Maimonides on Free Will, Divine Omniscience and Repentance

Ben Zion Katz

The problem of reconciling the notions of man’s free will and Divine omniscience is an ancient one. As early as Mishna Avot 3:15 Rabbi Akiva states that “everything is known [by God] but permission (i.e. free will) is given [to people]”. Maimonides begins to tackle this question in his Laws of Repentance (הלכות תשובה) from Book One (The Book of Science סּפּר המדע) of the Mishnah Torah. In chapter 5 paragraph 5 Maimonides brings up the conundrum of Divine Omniscience vs human free will: How can people have free will if God knows the future? Maimonides insists that one who claims that God does not know people’s (future) actions is a heretic (Chapter 3 paragraph 8). He also claims that there is no doubt that people have free will (מעשה האדם ביד האדם) and that there are clear philosophical proofs (ראיות ברורות מדברי החכמה) for this. So how can these two competing concepts be explained? Maimonides insists that there is an answer, but that it is quite complicated/long (תשובת שאלה זו ארוכה). In the Mishnah Torah itself Maimonides only hints at a possible solution, stating that God’s knowledge is different (כי לא מחשבותי מחשבותיכם; Isaiah 55:8).

To pursue this matter further, one must turn to the Rambam’s philosophical masterpiece, The Guide of the Perplexed, where in Book Three, Chapter 20 Maimonides explains this idea further: that God’s knowledge is different from human knowledge because ”His knowledge is His essence and His essence is his knowledge” (Shlomo Pines, Moses Maimonides The Guide of the Perplexed, University of Chicago Press, 1963, hereafter “Pines”, p. 481). The reason for this is that “His knowledge is not a thing … outside of His essence” (Pines, p. 482). In simpler terms, for people, knowledge is separate from their being, but this is not true for God. A consequence of this idea, according to Maimonides is that “His knowledge concerning what will happen does not make this possible thing quit its nature” (Pines, p. 482). In other words, if human nature includes free will, the fact that God knows what will happen does not in any way abrogate that free will. Stated differently, if an event has two possible outcomes, “God’s knowledge…does not bring about the actualization of one of the two possibilities” (Pines, p. 483).

Several examples are often given to explain this difficult concept. The first is that if one is atop a mountain and sees two trains at right angles hurtling towards each other, foreknowledge of the impending collision does not in any way effect the outcome. The second, more philosophical approach is that for God who does not change, time is meaningless; future and past are equivalent. Therefore, just as one’s knowledge of the outcome of the Battle of Waterloo does not affect its outcome, so too God’s knowledge of future events does not affect their outcome. Thus God can be omniscient in a way we cannot fully comprehend, man can have free will, people have the capacity to repent and God can still punish evildoers.

This question of free will vs God’s omniscience comes up again in a different way in chapter 6 of the Laws of Repentance, paragraph 3, where Maimonides discusses the difficult question of the stiffening of Pharoah’s heart, a common trope in the story of the Exodus (see Exodus 4:21 and the discussion therein in Nahum Sarna, The JPS Torah Commentary Exodus, Jewish Publication Society, 1991, p. 23). Here again, the question is: if God stiffens Pharoah’s resolve, why was Pharoah deserving of God’s punishment? It seems as if Pharoah had no free will in the matter. Maimonides also discusses the fact that God prophesied to Abraham that Abraham’s descendants (the Israelites) will be oppressed by the Egyptians (Genesis 15:13). If this oppression was pre-ordained, how could God then exact punishment upon the Egyptians (Genesis 15:14) since seemingly God’s omniscience rules out free will on the part of the Egyptians? Maimonides answers the latter question in paragraph 5 of chapter 6 of the Laws of Repentance by explaining that God’s prophecy concerned the Egyptians as a nation but not individual Egyptians. Thus, presumably only those Egyptians who chose to torment the Israelites would be punished. Maimonides answers the first question regarding the stiffening or hardening of Pharoah’s heart by explaining that after Pharoah repeatedly sinned, part of his punishment was God’s withholding from Pharoah the latter’s ability to repent.

Thus, as has been pointed out by many others, Maimonides had a single philosophical program running through all of his major works (see e.g., Herbert Davidson, Moses Maimonides: The Man and His Works, Oxford University Press 2005, pp. 303-4). By reading about similar themes both in the Mishnah Torah and the Guide of the Perplexed, one can obtain a better idea of Maimonides’ contributions to Jewish thought. Using this approach we have shown that Maimonides was able to retain expansive concepts of Divine omniscience and man’s free will, and demonstrate the importance of repentance even if God “knows” whether or not you are actually going to repent.

Mrs. Ethel Abrams – Ettel Ha’Ivriya of Clarksdale, Mississippi

By Rabbi Akiva Males

________________________

Introduction[1]

Stepping out of my car on Monday morning, July 3^rd 2023, I received a warm welcome from the heat and humidity of Clarksdale, Mississippi. I opened the gate of the black iron fence surrounding the Beth Israel Cemetery and stepped inside. It didn’t take me long to survey the surprisingly well-maintained grounds where the members of that small Jewish community now rest in peace. Within a few minutes I found what I had come to see: the tombstone of Mrs. Ethel Abrams, of blessed memory.

Beth Israel Cemetery in Clarksdale, MS
Photo by Rabbi Akiva Males

The gravestone of Mrs. Ethel Abrams, a”h
Source: https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/86841744/ethel-b-abrams#view-photo=108781020

In the paragraphs that follow, I hope to answer the following questions:

• Who was Mrs. Ethel Abrams?

• Why did I drive nearly 75 miles from my home in Memphis, TN to visit her grave?

• What is the history of the small Jewish community which once flourished in Clarksdale, MS?

Part I – The Story of Mrs. Abrams

In January of 2017, I was researching the topic of using a flowing river as a Mikvah (see Rema to Shulchan Aruch YD 201:2, and Aruch Hashulchan YD 201:41-42). After Maariv one night, I approached Rav Nota Greenblatt, zt”l, while he was leaving Shul. I told him what I was looking into, some of the sources I had found, and inquired if anyone had ever asked him about this on a practical level. After all, the city of Memphis sits on the eastern bank of the Mississippi River. I figured this question must have arisen over the nearly seven decades Rav Nota had been fielding – and resolving – all sorts of Halachic questions in Memphis (and far beyond).

Rav Nota stopped, looked me in the eyes, and with a grin on his lips he asked me if I was familiar with Clarksdale, MS. I shrugged, shook my head, and responded that I had never heard of the place. Rav Nota went on to tell me that a prosperous group of Jewish small business owners and their families had once thrived there. He explained that in his younger years, when he was an active Mohel, he had made the roundtrip from Memphis to Clarksdale on many occasions upon the birth of baby boys.

Rav Nota became serious as he continued his story:

“Sadly, other than a cemetery, there’s nothing left of Clarksdale’s Jewish community.” He explained that while economic forces were mostly responsible, other factors had also played a role. His eyes moistened as he described how religious observances – particularly those of Shabbos – became less and less prevalent among the immigrant Jews who had sought to earn their livelihoods in the Mississippi Delta.

In retrospect, the handwriting of religious decline was on the wall. Like so many other small communities across the US, Clarksdale had a very limited infrastructure to support traditional Jewish observance, a lack of readily available Kosher food, and no strong Jewish educational structure for their children. It was not long before the Orthodox practices with which most of that community’s Jews were once familiar were no longer part of their routines.

“However,” continued Rav Nota, “there was one woman in Clarksdale who wouldn’t let go. Her name was Mrs. Abrams, and she remained absolutely committed to Yiddishkeit. In fact, she tried her best to convince others around her to remain Shomer Torah U’Mitzvos.”

Rav Nota shared that there was one Mitzvah that Mrs. Abrams – whom he called as a Tzadeikes – succeeded in convincing others to observe. Mrs. Abrams was passionate about Taharas HaMishpacha and would speak to the young married women of Clarksdale about how important that Mitzvah was for their marriages, and their families’ futures. However, Clarksdale had no Mikvah. If women were not willing to travel nearly 75 miles to Memphis and back (before modern highways would make that journey more manageable) how could they possibly observe this Mitzvah? Amazingly, on many nights a month, Mrs. Abrams would accompany women from Clarksdale to the nearby Mississippi River where she would help them discreetly immerse in its murky moving waters!

Rav Nota became emotional as he shook his head and exclaimed, “Can you believe it? Mrs. Abrams would take women – just about all of whom were far from keeping Mitzvos – to be Tovel themselves in the Mississippi River! If I wouldn’t have known her, I never would have believed it. But I knew her well, and it’s true!”

I listened in astonishment as Rav Nota described how over the course of many years, Mrs. Abrams had personally reached out to the Jewish women of her community, and respectfully spoke to all who would listen. In an era when everyone around her was dropping Mitzvah observance, somehow, Mrs. Abrams succeeded in encouraging many women to keep Taharas HaMishpacha. She did not persuade those women to visit a pristine new Mikvah. On the contrary, on an untold number of nights, this heroine of the Delta accompanied numerous young marrying and married women to the nearby silt-filled Mississippi River. There, in a spot she had cordoned off along the muddy riverbank, Mrs. Abrams would serve as both a Mikvah lady and a lifeguard!

I was in awe as Rav Nota spoke about Mrs. Abrams. She wasn’t just some sort of a “last of the Mohicans” when it came to Halachic observance in Clarksdale. From the way Rav Nota described this incredible woman, she had been the catalyst for many Jewish women of her locale observing the Mitzvah which was most uniquely theirs. The fact that she succeeded to the degree which she did – and under the most challenging of circumstances – boggled my mind.

As I left Shul and walked Rav Nota to his car, he added another detail about Mrs. Abrams. In speaking with her on his numerous Bris Milah runs to Clarksdale, she had demonstrated extensive knowledge of the other small communities of Jewish merchants living in towns across Mississippi. As such, Rav Nota reached out to her on many occasions to verify the Jewish credentials of people originating from her environs when matters arose pertaining to marriages, Gittin, and funerals. He told me that he had trusted Mrs. Abrams absolutely, and that she had been a vital resource for him in a number of cases that had come his way over the years.

I remember making a mental note to find out more about Mrs. Abrams and Clarksdale, MS, but other pressing issues always seemed to demand my attention. I filed this conversation with Rav Nota in my notes, and I nearly forgot about Mrs. Abrams until the summer of 2023.

Part II – Clarksdale’s Jews in the News

On Monday afternoon, September 6, 1926 – almost 100 years before my visit to Clarksdale – two short items concerning that town’s Jewish community appeared on the local newspaper’s front page. The Clarksdale Daily Register’s two articles related to Rosh Hashanah – which would occur later that same week on Thursday, September 9^th and Friday, September 10^th.

The first piece was entitled “Jews Observe Holy Season”, and was subtitled “Services To Be Held For The New Year In Local Synagogue All Week”. The first and last paragraphs of that article read:

“Services commemorative of Rosh Hashanah or the Jewish New Year will be observed here at the Beth Israel Synagogue. Beginning Wednesday evening at 7:30 when the opening service will be held. Thursday morning services will begin at 8. Since the congregation is an Orthodox one, members will observe two days and services will also be held Thursday evening at 7:30 and Friday morning at 8 o’clock. Regular services for the Sabbath will be held Friday evening and Saturday morning …”

“ . . . The New Year’s day is one of solemn joy and greeting of the day “L’shanah tovah,” A Happy New Year, is heard on all sides in the homes and in the synagogue. The festival is observed two days, the 9^th and 10^th of September, by the orthodox Jew.”

Just two columns to the right, Clarksdale’s paper ran a second article pertaining to the local Jewish community’s observance of that year’s Rosh Hashanah. It was entitled: “Pupils Enroll For Semester”, and was subtitled: “Jewish Children May Enroll Saturday Since Thursday and Friday Are Religious Holidays”. The first paragraph of that article reads:

“Due to the fact that Thursday and Friday of this week are Jewish holidays, Supt. Heidelberg of the city schools announced this morning that all Jewish children would be expected to enroll at their respective schools Saturday morning at 8:30, and that it would not be necessary for them to be present on either of the holidays. However, it is very necessary that they be present Saturday morning, at which time they will be classified . . .”

From the front page of the Clarksdale Daily Register, Monday Afternoon, September 6, 1926

The sad irony of that second article was not lost on the Museum of the Southern Jewish Experience.[2] Their newsletter of September 2022 opened with the following paragraphs:

“In 1926, the city of Clarksdale, Mississippi, unknowingly scheduled school registration for the two days of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. This didn’t sit well with the Jews of Clarksdale, so they asked for and got an accommodation: Jewish children could register for school on Saturday, instead of the Thursday and Friday of Rosh Hashanah.

This accommodation, in a way, encapsulates well the Southern Jewish experience: Clarksdale’s Jews stood up for their religious identity and the town acceded. But at the same time, there was an accommodation on the Jewish side, as well. Saturday is Shabbat, the Jewish sabbath. By the 1920s, most (but not all) of Clarksdale’s Jews were Reform, keeping their stores open on Saturdays, the busiest shopping day of the week. This was a necessity in a region where Sunday Closing Laws were the norm.

The Southern Jewish experience has always been about adapting, accommodating, and conforming to new surroundings, while at the same time embracing, sustaining, and celebrating our history, culture, and religious practices . . .”[3]

This commentary on the Clarksdale’s Jewish community’s 1926 Rosh Hashanah dilemma offers an eye-opening window into their struggles with religious observance. It also helps resolve the apparent contradiction between the two stories appearing on their newspaper’s front page. Although the first article twice stressed that the congregation was an Orthodox one, the second article described a synagogue whose membership overwhelmingly did not observe Shabbos in an Orthodox fashion. It seems that the condition of Clarksdale’s Beth Israel was much like that of many other early 20^th century American synagogues. Though the congregation’s services may have been conducted in an Orthodox manner, by 1926, the lifestyles of many of that congregation’s families were not necessarily congruent with Halacha.

Discovering this eye-opening tidbit of Mississippi Jewish history made me curious to learn more about the Jewish community that once existed in Clarksdale.

Part III – Clarksdale: The Lifecycle of a Jewish Community in the Mississippi Delta

Thankfully, a good deal of research has already gone into the history of Clarksdale’s Jewish community. What follows are excerpts from two excellent articles published by The Goldring/Woldenberg Institute of Southern Jewish Life (ISJL)[4] and the Jewish Historical Society of Memphis and the Mid-South.[5] For the purpose of this article, I took the liberty of combining excerpts from both of those articles. I also rearranged the order in which some of those excerpts originally appeared.

“Clarksdale, Mississippi, sits on the Little Sunflower River a few miles east of the Mississippi River. The seat of Coahoma County, Clarksdale emerged as a trading hub in the late 19th century and has long served as an important cultural center for the Mississippi Delta region . . .

. . . The town’s population more than doubled during the 1890s, reaching 1,773 residents by 1900. Migrating African Americans—many of them formerly enslaved—contributed to this population increase, as they sought to make a living in the area’s booming cotton economy . . . .

. . . Prior to the depression of 1921, The Wall Street Journal reported Clarksdale as “the richest agricultural city of the United States in proportion to its population” . . .

. . . Jewish history in Clarksdale and surrounding towns dates to the arrival of German speaking Jews around 1870. Jewish organizational life began in the 1890s and continued to grow in the early 20th century. In the 1930s, the area’s Jewish population reached 400 individuals, and for a time Clarksdale boasted the largest Jewish community in the state. Although Jewish communal life remained vibrant into the 1970s, the Jewish population declined for the next few decades. In 2003 Clarksdale’s only Jewish congregation, Congregation Beth Israel, closed its synagogue . . .

. . . Jewish occupational patterns in Clarksdale mirrored trends not only in other developing towns in the Mississippi Delta but also in new sites of Jewish migration throughout the world. Jewish settlers often began as peddlers before founding dry goods or other retail stores, and they served customers from town as well as the surrounding countryside . . .

. . . By 1896, enough Jews lived in Clarksdale and the surrounding area to hold religious services. That year, five Clarksdale Jewish families founded a congregation known as Kehilath Jacob . . . Early worship services followed Orthodox practice . . .

. . . Kehilath Jacob continued to hold services in borrowed or rented spaces until 1910, when the congregation dedicated its first synagogue, a white stucco building at 69 Delta Avenue. With the erection of their first synagogue came a name change, and the congregation was known as Congregation Beth Israel from that point on . . .

Historic marker in front of Beth Israel Congregation’s first building in Clarksdale, MS
Photo by Rabbi Akiva Males

. . . As of 1920, the local community consisted of approximately 40 Jewish families in Clarksdale, with additional congregants in outlying areas . . . Temple Beth Israel accommodated a variety of Jewish observances during its early decades, but younger members began to push for Reform services with more English prayers. The rift between Orthodox and Reform congregants threatened to split the congregation during the 1920s, until the construction of a new synagogue in 1929 allowed Temple Beth Israel to hold two concurrent services on separate floors . . .

. . . The Orthodox members used the lower auditorium and the Conservative and Reform used the upper floor. It was the only synagogue in Mississippi that provided for Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform worship in the same sanctuary . . .

. . . As the 20th century progressed, Jewish shops remained a visible presence in downtown Clarksdale. Of fifteen dry goods stores listed in Clarksdale’s 1916 city directory, at least two-thirds belonged to Jewish merchants. Other Jewish retail businesses included “general goods” and grocery stores, as well as later department stores . . .

. . . The arrival of Rabbi Jerome Gerson Tolochko in 1932 marked a turning point for Beth Israel. Not only was Rabbi Tolochko the congregation’s first formally ordained resident rabbi, but his training at Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati reflected the Jewish community’s movement toward Reform Judaism . . .

. . . Clarksdale was home to nearly 300 Jewish residents at the end of World War II . . . In 1970 Congregation Beth Israel still claimed 100 families, but a series of economic changes had begun to have a visible effect on the Jewish community. The agricultural labor force in the Mississippi Delta had declined in preceding decades, as a consequence of New Deal programs that paid landowners to reduce crop production and the introduction of mechanical cotton pickers in 1947. As the number of sharecroppers and other agricultural workers decreased, so too did the customer base for many Jewish retail stores . . .

. . . During the late 20th century, the rise of chain discount stores accelerated the decline of Jewish retail businesses, and Clarksdale’s Jewish population continued to shrink . . . Many members relocated to Memphis but continued to support the Clarksdale congregation and maintained ties to the Clarksdale community.

In the early 21st century, Beth Israel’s remaining 20 members decided they could no longer sustain a congregation. They made plans to close the synagogue and organized a deconsecration service on May 3, 2003 . . . The building was ultimately sold, leaving the Jewish cemetery as the landmark that most explicitly testifies to the existence of a once vibrant Jewish community . . .”

Elsewhere,[6] I learned that Beth Israel’s cemetery was established in 1919. In recent decades, a fund was established to ensure the perpetual care of the final resting place of Clarksdale’s Jewish community. Indeed, I can attest to that cemetery’s dignified upkeep.

Part IV – Finding Mrs. Abrams

Rav Nota Greenblatt’s amazing story about Mrs. Abrams had piqued my curiosity about Clarksdale’s Jewish history. The articles I discovered helped me better understand that community’s rise and decline. However, as I reflected on Mrs. Abrams’ excursions to the Mississippi River with the Jewish women of her locale, there were more details I wanted to learn about that incredible woman:

• What was her first name?

• What was her background?

• How did she remain so committed to Torah and Mitzvos in a place without a supportive populace or infrastructure?

• What compelled her to remain in Clarksdale when she obviously desired to live a fully observant Jewish life?

• How did she deal with Clarksdale’s 1926 Rosh Hashanah / Shabbos dilemma?

• How did she successfully convince numerous women who were not seriously committed to Jewish observance to use the Mississippi River as a Mikvah?

• How did she ensure the safety of the women she led into that mighty river?

Unfortunately, on Friday, April 29, 2022 (28 Nissan 5782) Rav Nota Greenblatt, zt”l, passed away. Although I asked some of Rav Nota’s children and Talmidim if they had more information on Mrs. Abrams, no one seemed to know more about her than what he had shared with me.

Rav Nota Greenblatt, zt”l, in his home study on Erev Pesach 2017
Photo by Rabbi Akiva Males

Through some internet sleuthing, I discovered a grandson of Mrs. Abrams, and he was excited about my interest in his grandmother.

When we spoke, I learned that her first name was Ethel, she was born on December 10, 1876, and that she hailed from a renowned Rabbinic family named Bronitsky from the vicinity of Minsk and Pinsk in Russia (modern-day Belarus). Ethel married her husband David (1877 – 1947) back in the Old Country, and that’s where their daughter and son were born. In search of a livelihood, David Abrams came to America in either 1904 or 1905, and a job opportunity brought him to Clarksdale, MS. The family was reunited in 1908 when Ethel and her two children were able to join David in Clarksdale.

According to family tradition, Mrs. Abrams was deeply unhappy about the decreasing levels of Jewish religious observance she witnessed all around her. Her determination to adhere to the Torah and Mitzvos must have caused her to feel quite isolated – yet she held firm. I learned that Mrs. Abrams raised chickens in her backyard, and that her husband would travel to Memphis by train with some of them on Friday mornings. Once there, they would be properly slaughtered, and he would take the train back to Clarksdale so those chickens could be prepared for Shabbos. Memphis was also where the Abrams family procured the Matzah and other staples they required for Pesach. On December 8, 1968 Mrs. Ethel Abrams passed away – just two days shy of her 92^nd birthday.

I told Mrs. Abram’s grandson the beautiful story Rav Nota had told me about her, the Mississippi River, and the numerous Jewish women of Clarksdale who observed Taharas HaMishpacha because of her. He was not aware of these details about his grandmother, and he greatly appreciated my sharing those gems with him.[7]

As our friendly conversation drew to a close, I felt glad to have gained many biographical details of Mrs. Abrams’ life. Unfortunately, I also realized that I would never learn all that I wanted to understand about her. After all, no one could truly answer my questions about her thoughts and experiences other than Mrs. Abrams herself – and she did not seem to have left a written record before passing away in 1968. I thanked Mrs. Abrams’ grandson, and told him that I looked forward to visiting Clarksdale in the coming weeks.

Part V – Visiting Mrs. Abrams

As I stood before Mrs. Abrams’ tombstone on that July morning, I thought about her iron-clad resolve to remain true to Torah and Mitzvos in the midst of the most trying times and circumstances. I glanced at the many graves to her right and left and wondered how many of those neighbors had immersed themselves in the Mississippi River because of her. I recited a Perek of Tehillim followed by a Kel Maleh, and I pledged to give some Tzedakah in memory of that Tzadeikes upon returning to Memphis. As I exited Beth Israel’s cemetery, I looked back, and mentally bid farewell to Clarksdale’s Jewish community. After shutting the gate behind me, I returned to my car.

While driving back to Memphis, I thought of the famous Midrash[8] about why the Torah refers to Avraham Avinu as Avraham Ha’Ivri.[9] According to Chazal, Avraham did not simply come to Canaan from the other side of the river (which the word Ha’Ivri connotes in its plain meaning). Rather, Avraham Avinu earned the honorific title of Ha’Ivri because he found the strength to swim against the tide – living a life that was distinct from all who surrounded him. Even when the rest of the world metaphorically positioned themselves on one side of a river, Avraham was at peace remaining in solitude on the other side. Furthermore, not content in just behaving differently than his neighbors, Avraham Avinu also tried his best to persuade a great number of them to join him in his worldview and way of life – on his side of the river.

Like her forefather Avraham Ha’Ivri, Mrs. Ethel Abrams found the strength to go her own way, and not live her life by following the crowd. Regardless of her surroundings, Mrs. Abrams followed her own convictions, and also did her best to persuade others to observe Mitzvos – especially Taharas HaMishpacha. The river associated with Avraham Ha’Ivri was the Euphrates. In Mrs. Abrams’ case it was the Mississippi. After visiting her grave, I will always associate this Midrash with her. As far as I’m concerned, Mrs. Ethel Abrams was Ettel Ha’Ivriya of Clarksdale, MS.

Yehi Zichrah Baruch.

_____________________

Rabbi Akiva Males serves as the Rabbi of Young Israel of Memphis. He also teaches at the Margolin Hebrew Academy-Feinstone Yeshiva of the South. He can be reached at rabbi@yiom.org

 Identity of the Unknown Tomb.
Who is buried in the unmarked grave next to the Vilna Gaon?

Ariel Fuss & Yoel Kabalkin

Prologue

Among the seven graves in the Ohel of the Vilna Gaon (R’ Eliyahu M’vilna) there is one without an identifying headstone. The sign above the entrance to the Ohel identifies this grave as the resting place for the ashes of the Ger Tzedek of Vilna, Avraham ben Avraham Potocki[1] This identification is accepted without questioning by many books and articles written about the Gaon when the origins of this theory and its veracity are suspect. This article will investigate how this theory came about and the issues with it and will then put forth a new theory as to who the occupant of this grave is.

Introduction

The Vilna Gaon was originally buried in the old cemetery in Shnipishok located in the northern part of Vilna in 1797 (תקנ”ח). Probably sometime in 1949/1950 the soviet government gave notice to the community that they intended to level the cemetery. The Jewish community received permission to move a few graves and chose to move the Vilna Gaon and a few others to the new cemetery in Vilna.[2] Due to Vilna being behind the iron curtain and information being hard to come by, the exact details of this transfer, who was taken, by whom, and to which cemetery was not known. There were conflicting reports about who was moved together with the Gaon until Prof Shnayer Leiman in an article in Jewish Action proved that most of the speculation was for naught.[3] Since most of the graves had been moved along with their headstones, all one needed to do was read them. The Gaon lay among 6 other graves in the newest cemetery in Vilna and contrary to all the different theories on who was worthy of being moved, there was no effort to traverse the cemetery and take other important people that had been buried there. It turns out that those that transferred the Gaon had just taken a part of the row he was buried on and moved everyone together. They clearly wanted to move the Vilna Gaon given his enormous profile and while doing so moved his neighbors. The identities of the graves in order from left to right are,

1. R Zvi Hersh Pesseles

2. R Yissachar Ber – The Gaon’s brother

3. Vilna Gaon – Prof Leiman wrote a convincing article on the Seforim Blog[4] that the headstone is backwards and this is the Gaon’s true grave.

4. R Noach (Mindes) Lipshutz – The Gaon’s Mechutan. He shares a headstone with his predecessor.

5. Minda Lipshutz – R Noach’s wife

6. Devora Pesseles – Tzi Hersh’s mother

7. Unknown/Ger Tzedek

Thanks to Prof Leiman we now know the identity of six of the graves, but we are still left with 3 unanswered questions.

1. Who is in the 7th grave?

2. Why is there no identifying headstone?

3. Why was R Zvi Hersh’s grave moved to a different location within the group?

Theory

There are many articles and books that mention the Ger Tzedek being buried in the Ohel. As early as 1956 a report in Ha-tzofe discussing moving the Vilna Gaon to Israel mentions that the Ger Tzedek was moved and is buried alongside the Gaon.[5] A 1983 report in the newspaper Davar about the Gaon’s Ohel asserts the same.[6]

This identification is now common knowledge to the extent that tour guides will tell you so and it even states as much on the sign outside the Ohel. There are two reasons for why people have assumed that the community moved the Ger Tzedek.[7] One being that he was an integral component of Vilna’s history and therefore it stands to reason that they would have moved him.[8] Secondly and possibly the main reason for why the theory has such staying power is the lack of a headstone. Since every other grave in the Ohel has a headstone the only reason the last one would not have one is because it lacked one to begin with. The sign outside the Ohel should not be used as proof positive of this identification because it is a late addition and on the same sign it also states that the Gaon is buried with his family which we know to be false. Although this theory is possible, there are many issues with it. Some of these issues are as follows:

1. Those very same articles which propound this theory are riddled with other factual errors. For example, in the the Ha-zofe article they include R’ Shmuel ben Avigdor; the Gaon’s father; and son R Avrohom, among those that were moved. Just a quick glance at the headstones in the present day Ohel will tell you that this claim is false. This error occurred because as we have stated previously, accurate information from inside the iron curtain was hard to come by. Surprisingly, although we know today that these reports were false, the inclusion of the Ger Tzedek persists.

2. Since Prof Leiman has shown that those who moved the graves just transferred those that were in the Ohel, it seems odd that they would specifically take the Ger Tzedek and not for example, R’ Moshe Rivkes (the Beer Hagolah), or R Avraham Danzig (the Chayei Adam), and many other important figures that were buried in the same cemetery and warranted preservation too.[9]

3. There are accounts that contradict this theory. Dr Henry Shoshkes, a renowned Jewish writer and traveling reporter for “Der Tag Morgen Journal”, traveled to Vilna in 1956. While there he went to visit the new kever of the Vilna Gaon. He describes being told by the secretary of the community, one Leib Sarapej,[10] who claimed to have been involved in moving the bodies, that there was nothing of the Ger Tzedek to move. This was because what was buried of him originally was only the ashes of his body and it had dissipated over time.[11] R Yitzchak Zilber who visited Vilna while still behind the iron curtain, spoke with the lay leader of the community at the time of the transfer, a man called Heshel Kab, who was involved in the transfer of the Gaon. He stated that while they searched for the Ger Tzedek’s grave, they could not find his ashes and therefor did not move him.[12]

These issues lead us to question this theory and to try to come up with a better explanation, especially as there doesn’t seem to be a strong basis to this belief to begin with. 

In order to offer up a novel theory we must deal with a greater question first. When looking at the map of the cemetery in Israel Klausner’s book on the Vilna cemetery[13] you will notice that there were 11 people buried in the main sanctuary of the original Ohel, starting from number 20, and ending at 27 (there are 3 joint tombstones). Their identities are detailed in Klausner’s list below:

Out of the said 11 people buried in the original Ohel we know of 6 people who are now interred in the new Ohel. In Bold and in Green I have highlighted which gravestones are today in the new Ohel.

So, once we know who was buried in the same Ohel, several questions immediately come to mind: Why did they move only these six graves and not the other ones from the same Ohel?

Why did they only start from R Zvi Hersh (22) and stop after R Yissachar Ber (26) and leave out R Yehoshua Heshel (27)? Why not move the Gaon’s father (20)? Why not move the YESOD (21), a very central and known figure in Vilna history? To answer these questions, we need to examine the original Ohel a bit closer. In the picture of the Ohel that appears in Klausner’s book we can see that there is a space between the Yesod and his wife (jointly number 21), and R Tzvi Hersh (22).

Why is there an empty wall between the Yesod and R Zvi Hirsch?

If we look at the picture below, taken at a different (probably earlier) time, one can see that in this area instead of a wall there is a shape of a door!

It is possible that when they made the main entrance to the Ohel on the opposite side, this door was closed. In any event, this gap can explain why the first four graves were not moved; they only took those that were to the right of the door![14] Now that we addressed the first half of our question, we are left with the second: If they took the entire row starting by the door why did they stop by R Yissachar Ber (26) and not take also R Yehoshua Heshel (27)? The evidence points us to the simplest conclusion, that in fact they did transfer him although without his headstone! In other words, of the 11 graves in the Ohel there were 4 to the left of the door and 7 to the right and they moved the entire batch from the door to the wall to the new cemetery, and thus unsurprisingly there are exactly seven graves in the new Ohel of the Gaon.

Thus, I am proposing that the additional grave with no headstone in the Gaon’s Ohel today is not the Ger Tzedek and is not the Chayeh Adam, but Simply Reb Yehoshua Heshel who was originally in the Gaon’s proximity.

This possibility has been generally ignored until now[15] for 2 reasons,

1.Since there were a few others in the Ohel that were not transferred it never struck people as odd why Reb Yehoshua Heshel was not either. However, since we’ve established an explanation for why the other 4 were not moved, it behooves us to find an explanation for why he wasn’t included.

2. The fact that there was no headstone led people to associate the grave with someone who would not have had a headstone to begin with, namely the Ger Tzedek.

Looking at Klausner’s description of Reb Yehoshua Heshel’s tombstone leads us to a possible solution to this second issue. His description is as follows: “the tombstone on the grave of the rav is made of wood and is preserved nicely”;[16] he even provides a picture of it on the next page. This fact, that the tombstone was made of wood as opposed to stone like the others in the Ohel, gives us a possible explanation for why it was not moved along with his body. It is possible that the wood was harder to move or that it possibly broke in the process.

In conclusion, the identification of the 7th grave with the Ger Tzedek doesn’t have much historical basis and is flawed for a few reasons, therefore we offer a new theory. The identity is none other than R Yehoshua Heshel who was buried in the original Ohel together with the rest of the row. This is the most plausible explanation which until now was ignored due to there not being a headstone, and not having an explanation for why these specific 7 graves were chosen as opposed to the others. We showed that a door was added to the Ohel and those that were involved in the transfer moved everyone from the right of the door until the end of the row including R Yehoshua Heshel. The reason his headstone was not moved was because it was made of material that was not conducive to transfer and possibly might have broken along the way.

B.

Essentially, we are left with one remaining question – Why was Rabbi Zvi Hersh moved from the extreme right to the extreme left in the order of the graves?

