Review of Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits, Jewish Women in Time and Torah

Ross Singer

Ross Singer received rabbinic ordination from Professor Rabbi David Weiss Halivni, Rabbi Shear Yashuv Cohen, and Rabbi David Bigman. He has an MA in Talmud and Rabbinics from the Jewish Theological Seminary and is a graduate of the Mandel Jerusalem Fellows. He has published articles in The Edah Journal, The JOFA Journal, Amudim, Lehrhaus, The Jerusalem Post, and The Times of Israel. He is the translator of Gideon Katz’s In Silence and Out Loud: Yeshayahu Leibowitz in Israeli Context.

Ross served as a rabbi in Vancouver, Canada and Baltimore, MD, and currently resides in Israel where he works as an educator and tour guide.

Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits has long been an outlier in the Orthodox world.[1] Over the past two decades, there has been a concerted effort by admirers of R. Berkovits to revive his thought and put it on the agenda. New commentaries to the Haggadah[2] and Megillat Esther[3] have been culled from the large corpus of R. Berkovits’ writings, a sampling of his important essays has been collected and published,[4] major works have been translated into Hebrew and published by Shalem Press, and new editions of his out of print books have been reissued including the subject of this review, his Jewish Women in Time and Torah.

On the backdrop of this trend to cultivate a reconsideration of R. Berkovits’ thought in the Orthodox community, it is important to note that a feature of R. Berkovits’ work may play a role in its marginalization. In the introduction to his English magnum opus, Not in Heaven, R. Eliezer Berkovits writes:

Finally may I be permitted a personal confession. While all my life I have endeavored to take my stand on the foundations of Halakhic Judaism, as it was handed down to me in my father’s house and as I have acquired it from my studies in Y’shibot and later from my great teacher, Rabbi Yehiel J. Weinberg, ז”ל, at the Hildesheimer Rabbinical Seminary in Berlin, in this my work I was determined to be guided exclusively by the traditional halakhic material as I found it and as I have learned to understand it over the years.[5]

While Rabbi Berkovits describes his return to the classic sources as a departure from the approach that he received from his teachers and based upon his own unique understanding, scholars of R. Berkovits’ work have found other halakhists who lay out kindred theories of halakhah. Some theorize that R. Berkovits may have been influenced by R. Moshe Shmuel Glasner, the father of one of his early teachers, R. Akiva Glasner,[6] and Rabbi Chaim Hirshensohn.[7] Despite his “confession,” R. Berkovits’ approach has powerful antecedents that a reader of Not in Heaven will not encounter there. It is not clear why they go unmentioned and unexplored by R. Berkovits. It is clear that a full appreciation of the place of his approach in the broader canvas of halakhic thought requires some filling in of gaps that his work leaves out.

This is particularly true of R. Berkovits’ final work, Jewish Women in Time and Torah. The recent republication of this volume affords us an opportunity to explore analogs of the book’s central thesis that R. Berkovits leaves unmentioned or underdeveloped, and to note some more recent work that picks up on its themes.

Before engaging in the endeavor to uncover the congruity of R. Berkovits’ thought in this work with the larger tradition, let us appreciate two features of this new edition. Firstly, it includes a moving introduction by R. Berkovits’ granddaughter, R. Rahel Berkovits. Her essay gives some important personal and ideological context. Secondly, this new edition uses footnotes as opposed to endnotes used in the earlier edition making it easier to turn to the various sources quoted by R. Berkovits without losing one’s place in the book.

The most significant contribution of the content of Jewish Women in Time and Torah is R. Berkovits’ distinction between “Torah-taught” and “Torah-tolerated.” This distinction lies at the center of the book’s agenda. R. Berkovits explains that the Torah was given into a particular cultural context and as such, it must take that context into consideration in legislating its norms. The Torah must, in certain cases, compromise its highest ideals for the sake of speaking to a particular generation who in their context are unable to understand and accept the fullest aspirations of the Torah. Using a pragmatic strategy, the Torah guides the community towards ever greater fulfillment of its ideals. In R. Berkovits’ own words:

The goals and the values are these forever. But they are taught and applied with the wisdom of understanding that time-conditioned reality cannot be changed overnight. The method of the Torah is to acknowledge reality, to take human nature into account and apply the eternal word to it so far as is possible, thus to teach values and guide behavior, indicating the goal towards which the guided change has to move.[8]

The Torah tolerates time-conditioned realities and they may seep into its norms, however one must distinguish between the Torah-tolerated and the Torah-taught. R. Berkovits asserts that the disparaging statements about women and halakhic inequalities that one finds in Jewish tradition stem from the ancient context into which Torah was given and in which it developed. Such evaluations of women were Torah-tolerated, however none of them were Torah-taught. While R. Berkovits had advocated for decades for adjustments in halakhah for women’s status, he had justified this approach in the past based on his understanding of halakhah’s prioritization of the ethical. In Jewish Women in Time and Torah, he introduces this historiosophy to his English language readers for the first time.[9] According to his read of the history of halakhah, the time is ripe to rid halakhah of what it had compromised on in the past:

It is our task to eliminate whatever remains from the Torah-tolerated, impersonal phase and to establish woman’s status completely on the Torah-taught and prescribed personal level.[10]

To appreciate the significance of this, it may be helpful to look at a question posed to R. Berkovits by R. Shalom Carmy. In a nuanced review of R. Berkovits’ approach, R. Carmy finds much to appreciate. Nevertheless, he echoes the common critique that R. Berkovits’ approach overreaches. R. Carmy notes R. Berkovits’ exasperation over a statement of the Ramban regarding the case of a woman who claims that her husband is repulsive to her without offering independent evidence. While reinforcing the strength of the position that allows the court to force the husband to divorce his wife, Ramban adds that whoever follows the stricter opinion that the court cannot force the husband “has lost nothing, and may be blessed.” R. Berkovits states that, “one remains astounded at such words. To be ‘strict’ in matters of divorce and overlook the happiness of the woman may often be extreme leniency in the implementation of the not insignificant commandment ‘And you shall love your neighbor as yourself.’” Rabbi Carmy takes issue with Rabbi Berkovits critique of Ramban:

