that the rooms in the upper level were intended for lomdim (scholars) who had been appointed through the generosity of the benefactor and in whose merit they dedicated their efforts; the noise caused by younger students would arguably create a disturbance for the lomdim. Grumbach therefore sued the Kahal for breach of contract.

The attorney for the Kahal responded that the placement of a teacher and students in the room in question would be preferable to leaving it empty, and that in so doing the Kahal would remain in compliance with previous agreements and legal rulings. As a matter of policy, he argued further on the basis of talmudic law that the seven tovei haʾir (the talmudic term used to refer to the lay communal executive council) had the authority to alter a communal ordinance if the intent was to increase learning and expand Torah instruction. The Beit Din upheld the position of the Kahal, arguing that the placement of a teacher and five students in a room on the first level was consistent with the original intent of the testator. It maintained that it was fair to assume that Abraham would have wished the room to be used for instructional purposes rather than to remain empty and that such use would be in the merit of the soul of the deceased… (pp.76-77)

Sins and daily life:

Berkowitz writes:

As traditional barriers separating Jews and non-Jews began to fall after midcentury, communal leaders responded with new attempts to slow the pace of acculturation. Their efforts, though perhaps not religiously motivated, recognized the dangers implicit in excessive exposure to French culture. Games of leisure and chance had become so popular that any person found engaged in these pastimes without the authorization of the community council could be barred from attending synagogue for three years. Paternity suits and extramarital pregnancies were routinely recorded in the communal register and in the protocols of the Beit Din, and the repeated condemnation of extravagance over the course of the eighteenth century suggests that these trends were on the rise. (p.13)

Card Playing & Gambling

There are numerous sources of this kind in various documents throughout Jewish history. One of the most well-known personal accounts appears in R. Yehudah Areyeh Modena’s autobiography. (See generally, Yitzhak Rivkin, Der kamf kegn azartshpiln bay Yidn, (YIVO, 1940).

In the Pinkas we find:

שאמת הוא שהי׳ עובר חרם ע״י שחוק רק שאין כוונתו כמו עוברי חרמים המשחקי׳ בקובי׳ וקארטין רק שהי׳ משחק שחוק אחר שקורין לאדי אצל חתן אחד ושחוק זה ג״כ חרם וב״ח הנ״ל השיב שאין חוששין ללעז ורבי׳ הי׳ אומרי׳ לו שרגיל בעיני המון עם לשחוק [שחוק 192 ] זה אצל חתנים [עמ’ 514]

Other kind of cases which demonstrate a bit about daily life:

In the same vein, the numerous disputes brought before the Beit Din that pertained to building construction and repairs, water damage, and privacy concerns bring to light otherwise hidden aspects of everyday life in the eighteenth century. In a case that concerned the management of public space, residents of a building were fined by the civil court for failing to keep the rear of the property free of litter; the court instructed them to hire a non-Jewish gardener to keep the property clean in accordance with the requirements of the law.

A dispute regarding the relocation of an outhouse, specifically concerning the claim that the work was not performed correctly, was brought to the police-court and was subsequently resolved to the satisfaction of the residents. In a similar case, the placement of an outhouse adjacent to a separation wall between two properties became a contested matter; in this instance it was the Beit Din that was asked to settle the question of the potential physical harm that might result. Disputes pertaining to construction, plumbing, and shared space reveal that it was quite common for Jews to hire non-Jewish workers and to seek the opinion of non-Jewish experts. Such patterns ought to be viewed as a natural consequence of the dependence of the Jewish community on the larger French population to help meet its ordinary, everyday needs… (p. 96)

Jewish Financing of the Military.

Another interesting tidbit found in the Pinkas described by Berkowitz is typical of other Rich Jews:

A probate inventory detailing the property left by Rabbi David Hertzfeld in 1776 lists among those who owed money to the deceased seven heads of military regiments: Orléans, Poitou, La Couronne, Royal Roussillon, Touraine, Auvergne, and Navarre. Although the total amount still owed was modest—approximately 12,000 livres—the lending network had a long reach and its success no doubt demanded extraordinary efforts in earning and maintaining the trust of this specialized clientele (p. 103).

Commercial enterprises at the time in Metz:

In the Pinkas, we find:

For sources in the Beit Din records on commercial enterprise, see the following: Horse trade… sheep trade… cows… Forage… partnership for forage, straw, and oats… Wax… Brokerage… Gems…Cheese: Vol. 1, pt. 2, 30b, no. 122; in Vol. 2, 46b, no. 149, the sale of cheese beneath a shop prompted the storeowner to complain that the pungent smell was harming his business; he asked the Beit Din for a restraining order on the cheese maker. For partnerships with non-Jews, see Vol. 2, 28b, no. 194 (p.11)…

Material Culture & Contemporary style in Metz

Fabrics, clothing, jewelry and valuable gems, as listed in various types of registers, particularly collateral and probate inventories, provide strong indications of the affinity of Metz Jews with French culture. An impressive variety of fabrics is recorded in the Pinkas; these include drap d’or (cloth woven with gold) and drap d’argent (cloth woven with silver); drap d’Elbeuf (fabric produced in Elbeuf, a town in Normandy specializing in weaving wool); drap de Sicile (a silk fabric produced in Sicily); gros de Tours …

And Berkowitz’s list goes on for a while (p. 94)

Berkowitz then adds an essential point to the significance of all this:

The numerous references to luxurious fabrics, ornate clothing, housewares, and precious stones that punctuate cases throughout the Pinkas reveal a strong attraction to contemporary styles. Jewish merchants who imported fine fabrics to Metz from various producers in northern and central France were responsible, at least in part, for the sophisticated taste in the Jewish community, as were pawnbrokers who accumulated and sometimes sold silver and gold tableware received in pledges. These examples confirm that even prior to the Revolution, cultural influences transcended social barriers, and this appears to have been true for a larger segment of the Jewish population than is commonly assumed. The allure of fine fabrics, clothing, dinnerware, and jewelry is recorded in extraordinary detail throughout the Pinkas. Taken together in its totality, the fascination with luxury assists in sketching the portrait of an acculturated minority… (p. 95)

As mentioned, the Pinkas has material related to the related to the Shages Aryeh. It even provides a list of the seforim he owned. (p. 270).