To propose an answer to this question, we need to go on a long detour. As previously mentioned, in 1956, Dr. Henry Shoshkes, visited the Soviet Union and Vilna, and then reported about his travels in the Tag, a Yiddish newspaper in New York. This was one of the first documented visits to the Jewish cemetery in Vilna after the transfer of the Gaon’s grave and is indirectly the source of many of the rumors surrounding the Vilna Gaon’s grave. In one of the articles describing his visit to the grave there is also a picture of the grave and a better one is published in Dr. Shoshkes’s book[17] – מהקרמלין עד הפרמידות. What is unique about the picture is that it is one of only two pictures that I know of, of the Gaon’s grave after it was transferred but before a new Ohel was erected.[18]

One can see several tombstones one next to the other but clearly there is no tombstone to the right of the Gaon’s headstone. Shoshkes writes that this grave without a headstone is the grave of the Chaye Adam – Rav Avraham Danzig. I believe otherwise.

I am assuming that this picture is taken facing south, with the headstones positioned at the head of the graves.[19] In other words, the headstones are arranged as they were on the outside wall of the Ohel in the old cemetery, but in the opposite direction compared to their current setup in the new Ohel. If we consider the old Ohel’s arrangement, the gravestone that should be to the right of the Gaon is the tombstone of his brother Rav Yissachar Ber. This of course raises the question – Why is it not there?

Let us return to Klausner’s picture and accompanying numbers. We observe that the numbers are in sequential order from left to right but one number is missing – number 26. That number corresponds to R. Yissachar Ber the Gaon’s brother. It is quite peculiar – why is the Gaon’s brother not listed beneath the picture?

For that we must go back to the wider picture of the old Ohel.

And then zoom in on the right upper corner of the Ohel:

What is that sign? We can see and understand it better by looking at an illustration made of the Gaon’s old Ohel. It is not exact but gives a very good idea.

In this illustration we can observe that beneath the plaque in the upper right corner there is a gravestone. By counting the number of gravestones to the right of the door, we reach an undeniable conclusion: there are two separate headstones, that to the right of the Gaon’s gravestone, positioned one on top of the other. The one adjacent to the Gaon corresponds to Klausner’s number 27, which is R. Yehoshua Heshel. On top of that, in the right upper corner, we find the headstone of Reb Yissachar Ber, that Gaon’s brother [26].

To fully comprehend this, we must recall the sequence of events. Initially, R. Yehoshua Heshel passed away, followed by the Gaon, much later. A few months after the Gaon’s burial, his Mechutan, Reb Noach Mindes, passed away and was interned to the left of the Gaon, sharing a joint gravestone. Several years later, when the Gaon’s brother died, there was a desire to bury him next to his brother, resulting in him being “squeezed” in between the Gaon and R. Yehoshua Heshel. Evidently there was sufficient space to accommodate the body, but during placement of the headstones on the outside of the Ohel, there was insufficient space. Consequently, R. Yissachar Ber’s headstone was positioned on top of R Yehoshua Heshel’s headstone.

Therefore, the key point of this story is that although R. Yissachar Ber was buried right next to the Gaon in the old Ohel, the headstone closest to the Gaon on the right side belonged to R Yehoshua Heshel. Based on this observation, I would propose that since, as mentioned, R. Yehoshua Heshel’s wooden headstone was never transferred, those responsible for arranging the headstones in the new cemetery left the grave next to the Gaon without a headstone, aligning it with their understanding of the headstones arrangement in the old Ohel.

We have one final question regarding Shoshkes’s picture: On the left side of the Gaon’s headstone, we can observe two additional headstones. The inscriptions are illegible, but judging by the size and shape of the gravestones, it would be reasonable to assume that the first one belongs to Mindel [24], the wife of Reb Noach. However, the issue lies with the second one. It should be Devorah’s grave [23], but it appears more similar to the gravestone of her son, Reb Zvi Hersch [22]. Why is Devorah’s gravestone missing?

If we examine the gravestones inside the Ohel, it becomes evident that Devorah’s gravestone is significantly taller than the others. It is possible that it was too challenging to set up without the support of an Ohel wall. Indeed, if we observe the current picture of Devorah’s gravestone inside the Ohel, it is clearly seen to be broken into two parts.

Now, let us consider the thesis proposed. I suggest that during the construction of the new Ohel, they reconnected the broken parts of Devorah’s headstone and returned her to her original position in the line-up. However, due to the need to relocate Reb Zvi Hersch, he was placed next to Reb Yissachar Ber instead of being positioned beside his mother, Devorah, where he rightfully belongs.[20]

In conclusion, I firmly believe that the order of the bodies has never been altered, and they are positioned precisely as they were in the old Ohel. However, there seems to have been a mix-up in arranging the headstones. Below, I present a summary outlining my understanding of the arrangement of the bodies in relation to the current placement of the headstones:

In a forthcoming article, I will delve into an in-depth analysis and present fresh evidence and explanations regarding the numerous rumors surrounding the relocation of the Gaon. I will explore questions such as who was responsible for moving him, the timing of the transfers, the frequency of the relocations, the fate of those involved in the process, and the condition of the Gaon’s body.

R. Nathan Nata ben Reuben David Tebele Spira and his Works:
Among them Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, on the Prohibition against Drinking Stam Yeinam (gentile wine), and Contemporary Books on that Subject[1]

By Marvin J. Heller

Wine gladdens the hearts of men,
to make the face shine from oil,
and bread that sustains man’s life (Psalms 104:15).

The life and works of the seventeenth century rabbinic figure, R. Nathan Nata ben Reuben David Tebele Spira (Shapira), his books, among them Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, on the prohibition of stam (setam) yeinam (gentile wine), and other contemporary works by rabbis on that controversy are the subject of this multi-part article. Concerning the dispute over stam yeinam it should be noted, emphasized, that this article is not a halakhic study nor does it, in any way, intend to provide decisions in Jewish law. It is an overview, from the perspective of Hebrew bibliography, Jewish literature, and history, of an issue that does involve those subjects, but, again, from a literary and historical perspective, and that only.

I

R. Nathan Nata ben Reuben David Tebele Spira (d. 1666) was born in Cracow, where his father served as a dayyan. His grandfather, R. Nathan Nata ben Solomon Spira (Shapira, c. 1585-1633) after whom he is named, was the renowned kabbalist and author of Megalleh Amukkot (Cracow, 1637), two hundred fifty-two explanations of Moses’ prayer, at the beginning of parashat Va-Ethannan, to cross the Jordan and see Eretz Israel (Deuteronomy 3:23 ff.). Our Nathan Nata Spira served as rabbi in several cities in Poland, subsequently going up to Eretz Israel when already elderly. He became, in Jerusalem, the rabbi of the Ashkenaz community.

The Chmielnicki massacres of 1648-49 (tah-ve-tat) in Europe and the ensuing devastation resulted in a severe reduction in the financial aid provided by the Jews of Eastern Europe to the Jewish community of Jerusalem.[2] This necessitated Spira traveling to Europe as a communal representative to seek increased support for the needy Jews of Jerusalem.[3] His journey, begun in 1655, took him to Italy, Holland, and Germany. Among the communities Spira visited was Amsterdam, where his influence caused Menasseh Ben Israel to bring the plight of Polish Jewry to the attention of Oliver Cromwell. Although Spira returned to Jerusalem, the needs of his community necessitated his returning to Europe, where he passed away in Reggio, Italy in 1666. Parenthetically, two of his son-in-laws subsequently served in that city’s rabbinate.[4]

It was in Italy that Spira published his books, all at the Vendramin press.[5] That press, established by Giovanni Vendramin in 1630, broke the monopoly enjoyed until then by Alvise Bragadin. For the first ten years the press operated under the name of its founder, but after his death it became known by the names Commissaria Vendramina and Stamparia Vendramina. The press eventually joined with that of Bragadin, and the combined presses continued to operate well into the eighteenth century.[6] Spira had formed a close relationship with R. Moses Zacuto (c. 1620–1697), among the foremost contemporary exponents of Lurianic kabbalah in Italy, who encouraged and was instrumental in assisting Spira in both his agency and in printing his books. Spira also edited the writings of such kabbalists as R. Chaim Vital (1542-1620), the foremost disciple of R. Isaac Luria (ha-Ari ha-Kadosh, 1534-72), R. Moses Cordevero (Ramak, 1522-70), and R. Abraham Azulai, 1570-1643).

II

The first of Spira’s titles is Tuv ha-Aretz (Venice, 1655), a relatively small kabbalistic work (8⁰: [4] 76 ff.), on the holiness of the land of Israel. The title page of Tuv ha-Aretz has an architectural frame and is dated “the holy הקדושה (415 = 1655) land” It describes the contents which include praise of Eretz Israel, segulot (formulaic remedies), Tikkun Hazot (midnight prayers recited in memory of the destruction of the Temple), tikkun for the night of Shavu’ot, and tikkun for Hoshana Rabbah. These tikkunim are according to the rite of the kabbalists in Eretz Israel. There is also a kinah (dirge) on the exile of the Shekhinah (Devine presence).

Zacuto, who encouraged Spira to print this work, wrote a versified preface, the initial letters of lines forming an acrostic of his name. This is followed by introductions from the author and from Zacuto, who was the editor, and who also added prefatory remarks to some of the tikkunim. Spira, in his introduction, writes that Tuv ha-Aretz is based on the writings of R. Isaac Luria (ha-Ari), R. Hayyim Vital (including the tikkun from his Etz Hayyim, with glosses from the author), R. Moses Cordovero (Remak), and R. Abraham Azulai, concerning the holiness of the land, the need to sustain its inhabitants, and rebuking those whose criticism results in reduced support. He concludes that those who hearken, “shall eat the good of the land (tuv ha-Aretz)” (Isaiah 1:19).

1655, Tuv ha-Aretz
Courtesy of the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak

Tuv ha-Aretz is recorded in Shabbetai Bass’ (1641-1718) Siftei Yeshenim (Amsterdam, 1680), the first bibliography of Hebrew books by a Jewish author. His description of Tuv ha-Aretz states that it is “in praise of Eretz Israel and explains its ten levels of holiness. It also includes tikkun hatzot and tikkun for the night of Shavu’ot according to Kabbalah.”[7]

Tuv ha-Aretz has been republished several times. The first reported reprint is Constantinople (1706).[8]

In 1660, two additional works by Spira, Mazzat Shemurim and Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar. were published. Mazzat Shemurim was published by Antonio Rezzin, Vendramin in quarto format (4⁰: 8, [4], 9-12, 21-84 ff.). Its name notwithstanding, Mazzat Shemurim מצת שמורים, despite the allusion to Pesah (Passover) and mazzah in its’ title, the word mazzat מצת does not, as its name implies, have anything to do with the festival, but rather is a kabbalistic work on the laws of mezuzah מ, zizit צ, and tefillin ת, the initial letters spelling Mazzat מצת.

1660, Mazzat Shemurim
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

The text of the title page, which has an outer frame of florets and an inner border; comprised of verses on all four sides, primarily related to the subject matter, the bottom verse including the publication date, “You shall be blessed above all other peoples ברוך תהיה מכל העמים” ([5]420 = 1660)” (Deuteronomy 7:14). The text of the title-page states that it is:

Mazzah, “a commandment of men learned by rote” (Isaiah 29:13), kept with all honor, according to the arcanum of mezuzah, zizit, and tefillin. Also, the morning benedictions according to the order of service, most precious to all “men of stature” (Isaiah 45:14) and to “all delightful craftsmanship” (Isaiah 2:16). . . .

Be-mizvat ha-Sar ha-Gadol Morisini

in the year, “And this is the Torah of the sacrifice of peace offerings השלמים ([5]420 = 1660)” (Leviticus 7:11) from the creation.

There is a brief introduction, and below it prefatory remarks, of which each line begins with an acrostic from Vintorin ben David. The text follows, in two columns in rabbinic type, excepting headers and initial words, which are in square letters. It begins with Sha’ar ha-Berakhot, set in a decorative frame, the initial words being minhagei ha-Ari. Hilkhot Tefillin has illustrations as to the proper order of placing tefillin according to Spira. Mazzat Shemurim is also recorded by Bass, who writes “on the deep meanings of of mezuzah, zizit, and tefillin and the order of their writing, letter by letter, and all their rules, according to Kabbalah.[9]

Mazzat Shemurim was reprinted in Amsterdam (1776) and Zolkiew (1865).[10]

III

Our next Spira title is Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, on the prohibition against drinking Stam Yeinam (gentile wine). Before discussing Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar an introduction to the issue of prohibitedwine and the dispute that occurred concerning that wine is necessary. Stam Yanim is defined by OU Kosher as:

Stam yainum refers to wine which might have been poured for an idolatrous service, but we did not see it happen. In the days of the Mishnah, there was a pagan ritual to pour off some wine from every bottle in honor of an idol. Because of the uncertainty, the rabbis decreed that wine that was produced by a nachri [non-Jew], or even kosher wine which was left unattended with a nachri, is forbidden for drinking and benefit because it may have been poured for idolatry. After the rabbinic decree was enacted we treat stam yainum as if we saw it being poured (Tur Y.D. 123).

Even if the nachri who touched the wine was a monotheist, and he would therefore certainly not serve an idol, the rabbis still forbade the wine, for another reason—because sharing wine can lead to intermarriage. However, in this case, it is only forbidden to drink the wine, but one may benefit from this wine in other ways (e.g., it may be bought and sold). (See Shulchan Aruch Y.D. 123:26 and Shach 123:51.)[11]

The Talmud and Shulhan Arukh address stam yeinam as follows:

R. Asi says in the name of R. Yoḥanan who says in the name of R. Yehuda ben Beseira: There are three kinds of prohibited wines: yein nesekh (libation wine) from which it is prohibited to derive any benefit from the wine and which imparts severe ritual impurity when it has the volume of an olive-bulk.

stam yeinam, the ordinary wine of a gentile which is prohibited for benefit which imparts the ritual impurity of liquids when it has the volume of one-quarter of a log.

With regard to the wine of one who deposits his wine with a gentile, one is prohibited from drinking it, but one is permitted to derive benefit from it.

And thirdly, if one deposits his wine with an idolater, for safekeeping it is prohibited from drinking, but permitted for benefit. (Avodah Zarah 30b-31a)

stam yeinam of gentiles, idol worshippers, is prohibited from benefit and similarly, our wine which is touched by them is prohibited. Hagah (Notations of Rema) Because of the decree of wine poured out as a libation for idols. In contemporary times we do not find that wine is poured out for a libation. There are those who say that wine touched by a gentile is not prohibited from benefit and therefore it is permissible to take gentile wine to fulfil an obligation (repayment of a debt) as it is saving (from a loss). That is also the case for other instances in which there would be a loss, for example, if one transgresses and purchases or sells. However, initially it is prohibited to acquire or to sell in order to profit (Shulhan Orah Y. D. 123:1)

Given the above, an unlikely dispute arose roiling Jewish communities in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. It involved rabbinic participants from Eretz Israel through Italy to Poland, and concerned stam yeinam, wine prohibited for consumption from Talmudic times. Among those who were lenient on the prohibition of stam yeinam was R. Samuel Judah Katzenellenbogen (1521-97). The son of R. Meïr of Padua (Maharam of Padua, 1482-1565), Samuel Katzenellenbogen served as rabbi in Venice and was highly regarded. His responsa are included in the responsa of several rabbis. According to Avraham Yaari, it was well known that Katzenellenbogen was lenient on the prohibition, as it concerned drinking with non-Jews which could lead to intermarriage. However, to acquire wine and drink it where weddings are not a concern, what does it matter?[12]

Also, as noted above, no less an authority than R. Moses Isserles (Rema, c. 1530-1572) the halakhic decisor for Ashkenazim, was apparently lenient on the prohibition of stam yeinam. He expressed a somewhat lenient view in his responsa, (no. 124) (Cracow, 1640), permitting Jews to do business with non-Jewish wine, vital to them to make a living. Rema noted that there was not a concern that it had been used for idolatrous purposes. Nevertheless, “what he has proposed is not in accord with settled halakhah and should not be relied upon.”

In that responsa, Rema permitted non-Jewish wine to be consumed by someone who was ill, not dangerously so, “and even those who while in perfect health drink such wine—as many did in the sixteenth century in France and as is now commonly done in nearly all countries—are not to be considered as neglecting any ritual requirement, and consequently are not to be suspected in regard to other commandments or are not to be considered as neglecting any ritual requirement, and consequently are not to be suspected in regard to other commandments or invalidated as witnesses.”[13]

Marc B. Shapiro informs that this was “quite shocking to later halakhists” who feared that this would weaken to consumption of such wine. Shapiro writes that as a result “it was too dangerous for publication. It was then censored out of the Amsterdam 1711 edition of Isserles’ responsa . . .” Shapiro relates that in contrast, R. Judah Loew of Prague (Maharal, 1525-1609) writes that in Moravia the masses and even rabbis did drink such wine. Maharal adopted a different and more severe approach, instituting “a special prayer (mi sheberakh) for those who abstained from such wine.” Lastly, Shapiro reports that more recently, R Sheftel Weiss of Nagysimonyi, Hungary (1866-1944) held that given a choice of eating pork or drinking non-Jewish wine, the former would be preferable.[14]

IV

We turn now to Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, Spiras’s work on the prohibition against drinking gentile wine (stam yeinam) as well as addressing the issue of shaving one’s beard. It too was published by the Vendramin press, this in quarto format (4⁰: [8], 38 ff.). Spira’s approach is kabbalistic, as is that of many of the other contributors to Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar.

1660, Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, Venice
Courtesy of the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak

The title page has an attractive frame comprised of an outer border of florets belonging to the Vendramin press, although that printer’s name does not appear in the book. The inner frame is comprised of four lines of biblical verses between them on all four sides – all associated with wine, all from song of Songs:

“He brought me to the banquet room (lit. house of wine) and his banner of love was over me (Song of Songs 1:4)
“Oh, give me of the kisses of your mouth, for your love is more delightful than wine” (1:2)
“How much more delightful your love than wine, Your ointments more fragrant than any spice!” (Song of Songs 4:10).
“The king has brought me to his chambers . . . Savoring it more than wine” (Song of Songs 1:4).

The text of the title-pages states that it is a comprehensive work on the grave prohibition of drinking stam yeinam (gentile wine) or destroying “the corner of their beard” (Leviticus 21:5), and that it was printed be-seder ve-zot Hukat ha-Torah in the year “the holy הקדושה (420 = 1660) land.”

R. Spira’s lengthy introduction follows, in which he recounts how “Fear of God” (Genesis 20:11, Nehemiah 5:15) has caused him to leave his place and go out as an emissary, traveling through many places, where they have changed their ways and drink in a manner not in accordance with halakhah, a situation he bemoans in strong language. He includes the “reproofs of instruction” (Proverbs 6:23) of other rabbis, some deceased נוחי עדן, who over a period of time have inveighed against these serious iniquities, some previously printed, others not, and included here.

The text is set in two columns in rabbinic type, excepting headers, introductory text, and initial words. Eminent rabbis whose works on these subjects are printed here for the first time from Salonika are R. Samuel de Medina (Maharashdam, 1506–1589), R. Jacob Taitazak, R. Solomon le-Bet ha-Levi (1532-1600), R. Solomon ha-Kohen, R. David ben Nahmias, R. Moses Garshon, R. David ibn Sasson, R. Hiyya de Boton; from Constantinople are R. Meir ben Shango, R. Hananiah ben Yakar, R. Shem Tov Atiah, R. Hayyim Bassan, R. Eliezer Nahmias, R. Samuel Jaffe, and R. Isaac Ashkenazi. A comparable number of rabbis whose writings were published previously are also included in Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar.

Two brief examples of Spira’s approach, exemplified by his multi-faceted concern with wine, is the attribution (f. 5a) of the sin of Adam ha-Rishon and Eve (Genesis 3:6), where Spira writes that “the sin was that Eve squeezed grapes and gave it to him [Adam].” He continues attributing Leah taking the crown of Rachel with wine, relating that the numerical value of grapes ענבים (172) is equal to effect עקב (172), concluding that “The effect of humility is fear of the LORD” (Psalms 22:4), and that wine in grapes is the judgement resulting from this.

Further on (6b), he continues with the attribution of the prohibition on wine touched by a non-Jew to Adam and Eve, writing that Eve ate from the tree of knowledge for she added to the original command “thou shalt not touch it’ (Genesis 3:3) causing [the demonic angel) Samael to come and touch the tree and make it yayin nesekh (libation wine). Therefore, the sages enacted that the touch of a gentile makes it nesekh and prohibit benefit from it.

Contemporary Italian Jewry was considered lax in their observance of these mitzvot, stam yeinam, a rabbinic decree based on the Talmud, noted in detail above, the latter, a biblical decree, also codified in the Shulhan Arukh. Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar has been reprinted several times.[15]

In addition to the above works, Spira also wrote Torat Natan, published posthumously (Lemberg, 1884). Torat Natan is an elucidation of passages in the Zohar, and Me’orot Natan, a large work in three parts on kavvanot in prayer and the order of festivals with glosses by Zacuto, R. Samuel David Ottelenghi, and others, still in manuscript.[16]

V

The prohibition of stam yeinam has been addressed in numerous rabbinic works in addition to Spira’s Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar. It was not only Spira and those rabbis included in Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar who expressed concern and disapproval over the slackness in observance of these mitzvot. Most of the sixteenth and seventeenth century volumes concerned with the subject of gentile wine did so as part of a considerably larger subject matter, including it as one of numerous topics in responsa. Ten works from that period addressing the proscription have been identified.[17] The majority are not primarily concerned with stam yeinam.

Several examples of those works, one primarily concerned with our subject, others noting stam yeinam as just one of numerous issues, are described below in a relatively concise manner. The subject of gentile wine, as noted above, is included in works comprised of a very wide and varied subject matter, as evident from the following works. The sole book described here that directly address the issue of stam yeinam is our first work, that is, Dimyon Aryeh.

Dimyon Aryeh – R. Judah Leib ben David Pisk (Pisek) of Nikolsburg’s (d. c. 1644) Dimyon Aryeh (1616, Prague) is a collection of responsa on the issue of leniency on setam yeinam (gentile wine). A small work, it was printed at the press of Moses ben Joseph Bezalel Katz in quarto format (4⁰: [18] ff.).

Pisk’s censure of stam yeinam, the drinking of gentile wine, is such that he compares it to a Torah prohibition on yein nesekh (libation), even criticizing early prominent sages for not being sufficiently emphatic on the prohibition.

1616, Dimyon Aryeh, Judah Leib ben David Pisk, Prague
Courtesy of the Valmadonna Trust Library

At the end of the book is an approbation from R. Moses ben David Levi and then the editor’s introduction, who writes that this book, small in size but of great value, came to hand. When he saw Pisk’s great erudition and sharpness in Talmud and poskim, he entitled it

Dimyon Aryeh, from the verse, “He is like a lion (dimyon aryeh) that is greedy [for its prey]” (Psalms 17:12), for as his name so he too is like a lion in the Torah, for his heart is as the heart of a lion. His intent is not to instruct in practical halakhah but rather his intent, which is pure, is to compare one case to another מילתא למילתא, one side to another, until at the end “selecting the food from the waste” (cf. Shabbat 74a) bringing to light the correct way, as the one who sees can see. . . .

Below the introduction is verse in praise of the author, in two columns, the initial letters in both columns forming an acrostic of Joseph Prague. The verso of that page lists the contents, consisting of eleven responsa, all erudite, none immediately evident that they are on the book’s subject matter. The responsa are from leading contemporary rabbis, among them R. Ephraim Luntshits, R. Isaiah Horowitz, and R. Yom Tov Lipmann Heller. Dimyon Aryeh concludes with three brief responsa on the subject from R. Mordecai Lipshitz, R. Phineas Horowitz, and R. Lippman Segal.

For example: 5) on the obligation to spend money in order to not transgress a negative or positive precept from the Torah and what that entails: 7) explaining for which transgressions one should die rather than violate [a commandment] and on which transgressions one should violate and not transgress. This last responsum deals with the sotah (errant wife), and, with great erudition, quoting several Talmudic tractates, it is connected to the prohibition on stam yeinam. Below the approbation of R. Moses ben David Levi ([17b]) is a crowned, two-tailed lion, passant, the symbol of Bohemia.[18]

Dimyon Aryeh has been reprinted once only (Monsey, NY, 2006).

Gevurot ha-Shem – An example of the former is the Maharal’s Gevurot ha-Shem (1581-82, Cracow); Maharal was among the preeminent rabbinic sages of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries; his position on stam yeinam was noted above. Gevurot ha-Shem is on the Exodus, the Haggadah, Divine providence, exile and redemption, and consists of seventy-two chapters, fifty-one to sixty-five a commentary on the Haggadah. The volume concludes, with kizzur hilkhot Pesah and hilkhot yein nesekh ve-issuro, that is, the prohibition on gentile wine. At the beginning of that section Maharal refers to the prohibition due to socializing, noting that by drinking four cups of wine from yayin nesekh at the Passover seder sin one is adding to sin and is performing a mitzvah through a transgression. They are “The people who provoke My anger, continually, to My very face” (Isaiah 65:3).

Sefer ha-Zikhronot – Another example is R. Samuel ben Abraham Aboab’s (1610–94) Sefer ha-Zikhronot (1631-51, Prague). Born in Hamburg, Aboab was sent by his father at the age of thirteen to study with R. David Franco, whose daughter he married after the latter’s death. He initially served as rabbi in Verona, but in 1650 became rabbi in Venice, where he headed a yeshivah and rabbinic court. Aboab, who was known for his erudition, piety, and humility, fasted frequently.

c. 1631-51, Sefer ha-Zikhronot
Courtesy of Virtual Judaica

Despite his reputation for halakhic stringencies, Aboab was widely turned to, receiving numerous inquiries on matters of Jewish law. Published as an anonymous work, the title page not giving the author’s name, date or place of publication, it is attributed to Aboab and placed by bibliographic sources between 1631-51 in Prague.

Sefer ha-Zikhronot is a halakhic work explicating enactments, customs, and laws on contemporary issues. Sefer ha-Zikhronot is divided into ten zikhronot which are further sub-divided into chapters. The zikhronot are ethical principles arranged according to positive and negative precepts, dealing with those commandments, the observance of which individuals are lax in or fail to observe properly. The third of the zikhronot, comprised of three chapters, is on the prohibition of stam yeinam.

She’elot u’Teshuvot – Again, stam yeinam is addressed but is not the subject of R. Moses ben Joseph di Trani’s (Mabit, 1500-1580) She’elot u’Teshuvot (1629, (Venice). This collection of responsa consists of eight hundred and six entries. There is an index; Examples of the headings include laws of festivals (10 entries), laws pertaining to women (7) with such subheadings as betrothal (19), divorce (21), yibbum (levirate marriage) and halizah (4) ketubbot (21), dowries (7), stipulations in the ketubbot (3), support (3), and rebellious wives (3). The heading issur ve-heter has ten subheadings, among them food that is not kosher and prohibited wine, usury, Sefer Torah and parapet (ma’akeh), excommunication, vows and nazirite oaths, dedicated things, sabbatical year, prozbul, and mourning.

Masat Binyamin – The subject of stam yeinam is also addressed in R. Benjamin Aaron ben Abraham Slonik’s Masat Binyamin (1632-33, Cracow). The author was rabbi in Silesia and Podhajce. Masat Binyamin, authoritative responsa and brief halakhic novellae was published by Slonik’s grandson, R. Israel Isaac ben Hayyim Menahem Man. The title is from “Benjamin’s portion” (masat Binyamin, Genesis 43:34).

The title page is followed by Israel Isaac’s introduction, comprised of six paragraphs, each beginning Benjamin. He remarks that he has so carefully edited the work that errata are unnecessary. Next is a summary index by subject of the 112 responsa, on such subjects as gittin and halizah (12 responsa); ketubbah and dowry (7); kiddushin (5); agunah (10); business issues (8); mourning (11); other (2); zizit, prayer, and synagogue (6); Sefer Torah and its reading (6); Shabbat and eruvin (3); hamez (5); shofar, lulav, Purim, and fast days (6); forbidden foods (19); yein nesekh and usury (4); hallah, firstling of animals, and charity (3); and niddah and ritual immersion (2).

1632-33, Masat Binyamin, Benjamin Aaron ben Abraham Slonik, Cracow
Courtesy of Virtual Judaica

One responsa suggests a close relationship between Jews and their Christian neighbors. May a Jew loan clothing and jewelry to a non-Jew to wear to church on their holidays (86)? Slonik permits it as the clothes are worn for pleasure and prestige, not for religious purposes. On the sanctity of a printed Bible as opposed to a codex Bible, he rules that they have equal sanctity (99). May the margin of a Bible, trimmed when the printer binds the volume, be discarded (100)? Slonik writes that since all books are so bound it is as if the original intent was to do so and no sanctity adheres to the trimmings.

In an extensive responsa (29) Slonik deals with yein nesekh (gentile wine) where a Jew, Moses, entrusted sealed barrels of new wine to be delivered by non-Jewish waggoners under the supervision of Jews traveling on the wagon. The latter left the wagon, leaving the wine unsupervised. Moses found the wagon with the seals unbroken. Slonik writes that normally two seals are required as the seller will not see his wine again, not the case here. He permits the wine where great loss will occur with the caveat that if the wine bubbles through the tar sealing the barrel, as often happens with new wine, it is forbidden.

Davar she-bi-Kedushah – A popular kabbalistic work to arouse repentance is R. Abraham Reuben ben Hoeshke Katz (d. 1673) Davar she-bi-Kedushah. Katz is best known as the author of Yalkut Re’uveni and Oneg Shabbat. Davar she-bi-Kedushah was printed in Sulzbach (1684), at the press of Moses ben Uri Shraga Bloch. A small work, Davar she-bi-Kedushah was printed in octavo format (4⁰: 12 ff.).

1684, Davar she-bi-Kedushah
Courtesy of the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak

There is an introduction by Abraham Reuben, in which he informs that the work is entitled Davar she-bi-Kedushah because there are ten ma’amorot for each het (sin), which is a davar shel kedushah; the initial and final letters of the title spell derasha; and for “those who seek (dorshei) the Lord shall not lack any good thing” (Psalms 34:11). It concludes with a list of twenty-two categories of sins in alphabetic order expressed as the viddui (confession of sins) on Yom Kippur, that is, the al het (for the sins that we have sinned before you). These are sins people customarily transgress and should be confessed daily.

Each sin begins with a heading of the sin, repeated as the viddui, for example, א eating and drinking, “for the sin that we have sinned before you through eating and drinking,” and then ten paragraphs from a wide selection of kabbalistic, Midrashic, and aggadic sources on that entry, the subject matter including: ב birkat ha-mazon; ג pride; ד vows and oaths: ה thoughts; י wine and yein nesekh; כ honor of sages; לevil talk and slander; מ tithes and charity; נ netilat yadayim (hand washing); צ zizit, tefillin, and mezuzot; and ת Torat Moshe. Examples from wine (3, 7) are:

3. Also these erred with wine for in that they drank wine they “fashioned a calf” (Exodus 32:4) and said “These are your gods” (Exodus 32:4, 8) and these also erred with wine. (Tanhuma)

7. The wine that Isaac gave to Jacob to drink Michael brought from Gan Eden and one does not find such wine as this for blessing except by Abraham and Melchizedek. (Midrash)

VI

R. Nathan Nata ben Reuben David Tebele Spira was, in his time, a rabbi of repute, but like many other prominent individuals is not well remembered today. His works, albeit highly regarded, are not well recalled today. While that is the case for many early rabbis of import, in Spira’s case that might be attributed to the specialized and esoteric nature of his works, as well as their kabbalistic content. Moreover, what might be considered his most important work, Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, on the prohibition against drinking Stam Yeinam (gentile wine), is on a subject that is not as prominent, or sensitive today.

The subject of stam yeinam (gentile wine) was, as noted above, a topic of some discussion in Spira’s time. There were rabbis who permitted the consumption of gentile wine that was not designated for ritual use (libations), while others were adamant that there were no leniencies where stam yeinam was concerned. Spira was clearly on the stricter side of that dispute, as expressed in Yayin ha-Meshummar. That the dispute over the admissibility of such wine was widespread and of concern is clearly demonstrated by the number of works that address the issue.

Today, stam yeinam is no longer an issue, being clearly forbidden in strictly religious circles, and no longer a matter of concern among more liberal Jews. R. Nathan Nata Spira clearly expressed the strict negative opinion on the subject.

Again, his other works, which are not controversial, are most certainly of value. R. Nathan Nata ben Reuben David Tebele Spira was, in his time, a prominent rabbi who wrote significant kabbalistic works. In addition to Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, Tuv ha-Aretz on the holiness of the land of Israel and Mazzat Shemurim on the laws of mezuzah and tefillin are valuable works that deserve to be better remembered today.

The Anatomy of an Auction: A Previously Undissected Body of Literature on the History of the Jews and Postmortem Dissection

 Rabbi Edward Reichman, MD 

The issue of autopsy and postmortem dissection has been exhaustively explored in halakhic literature.[1] If I were to ask where and when we find the first halakhic discussion about this topic, the immediate response would invariably be the teshuva of the Noda biYehuda, from the late eighteenth century.[2] It may be time to rewrite the medical halakhah history books. On Sunday, May 21 Genazym Auction House held its fifteenth auction. Lot #133 was a work entitled Pachad Yitzchak.