We are obligated, as a simple matter of intellectual integrity and a measure of kevod ha-Torah, to understand why Ramban’s theoretical and practical judgements diverge markedly from ours. Such an exercise will yield a better understanding of Torah and a better self-understanding… Rolling one’s eyes in exasperation with the Ramban is not a philosophy.[11]

Rabbi Carmy’s point is an excellent one. How can R. Berkovits so easily discount the Ramban’s statement? Isn’t it too part of the Torah that must be understood and appreciated? If the priority of the ethical is so fundamental to halakhah, why doesn’t the Ramban recognize that? In Jewish Women in Time and Torah, R. Berkovits provides an answer to these questions. Ramban’s acquiescence to an approach in halakhah that diminishes women’s status before the court is a holdover of a Torah-tolerated approach. In our period such an approach should be left behind as we reassert the Torah-taught.[12]

The implications of R. Berkovits’ historiosophy of halakhah are tremendous and raise many questions. It introduces new dimensions to the subjective element of R. Berkovits’ thought. How is one to distinguish in the corpus of Torah between what is merely Torah-tolerated and what is actually Torah-taught? Where does R. Berkovits get such an idea about halakhic evolution and progression? Is this aspect of his thought also a deviation from the teaching he received from his family and teachers? What precedents exist for approaching Torah and halakhah in this way?

Indeed, it seems that R. Berkovits’ historiosophy of halakhah conflicts with the predominant way that Torah is presented in many orthodox circles. One of the opening statements of Bereishit Rabbah presents a conception of Torah that seems antithetical to R. Berkovits’ approach:

A king of flesh and blood who builds a castle does not do so from his own knowledge, but rather with the knowledge of a craftsman, and a craftsman does not build it from his own knowledge; he has scrolls and books in order to know how to make rooms and doorways. So too God looked into the Torah and created the world…[13]

In this depiction, the Torah precedes the world. The Torah then can be seen as pristine and untouched by human history and culture. In such a depiction, the Torah’s commandments cannot bear the taint of any human foibles. The Torah does not tolerate or compromise with or react to history because the Torah precedes history. In my experience, this is the dominant conception of Torah’s relationship to the world in Orthodox circles.[14]

Is there an alternative competing conception to this one upon which R. Berkovits can find precedent? To ground his position in the classical sources, R. Berkovits first quotes from Rashi’s interpretation of Psalms 29:4. Rashi comments, “At the time of the giving of the Torah, God limited His voice in accordance with the strength of the Israelites to receive.”[15] R. Berkovits elaborates explaining that each person received the Torah “in conformity with his own spiritual and moral capacity.” Building on this, R. Berkovits turns to the Rambam’s famous passage in his Guide for the Perplexed about the origin of the sacrifices:

… the prevailing custom in the world was to sacrifice animals… God’s wisdom counseled Him that to command the Jews to give up all that kind of service and annul it completely would have been something that their hearts could not have accepted… For this reason, God allowed the [generally practiced] sacrificial services to remain but directed them away from those created or imagined powers in which there is no truth, to His own name blessed be He.[16]

While R. Berkovits suffices with this one excerpt, the notion that God’s revelation to Israel took into account particular historical circumstances recurs throughout the Rambam’s writings. In a number of places in the Guide, Rambam explains that the Torah’s commandments and teachings are responses to and polemics against the practices and beliefs that had become prevalent among ancient idolators. For example, this is how he explains the reason for the Korban Pesach:

Scripture tells us, according to the version of Onkelos, that the Egyptians worshiped Aries, and therefore abstained from killing sheep, and held shepherds in contempt… For this reason those sects abstained from eating goats’ flesh. …This is [also] the reason why we were commanded to kill a lamb on Passover, and to sprinkle the blood thereof outside on the gates. We had to free ourselves of evil doctrines and to proclaim the opposite, viz., that the very act which was then considered as being the cause of death would be the cause of deliverance from death.[17]

This approach is not limited to the Guide. In his earlier popular works Rambam makes similar suggestions. In the Sefer HaMitzvot (Negative Commandments #43) Rambam already explained that the Torah’s prohibition of shaving off the corners of one’s head is in response to the practice of ancient idolatrous priests shaving that part of their hair. He repeats this explanation in the Mishneh Torah (Hilkhot Avodah Zarah 12:1). The reason for the prohibition of mixing wool and linen together in garments is explained in the Sefer HaMitzvot (Negative Commandments #42) in the same way. In his Letter on Astrology, Rambam again articulates the broad use he makes of the approach:

I also have read in all matters concerning all of idolatry…I have read it and have understood its subject matter and have plumbed the depth of its thought. From those books it became clear to me what the reason is for all the commandments that everyone comes to think of as having no reason at all, other than the decree of Scripture.[18]

Given the claim that the Guide was written as an apologetic work to draw in those who had been lured away from traditional Judaism and therefore might include rhetorical passages that do not represent the most authentic positions of Rambam, these examples[19] are significant.

Another iteration of Rambam’s assertion that the Torah takes into account the exigencies of history found outside of the Guide is found in his Epistle on the Resurrection of the Dead.[20] After reaffirming his earlier pronouncements that the resurrection of the dead is a fundamental Jewish principle, Rambam addresses the absence of any explicit indication of the resurrection of the dead in the Pentateuch. He explains that the notion of the resurrection of the dead was so foreign and difficult to accept in the culture of Moses’ time, that were it to be mentioned, it would have made the acceptance of all the Torah’s other truths and instructions unthinkable. Therefore, God withheld the truth of the resurrection at that time in order to inculcate other more fundamental notions of prophecy and creation. Only after prophecy and creation were well established beliefs did God see fit to reveal the notion of resurrection and therefore we only find resurrection mentioned explicitly in later books of the Bible. Rambam explains that just as the Israelites were led out of Egypt in a circuitous route to avoid the land of the Philistines, “lest the people change their minds when they see war and return to Egypt (Exodus 13:17),” so too the revelation of the resurrection took a circuitous route lest the people reject the Torah. The metaphor of the circuitous path of the exodus is also employed by the Rambam in the Guide to explain his approach to the sacrifices in the passage mentioned above. The impact of the exigencies of human history not only shape the path of the Exodus and the establishment of the sacrificial rites, they also determine that certain information must be omitted from the content of the Torah.