רשימה מהספרים שהמה למשכון ביד פו״מ הקצין כ׳ שמואל לוי מהרבנות של אדמ״ו הגאון אב״ד דקהילתינו מיץ יע״א זצ״ל
ספר רב אלפס ד׳ אמשטרדם פ״ד ליוור
יוד זוהר סמך ליוור
מדרש רבה ד׳ אמשטרדם י״ב ליוור
טורים ד׳ ווילמרשטארף ך״ד ליוור
טורי׳ ד׳ וויניציאה ח״י ליוור
יוד פרי חדש על א״ח י״ב ליוור
רמב״ם ד׳ אמשטרדם עם הלחם משנה סמך ליוור
אשלי רברבי ח״י ליוור
פני יהושע על סדר נשים ד׳ אמשטרדם טית ליוור
מכלל יופי

הספרים אלו כפי הרשימה הנ״ל המה למשכון ביד פו״מ הנ״ל מהרבנות הנ״ל. וכפי מאמרו מגיע לו מן הרבנות הנ״ל סך שלשה מאות שלשים וחמשה ליוור י״ד סוא ו״ד. ונישום המשכון הנ״ל עפ״י בקיאין בעד סך שלשה מאות ליוור. ועפ״י הבירור שנתברר ע״י עדים כשרים שהזוהר ופרי חדש שנתנה הרבנות הנ״ל לפו״מ הנ״ל שייכי׳ לחתנה מו״ה ליב כאשר כבר יצא מפי ב״ד מקדמת שפו״מ הנ״ל מחויב להחזיר לאשת מו״ה ליב הזוהר ופרי חדש

It should not be strange to see the Zohar listed among his books. Although not as well known, he was also an expert in Kabbalah.

Elsewhere we find about his seforim (p. 911):

לפ״פ דמיין ומשם לקיניגשבערג. ומספר הספרים שבתוך ארגזי׳ הנ״ל המה קכ״ה שו״ת שאגת ארי׳ וארבעה מאות ועשרים טורי אבן שחבר המנו׳ זצ״ל. ושני מאות ושמני׳ ספרי רשב״א על נדה שנדפסו פה. נמצא לאחר נכוי מדמי מכירה הנ״ל שעולה שבעה אלפים וששה מאות ותשעים וששה ליוור ד״י סוא כנ״ל את מה שהחזיק מו״ה יצחק

Today it is commonplace for everyone to acquire their own esrog. Yet, historically, it was very difficult and expensive to obtain an esrog. In the Pinkas, we find:

… גם לא באתרוג… וע״ד דמי האתרוג השיב כ׳ מאיר באשר שהי׳ מתיירא שידחו אותו חוצה ולא יתנו לו חלק באתרוג של הקהל הי׳ מוכרח לקנות לו לעצמו אתרוג מיוחד בכן אינו מחויב ליתן כלום לדמי אתרוג של הקהל… ((pp.471-472

In the Pinkas of Cracow, we find the same:

הסופר בפקודתם כל ההכנסות מכל בתי כנסיות ומן כל החברות דפה… גם החשבונות מכל ההוצאות שהוציאו מקופת הצדקה… וכן לקנות אתרוגים לחלקם לכל בתי כנסיות…” [כלילת יופי, ב’ דף סז ע”א]

R’ Dovid Nieto in his Kuzari Hasheni (p.25), writes related to this:

“בחג הסוכות אמר הכתוב ולקחתם… פרי עץ הדר… ואפשר שהכוונה היא על רמון נאה… אבל הם ז”ל פירשו שהוא אתרוג דווקא ופסלו כל מה שאינו אתרוג ממש כפי הסימנים אשר מסרונו אף על פי שיהיה מאותו המין, וזה גורם הוצאה רבה ועגמת נפש גדולה ליושבי ארצות ואקלים הקרים לפי שצריך שיביאו להם אתרוג מארץ הרחוקים לחוג בו את חג הסכות בהוצאה רבה. ולא עלתה תלונותי כי אין ציבור עני, אלא שלפעמים יש להם ההוצאה אבל לא השבח של המצוה כגון כשלא הגיע לידם אלא בתוך ימי החג או אחריו התאמין אדוני המלך שאנשים חכמים ונובנים בדו כל זה מלבם טעם ויסוד אחר אלא להתשרר על הצבור”.

A Possible Alternative Use of the Pinkas: Testing Rabbinical Candidates

As mentioned above, while the Pinkas is an invaluable source of Beis Din decisions, the rationale of those decisions is left unstated.

Fram writes:

Even in communities where such records do exist, such as Metz, whose rabbinic court records have recently been published in a monumental volume by Jay Berkovitz, there are over a thousand rulings but no rationales for judgments. This is not surprising. Ashkenazic tradition did not require rabbinic courts to rationalize their decisions. As Rabbi Moses Isserles expressed it in Shulhan `Arukh, basing himself on an earlier source: “There is no need to write the rationales and proofs, we only write for them [i.e., for the litigants] the claims and the ruling.”

Berkowitz writes:

The Beit Din was guided in its rulings by several types of law of Jewish and general provenance. Jewish law comprised talmudic principles… Traditional Jewish law, based on the Talmud and medieval / early modern codes, is the legal foundation of the Pinkas. However, no texts of the Jewish legal tradition are ever referenced by name in the rabbinic court proceedings, and even oblique references to the views of poseqim or to rabbinic responsa are extremely rare. Nevertheless, the occasional use of a talmudic phrase or of a halakhic argument that presumably guided judges in their decisions offers unmistakable clues as to the sources upon which the Beit Din relied (p. 57)

Earlier Berkowitz writes:

To appreciate the interaction of Metz Jews with French law and society will require a careful examination of the legal discourse that is submerged deeply in the rabbinic court records. That goal is not readily within reach, however, owing to the Beit Din’s routine omission of the sources upon which it relied and because of its failure to indicate the reasoning that informed its decisions. This was standard practice in cases reported by rabbinic courts in almost every locality. In sharp contrast with rabbinic responsa, no effort was made by rabbinic courts to document their engagement of earlier and contemporary sources or to define the technical-legal issues under review… (p.33)

The lack of rationale provides for a creative usage of these Pinkasim for pesak. They can be used as a “Jeopardy-type” test for future Dayanim, and similar to a modern law school exam where one is only presented a fact pattern but is required to elucidate the rationale and law behind those. Examiners could provide the Pinkas ruling and require students to articulate the reasoning. Let them read the case, etc., and the conclusions and try to document, as a test of their knowledge, the possible sources that they would suggest could be the rational for the Dayanim’s pesak.