There are multiple works throughout history that bear the title Pachad Yitzchak. The modern reader will surely think of the work of Rav Yitzchak Hutner. The reader of this blog may also think of the first multi-volume halakhic encyclopedia, authored by Rabbi Dr. Yitzchak Lampronti (1679-1756). The volume offered for auction by Genazym is an earlier lesser-known composition of the same name by Yitzchak Hayyim Kohen me-haHazzanim (AKA Isaac Vita Cantarini)[3] published in 1685. 

Buried in Cantarini’s obscure work, in a section peripheral to the main theme of the book, we find a vivid and poetic description of a tragic incident relating to anatomical dissection.[4] Viewed in isolation, this incident merits historical attention due to its gravity. Yet, it merely reflects a much larger historical chapter about the Jews and postmortem dissection which long preceded the time of the Noda biYehuda and has remained largely undissected until now. But first a word about this work, its provenance and its author. 

The Work- Pachad Yitzchak (Amsterdam, 1685)[5]

The main subject of this work is the tale, told in poetic fashion, of the miraculous salvation of the Jewish congregation of Padua during the Austrian-Ottoman War in the year 1684. War erupted between the Austrian and Ottoman Empires in the year 1684 over the city of Buda (today part of Budapest). The virulently anti-Semitic Christian ruler of Padua spread a libel accusing the Jews of supporting the Muslim Turks in their battle against the Austrian Empire. His incitement caused an enraged crowd to break into the Padua Ghetto, yet the Jews miraculously persuaded the Venetian government to subdue the outburst. The Jews of Padua declared the 10th day of Elul as their Second Purim in gratitude for their miraculous salvation. This holiday was celebrated for many generations thereafter. 

However, the work also includes many additional unknown details of the history of the Jewish community and its rabbis. It is from this aspect of the book that we draw our discussion. 

Provenance

Regarding the item’s provenance, it was previously part of the William Gross Family Collection,[6] a significant portion of which has been recently sold at auction by both Kedem[7] and Genazym auction houses. Gross is a well-known prominent collector of Judaica and Hebraica and the selling of his collection is of historic significance. To see the collection of precious items united under one roof now become redistributed and disseminated across the world necessitates a moment of pause and reflection. Yet, this is the life cycle in the world of bibliophilia.[8] For centuries, passionate bibliophiles spent lifetimes amassing extraordinary and unique collections, only to have them subsequently sold piecemeal (for a variety of reasons) while still alive, or by less passionate heirs after death. Sometimes, however, collections are sold en bloc. An allusion to one such example is the image which appears on the bottom of the title page of the copy of Pachad Yitzchak sold at auction.  

This stamp, which is not mentioned in the catalogue description, indicates that this volume was previously part of the collection of Professor Lelio Della Torre. Della Torre was an Italian Jewish scholar of the nineteenth century, and prolific author, who served as a professor of Talmud and rabbinics at the rabbinical seminary in Padua, where Shadal also taught, from 1829 until his death in 1871. During this time, he was an avid collector of Hebraica. David Kaufmann, himself a renowned scholar and bibliophile, sought to procure Delle Torre’s collection upon the latter’s death. Kaufmann not only acquired Della Torre’s collection, but also that of Marco Mortara, a student of Shadal, and later Chief Rabbi of Mantua. Mortara’s collection in turn contained the library of Samuel Della Volta, whose life, work and library we discussed in this blog.[9]  All of these collections are now housed in the Hungarian Academy of Sciences Library in Budapest, to which Kaufmann bequeathed his library. This volume from Della Torre’s library somehow escaped the grasp of Kaufmann and traversed a different path, ultimately landing instead in the Gross Family Collection.[10]

The Author- Yitzchak Hayyim Cantarini (1644-1723)[11]

The Cantorini family were a prominent family of Kohanim who were also associated with the cantorial profession – hence the name Cantarini, or MinHaHazanim, as their Hebrew name reflects. Isaac Cantarini graduated from the University of Padua Medical School on February 11, 1664, one of many Cantarinis who earned their medical degrees from the university.[12] He authored a number of congratulatory poems in honor of Padua medical graduates.

After graduated from Padua, Cantarini went on to become a leading figure in Italian Jewry. He is considered one of the greatest Torah sages of his time, and his responsa have been published in both Yitzhak Lampronti’s Pachad Yitzhak and Samson Morpurgho’s Shemesh Tzedakah.[13] Cantarini wrote halakhic, historical, and homiletic works, as well as medical treatises in Latin. He was a poet, author, physician, and consummate orator; non-Jewish clergy and lay people attended his Shabbat sermons. In the year 5460 there were so many non-Jewish visitors in synagogue when he spoke that the regulars had to ascend to the women’s section (ezrat nashim) to pray.[14] He was a teacher of both Rabbi Moshe Hayyim Luzzatto (Ramchal),[15] as well as Rabbi Yitzchak Lampronti.

Non-Jews sought Cantarini’s sage advice as well, as evidenced by his correspondence with the Christian intellectual Theophilio Ungar.[16]

Cantarini was known by his initials יחכם. He was also quite adept at word play, and Shadal mentions but one small example of his utilizing the acronym of his name in the introduction to a kinah he composed upon the passing of Rabbi Yehuda Briel:[17]

Shadal takes a stab at solving the riddle.

A Fearful Story in Pachad Yitzchak

The following story appears in the pages of Pachad Yitzchak.[18] On the 17th of Shevat 5440 (שנת מ”ת as per Cantarini), a young man by the name of Hananel (AKA Graziadio) Levi[19] died in the Ghetto. His body was prepared for burial, but in the interim, a band of raucous students from the University of Padua stormed the Ghetto, kidnapped the body, and whisked it away to the anatomy room in preparation for dissection and medical student instruction. The Jewish community was in an uproar, riots ensued, and all political channels were pursued to secure the return of the body. When initial efforts failed, some members of the Jewish community on their own initiative attempted unsuccessfully to enter the anatomy lecture hall under cover of night to procure the body. Ultimately, after one week, negotiations succeeded, and the Jews were promised by the University that they needn’t worry about similar infractions in the future, and that the bodies of the Jewish community would no longer be forcefully taken for anatomical dissection. 

Anatomy, the Jews, and the University of Padua- An Undissected Body of Literature

This frightening incident recounted in Pachad Yitzchak is significant in its own right, but here we situate it as part of a much larger narrative of anatomy, the Jews and the University of Padua, which began over a century earlier.

Since the Middle Ages, individual Jewish students experienced numerous hurdles to the completion of their medical training, many rooted in discrimination and antisemitism. It was sometime around the 16thcentury, however, as the result of the synchroneity of two major historical developments, that Jews, as a group, first encountered a new major challenge to their medical education. This challenge, unlike any previous, did not originate with their non-Jewish colleagues or institutions, but was self-imposed by the Jews. Its consequences however were no less severe.

In the beginning of the fifteenth century, the University of Padua became the first European university to officially allow admission of Jewish students for medical training.[20] This policy led to a gradual influx of Jewish students and the creation for the first time in history of a significant Jewish presence and recognizable entity in a consistent fashion on a university campus.[21] This positive development for the broader Jewish community[22] unwittingly evoked unanticipated consequences.

Simultaneous with the expansion of the Jewish community in Padua, a young professor on campus was quietly revolutionizing the study of anatomy. Andreas Vesalius, who arrived in Padua in 1537, began to hold frequent public and private anatomical displays and approached the study of human anatomical dissection in a systematic fashion not previously attempted.[23] He would later come to be known as the founder of modern anatomy. With his innovations came the expansion of the anatomy course in Padua. Anatomy became identified from then on as the most essential course in medical training, and Vesalius, along with the University of Padua, were leading the revolution. 

The Ramifications of Vesalius’ Contribution for the Jewish Community

Vesalius’s work formalized and expanded the teaching of human anatomy at the University of Padua, as well as at medical schools throughout the world. With the expansion of the course came the necessity to supply more cadavers for the dissection tables. To procure cadavers for the anatomy course, the university turned to both the judicial system as well as its students and their communities. Executed criminals served as one steady source of cadavers, but this did not suffice. 

Grave robbing became commonplace in order to supplement the source of bodies. The practice was even encouraged by Vesalius and, though technically illegal, was unofficially tolerated by the government. A ducal document from 1549, during Vesalius’s tenure in Padua, condemns grave robbing,[24] but the ever-present fear and reality of the practice also affecting the Jewish cemeteries.[25] Indeed, one scholar has suggested that one of the historiated letters in the Fabrica specifically depicts a scene of the grave robbing of a body from a Jewish cemetery.[26]

The scene depicts putti (cherubic figures common in Renaissance art) removing a body from a grave. The “o” on the flag held by one of the putti was the symbol Jews were required to wear on their clothing and may reflect that this was a Jewish cemetery depicted.

The emphasis on anatomy begun by Vesalius would continue long into the future. Soon the university would further invest in this venture by building the first example in the world of a permanent anatomical theater, completed in 1595 (after the death of Vesalius), created for teaching anatomy through the dissection of corpses. The theater still stands to this day. 

The supply of cadavers was a perennial challenge for the medical school, and as a result, the university sought additional creative ways to address the issue. At some stage they instituted each community which sent medical students for training at the university would be required to provide a certain number of bodies for the dissection table.[27] The Jewish community, like others on campus, was expected to provide cadavers for the yearly anatomy course. However, the Jewish students and community took issue with this expectation. As elated as Jews were to walk the halls of a premier university for the first time in history, this privilege would not compel the abrogation of ancient Torah principles. Jewish law forbids the dissection of the human body after death absent mitigating circumstances yielding direct and immediate life-saving benefit from the procedure.[28] The prohibitions of desecrating and deriving benefit from the corpse, as well as the obligation to bury the body preclude routine dissection or autopsy. 

This refusal of the Jews to provide bodies sparked outcry from both the university and its students. The tension created from this conflict would play out over centuries. It is reflected, for example, in multiple recorded incidents of Padua medical students attempting to kidnap Jewish bodies to provide for the anatomy course.[29] Although we have no starting date, already in the earliest Vesalian and post-Vesalian days in Padua a compromise was struck with the Jewish community providing a hefty financial compensation to absolve them from the cadaver obligation. However, this was not a one-time incident, and the anatomy issue persisted, with frequent renegotiation of terms over the years and increased tension resurfacing periodically. Despite the Senate’s repeated pronouncements, frequently the graves in the Jewish cemetery were violated. It was not uncommon for gravely ill patients to be transported out of Padua for fear of being dissected upon their death.[30] The Jews were compelled to construct secret hiding places in the Ghetto where the bodies could be concealed until the funeral. Often, they buried the dead under the cover of night to avoid the dissection table.[31]

One would have expected to find halakhic responsa from 16th and 17th century Italy discussing this topic, but the extant halakhic literature is silent. The first cases discussing autopsy only surface in the late 18th century. We do however find reference to this ongoing issue in the Padua Jewish community archives as well as in the administrative records of the city and University of Padua. We share these documents here, many for the first time. While not enshrined in the extant responsa literature, this community response to anatomical dissection surely reflects the considered rabbinic opinion and halakhic analyses of the local Padua rabbinate, to whom the community deferred on such matters. Prominent rabbis who served the Padua community, or were connected with the medical students during the period under discussion include Maharam Padua (1482-1565), Rabbi Yehuda Arye de Modena (1571-1648) and Rabbi Yehuda Briel (1643-1722), Rabbi Dr. Isaac Hayyim Cantarini (1644-1723), Rabbi Dr. Isaac Lampronti (1679-1756), and Rabbi Dr. Shimshon Morpurgo (1681-174), among others, and it is more than likely that they were involved, to some extent, in the discussions of the Jewish community regarding the provision of bodies to the medical school. 

The Padua Jewish Community Archives[32] 1624-1626

The Jewish community archives of Padua contain at least five entries from 1624 to 1626, discussed below, which directly address the anatomy issue. Daniel Carpi, the scholar of Italian Jewish history who transcribed and edited the archives, noted that since the Jews first settled in Padua the medical students requested from the Jewish community to provide to the university a specific percentage of Jewish bodies for use in the teaching of anatomy. The Jews refused and arranged a compromise to pay an annual ransom to absolve them from this obligation. However, the tension related to this matter never ceased, be it because the university continually raised the fee, or because they sometimes would only suffice with the supply of actual corpses for dissection. 

It is in this context that a tragic incident occurred in 1624 which frightened even the non-Jewish community. A group of students, led by a young anatomy professor, interrupted a Jewish funeral procession and attempted to kidnap the body. The agreement discussed in the first archival entry below appears to come on the heels of this incident in the hopes of preventing similar occurrences in the future.

April 19, 1624 (entry #545) compromise with the students during the season/days of dissection

In that the spirit of God has enlightened the esteemed philosopher Senior Cesare Cremonin to declare freedom (from dissection) for our deceased, through the continued annual designated payment to the students of the College of Arts, generation after generation. As a result, they are obligated to allow us to properly bury our dead during the season of dissection, lest anyone fear. Any violators will be fined, and they have coordinated with us to obtain from the government permission for a required fine for all who violate this agreement in a way amenable and sufficient for our needs. The aforementioned master Cesare and Yehudah Katz have already spoken on this matter and have begun discussion regarding the amount the Jewish community is willing to pay for this privilege. Therefore, to facilitate successful completion of these dealings, which will result in a salvation for our community, we present a parti to designate two members of our community,[33] even though they are not members of the committee, to negotiate directly with the aforementioned esteemed philosopher a sum which will then be presented to the community and the committee for a majority vote. 

Subsequent entries reflect the lengthy process of negotiation, implementation, and enforcement. A follow up entry from July 15, 1624 (entry # 554) states that the negotiations had been completed and a sum had been agreed upon with the government representative. The request is to approve the amount and facilitate payment. 

 An entry in the Padua University Archives from December 28, 1624 (pictured below) sheds a slightly different light on the negotiations, which may not have been officially ratified by the university.[34]

Here the university confirms an earlier privilege granted to the Jewish community by which those Jews studying medicine were granted free access to the anatomical theater, and the corpses of deceased Jews were to be left untouched by anatomical dissections due to strong religious objections to the procedure. For this privilege the Jews paid an annual sum of 100 Venetian pounds. The entry concludes, “the final decision on this proposal was delayed until the arrival of the “perillustris domini syndic.”[35] Parenthetically, this reveals that the agreements between the Jewish community and the university regarding Jewish cadavers date back to an earlier time.

An entry in the Jewish community archives some three weeks later (Entry # 566- January 21, 1625) corroborates the delayed decision of the university. It reiterates the need to arrive at an agreement between the Jewish community and the university to prevent the taking of Jewish bodies. A maximum fee of ten Ducat is set. This may have been a counteroffer to the much higher request of 100 ducats and explains why a specific number is mentioned here but not previously. 

May 17, 1626 (Entry #616)
Yet another entry reveals a creative solution to prevent grave robbing during the semester of anatomy.

Regarding designating two community representatives with the power to negotiate with Aharon Altarini to allow temporary burial[36] on his property (for community members) during anatomy season. They are granted permission to spend as much as necessary to appease those who oppose this practice.

While grave robbing was typically done secretly under the cover of night, some claims for Jewish bodies were more brazen. The entry of November 15, 1626 (Entry # 627) mentions a disturbing incident (mikre bilti tahor) of the interference of the medical students of Padua with the Jewish funeral procession of the wife of Moshe Fano (miPano). The incident, reminiscent of earlier similar episodes, appears to have been minor and fortunately did not escalate. Nonetheless, it precipitated another plea to find a long-term compromise with the university regarding the anatomy issue.

The Decree of 1672[37]

 On November 23, 1672, there was a decree reaffirming the Jews’ exemption from providing bodies for dissection and warning those who attempt to disturb the funerals or graves of members of the Jewish community. This decree appears in Jewish and governmental documents discussed below. It is unknown to me if or whether a specific historical event precipitated this reaffirmation.

The Case of Graziadio Levi and the Riots of 1679 

Here we position the story from Cantarini’s Pachad Yitzchak, occurring over a century after Vesalius’ expansion of the field of human anatomy with its subsequent creation of major halakhic and social problems for the Jewish community and its medical students. The event described by Cantarini which transpired in 1679[38] may have been the tipping point which led to a more serious and sustained response from the university. Following the death of a young Jew, Graziadio Levi, armed students stormed the Jewish ghetto in great numbers, kidnapped the corpse and brought it to the medical school in preparation for dissection. Riots ensued[39] and much effort was marshaled to rescue the body and provide a proper Jewish burial. The incident led to the issuance of a ducal letter dated February 27 of that year which rued the incident and emphatically reaffirmed the commitment by the university to protect Jewish corpses.[40]  As we have discussed, the events surrounding that fateful night in 1679 were recorded for posterity by Isaac Hayyim Cantarini in his Pachad Yitzchak. In the context of his recounting of the Levi affair, Cantarini mentions the earlier decree from November 23, 1672, protecting the bodies of the community from dissection. 

A record of the full 1679 decree is found in the Padua Civic Archives,[41] a copy of which I procured and present below. The name of Graziadio Levi is explicitly mentioned in the decree.

Ciscato transcribed the full text of the decree.[42]

The Central Archives of the History of the Jewish People possesses yet another record of the anatomy decrees. This unadorned document is a certified “copia” of the two decrees of 1672 and 1679.[43]

This was perhaps intended for archival records as opposed to public display. 

University (Governmental) Decrees Regarding Jewish Cadavers from 1672 to 1721

The Central Archives of the History of the Jewish People possesses yet another document, even more remarkable, related to the Padua anatomy decrees.[44] It includes not only one or even two decrees, but appears to be a summary or record of multiple decrees on the subject of cadavers, anatomy training at the medical school of Padua, and the Jewish community, spanning from 1672-1721. It includes the decrees of November 23, 1672, and February 27, 1679, as well as others. Furthermore, the presentation of these decrees, as an attractive broadside with calligraphy and illustrated header, indicates that it was likely intended for public display.[45]

Conclusion

In an obscure work published in 1685, recently offered for auction, appears an account of a tragic event involving the Jewish community and the dissection of human cadavers at the University of Padua. We have placed this seemingly isolated incident into a much broader historical context, fleshing out this chapter with new supportive archival material. For hundreds of years, beginning in the late sixteenth century, the Jewish community negotiated with the university for the right not to have Jewish bodies used for the anatomy course. There is no question that the local rabbinate of Padua must have been involved in these discussions and negotiations, though to what extent remains unknown. Refusal of the Jewish community to provide cadavers for dissection created major problems for both the many Jewish medical students who attended the university as well as for the Jewish community at large. The Jewish community’s restrictive position was premised entirely on halakhic grounds and would not have been sustainable throughout this lengthy period without significant rabbinic backing and support. Thus, while the extant published literature on autopsy begins with the Noda biYehudah in the late eighteenth century, there is little doubt that the halakhic discourse on the topic of anatomical dissection began long before.[46]

[1] For general discussions on anatomy and autopsy in Jewish law, see Kalman Kahana, “The Dissection of the Dead in Jewish Law: A Bibliography,” (Hebrew) haMa’ayan 7 (Tevet, 5727), 45-72; Avraham Steinberg, HaRefuah KiHalakhah 6 (Jerusalem, 2017), 512-550; Zev Farber and Irving Greenberg, “Autopsies I: A Survey of the Debate,” in Zev Farber, ed., Halakhic Realities (Maggid Books: Jerusalem, 2017), 323-417.
[2] For a discussion of the historical context of this teshuva, see Edward Reichman, “A Tale of Two Stones,” in The Anatomy of Halakha (Maggid/OU/YU Presses, 2022),
[3] Cantarini and Lampronti share at least one thing in common. They are both graduates of the University of Padua Medical School. Indeed, the passage in Cantarini’s work upon which I draw relates directly to the medical training at the university.
[4] This incident we describe transpired years before the so-called Purim of Buda (or Padua).
[5] The description of the work is drawn from the William Gross Collection Item Description, which is reproduced in the Genazym catalogue. See also M. Heller, The Seventeenth Century Hebrew Book (Brill, 2011), 1077.
[6] On Gross and his collection, see Shalom Sabar, Emile Schrijver, and Falk Wiesemann, Windows on Jewish Worlds: Essays in Honor of William Gross, Collector of Judaica on the Occasion of his Eightieth Birthday (Zutphen: Walburg Pers bv., 2019).
[7] In Kedem’s recent auction of items from the Gross Family Collection (Auction 92, May 2, 2023) we find two items of medical historical interest, one less obvious than the other. The first item is Mikne Avram (Venice, 1523), a Hebrew grammar work written by Avraham de Balmes (Auction 92, Part 1, Lot 4). De Balmes was a physician and his medical diploma from Naples, from the auspicious year of 1492, is the oldest extant Jewish medical diploma, now housed in the Braginsky Collection. On this diploma see, Giancarlo Lacerenza and Vera Schwarz-Ricci, “Il Diploma di Dottorato in Medicina di Avraham ben Me’ir de Balmes (Naploli 1492),” Sefer Yuhasin 2(2014), 163-193. De Balmes was also a student of Yehuda Messer Leon, who has been mentioned numerous times on this blog. Less known is that De Balmes is considered to be the first physician in history to perform a human-to-human blood transfusion. His patient was none other than Pope Innocent VIII. De Balmes transfused blood from three young boys, each of whom was paid a ducat, and infused the blood into the veins of the Pope. According to different reports, the Pontiff “either died or recovered.” See H. M. Brown, “Beginning of Intravenous Medication,” Annals of Medical History 1:2 (1917). Shortly thereafter we find him working in the printing press of Daniel Bomberg.  De Balmes was an expert in Hebrew language and grammar and was sought after by Christians for instruction. Mikne Avramwas published posthumously. A scholarly edition of this work was recently published placing it in the context of contemporaneous linguistic scholarship. See Dror Ben Arye, Mikneh Avram by Avraham de Balmes (Hebrew) (Ramat Gan, Bar Ilan University Press, 2022).

The second item (Auction 92, Part 2, Lot 115) is the spectacular medical diploma of Moshe ben Gershon Tilche from the University of Padua Medical School (1687), which we discussed in Edward Reichman, “Jews, Medicine and the University of Padua: A Behind the Scenes Tour of a New Exhibit at the Jewish Museum of Padua (November 2, 2022- December 31, 2022),” Seforim Blog (https://seforimblog.com), December 1, 2022.
[8] For a lament about the sale and loss of access to great Jewish book collections, see E. Reichman, “The Lost Library by Dan Rabinowitz and the ‘Burial of Souls’ by Yehuda Leib Katznelson: Different Expressions of the Same Sentiment,” The Seforim Blog (April 3, 2019), available at https://seforimblog.com/2019/04/the-lost-library-by-dan-rabinowitz-and-the-burial-of-souls-by-yehuda-leib-katznelson-different-expressions-of-the-same-sentiment/.
[9] E. Reichman, “Samuel Vita Della Volta (1772-1853): An Underappreciated Bibliophile and his Medical ‘Diploma’tic Journey,” Seforim Blog (https://seforimblog.com), November 5, 2021.
[10] When Kaufmann transferred Mortara’s library from Italy to Budapest a number of volumes were also “lost” on the way. See Asher Salah, “La Biblioteca di Marco Mortara,” in Mauro Perani and Ermanno Finzi, eds., Nuovi Studi in Onore di Marco Mortara nel Secondo Centenario della Nascita (Firenze: Giuntina, 2016), 149-168, esp. 157.
[11] On Cantarini, see, Harry A. Savitz, Profiles of Erudite Jewish Physicians and Scholars (Spertus College of Judaica Press, 1973), 25-28; C. Facchini, “Icone in sinagoga: emblemi e imprese nella predicazione barocca di I.H. Cantarini”, in Materia Giudaica, 7 (2002), 124–144. I thank Professor David Ruderman for this last reference. Cantarini’s Jewish legal responsa were published in both Yitzḥak Lampronti’s Paḥad Yitzḥak and Samson Morpurgo’s Shemesh Tzedakah. For his correspondence with the Christian intellectual Theophilo Ungar, see Y. Blumenfeld, Otzar Nehmad 3 (Vienna, 1860), 128-50.  For the definitive work on the Cantarini family, see Marco Osimo, Narrazione della Strage Compiuta nel 1547 Contro gli Ebrei d’Asolo e Cenni Biografici della Famiglia Koen-Cantarini (Casale-Monferrato, 1875). For a comprehensive bibliography on Cantarini, see Asher Salah, La Republique des Lettres: Rabbins, Ecrivains et Medecins, Juifs en Italie au XVIIIe Siecle (Brill: Leiden, 2007), 120-124.
[12] Modena and Morpurgo, Medici, 118; see D. Ruderman, Jewish Though and Scientific Discovery in Early Modern Europe (Yale University Press, 1995), 113-114, regarding families with multiple graduates from the university.
[13] On Morpurgo, See Edward Reichman, “The Illustrated Life of an Illustrious Renaissance Jew: Rabbi Dr. Shimshon Morpurgo (1681-1740),” Seforim Blog (https://seforimblog.com), June 22, 2021.
[14] S. Y. Glicksberg, Ha-Derashah Be-Yisrael (Mosad HaRav Kook, 5700), 203-20.
[15] Ramhal wrote a eulogy for Cantarini. See R. Moshe Hayim Luzzatto, Sefer Ha-Shirim, ed. Y. Zemora (Mosad HaRav Kook, 5710), 4.
[16] This correspondence was published by Shadal. See Y. Blumenfeld, Otzar Nehmad 3 (Vienna, 1860), 128-50.
[17] Ibid.
[18] 45a- 46a.
[19] I discovered a wedding poem written a number of years earlier Graziadio (Hananel) Levi, assumedly the same person, for the wedding of Saul Lustro and Allegra Barukh in 1676. See JTS Library B (NS)CR2.
[20] The university admitted non-Catholics, which included, for example, both Protestants and Jews. On the history of the Jews and the University of Padua, see Edward Reichman, “How Jews of Yesteryear Celebrated Graduation from Medical School: Congratulatory Poems for Jewish Medical Graduates in the 17th and 18th Centuries- An Unrecognized Genre,” Seforim Blog (https://seforimblog.com), May 29, 2022; idem, “Jews, Medicine and the University of Padua: A Behind the Scenes Tour of a New Exhibit at the Jewish Museum of Padua (November 2, 2022- December 31, 2022),” Seforim Blog (https://seforimblog.com), December 1, 2022.
[21] The University of Montpellier was sporadically frequented by Jews in the Middle Ages, but does not compare to Padua, where Jews attended in far greater numbers and had their own student organizations.
[22] To be sure there were residual discriminatory practices towards the Jews at the university. In addition, while the Italian Jewish community viewed this development in a positive light, the Jewish communities in Poland and Germany were more concerned about the possible assimilation of the Jewish students and dilution and diminution of Torah study.
[23] We discuss the relationship of Vesalius to the Jews in Edward Reichman, The Anatomy of Jewish Law (Maggid/OU/YU Press, 2022).
[24] See Ciscato, Gli Ebrei in Padova, p. 297. Later documents, as discussed below, address body snatching in the Jewish community specifically.
[25] Carpi, op. cit., parti 616, discusses a request to delay burial during the season of anatomy at the medical school to preclude grave robbing.
[26] Jeffrey Levine, “Jewish History in Vesalius’s Fabrica,” September 17, 2014 (https://jmlevinemd.com/jewish-history-vesalius-fabrica/).
[27] Paul Grendler, The Universities of the Italian Renaissance (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004).
[28] See Steinberg, Avraham Steinberg, HaRefuah KiHalakhah 6 (Jerusalem, 2017), 512-550. I realize it may be anachronistic to mention these specific halakhic concerns or formulation, as these were developed later in history starting with Rabbi Yechezkel Landau. Nonetheless, they are halakhic prohibitions and obligations that apply to dissection.
[29] For more on the history of anatomy and graverobbing in rabbinic literature, see Edward Reichman, The Anatomy of Jewish Law (Maggid/OU/YU Press, 2022).
[30] This practice might have violated the prohibition of moving a goses, the halachic equivalent to a “dying person.” A similar question was posed to Rabbi Moshe Stern: Could one move a critically ill patient out of the hospital for fear that, upon his death, his body would be taken for autopsy and dissection without family consent? Rabbi Stern ruled in the negative. See his Be’er Moshe 8, nos. 239, 240, 241, 243. Likewise, Rabbi Moshe Lemberger was asked whether a Kohen physician could expose himself to tum’ah in order to establish cause of death and prevent a likely autopsy. Rabbi Lemberger argues that the Kohen must do so, as this case is akin to a met mitzvah (one who dies without family or friends to bury him). See Lemberger, Ateret Moshe, Yoreh De’ah 2:244.
[31] Hebraische Bibliographie 16 (1876), p. 37.
[32] See Daniel Carpi, Minutes Book of the Council of the Jewish Community of Padua Volume Two: 1603-1630 (Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1979). All references to the Padua Jewish community archives are from this source. I thank Pia Settimi for kindly bringing these documents to my attention. See also Ciscato, 209-212.
[33] According to Pia Settimi, one of these was Avraham Catalano, who would later coordinate the community response to the plague in Padua in 1631 and author the diary Olam Hafukh about the experience.
[34] ASUPd, ms. 655, f. 13r. I thank Francesco Piovan, Chief Archivist of the University of Padua Archives, for procuring a copy of this document for me.
[35] I am unsure to whom this refers.
[36] The idea of temporary burial was suggested and debated by some prominent rabbinic authorities in the nineteenth century regarding the situation in Cincinnati, OH where graverobbing was rampant. See Reichman, Anatomy of Jewish Law, op. cit., 223-226.
[37] See below for discussion of this decree.
[38] Cantarini lists the Hebrew date of the event as 17 Shevat, 5440. Standard Hebrew date converters place this in 1680, but the Italian decrees all clearly place the year at 1679.
[39] There were broader political issues at play during these riots which are discussed by Cantarini.
[40] See Ciscato, Gli Ebrei in Padova, pp. 299–300; Hebraische Bibliographie 16 (1876), 37. The latter reference discusses an unpublished manuscript by Chaim (Vital) Moshe ben Elisha Cantarini that details this incident. I have been unsuccessful in locating this manuscript. Cantarini, member of an illustrious Italian family comprising many rabbi/physicians, graduated from the medical school in Padua and apparently taught in a yeshiva there as well. As discussed in this essay, this incident is described in great detail by his relative Isaac Chaim Cantarini in the latter’s Pachad Yitzchak.
[41] Archivio civico antico Ducali volume 13 carta 3r. I thank Antonella Ortis for her assistance in procuring this document.
[42] Ciscato, 299. The date of this decree is February 27, 1679. He lists the location as Ducali, Reg. N. N. 123 c. I r.
[43] Ducale: Che sia conservata agli ebrei la facoltà di eseguire le sepolture secondo il loro rito (Emessa in seguito alle proteste degli ebrei contro gli studenti di Anatomia). IT-Pa-47-ovs, Padova – Jewish Community 1679. I thank Ariel Viterbo of the National Library of Israel for bringing this document, as well as the others from the Central Archives, to my attention, and I thank Yochai ben Ghedalia, Yael Franklin and Tami from the Central Archives of the History of the Jewish People for so kindly providing copies of these documents.
[44] 206 Pergamena interessantissima concernente le violazioni di cadaveri degli israeliti che si permettevano gli studenti col pretesto  degli studi anatomici ” =IT-Pa 126 ovs. This broadside does not appear to have been mentioned by Ciscato or Roth, though the decrees were known to them. The Central Archives has another catalogue entry on the dissection of Jewish cadavers in Padua- Sulle violazioni dei cadaveri degli israeliti che si permettevano gli studenti col pretesto degli studi anatomici.  Archivio della Comunità di Padova, n. 206. 8 frames. HM-5157. This is a (poor) microfilm copy of the above broadside, thought the Archives does not identify it as such.
[45] Though he had not seen this document before, Francesco Piovan, the Chief Archivist of the University of Padua remarked, “As far as I can tell from the image, it’s just a summary of laws and decrees. Such summaries (even in print) of private documents and legal norms were quite normal: they can be found, for example, in processual documents. The interesting fact is that your document looks like a kind of ‘manifesto’ (placard), written in beautiful handwriting, and perhaps to be displayed, hung in a frame or fixed on a wooden tablet. In short, it seems destined for public viewing.”
[46] As a postscript, despite the religious limitation of providing bodies for dissection, there was at least some evidence of the interest and fascination amongst the Jews with the new discipline of human anatomy. When Padua’s anatomical theater was first built in 1595, the benches were not only occupied by the registered Jewish medical students, there is record of Jews from the community (non-students) attending dissections. See Cynthia Klestinec, “A History of Anatomy Theaters in Sixteenth Century Padua,” Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 59:3 (2004), n. 74. Furthermore, years after the publication of Pachad Yitzchak, when a young Abraham Levi was visiting Padua on his travels, his guide, our very same Rabbi Dr. Isaac Cantarini, as part of showcasing the highlights of the community, included a visit to an anatomy lesson where a cadaver was dissected. Shmuel Feiner, The Jewish Eighteenth Century: A Jewish Biography, 1700-1750 (Indiana University Press, 2020), 242.