In perhaps the most subtle but also the most profound example of this phenomenon, Rambam seems to hint that the very revelation of the whole of the Torah was a reaction to a particular historical moment. In chapter one of the Mishneh Torah’s Laws of Idolatry, Rambam recounts how all of the progress in creating a monotheistic community was nearly undone during the many years that the Israelites lived in Egypt.

When the Jews extended their stay in Egypt, however, they learned from the [Egyptians’] deeds and began worshiping the stars as they did, with the exception of the tribe of Levi, who clung to the mitzvot of the patriarchs – the tribe of Levi never served false gods. Within a short time, the fundamental principle that Abraham had planted would have been uprooted, and the descendants of Jacob would have returned to the errors of the world and their crookedness.

Seemingly in response to this deterioration, God

brought forth Moses, our teacher, the master of all prophets, and sent him. Once Moses, our teacher began to prophesize, and God chose Israel as His inheritance, He crowned them with mitzvot and informed them of the path to serve Him, and the law prescribed for idol worship and all those who stray after it.

In the Rambam’s retelling it sounds as if the superior level of prophesy bestowed upon Moses and the giving of the mitzvot of the Torah are prompted by a crisis in history – the potential loss of the monotheistic tradition that Abraham founded. As Rabbi Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch puts it in his commentary to this passage:

We find that Moses’ mission and the transmission of Torah and mitzvot guaranteed that the root that Abraham planted was not uprooted and would never be uprooted.[21]

Rav Shagar suggests that this first chapter of the laws of idolatry should be seen as just one example of a larger phenomenon in the Mishneh Torah:

In my opinion, one should explain the Rambam’s effort in the Mishneh Torah in his historical introductions to various halakhot, like his introduction to the laws of marriage for example, in this way (a historical understanding). The Rambam, in opposition to most of the Torah’s interpreters today, did not hide his conception of the Torah as constructed by history (among other factors) and as adapted to changing human consciousness.[22]

Deeply embedded in Rambam’s thought, and throughout his writings we find that the Torah was shaped by the exigencies of history.

Perhaps the greatest rabbinic figure since Rambam to articulate a similar approach to the impact of history on the formulation of the Torah was Rabbi Abraham Isaac HaCohen Kook. In a letter to the orthodox academic biblical scholar, Moses Seidel, R. Kook writes:

If we find in the Torah certain things which seem to be based on widely accepted ideas of the distant past, but are incompatible with the scientific knowledge of today, we cannot be sure if our current research has produced absolute truth. Even if current understandings are true, there certainly could have been an important and sacred reason for which these matters needed to be explained according to the popular notions of ancient times and not scientifically precise ones. This approach is taken for granted by certain spiritual notions and fundamentals of understanding scriptural narrative like, “the Torah addressed humanity’s evil inclination,” or “[The Torah is formulated] in order to explain in a way that it is intelligible to the [human] ear”, and these instances testify to beloved enduring Divine wisdom.[23]

In another letter to Seidel, Rav Kook writes:

Life must be understood through two parameters, how it is and how it should be… The Divine exalted Torah is that very beloved instrument that cultivates and directs life towards the state that it should be. However, you must be careful not to think that these two parameters have no relationship or connection to each other, for they are related matters just like the changing horizons that one who travels a long journey encounters.[24]

These two letters together produce an approach that is basically the same as R. Berkovits’ – the Torah takes into account “the popular notions of ancient time” even if they are not “precise”, and seeks to move life from “how it is” towards “how it should be” incrementally like “changing horizons.” These ideas find a later iteration in the posthumously published L’nevuchei Hador.

A similar notion can be found in R. Kook’s essay “Fragments of Light.” There he writes:

The long road of development, after man’s fall, also needs physical exertion, which will at times require a meat diet, which is a tax for passage to a more enlightened epoch, from which animals are not exempt…

This is the advantage of the moral sense when it is linked to its divine source. It knows the proper timing for each objective, and it will sometimes suppress its flow in order to gather up its strength for future epochs, something that the impatient kind of morality that is detached from its source would be unable to tolerate. When the animal lust for meat became overpowering, if the flesh of all living beings had been forbidden, then the moral destructiveness, which will always appear at such times, would not have differentiated between man and animal, beast and fowl and every creeping thing on the earth. The knife, the axe, the guillotine, the electric current would have felled them all alike in order to satisfy the vulgar craving of so-called cultured humanity.[25]

These and similar ideas on the consumption of meat in another essay were culled together by R. Kook’s student R. David Cohen into an essay entitled “A Vision of Vegetarianism and Peace.” In R. Berkovits’ terminology, R. Kook is suggesting that the eating of meat is Torah-tolerated but not Torah-taught. Though he never quotes from R. Kook, their approaches clearly share a similar understanding of the necessity for Torah to compromise its highest aspirations in the face of the exigencies of history.

And yet, even as we have seen that R. Kook and the Rambam both teach that the Torah includes elements that are the product of historical circumstances, one could still challenge the notion that this should have any practical ramifications. The same Rambam who in the Guide presents the sacrificial system as a compromise with historical exigencies, in the Mishneh Torah brings all of the details of the halakhah of animal sacrifice. As Rabbi Ira Bedzow articulates it:

Nevertheless, the obligation of sacrifices was never abrogated completely in favor of prayer. In his Book of the Commandments, Maimonides enumerates prayer as the fulfillment of the specific commandment of worshiping God. Yet he also enumerates each commandment of the sacrificial rite even though they could have been included in the general category since they are considered only a way-station on the path to proper worship. Their enumeration shows that as specific commandments, the performance of sacrifices is eternally valid, as is the rest of the Torah.[26]

We could also note that R. Kook was insistent that for his time it was inappropriate to implement the Torah taught vegetarianism. He explicitly discouraged his son from refraining from eating meat.[27] R. Kook was concerned that the time was not yet ripe and the consequences of implementing the Torah’s ideals could backfire. Moreover, even though R. Kook was very unconventional as a thinker, his practical halakhic decisions were often very conservative.