Indeed, there are historical antecedents to this form of examination. For example, R’ Efrayim Zalman Margolis describes in his youth what his father did with him:

זכורני כשהייתי תינוק שהגיע לעונת הפעוטות לקחני אבי מורי הגאון ז”ל וחינך אותי לשעות… וכשהייתי כבן תשע היו עמי שעשועי… אשמורת הבוקר יעיר לו משנתי ולפניו שניתי כמה סדרים עד שהיו בפי שנונים ושגורים ובידי סדורים והגעתי ליותר מחצי הש”ס בזמן קצר וכמעט לאומרם בע”פ ממני לא יבצר ובכל זמן ועידן עמי היו מתעדן לטייל עמי בהלכות ושמעי לאזני חדושים באגדות ומדרשים… היה עורך דין דאיתא בשאלה בספרי שו“ת ודרש ידרוש מעמי אם אשמע לפתור על אתר… [בית אפרים, על הלכות טריפות הריאה, בסוף הקדמה שניה].

 

There are also a number of seforim that are composed of riddles to sharpen the student’s mind.

In 1545 R’ Yakov Landau published one in the back of his Sefer HaAgur called Sefer Chazan. R’ Efrayim Heksher published another one called Divrei Chachamim VeChedusim in 1743. Another one worth mentioning is in the excellent work Kerem Shlomo published in 1840. One last one to mention is R’ Yosef Zechariah Stern in Shut Zecher Yosef, Orach Chaim 2, at the end has two pages with an introduction of earlier sources for this. This is part of his much larger work on the subject, which was not published. Most recently, they published R’ Chaim Kanievsky’s Tests that he gave on Shas; the questions are also like riddles [See, for example, Kovetz Eitz Chaim 37 (2022), pp. 393-433]. These riddles are very unique in their approach. Of course, similar to the Metz Pinkas, R. Kanievsky provided little in the way of the underlying rationale his pesakim. (See also Yakov Shmuel Spiegel, “Academies in Italy and the Permission to hold Academia on Shabbos Day: The Responsa of R. Isaac Ben Asher Pacifico,” in Mekhilta, 3, 79-124).

In conclusion, Berkowitz’s work is a tour de force. The transcription, notes, and excurses provide a unique window into the judicial process and have implications beyond the law. While the contents are not a complete record of Metz, it is a sufficiently large data set that provides a wealth of avenues for exploration. All of these volumes are worth reviewing in-depth and, no doubt, will considerably enrich Jewish scholarship on Jewish courts and related subjects.

Abraham Rosenberg, R. Chaim Heller, R. Shlomo Zalman Auerbach on Conversion, Abortion, Mercy Killings, and new pictures and videos of R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg

Marc B. Shapiro

1. In my post here I discussed the enigmatic plagiarizer Abraham Rosenberg. As we saw, in 1923 and 1924 Rosenberg published articles on the Jerusalem Talmud in the Orthodox journal Jeschurun, and he later published Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi. In this last work, Rosenberg refers to R. Chaim Heller as his friend. I and so many others assumed that “Rosenberg” was a pseudonym, but Moshe Dembitzer, the expert on everything related to R. Heller, has pointed out to me that this appears not to be the case. Here is a letter Dembitzer found in the JDC archives from R. Heller to Cyrus Adler. As you can see, R. Heller mentions A. Rosenberg—the letter that is unclear must be an “A”—and one of his essays on the Jerusalem Talmud. He also mentions that Rosenberg “is considered only one of the ordinary students.”

Dembitzer also found another connection between R. Heller and Rosenberg. Here is a note from R. Charles B. Chavel’s edition of Hizkuni’s commentary on the Torah, p. 525.

Here is Rosenberg’s Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, p. 102, where he cites the same explanation that Chavel cited in the name of R. Heller (but Rosenberg takes credit for it himself).

Regarding the plagiarisms of Rosenberg, I must also thank Gershon Klapper who alerted me to other examples. He wrote to me:

Rosenberg’s first article (לחקר תלמוד הירושלמי) opens אין מן הצורך לשנות את הידוע כי תלמוד הבבלי שנחתם לא זזה ידם של חכמי ישראל ממנו, very similar to how R. Heller’s ע”ד מסורת הש”ס בירושלמי begins, אין מן הצורך לשנות את הידוע כי תלמוד הירושלמי הוא עדין כשדה שאין עובד בו. But the next part of his introduction to that article is taken, slightly rearranged, from Steinschneider’s ספרות ישראל vol. 2, p. 103 (it reappears at the beginning of ע”ד תקוני נוסחאות בירושלמי, which includes most of this article’s content), as is the line beginning פעולתם של הגאונים. He does paraphrase some other language from R. Heller in the introduction, but again it isn’t word-for-word.

His second article (פסוקי המקרא שבתלמוד) opens

כי חכמי התלמוד היו בקיאים בכל ספרי התנ”ך עד להפליא, – דבר זה ידוע לכל מי שלמד גמרא, ואפילו למי שהצליף בה סקירה שטחית. כמעט מכל דף ודף שבתלמוד נראה, כי פסוקי התנ”ך, ואפילו המקראות “האובדים והנדחים” שברשימות השמות בעזרא ובדברי הימים היו שגורים על פי התנאים והאמוראים בתכלית הדיוק. בעלי התוספות (ב”ב ד’ קי”ג בד”ה תרוייהו) לא חששו להחליט, שהאמוראים פעמים שלא היו בקיאים בפסוקים. אבל כבר הודו שם בעלי התוס’ עצמם שאין החלטה זו מוכרחת וכמו שכתב הרשב”ם שם. וגם הראיה שהביאו מדברי ר’ חייא בר אבא, שאינו יודע אם נאמר בי’ הדברות טוב או לא (ב”ק נה.) אינה מוכרחת שהרי ברור הדבר, כי דברי רחב”א, אינם אלא דברי בדיחותא, כדי לדחות את השואל.

Almost every word of this comes from an article of the same title by Yisrael Chaim Tawiow which appeared in HaShiloach 29 (July-Dec. 1913). The rest of the second article is taken from Baer Ratner, סדר עולם רבא pp. 103ff. and Samuel Rosenfeld, משפחת סופרים pp. 98, 100, 105, etc.

Klapper also called my attention to Rosenberg’s plagiarism of part of a paragraph in R. Heller’s article that appears in Le-David Zvi (David Zvi Hoffmann Jubilee Volume, Hebrew section). Compare p. 56 there with Rosenberg, Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, p. 11. As Klapper notes, it is quite ironic that Rosenberg leaves out the following sentence from R. Heller that occurs in the middle of the passage he plagiarizes:

ויש שיועיל לנו הציון לברוח מן העבירה ולעשות מצוה לאמר דבר בשם אומרו

While on the topic of R. Chaim Heller, first let me share this wonderful picture from R. Ahron Soloveichik’s wedding in which one can see the Rav, R. Heller and R. Yaakov Kamenetsky. As far as I know, this picture has never appeared online. I thank Yoel Hirsch for providing me with the picture.