From Print to Pixel: Digital Editions of the Talmud Bavli

Ezra Brand

Ezra Brand is an independent researcher who resides in Tel Aviv. He has an MA from Revel Graduate School at Yeshiva University in Medieval Jewish History, and has studied in the Talmud Department of Bar-Ilan University. He has contributed a number of times previously to the Seforim Blog (tag), and a selection of his research can be found at his Substack blog. His most recent major work is a “Guide to Online Resources for Scholarly Jewish Study and Research”. He is currently working on an overview of names and naming in early Jewish literature. He can be reached at ezrabrand@gmail.com; any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

Intro – the tzurat hadaf[1]

It is a surprising fact that despite incredible advancements in technology, the layout of the Talmud has remained the same for centuries. The Bomberg edition from the 16th century, a groundbreaking achievement, still sets the standard. Yoel Finkelman writes in his recent, impressive overview of the layout of the printed Talmudic page:[2] “What is remarkable about the Gemara’s mise-en-page (the term for tzurat ha-daf in the academy) is not its invention, but its staying power as the normative way to produce texts of the Talmud.”[3] Finkelman then delves into the “history of the tzurat ha-daf of the Gemara.”

For an illustration of the lengths to which traditional publishers have gone to preserve the traditional tzurat hadaf, even in the 21st century, see Elli Fischer and Shai Secunda’s 2012 review article of the then-just-released “Artscroll Digital Library Schottenstein Talmud (English) App”, for the iPad:[4]

Since this elucidation is significantly longer than (and, in fact, already includes the actual text of) the Hebrew/Aramaic original, each Vilna page ends up being reproduced two to five times for every English page (a grey bar shows the reader which segment of the Vilna corresponds to the facing elucidation). This decision, both brilliant and perverse, added well over 10,000 pages, bringing the entire series to 73 volumes. The perversity of adding 10,000 apparently superfluous pages is obvious, but the brilliance of the decision was that it always kept the “original” page before the reader.

The digital daf

At the outset, Finkelman (in the above-mentioned article) highlights that the material manifestation of the written word can be broadly attributed to three factors: 1) The technological and material resources that are utilized to create and disseminate texts, 2) The economic and market forces that influence the demand for knowledge and education, and 3) The cultural perceptions of the role and function of language.[5] The ongoing decline in printing costs during the 20th and 21st centuries, coupled with the increasing accessibility of education, have led to significant advancements in all these factors.[6]

The advent of the internet has opened up entirely new avenues for publishing and designing the daf. Furthermore, for the very first time, readers have the opportunity to customize their reading experience, tailoring it to their unique preferences.

One popular author writes:[7]

“After more than a thousand years as the world’s most important form of written record, the book as we know it faces an unknown future. Just as paper superseded parchment, movable type put scribes out of a job, and the codex, or paged book, overtook the papyrus scroll, so computers and electronic books threaten the very existence of the physical book.”

However, one could plausibly say that the claim of the death of books has been greatly exaggerated. Physical books continue to be highly popular, and their sale has only continued to grow. And Orthodox Jews have yet an additional incentive to continue to buy physical books, as they can’t use ebooks on Shabbat and Chag. Regardless, there’s no question that we are in the middle of a decades-long revolution in how we have the ability to consume text, if one so chooses.

Despite the vast technological advancements that have revolutionized publishing, the digital daf is a peculiar return to pre-printing press methods in at least one regard: nowadays, the Talmud can be studied in isolation, without the surrounding commentaries. Most of the layouts that will be examined below diverge from the traditional tzurat hadaf that has been preserved for more than four centuries. In this way, they resemble the medieval Talmudic manuscripts, which include only the Talmud itself (sometimes accompanied by Rashi’s commentary).[8]

Let’s turn our attention to another aspect that Finkelman highlights: the groundbreaking nature of implementing a universal pagination system. Bomberg himself astutely utilized pagination and indexing as a key selling point.[9] Similarly, one of the numerous revolutionary features of digital editions such as Sefaria and Al-HaTorah is the capacity to reference not only the daf and amud, but also the section number. (I’ll explain the specific details of this later in this piece.) One can cite using section number, and hyperlink directly to that section. Every amud has around 10-15 sections, so this narrowing down is considerable. Even without reference to a specific section, checking a reference is far easier in a digital edition: with a simple “control + f”, one can search for a word from the quote. Gone are the frustrating days of scanning a giant wall of text in an amud to find a quote.

What will be discussed in this review

My focus here will be on modern editions that are available open-access digitally, online.[10] Therefore, I won’t review modern print editions.[11] I will also not review digital editions that, in my opinion, are inferior in every way to the editions discussed here.[12] And I won’t discuss editions targeted towards beginner students.[13]

As one of the resources exclusively pertains to Kiddushin (Katz’s Mahberot Menahmiyot), my sample will be from Tractate Kiddushin, specifically Kid. 2b, which solely features the Gemara without the Mishnah. Images will only be of Gemara, Rashi, and Tosafot, meaning that, I will exclude the surrounding glosses (Mesoret HaShas, etc). I will not be discussing supplementary texts and commentaries, and hyperlinks to outside sources that each has.[14] I will be discussing different customization and viewing options.

Another caveat: This piece is focused on layout, and so it will not discuss the textual accuracy of the editions.[15]

An interesting element of modern editions is the typography; specifically the choices of font. However, this will not be discussed here.[16]

Outline

Intro – the tzurat hadaf 1
The digital daf 2
What will be discussed in this review 4
Outline 5
Tzurat hadaf AND customizable 6
Mercava 6
Shitufta 7
Static PDF 9
Mahberot Menahmiyot (=MM) 9
Gemara Sedura HaMeir 10
Talmud HaIgud – Society for the Interpretation of the Talmud (האיגוד לפרשנות התלמוד) 12
Digital, not customizable 14
Wikisource 14
Pirkei Talmud Me’utzavim – R’ Dan Be’eri 15
Talmud Or Meir 18
Dicta 19
Digital and customizable 20
Sefaria 20
Al-Hatorah 22
Speculation on the future 24
Concluding Thought 27

Tzurat hadaf AND customizable

Mercava

At present, Mercava contains only Tractate Berachot. It includes a menu option that enables users to toggle punctuation and nikud. It is also worth noting that Mercava is presently in beta version, as stated explicitly by the page header. Many of the menu options are grayed out or non-functional, resulting in a suboptimal user experience. Often, it seems that two features cannot be employed simultaneously, without any discernible explanation.

Shitufta

Quite basic. It has section splits, which are the same as those of Sefaria and Al-Hatorah.[17] Like them, it enables linking to a specific section. However, it diverges from the section numbering in Sefaria and Al-Hatorah by commencing from 0 instead of 1, resulting in all section numbers in Shitufta being one less from those of Sefaria and Al-Hatorah.

Static PDF

Mahberot Menahmiyot (=MM)[18]

By Prof. Menachem Katz.

Image of Talmud text, from p. 3, line # 7:

MM is a static PDF. It divides every sentence into a separate line, as opposed to splitting into larger blocks of sections. The lines are numbered. It offers complete punctuation, without nikud.[19] MM displays citations for biblical verses, Mishnah, and Tosefta, as well as additional features discussed in the introduction.

Gemara Sedura HaMeir [20]

With punctuation, and split by line.

Talmud HaIgud – Society for the Interpretation of the Talmud (האיגוד לפרשנות התלמוד) [21]

The text is split into lines and numbered, similar to MM. Due to the nature of the work, the primary purpose of the Talmudic text in the Talmud HaIgud is not for its own sake, but to serve as a basis for subsequent commentary.

Digital, not customizable

Wikisource[22]

The crowd-sourced Wikisource is a sister-project of Wikipedia. It is replete with hyperlinks to primary sources, and to external secondary sources. Like MM, the text contains punctuation but not nikud. Instead of using numbered sections (like Sefaria and Al-Hatorah) or lines (like MM), the text is divided into unnumbered paragraphs. Moreover, these paragraphs are longer than those found in Sefaria and Al-Hatorah.

Pirkei Talmud Me’utzavim – R’ Dan Be’eri[23] [24]

Available as downloaded Word docs, from the Da’at website, for a few chapters. I consider this to be not customizable.[25] Has nikud, punctuation, and is split into numbered lines.

Talmud Or Meir

Has nikud, punctuation, and is split into numbered lines. While there are technically some customization options available, they are limited in scope.[26]

Dicta

Dicta has a suite of powerful tools, which combined could make for an incredible studying experience. These include automated tools for nikud and for Biblical sources.[27] Unfortunately, at this time it appears that the only way to view a passage of Talmud is via search results. There, a link is offered to the page in Sefaria. There is a section called Library, with powerful tools for reading rabbinic works, but only 300 works are currently offered there.[28]

Here’s a screenshot, of what appears after searching the first words of Kidushin 2b (“אי נמי שדות בכסף יקנו”), opening the first result, and scrolling to 2b:

Digital and customizable

Sefaria[29]

Image of customization options:

Splits into numbered sections. In our example, there are 15 sections. The default Hebrew doesn’t split these into paragraphs, but there is an option to split into paragraphs. Many tractates have nikud, some have punctuation. Our example page doesn’t have punctuation, even though it shows that option. Sefaria gives the option to remove nikud. As mentioned, as with Shitufta and Al-Hatorah, one can hyperlink to a specific section.

Al-Hatorah[30]

The section numbers in circles on the right side of the page are hyperlinked, which is a convenient feature. In the example page we are looking at, there is no nikud, unlike Sefaria. However, there is a period after each section, which provides a slight advantage over Sefaria‘s lack of punctuation, as it helps to break up the passages when viewing with no section breaks.

While Al-Hatorah also includes hyperlinked sections, it does not explicitly label which section is which, unlike Sefaria. Therefore, finding a specific section requires trial and error. As with Shitufta and Sefaria, it is possible to hyperlink to a particular section in Al-Hatorah.

One notable difference is that Al-Hatorah does not expand acronyms, as Sefaria does. For instance, מ“ט is not expanded to מאי טעמא, and אב“א is not expanded to איבעית אימא.

Speculation on the future

Secunda and Fischer, in the faraway land of 2012 (cited at the beginning of this piece), envision a future Talmud app:

“First of all, it would be a virtually borderless intertextual web. Talmudic passages that shed light upon one another would be linked in intricate overlapping networks. Passages citing earlier texts—biblical verses, the Mishnah, other rabbinic texts, the apocrypha—would be hyperlinked to the collection in which the cited text originally appears. Passages would also link to later commentaries, super-commentaries, relevant excerpts from legal codes and responsa, manuscript variants, monographs, homiletic interpretations, and, indeed, translations and elucidations. Discussions of Akkadian medicine would call forth images of Babylonian tablets. People, places, historical events, concepts, practices, and all sorts of other realia mentioned in the text would link to relevant explanatory pages, pictures, recordings, and video clips. […] [T]wo new Jewish text websites, themercava.com and sefaria.org, offer promising platforms for crowd-sourced translation, commentary, and discussion of the Bavli and other Jewish texts. […]”[31]

While some aspects of this idealistic vision have been realized, many others have not, at least not yet. Moreover, it remains unclear whether a more crowdsourced and social-media-oriented approach, (suggested in an un-cited part of Secunda and Fischer’s article), would even be desirable. In retrospect, the year 2012 was marked by somewhat utopian thinking, with Wikipedia and Facebook having recently achieved great success in spreading knowledge and connecting people worldwide. It seemed only natural to aspire to something similar in the realm of literature. However, today, with greater awareness of the unpredictable dynamics of such systems (such as misinformation), it is far from clear that such a goal is attainable or even desirable.

In my view, Sefaria, Al-Hatorah, and Dicta are the most promising candidates for realizing the immersive and highly hyperlinked experience envisioned by Fischer and Secunda. Once this is achieved, the resulting research tools are likely to be extremely powerful as well. However, the idea of leveraging comparative sources, as described by the authors, still seems quite far off, particularly with the current set of available tools.

Regarding the social and chavruta aspect discussed by Fischer and Secunda, a new possibility has emerged that was not even envisioned a year ago: an artificial intelligence-powered chavruta. I recently experimented with ChatGPT by providing it with the first paragraph of Kidushin 2b.[32]

As usual, ChatGPT demonstrated impressive coherence and confidence. However, it provided laughably incorrect interpretations. In fact, in some cases, it provided interpretations that were the exact opposite of the correct one.

I conducted a comparable test by inputting a paragraph of Ramban’s commentary on that sugya, requesting an explanation from ChatGPT. To my surprise, ChatGPT provided a reasonably good rephrasing in English. Although some of it was correct and some of it was incorrect, even the incorrect part was not entirely off. However, ChatGPT still requires further yeshiva study before being able to serve as a teacher.[33]

Given the rapid advancements in artificial intelligence and large language models, it appears highly likely that AI will continue to improve its ability to interpret the Talmud, along with all other sources, including digitized manuscripts. It may not be long before we turn to AI to obtain the ultimate p’shat in the Talmud.[34] Furthermore, there is a possibility that AI could eventually bring comparative sources to bear, as previously mentioned.

To update the speculative future envisioned by Fischer and Secunda, my ideal Talmud study experience would be an app with a GPT plug-in acting as a virtual chavruta/Rebbe, to interpret text and answer questions. In fact, something like this is already being tested by Khan Academy.[35]

With current tools, it will even be possible to create a virtual shiur.[36] In the future, it could even be live and interactive, happening in real time.

Another interesting idea that is ripe to be explored is visualization of the Talmudic text. This was put to the test by Yael Jaffe, in a 2015 Columbia dissertation.[37] Jaffe writes in her abstract (bolding is mine):

“This study investigates the effect of access to a visual outline of the text structure of a Talmudic passage on comprehension of that passage. A system for defining the text structure of Talmudic passages was designed by merging and simplifying earlier text structure systems described for Talmudic passages, following principles taken from research on text structure. Comprehension of two passages were compared for students who did traditional reading of a Talmudic passage (the passages had punctuation added, and a list of difficult words and their meanings was appended) (the control condition), and students who read the passage with these same materials as well as with an outline of the text structure of that passage (the experimental condition) […]

The results provide evidence that awareness of the text structure of a Talmudic passage helps readers when the passage is concrete and somewhat well organized. ”[38]

It is interesting to note that Jaffe’s control group had punctuation added. There is, in fact, no good reason why the punctuation should not be added to all the standard Vilna-Romm editions. This is something that I did as a matter of course in my gemaras in my yeshiva days, and I presume that I was not the only one.[39]

Concluding Thought

Will there ever be a single Talmud application to rule them all, similar to how the Bomberg layout remained the standard for 500 years, and continues to do so? Such a scenario is improbable and perhaps even unwanted in today’s rapidly changing and complex digital landscape. It would suggest a lack of progress. We may have to wait for the arrival of the Messiah or, at the very least, the AI singularity to provide the ultimate Talmud super-app.

[1] This piece was written as part of preparation for the workshop “Editions of Classical Jewish Literature in the Digital Era”, to be held at University of Haifa, June 18-20, 2023, at which I’ll be presenting. I want to express my gratitude to Menachem Katz for his efforts in organizing that workshop, and for inviting me to speak there. I’d also like to thank Eliezer Brodt for his helpful comments on an earlier draft of this piece. I would also like to thank my father, my brother, and S. Licht for reviewing, making suggestions, and helping clarify in conversation some of the ideas discussed.
[2]  Finkelman, ”From Bomberg to the Beit Midrash: A Cultural and Material History of Talmudic Page Layout”, Tradition (Winter 2023), Issue 55.1, p. 14. I’d like to thank Eliezer Brodt for bringing this article to my attention.
[3] Immediately before, he writes (my bolding): “[T]he famous and ubiquitous tzurat ha-daf (page layout) of the Gemara was never exclusively by Talmudists for Talmudists. It was a common practice for producing non-Jewish European glossed texts in manuscript and later print from the high middle-ages though the sixteenth century. Some copyists and later printers of the Gemara—whether those printers were Jews or not—adopted it from contemporary Christian textual production.” This point is also made by Michele Chesner, in her interview on the Seforim Chatter podcast: “With Michelle Chesner discussing old books, Seforim, and more” (April 29, 2020).
[4] “Brave New Bavli: Talmud in the Age of the iPad”, Jewish Review of Books (Fall 2012). Archived here.
[5] Finkelman, pp. 16-17.
[6] Relatedly, I have heard the theory a few times from Prof. Meir Bar-Ilan that the writing down of the Talmud may have occurred due to the spread of the Chinese invention of paper to the West in the early medieval period. For some work on when the Mishnah and Talmud were first written, with previous scholarship cited, see: Yaakov Elman, “Orality and the Redaction of the Babylonian Talmud”, Oral Tradition, 14/1 (1999): 52-99 ; Shamma Friedman, “The Transmission of the Talmud and the Computer Age”, in Sharon Liberman Mintz and Gabriel M. Goldstein, eds., Printing the Talmud: From Bomberg to Schottenstein (2005), pp. 143-154 (esp. pp. 146-148) ;

יעקב זוסמן, “‘תורה שבעל פה‘ פשוטה כמשמעה: כוחו של קוצו של יו“ד“, מחקרי תלמוד ג, א (תשס“ה), עמ‘ 209-384 (נדפס שוב כספר ב– 2019) ; נחמן דנציג, “מתלמוד על פה לתלמוד בכתב: על דרך מסירת התלמוד הבבלי ולימודו בימי הביניים“, בר–אילן ל–לא (תשס“ו), עמ‘ 49-112.

[7] Keith Houston, The Book: A Cover-to-Cover Exploration of the Most Powerful Object of Our Time (2016), introduction (available via Amazon Kindle sample). He adds in a footnote: “It is worth introducing “codex” as a technical term: it means specifically a paged book, as opposed to a papyrus scroll, clay tablet, or any of the myriad other forms the book has taken over the millennia.”
[8] Recently pointed out by Ari Zivotofsky in a Seforim Blog post (“The Longest Masechta is …”, March 31, 2023): “[I]t is worth noting that ambiguity regarding sizes of masechtot only arose when commentaries began to be put on the same page as the text of the gemara. In other words, until the era of the printing press there was no ambiguity as to which masechta was the longest.” See also Finkelman, pp. 18-19 ; Friedman, “Printing”, p. 148. The early Soncino editions also only contained the Gemara and Rashi, see Finkelman, pp. 22-24. And see the recent statement of Yehuda Galinsky (bolding is mine): “The end of the thirteenth century witnessed a discernable growth in the composition of glossed works in Ashkenaz. It was from this time onwards that authors penned influential talmudic and halakhic works from France and Germany with the intention that they be accompanied by a supplementary gloss, which was to be copied alongside the text […] Instead, we find stand-alone commentaries that were copied separately from the text it was interpreting. In contrast to the well-known layout of the printed Talmud page, the writings of Rashi and Tosafot were written and usually copied as stand-alone commentaries and not as actual glosses to be copied on the same page.” (Judah Galinsky, “The Original Layout of the Semak”, Diné Israel, Volume 37 (2023), pp. 1*-26*, pp. 1-2.) A commenter to Zivotofsky’s blogpost pointed out that there is a print edition that contains only the Talmud (with supplementary indexes). It was printed 25 years ago. Here’s bibliographic info according to the National Library of Israel catalog entry:

תלמוד בבלי: כולל כל המשנה והמסכתות הקטנות : נערכו, סודרו והודפסו מחדש בכרך אחד, עם חלוקה לפסקאות, איזכורים מהמקרא, מלווים בשבעה מפתחות בסגנון אנציקלופדי, כולל מפתח ערכים אלפבתי, בעריכת צבי ה‘ פרייזלר … הרב שמואל הבלין … הרב חנוך הבלין (1998).

As an aside, Finkelman states (p. 18) that “The earliest [Talmudic manuscripts] are Geniza fragments from the ninth century”. However, see Friedman, pp. 147-148, that the earliest Talmudic manuscript is a scroll that can be dated to the 7th century.
[9] Finkelman, pp. 25-28. See also the interesting point by Finkelman, p. 41 (based on Jordan Penkower), that Bomberg was also the one to establish the standard method of citation for Tanach in the Jewish world: “In his first Mikraot Gedolot, Bomberg made a significant addition by adding chapter numbers and (in the second edition) verse numbers, features with little Jewish precedent which were based on thirteenth-century Catholic developments.”
[10] See my recent “Guide to Online Resources for Scholarly Jewish Study and Research – 2022”, where I discuss many of the resources discussed in this piece with more breadth. There I also discuss many of the resources excluded from this review for the reasons enumerated further. Bar-Ilan Responsa Project’s Talmud is online, but is not open-access. Bar-Ilan Responsa Project’s Talmud is linked from Yeshiva.org.il’s Talmud pages, top right of page. (See on Yeshiva.org.il in a later footnote.) That version of Bar-Ilan Responsa Project’s Talmud has punctuation, but no nikud, and is not split into sections/paragraphs, and is inferior in every way than the editions discussed here.

For the same reason (not open-access), I have not reviewed any editions on Otzar HaHochma, or other digital libraries which require a subscription.
[11] Such as Vagshal, Oz VeHadar, Shas Vilna HeChadash, Gemara Sedura. See image here of layout of Gemara Sedura. (See Shimon Steinmetz’s interesting piece here on self-censorship in the Vagshal edition: “Vagshal’s revision of the history of the Vilna Talmud, or, One of the most egregious examples of censorship I have ever seen”.) The best completely static tzurat hadaf edition that I could find available online as open-access is the Moznaim edition, available at Daf-yomi and HebrewBooks. It is a PDF, simply re-typeset. There are also printed editions with punctuation, such as Steinsaltz-Koren; Oz VeHadar; and Tuvia’s. See these news articles from 2016 on Oz VeHadar’s (ongoing?) Talmud edition with nikud and punctuation: here and here. And see the National Library of Israel (=NLI) catalog entry here. See also the NLI catalog entry on Yosef Amar’s 1980 Talmud edition (17 vols.) with nikud based on Yemenite pronunciation, here. And see NLI catalog entries of Koren’s (ongoing?) Talmud edition with nikud and punctuation: Sanhedrin (2014) ; Bava Metzia (2015) ; Sukkah (2016) ; Bava Batra (2017) ; Kidushin (2018).
[12] So I won’t discuss the following: Kodesh.snunit ; Mechon Mamre ; Daf-yomi.com > “Text”. Daf-yomi.com’s “Chavruta commentary” and “tzurat hadaf” are indeed worthwhile. See previous note on Daf-yomi.com’s Moznaim tzurat hadaf edition. The Friedberg Project website Hachi Garsinan technically has a few digital editions of Talmud on their website, but they are all for the purpose of presenting the manuscript variants. So I won’t be reviewing that, since this piece is focused on layout and UX/UI, and in that regard, the edition is sub-par. (Again, this is not necessarily a critique, as this isn’t the point of those editions.) As I say further, in this piece I will not discuss the editions’ textual accuracy. For this reason, I also won’t discuss The Academy of the Hebrew Language’s Ma’agarim edition. Tashma.jewishoffice.co.il’s Talmud shows promise, but for now seems to be inferior in every way than the editions discussed here. The website Yeshiva.org.il (פרשני – ויקישיבה) has the Chavruta commentary of the Talmud. However, as mentioned, the original PDFs of Chavruta commentary are available on the Daf-yomi.com website, so in my opinion it’s clearly best to use that. There’s no advantage to the text version (except for the ability to copy-paste). Yeshiva.org.il’s Chavruta is fully editable, wiki-style. But I see that as a negative, as you don’t know what you’ll be getting.
[13] Such as Gemara Brura and The People’s Talmud. See more at R’ Josh Waxman’s blogpost, “Some excellent Talmud projects out there” (March 5, 2020).
[14] For example, Sefaria and Al-Hatorah have the Steinsaltz translation and commentary, and Wikisource has extensive links to other resources.
[15] Many of the textual elements of the Vilna-Romm edition have been superseded by better editions (though many are still incomplete). Some examples:

תלמוד: דקדוקי סופרים (השלם); הכי גרסינן

רש“י: מהדורות פרופ‘ אהרן אהרנד

תוספות ; תוספות ישנים; רבינו חננאל : מהדורות רב קוק

עין משפט: עינים למשפט של ר‘ יצחק אריאלי (כל שבעה כרכים זמינים בהיברובוקס, לדוגמא, כאן)

מסורת הש“ס: דקדוקי סופרים השלם; תלמוד האיגוד

רי“ף: מהדורת שבט

[16] For now, see Yakov Mayer in his recent ground-breaking book on the first edition of Talmud Yerushalmi (which was also printed by Bomberg’s press), who cites previous studies on typefaces used by Bomberg: Yakov Z. Mayer, Editio Princeps: The 1523 Venice Edition of the Palestinian Talmud and the Beginning of Hebrew Printing (2022, Hebrew).

See also the recent book by Simon Garfield, Just My Type: A Book About Fonts (2011 ) for a fascinating, well-written, popular overview of typesetting and fonts. On medieval handwriting styles of Hebrew, see the monumental 3-volume series, under Malachi Beit-Aryeh’s editorship (each area is a different volume):

מפעל הפליאוגראפיה העברית, אסופות כתבים עבריים מימי–הביניים (1987-2017)

On second temple era styles, see the various works by Ada Yardeni, especially:

עדה ירדני‘ ספר הכתב העברי: תולדות, יסודות, סגנונות, עיצוב (1991).

[17] It is unclear to me who first made these section splits. It’s a question I’d be quite interested in knowing the answer to.
[18] Links to all of parts of MM:

1. אקדמות למהדורה של התלמוד הבבלי – מסכת קידושין – מחברות מנחמיות

2. מסכת קידושין ב ע“א – יד ע“ב

3. מסכת קידושין יד ע“ב – כה ע“ב

4. מסכת קידושין כה ע“ב – כט ע“א

5. מסכת קידושין כט ע“א – מא ע“א

6. מסכת קידושין מא ע“א – נח ע“ב

7. מסכת קידושין נח ע“ב – סט ע“א

8. מסכת קידושין סט ע“א – פב ע“ב

Compare Katz’s similar work on Yerushalmi (which also includes textual variant apparatus, and short commentary, unlike his work on Bavli), available at his Academia.edu site: “פסחן ומצתן של נשים Women on Passover and Matzah”.
[19] I personally prefer this style (punctuation, without nikud). See my discussion later.
[20] Tractate Sukka, p. 2 (ב). Not to be confused with Gemara Sedura (no HaMeir). Currently available online: Tractate Sukka (2013, here) and Tractate Avoda Zara (2015, here). See more on the project here.
[21] From the latest volume available online:

נתנאל בעדני, סנהדרין פרק חמישי (תשע“ב), עמ‘ 4.

See more on the project here.
[22] See more on the project here.
[23] See also some of R’ Be’eri’s other editions, available on Da’at website, here and here. On R’ Be’eri, see the Hebrew Wikipedia entry on him: דן בארי – ויקיפדיה
[24] Screenshot of downloaded Word document.
[25] To explain: Even though everything in the Word doc can be customized, this isn’t built into the website. Any of the editions in this “Digital” section can be pasted into a Word document and customized.
[26] Notably, the text itself is actually an image, which makes copying it impossible.
[27] Dicta was started by Prof. Moshe Koppel of Bar-Ilan University. He has contributed to Seforim Blog.
[28] As of 15-Apr-23.
[29] See more on the project here.
[30] See more on the project here.
[31] Compare also, at length, Friedman, “Printing”, pp. 150-154 ; Shai Secunda, “Resources for the Critical Study of Rabbinic Literature in the Twenty-First Century” in Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum (CRINT) 16, Christine Hayes (ed.), (2022), pp. 621-632.
[32] On 15-Apr-23, at https://chat.openai.com/.
[33] I should point out that I did not have access to GPT-4, which is the latest version of GPT. So I could not test whether GPT-4 is more capable at interpreting Talmud. For a discussion of some sources of the Yeshivish dialect of English possibly used as datasets for training ChatGPT-4, see my “From the Shtetl to the Chatbot: Some contemporary sources of Yeshivish content, in light of ChatGPT-4”.
[34] For some preliminary algorithmic research on the Talmud, see, for example, Satlow M., Sperling M. (2017). “Naming Rabbis: A Digital List”; Satlow M., Sperling M. (2020), “The Rabbinic Citation Network”; Satlow M., Sperling M. (2020). “The Rabbinic citation network”, AJS Review ; Zhitomirsky-Geffet M., Prebor G. (2019), “SageBook: toward a cross-generational social network for the Jewish sages’ prosopography”, Digital Scholarship in the Humanities, 34(3), pp. 676–695 ; “A graph database of scholastic relationships in the Babylonian Talmud”, Digital Scholarship in the Humanities, Volume 36, Issue Supplement_2, October 2021, Pages ii277–ii289, https://doi.org/10.1093/llc/fqab015, Published: 22 February 2021. See also Shira Shmidman, “Self-Evident Questions and Their Role in Talmudic Dialectic”, AJS Review (2023), p. 128: “Recently, I analyzed talmudic questions (that open with the phrase baʿei or beʿah minei) and discovered that by charting the questions by the generation in which they were asked, one can identify chronological trends of question asking in the Babylonian Talmud.”
[35] See Sal Khan, “Harnessing GPT-4 so that all students benefit. A nonprofit approach for equal access”, Khan Academy Blog (March 14, 2023). See especially this description: “Khanmigo [=the AI tool] engages students in back-and-forth conversation peppered with questions. It’s like a virtual Socrates, guiding students through their educational journey. Like any great tutor, Khanmigo encourages productive struggle in a supportive and engaging way.” For fun, I asked ChatGPT for a clever name for an AI chavruta/Rebbe. It gave me ten options. One of them is a great one (ChavrutAI), while three of them were hilarious ( AIvrumi; AIsh Torah; RoboRabbi). RoboRabbi could provide many of the intellectual aspects of being a rabbi: psak, eitza, questions in learning, and divrei torah.
[36] With tools like ChatGPT (content), ElevenAI (voice), D-ID (video), one can create any style of shiur. See my “Heimish High-Tech: Video in Yeshivish dialect using Generative artificial intelligence”. For training sources for the Yeshivish dialect, see my article: “From the Shtetl to the Chatbot: Some contemporary sources of Yeshivish content, in light of ChatGPT-4”.
[37] Jaffe, The Relevance of Text Structure Strategy Instruction for Talmud Study: The Effects of Reading a Talmudic Passage with a Road-Map of its Text Structure (2015). See especially ibid. Appendix E (pp. 103-104).
[38] On visualizations, see also this article, and the bibliography cited there:

יעקב אמיד, “עיצוב ייצוגים גרפיים של דיון תלמודי: תחום דעת מתחדש בהכשרת מורים להוראת תלמוד“

See also the lengthy intro of Menachem Katz to his Mahberot Menahmiyot (discussed earlier), with relevant bibliography. One good existing resource for outlines and charts for Talmud is Daf Yomi Advancement Forum – Kollel Iyun HaDaf. See Josh Waxman, “Some excellent Talmud projects out there” (cited earlier), #2. A fascinating related project is that of R’ Dr. Michael Avraham on mapping out the logic of the Talmudic sugya, using the tools and notation of modern logic. See his massive series Studies in Talmudic Logic, currently at 15 volumes. Note the surprising claim made in the abstract of vol. 14 of the series (Andrew Schumann, ed., Philosophy and History of Talmudic Logic, bolding is mine): “The Talmud introduces a specific logical hermeneutics, completely different from the Ancient Greek logic. This hermeneutics first appeared within the Babylonian legal tradition established by the Sumerians and Akkadians to interpret the first legal codes in the world and to deduce trial decisions from the codes by logical inference rules. The purpose of this book is (i) to examine the Talmudic hermeneutics from the point of view of its meaning for contemporary philosophy and logic as well as (ii) to evaluate the genesis of Talmudic hermeneutics which began with the Sumerian/Akkadian legal tradition. The logical hermeneutics of the Talmud is a part of the Oral Torah that was well expressed by the Tannaim, the first Judaic commentators of the Bible, for inferring Judaic laws from the Holy Book.”
[39] My suggestion for breaking the tzurat hadaf into sections: the pilcrow (¶). On the pilcrow, see the entertaining popular book, Shady Characters: The Secret Life of Punctuation, Symbols, and Other Typographical Marks (2013) by Keith Houston, chapter 1. (Available from Amazon for free as a Kindle sample.)