R. Kook’s and Rambam’s reticence to diverge from the Torah-tolerated halakhah towards what they believed was a more ideal Torah teaching is an important point to consider. However, most of what Rabbi Berkovits advocates for in this book is not analogous to the abolition of sacrifice or the wholesale prohibition on consuming meat. In most cases, Rabbi Berkovits is suggesting the adoption of one strain of the halakhah embedded in the Talmudic and post-Talmudic authorities over other strains. For instance, his proposals of women reading Megillat Esther for the community, making Kiddush in their homes, counting for the three that make up the Zimmun and leading the zimmun, all are based on classical sources.

And still, even regarding relatively minor adjustments, how can one be sufficiently confident that one strain is merely tolerated while the other is Torah-taught? Could both be Torah-taught and part of Rabbinic pluralism – a pluralism that R. Berkovits embraces in other contexts?[28] R. Berkovits insists that in these cases one position is a holdover with less legitimacy and the other is an ideal whose time has come. R. Berkovits traces a line from negative statements about women in ancient Greek culture and presumes that parallel statements in the Rabbinic literature must derive from this foreign source. R. Berkovits seems to presume that this is self-evident and does not feel a need to demonstrate causation. One wonders if there is a possibility of a more objective way of separating the “Torah-taught” from the “Torah-tolerated.”

At just about the same time that R. Berkovits was writing up these ideas,[29] R. Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch was sharing very similar thoughts:

The system of Torah and commandments is two-fold. On the one hand, it conveys concepts, instills eternal values, and directs people to the service of God at the highest levels and to the formation of a society worthy to be the bearer of God’s presence. On the other hand, it encompasses legislation and commands to combat the forces of evil and destruction that erupt within the individual’s soul and the nations’s spirit and to ensure that the necessary conditions for spiritual development are satisfied to the greatest possible extent, given each generation’s situation and the social, economic, and cultural circumstances prevalent at any given time and place. For the first objective, the Torah places before us lofty goals that challenge and motivate the generations, for even the noblest of people cannot attain them in full. At the same time it establishes, for the second objective, criteria for conduct that people can, as a practical matter, accept minimum standards that must be met to avoid endangering the survival of the individual and the society in which he is placed and giving up all hope of spiritual uplift.

R. Rabinovitch and R. Berkovits are laying out very similar ideas to each other at the same time without mentioning each other.

Like R. Berkovits, R. Rabinovitch asserts that halakhah indeed should respond and has responded to progress in history that allows for the raising of “minimum standards” towards “service of God at the highest levels.” He writes:

In the time of the rishonim, R. Gershom, Beacon of the Diaspora, saw that his generation was ready for a ban on divorce without the wife’s consent and for eliminating polygamy, at least within the communities of Western Europe. By now, his enactments have spread through all Israel. Certainly the Sages instituted such enactments – yet they did not draw them out of thin air, but advanced the values already determined by Scripture. In the biblical era, however, the time was not yet ripe, and people were not yet ready for the full realization of that vision. Only over time, as a result of training in the life of Torah, were people’s hearts made ready and did it become possible to draw closer to the goal established by the Torah.[30]

R. Rabinovitch sees in takanat Rabbeinu Gershom an example of the Torah-taught replacing the Torah-tolerated. He powerfully grounds his claim that monogamy is an ideal of the Torah and that polygamy is a compromise with reality, He allows the Torah to present its ideal in its own terms: “Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and cleave to his wife and they will become as one flesh” (Genesis 2:24). “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine” (Song of Songs 6:2).

It is worthwhile noting some differences between R. Rabinovitch’s presentation and R. Berkovits. R. Rabinovitch’s seems to have a higher threshold for determining the Torah-taught.[31] He is less willing to intuit the Torah’s higher ideals and so all of his examples rely on broad constitutive statements. He also is much less programmatic and ambitious than R. Berkovits. R. Rabinovitch makes the case that this is how Torah works but he does little to lay out what our next steps should be. For those who are convinced of the basic theory of Torah-taught vs. Torah-tolerated, the continuum between the more programmatic and intuitive R. Berkovits and the more conservative modest R. Rabinovitch might provide margins to the discussion of how far one can or should go with this approach.

Before closing, we should note some very recent movement towards these ideas in another realm. While, for R. Rabinovitch, R. Berkovits, and R. Kook, these ideas primarily address ethical qualms that we might have over the discrepancy between our senses of morality and the tradition’s prescriptions, they have also been used recently to address issues arising from the discipline of Biblical Criticism.

In two recently published books, the ideas explored above are brought to shed light on Biblical criticism. R. Joshua Berman’s Ani Maamin and Yeshivat Maale Gilboa’s Gishat HaTemurot seek to address the discrepancies and contradictions in the Torah that scholars of the Documentary Hypothesis make so much of. Both of these books suggest that understanding the Torah’s relationship to historical developments and culture explains these discrepancies in ways that can be harmonized with reverence for the divinity of the text.

R. Berman titles the opening chapter of his book, “The Rabbinic Mandate to Understand the Torah in Ancient Near Eastern Context.” He justifies his approach by quoting the passages from The Guide mentioned above, the Letter on Astrology, Ralbag, and Rav Kook. R. Yehuda Gilad in his article in Gishat HaTemurot brings together Rambam’s passage about sacrifice in The Guide, Rav Kook’s Letter #89, and the Vision of Vegetarianism and Peace and offers an overarching analysis of the ramifications of this approach.