From R. Kamenetsky’s recently published Emet le-Yaakov al Nakh, vol. 1, p. 185 n. 2, we learn that in 1937 R. Kamenetsky visited Boston to discuss with R. Soloveitchik opening a yeshiva together.

In 1924 R. Heller published his study of the Samaritan version of the Torah, Ha-Nusah ha-Shomroni shel ha-Torah (Berlin, 1924). In 1972 Makor, which published so many valuable reprints of old seforim, decided to also reprint R. Heller’s Ha-Nusah ha-Shomroni. The problem was that R. Heller had an heir, and she was the only one with the legal right to reprint his books. This led to the following letters sent by Miriam Heller’s attorney (the letters are found in the Israel State Archives, 14924/3, available here [before the recent cyber attack on the archives], pp. 35ff.). From these letters, we learn that there were other unauthorized reprints of R. Heller’s works.

One final point about R. Heller is the following: In 1912 he was appointed rav of the city of Lomza. Here is a report on his appointment from the newspaper Ha-Mitzpeh, March 29, 1912.

The writer is simply amazed that a Polish city, full of Hasidim, would hire as its rav a “Rabbi Dr.” Of course, R. Heller was a very unique “Rabbi Dr.”

2. Because I discussed conversion in the last post, I would like to call attention to R. Yoel Amital’s discovery of how R. Shlomo Zalman Auerbach’s view on the matter has been presented.[1] The issue R. Amital focuses on is whether a conversion for someone who does not observe mitzvot takes effect. I am referring to one who tells the beit din at the time of conversion that he accepts the mitzvot, but we see later that this was not the case.

In his letter in R. Zvi Cohen’s Tevilat Kelim (1975), R. Auerbach is clear that ex post facto such a conversion is still valid.

The crucial words are:

בכגון דא נלענ”ד שכל המסייעים לגירות כזו, אף שבדיעבד הם גרים גמורים, אפי”ה המגיירים אותם עוברים בלאו של לפני עור וגו’

According to R. Auerbach, because be-diavad such converts are Jewish, to convert them is a violation of lifnei iver. As R. Auerbach explains, before conversion, these people could work on Shabbat and eat non-kosher, but now that they are Jewish they are forbidden to do so. By converting people who will be committing these and other sins, the beit din has violated the prohibition of lifnei iver.

As R. Amital shows, in subsequent printings of R. Cohen’s book, R. Auerbach’s letter is printed with a significant addition (here underlined):

בכגון דא נלענ”ד שכל המסייעים לגירות כזו, אף שהם טועים לחשוב שבדיעבד הם גרים גמורים, אפי”ה המגיירים אותם עוברים בלאו של לפני עור וגו’

And

בכגון דא נלענ”ד שכל המסייעים לגירות כזו, אף אם הם טועים לחשוב שבדיעבד הם גרים גמורים, אפי”ה המגיירים אותם עוברים בלאו של לפני עור וגו’

When this letter was printed in R. Auerbach’s Minhat Shlomo, vol. 1, no. 35:3, the wording was altered further:

בכגון דא נלענ”ד שכל המסייעים לגירות כזו, אף דהם טועים לחשוב שהם גרים גמורים, אפי”ה גם לשטתם המגיירים אותם עוברים בלאו של לפני עור וגו’

In Ha-Ma’yan 56 (Nisan 5776), p. 89, in response to R. Amital’s article, R. Aharon Goldberg, a grandson of R. Shlomo Zalman, published a picture of R. Auerbach’s original letter. The wording is identical to what appears in the first edition of R. Cohen’s book. So how to explain the later additions? R. Goldberg states that it is possible that the later changes were made with the consent of R. Auerbach. Although there is no evidence of this, I find it unlikely that R. Cohen would have altered R. Auerbach’s letter while R. Auerbach was still alive. A general rule of censorship and alteration of texts is that it is done after the author is no longer alive.

Leaving aside the updated version of the letter, there is still a problem that R. Amital confronts. According to R. Auerbach’s original letter, those who convert but do not become religious, their conversion is still valid. However, R. Auerbach also signed a public letter together with the Steipler, R. Shakh, and R. Elyashiv, which states that such a conversion has no validity. So which is it?

R. Mordechai Halpern has shown that R. Auerbach sometimes presented a “public” halakhah that was stricter than his true opinion, but which for some reason he did not wish to publicize.[2] R. Amital suggests that in this case we have a similar example where R. Auerbach publicly advocated a “strict” position regarding conversion that was not in line with his true opinion. (I put “strict” in quotes because while this position is strict in not regarding a conversion as valid, it is also “lenient” in that it tells someone who converted and did not intend to become religious that she can leave her husband without a get, does not need to fast on Yom Kippur, etc.)

R. Amital also claims, implausibly in my opinion, that the public letter R. Auerbach signed does not really stand in contradiction to the letter he sent to R. Cohen. How so? The public letter speaks of people who convert without accepting to observe mitzvot, while R. Auerbach in his letter to R. Cohen is referring to people who in front of the beit din do accept to observe mitzvot, but in their inner heart do not really have such an intention.

Contrary to R. Amital, this is clearly not what the public letter means. It is referring to people who converted in a beit din, but never intended to follow halakhah. It is simply impossible to read this public letter as referring to, in the words of R. Amital: גרים שלא קיבלו עליהם כלל בבית דין לקיים תורה ומצוות. There is no beit din in the world that does not require converts to accept Torah observance. The issue the letter was addressing is converts who, despite their verbal acceptance of mitzvot, do not follow through in practice. According to the letter, such a conversion is not valid. This is so obvious that one wonders how R. Amital could have ever offered his suggestion to explain the contradiction.

R. Halpern himself notes that he knows that R. Auerbach never backed away from his earlier position, as seen in his letter to R. Cohen, that someone who was converted by a proper beit din, but did not intend to observe mitzvot, ex post facto the conversion is still valid. Yet he states that R. Auerbach later concluded that this liberal approach should not be publicized.[3]

Even with the initial two “corrected” versions of R. Auerbach’s letter, R. Auerbach mentions that rabbis who convert people who have no intention of observing Torah violate the prohibition of putting a stumbling block before the blind. R. Auerbach states that until now the person converting violated Shabbat and ate non-kosher food and these were not sins. But now, after the conversion, he is violating the Torah. R. Auerbach concludes his letter as follows:

נמצא שכל המגיירים והמסייעים לכך הו”ל כגדול המחטיאו, ועוברים בלאו של ולפני עור לא תתן מכשול

The implication of this is that ex post facto the conversion is indeed valid, as otherwise there would be no sin committed by the convert and there would be no issue of putting a stumbling block before the blind. In the words of R. Yisrael Rozen:[4]

למדנו מדבריו שהגירות חלה, דאי לאו הכי אין כאן מכשול, שהרי נשאר בגיותו

In fact, we find many poskim who say that we should not convert people who do not intend on observing mitzvot, because then they will be punished for their sins. This shows that these poskim regard a conversion without intent to observe mitzvot as valid ex post facto. In a previous post here I cited a number of examples of this, and here is one more.