The Porto family: Eminent Sages, Scholars, and Prolific Seventeenth Century Authors

by Marvin J. Heller[1]

Among the illustrious families that have contributed to and enriched Jewish culture and history is the Porto (Rapa) family, comprised of sages and authors over the centuries. Known for their scholarship and valuable works, they also served in rabbinic positions in various locations. Originally from Lublin, the family came to Italy via Germany, settling in Porto in the vicinity of Verona. The family name Rapa stems from the German (Rappe in Middle High German), for raven. Rappoport is a combination of the Rapa, with Porto, done to distinguish this branch of the family from other Rapa branches. The Italian branch, our subject, providing eminent rabbis who authored distinguished works and served in the rabbinate in several cities in Italy.[2]

This article addresses the lives and works of several eminent members of the Porto family in the seventeenth century, describing a number of their diverse works. Entries are arranged chronologically.[3] A small number of Porto (Rapa) titles precede the works addressed in this article, also printed elsewhere. Among them are Kol Simhah (Prostitz, 1602) by R. Simhah ben Gershon Kohen, of Porto Rapa, on Shabbat zemirot; several editions of the Yalkut Shimonei with marginal annotations attributed to R. Menahem ha-Kohen Porto (Venice, 1566, Cracow, 1595-96, and Frankfort on the Main, 1687).[4] R. Abraham Menahem ben Jacob ha-Kohen Rapa mi-Porto (Rapaport)’s works, that is, the Minhah Belulah and Zafenat Pane’ah, are, as noted elsewhere, not addressed in this article, as having been described independently.

1608 Moses ben Jehiel ha-Kohen Porto-Rafa (Rapaport) – Our first Porto family publication is a compilation of responsa by R. Moses ben Jehiel ha-Kohen Porto-Rafa (Rapaport, d. 1624) concerning the prohibition by rabbis of the use of the mikveh in Rovigo. Moses ben Jehiel served from 1602 as rabbi of Badia Polesine in Piedmont, and afterwards as rabbi of Rovigo.

The dispute, a cause célèbre, concerned a mikveh built in 1594 by R. Jekuthiel Consiglio, then rabbi in Rovigo, in his home. Unable to obtain spring water, Consiglio dug a well and drew water with a pail, a halakhicly invalid procedure, as a mikveh requires free-flowing not drawn water. To resolve the problem, Consiglio used a pail with holes large enough to negate its status as a vessel. The mikveh’s validity depended upon whether the water passing through the bucket with holes was considered either drawn or pumped, thereby invalidating the mikveh.

After ten years possession of the house passed to R. Avtaylon Consiglio, Jekuthiel Consiglio’s older brother.[5] Among the first to invalidate the mikveh Avtaylon Consiglio, who upon studying the matter, found his brother’s position too lenient, the holes in the pail being too small to justify the leniency. Jekuthiel, however, found support for the halakhic appropriateness of his mikveh from several prominent rabbis from Venice. The dispute was widespread, in Italy prominent rabbis, such as R. Ezra of Fano, R. Moses Menachem Rapo, and R. Moses Cohen Porto, as well as R. Moses Mordecai Margalioth of Cracow responded. The dispute even extended to Prague and Safed, Eretz Israel, the respondent in the latter location there including R. Israel Galante in Safed.[6]

1608, Palgei Mayyim
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

Three books are devoted to the subject of the Rovigo mikveh, namely Miḳveh Yisrael (Venice, 1607) by R. Judah ben Moses Saltero of Fano, Palgei Mayim (1608) by R. Moses ben Jehiel, both opposed to the mikveh, and Mashbit Milḥamot (Venice, 1606) by R. Isaac Gershon, this last in support of Jekuthiel Consiglio and his mikveh.

The title of interest to us is Moses ben Jehiel ha-Kohen Porto-Rafa (Rapaport)’s Palgei Mayim. It was, in manuscript, initially entitled Milhamot ha-Shem but was renamed. Palgei Mayim was published by Zoan (Giovanni) di Gara in quarto format (4⁰: 78,[38\, [2] ff.) in the month of Shevat שסח (368 = January-February 1608). The title-page, which has a pillared frame, informs that it is responsa from rabbis from both Italy and elsewhere. The title-page is followed by Moses ben Jehiel’s introduction in which he informs that he has entitled this work Palgei Mayim (“rivers of water,” var. cit.) for a river of knowledge of Torah goes out of Eden. Moses ben Jehiel’s purpose in writing Palgei Mayim was to”

To defend the sage who prohibits [the mikveh] and all of us who agree with him, for this is our sole intention: to divert slanderous remarks from him, and if we do not succeed in getting people to stay away from the mikveh as we wished to do, what matter? At least we will have saved our souls.

Next is a lengthy forward preceded by a head-piece with several figurines which reappears towards the end of the book as a tail-piece (below). The text begins with a responsum from Avtalyon Consiglio, followed by a responsum from R. Ben Zion Zarfati, continuing with additional responsa.

Palgei Mayim is a compilation of the responsa of the rabbis who prohibited the use of the mikveh, quoting twenty-eight opinions in support of Porto’s position, followed by Mish’an Mayim, which is a refutation of the rejoinder of the opposition. As noted above, Porto originally intended to entitle Palgei Mayim Milhamot Ha-Shem (Wars of the Lord, Numbers 21:14) but, as he writes, reconsidered doing so to avoid creating a more combative environment. A collateral effect of this and other disputes at this time, which involved numerous rabbis, according to Robert Bonfil, was to weaken the authority of the rabbis involved.[7]

This is the only edition of Palgei Mayim, R. Moses ben Jehiel ha-Kohen Porto-Rafa‘s (Rapaport) only published work. (Seforim Blog editor’s note: Palgei Mayim and the other works mentioned about the Rovigo mikveh controversy was recently reprinted by Mechon Zichron Aron in their two-volume set Geonei Padua (2014).

1627 R. Menahem Zion (Emanuel) Porto Kohen Rappa – Our next member of the Porto (Rapaport) family, R. Menahem Zion (Emanuel) Porto Kohen Rappa was born in Trieste towards the end of the sixteenth century, serving there as chief rabbi, subsequently holding a similar position in Padua, where he died in about 1660. A multifaceted individual, Menahem Zion (Emanuel) Porto, a mathematician and astronomer, authored a variety of books encompassing several fields. His works on those subjects were highly regarded. Indeed, he was praised for his works by Italian scholars such as the mathematician and astrologer Andrea Argoli; and by Tomaso Ercaloni and Benedetto Luzzatto for his sonnets. Menahem Zion was recommended, in 1641, by Gaspard Scüppius, editor of the Mercurius Quadralinguis, to the renowned Protestant Christian-Hebraist Johannes Buxtorf (the younger), with whom Porto later carried on an active correspondence.[8]

1627, Over la-Soher,
Courtesy of Virtual Judaica

Over la-Soher, a treatise on mathematics, is Menahem Zion’s primary, best known Hebrew title. It was published in 1627 as a quarto (4⁰: 22 ff.) at the press of Pietro, Aluise, and Lorenzo Bragadin. The title is from Abraham’s purchase of Machpelah from Ephron the Hittite, concluding, “money current among the merchants (over la-soher)” (Genesis 23:16). The title-page has a pillared frame and simply states that it is a sefer ha-mispar (book of numbers).

The verso of the title page has verse encouraging purchase of the book, beginning, “hasten to acquire Sefer ha-Mispar, look into it . . .,” followed by Porto’s introduction (2a-3a) in square letters, extolling the great benefit and practical value of the subject matter and mentioning predecessors, particularly R. Elijah Mizrahi’s (c. 1450–1526) Sefer ha-Mispar, a deep and difficult work. However, Porto, while being concise, has added to and made his book more accessible to the reader. Having dealt extensively with merchants, Menahem Zion has entitled this book Over la-Soher. Finally, Porto greatly praises his patron R. Abraham ben Mordecai Ottiniger. There is a second introduction (3a-b) from R. Gershom ben Kalonymous Hefez, a student of Porto, who was responsible for publishing Over la-Soher.

The text follows in a single column in rabbinic type. Over la-Soher is divided into twelve chapters, dealing with practical arithmetic, multiplication, divisions and fractions. Numerous examples are given in Hebrew rather than Arabic numerals. This is the only edition of Over la-Soher.

Porto’s Italian works include Porto Astronomico (Padua, 1636); Breve Istituzione della Geographia (Padua, 1636); and Diplomologia, Qua Duo Scripturæ Miracula de Regressu Solis Tempore Hiskiæ et Ejus Immobilitate Tempore Josuæ Declarantur (Padua, 1643) reportedly translated into Hebrew by Porto and into Latin by Lorenzo Dalnaki.[9] Diplomologia, Qua Duo Scripturæ is dedicated to the emperor Ferdinand III. Originally written in Italian, it was translated by the author himself into Hebrew, who then sent it to Lorenzo Dalnaki of Transylvania who translated it into Latin.

Porto Astronomico di Emanuel Porto Rabbi Hebreo di Trieste (Padua, 1636), [10] is dedicated to Count Benvenuto Petazzo. In contrast to the favorable comments noted above, Cecil Roth is dismissive of this work, writing “The Porto Astronomico . . . is unimportant save as a curiosity.” Concerning Menahem Zion’s other books, Roth includes them in the category of “popularizing works” which “were published and seem to have achieved a measure of success.”[11]

1636, Porto Astronomico
Courtesy of Google Books

1628 Abraham ben Jehiel ha-Kohen Porto – A scholar of distinction, R. Abraham ben Jehiel ha-Kohen Porto, was active at the beginning of the seventeenth century. He resided in Cremona and Mantua, and afterwards in Verona. He studied under relatives and appears to have served as rabbi in Verona. Abraham Porto was the author of several works, most notably Havvot Ya’ir, rabbinic epigrams as well as several other works, still extant in manuscript.

Havvot Ya’ir, an alphabetical collection of Hebrew words with their cabalistic explanations, was published in 1628 in Venice at the Bragadin press by Pietro, Aluise, and Lorenzo Bragadin in quarto format (4⁰: 40 ff.). The title-page is dated in a straightforward manner, as שפח (388 = 1688), but the chronogram in verse at the end of the book provides a completion date of Rosh Hodesh Sivan [5]388 (Friday, June 2, 1628). The text is enclosed by a pillared architectural frame and states that it is an appetizer based on the sayings of our sages “‘His speech shall flow as the dew’ (cf. Deuteronomy 32:2) for from one word shall come forth, flourish, and shine many words for the honor of ‘the desirable of the young men” (cf. Ezekiel 23:6, 12, 23) such as R. Samuel Hayyim Bassan of Verona, a student of R. Samuel Meldola.”

There is a dedication to “the desirable of the young men,” R. Samuel Hayyim ben Mordecai Bassan of Verona (2a) which concludes with lines of verse. Abraham Menahem’s introduction follows, in which he gives two further reasons for entitling the book Havvot Ya’ir. Firstly, as the villages provide provision for the large cities (Megillah 2b) so this small work will much illuminate and enthuse great rabbis to remember and briefly speak the words of our sages. Also, as one that does not have children, so is his “soul abased and languishes, this is my generations before the Lord.”[12] Abraham Menahem writes that the book is called,

Havvot Ya’ir to enlighten להאיר and to inflame the hearts of choice students such as yourself (Bassan) in the way of our sages, as to why the Torah is called “Etz Hayyim (tree of life)”, (Proverbs 3:18, 11:30, 15:4), for as the small trees ignite the larger ones so too my friend, the young ignite and inflame the hearts of those who are older, “He will magnify the Torah, and make it glorious” (Isaiah 42:21).

1628, Havvot Ya’ir, Venice
Courtesy of Virtual Judaica

There is an approbation from R. Judah Aryeh (Leone) Modena, R. Simhah Luzatto, and R. Nehemiah ben Leib Sarival. The text, assembled from the beginnings of his speeches, follows in a single column in rabbinic type.

Example of entries, which are arranged alphabetically, are כ kaf: beginning karpas, yahaz כרפס יחץ, the initial letters are כי for “For כי, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the people, but the Lord shall arise upon you” (Isaiah 60:2). The Patriarchs are an omen for their offspring. Jacob “divided ויחץ the children” Genesis 33:1). צ Tzadi:צחק “God has made me laugh “ (Genesis 21:6), and according to R. Pollack, Sarah said that she trusts that her offspring will be Talmudic scholars who will be experts in צ zizit and the ties of tefillin. This is the only edition of Abraham ben Jehiel Porto’s Havvot Ya’ir.

Among Abraham ben Jehiel ha-Kohen Porto’s other works are Gat Rimmon, a book of verse; Shimmush Avraham, a commentary on the Torah (below); and Hasdei David on the Psalms, all unpublished. He also wrote responsa, several published in the responsa of his contemporaries. Abraham’s brother was R. Moses ben Jehiel Porto-Rafa (Rapoport, d. 1624), and our Abraham also edited and printed the Minḥah Belulah (Verona, 1594) of R. Abraham Menahem ben Jacob ha-Kohen Rapa mi-Porto (Rapaport), a kinsman.

Shimush Avraham
Courtesy of the Russian State Library

1675 Zechariah ben Ephraim Porto: – This Porto, a seventeenth century Italian scholar, was noted for his learning and still more for his other virtues. A native, resident of Urbino, R. Zechariah ben Ephraim Porto (d. 1672) also resided in Florence and Rome, where, in the latter location, he officiated as rabbi, although he modestly refused to assume that title. Zechariah ben Ephraim was also a philanthropist; in his will, Zechariah Porto, who was childless, left all of his wealth for communal bequests for Talmud Torahs, dowries, and support of communities in Eretz Israel. His extensive library was dedicated to the Talmud Torah in Rome.

Zechariah Porto was the author of Asaf ha-Mazkir, a work containing a list of all the explanations and comments found in the Ein Ya’aḳov, R. Jacob ben Solomon ibn Habib’s popular and much reprinted collection of the aggadic passages of the Talmud. Zechariah Porto would not publish his book; it was printed after his death by the Roman community (Venice, 1688; according to Zedner, 1675).[13]

The title-page of Asaf ha-Mazkir has images of Moses and Aaron on the sides, cherubim above holding the tablets with the ten commandments, and at the bottom additional imagery. It is dated with the chronogram “It is ‘Asaph the recorder (Asaf ha-Mazkir) אסף המזכיר’ הוא (435 = 1675)” (II Kings 18:18, 37; Isaiah 36: 3, 22). Asaf ha-Mazkir was printed at the Bragadin press by Domenico Vedelago in quarto format (4⁰: [4], 400 ff.).

The title page of Asaf ha-Mazkir has the Bragadin frame with Moses and Aaron, and a brief text that simply states Porto’s name and that it is being published for the public good.[14] It is dated, “He is ‘Asaph the recorder’ אסף המזכיר הוא (435 = 1675)” (II Kings 18:18, 37, Isaiah 36:3, 22). The colophon dates conclusion of the work to Tuesday, 13 Adar, “relief and deliverance arise to the Jews from another place ממקום אחר (435 = March 11, 1675)” (Esther 4:14), which in fact was a Monday that year.

1675, Asaf ha-Mazkir
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

The title page is followed by the introduction of the Talmud Torah, which praises Porto’s piety, charity, and many other fine qualities; verse, also praising Porto and his work, beginning, “The wage of the righteous” (Proverbs 10:16, 18:11); and the introduction of R. Moses ben Jacob Levi from Vienna, the editor. He writes in the same vein, but adds that he should not be held responsible for errors for work was done on Shabbat by gentiles which could not be corrected.[15] He too concludes with verse. Next is the Italian Noi Reformatori dello Studio di Padoa, dated 11. Marzo 1675 and signed Gio: Battista Nicolosi Segret.

1675, Asaf ha-Mazkir
Courtesy of the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak

The text of Asaf ha-Mazkir is set in two columns, headers and text from the Ein Ya’akov in square letters, sources in rabbinic type. Tractate names are in a decorative frame, chapters in bold letters. Entries consist of the statement in the Ein Ya’akov, followed by sources addressing those statements. An example of an entry is the last chapter of Kiddushin 82a,

One should always teach his son a clean and easy trade, etc.

Lehem Shelomo no. 366 109 f. amud a.

Tosfot Yom Tov ch. 4 195 f. amud b

This is the only independent edition of Asaf ha-Mazkir, Zechariah ben Ephraim Porto’s only published work. It was included in later editions of the Ein Ya’akov, beginning with the Amsterdam (1725-26) edition. As Eli Genauer noted, “It was included in later editions of the Ein Ya’akov, beginning with the Amsterdam (1725-26) edition.)  An example of something like this is Chochmas Shlomo which was printed a few times and then never again because it made it to the back of the Vilna Shas underneath the Maharsha. So even though it was only published independently three times, it was published dozens of times onward by being in the back of the Vilna Shas.”

1619 Allegro Porto – The most unusual entry in our collection of seventeenth century Porto imprints is Allegro Porto’s Nuevo Musiche, a collection of secular madrigals. This, our last Porto entry, is not in our chronological order, nor is it part of our description of the Hebrew works by members of the Porto family. It is included, however, assuming that Allegro Porto was a member of the extended Porto family, in order to show the great diversity and productivity, even outside of our subject area of Hebrew imprints, of the family’s accomplishments.

A madrigal is an elaborate multi-part song for several voices, without instrumental accompaniment. It is a genre popular in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Allegro Porto published Nuevo Musiche in 1619, followed by two collections of madrigals in 1622 and 1625, one lacking a title-page.[16] Shlomo Simonsohn credits Allegro (Simha) Porto with four collections of songs, but enumerates three only, all printed in Venice, Nuove Musiche, (1619), Madrigali a cinque voci (1625), and Madrigali a tre voci, libro primo (1619).[17]

Cecil Roth informs that although singers and instrumentalists were active elsewhere in Italy, it was in Mantua only that there was a “sequence of Jewish composers who published their works.” Among them was Allegro Porto whom Roth describes as prolific. His writings, according to Roth, also include four works, two collections of madrigals for five verses being published in 1625, one being dedicated to the Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand II, the daughter of the Duke of Mantua being his empress, Simonsohnn describes her, Eleanora Gonzaga, as the sister of the Dukes Francesco II, Ferdinando and Vincenzo II. Among Porto’s madrigals was a collection in the new style (Nuevo Musiche, 1619), this dedicated to Count Alfonso de Porzia, chamberlain to the Duke of Bavaria. Another collection of Porto’s madrigals, this for three voices “‘with some arias and a romanesque dialogue’ (the first part alone is recorded, but perhaps there were others), published first in 1619, was reissued in the nineteenth century.[18]

No image accompanies this entry, in comparison to the other book descriptions; it was not possible to find an image of Porto’s Nuevo Musiche. The reason is its great rarity, for as Roth explains “Musical publications of this age are prodigiously rare, many surviving in only a single copy – others perhaps were less fortunate, so that to state dogmatically that certain compositions were unpublished is hazardous.” He notes that in the famed musical collection of King João of Portugal, assembled in the late eighteenth century, destroyed in the Lisbon earthquake of 1755, were four works by Allegro Porto.

Finale: the Porto family in the seventeenth centuries: – The various branches and members of the Porto family in the seventeenth century provided the Jewish communities of Italy, and by extension, world Jewry, with several distinguished rabbis and authors, their diverse works encompassing Torah commentary, responsa, mathematics, astronomy, kabbalistic linguistics, Aggadah, and even musical compositions. Their books, despite their value, were, with exception, published once only, in single editions. Given that these works are viewed positively, it is unfortunate that they were not republished or are not better known. Perchance, the very diversity of these Porto publications, represent the eclectic views of Renaissance Italy. They are a rich contribution to Jewish literature, representing the contributions of the seventeenth Porto family to the Jewish society of that period and to our times as well.

[1] I would like to express my appreciation to Eli Genauer for reading the article and his several comments, in particular for his observation on the editions of Asaf ha-Mazkir.
[2] This is a companion article to a previous article on a single distinguished Porto, R. Abraham Menahem ben Jacob ha-Kohen Rapa mi-Porto (Rapaport) and his works, the Minhah Belulah and Zafenat Pane’ah. Concerning that article see Marvin J. Heller, “Abraham Menahem ben Jacob ha-Kohen Rapa mi-Porto (Rapaport) Ashkenazi: A Renaissance Rabbi of interest” Seforim.blogspot.com (March 17, 2021).
[3] Several of the background descriptions of Porto family are from Richard Gottheil, Isaac Broydé, and Ismar Elbogen, “Porto,” Jewish Encyclopedia X (1901-06), pp. 133-34 and Shimon Vanunu, Encyclopedia le-Hachmah Italia (Jerusalem, 2018), var. cit.
[4] The Yalkut Shimoni entries are from the book descriptions in the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak library catalogue.
[5] Shmuel Glick, Kuntress ha-Teshuvot he-Hadash: A Bibliographic Thesaurus of Responsa Literature published from ca. 1470-2000 (Jerusalem & Ramat Gan, 2006-07) II, pp. 839-40 no. 2982 [Hebrew].
[6] A. M. Habermann, Giovanni Di Gara: Printer, Venice 1564-1610. ed. Y. Yudlov (Jerusalem, 1982), pp. 123-25 no. 257 [Hebrew]; Carmilly-Weinberger, Censorship and Freedom of Expression in Jewish History, pp. 160-61; Avraham Yaari, Unknown Documents concerning the dispute in Rovigo,” Studies in Hebrew Booklore (Jerusalem, 1959), pp. 420-29 [Hebrew].
[7] Robert Bonfil, Rabbis and Jewish Communities in Renaissance Italy, translated by Jonathan Chipman (London, Washington, 1993), pp. 107-08.
[8] Gottheil, Broydé, Elbogen, op. cit.
[9] Giovanni Bernardo De Rossi,. Dictionary of Hebrew Authors (Dizionario Storico degli Autori Ebrei e delle Loro Opere), ed. Marvin J. Heller, (Lewiston, 1999), p. 157
[10] Cecil Roth, The Jews in the Renaissance (New York, 1959), pp. 235-36; Meyer Waxman, A History of Jewish Literature: From the Twelfth Century to the Middle of the Eighteenth Century II (New York, 1933, reprint 1960), p. 487.
[11] Cecil Roth, op cit, p. 236.
[12] Meir Benayahu, “The Caleon Press” Asufot XIII (Jerusalem, 2001), pp. 194-95 [Hebrew].
[13]  Ḥananel Nepi, Mordecai Samuel Ghirondi, Toledot Gedolei Yisrael (Trieste, 1853), p. 99 [Hebrew]; Joseph Zedner, Catalogue of the Hebrew books in the library of the British Museum (London, 1867), p. 788.
[14] Concerning the appearance of Moses and Aaron on the title-pages of Hebrew books see Dan Rabinowitz, “Aaron the Jewish Bishop,” ” Seforim.blogspot.com April 12, 2016).
[15] Concerning work done on Shabbat see Marvin J. Heller, “And the Work, the Work of Heaven, was Performed on Shabbat,” The Torah u-Maddah Journal 11 (New York, 2002-03), pp. 174-85, reprinted in Studies in the Making of the Early Hebrew Book (Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2008), pp. 266-77.
[16] Willi Apel, Harvard Dictionary of Music (Cambridge, 1969), p. 446.
[17] Shlomo Simonsohn, History of the Jews in the Duchy of Mantua (Jerusalem, 1977), p. 676.
[18] Cecil Roth, The Jews in the Renaissance (1959, reprint New York, 1965), pp. 286-87.

The Longest Masechta is …

By Ari Z. Zivotofsky

As Jews, we are often intrigued with trivia about our holy books, and the more esoteric and harder to verify, the better. An example of such trivia is the longest masechta in shas. While it is relatively easy to verify that the longest masechta in terms of pages in the Vilna Shas is Bava Batra, with 176 pages,[1] until modern times it was much more difficult to determine which is the largest masechta in terms of words or characters. Once something is difficult to measure, rumors abound, and this topic is no different. To cite just three examples. Meorot haDaf Yomi on 23 Shvat 5770 (vol. 559), stated (in Hebrew) that if not for the lengthy commentary of Rashbam, Bava Batra would have considerably fewer pages and that the Gra had said that really the longest masechta in terms of words is Berachot, although it is only 64 pages. Rabbi Yaakov Klass in the Jewish Press (20 Tammuz 5777 / July 13, 2017) wrote: “as the Vilna Gaon observes, Berachos is actually the longest tractate”. Rabbi Aaron Perry in his “The Complete Idiot’s Guide to the Talmud” (2004) states in a section “the least you need to know” (p. 57): “Brachot (Blessings) is the longest tractate in words”.

As often happens with urban legends. once an assertion is accepted as “fact”, it is then claimed to have been verified. In the journal Ohr Torah (Sivan 5766 [465], p. 719) the claim is made that a computer check was performed and it was found that the largest masechet based on words is Berachot. But alas, it ain’t so and in the next issue of Ohr Hatorah (Tammuz 5766, p. 784) the error was pointed out.

In actuality, and before presenting the results from a computer count, it is worth noting that ambiguity regarding sizes of masechtot only arose when commentaries began to be put on the same page as the text of the gemara. In other words, until the era of the printing press there was no ambiguity as to which masechta was the longest. Prof. Yaakov Shmuel Spiegel (Amudim B’toldot ha’Sefer ha’Ivri: Hagahot u’magihim [Chapters in the History of the Jewish Book: Scholars and Annotations], 2005, 105-106) credits Prof. Shlomo Zalman Havlin in his monumental “Talmud” entry in the Encyclopedia HaIvrit with the idea that the relative size of tractates can be determined based on the number of pages they occupy in the Munich manuscript. This unique manuscript, completed in 1342, was transcribed by one individual and had the entire Bavli in one 577 page volume. Simply comparing the number of pages of the various tractates provides the relative length in terms of characters/words. This ranking may be more accurate that a computer count of the words or letters as the single author may have been more consistent in terms of abbreviations and other factors that can influence the count.

Using the Munich ms, the rank ordering is similar, but not identical to that obtained from a computer count, although in all cases it is clear that Berachot is far from the largest. Using the Munich ms, the top five (with number of pages) are:

Shabbat (55.5)
Hullin (51)
Yevamot (47)
Sanhedrin (45.5)
Bava Kamma (45)

…..

Berachot (36) is number 11.

A similar system can be used to estimate the size of masechtot using the monumental one-volume shas edited by Zvi Preisler (Ketuvim Publishers, Jerusalem, 1998). It is straight text of Talmud with no commentaries of Rashi or Tosafot and is a uniform font. References to biblical verses are included and thus sections with more aggadatah might appear slightly longer. The text is arranged in three columns per page. Counting pages in this volume, the longest mesechtot (and number of pages) are:

Shabbat (77⅓)
Sanhedrin (66⅓)
Hullin (58⅙)
Bava Batra (56½)
Pesachim (55⅓)
Yevamot (55⅙)

…..

Berachot (47⅓ pages)

The simplest way to answer this question today is with a computer count of the number of words. Using the Bar Ilan Responsa project for this, the number of words in all of shas is about 1.865 million. And the 5 largest tractates are:

Shabbat (118k)
Sanhedrin (107k)
Hullin (90k)
Bava Batra (89k)
Bava Metzia (86.5k)

……

Berachot (73k) is in 11^th place

The 5 smallest tractates are Chagigah (19k), Makot (18k), Horayoat (13k), Me’ilah 8k), and Tamid (5k). Other computerized calculations yield slightly different counts, but they do not significantly alter the rankings.

So why might one have been (mis)led to think that Berachot is the largest? It is easy to understand because Berachot does indeed win the prize in one category – words/daf. Berachot is king, with over 1115 words/daf. The next 5 are: Krisos (975), Horayot (972), Megilla (934), Sanhedrin (932 – the last perek probably plays a big role in raising this number!), Taanit (890). What might interest some daf yomi learners are the bottom 5, and those are (from bottom up): Nedarim (383), Meilah (384), Nazir (431), Baba Batra (509), Tamid (512).

The rumor is that the Gra stated that Berachot is the longest tractate, and it is hard to abandon such a tradition. A noble effort was recently made to vindicate that tradition. The book Mitzvah V’oseh (Shmuel David Hakohen Friedman, 2015, ch. 44, p. 564) quotes the famous statement that the Gra said Berachot is the longest in words, corrects this by pointing out that Shabbat is longer, and then gives a clever reinterpretation – the Gra was referring to Yerushalmi. And in the Yerushalmi, the author avers, Berachot is indeed the longest tractate by words. In a collection[1] of “trivia” that Rav Chaim Kanievsky was wont to discuss with his grandchildren, it is quoted that he said Berachot is the longest mesechta in Yerushalmi. That assertion is indeed much closer to being accurate but is still not correct.

In the Bar Ilan responsa project there are two versions of the Yerushalmi, the Vilna edition with almost 795k words and the Venice edition with almost 815k words, both considerably shorter than the Bavli.

In the Vilna edition of the Yerushalmi, the four largest tractates with their word count are:

Shabbat (47,685)
Yevamot (44,369)
Sanhedrin (40,008)
Berachot (39,478).

Using the Venice edition, the top four are:

Shabbat (49,161)
Yevamot (45,293)
Berachot (41,030)
Sanhedrin (41,004)

In the Yerushalmi too, one can use the monumental one-volume Yerushalmi edited by Zvi Preisler (Ketuvim Publishers, Jerusalem, 2006) to estimate the size of masechtot. Counting pages in this volume, the longest masechtot (and number of pages) are: Shabbat (37) and Yevamot (32 ⅔). This is followed by Brachot (30), Sanhedrin (29 7/9) and Pesachim (26 ⅔).

While these numbers are clearly influenced by many extrinsic factors such as which ms text used, abbreviations opened or closed, etc, they demonstrate that although Berachot is much closer to being the largest tractate in the Yerushalmi than it is in the Bavli, it is still behind the unquestioned largest in Bavli and Yerushalmi, Shabbat, and behind Yevamot.

Did the Gra actually make such a statement about what is the largest tractate in shas? There are no early records of it and I have not been able to find any mention of such a claim earlier than the late 20^th century. Irrespective, the rumor that he stated that Berachot is the largest is fairly “common knowledge”. Yet it is clear using both counting ms pages and computer tabulated results, Berachot is far from being the largest in either the Bavli or Yerushalmi. Berachot does have one claim to fame in regard to size; it is by far the most words/pages.

Special Italian Haftarah for the “Shabbat Kallah”[1]

By Eli Duker

Many communities in Europe and beyond had the practice of reciting a special haftarah from Isaiah 61–62 in honor of a groom on the Shabbat following the wedding.[2] Ashkenazi communities began the haftarah with 61:10 and read until 63:9,[3] which is also the 7th of the haftarot of consolation, which is which was read in most communities on the Sabbath before Rosh Hashanah, and in some others on the Shabbat between Yom Kippur and Sukkot in the event that there was one in a given year.[4]

As the practice to read the seven haftarot of consolation was universal outside in Italy in the late Medieval period, humashim and haftarah books had no reason to cite this practice, as the special haftarah for a groom was read during the calendrical cycle, and was in any event included in the humash for that purpose.

Italy is the exception. The practice in Italy was, and is, not to read special haftarot for the entire three-week period before Tisha B’Av or on the seven Shabbatot between Tisha B’Av and Rosh Hashanah.[5] Rather, a special haftarah is read on the Sabbath before Tisha B’Av and haftarot of consolation are read on the three remaining Sabbaths of the month of Av. The normal haftarah for Pinhas, a rarity in most communities, is read in Italy every year. Matot, Masei, Shoftim, Ki Tetze, Ki Tavo, and Nitzavim all have their own haftarot, which are found in the Cairo Geniza, Siddur R’ Shelomo B’Rabbi Nattan,[6] and in the list of haftarot in the Seder Tefillot of the Rambam.

The result is that in Italy, the haftarah from Isaiah is read only in honor of a groom. Out of the twenty-five Italian humashim and haftarah books in manuscript that I checked, the haftarah for the groom appears in twenty-three of them.[7] Out of the remaining two, one is missing pages at the end and likely had it in the original.

All twenty-three manuscripts have Isaiah 61:9 as the start of the haftarah. In all manuscripts besides one, the haftarah ends at 62:9, which is similar to the practice today in Italian communities, while in one manuscript it ends at 62:12.

One manuscript sticks out: Paris, National Library of France, Ms. hebr. 102. This is a book of haftarot and all of Ketuvim that was copied by Aryeh ben Eliezer Halfon for Rafael ben Yitzhak Malmassa of Voghera in northern Italy and completed on the 11th of Marheshvan 5242 (corresponding to October 4, 1481 in the Julian calendar).

The haftarot are similar to other manuscripts that follow the Italian rite (Jeremiah 1:1–19 for Shemot, Isaiah 18:7–19:24 for Bo, regular haftarot for the two weeks following the fast of 17 Tammuz and for the month of Elul, and the haftarah for the Sabbath of Hol Hamo’ed Sukkot is Ezekiel 38:1–23). There are slight differences concerning the haftarot for the parshiyot of Mishpatim,[8] Vayikra,[9] Tzav,[10] and Metzora.[11]

Interestingly, there is a note before the groom’s haftarah that reads, L’Shabbat Lifnei Hilula, indicating that the haftarah was read not during the “Sheva Brachot” week following the wedding, but before the wedding.[12]

What is unique is yet another nuptial haftarah. Afterward, a haftarah from Isaiah 60:1–19 appears, which is the same haftarah read in non-Italian communities on the sixth Sabbath of consolation, on the Sabbath of Parashat Ki Tavo. Beforehand there a note that reads “Lifnei HaKallah Koddem Hakiddushin.” Although there is no mention of the Sabbath here, the verse from Isaiah 47:4 appears at the end, which according to the practice in Italy was read after the reading of every haftarah. It is therefore clear that it is a haftarah, and highly unlikely that it was read on a weekday.