From all this we can see that R. Berkovits’ thesis in Jewish Women in Time and Torah is deeply grounded in the broad oeuvre of Rambam’s writings, and it reverberates with seminal passages in the writings of R. Abraham Isaac HaCohen Kook. It was paralleled by the work of his younger contemporary R. Rabinovitch, and its methodology has been used in two important books to address the challenges of Bible criticism. Perhaps what might seem at first glance to run afoul of common attitudes towards the sanctity of the Torah’s text, should be considered a legitimate and well-trodden path of engaging with the Torah by some of our greatest lights. If so, this can open an exciting and vital debate about the potential ramifications for the proper adjudication of halakhah in our moment in history. The republication of Jewish Women in Time and Torah is an excellent springboard for this debate.

* * * * * * *

Notes

[1] His approach has been disparagingly associated with Conservative Judaism. See R. Chaim Twerski, Academic Journal of Hebrew Theological College 1:2 (April 2003), in the letters section page 101. His yirat shamayim has been called into question. See Allan Nadler, “Eliezer Berkovits’ Not in Heaven,” Tradition 21:3, (Fall 1984), p. 97. While his own teacher, Rabbi Yechiel Ya’akov Weinberg, wrote a glowing approbation of R Berkovits’ work Tnai Bernesuin UVaGet (For an analysis of the controversy around this letter, see Marc B. Shapiro, Between the Yeshiva World and Modern Orthodoxy, (1999), pp. 191-192, footnote 83), in private correspondence, Rabbi Weinberg wrote that an article of R. Berkovits’ “contains harmful ideas that cannot be accepted” (Shapiro, “Rabbi Jehiel Jacob Weinberg on the Limits of Halakhic Development” The Edah Journal 2:2 Tammuz 5762, p. 2). To be sure, in that same letter, R. Weinberg ultimately comes to the general defense of his devoted student, but the statement that R. Berkovits had gone too far in this particular article is telling. When publishing an article by R. Berkovits in 1965, Tradition felt the need to include the following disclaimer: “Although most of our Editorial Board disagree with the views expressed in this essay, Tradition is happy to provide a forum for the provocative ideas presented by Dr. Eliezer Berkovits (‘Orthodox Judaism in a World of Revolutionary Transformations’ (Berkovits 1965).” Gil Graff cites a letter where R. Berkovits himself felt he hadn’t found a place where he felt comfortable in American Jewish life (Gil Graff “Halakhah as Torat Hayyim,” Journal of Modern Jewish Studies, April 16, 2019, p. 7).

[2] Reuven Mohl (ed.), Faith and Freedom Passover Haggadah with Commentary from the Writings of Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits, (2019).

[3] Reuven Mohl (ed.), Faith Fulfilled: Megillat Esther and the Ma’ariv Evening Service for Purim with Commentary from the Writings of Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits, (2022).

[4] David Hazony (ed.), Essential Essays on Judaism, (2002).

[5] Eliezer Berkovits, Not in Heaven, (1983) p. 2.

[6] Dr. David Hazony, Prof. Marc Shapiro and Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cordozo have all made this speculation. R. Cardozo writes, “Rabbi Berkovits received his rabbinical training (and semicha – rabbinic ordination) from Rabbi Akiva Glasner (1885-1956), who took over as Chief Rabbi of Klausenburg when his father, Rabbi Moshe Shmuel Glasner (1856-1924) left for Israel. The latter – a staggering, daring figure in the world of Halacha – authored Dor Revi’i, one of the most remarkable works ever written, suggesting an entirely different approach to Jewish Law. The elder Rabbi Glasner had a major influence on Rabbi Berkovits’s halachic thinking and approach” (R. Cardozo, “Faith and Freedom – a book review,” Times of Israel, March 27, 2019 https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/faith-and-freedom-a-book-review/). David Hazony writes, “Yet he had other teachers, as well, whose influence was no less evident than Weinberg’s, even if he does not tell us as much explicitly. Of these, probably the most decisive was Rabbi Akiva Glasner, under whom he studied and received rabbinic ordination during his years in Pressburg, and who officiated at Berkovits’ wedding—a traditional symbol of reverence and, presumably, influence. And though Glasner himself left little record of his views regarding the subjects Berkovits wrote about, we do know that he shared a close affinity with his father, Rabbi Moshe Shmuel Glasner, even succeeding him as chief rabbi of Klausenberg. The elder Glasner was renowned for two controversial beliefs in his time—beliefs that find powerful expression in Berkovits’ writings, and which do not have seemed to be emphasized in those of Weinberg, and which, knowing what we know about how rabbinic dynasties tend to function, are likely to have infused Akiva Glasner’s teachings as well and reached Berkovits through him” (Hazony, Human Responsibility in the Thought of Eliezer Berkovits – Thesis submitted to the Senate of the Hebrew University, July, 2011, p. 31). Professor Shapiro is much more reserved writing that, “Presumably, some of the elder Glasner’s ideas were carried forward by his son, although it is impossible to say if this influenced Berkovits, since he never mentions Glasner in his writings” (Shapiro, “Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits’s Halakic Vision for the Modern Age,” Shofar 31:4, p. 16). R. Glasner may have had explicit influence or subconscious influence on R. Berkovits or perhaps he had no influence at all. Whatever the case may be, R. Berkovits’ approach does have a powerful important antecedent.

[7] See Hazony, Human Responsibility in the Thought of Eliezer Berkovits – Thesis submitted to the Senate of the Hebrew University, July, 2011, pp. 35-36. See also R. Jonathan Sacks, Arguments for the Sake of Heaven, (1995), pp. 196, where R. Sacks puts R. Hirschensohn and R. Berkovits in the same ideological camp.

[8] P. 47.