R. Raphael Shapiro, Torat Refael, vol. 3, no. 42, has a short responsum about whether to convert a woman who will not be observant. It was sent to R. Mordechai Klatchko of Volozhin, who would later come to the U.S. and serve as a rav in Boston.[5] R. Klatchko was clearly a fine talmid hakham, as can be seen from the two volumes of his Tekhelet Mordekhai. R. Klatchko wrote to R. Shapiro arguing that the woman should be converted even if she was not going to be observant so that her intended husband (or perhaps current husband) could fulfill the mitzvah of procreation (which he could not do if his children would not be halakhically Jewish). R. Shapiro disagrees and states that it is forbidden to convert her, as she will certainly not observe the niddah laws, and this will cause them both to violate a Torah prohibition.

What is important for our purposes is that both R. Klatchko and R. Shapiro assume that one who converts without intending to observe Jewish law is regarded as a valid convert. As long as the person goes through a halakhically proper conversion ceremony, that is what activates the conversion. It is hard for people today to understand how R. Shapiro never even raises the possibility that a conversion is invalid if the person converting intends to routinely violate fundamental Jewish laws by living an irreligious lifestyle. But as can be seen in so many different examples, a widespread view in prior generations—I don’t know if it was the majority view or not—was that as long as the conversion is carried out properly, what happens later, and what is in the convert’s heart at the time of the conversion ceremony, have no legal significance.[6]

Here is one further example of this approach, Be-Mar’eh ha-Bazak, vol. 4, no. 96.[7]

As you can see, the approach of Kollel Eretz Hemdah is that there is no possibility of voiding a conversion carried out by a proper beit din, even if the people converting had no intention of observing mitzvot. At the beginning of the volume, it states that the responsa were reviewed by R. Zalman Nehemiah Goldberg, R. Nachum Rabinovitch, and R. Yisrael Rozen, all significant figures in their own right.

Finally, it is also worth noting that no less a figure than R. Isaac Jacob Weiss refused to void a conversion even though the woman who converted never observed mitzvot. See Minhat Yitzhak, vol. 1, nos. 121-123.

I have a good deal more to say about conversion, but in the interest of space, let me just call attention to a couple of interesting things I recently saw. The first is that R. Moses Sofer states that non-Jews are rewarded in this world if they convert to Judaism.[8] I do not know of anyone else who says that there is a divinely ordained reward for one who converts.

The second interesting discussion about conversion I recently saw is R. Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea, Emunat Hakhamim, ch. 24 (pp. 264-265 in the Jerusalem, 2016 edition). Adopting the type of anachronistic explanation that some commentators have been fond of, R. Basilea assumes that Mahlon converted Ruth and married her with huppah and kiddushin. But this creates a problem, because if Ruth was Jewish, why did Naomi push her away? R. Basilea offers a possible answer: Naomi held like the Rif and the Rambam that since Ruth’s immersion in the mikveh was not before three men, it was invalid even be-diavad. However, Mahlon held like the other poskim that be-diavad, tevilah by oneself if valid.

והנה נעמי היתה סוברת כרי”ף והרמב”ם שאפילו בדיעבד אינה גיורת ולכן השתדלה להרחיקה, ומחלון היה סבור כאותם הפוסקים הסוברים כי גיורת גמורה היתה ולכן נשאה

Does anyone, even from the most traditional communities, still offer explanations along these lines? Here is what R. Shimon Shkop wrote in a different context, and you can see that he was not a fan of this type of explanation.[9]

ודבר זה מביא לידי גיחוך, כעין הפלפולים אם פרעה היה סובר שעבודא דאורייתא

Some time ago I was looking at Abba Appelbaum’s book Rabbi Azariah Figo (Drohobycz, 1907), and he offers the following examples of anachronistic explanations (p. 54):[10]

R. Gershon Ashkenazi (1618-1693), one of the greatest halakhists of his day, also wrote a work of homiletics, Tiferet ha-Gershuni. In his derashah for parashat Mas’ei (p. 236 in the 2009 edition) he portrays the daughters of Zelophehad as arguing from halakhic logic.

In his derashah for parashat Va-Yera (p. 48), in discussing the descendants of Ishmael, R. Ashkenazi suggests that they held that the law of ketubah is rabbinic.

אם כן בני ישמעאל היו סבורים כתובה מדרבנן

Appelbaum also calls attention to R. Meir Schiff’s elaboration at the end of his commentary to Bava Kamma (found in the Vilna Shas). He portrays the incident of Esau selling his firstborn status from a halakhic angle. As such, Jacob’s thoughts were no different than those of a later halakhic scholar:

ונסתפק יעקב באומרו כיום מחמת שני דברים, שגריעותא דבכורה מחמת דבר שלא בא לעולם ומחמת אונאה . . . ויעקב נתיירא או למד הפשט כרש”י ולזה אמר ויאמר השבע לי כמ”ש בח”מ סי ר”ט ס”ד בהגה”ה

Another example, not mentioned by Applebaum, is R. Samuel Edels (Maharsha) in his aggadic commentary to Sanhedrin 57b. R. Edels wonders why Pharoah commanded the Hebrew midwives to kill the newborn Hebrew children, as it would have made much more sense to have Egyptian midwives do this. He explains that the children were to be killed before birth and for non-Jews this would be regarded as murder, which Pharoah wanted to avoid.[11] He thus turned to Hebrew midwives as for them it is not murder to kill an unborn child.

Quite apart from the far-fetched nature of the explanation, as well as its assumption that even before the giving of the Torah the Israelites were bound by Jewish law, not Noahide law, I don’t think any reader of the biblical story would find it reasonable that Pharoah was concerned about anyone violating the commandment against murder. However, the passage is also of interest in seeing how Maharsha regarded the prohibition against abortion.[12] He even portrays Pharoah as thinking that there is no prohibition for Jews to abort a fetus, including right before birth.