Evidently, two haftarot were read in honor of the nuptials, one before the “kiddushin” and the other before the “hilula,” as it is highly unlikely that the copyist here used two different phrases for the same event. Moreover, it does not seem likely that the marrying couple were in different synagogues on the Sabbath before the wedding, as towns generally had only one, and travel between different places took time.

The reason for the two haftarot has to do with yet another unique Italian practice. R’ Yosef Colon cites the practice of the native Italian Jews to perform an initial kiddushin privately in front of two witnesses “because they fear witchcraft.”[13] Later, at the nissuin, the kiddushin was performed again in the presence of a quorum of ten men.[14] This seems to be what the word hilula here means (the celebaration of the Nessuin along with the second Kiddushin) Presumably, the reason why Isaiah 60 was chosen to be read before the bride prior to the kiddushin is either that the haftarah addresses Jerusalem in the feminine form. Alternatively, we can suggest that the kiddushin, unlike nissuin, primarily affects the bride, as she is now forbidden as a married woman to all beside her betrothed husband while they would continue to live apart, with the mutual obligations of married life coming into place only after the nissuin, which was created by the “Hillula.

Bibliography

Genizah Fragments (All Cambridge TS B)

14.2, 14.65, 14.74 14.90, 14.105 14.119 16.5, 16.9, 20.1, 20.3, 20.4, 20.5, 20.6, 20.8, ,20.9 20.11

Manuscripts

Library of the Alliance Israélite Universelle, Paris, France Ms. 11

The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford, Oxford, England Ms. Can. Or. 75 Borja Library, Sant Cugat del Vallès, Spain Ms. C-I-1

Casanatense Library, Rome, Italy Ms. 2898

Casanatense Library, Rome, Italy Ms. 2919

The British Library, London, England Add. 4709

The British Library, London, England Harley 7621

The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, New York, NY, USA Ms. 571 The National Library of France, Paris, France Ms. hebr. 42

The National Library of France, Paris, France Ms. hebr. 50

The National Library of France, Paris, France Ms. hebr. 102

The National Library of France, Paris, France Ms. hebr. 104

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm. 1840

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm. 2015

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm. 2024

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm. 2127

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm. 2169

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2171

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2538

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2171

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2538

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2690

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2822

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2856

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2894

Trinity College Library, Cambridge, England Ms. F 12 107

Vatican Library, Vatican City, Vatican City State Ms. Ross. 478

Printed Books

(חמשה חומשי תורה. (תק“ב מנטובה

מהרי”ל. מנהגים (תשמ”ט ירושלים: מכון ירושלים)

משנה תורה לרמב”ם–יד החזקה. (תשל”ד ירושלים)

סידור רבינו שלמה ברבי נתן הסיג’ילמסי. ערוך ומתרגם מערבית. שמואל חגי. (תשנ”ה ירושלים)

פיוטי ר’ יהודה בירבי בנימן / יוצאים לאור בצירוף מבוא, חילופי נוסח וביאורים בידי שולמית אליצור. (תשמ”ט ירושלים: מקיצי נרדמים)

שו”ת מהרי”ק. (תש”ל ירושלים)

אנצקלופדיה תלמודית–כרך עשירי. (תשנ”ב ירושלים: מכון האנציקלופדיה התלמודית)

 ברית כהונה. משה הכהן. (תש”א ג’רבא)

נישואין נוסח איטליה: על יהודי איטליה בראשות העת החדשה. ויינשטיין, ר. (תשס”ז)

עולם כמנהגו נוהג: פרקים בתולדות המנהגים הלכותיהם וגלגוליהם. יצחק (אריק) זימר. (תשע“ט ירושלים: מרכז זלמן שזר לחקר תולדות העם היהודי)

(סדר קידושין אחרי חתימת התלמוד: מחקר היסטורי דוגמתי בתולדות ישראל. פרימן, א. (תשכ”הירושלים: מוסד הרב קוק

Weinstein, R. (2004) Marriage Rituals Italian Style: A Historical Anthropological Perspective on Early Modern Italian Jews. Leiden: Brill.

Notes

[1] This article is written in honor of the upcoming wedding of my niece Chana Duker to Aryeh Mateh and in order to show the boundless gratitude I have to Chana and the entire family of my brother and sister-in-law R. Yehoshua and Shayna Duker for the devotion and loving care of our beloved Bubby Selma A”H in her last year. I would like to further thank my brother R. Yehoshua for editing this article, as well as R. Elli Fischer, Dr. Gabriel Wasserman, R. Prof. Jeffrey Woolf, Dr. Ezra Chwat and the staff of the National Library of Israel for their assistance.
[2] See S. Elitzur’s introduction to “Piyyutei R’ Yehudah Biribi Binyamin” p. 60, regarding the haftarah apparently appearing in piyyut of R’ Yehudah, who (according to Elitzur pp. 72–77) lived in the east (most likely Bavel) sometime between the mid-9th century and the end of the 10^th century. ³ For a discussion of the medieval Ashkenazi practices concerning this haftarah and its relative importance in Western vs Eastern Ashkenaz, see E. Zimmer “Society and Its Customs” (Hebrew) vol. 2. pp. 273–280. The haftarah was read, along with the various piyyutim recited, on the Sabbath following the wedding. This is more reasonable, as that is during the period of the celebration mandated by the Talmud, while beforehand is prior to the kiddushin (outside of Italy, as will be discussed later on), making liturgical changes unlikely. The manuscript presented here is a clear exception to this.

The reading of the groom’s haftarah on the Sabbath following the wedding is explicit in the Maharil (Minhagim: Four Parshiot 7, p. 417), where it is stated that if wedding takes place during the week of Shabbat Shirah, one reads the normal haftarah.
[4] See Talmudic Encyclopedia (Hebrew) Vol X., p. 22 and footnote 367–378א.
[5] Unlike the Nusah Hatefillah, where Italian Jewry retained more of the nusah of Eretz Yisrael, when it comes to haftarot they are more in line with the haftarot listed in the Babylonian Genizah fragments than any other community. Outside of the four special haftarot that they read between Devarim and Re’eh, the only non Babylonian Haftarah they read is for Shemot, when they read from Jeremiah, as opposed to the original Ezekiel 16.
[6] Pp. 201-202
[7] This haftarah, with the length according the standard Italian rite (Isaiah 61:9-62:10), is cited in the Mantua humash from 1742.
[8] The haftarah finishes at the end of Jeremiah 34, while in the standard Italian rite it continues until 35:11. The shorter haftarah also appears in Ms. Paris BN 42.
[9] The haftarah is Isaiah 43:6–44:23, similar to most other communities today. In other Mss. and printed humashim with the Italian rite, the haftarah ends at 44:6, which is the ending of the haftarah in most Genizah fragments I have seen, as well in the Seder HaTefillot that appears in the Rambam and is the practice in Yemenite communities. Talmudic Encyclopedia (vol.10, pp. 447–448) cites Brit Kehuna, which claims that the Djerban practice is to read this as well, but in Brit Kehuna (p. 33) the standard haftarah until 44:23 is brought.
[10] The main part of the haftarah concludes at 7:31 and then continues with 9:22–23. I have found this haftarah in eight Sephardic humashim in manuscript. It also appears in the Mahzor Vitry, and I have found it in over forty Ashkenazi humashim and haftarah books in manuscript. In other manuscripts and humashim with the Italian rite, the haftarah is from Jeremiah 7:21–28 and then continues at 10:6–7.
[11] The haftarah begins at Kings II 7:1 (similar to other humashim and haftarah books in the Italian rite), and finishes at 8:2 (probably in order to avoid concluding with the death of the official at the conclusion of chapter 7). This haftarah appears in the Ashkenazi Ms. Parma 2005. The standard Italian haftarah (found in all other manuscripts I have seen) skips from the end of chapter 7 and ends with 13:23. This is the haftarah in the Seder HaTefillot in the Rambam and in most Geniza fragments that I have seen.
[12] The earliest mention of a celebration on the Sabbath prior to the wedding is in Maharil (Hilchot Shiva Asar BeTammuz VeTisha B’Av), concerning the possible suspension of the practice to refrain from wearing Sabbath clothing on the Sabbath before Tisha B’Av for a groom and his father due to the “Shpinholz” celebration the Sabbath before the wedding.
[13] Translation from R. Weinstein, “Marriage Ritual Italian Style” p. 163. His translation of the following words are “I am told they then repeat the ceremony in the presence of ten people and in company, and then recite the engagement blessing [again]. I believe that the words “I am told” are part of the previous sentence (regarding the initial kiddushin) as Maharik, as a rabbi and rosh yeshiva in the French/Ashkenaz community, would not likely be a witness in an extremely private ceremony, as opposed to at the subsequent kiddushin where many would attend, and no reason why he would have to rely on hearsay. Moreover, as the vast majority of communities would have kiddushin together with the nissuin at every wedding, a kiddushin at a wedding is not the type of matter that he would mention as having heard from others, as opposed to a rather strange obscure practice in another community.

For an overview of the Italian kiddushin during the time of the copying of our humash and afterward see ibid. chapter 3. For a general overview of the combination of the kiddushin and nissuin acts in general, see A. Freiman, Seder Kiddushin Aharei Hatimat HaTalmud, pp. 28–31. See ibid. 127–131 concerning Italy in general, where the approach is that by the 16th century Italians had combined the kiddushin and nissuin (as opposed to Marriage Ritual, which claims that separating the two was quite normative through the 17th century). This is beyond the scope of this article, which addresses a late 15^th century book. Therefore, Maharik’s testimony concerning the Italian practice suffices, and accords with the custom of the two wedding haftarot.
[14] See Maharik for a justification of this presumably strange practice

When Rabbi Meir Kahane’s Father Translated the Torah

By Yosef Lindell

Yosef Lindell is a lawyer, writer, and lecturer living in Silver Spring, MD. He has a JD from NYU Law and an MA in Jewish history from Yeshiva University. He is one of the editors of the Lehrhaus and has published more than 30 articles on Jewish history and thought in a variety of venues. His website is yoseflindell.wordpress.com.

In 1962, the Jewish Publication Society published a new translation of the Torah. The product of nearly a decade of work, the new edition was the first major English translation to cast off the shackles of the 1611 King James Bible. Dr. Harry Orlinsky, the primary force behind the new translation and a professor of Bible at the merged Reform Hebrew Union College and Jewish Institute of Religion, explained that even JPS’ celebrated 1917 translation was merely a King James lookalike, a modest revision of the Revised Standard Version that “did not exceed more than a very few percent of the whole.”[1] This new edition was different. As the editors wrote in the preface, the King James not only “had an archaic flavor,” but it rendered the Hebrew “word for word rather than idiomatically,” resulting in “quaintness or awkwardness and not infrequently in obscurity.”[2] Now, for the first time, the editors translated wholly anew, jettisoning literalism for maximum intelligibility. More than sixty years later, JPS’ work remains one of the definitive English translations of the Torah.

The new JPS may have left the King James behind, but it didn’t satisfy everyone. In addition to making the Torah more intelligible, the editors incorporated the insights of modern biblical scholarship, both from “biblical archeology and in the recovery of the languages and civilizations of the peoples among whom the Israelites lived and whose modes of living and thinking they largely shared.”[3] So when asked by Rabbi Theodore Adams, the president of the Rabbinical Council of America, whether the RCA could accept an invitation from Dr. Solomon Grayzel, JPS’ publisher, to participate in the new translation, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik demurred. He wrote in a 1953 letter to Adams, “I am afraid that the purpose of this undertaking is not to infuse the spirit of Torah she-be-al peh into the new English version but, on the contrary, … to satisfy the so-called modern ‘scientific’ demands for a more exact rendition in accordance with the latest archeological and philological discoveries.”[4]

Just one year after JPS released its volume, in 1963, R. Soloveitchik’s wish for a more “Torah-true” translation was answered, but likely not in the way he expected. The two-volume Torah Yesharah published by Rabbi Charles Kahane (1905-1978) relies heavily on traditional Jewish commentary in its translation.[5] But as we’ll explore, because of its lack of fidelity to the Hebrew text, it can hardly be called a translation at all.

Here is the title page (courtesy of the Internet Archive):

The strategically placed dots on the title page indicate that Yesharah is an acronym for the author’s Hebrew name—Yechezkel Shraga Hakohen. R. Charles Kahane was born in Safed and received semichah from the Pressburg Yeshiva in Hungary. After immigrating to the United States in 1925 and receiving a second semichah from Yeshiva University’s Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary, he served as rabbi of Congregation Shaarei Tefiloh in Brooklyn for most of his professional career, a shul which drew over 2,000 worshippers for the High Holidays.[6] He was a founding member of the Vaad Harabbanim of Flatbush and helped Rabbi Avraham Kalmanowitz re-establish the Mir Yeshiva in Brooklyn. Today, however, he is known as the father of Meir Kahane, the radical and controversial Jewish power activist and politician who needs no further introduction. The father does not seem to have been directly involved in his son’s activities, but he took pride in Meir’s accomplishments and was a staunch supporter of the Irgun in Palestine, Ze’ev Jabotinsky’s Revisionist Zionist movement, and Jabotinsky’s youth group, Betar.[7]

R. Kahane told the New York Times that Torah Yesharah was inspired by Bible classes he gave to his adult congregants where many people did not understand the text even in translation.[8] (Recall that the new JPS translation was not yet available, and other English translations relied on the archaic King James.) He wanted to rectify this problem; indeed, the title page states that the work is a “traditional interpretive translation,” suggesting that it was intended to be more user-friendly. But calling it user-friendly does not do justice to what Kahane did. Here is most of Bereishit 22—the passage of Akedat Yitzchak:

Most translators try to approximate the meaning of the Hebrew. Not so R. Kahane. Nearly every single English verse here contains significant additions not found in the original. The first verse, for example, which states that the Akedah was meant to punish Avraham for making a treaty with Avimelech, follows the opinion of the medieval commentator Rashbam, who, notes that the words “and it was after these things” connect the Akedah to the previous episode—the treaty with Avimelech (Rashbam, Bereishit 22:1). But it’s hard to imagine that Rashbam, famous for his devotion to peshat—plain meaning—would have been comfortable with his explanation being substituted for the translation itself. Many other verses on this page provide additions from Rashi and other commentators. 

Pretty much every page of R. Kahane’s translation looks similar: Hebrew on one side and an expansive interpretive translation drawn from the classical commentators on the other. Kahane makes no effort to distinguish between the literal meaning of the Hebrew and his interpretive gloss.[9] Dr. Philip Birnbaum, the famed siddur and machzor translator, criticizes this aspect of the work in his (Hebrew) review, noting that Kahane’s interpretations are written “as if they are an inseparable part of the Hebrew source, and the simple reader who doesn’t know the Holy Tongue will end up mistakenly thinking that everything written in ‘Torah Yesharah’ is written in ‘Torat Moshe.’”[10]

To be fair, R. Kahane cites sources for his interpretations, but only at the back of each book of the Torah and only in Hebrew shorthand:

Thus, a reader not already fluent in Hebrew and the traditional commentaries would have little idea where Kahane was drawing his “translation” from and might not grasp how much the translation departed from the Hebrew original.[11]

Yet perhaps this was the point. R. Kahane considered literal translation to be illegitimate. In the preface to Torah Yesharah, Kahane contrasts Targum Onkelos, which is celebrated by the Sages, with the Septuagint translation of the Torah into Greek, which the Sages mourned. Kahane suggests that a Targum, which is an interpretation or commentary, is superior to a direct translation. Targum Onkelos, he writes, was composed under the guidance of the Sages and based on the Oral Law, and therefore it was “sanctified.” According to Kahane, “The Torah cannot and must never be translated literally, without following the Oral interpretation as given to Moses on Sinai. … It is in this spirit that the present translation-interpretation has been written.”[12]

Kahane was not the only Orthodox rabbi of his time to criticize translation unfaithful to rabbinic interpretation. We’ve already noted R. Soloveitchik’s concerns about the new JPS.[13] Similarly, the encyclopedist Rabbi Judah David Eisenstein reported that in 1913, when JPS was preparing its initial translation, Rabbi Chaim Hirschenson of Hoboken, NJ, convinced the Agudath Harabbanim to protest JPS’ efforts so the new work should not become the “official” translation of English-speaking Jewry the way the King James had become the official translation of the Church of England. The Agudath Harabbanim noted the Sages’ disapproval of the Septuagint and explained that only Targum Onkelos and traditional commentators that based themselves on the Talmud were officially sanctioned.[14]

R. Kahane’s approach also harks back to a series of articles in Jewish Forum composed in 1928 by Rabbi Samuel Gerstenfeld, a rosh yeshiva at RIETS (a young Rabbi Gerstenfeld is pictured below), attacking the original 1917 JPS translation. Gerstenfeld labeled the JPS translation Conservative and sought to demonstrate its departure from Orthodoxy by comprehensively cataloging all the places where the translation departed from the halakhic understanding of the verse. So, for example, he criticizes JPS for translating the tachash skins used in the construction of the Mishkan as “seal skins,” because according to halachic authorities, non-kosher animal hides cannot be used for a sacred purpose.[15] He believed that the word tachash should be transliterated, but not translated.[16] Gerstenfeld concludes that the JPS translators “missed a Moses—a Rabbi well versed in Talmud and Posekim, who would have been vigilant against violence to the Oral Law.”[17]

Still, R. Kahane’s interpretive translation with additions goes far beyond what R. Gerstenfeld was suggesting. To give one example: Gerstenfeld quibbles with JPS’ translation of the words ve-yarka befanav in the chalitzah ceremony (Devarim 25:9). The 1917 JPS translates that the woman should “spit in his face” (referring to the man who refuses to perform yibbum). Gerstenfeld notes that rabbinic tradition unanimously holds that the woman spits on the ground. He suggests that “and spit in his presence” would be a better translation.[18] Gerstenfeld’s suggestion is reasonably elegant—it gives space for the rabbinic reading without negating the meaning of the Hebrew. Kahane makes no such attempt to be literal, instead translating that she will “spit on the ground in front of his face.”[19] As we’ve seen, Kahane had no compunctions about adding words.

Thus, there is no English-language precedent for Torah Yesharah of which I am aware. As the preface suggests, R. Kahane was inspired by the Aramaic targumim, but it would seem more by Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel than Targum Onkelos. Onkelos translates word-for-word in most circumstances, typically departing from the Hebrew’s literal meaning to address theological concerns, such as a discomfort with anthropomorphism. Targum Yonatan, on the other hand, seamlessly weaves many midrashic additions into its translation and looks more like Torah Yesharah. For example, at the beginning of the Akedah passage, Targum Yonatan goes on a lengthy excursus suggesting that God’s command to sacrifice Yitzchak was in response to a debate between Yitzchak and Yishmael where Yitzchak boasted that he would be willing to offer himself to God. This digression is akin to Kahane’s addition of the Rashbam into his translation. If anything, Targum Yonatan is more expansive than Torah Yesharah.

Torah Yesharah received a fair amount of press upon its publication. It was even reviewed by the New York Times, which called it “[a] new and unusual translation” that was intended to make the Torah “more meaningful to Americans.” The article quoted Rabbi Dr. Immanuel Jakobovits, then the rabbi of the Fifth Avenue Synagogue in Manhattan (before he became Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom), as calling it “an original enterprise” and “a most specifically Jewish rendering of the Torah.” While the Times was noncommittal about the work, a critical review in the Detroit Jewish News found Kahane’s language confusing and inferior to the new JPS translation published the prior year.[20] As for Dr. Birnbaum, he praised Torah Yesharah’s reliance on traditional Jewish interpretations and lamented the fact that most other biblical translations “were borrowed from the Christians from the time of Shakespeare,” but criticized the format (as noted above) and some of Kahane’s more tendentious translations.[21]

Despite the interest Torah Yesharah generated, its unique approach was not replicated. One might see echoes of R. Kahane in a better known translation—ArtScroll’s 1993 Stone Edition Chumash. As its editors explained in its preface, the “volume attempts to render the text as our Sages understood it.”[22] To this end, ArtScroll famously follows Rashi when translating “because the study of Chumash has been synonymous with Chumash-Rashi for nine centuries,”[23] even when Rashi is at variance with more straightforward readings of the text. Thus, for example, ArtScroll translates az huchal likro be-shem hashem (Genesis 4:26) based on Rashi as, “Then to call in the name of Hashem became profaned”—a reference to the beginnings of idol worship.[24] However, a more literal translation would run, “Then people began to call in the name of God,” which sounds like a reference to sincere prayer—the opposite of idolatry. It’s also well-known that ArtScroll declines to translate Shir Ha-Shirim literally, adapting Rashi’s allegorical commentary in place of translation.

On the other hand, ArtScroll’s overall approach is different than Torah Yesharah’s. ArtScroll is typically quite literal, translating word-for-word even when the syntax of the verse suffers as a result. An example from the Akedah is again relevant: va-yar ve-hinei ayil achar ne’echaz ba-sevach be-karnav (Genesis 22:13). ArtScroll’s translation, that Abraham “saw—behold, a ram!—afterwards, caught in the thicket,”[25] is awkward, but it preserves the word achar in the precise location that it appears in the Hebrew. When ArtScroll wants to highlight more traditional interpretations of the text in line with Chazal and others, it does so in the commentary, not in the translation itself.[26]

Two recent works—the Koren Steinsaltz Humash (2018) and the Chabad Kehot Chumash (2015)—are much closer to Torah Yesharah in that they insert commentary directly into the English translation. But they still differ in an important respect. Both the Steinsaltz—which is a translation of a Hebrew Humash based on the classes of Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz—and the Kehot “interpolate” a good deal of commentary into the translation (the former is more peshat based and the latter leans more on Rashi and Midrash). Nevertheless, they distinguish between what’s literal and what’s added by using bold font for the literal translation. This approach still has its downsides, as it can still be hard to read the English cleanly without the added gloss getting in the way of the literal meaning.[27] But it’s preferable to Torah Yesharah, where R. Kahane did not provide the reader any means of distinguishing between the text and his additions.

Today, Torah Yesharah is but a historical curiosity. Yet its existence highlights the fact that some mid-20th century Orthodox Jews felt a real need for a translation that followed in the footsteps of Chazal and other traditional commentators. To them, JPS’ translation did not embrace an authentic Torah approach. Before ArtScroll came on the scene, Torah Yesharah filled that niche for a time, but its unusual format blurred the line between the Word of God and the words of His interpreters.

Yosef Lindell is a lawyer, writer, and lecturer living in Silver Spring, MD. He has a JD from NYU Law and an MA in Jewish history from Yeshiva University. He is one of the editors of the Lehrhaus and has published more than 30 articles on Jewish history and thought in a variety of venues. His website is yoseflindell.wordpress.com.

[1] Harry M. Orlinsky, “The New Jewish Version of the Torah: Toward a New Philosophy of Bible Translation,” Journal of Biblical Literature 82:3 (1963): 251.
[2] The Torah: The Five Books of Moses (The Jewish Publication Society, 1962), Preface.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Community, Covenant, and Commitment: Selected Letters and Communications (Nathaniel Helfgot, ed., KTAV, 2005), 110.
[5] Charles Kahane, ed., Torah Yesharah (Torah Yesharah Publication: Solomon Rabinowitz Book Concern, NY, 1963).
[6] To the New York Times, Kahane described the shul as “progressive Orthodox,” and it likely lacked a mechitzah. See Robert I. Friedman, The False Prophet: Rabbi Meir Kahane (Lawrence Hill Books, 1990), 20. That, however, was not unusual for those times.
[7] The biographical information in this paragraph is drawn from Friedman (see previous note) and Libby Kahane, Rabbi Meir Kahane: His Life and Thought (Institute for the Publication of the Writings of Rabbi Meir Kahane, 2008).
[8] Richard F. Shepard, “Rabbi Publishes New Bible Study; Works on Early Scholars Are Reinterpreted,” New York Times (June 21, 1964), 88.
[9] Here is another example of a large interpretive insertion concerning God’s decision that Moshe and Aharon would not lead the people into Israel because of their sin regarding the rock (Bamidbar 20:12):

That’s quite a few more words than are found in the Hebrew!
[10] Paltiel Birnbaum, “Targum Angli be-Ruah ha-Masoret,” in Pleitat Sofrim: Iyyunim ve-Ha’arakhot be-Hakhmat Yisrael ve-Safrutah (Mossad Harav Kook, 1971), 75.
[11] Of note, Kahane’s translation is available on Sefaria, but with modifications that obscure its radicalness. For one, the format is different: the Hebrew and English are not juxtaposed in the same way. Second, the sources for each verse are cited directly below the translation in parentheses. This is not the way Kahane presented his sources in the original.
[12] Torah Yesharah, xviii-ix.
[13] Among the most intriguing critics of the new JPS was Avram Davidson, who wrote in Jewish Life in 1957 that because the translation was being prepared by non-Orthodox scholars who intended to depart occasionally from the Masoretic text in light of new archaeological discoveries, it was not “being prepared on the Torah’s terms” and was unacceptable. A.A. Davidson, “A ‘Modern’ Bible Translation,” Orthodox Jewish Life 24:5 (1957): 7-11. Davidson later became a science fiction writer of some renown but by the end of his life had become enamored with a modern Japanese religion called Tenrikyo.
[14] J.D. Eisenstein, ed., Otzar Yisrael vol. 10 (New York, 1913), 309. See also the criticism of the 1962 JPS translation and the discussion of Eisenstein and R. Gerstenfeld’s article in Sidney B. Hoenig, “Notes on the New Translation of the Torah – A Preliminary Inquiry,” Tradition 5:2 (1963): 172-205.
[15] Samuel Gerstenfeld, “The Conservative Halacha,” The Jewish Forum 11:10 (Oct. 1928): 533.
[16] Indeed, ArtScroll’s Stone Chumash leaves tachash untranslated. Interestingly, R. Kahane just translates “sealskins” like JPS.
[17] Samuel Gerstenfeld, “The Conservative Halacha,” The Jewish Forum 11:11 (Nov. 1928): 576.
[18] Ibid., 575-76.
[19] Torah Yesharah, 331.
[20] Philip Slomovitz, “Purely Commentary,” Detroit Jewish News (Aug. 21, 1964), 2.
[21] Birnbaum, 76. It’s interesting that Birnbaum was far more critical of non-literal translations of the siddur. When the RCA incorporated the poetic translations of the British novelist Israel Zangwill into its 1960 siddur edited by Rabbi Dr. David de Sola Pool, Birnbaum wrote a scathing review in Hadoar, accusing Zangwill’s efforts as being “free imitations,” not translations, and of having Christian influence. Paltiel Birnbaum, “Siddur Chadash Ba le-Medinah,” Hadoar 40:6 (Dec. 9, 1960): 85. Birnbaum may have been jealous of the RCA’s siddur, which was a direct competitor to his 1949 edition. Also, he was unimpressed with Zangwill in particular, who had married a non-Jew and was not halakhically observant. For more about this, see my article in Lehrhaus here.
[22] Nosson Scherman, ed., The Stone Edition Chumash (Mesorah Publications, 1993), xvi.
[23] Ibid.
[24] Ibid., 23.
[25] Ibid., 103.
[26] Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan’s 1981 Living Torah translation also bears some resemblance to Torah Yesharah in its tendency to follow Chazal, but it too, despite its exceedingly colloquial approach to translation, does not insert large interpretive glosses into the text.
[27] R. Steinsaltz calls the commentary “transparent” and “one whose explanations should go almost unnoticed and serve only to give the reader and student the sense that there is no barrier between him or her and the text,” but I am not sure I agree. See The Steinsaltz Humash (Koren Publishers, 2015), ix. 

“Milta De’Bedichuta”: Some Playful Parodies of the Talmud in the Modern Period

By Ezra Brand

6-Mar-23

Ezra Brand is an independent researcher based in Tel Aviv. He has an MA from Revel Graduate School at Yeshiva University in Medieval Jewish History, where he focused his research on 13th and 14th century sefirotic Kabbalah. He is interested in using digital and computational tools in historical research. He has contributed a number of times previously to the Seforim Blog (tag), and a selection of his research can be found at his Academia.edu profile. He can be reached at ezrabrand@gmail.com; any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

Intro

The origins of Jewish humor are debated, with some linking it to Eastern Europe and others to a more distant time and place. Recognition of Jewish humor as first-rate gained popularity at the end of the 19th century.[1]

I previously wrote on the Seforim Blog about humor in the Talmud.[2] In this piece, my focus will be on parodies of the Gemara written for Purim, known as “Purim Dafs”. Roni Cohen, at the beginning of his 2021 dissertation on Medieval Parodies for Purim, describes the earliest known parodies on the Talmud written for the holiday of Purim:

The first, Massekhet Purim (Purim tractate), is a parody of the Talmud written by the Provençal translator, philosopher, and writer Kalonymos ben Kalonymos, during the period he lived in Rome, between 1324 – 1328. The other two – Megilat Setarim (esoteric scroll), a parody on the Talmud and Sefer Habakbuk (the book of Habakbuk), a parody of the Hebrew Bible – were both written by the Provençal philosopher, astronomer, and bible commentator Rabbi Levi ben Gerson (Gersonides) in 1332.[3]

When written for Purim, the Talmud parodies are often known as “Purim Dafs”. This is something I tried my hand at when I was in yeshiva.[4]

In this piece I’d like to give a number of examples of modern parodies of the Talmud, collected from various locations on the web, listed in chronological order of date first published.[5]

מסכת פורים: מן תלמוד שכורים (1814) ⁶

A satirical discussion of the laws of drinking on Purim.

מסכת עניות מן תלמוד רש עלמא (1878)⁷

A satirical halachic discussion of laws of poverty.

מסכת עמיריקא: מן תלמוד ינקאי (1892) ⁸

A satirical halachic discussion of living in America.

מסכת שטרות (1894) ⁹

A satirical halachic discussion of who can sign contracts.

מסכת דרך ארץ החדשה: מתלמודא דארעא חדתא (1898)^10[10]

A satirical halachic discussion of living in America.

מסכת סוחרים (1900)^[11]

A satirical halachic discussion of the laws of merchants.

מסכת אדמונים מן תלמוד בולשבי (1923)^[12]

A satirical discussion of the trivial differences between the socialist Bolsheviks (“red”) and the monarchic Mensheviks (“white”) in the Russian Civil War, which started in 1917.

מסכת פרוהבישן מן תלמוד בטלי (1929)^[13]

A satirical halachic discussion of the laws of drinking alcohol during the period of Prohibition in the United States, which started in 1920.

מסכת פורים תו שין טית וו (1955)^[14]

A satirical halachic and aggadic discussion of Israeli elections.

מסכת המן (1975)^[15]

A satirical halachic discussion regarding Haman.

מסכת אב”כ שומע קול צופר (1991)^[16]

A satirical halachic discussion of wearing of gas masks during the Iraqi rocket attacks on Israel during First Gulf War in 1991.

הדאנאלד (2016)^[17]

A satirical discussion of the Trump wall.

מסכת קורונא פרק ב’ (2021)^[18]

This parody is a satirical halachic and aggadic discussion surrounding coronavirus, during the COVID-19 pandemic.

The Etymology of “Onah”

by Mitchell First (MFirstAtty@aol.com)

I thought it would be useful if everyone would have a better understanding of how the root ענה, occurring at Exodus 21:10 in the form “onatah,” can refer to the sexual obligation. I will offer several possibilities.

First I must provide a brief overview of this widely occurring root. It is typically viewed as having four meanings as a verb: 1) respond, 2) sing, 3) afflict, and 4) occupy oneself with.

It is hard to unify all these meanings. But it is easy to see that perhaps the first and second meanings have a common origin.

As to the third meaning, the word ענו, a submissive, humble individual, probably derives from this meaning and the word עני, a poor individual, also probably derives from this meaning.

The fourth meaning is a rare one in Tanakh. It is only found in the book of Kohelet.

It is also possible that ענה has a “time-related” meaning in Tanakh. We will discuss this below.

—–

Exodus 21:10 reads: “If he marries another, he must not diminish her food, her clothing, or ‘onatah’ (=her onah).” The person being protected is the Israelite slave who was the first wife.

The Mishnah at Ketuvot 5:6 understands “onah” (without any discussion) as referring to the man’s sexual obligation to his wife,[1] and then proceeds to delineate the obligation for various occupations.

Our first question is whether we can fit this meaning of “onah” into any of the first four meanings above. Note that Rashi on our verse explains the word as “tashmish” but does not provide any explanation.

We could connect our word with the “response” meaning above and suggest that “onatah” means “a response to her request for intimacy.” But it is hard to imagine that such an important obligation would be phrased in such a vague way.[2]

Here are a few better approaches:

1. There is a word מעון and other words related to it that appear many times in Tanakh and mean “dwelling.” Presumably, their root would have been עון. If the root of our “onatah” (which has no vav) would be עון with its “dwelling” meaning, we can interpret the word “dwelling” as symbolizing a main activity that goes on in a dwelling, i.e., sexual relations.[3] Our verse would be referring to sexual relations but doing it euphemistically. As a parallel, in English the word “cohabit” typically now has a sexual meaning, even though the word originated with a “habitation” meaning.