[9] This idea appears in Hebrew in a less developed form in Berkovits’ article מעמד האישה ביהדות – הבט הלכתי-חברתי that appears in דב רפל (עורך) הפנינה: ספר זכרון לפנינה רפל which was published in 5749 (1988-89) – a year or so before the publication of Jewish Women in Time and Torah.
This article introduces a new element into Rabbi Berkovits’ historiosophy of halakhah. In Not in Heaven, he writes that, “halakha is the application of the Torah to life. But since there is no such thing as life in general, since it is always a certain form of life at a specific time in history, in a specific situation, Torah application means application to a specific time in a specific situation” (pp. 1-2). In his article “The Role of Halakhah,” he writes that “the concrete historical situation is forever changing. Halakhah therefore, as the application of Torah in a given situation, will forever uncover new levels of Torah-depth and Torah-meaning and thus make new facets of Judaism visible… authentic Jewry represents a single application of Torah to a specific constellation of conditions in which Jews find themselves at one time in their history (Berkovits, “Authentic Judaism and Halakhah,” Judaism 19 (1): 66–76). However, In Jewish Women in Time and Torah he goes a step further. It is not just that the adjudication of halakhah’s ideals must be applied and adapted to particular circumstances. Here he is saying that halakhah at times compromises on its ideals during historical periods in which its ideals are unachievable.

[10] Berkovits, Jewish Women in Time and Torah p. 71.

[11] R. Shalom Carmy, “Eliezer Berkovits’s Challenge to Contemporary Orthodoxy, The Torah u-Madda Journal (12/2004), p. 198.

[12] Reading R. Berkovits’ complaints about the agunah issue in his early work highlights the new dimension that the Torah-taught vs. Torah-tolerated conception brings to R. Berkovits thought. In “The Role of Halakhah,” p. 74, he writes, “It has, however, become more serious in our times than it has been even before, First of all, the problem has been psychologically aggravated. Conditions have changed, movies have changed, the position of women in society has changed. People are no longer willing to put up with the problem as they might have done in earlier times. The unresolved status of the problem drives numerous people away from Halakhic Judaism. Often the woman is penalized because of the attitude of the husband. He may refuse to give a get out of spite or because, exploiting the situation, he makes monetary demands on his wife or on her family in return for a religious divorce… The problem of the agunah is a critical problem of Jewish ethics. It challenges the entire concept of derakheha darkhei noam, that the ways of the Torah are ways of pleasantness. It is unquestionably a grave injustice to the woman. Its consequences often lead to self-defeating futility, for in the majority of such problematic cases the parties accept the civil divorces as final and remarry without the benefit of a get.” Modern women’s feelings, injustice, social mores, the fact that there will be remarriages anyway etc. are the issues that R. Berkovits raises here. However, the crisis is not described as the result of an anachronistic compromise. After reading Jewish Women in Time and Torah, the absence of the Torah-taught/Torah-tolerated distinction in this exhaustive diatribe is glaring.

[13] Genesis Rabbah 1:1.

[14] To be sure, R. Berkovits might interpret this passage as referring only to the Torah-taught elements of Torah. However, the passage does not hint at any such distinction and it is my sense that it is not commonly taken that way.

[15] Jewish Women p. 45.

[16] Guide for the Perplexed 3:32 quoted on p. 46 of Jewish Women.

[17] Guide for the Perplexed 3:45. Other examples can be found in this chapter and in 3:30; 3:37; 3:39; 3:46; 3:49 as well.

[18] Twersky, ed. A Maimonides Reader, pp. 465-66.

[19] For some others, see Sefer HaMitzvot Negative commandment #45 and Hilkhot Avodah Zarah 12:7.

[20] See Abraham Halkin (translator), Epistles of Maimonides: Crisis and Leadership (1985), pp. 229-230.

[21] Rabbi Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch, Yad Peshuta, Hilkhot Avodah Zarah ch. 1 Hebrew:

נמצא שעל ידי שליחותו של משה רבינו ומתן תורה ומצוות הובטח שאותו עיקר ששתלו אברהם לא נעקר ולא ייעקר לעולם

[22] Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg, Kelim Shvurim (Heb.) 5764, p. 34, n. 18.

[23] Iggrot HaRaya #473, p. 119.

[24] Iggrot HaRa’yah, #89, pp. 94-95.

[25] Translation taken from Ben Zion Bokser, Abraham Isaac Kook, (1978) pp. 318-319.

[26] Ira Bedzow, Halakhic Man Authentic Jew (2009), p. 177.

[27] Iggrot HaRa’yah #802.

[28] Not in Heaven, pp. 50-53.

[29] R. Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch first lays out the ideas mentioned below in an essay in Maaliyot (a publication of Yeshivat Birkat Moshe) in 1988. R. Berkovits presents these ideas in the same year. See footnote 9 above. Rabbi Rabinovitch’s essay was expanded and republished in a collection of his essays entitled Darkah shel Torah that was published in 1998. The portions quoted here are taken from Joel Linsider’s translation of the expanded essay that appeared in The Edah Journal 3:1 Tevet 5763.

[30] R. Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch, “The Way of Torah,” The Edah Journal 3:1 Tevet 5763, p. 8.

[31] R. Berkovits’ claim of a Torah ideal of an equality of the sexes might find an anchor in R. Yehuda Herzl Henkin’s essay “Equality Lost.” See R. Y.H. Henkin, Equality Lost.

Ten Commandment Representations in Hebrew Manuscripts & Books: Artistic Approaches to Theological Issues in Judaism

Dan Rabinowitz

Today, the Ten Commandments or Decalogue[1] are among the most prominently featured symbols associated with Judaism. The Decalogue is represented by two tablets, generally connected and rounded at the top. This representation occupies a central place within synagogue architecture, often displayed on the exterior or interior of the edifices and frequently above the ark itself, which is regarded as the most sacred element within the building. However, it is noteworthy that these practices only began to emerge in the 16th century. The exact origins of this practice remain unclear, but it is likely that they were influenced by the Christian adoption of the Ten Commandment tablets in art as representative of Judaism. Some scholars suggest that this may not be an instance of benign cultural exchange but might have its roots in anti-semitic legislation, which mandated that Jews wear badges shaped like the Ten Commandments with rounded tops. This imposition may have influenced Jewish consciousness, potentially resulting in eventual self-association with this symbol.[2]

Historical evidence indicates that the ancient Jewish community used of other symbols such as the lulav, shofar, menorah, ark, scroll, and etrog, but not the luchos. The absence of the luchos is unsurprising when one considers the inherent difficulties of accurately replicating them. There is substantial ambiguity surrounding the exact proportions and shape of the tablets. Consequently, accurate reproductions were improbable, preventing their adoption as a common, recognizable symbol. Apart from the Israelites in the desert who witnessed the Sinai revelation, the tablets were not publicly displayed but remained housed within the ark. The fact that the luchos were kept in the ark and never removed suggests that they were intentionally not intended for public display.