דודאי פרעה לא שאל מהם להרוג הזכרים בידים דבן נח מוזהר על שפיכות דמים ולכך לא אמר כן למילדות המצריות שהוזהרו על שפיכות דמים אפילו בעוברים אבל למילדות העבריות אמר שהותר לכם להרוג עובר במעי אמו וראיתם על האבנים קודם שיצא לאויר העולם אם בן הוא וגו’ וכיון שאי אפשר בהם לפטור משפיכות דמים רק בתחילת יציאת הולד קודם שיצא ראשו או רובו הוצרך לתת להם סימנין כמו שכתוב בפרק קמא דסוטה [יא ע”ב]

There has been a good deal of discussion as to how to understand the Maharsha’s words שהותר לכם. Some assume that he meant that Pharoah was in error in thinking that there is no prohibition for Jews to abort a fetus.[13] It is also possible to explain that the prohibition against abortion for Jews is only rabbinic,[14] so at that period of time there was no prohibition. R. Yaakov Farbstein states flatly:[15]

ומבואר במהרש”א דאין איסור לישראל בהריגת העוברים

This notion, that the Maharsha is saying that there is no prohibition for Jews to abort a fetus, is not in line with the overwhelming majority view beginning with the rishonim. However, in one Tosafot, Niddah 44a-b, s.v. ihu, it does state that abortion is permitted for Jews, and it does not mention that there needs to be a good reason for this or provide a timeline after which abortion is not allowed.

וא”ת אם תמצי לומר דמותר להורגו בבטן . . . וי”ל דמכל מקום משום פקוח נפש מחללין עליו את השבת אף ע”ג דמותר להרגו

Pretty much every halakhist who deals with abortion struggles with this Tosafot, as they have found it very hard to accept that any rishon could permit abortion without restrictions. One approach offered is that Tosafot is saying that there is no Torah prohibition, but there would still be a rabbinic prohibition.[16]

R. Moshe Feinstein, in his classic responsum on abortion, claims that there is a mistake in Tosafot, and instead of the two appearances of דמותר it should instead say דפטור ההורגו in both places.[17] This is in line with the phenomenon I have discussed on a few occasions, where R. Moshe is prepared to deny the authenticity of problematic texts. R. Eliezer Waldenberg offered a strong rejoinder to R. Moshe.[18]

והנה עם כל הכבוד, לא אדוני, לא זו הדרך, וחיים אנו עפ”ד גאוני הדורות, והמה טרחו כל אחד ואחד לפי דרכו לבאר ולהעמיד כוונת דברי התוס’ בנדה וליישבם, ואף אחד מהם לא עלה על דעתו הדרך הקלה והפשוטה ביותר לומר שיש ט”ס בדברי התוס’ ובמקום מותר צריך להיות אסור [צ”ל פטור]

While no other authorities agree with R. Moshe that the Tosafot contains a mistaken text, many regard the language of Tosafot as not exact.[19]

Returning to R. Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, I know of another example where he did not want a view of his to be widely shared. R. Amit Kula discusses R. Avigdor Nebenzahl’s argument that according to a variety of sources one who is suffering greatly is allowed to commit suicide. He further adds that it would be permitted to kill another in this circumstance (active euthanasia), for if you are allowed to kill yourself for a good purpose, you can do it to another as well. R. Nebenzahl adds that some of what he says comes from R. Shlomo Zalman Auerbach. He also quotes R. Auerbach that one can take medicine to reduce pain even if it will shorten one’s life.[20]

This information, which appeared in the first edition of R. Nebenzahl’s Be-Yitzhak Yikare, is not found in subsequent editions. R. Kula tells us that in these editions R. Nebenzahl inserted a note that the section was removed at the instruction of an unnamed scholar, and R. Mordechai Halpern quotes R. Nebenzahl that this scholar was none other than R. Auerbach.[21]

I find this of interest because if there is one thing that everyone knows, it is that Judaism does not allow active euthanasia (mercy killing). As is usually the case, matters are more complicated as has recently been shown by R. Yitzchak Roness in an article in Ha-Ma’yan.[22] He notes that R. Moshe Sternbuch does not believe that there is any prohibition for non-Jews to engage in mercy killing, since it is carried out for a good purpose. R. Yitzhak Zilberstein also inclines towards this position, and R. Moshe Feinstein suggests this as well, writing:[23]

אפשר שבן נח אינו אסור ברציחה שהוא לטובת הנרצח ושאני בזה האיסור לישראל מהאיסור לבן נח

R. Moshe and others specifically have in mind a non-Jew engaging in mercy killing of a Jew. The proof brought is the famous story of the death of R. Hanina ben Teradyon (Avodah Zarah 18a) where R. Hanina permits the executioner to raise the flame and remove the wool from his heart, thus actively hastening his death. R. Shaul Yisraeli goes the furthest, and for someone suffering greatly, and near death, he thinks that active euthanasia is permitted even if performed by a Jew.

R. Roness then notes that there is a dispute if one suffering great pain is allowed to commit suicide. For the side that permits this, R. Zilberstein adds that if it is permitted for the suffering individual, it will also be permitted for another to assist (active euthanasia). R. Roness also cites R. Hershel Schachter who states that active euthanasia, with the agreement of the patient, is not to be regarded as murder. He even suggests that for one suffering greatly, active euthanasia should be permitted:[24]

ההורג את חברו ברשותו יש לומר דאין בו לאו דרציחה אלא רק לאו דאך את דמכם, דלא גרע הורג חברו ברשותו מההורג את עצמו . . . ולמנוע א”ע מלסבול ייסורים דינו כפקו”נ, וכמשמעות התוס’ הנ”ל. ואם באמת כ”ה גדר היתר זה, א”כ אף בחולה הסובל יסורים קשים ומתחנן לאחרים ליטול את נפשו, אם נאמר כנ”ל, דבכה”ג אין לומר דבטלה דעתו וכו’, ג”כ הי’ צ”ל מותר מטעם פקו”נ ועיין בזה

And finally, here is what R. Chaim Kanievsky responded when asked if a Jewish patient near death could allow a non-Jew to end his life. R. Chaim does not say this is murder. On the contrary, he is inclined to permit it.[25]

אם שוהה אדם בבית חולים דעכו”ם ויש לו יסורים רבים במחלתו האנושה, ורוצה הרופא לחסוך לו היסורים ולקרב מותו ושואל ממנו רשות, האם מותר לו להסכים לזאת. והשיב רבנו שליט”א “יתכן שיש ללמוד זה ממעשה דרחב”ת” . . . והיאך הסכים רחב”ת שהעכו”ם יקרב מותו, והשיב רבנו: “איפה שהחולה מרגיש שזה טובתו יתכן שמותר כמו שמותר להתפלל עליו שימות.”