Of course, we can alternatively interpret our verse to be stating that a man may not diminish the living quarters of his wife and that the verse has nothing to do with sexual relations. Rashbam and Cassuto are among the many who take this approach.[4] But obviously we would like to avoid this interpretation.

2. It has been argued that Ayin-Nun-Heh has a meaning related to “time” in Tanakh. We know that it has such a meaning in early Rabbinic Hebrew. See, e.g., Mishnah Peah 4:8: “onat ha-ma’aserot.”[5]

If there was a root Ayin-Nun-Heh (or Ayin-Nun-Tav) with a time-related meaning in the era of Tanakh, “onatah” could be referring to a husband’s obligation to provide relations to his spouse at certain time intervals. R. Saadiah Gaon and Ibn Ezra are among the many who follow this approach. Daat Mikra offers it as its second interpretation.

But this is still not a simple way of reading the verse. As Luzzatto observes: “It does not stand to reason that the Torah would designate a man’s relations with his wife by the term ‘set time,’[6] besides the fact that nowhere in the Torah is there any timetable for this matter.”[7]

There is an alternative way of obtaining the relations meaning based on the “time” meaning of “onah.” We can say that “onah” means “her time,” and in the case of two competing women, as is the case here, it means “her turn.”[8]

——

We still have to address the issue of whether Ayin-Nun-Heh or Ayin-Nun-Tav really did have a time-related meaning in Tanakh.

There are three arguments to support this.

First, the word עת means “time” many times in Tanakh. Many believe this derives from a root [9]ענת, but many disagree with this etymology.[10]

Second, עונן and מעונן refer to one who engages in divination. Many understand this word as deriving from Ayin-Nun-Heh with a “time” meaning. I.e., perhaps these individuals made predictions as to what is a good time to do things. But others interpret these words with a different etymology altogether. E.g., perhaps these individuals made predictions by looking at cloud formations. Many other possibilities have been suggested for the etymology of עונן and מעונן. But the time-related etymology is a real possibility.

– Third, the fact that our word appears in early Rabbinic Hebrew with a time-related meaning is some evidence that this meaning already existed in Biblical Hebrew.

3. A third approach observes that there are many instances in Tanakh where Ayin-Nun-Heh occurs in the piel construct in a context of a man forcing a woman to have intercourse. See, e.g., Gen. 34:2 (Dinah), and Deut. 21:14 (woman captured in war).[11] We are used to translating these piel verbs with an “afflict sorrow or pain” meaning, or perhaps a “humbled” meaning.¹² But perhaps Ayin-Nun-Heh in the piel in all or some of these cases is better understood as “rape.”[13] If Ayin-Nun–Heh in the piel construct can mean “rape,” that same root in the kal construct can mean “consensual relations.” Then we could utilize this meaning for our word at Ex. 21:10.[14]

To complete our discussion, I must mention two other Tannaitic passages about “onah”: one in the Mekhilta, and the other: a baraita in the Talmud.

As I mentioned at the outset, the Mishnah at Ketuvot 5:6 assumes that the “onah” of our verse means “relations” and does not offer any alternative view or any derivation.

The Mekhilta in Mishpatim offers three different interpretations of “onah.” The first is “relations” (“derech eretz”). This view is brought in the name of R. Yoshiah. The prooftext he cites is Gen. 34:2 (regarding Dinah): “va-yishkav otah va-ye’aneha.” This citation is surprising because it is usually assumed that “va-ye’aneha” here has the “afflict” or ”humbled” meaning. (This citation fits loosely with our third approach.)

A second view (in the name of R. Yonatan) interprets “onah” to be a reference to giving clothing that is appropriate to the season. A third view (in the name of Rebbi) interprets “onah” as food (giving a strange prooftext, Deut. 8:3). This third view interprets a different word in verse 21:10, one from the root שׁאר, as referring to “relations.”

At Ketubot 47b, there is a baraita very similar to the Mekhilta (although with different Tannaim) that also gives the above three views. In the view of the tanna kamma, the verse cited for the “relations” meaning is a statement of Lavan at 31:50: “If you will ‘ta’aneh’ my daughters and/or take other wives besides my daughters…” Yet in this verse, our root clearly means “afflict” and does not mean “relations.”[15]

——

To sum up, if one wants to interpret “onah” as “relations,” one approach is to relate it to the word מעון and its meaning “dwelling.” “Dwelling” can symbolize a main activity that goes on in a dwelling. Alternatively, the approach that “onah” simply refers to “her time” (=her turn) sounds plausible as well. Finally, we have the suggestion that Ayin-Nun-Heh in the kal construct may refer to consensual relations.

[1] The Mishnah does not cite our verse but is implicitly referring to it. Admittedly there are other interpretations of “onah” among the Tannaitic Sages. I will discuss them at the end of this article.
[2] Nevertheless, S.D. Luzzatto is willing to adopt something like this approach. S. Mandelkern takes it seriously as well. The Brown-Driver-Briggs lexicon mentions it as a possibility. In more modern times, M.Z. Kaddari, Millon Ha-Ivrit Ha-Mikrait (2006), p. 815, adopts it without any discussion.

For more on the view of Luzzatto and on this entire topic, see the article by Marty Lockshin from Jan. 27, 2022 on thetorah.com: “Onah: A Husband’s Conjugal Duties?”

Lockshin points out that Targum Onkelos merely renders the Hebrew term with an Aramaic equivalent, so we cannot determine how it was understood in this translation. He also discusses the views of the other early Aramaic translations. He also mentions the view of the Septuagint. It has “homilian,” which literally means “company” or “conversation,” but which many scholars think is being used euphemistically here for “relations.”
[3] Daat Mikra adopts something like this as the first of its two interpretations. Luzzatto mentions some who take this approach, even though he disagrees with it.

Shemot 2:1 – Did Rashi Include Miriam’s Advice to Her Father?

Eli Genauer

“Rashi’s choice of citations from the voluminous material of the Sages is in itself a commentary for those who understand the reasons he selected one or two opinions out of many”

Publisher’s Preface to the Artscroll Sapirstein Rashi on Shemos, (Brooklyn 1994) page ix

One of the most famous Medrashim in Sefer Shemot tells how six-year-old Miriam convinced her father Amram to re-marry her mother Yocheved. After the decree that all baby boys born would be thrown into the Nile, Amram separated himself from Yocheved, not wanting to have her give birth to a boy who would be killed immediately. Miriam confronted her father and said “Your action is worse than Pharoah’s. He only decreed against boys, and your action also includes the girls.” Amram agreed with Miriam and re-married Yocheved.

In many Chumashim, this story is included in the first Rashi of the 2^nd chapter. It is in parentheses, starting with the words ״וחזר ולקחה״ and is ascribed to a “Rashi Yashan”.

This is how it is presented in the Oz VeHadar Chumash Beit HaKeneset (Jerusalem 2014)

It is also presented this way in the Artscroll Stone Chumash and the Artscroll Sapirstein Rashi.

But on the website Sefaria, the portion in parentheses is missing

ויקח את בת לוי. פָּרוּשׁ הָיָה מִמֶּנָּה מִפְּנֵי גְּזֵרַת פַּרְעֹה, וְהֶחֱזִירָהּ וְעָשָׂה בָהּ לִקּוּחִין שְׁנִיִּים, וְאַף הִיא נֶהֶפְכָה לִהְיוֹת נַעֲרָה; וּבַת ק“ל שָׁנָה הָיְתָה, שֶׁנּוֹלְדָה בְּבוֹאָם לְמִצְרַיִם בֵּין הַחוֹמוֹת, וּמָאתַיִם וָעֶשֶׂר נִשְׁתַּהוּ שָׁם, וּכְשֶׁיָּצְאוּ הָיָה מֹשֶׁה בֶּן שְׁמוֹנִים שָׁנָה, אִם כֵּן כְּשֶׁנִּתְעַבְּרָה מִמֶּנּוּ הָיְתָה בַּת מֵאָה וּשְׁלוֹשִׁים וְקוֹרֵא אוֹתָהּ בַּת לֵוִי (עיּ סוטה י“ב, בבא בתרא קי“ט ושמות רבה):

Linguistically, the flow of the words in Sefaria makes more sense: פָּרוּשׁ הָיָה מִמֶּנָּה מִפְּנֵי גְּזֵרַת פַּרְעֹה, וְהֶחֱזִירָהּ וְעָשָׂה בָהּ לִקּוּחִין שְׁנִיִּים. Adding the words ״וחזר ולקחה״ duplicates the statement after the parentheses וְהֶחֱזִירָהּ וְעָשָׂה בָהּ לִקּוּחִין שְׁנִיִּים, and overall, the episode with Miriam seems to be an interruption in the words of Rashi.

It is therefore important to see whether this story appears in any of the manuscripts of Rashi that we have, and in the early printed editions. It would also be important to track down the source of the “Rashi Yashan.”

As far as Rashi manuscripts, I first checked one known as Leipzig 1, which to many scholars is the most accurate.[1] Here is how it is presented, and as you can see, it is missing the Miriam story

https://media.alhatorah.org/Parshanim/Rashi%20Leipzig/97.pdf

Transcribed it looks like this.

ויקח את בת לוי – פרוש היה ממנה מפני גזירת פרעה וחזר והחזירה ועשה בה ליקוחין שניים…..

The manuscript known as Oxford CCC 165 (Neubauer 2440) is also considered important because it may be the oldest Rashi manuscript we have (circa 1194). The Miriam story does not appear there either.

Munich 5, which contains the text of Rashi supplemented by other Medrashic comments, is considered important by some scholars because of its age.[2] The story is missing from from the actual text of Rashi פָּרוּשׁ הָיָה מִמֶּנָּה מִפְּנֵי גְּזֵרַת פַּרְעֹה, וְהֶחֱזִירָהּ וְעָשָׂה בָהּ לִקּוּחִין שְׁנִיִּים

It is recorded later on giving another viewpoint as to Miriam’s advice, i.e. that Miriam encouraged her father to re-marry because she had a prophetic vision that Yocheved would give birth to the redeemer of Israel.

There are many other manuscripts available on the internet. Al HaTorah includes links to over 60 manuscripts from the 12^th century to the 15^th century. https://alhatorah.org/Commentators:Online_Rashi_Manuscripts

They are known usually by the holding library. Aside from the ones shown above, they are known for example as Hamburg 13, Oxford-Bodley Opp. 34, London 26917, Berlin 1221, Berlin Qu 514, Florence Plut.III.03, Vatican Urbinati 1, Paris 155, Parma 2708, Parma 2868, and Parma 3081.

None of the over 40 manuscripts I checked includes this comment.

Rashi incunabula also do not contain the Miriam story, nor did I find it in any Chumash with Rashi in the 1500’s.[3]

Here are the texts in three incunabula[4]

Guadalajara Alkabetz 1476, Reggio di Calabria, 1475 Rome 1470

I have found Hijar 1490 to differ with other incunabula, but not here.

Here are some examples of the text of Rashi in printed editions of the 1500’s.

Here is the influential Sabionetta printed edition of Rashi of 1557

I have found Venice 1567 Cristoforo Zanetti to differ in places with other Chumashim, but not here.

There is also no comment on the text of Rashi including the Miriam story in any early of the Meforshai Rashi such as Riva, Rav Eliyahu Mizrahi and Gur Aryeh.[5]

I found the first reference to it in Yosef Da’at (Prague 1609), and it is ascribed to a “Rashi Klaf”:

Avraham Berliner leaves it out in both editions of Zechor L’Avraham (1868 and 1905) even though by 1905 he stated that he had seen 100 Rashi manuscripts.[6]

It was added later on into the text of Rashi albeit in parentheses and was ascribed to a Rashi Yashan. This is Hanau 1611-14. I do not know with certainty if its source was Yosef Da’at or a previously printed edition of Rashi.

It was not included in the Basel Mikraot Gedolot of 1618.

Afterwards we do find it in Menasseh ben Israel’s edition of Chumash of 1635:

But not in Benveniste’s 1644 Amsterdam edition of Rashi:

It was included in the first edition of Siftei Chachamim Amsterdam 1670. After that it was included in most printed editions, although not in all.

What is the source of this Drasha? Its main source is a Gemara in Sotah 12a

וַיֵּלֶךְ אִישׁ מִבֵּית לֵוִי לְהֵיכָן הָלַךְ אָמַר רַב יְהוּדָה בַּר זְבִינָא שֶׁהָלַךְ בַּעֲצַת בִּתּוֹ תָּנָא עַמְרָם גְּדוֹל הַדּוֹר הָיָה כֵּיוָן שֶׁרָאָה שֶׁאָמַר פַּרְעֹה הָרָשָׁע כׇּל הַבֵּן הַיִּלּוֹד הַיְאֹרָה תַּשְׁלִיכֻהוּ אָמַר לַשָּׁוְא אָנוּ עֲמֵלִין עָמַד וְגֵירַשׁ אֶת אִשְׁתּוֹ עָמְדוּ כּוּלָּן וְגֵירְשׁוּ אֶת נְשׁוֹתֵיהֶן אָמְרָה לוֹ בִּתּוֹ אַבָּא קָשָׁה גְּזֵירָתְךָ יוֹתֵר מִשֶּׁל פַּרְעֹה שֶׁפַּרְעֹה לֹא גָּזַר אֶלָּא עַל הַזְּכָרִים וְאַתָּה גָּזַרְתָּ עַל הַזְּכָרִים וְעַל הַנְּקֵיבוֹת ….. עָמַד וְהֶחְזִיר אֶת אִשְׁתּוֹ עָמְדוּ כּוּלָּן וְהֶחְזִירוּ אֶת נְשׁוֹתֵיהֶן וַיִּקַּח וַיַּחְזִור[7]

A similar idea is found in Medrash Rabbah 1:19

מדרש רבה על שמות א: יט.

וַיֵּלֶךְ אִישׁ מִבֵּית לֵוִי להיכן הלך אמר רבי יהודה בר רבי זבינא שהלך בעצת בתו תניא עמרם גדול הדור היה וכוּ’ וַיִּקַּח אֶת בַּת לֵוִי והחזיר לא נאמר אלא ויקח אמר רבי יהודה בר רבי זבינא שעשה לה מעשה לקוחים

In terms of scholarly editions, Rashi HaShalem Mechon Ariel (1992) does not include it. [8] Rashi HaShalem even goes out of its way to argue against including the Miriam story by writing “It appears to me that Rashi Davka did not cite the Drashot in Gemara Sotah…. because he only included items that are proven from ‘P’shat Ha’Katuv’”

Conclusion

It is important to know which sources Rashi chose not to include in his commentary. I believe that Rashi did not include the Miriam story in his commentary on Shemot 2:1. It was first cited by the Sefer Yosef Da’at which was written in 1609, who ascribed it to a Rashi Klaf which he had. Clearly it was there, but since it was unique among manuscripts or printed editions, I believe his manuscript had this story added to it sometime after Rashi. All scholarly editions today do not include it.

[1] From the Website Al HaTorah

https://alhatorah.org/Commentators:Rashi_Leipzig_1/1/en

The popularity of Rashi’s Torah commentary and the tendency of medieval scholars and copyists to add to it their marginal glosses combined to create enormous variation between different manuscripts and editions of the commentary…. On this backdrop, the importance of the Leipzig 1 (Universitätsbibliothek Leipzig, B.H.1) manuscript of Rashi can hardly be overstated. This manuscript was written in the 13th century by R. Makhir b. Karshavyah, who states that he produced it from a copy of the commentary transcribed and annotated by Rashi’s own secretary, R. Shemayah… MS Leipzig 1 is, thus, an extremely valuable textual witness which comes tantalizingly close to the original source….
[2] From the KTIV website in its description of Munich 5 “כמו כן מביא הרבה ממדרשי חז“ל והרבה מאד מתרגום יונתן”
[3] Aside from the two editions shown below, I checked the following Rashi texts from the 1500’s and did not find the Miriam story

Bomberg Mikraot Gedolot 1518, Rashi Bomberg 1522, Rimini 1525, Bomberg Mikraot Gedolot 1524-26, Augsburg 1534, Rashi Bomberg 1538, Venice Giustiani 1548, Riva di Trento 1561, Venice Juan Di Gara 1567, Cracow 1587, Venice 1590

[4] Rashi HaMevuar (2016) confirms that the words are missing from other incunabula by writing “בכל הדפוסים ליתא לתיבות אלה.”

[5] It is clear from Riva that the story was not included in Rashi because he quotes Rashi, and then adds the quotation from Sotah:
ויקח את בת לוי. פרש“י פרוש היה ממנה מפני גזרת פרעה והחזירה וכבר הוא מפורש בפ“ק דסוטה למה החזירה דאיתא התם וז“ל תנא עמרם גדול הדור היהb
[6] Berliner often includes text which he saw in Yosef Da’at from a Ktav Yad Yosef Miklosh had from 1293

“עוד ספחתי אל ההערות את הנוסחאות אשר הביא בעל “יוסף דעת מכ“י אחד אשר היה לפניו משנת נ“ג לאלף הששי

The author of Yosef Da’at writes about a Klaf Yashan Noshan as follows”

ובפרט רש“י קלף ישן נושן… לערך שלוש מאות שנה ויותר שמצא בלובלין

[7] It is interesting to note that although Amram is described as a “Gadol HaDor,” Chazal were not hesitant to ascribe the winning argument to Miriam.
[8] Roedelheim 1860 does not contain the story in Rashi

The Unusual Word Tzafufim in Pirkei Avos|
עומדים צפופים ומשתחווים רווחים

David S. Farkas*

On a recent Shabbos afternoon I was learning the Yerushalmi to Peah when my thoughts turned – for reasons described below – to the famous passage in Pirkei Avos (5:5) עומדים צפופים ומשתחווים רווחים.

Every schoolboy is familiar with the phrase. The Mishna sets forth ten miracles regularly experienced in the times of the Temple. The eighth of these, as set forth above, is that though the people stood crowded in the Temple courtyard, they were nevertheless able to bow with sufficient space around them. The word צפופים, accordingly, means crowded.

This much is evident from the Mishna itself. But where does this word צפוף come from? Thinking about it further, I could recall no similar examples of the word elsewhere. Indeed, a check of the Concordance (Even-Shoshan) confirmed that no such word exists in all of Tanach.

No matter. There are many words in the Mishna that do not exist in Tanach. Perhaps the word is Mishnaic Hebrew, rather than Biblical. Yet here too, investigation showed no other examples of the word צפוף appearing in the Mishna. At this point we had the makings of a problem. It seems strange for such a familiar word to appear neither in Tanach, nor anywhere else in the Mishna. And yet it does not appear to be a foreign loan word either, with none of the hallmarks of Greek or Roman influence, or that of any other language. Where did it come from?

This is why I mentioned what I had been learning when my thoughts were turned in this direction. For in Peah (3:1, 26a in the excellent Oz Vi-Hadar edition) we find a debate among the two schools of Shammai and Hillel, in a case where numerous small patches of grain were planted between the trees of an orchard. The question is whether, for purposes of leaving Peah, they are to be treated as a single field or as many. The Gemara narrows the inquiry: אם במורווחין אף ב“ש מודים שהוא נותן פיאה אחת על הכל. אם ברצופין אף ב“ה מודים שהוא נותן פיאה מכל אחד ואחד.. If the trees are spread out, even B. Shammai would agree that the patches are treated as single field (i.e., the trees are not seen as intervening) and a single Peah should suffice. If the trees are close together, they are treated as an intervening separation, and even B. Hillel would agree that Peah should be taken from every patch. The Gemara concludes, אלא כי אנן קיימין בנטועין מטע עשר לבית סאה ב“ש עובדי להון כרצופין וב“ה עובדי להון כמורווחין.. The case must be of trees planted in a certain density (ten per beis se’ah), and the point at issue is whether or not this density is enough to cause the fields to be considered spread out.

Of course, what jumps out to the reader, just as did to me that Shabbos afternoon, is the contrast between רווחין and רצופין. This is the exact same contrast employed in the Mishna in Avos, yet here the word used is רצופין, not צפופים.

Nor is this the only case where such a contrast is used with this exact same pair of words. In Yerushalmi Moed Kattan 1:3 4a (also found in Sheviis 2:7 18a) R. Eliezer ben Yaakov permits diverting pooled water via a channel from tree to tree on Yom Tov, but does not allow an entire field to be irrigated. The Rabbis disagree, and the Gemara again narrows the field of inquiry, observing that if the trees were “spread apart”, all would agree irrigation is prohibited because one is watering more than he needs. If the trees were packed close together, on the other hand, all would agree watering is necessary to keep them from drying out. Thus, the Gemara concludes that the field in question was planted with the standard density mentioned above, ten trees per beis se’ah, and the point at issue between R. Eliezer ben Yaakov and the Rabbis is only whether this density is considered “spaced” or “packed”. מה אנן קיימין? אם במרווחין, דברי הכל אסור. אם ברצופין, דברי הכל מותר. אלא כי נן קיימין בנטועין מטע עשר לבית סאה: רבי ליעזר בן יעקב עבד לון כמרווחין, ורבנן עבדין לון כרצופין. Once again, we see the word רווחין contrasted with רצופין.

Finally, for a third example, see Yerushalmi Nazir 9:3 51b (also found in Kilayim 5:2 48a) We find there a debate as to whether vines planted at 4-cubit intervals are considered a vineyard, or merely a group of individual vines. R. Shimon bar Ba posits that the same question applies to a group of corpses found closely together, and whether or not they constitute a שכונת קברים, a burial ground. (Both questions have halachic import not relevant here.) R. Yose, however, says the two are not comparable: אמר רבי יוסי ולא דמייא. תמן מרווחין ורצפן במחלוקת, רצופין וריווחן דברי הכל. ברם הכא מהו פליגין בשבא ומצאן רצופין. In the case of the vines, even if they were properly spaced when planted and later crowded by adding vines, it would still be a matter of debate. And if they were initially crowded but later spaced by uprooting vines, all would agree it is a vineyard. But with respect to a burial ground, the whole question is when they were found close together, and one does not know how they were originally buried. (See Artscroll translation.) Again, for our purposes, the key point is only the wording. Here again, we see the word רווחין contrasted with רצופין.

All these three examples are from the Yerushalmi – that is to say, from Eretz Yisrael, where the Mishna was written. I have cited them because they show a clear contrast between רצופים and רווחים. These are clearly two parallel technical terms, one the opposite of the other. Thus, while we have not yet formally laid out a case, the reader can already anticipate the closing arguments: Can the real reading of the celebrated Mishna in Avos actually be רצופים, rather than צפופים?

Before pronouncing judgment, let us return to צפופים. We have already stated that no such word appears either in Tanach or anywhere else in the Mishna. If so, where does it come from?

Rashi, in Yoma 21a, where the Mishna in Avos is quoted, says it comes from the word צף, floating. As he explains, it was so tightly packed that people’s feet would actually come off the ground. Bartenura adds, in following Rashi, that their feet remained suspended in mid-air. However, we might wish to interpret Rashi to mean that their feet would rest on their neighbors’ feet packed in next to them. צף in the sense of both floating or being elevated upon something does appear in rabbinic literature, see Sotah 45a (and arguably in Tanach as well, see Eicha 3:54). However understood though, one gets the sense that Rashi was forced to devise this picturesque understanding of צפופים only because of the absence of any comparable words elsewhere. In Zevachim 15b, for example, the Mishna discusses the law of one Kohen standing on the foot of another (and whether it constitutes an interposition) and neither there nor in the ensuing Gemara is there any reference to צף. Further, if this was the true source of the word, shouldn’t the phrase, in fact, simply be צף, as in Sotah 44b צף על פני מים (cited by Bartenura) or צפים, as used in Mikvaos 2:8 אם היו המים צפים על גביו כל שהוא ישבר? This does not explain how we get the unusual word צפופים.

Aruch says it simply means “crowded” (דחוקים) as we translated it above. He brings two other examples in Rabbinic literature of the word צפוף in this sense, which, if not exactly a verse or a Mishna, would still be supportive. Yet neither of these examples are actually extant. The first is from Menachos 85b פעם אחת נצטפצפו אנשי לדקיא לשמן which we are apparently to read as, “it once happened that the people of Laodicea were hard-pressed for oil.” But this would only be a borrowed sense of the term, using “hard-pressed” for “pressed”, and from thence to “crowded”. Further, this too, is not the word צפוף for which we are looking, but only a variation thereof. And more fundamentally, none of our editions today even have such a word, instead reading פעם אחת נצרכו להן אנשי לודקיא לשמן

The Aruch’s other example is from Midrash Yelamdenu, which he quotes in connection with the second set of tablets, ראו האיך עומדין המלאכים צפופין ומרתתין לפני See how the angels are crowded and tremble before me. Yet we do not have the Midrash Yelamdenu, and Midrash Tanchuma – which is sometimes said to be identical with Yelamdenu – also does not have any such phrase.¹ We therefore cannot examine this Midrash closely, because it has been lost to us. Indeed, the use of the word “crowded” in the context of this snippet seems strange and out of place. In fact, simply by reading this solitary citation, one wonders if the word really should be כפופין (“bent in submission”) rather than צפופין. We cannot tell.²

A. Kohut, in Aruch Ha-Shalem, fares no better, simply citing other cases where theעומדים צפופים phrase is cited. He also cites possibilities where words similar to צפוף might theoretically be interpreted to mean דחוקים. However, all these examples are rather דוחק. For example, he cites Rosh Hashana 16b, where Jews in the middle category of merits and demerits are described descending to hell. Afterwards, they are מצפצפין ועולין. Rashi explains “they cry out”, and the Aruch says it means “they float out”, but Kohut conjectures it to mean “they are pushed out”, thus a kind of doubtful proof to the usage of צפוף in the sense of “crowded”. A few other similarly doubtful possibilities are put forward, none of which actually use the word צפוף in this form. (Interestingly, Kohut precedes these examples with the curious word אתפלפל – by which, I interpret it to mean, he intended to engage in pilpul for etymologists.)

The case is far different when we come to רצופין. The meaning of the word is “connected” or “contiguous”, and appears in the Bible on multiple occasions in the context of the flooring in the Temple (or in Esther 1:6, the King’s court). These floors – the source of the common word רצפה – were made out of hundreds of connected stones or tiles, from whence the word is easily applied to a large grouping of anything close together, be it people, graves, trees, or anything else.

Three different examples of the word רצופים used specifically in contrast with the word רווחים were cited above from the Yerushalmi. However, when used by itself a crowded field of examples can be shown in the Bavli as well. See Moed Kattan 9a מה יום כולו רצוף אף עשתי עשר כולן רצופין (Rashi – מה יום רצוף שאין בו הפסק אף כולהו י“א יום רצוף דליכא הפסק בינתיים); Bava Basra 37b אכלן רצופין אין לו חזקה (Rashi – כגון שנטועין יותר מי‘ בבית סאה); Negaim 11:9 רבי שמעון אומר, השתי אם היה רצוף, מיטמא. (Rash – שהחוטים רצופים זה אצל זה כעין רצפה שסמוכים זה אצל זה) The word is also found in the closely related meaning of “consecutive”, as in the requirement for adverse possession of land to be שלוש שנים רצופות three consecutive years, see Bava Basra 29b and Gittin 82a. Many more examples are cited both in the Aruch itself and by Kohut.

Thus, we arrive at the conclusion. In answer to the question posed above, there is good reason to suspect the original phrase was actually עומדים רצופים ומשתחווים רווחים. These two technical terms were often used in parallel contrast with each other in Eretz Yisrael. (That the two words together appear only in the relatively little-known Yerushalmi may, in part, be a reason why this point appears to have escaped notice thus far.) The word רצוף in the sense of crowded or contiguous is well documented throughout chazal, in both the Mishna and the Gemara, and even has a Biblical pedigree. The word צפוף, on the other hand, does not appear anywhere else that we can verify, is not found in Tanach or the Mishna, and can only be explained via questionable or creative etymology. The two words sound very similar and use essentially the same letters, and by a simple metathesis צפוף could easily and early on have arisen from רצוף.

Whether the jury is convinced or not, I am very far from “campaigning” to change a well-known word that Rashi and the Aruch were comfortable using. There is certainly no absolute proof that the reading I suggest is correct, and no manuscript evidence I am aware of to suggest there ever was a different reading. As I have had occasion to write in this space before, there is a perennial balancing act between the freedom of inquiry afforded by the principle of מקום הניחו לנו להתגדר, and actually suggesting change to established rule and precedent. Our thoughts must thus remain within the realm of conjecture. Only this, and nothing more.

* Mr. Farkas is a practicing labor attorney in Cleveland, Ohio, and received his rabbinic ordination from Ner Israel Rabbinical College in 1999. He can be reached at davidsfarkas at gmail.com

The Enigma of Abraham Rosenberg, R. Yitzchak Scheiner, Mordecai Kaplan, and Prof. Marvin Fox

Marc B. Shapiro

Abraham Rosenberg made his first appearance during the dispute over Solomon Friedlaender’s forged Yerushalmi Kodashim. He portrayed himself as a student of Friedlaender. Here is the title page of his booklet Aneh Khesil in which he defends Friedlaender from the attacks of his critics.

Rosenberg also wrote some other things in defense of Friedlaender, including an article in the Frankfurt Orthodox paper Der Israelit and letters to various figures who were involved in the dispute over the Yerushalmi Kodashim.

Who was Rosenberg? Discussion of this will be found in R. Baruch Oberlander’s forthcoming book on the forged Yerushalmi Kodashim, a work which is sure to be a tour de force of scholarship. (The Hungarian version of the book has already appeared.) Based on what R. Oberlander documents, I don’t think there can be any doubt that Rosenberg was not a real person but was a creation of Friedlaender. Even the city that Rosenberg claimed to be rabbi of does not exist. In the meantime, for those who want to learn about this fascinating story, I recommend this video from R. Oberlander.

The story becomes even stranger, as beginning some fifteen years after Rosenberg’s first appearance in the Yerushalmi Kodashim controversy, a few articles written by an otherwise unknown “A. Rosenberg” appeared in 1923 and 1924. Friedlaender died in January 1924, so in theory it is possible to argue that he is the author of these articles that appeared in the Hebrew section of the German Orthodox journal Jeschurun.[1] Yet it is much more likely that the articles were written by someone else who took the pseudonym. Two of the articles in Jeschurun focus on the Jerusalem Talmud. The other article deals with how biblical verses are cited with variations in the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds, and Rosenberg argues against the notion that these quotations are evidence of biblical readings at variance with what is found in the so-called Masoretic text. In addition to these articles, Oberlander also refers to A. Rosenberg’s Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, which was published in Lodz, 1928 (so at least it says on the book’s title page). This is four years after Friedlaender’s death, so he could not have been the author.

If you look at Rosenberg’s book, you can’t help but be impressed that the author knows the Jerusalem Talmud and rishonim, and he is also on top of modern scholarship. At first glance, it seems that were very few people in the world at that time who were able to write such a work, which has led to speculation about who the author could be. Oberlander, in his forthcoming book, writes as follows:

מהרב פרופ’ ש”ז הבלין שמעתי את ההשערה ש”א. רוזנברג” מירושלים אינו אלא פרופ’ שאול ליברמן (1898-1983), שידוע כמי שאהב מעשה קונדס כאלו (ראה גם י”ש שפיגל: ’עמודים בתולדות הספר העברי – בשערי הדפוס ‘עמ’ 46 הערה 151, 48 הערה 161). אמנם פרופ’ מלך (מרק) שפירא במכתבו אלי דוחה השערה זו, שהרי עד שנת 1928, כשהתחיל ללמוד באוניברסיטה העברית בירושלים, לא היה לו לליברמן שום ידע מדעי ולא השתמש בשיטות מדעיות בלימודים שלו. ראה Elijah J. Schochet and Solomon Spiro, Saul Lieberman – The Man and His Work, New York, 2005, p. 7-8

Oberlander cites Prof. Shlomo Zalman Havlin who speculates that A. Rosenberg is none other than Saul Lieberman. Indeed, a cursory examination of Rosenberg’s book shows great similarity with Lieberman’s works on the Yerushalmi and Tosefta. Yet when R. Oberlander asked me about this, I told him that Lieberman could not have written Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi. On p. 106 we see that the book, which shows great awareness of modern scholarship, was completed erev Yom Kippur 1926. Rosenberg’s articles in Jeschurun from a few years before also show an awareness of modern scholarship. Yet until Lieberman began studying at the Hebrew University in 1928, he had not been introduced to academic scholarship on the Talmud,[2] and he certainly was not writing anything about this in the early 1920s.

If Lieberman is the author of Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi we must assume that there are three A. Rosenbergs. 1. Friedlaender, 2. the author of the Jeschurun articles, 3. Lieberman. Even if Lieberman has nothing to do with the book, it is still possible that the author of Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi took the name “A. Rosenberg” in imitation of the earlier author in Jeschurun, but they are not the same person.