In contrast to other Temple implements that are meticulously described, the details of the luchos are only generally mentioned as being made of stone and numbering two. This lack of elaboration has resulted in uncertainty even regarding the inscriptions on the stones and their shape. Today, it is widely accepted that each tablet contained five commandments and can be sourced to the Mekhilta DeRebi Yishmael, Yisro (Horovitz-Rabin, 233-234); however, according to the prevailing opinion in the Talmud Yerushalmi (Shekalim 6:1; Sotah 8:3), each tablet contained the entire Decalogue. Additionally, Rav Saadia Gaon asserted that one tablet recorded the version given in Exodus, while the other contained the version from Devarim.

It was not until the early rabbinic period that there was an explicit discussion regarding the shape of the luchos. The two Talmuds are inconsistent as to the exact dimensions and shape of the tablets (and both versions appear in midrashic literature). According to the TY, the tablets were rectangular, six tefachim in length and three in width. The TB describes them as square, six by six. Some attempt to reconcile the two Talmudic versions, there is clearly no consensus are single traditional regarding the shape.[3]

Beyond the challenges in determining and reproducing accurate divisions and shapes, there is a theological concern with their display. The Mishna records that the recitation of the Decalogue was part of the daily service in the Beis haMikdash. Evidence of this practice is found in the Nash Papyrus, dating between the second and first centuries BCE. In that document, the Ten Commandments appear before the Shema. Although the Nash Papyrus is likely either tefillin or a mezuzah, it seemingly confirms inclusion in the liturgy even outside of the Temple.[4] Nonetheless, the liturgical practice was abolished by Rabban Gamaliel II of Yavne. The rationale for the abolition was that some sect, the Minim, had elevated the Decalogue above the rest of the Torah, and the continued public recitation might imply acceptance of that position.[5] It is worth noting that even when the Decalogue was incorporated into the liturgy, there is no mention of it being displayed.

None of these sources mention the most common shape, tablets with rounded tops. According to one theory, this shape was borrowed from the Roman writing tablet, the diptych, which consisted of two tablets hinged together. Regardless of the original source, the rounded-topped tablets became the standard in Christian art from at least the 12th century. Since Jews adopted the luchos as a symbol much later, roughly in the fifteenth to sixteenth centuries, they chose the most commonly recognized version, which features rounded tops.[6] 

The earliest extant depiction of the luchos appears in the Dura Europos Synagogue fresco, where Moshe is holding a scroll. While Dura Europos does not settle the issue of the shape of the tablets, it does begin to reveal some details about how the luchos iconography has evolved over time to address what can be referred to as the “minim conundrum.” The conflict between the Torah recording God delivering just the Decalogue at Sinai, whereas Jews believe that the entire Torah was given at Sinai.

Illuminated Manuscripts and the Ten Commandments: Resolving the Issue of the Minim

Many manuscripts, including Haggadahs, prayer books, and Bibles, feature imagery related to the Decalogue episode. Beyond merely illustrating the text these illustrators intentionally depicted the scene to address and resolve the minim issue and link the delivery and reception of the Decalogue with the entirety of the Torah. For example, many Ashkenazic Haggadahs include the Decalogue scene, typically accompanying the Dayenu, although two include it later in the liturgy. [7] The earliest, known as the Birds Head (dating to the beginning of the 14th century), depicts two fingers emerging from the cloud, presenting two rounded-topped tablets to Moshe. Immediately below, Moshe appears again transferring the tablets, now five, to two figures, presumably Aaron and/or Yehoshua. The dual tablets have been converted into five, referencing the Five Books of the Torah.[8] The Birds Head Haggadah’s metamorphosis during the transmission process of the two tablets into five is the only example of this solution in any Jewish (or non-Jewish) manuscripts.[9]

Figure 1: Birds Head Haggadah, fol. 23r, Israel Museum

A similar rereading of the Giving of the Law occurs in the thirteenth-century Parma Machzor. Unlike the Birds Head, which transforms the two tablets into five in their delivery, the Parma Machzor, however, depicts God giving Moshe three tablets, presumably alluding to the three books of Tanakh, the entire corpus of the Torah.[10]

Figure 2: Parma Machzor (Biblioteca Palatina, MS Parm. 2887)

Beyond transforming the tablets into more than the two mentioned in the Torah, other forms of iconographical methods were used to address the minim issue. Writing material underwent significant changes throughout the centuries. It was initially etched onto stones, like the luchos, then papyrus (like the Nash), and eventually, using animal skins that are much more resilient than papyrus, it was transformed into scrolls. Finally, “the most revolutionary invention in the history of the book” – the codex – was created at the beginning of the Common Era and became commonplace by the third century CE.[11] The codex, which we recognize as a book today, consists of individual pages written on both sides and addresses the major limitations of the scroll: the difficulty of quickly moving from one section to another and the fact that only one side could be used. Christians were the first to adopt this form sometime in the third century CE. Jews, however, adopted the book or codex much later than most other cultures, likely only in the ninth century.[12] This is unsurprising, as the scroll was not merely a device for Jews, but was imbued with special holiness.

These two forms, the scroll and codex, were used to address the minim issue. In these instances, they assumed the role of the entire torah as contrasted with the tablets, recording just the Decalogue. Scrolls are substituted for the tablets in at least two Haggadahs from the late fifteenth century (c. 1470-1480): the Nuremberg II and the Yahuda.