My question is, how come the “liberal” views I have mentioned are not better known?

7. In my last post here I included the first-ever color pictures of R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg. These went around the world very quickly, and as is the nature of the internet, where the pictures came from was soon forgotten. In fact, within 24 hours someone who does not read the Seforim Blog sent them to me as a great new discovery. When I told him that I am the one who published the pictures he was at first incredulous, stating that he just got them from his cousin.

Here are two more pictures of R. Weinberg that he sent to his family. They are from before World War II when he was still in Germany. In the picture where he is lying the ground, I do not know who the couple next to R. Weinberg is.[26]

 

And for an extra treat, here are the only known videos of R. Weinberg, and one of them is in color. I thank Noam Cohn for putting this together, at my request, from his family’s collection. The first part has R. Weinberg with R. Arthur Ephraim Weil, the rav of Basel, and R. Leo Adler who succeeded Weil as rav of Basel in 1956. The second video, in which you can see R. Weinberg in color together with R. Samuel Brom, the rav of Lucerne, is from winter 1958-1959 at the Silberhorn kosher hotel in Grindelwald. The hotel had just inaugurated its new mikveh, and it was important to the family who owned the hotel that R. Weinberg give his approval to the mikveh.[27] At 1:12 and 3:20 you can also see the famed educator and student of R. Weinberg, Dr. Gabriel H. Cohn. Here is a picture from the event and you can see R. Brom and Dr. Cohn standing next to R. Weinberg.

Regarding R. Adler, before coming to Basel he studied ten years at the Mir Yeshiva, including in Shanghai. After the war he was in New York where he taught Torah at Yeshiva University.[28]

8. In my last post here I had the following quiz questions.

Please identify the following and email me your answers:

1. There are two se’ifim in the Shulhan Arukh that only contain two words.

2. There is one siman in the Shulhan Arukh whose number is the gematria of the subject of the siman.

The answer to no. 1 is Yoreh Deah 65:6: נוהג בכוי, and Even ha-Ezer 126:42: מותרת בויו

The answer to no. 2 is Orah Hayyim no. 586. This is the laws of shofar, and the gematria of shofar is 586. This was noted by R. Jacob Emden and I mentioned this in my article “‘Truth’ and Authorial Intent in the Study of Torah,” available here.

A number of people provided the correct answers for no. 1 and no. 2, but no one got both of my intended answers. However, Moshe Schwartz got no. 2 right with a different answer than I was thinking of (meaning he answered both questions correctly). He noted that Yoreh Deah 107 speaks about cooking eggs, and the gematria of ביצה is 107.[29] Also, shortly before this post was completed, Sol Reich provided another example: Yoreh Deah 334 is about הלכות נידוי וחרם and the gematria of נידוי וחרם is 334.

9. Information about my summer tours with Torah in Motion to Central Europe and Spain is available here.

* * * * * * *

[1] “Ha-Im Giyuram shel Gerim she-Einam Shomrim Mizvot Hal Be-Diavad? Berur Da’at ha-Gaon Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach ZTL,” Ha-Ma’yan 56 (Tishrei 5776), pp. 43-46.
[2] Halpern, Refuah, Metziut ve-Halakhah (Jerusalem, 2011), pp. 35ff.
[3] Amital, “Ha-Im Giyuram,” p. 45.
[4] Ve-Ohev Ger (Alon Shvut, 2010), p. 161 n. 1.
[5] See R. Hayyim Fischel Epstein, Teshuvah Shelemah, vol. 2, Even ha-Ezer, nos. 29-30, and R. Elijah Klatzkin, Hibbat ha-Kodesh, no. 11, where they respond to R. Klatchko’s question about a get written in Roxbury (a neighborhood in Boston), but the get only mentioned “Boston”. This is mentioned by Hayyim Karlinsky, Rabbi Hayyim Fischel Epstein (New York, 1963), pp. 26-27.

This R. Klatchko should not be confused with an earlier R. Mordechai Klatchko of Lida who also wrote a book titled Tekhelet Mordekhai. It is noteworthy that R. Klatchko of Lida wrote a lengthy haskamah for the Mishnah Berurah. Regarding R. Klatchko of Lida, see here.[6] For another example, see R. Dov Cohen, Va-Yelkhu Sheneihem Yahdav (Jerusalem, 2009), pp. 333-334. Here R. Cohen describes how, at the direction of R. Isser Yehudah Unterman, he converted a woman intent on marrying a completely irreligious Jew. This is the sort of conversion that today would not be allowed in Israel or in any of the batei din recognized by the Israeli Chief Rabbinate. See also R. Avraham Shapiro, Kuntres Aharon in his edition of R. Isaac Jacob Rabinowitz, Zekher Yitzhak (Jerusalem, 1990), p. 396, who suggests that according to Maimonides, when it comes to conversion and acceptance of mitzvot,  כיון שקבל בפה אין דבריו שבלב דברים.

For a convert who is not observant, there is one halakhic consequence, at least according to many authorities: When they divorce the get should not say ben (or bat) Avraham avinu, but ploni ha-ger. See R. Shimon Yakobi, Bitul Giyur Ekev Hoser Kenut be-Kabbalat ha-Mitzvot (Jerusalem, 2009), pp. 103ff. (This is an official publication of the Israel rabbinical courts.) See also ibid., p. 105, for the shocking statistic that from 1996-2008, 97% of converts who divorced in the State of Israel were irreligious. There is no reason to doubt that the number of non-divorced converts who are irreligious is similar. If only 3% of converts in Israel are religious, then, as Yakobi rightly notes, it raises serious concerns about the conversion process.
[7] A similar responsum dealing with the same case appears in Be-Mar’eh ha-Bazak, vol 3, no. 89.
[8] Derashot Hatam Sofer, vol. 2, p. 301c. s.v. yeshalem.
[9] Hiddushei Rabbi Shimon ha-Kohen (Jerusalem, 2011), vol. 4, p. 324 (Kuntres Likutim, no. 5).
[10] I can’t say whether there is any plagiarism in this book, but another publication of Appelbaum was plagiarized from Abraham Berliner. See Nehemiah Leibowitz, “Al Devar ha-Takanah be-Venetzia,” Ha-Tzofeh le-Hokhmat Yisrael 13 (1929), p. 90.

Regarding anachronistic explanations, I think most would also include in this category R. Moses Sofer’s statement that Joseph wished to pray with a minyan rather than pray vatikin by himself. See Hatam Sofer al ha-Torah, vol. 1, p. 227.
[11] The same approach is independently suggested by R. Judah Rosanes, Parashat Derakhim, Derush 17, and R. Pinhas Horowitz, Panim Yafot, Ex. 1:15.