I asked Havlin what led him to conclude that Lieberman is the author. He replied by noting that we cannot learn anything from the name “A. Rosenberg”, and he added that even the year and place of publication (Lodz) are not certain. In other words, it is possible that the book actually appeared after 1928 and was published in Palestine.

Havlin noted a few other considerations that led him to his conclusion: The book appeared at the same general time as Lieberman’s Al ha-Yerushalmi (Jerusalem, 1929), the improbability of attributing such a work to anyone else during this period, Lieberman’s relationship with J.N. Epstein (see below), and that Lieberman had a mischievous streak that could have led him to publish the book anonymously. Havlin also noted that he heard the following from Prof. Yaakov Sussman. Sussman asked Lieberman about Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, and Lieberman responded: “Sheigetz, how did you come to this book?” By refusing to discuss the book with Sussman, or even to comment about who authored it, it is obvious that Lieberman was hiding something. Furthermore, I would add, isn’t it strange that Lieberman never refers to this book in any of his writings on the Yerushalmi? Here is a book with the exact sort of research that Lieberman was doing and yet he doesn’t mention it. דבר זה אומר דרשני.

Havlin also noted the following: On p. 19 n. 31 the author refers to a book of his in manuscript with the title המדע התלמודי וצרכיו. This is actually the title of a 1925 lecture delivered by J.N. Epstein upon assuming his position at the Hebrew University. The lecture was later published in Yediot ha-Makhon le-Madaei ha-Yahadut 2 (1925), pp. 5-22. Clearly the author was having some fun here, and we know that Lieberman had an interesting relationship with Epstein. Another personal comment is found on p. 91 where the author refers to R. Chaim Heller as “my friend”.

Returning to the quote above from R. Oberlander, he cites Yaakov Spiegel who gives two examples of Lieberman being a bit unconventional in some of his writings. In his book Amudim be-Toldot ha-Sefer ha-Ivri: Be-Sha’arei ha-Defus,[3] Spiegel notes that in the preface to the 1970 publication of the first volume of R. David Pardo’s Hasdei David on Taharot, which was edited by Lieberman (as were the next two volumes on Taharot), Lieberman signs his name in the preface as .ש.ל. Spiegel adds:

יש אומרים שחתם את שמו בראשי תיבות ולא בשמו המלא, מפני שרצה שהספר יכנס לבית המדרש, והמבין יבין

Yet this is incorrect, as Lieberman always ended the prefaces to his books with his initials. We see this beginning with his first book, Al ha-Yerushalmi, published in Jerusalem, 1929, long before he ever thought of joining the JTS faculty.

So his use of initials has nothing to do with covering up who he was, and on the very first page of the preface to Hasdei David he refers to what he wrote in Tosefta ki-Feshutah. However, it is noteworthy that Lieberman’s name does not appear on the title page of the book as you can see here.

This, perhaps, was due to a desire to have the book accepted in yeshivot. It is one thing to have references to Tosefta ki-Feshutah inside the book, and something else entirely to have Lieberman’s name on the title page, which might have prevented yeshivot from purchasing Hasdei David.

Spiegel also notes that Louis Finkelstein is referred to in the preface to Hasdei David as ר’ אליעזר אריה נר”ו בהרב ר’ שמעון הלוי ז”ל, without his last name. Spiegel sees this as a way of hiding Finkelstein’s identity, just as Lieberman did with the others mentioned in the preface. One of the people Lieberman refers to is הרב ר’ יהושע נר”ו בהרב ר’ יהודה ליב who discovered the manuscript of R. Pardo. (This is R. Yehoshua Hutner.) Lieberman also mentions two other people, one who transcribed the manuscript and another who proofread the book. It is possible that one or more of these individuals did not want to be mentioned by name as helping Lieberman, and this explains why Lieberman abridged all the names, including Finkelstein’s. But I repeat, Lieberman’s name in the preface is not in code, as .ש.ל is how he always signed the end of the prefaces of his books.

Spiegel[4] also notes that in Sinai 85 (1979), p. 199, the following short piece is signed בלי שם.

It is known, Spiegel tells us, that this was written by Lieberman. He also mentions that there is a hint to Lieberman’s authorship in that all the letters in בלי שם are found in Saul Lieberman’s name. This is indeed significant, as it shows us that for whatever reason, Lieberman was not averse to writing anonymously. In fact, in 1932 Lieberman used the pseudonym .ל.ל when he published a note in Tarbiz.[5] In 1936 he again published a note with this pseudonym.[6]

When I first examined Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, I too thought that Lieberman must have written it, for the reasons already mentioned. What stood out most to me, as I have mentioned already, is that Lieberman in his many writings, including those that focus on the Jerusalem Talmud, never referred to the book even though it does the same thing what he was doing in Ha-Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto. I assumed that had anyone other than Lieberman written the book he certainly would have mentioned it, at least in the introduction to Ha-Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto, even if only to express his disagreement about certain matters. Obviously, Lieberman had a reason for not referring to this book, and I assumed it was because he did not want to associate his later scholarship with it.

Yet when I looked carefully at Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi and compared it to other writings of Lieberman on the very same sugyot, I was not able to find any parallels. This is so even though the book is written in the same style as Lieberman’s writings. Just when you would have expected some repetition from Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi in Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto and Tosefta ki-Feshutah, you find nothing.

I also noticed that there is a good deal of fraudulence in Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, and it is impossible to imagine that Lieberman, in his alter ego “Rosenberg,” would have been a part of this. For example, on p. 5 in the note he cites Solomon Buber from Ha-Levanon, Sep. 18, 1872, as stating that there is a Yerushalmi Kodashim in the Vatican. Yet if you look at Buber’s article you find that he says the exact opposite, that there is no such manuscript there. Buber further states that he doesn’t believe that there ever was a Yerushalmi Kodashim. What is the point of “Rosenberg” providing such misinformation other than to play games with the readers? On p. 30 n. 37, “Rosenberg” actually states that he thinks that portions of the Yerushalmi Kodashim published by Friedlaender are authentic. This makes no sense, as there was no manuscript to which Friedlaender could have added his own material.[7] All academic scholars in the 1920s knew this, so what kind of fraudulence is “Rosenberg” peddling here? Interestingly, on pages 3 and 8 “Rosenberg” also refers to the earlier work by the other Rosenberg (i.e., Friedlaender), the booklet Aneh Khesil. This must be seen as an inside joke, especially since the page number given is 36 but the booklet doesn’t have this many pages.

Only after I had gone through Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi did I learn that the entire book is a series of plagiarisms from earlier authors, as has been noted by Elyashiv Cherlow[8] and an anonymous commenter here. Cherlow also points out that “Rosenberg” quotes a Geniza text that he invented from thin air. I too found an example of the author’s plagiarism that is not noted by Cherlow or the anonymous commenter: The lengthy passage, with numerous sources, found on pp. 71-72 n. 57, is lifted word for word from Avigdor Aptowitzer’s article in Ha-Tzofeh le-Hokhmat Yisrael 1 (1911), pp. 87-88.

There are some other strange things in Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi. For example, what is one to make of the dedication to the Jewish communal leader Louis Marshall?

Since this post has dealt with Lieberman, even if only to reject the notion that he is the author of Al Devar Tikunei Nushaot bi-Yerushalmi, let me add a couple of more points about him. From 1918-1962 there was an Orthodox publication called the Jewish Forum.[9] In the January 1961 issue there appeared an article by “Dayyan al-Yahud” sharply criticizing Conservative Judaism. In this article the author also took aim at Lieberman, referring to him as a “careerist”. He writes:

We ask, in all sincerity, where is the steadfastness of principle and consistent loyalty to Torah-Tradition on the part of the same Professor? This “guiding spirit” of the new kethubah, who only a few years ago, when the Agudath Harabbanim of the United States and Canada had declared Dr. Mordecai M. Kaplan under “herem” (anathema), himself recognized the “herem” as binding upon all Traditional Jews and refused to be in Kaplan’s company, as evidenced, in our presence, by his demonstrably stepping out of the Seminary elevator at the very entrance to the main building of the Seminary, no sooner than Dr. Kaplan had stepped in.

Such incongruous and compromising practices on the part of the Seminary’s present “scion” of Halakhah must of necessity lead to lack of reverence for time-honored traditions by its student body and graduates. No wonder that the latter, with few exceptions, are now groping in darkness and exhibit vacillation and uncertainty in their respective ministries.

Quite apart from the criticism of Lieberman, the passage is significant because the author testifies to having personally seen that Lieberman had previously observed the herem against Kaplan and refused to be in his presence.[10]

Who is Dayyan al Yahud? If you google the name, you will find that he also wrote articles critical of Kaplan and Heschel, yet none of the American authors who refer to Dayyan al Yahud identify who he is. He also wrote a number of articles under this pseudonym in Or ha-Mizrah. Yet his identity was never really a secret and is none other than the noted scholar Israel Elfenbein (1891-1964). The author of many works, Elfenbein is most known for his scholarly edition of Teshuvot Rashi (New York, 1943), which incidentally also includes notes from Louis Ginzberg. Elfenbein became a significant figure in American Orthodoxy, serving as editor of Or ha-Mizrah and education director of Religious Zionists of America. He was also honored with a Jubilee Volume (Jerusalem, 1963), which in addition to articles from various academic scholars, also has contributions from R. Eliezer Silver, R. Yehudah Gershuni, R. Nissan Telushkin, R. Leo Jung, and R. Menahem M. Kasher. Elfenbein also engaged in polemics against Conservative leaders. Yet one would not have expected his prominence in Orthodoxy, as in his early years Elfenbein received semikhah from the Jewish Theological Seminary and served as rabbi of the Conservative congregation Adath Israel in Nashville from 1915-1916.[11] 

In truth, Elfenbein’s identification with Orthodoxy was a return to his youth, as before he came to America he had studied in Pressburg and had received semikhah from R. Shalom Mordechai Schwadron. That at least is the story told by his relative, Y. N. Adler,[[12] but being that Elfenbein came to America when he was fifteen years old, is it really possible that he received semikhah at such a young age?[13] Upon arriving in New York in 1906 he entered Yeshivas Rabbeinu Yitzchok Elchonon (where his classmate was Bernard Revel, who himself had received semikhah at age 16).[14] With such a background in traditional Torah learning, how did Elfenbein end up at JTS?

Adler tells a fascinating story, different versions of which we know from other sources as well, although as far as I can tell, only the Rabinowitz article (see note 15) mention Elfenbein’s name. During Elfenbein’s time at RIETS—from other sources we know that the year was 1908—he and some friends wanted to study at a university (Yeshiva College did not yet exist). They therefore took the regents exam which allowed them to apply to institutes of higher learning. According to Adler, among the students who were part of this group, and who later became quite distinguished, were Rabbi Baruch Shapiro, who later served as rav in Seattle, Rabbi Louis Epstein, Rabbi Yehiel Kaplan, Dr. Israel Efros, Rabbi Solomon Goldman of Chicago, and Dr. Abraham Neuman.

This action, Adler tells us, greatly upset the rabbinic leadership of RIETS. In response to this, Elfenbein and his friends stopped learning at RIETS and set up a beit midrash, which they called Beit ha-Midrash ha-Elyon, in the Adass Bnei Yisrael synagogue of R. Solomon Elhanan Jaffe. (Other sources record the name as “Yeshivah le-Rabbanim”.) This beit midrash did not last long, and most of the students, including Elfenbein, transferred to JTS.[15]

Returning to Lieberman, there is another interesting comment in R. Dov Cohen’s Va-Yelkhu Shneiheim Yahdav, p. 168. He mentions how in Jerusalem Lieberman was treated with great respect at the Chevron Yeshiva, even after he had gone to the university. As for his going to JTS, Cohen recalls a biting hasidic comment about mitnagdim, that for Torah study a Litvak would even enter a church!

האיש היוה דוגמא למה שהיו החסידים טוענים על המתנגדים, כי התורה בליטא התקדשה עד כדי כך שעבורה היה מוכן הליטאי להכנס לכנסיה. . . [הנקודות במקור] אחר שהתגורר כמה שנים בירושלים, נמלך בדעתו כי מוטב שילמד באין מפריע. מאחר שהציעו לו משרה חשובה בסמינר קונסרבטיבי באמריקה, נסע שם וקיבלה. הוא לא שיתף עמם פעולה בסיוע לדרכיהם הנלוזות, חלילה. גם שם היה יושב בחדרו ועוסק בגמרא וכן בחיבור ספריו על התוספתא. זכורני שבכינוס של אגודת הרבנים באמריקה, בו השתתפתי, התייחסו אליו כאל “אחד משלנו” שיכול לעזור ולסייע, אף שהוא “אצלם”. גם הרב אברמסקי, התקיף והלוחם, קיבלו בכבוד גדול. שמעתי גם כן, שהוא החזיק מכספו כמה וכמה בני תורה בירושלים.

Regarding Lieberman, I have one final point to make. In Saul Lieberman and the Orthodox, p. 7, I mentioned a November 1930 letter from Lieberman to Louis Ginzberg in which Lieberman writes that he began working on a great project on the Jerusalem Talmud, but had to stop because one cannot work on Berakhot without knowing all of the Yerushalmi. Only when he finished the entire Jerusalem Talmud did he pick up the project again. I added that the project Lieberman refers to must be Ha-Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto, which appeared in 1935.

Here is the relevant section of Lieberman’s letter:

 התחלתי ג”כ בעבודה גדולה על שדה הירושלמי אבל הוכרחתי לעזוב אותה מפני שאי איפשר [!] לעבוד ב”ברכות” כל זמן שאינם יודעים [!] את כל הירושלמי עד “נדה” ורק בקיץ זה אחרי גמר הירושלמי שבתי עוד הפעם לברכות

The problem with my assumption that Lieberman’s project was Ha-Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto is that this book includes his commentary on Shabbat, Eruvin, and Pesahim, and in his letter he speaks of returning to Berakhot. Yet I didn’t know of anything else that could fit the description of a great project on the Yerushalmi during this time period. 

Dan Rabinowitz has, I think, provided the answer. He called my attention to Tovia Preschel’s article in Ma’amrei Tuviah, vol. 2, pp. 155-156. Preschel recounts that not long after Lieberman settled in Jerusalem in 1928, he was asked by R. Michel Rabinowitz to assist him in translating the Yerushalmi into Hebrew. Lieberman replied that he had never studied the Yerushalmi and he can’t translate a work that he doesn’t know. He asked for time to immerse himself in it, and for the next year and a half he completed the Yerushalmi a few times. In the end, the Hebrew translation did not appear, but I have to agree with Dan that it is this project that Lieberman is referring to in his letter to Ginzberg, not Ha-Yerushalmi ki-Feshuto.

2. Since I mentioned RIETS earlier in this post, let me add the following. In 2022 the ArtScroll biography of R. Yitzchok Scheiner appeared, authored by Nachman Seltzer.[16] This book tells how R. Scheiner was living in Pittsburgh and was intending to attend a local university. However, a fundraiser for RIETS (i.e., Yeshiva College) was in Pittsburgh and convinced R. Scheiner’s parents to send him there. Seltzer, p. 30, includes all of one paragraph dealing with R. Scheiner’s time at Yeshiva College. I quote it here, followed by the two subsequent paragraphs.

The winter that Yitzchok Scheiner enrolled at Yeshivas Rabbeinu Yitzchok Elchonon was cold, dark, and dreary. Though he had been raised in Pittsburgh and was no stranger to the grayness and never-ending winter months, the young man came down with the kind of cold that turned into something more serious and that he couldn’t seem to shake.

The illness that plagued him for so many months would turn out to be a blessing in disguise, because it forced him to find a place to convalesce.

In those early years, Jewish camps suitable for yeshivah bachurim were few and far between, which is why, come summertime, Yitzchok Scheiner found himself on a bus headed up to the mountains, to the one and only Camp Mesivta, founded by the legendary R. Shraga Feivel Mendlowitz. It was a summer that would change his life.

Seltzer continues by describing how at camp R. Scheiner was influenced to enroll in Torah Vodaath at the end of the summer. Interestingly, the book never refers to Yeshiva College, only Yeshivas Rabbeinu Yitzchok Elchonon, but R. Scheiner was enrolled in the college, in addition to studying in the yeshiva.

According to Seltzer, R. Scheiner was only at Yeshiva College for less than one academic year, for he tells us that he enrolled in the winter. As far as I know, this is incorrect, and he was at Yeshiva College the entire academic year 1939-1940. In fact, he was on the chess team and was even chosen as the captain.

This page from the Yeshiva College yearbook, Masmid 1940, can be seen here.

What complicates matters is that R. Scheiner himself said that he was at Yeshiva College for two years (and this was after a semester at the University of Pittsburgh, a point which is not mentioned by Seltzer).[17] According to the records of the University of Pittsburgh, Office of the University Registrar, Isadore Leon Scheiner attended the University of Pittsburgh for a semester in 1938-1939, during which time he took seven classes (I presume that the semester ended in January.) Even if R. Scheiner entered Yeshiva College for the spring 1939 semester, his time there would have been three semesters, not two years, so presumably when he said “two years” he was not being exact. By fall 1940 R. Scheiner – who was on track to graduate in 1942 – had left Yeshiva College. We know this because the Sep. 18, 1940 issue of the Yeshiva College Commentator mentions that he is no longer there.[18]

In discussing his time at Yeshiva College, R. Scheiner states: “When I got there, I discovered that the other students did not take Torah learning as seriously as I wanted to or as seriously as some of the rabbeim wanted them to, so I left.”[19]

Interestingly, in an interview that appeared on Matzav.com here, R. Scheiner does not mention that he attended Yeshiva College, or perhaps this was censored by Matzav.com:

Where did the Rosh Yeshiva learn in his youth?

HaRav Scheiner: I learned in the United States, in Yeshivas Torah Vodaas, from Rav Reuven Grozovsky zt’l, Rav Boruch Ber’s son-in-law and from Rav Shlomo Heiman zt’l. There was a group of students who would go to Lakewood to hear Rav Aharon Kotler’s shiurim and I sometimes joined them. Some of them stayed on afterwards to learn there permanently, among them HaRav Elya Svei. The Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Reuven Grozovsky, made my shidduch.

R. Scheiner would later teach at the Etz Chaim Yeshiva in Montreux, Switzerland, where he developed a close relationship with R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg who lived in the town. For R. Scheiner, it was a great privilege to be in such close proximity to one of the gedolei Yisrael, and they spent much time together “talking in learning.” When R. Scheiner moved to Jerusalem, they continued their relationship by mail, with many Torah letters going from one to the other.

Here is a never-before publicized picture of R. Weinberg, together with R. Scheiner. The man in the middle who is speaking is R. Meir Just of Amsterdam. I thank Israel Bollag for sending it to me. (In a future post I will include more unknown pictures of R. Weinberg, including some in color.)

Unfortunately, the only mention of R. Weinberg in Seltzer’s book is in the following paragraph (p. 81).

There were other great Torah scholars teaching at the yeshivah in Montreux alongside Rav Yitzchok. One of them was R’ Betzalal Rakow, who would later be appointed rav of Gatesehad, England. R’ Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, also known as the Seridei Eish, also spent time in the yeshivah.

R. Weinberg never officially taught at the yeshiva, although he would sometimes give the opening shiur of the semester. I assume this is what Seltzer means by “spent time in the yeshivah.” The real problem with the paragraph is that it makes it seem as if these three figures were colleagues, and at the same level. The truth is that both R. Scheiner and R. Rakow regarded R. Weinberg as a rebbe of sorts, which is understandable, especially as he was decades older than them.

3. In my last post here, I linked to a lecture from Professor Isadore Twersky that I found at the University of Scranton. Dr. Marc Herman called my attention to another video here in which Prof. Twersky appears. Unlike the video I posted, in this video you can hear Prof. Twersky very clearly. I was at Harvard when this presentation took place, yet I had no idea that Twersky was ever on this panel.[20] I think people will find it interesting that the moderator is none other than Alvin Bragg, the current Manhattan District Attorney. Prof. Harvey Mansfield also appears and is provocative as always (this time saying that grade inflation came about because of Affirmative Action).

4. Earlier in the post I mentioned Mordecai Kaplan, so here is a good place to add another point about him. Kaplan’s father, R. Israel, was close to R. Isaac Jacob Reines. (Mordecai Kaplan was actually born in Svencionys, where R. Reines had served as rav.) This explains why Kaplan, who had already been ordained by the Jewish Theological Seminary, turned to R. Reines when he wished to acquire a semikhah from a well-known rabbi. Everyone who writes on this matter refers to Kaplan traveling to Europe on his honeymoon after his June 2, 1908 wedding, at which time he also received semikhah from R. Reines who was then serving as rav in Lida.[21] People have generally assumed that he traveled to Lida to receive the semikhah.

In 1994 Jacob J. Schacter published a picture of R. Reines’ semikhah, dated 28 Elul, 5668 (Sep. 24, 1908). From this document we see that Kaplan actually met R. Reines in Frankfurt, and that is where they “spoke” in learning, following which R. Reines gave him semikhah. Schacter writes: “While traveling through Frankfurt he met his father’s old friend, Rabbi Yizhak Reines, spent some time with him, and received rabbinic ordination from him.”[22] This is based on Kaplan’s own recollection where he writes: “I had the opportunity to meet the late Rav Yitzhak Reines in Frankfort-on-the-Main and to obtain the requisite Hatarat Hora’ah from him.”[23]

Did Kaplan just happen to be passing through Frankfurt while on his honeymoon? The answer is no, and I’m happy to share something that is completely unknown: Kaplan was actually in attendance, together with R. Reines, at the 1908 Frankfurt Mizrachi conference. Here is the report of the conference in the Sep. 4, 1908 issue of the Cracow newspaper Ha-Mitzpeh. Kaplan is mentioned in the first paragraph.

5. In Hakirah 32 (2022), I published a number of letters from R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik. One of them was sent to Professor Marvin Fox who had asked the Rav about the synagogue he attended, Agudas Achim of Columbus, Ohio. The synagogue had recently built a new building and instituted mixed seating.[25] Fox also turned to R. Mordechai Gifter. Here is R. Gifter’s letter to Fox.

Here is a draft of a Hebrew letter from Fox to the Rav.

It is not known if Fox ever sent the Hebrew letter, or if he sent an English one. I would presume the latter, as the Rav’s reply, that appears in Hakirah, is in English. 

Fox’s archive also contains the following English letter. In the Rav’s June 1955 letter in Hakirah, he is responding to Fox’s 1955 question about praying in a synagogue without a mechitzah (i.e., Agudas Achim). The letter below is from a later period and asks about praying in the synagogue’s beit midrash, in which no women are present. (As Fox’s son Avi informed me, Fox was at Harvard during much of 1956; this letter to the Rav is from when he returned to Columbus after his time in Boston.)  Fox’s archive does not contain a reply to this letter.

Here is the letter that Fox sent to Rabbi Samuel Rubenstein, the rabbi of Agudas Achim.

Fox’s reference in the Hebrew letter concerning the synagogue of R. Leopold Greenwald—of Kol Bo al Avelut fame—as not having a regular mehitzah is of interest. R. Greenwald was a strong opponent of anything smacking of reform. He himself spoke strongly against mixed seating in the synagogue and would never enter a synagogue with such an arrangement. Yet his own synagogue, Beth Jacob, against his wishes also decided to remove the mehitzah. Since it still kept separate seating, R. Greenwald felt that he could remain as rabbi even though he was not happy with the situation.[25]

While Beth Jacob remained in the Orthodox fold, and would later reinstall a regular mehitzah, in 2004 Agudas Achim decided to affiliate with the Conservative movement.

All the letters published above are found in the Marvin Fox Papers, Box 11 and Box 29, Brandeis University, and appear here courtesy of the Robert D. Farber University Archives and Special Collections Department, Brandeis University.

Since in this post I mention both R. Bernard Revel and R. Mordechai Gifter, let me add one more point regarding them. In 2011 Milei de-Igrot, vol. 2, appeared. This contains the letters between R. Gifter and his rebbe at RIETS, R. Moshe Aharon Poleyeff.

In addition to all the Torah the volume contains, it also offers us insights regarding both of these rabbis’ personalities and the history of Orthodoxy in the U.S. and Lithuania. Here is p. 168.

In addition to describing the incredible effect that Telz had upon him, R. Gifter also levels strong criticism against the אדמון running Yeshiva College who is destroying young people by exposing them to heresy. This refers to R. Revel who had a red beard. In fact, R. Aharon Rakeffet informed me that the opponents of R. Revel used to refer to him in a disgusting way as the “reiter hunt”.

6. In my last post I had the following quiz questions:

1. Which Hebrew book was the first one to use footnotes (and the footnotes even used Arabic numerals)?

2. Point to a halakhah on Pesach that the Shulhan Arukh decides in accord with the Rosh, while the Rama records the practice in accord with the Rif and the Rambam.

The answer to no. 1 is R. Noah Hayyim Zvi Hirsch Berlin, Ma’yan ha-Hokhmah (Rodelheim, 1804).[26] No one answered this question.

The answer to no. 2, which a few people answered correctly, is found in Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 474. Here R. Joseph Karo rules like R. Asher ben Jehiel, cited in Arba’ah Turim, Orah Hayyim 474, that there is no blessing on the second and fourth cups of wine at the Passover seder. R. Moses Isserles rules like the Rif, Pesahim 24a in the Alfasi pages, and the Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Hametz u-Matzah 8:5, 10, that one recites the blessing on all four cups.

*********

[1] “Pesukei Mikra she-be-Talmud,” Jeschurun 4 (1923), pp. 43-47, available here,“Le-Heker ha-Talmud ha-Yerushalmi,” ibid., pp. 109-112, available here, ibid., 5 (1924), pp. 18-20, available here.

[2] See Elijah J. Schochet and Solomon Spiro, Saul Lieberman: The Man and His Work (New York, 2005), p. 8.

[3] (Jerusalem, 2014), p. 46 n. 151.

[4] Amudim be-Toldot ha-Sefer ha-Ivri: Be-Sha’arei ha-Defus, p. 48, n. 161.

[5] “Od ‘le-Tikunei Girsaot be-Sifrei,’” Tarbiz 3 (1932), p. 466.

[6] See B. M. Lewin, ed., Alumah (1936), p. 156. This source and the prior one are listed in Tovia Preschel’s bibliography of Lieberman’s writings here. While this is a very complete bibliography, it omits one source that is completely unknown, and which fans of Lieberman will certainly want to examine. Here is a short article by Lieberman that appeared in Otzar ha-Hayyim 10 (1934), pp. 83-84.

[7] In the article in Jeschurun, “Le-Heker ha-Talmud ha-Yerushalmi,” p. 110, “A. Rosenberg”  states that the Jerusalem Talmud to Kodashim is lost, and he does not mention Friedlaender. Regarding the Yerushalmi Kodashim, I recently found that R. Mordechai Vorhand, Be’er Mordechai, p. 152, states that he is not going to take a stand regarding its authenticity. This is quite strange as Be’er Mordechai appeared in 1927 and the forgery had already been established for a number of years. Even stranger is that R. Menahem Mendel Kirschbaum, Menahem Meshiv, vol. 2, p. 8, also cites the Yerushalmi Kodashim. His responsum is from 1933 and Menahem Meshiv, vol. 2, was published in 1938. How could anyone at this late date still cite the Yerushalmi Kodashim? Interestingly enough, R. Kirschbaum disputes “the commentator’s” (i.e., Friedlander’s) understanding of the passage he is dealing with. Of course, “the commentator” is none other than the author (forger) of this passage, who presumably knows what he himself intended. This point is made by R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin, Soferim u-Sefarim, vol. 1, p. 307. In Menahem Meshiv, vol. 1, p. 163 (published in 1936), R. Kirschbaum shows that he is aware of the forgery, so he must have assumed that despite the forgery, some of the Yerushalmi Kodashim published by Friedlander is authentic. This explains how in Menahem Meshiv, vol. 1, pp. 70, 234, he cites Yerushalmi Bekhorot as authentic. R. Yeruham Fishel Perla states that portions of the Yerushalmi Kodashim are indeed authentic, while Friedlander forged the rest. See his edition of R. Eshtori ha-Parhi, Kaftor va-Ferah, p. 145b.

[8] “Toldot ha-Nusah shel ha-Talmud ha-Yerushalmi: Iyunim be-Kit’ei ha-Genizah,” Tarbiz 87 (2020), p. 610 n. 70.

[9] See Ira Robinson and Maxine Jacobson, “When Orthodoxy was not as Chic as it is Today”: The Jewish Forum and American Modern Orthodoxy,” Modern Judaism 31 (Oct. 2011), pp. 285-313.

[10] Regarding Lieberman and the herem against Kaplan, see my Saul Lieberman and the Orthodox, pp. 19-20. See my post here for the text of the herem against Kaplan. Here is a tidbit that is not generally known: As late as 1945, when Kaplan’s theological views were public knowledge, he was still a member of the Rabbinical Assembly’s Committee on Jewish Law. See David Golinkin, ed., Proceedings of the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards of the Conservative Movement 1927-1970 (Jerusalem, 1997), vol. 1, p. 155.

[11] See here, here, and here.

[12] See Adler’s article in the Elfenbein Jubilee Volume, pp. 9-14. Adler twice says that Elfenbein studied nine years at RIETS, but this is an obvious mistake, and is contradicted by the dates in Adler’s own article.

[13] For an earlier post in which I deal with young rabbis, see here. R. Ovadya Hoffman called my attention to another young rabbi (I also mention Hoffman in the post just linked as he noted an additional young rabbi): It is reported R. Yitzhak Isaac Katz (1753-1787) was thirteen years old at his marriage and was also appointed rabbi of Koretz at this time. His Wikipedia entry is here. The information about him becoming rav at age thirteen in found here in the biographical introduction to his Zikhron Kehunah (Lvov, 1863). I don’t know of any other examples of a thirteen-year-old who served as the official rav of a community. In the Encyclopaedia Judaica entry on R. Meshullam Roth (called “Rath” in the EJ), written by R. Mordechai Hacohen, it states that he was ordained at the age of 12 by R. Isaac Shmelkes and R. Jacob Teomim. This detail is not found in any of the sources listed in the bibliography so it is hard to know where R. Hacohen came to this information. One of the descendants of R. Roth told me that he never heard that R. Meshullam received semikhah at age 12.

[14] Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff, Bernard Revel: Builder of American Jewish Orthodoxy (Jerusalem/New York, 1981), p. 30.

[15] For more on student restlessness at RIETS and the 1908 student strike, see Gilbert Klaperman, The Story of Yeshiva University (London, 1969), chs. 5-7 (on pp. 115ff. he discusses the Elfenbein group); Hayyim Reuven Rabinowitz, “60 Shanah li-Shevitot bi-Yeshivat R. Yitzhak Elhanan,” Ha-Doar, June 14, 1968, pp. 552-554. See also Eli Genauer’s Seforim Blog post here which includes R. Baruch Shapiro’s recollections of the 1908 student strike.

[16] Nachman Seltzer, Rav Yitzchok Scheiner: The Life and Leadership of the Kamenitzer Rosh Yeshivah (Brooklyn, 2022).

[17] See the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, May 1, 1998, p. A-14; Samuel Heilman, Defenders of the Faith (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1992), p. 262. Chapter 17 in Heilman’s book is an interview with R. Scheiner, and as Heilman informed me, R. Scheiner told him that was at Yeshiva College for two years. He must have also provided this information to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. See also here.

[18] This page from the Commentator was posted by Dovi Safier here.

[19] Heilman, Defenders of the Faith, p. 262. I have corrected Heilman’s spelling of “rabbaim” to “rabbeim”.

[20] Regarding Twersky, I found it interesting that in a recent article Levi Cooper refers to him as a “noted academic and hasidic master.” See Cooper, “Jewish Law in the Beit Midrash of Hasidism,” Dine Israel 34 (2020), p. 63.

[21] See e.g., Mel Scult, Judaism Faces the Twentieth Century: A Biography of Mordecai Kaplan (Detroit, 1993), pp. 26, 96.

[22] Jacob J. Schacter, “Mordecai M. Kaplan’s Orthodox Ordination,” American Jewish Archives 56 (1994), p. 6.

[23] Ibid., p. 7. Schacter , ibid., also writes that R. Reines did not rigorously examine Kaplan, and therefore the semikhah should not be “considered an indication of any advanced talmudic scholarship on Kaplan’s part.” This reminded me of something interesting regarding the name “Mordechai”. According to Tosafot, Menahot 46b, s.v. amar, the name Mordechai was a second name given to those who showed great intellect and knowledge: בקיאים בעלי שכל ומדע. See also Tosafot, Bava Kamma 82b, s.v. ve-al:

דכל אותן שהיו בקיאים ברמזים ובלשונות היו נקראים על שם מרדכי לפי שהוא היה ראש וחכם להכיר

In Italy, people with the Hebrew name Mordechai were often named Angelo in Italian. This is likely because of the rabbinic identification of the biblical Mordechai with the prophet Malachi (and Malachi is akin to מלאך, i.e., “angel”). See Megillah 15a; Moshe David Cassuto, Ha-Yehudim be-Firentzi bi-Tekufat ha-Renesans, trans. Menahem Hartom (Jerusalem, 1967). p. 183.