R. Ishmael holds that abortion is treated as murder for non-Jews (Sanhedrin57b) and Maimonides rules this way (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Melakhim9:4). This halakhah has often been cited as proof that the crime of abortion is stricter for non-Jews than Jews, and that public policy should be in line with this. Yet in Sanhedrin 57b the Tanna Kamma disagrees with R. Ishmael and does not regard abortion as murder. In fact, according to the Tanna Kamma, abortion would seem to be permissible for non-Jews. R. Jeremy Wieder has raised the question, which I would like someone to offer a serious reply to, that while Maimonides and other authorities accept R. Ishmael as the binding decision, who says that non-Jews have to accept this? Why can’t non-Jews “poskin” like the Tanna Kamma? See here at minute 35:30.

R. Shneur Zalman Fradkin,Torat Hesed, Even ha-Ezer, no. 42:5 (in the note), suggests that Tosafot,Niddah 44a, that I discuss in the text, adopts the Tanna Kamma’s position, not the view of R. Ishmael. See Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 14, p. 184. The implications of this with regard to non-Jews are obviously significant.

See also R. Jacob Emden, Em la-Binah (Jerusalem, 2020), p. 197:

בילדכן את העבריות: לא גזר על שפיכות דמים אלא על העוברים

R. Emden seems to be saying that abortion is not regarded as murder for non-Jews. Perhaps relevant to this, it is worth noting that R. Meir Mazuz states that one should encourage a non-Jewish woman pregnant by a Jewish man to have an abortion. SeeMakor Ne’eman, vol. 3, no. 1509. See also R. Hanan Aflalo,Asher Hanan, vol. 8, no. 74. R. Joseph Babad, Minhat Hinnukh, 296:7, states that abortion is not murder for non-Jews, and therefore there is no law of rodef when it comes to a non-Jew seeking to kill a fetus. (Since later in this post I mention suicide, it is worth noting that R. Babad also states that non-Jews are not prohibited from committing suicide. See Minhat Hinnukh 34:8.)

Regarding abortion for Jews, R. Hershel Schachter has an interesting shiur here. His approach is, I think, the most lenient among contemporary poskim, as he states that for the health of the mother abortion is permitted up until the end of pregnancy, which is long after the time that the fetus is viable.

R. Schachter’s approach might be identical with the very lenient perspective of R. Abraham Isaac Bloch. See R. Mordechai Gifter,Milei de-Iggerot, vol. 7, p. 341:

בגדר האיסור דהריגת עוברין בישראל, שמעתי מאדמו”ר הגאב”ד ור”מ דטלז ז”ל הי”ד, שהוא מגדר בל תשחית, אשר לפי”ז כל שהוא לצורך רפואה או פגם משפחה, אין בזה גדר האיסור דהשחתה

[12] I would have thought that the Maharsha’s words could have halakhic significance, but R. Nahman Yehiel Michel Steinmetz states otherwise, noting אין לומדים הלכה מדברי הגדה. See Meshiv Nevonim, vol. 6, p. 250. See also R. Weinberg’s comments regarding the Maharsha in Seridei Esh, vol. 3, no. 126.
[13] See e.g., Siftei Maharsha: Shemot, pp. 16-17.
[14] For opinions that the prohibition against abortion is only rabbinic, see R. Yishai Yitzhak Shraga, Torat ha-Ubar (Jerusalem, 2017), pp. 72ff.
[15] Ohalei Yaakov: Shemot, p. 1.
[16] See R. Eliezer Waldenberg, Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 9, p. 231, vol. 14, p. 184.
[17] Iggerot Moshe, Hoshen Mishpat 2, p. 295. There are a couple of strange things in this responsum, which first appeared in the R. Yehezkel Abramsky Memorial Volume. For example, see p. 298 how R. Moshe describes R. Joseph Hayyim’s responsum in Rav Pealim. (The word שהחכם in the bottom line right column should be שהתחכם, as it appears in the R. Abramsky Memorial Volume.) Yet as R. Waldenberg points out, Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 14, p. 186, R. Moshe’s summary of Rav Pealim is inaccurate and he also does not show much regard for R. Joseph Hayyim, leading R. Waldenberg to write: והוא פלאי, ושרי ליה מריה בזה. See Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 14, p. 186. (R. Moshe actually ends his own responsum by saying ושרי ליה מריה בזה about R. Waldenberg.)

R. David M. Feldman wrote to R. Waldenberg that R. Moshe did not write the responsum on abortion, and that could explain what he saw as various problems in this responsum. SeeTzitz Eliezer, vol. 20, p. 140.

I find this approach completely untenable, although in conversation with me R. Feldman insisted on it. Some might suggest that others were involved in writing the responsum, and that explains the passage dealing with Rav Pealim. I find this impossible to accept, and would prefer to assume that at least with regard to the inaccurate Rav Pealim description, that R. Moshe did not have the text in front of him and was citing from memory from what had earlier been shown to him. As such, it is easy to imagine how he could have forgotten the details, as we have all had similar experiences. For more on this responsum, see my post here.
[18] Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 14, p. 183.
[19] See R. Zvi Ryzman, Ratz ke-Tzvi, vol. 2, p. 295.
[20] Tehumin 37 (2017), p. 124.
[21] Refuah, Metziut, ve-Halakhah, p. 28.
[22] “Ha-Im Muteret ‘Hamatat Hesed’ al Yedei Amirah le-Goy,” Ha-Ma’yan 62 (Tamuz 5782), pp. 54-64.
[23] Iggerot Moshe, Hoshen Mishpat 2, p. 313.
[24] Ginat Egoz, p. 74.
[25] R. Yosef Aryeh Lorintz, Mishnat Pikuah Nefesh, p. 26.
[26] The pictures in this post are now kept at Ganzach Kiddush Hashem in Bnei Brak.
[27] All the big rabbis stayed and ate at the Silberhorn hotel, and yet until 1975 it had no hashgachah. People knew the family that owned it to be absolutely reliable in matters of kashrut, and like the other kosher hotels in Switzerland, the kashrut was trusted without any hashgachah. In 1974 the Swiss rabbinate informed the various kosher hotels that they would need to acquire a hashgachah, thus ending the era of religious owners’ kashrut being trusted without any outside supervision. (Thanks to Dr. Joshua Sternbuch who passed on this information from the family who owned the Silberhorn hotel.)

Regarding the pious practice of eating eggs at seudah shelishit, see Kaf ha-Hayyim 289:12.