Figure 3: Second Nuremberg Haggadah (Center for Jewish Art)

Figure 4: Yahuda Haggadah (Center for Jewish Art)

In both, Moshe holds up an open scroll with wooden poles in a manner familiar from the hagbah ceremony. Likewise, in the well-known illuminator Joel ben Simon’s c. 1470 Machzor, now referred to as the Rothschild Weill Machzor, Moshe lifts the scroll. In a later Haggadah, known as MS 1388 Paris (1583), Moshe is holding a partially open scroll, though it is not raised like the other examples.[13] 

Figure 5: Rothschild Weill Machzor (Center for Jewish Art)

A similar image appears in the Ulm Machzor, c. 1430; however, Moshe is receiving it directly from God, echoing the approach of the Parma Machzor that there was no transformation, rather the delivery itself was the entire Torah.

Figure 6: Second Darmstadt Haggadah 9v (Center for Jewish Art)

The codex is similarly employed to address the minim issue. In the Second Darmstadt Haggadah (here), Moshe appears at the top right, beneath the shofar. He is holding two connected rectilinear tablets, hinged at the bottom. A man, dressed differently than Moshe and likely Aaron or Yehoshua, appears at the bottom right holding two separate rectilinear tablets, which are clearly sourced from Moshe. Finally, a group of Israelites appears in the bottom center of the page. The leader is now holding a book. This transforms the tablets into a book or Torah. The connection between the tablets becomes clearer as the person holding the book points to Aaron/Yehoshua and the tablets, indicating that the book’s source is the tablets and ultimately what Moshe received directly from God. Therefore, collectively, the page illustrates the transmission and transformation of the Luchos, from the ten into the Torah – received from God by Moshe, which was then handed off to Aaron and finally to the Jewish people.

Figure 7: Detail Second Nuremberg Haggadah (Center for Jewish Art)

There is perhaps another example of the codex that addresses the minim issue. In the Laud Machzor, c. 1290, the illustration for the piyyut recited on Shavous, Adon Ammani, the upper register has an angel delivering two separate rectilinear tablet while on the right side the Israelites receive a single item with a loop at the bottom. Unlike the Birds Head or other manuscripts that has the transformation into the Torah during the transmission stage; here, the only item the Israelites received was this single item with the loop. What is this unusual single panel with a loop? It may be a a codex. Manuscripts and codices were originally kept in cabinets, armaria, but in the late 13^th and early 14^th centuries they were more commonly placed on desks, and the practice of chaining books to prevent theft began (see here). Perhaps the loop in the Laud Machzor is a ring of a chained codex and another provides another example of using the codex to address the minim issue.

Figure 8: Laud Machzor 127r (Bodleian Library, MS Laud Or. 321)

Hebrew Book Illustrations & Anti-Jewish Representations

Illustrations in printed books, however, do not appear to be concerned with solving the minim issue. To the contrary, some iconography in printed books can be read to diminish or even undermine not only the torah’s transmission but even the continued applicability and viability of the Decalogue. Printed illustrated Hebrew books depict either Moshe receiving or transmitting the tablets or simply Moshe and the tablets without context. Of the four printed mother Haggadahs that served as models for nearly all subsequent printed illustrated Haggadahs, only one, Amsterdam 1695, depicts ma’mad har sinai. Unlike the other illustrations in that edition, which are modeled after Mathis Merian’s Bible, this illustration was borrowed from other Amsterdam Hebrew prints. As we have previously discussed, while the engraver clearly used Merian as a model he deliberately altered the images to suit the Jewish text rather than their original Christian source. Merian’s imagery for ma’amad har Sinai was entirely at odds with the Jewish view, and therefore, the illustrator sought an alternative source. Merian only depicts the sin of the Golden Calf and not the delivery or transmission of the Decalogue/Torah. That aligns with Christian theology that focuses on the sins of the Jews, rather than the monumental and exceptional example of God speaking directly to the Jews and imparting his Torah.

Figure 9: Amsterdam Haggadah, 1695 (Center for Jewish Art)

The Amsterdam Haggadah used the imagery that first appears on the titlepage of the 1679 Amsterdam Humash and reused on many subsequent editions of the Humashim from Amsterdam and other cities. Here, the mountain is in the middle and Moshe is still on top, receiving the tablets. They are square, and one is held in each of his hands. The illustration does not depict Moshe delivering the Torah or tablets; therefore, it does not address the tension between the Decalogue and the torah. Nonetheless, arguably implicitly, the inclusion of the image on a title page of a Humash, obviates the need to include additional imagery for the minim issue – Moshe receiving the tablets is literally attached and is the precursor to the entire Torah.

Figure 10: Humash, Amsterdam, 1679 (Gross Family Collection)

While the Decalogue scene does not appear in the other mother Haggadahs, Moshe with the luchos is used as one of the border figures in the Venice 1609 Haggadah. Moshe is carrying two connected round-topped tablets and has a light emanating from his forehead. This illustration of Moshe and the luchos is among the most common title page illustrations in Hebrew books.

Figure 11: Title Page Shu”t Rashba, Hanau, 1610 (Gross Family Collecdtion)

It first appears adorning the titlepage of Shu”T Maharil, Hanau, 1610. However, that image was clearly borrowed from a non-Jewish source. Moshe has horns, with rounded topped tablets, and is flanked by Aaron wearing a bishop’s mitre and holding a censer.[14] There is another nuance to the image that may also specifically Chrisitan, and more important theologically than whether Moshe had horns or light emanating from his head. Unlike the Jewish sources discussed above, Moshe does not hold the tablets aloft. Rather, they are standing on the ground, his hand on top. This aligns with the Christian view of the Decalogue; after Jesus, it was relegated to a secondary role or was even superseded by the New Testament. The depiction in Shu”T Hashiv R’ Eliezer, published in 1749 in Neuwied, Germany, presents a particularly striking variation. In this volume, Moshe’s hand is shown flat, seemingly serving to drive down the tablets into the ground rather than grasping them, as seen in the Hanua prints. Additionally, unlike other works that either show some of the text on the tablets or leave them blank, Hashiv depicts the tablets filled with lines, effectively obscuring or erasing any text.

Figure 12: Shu”t Hashiv Reb Eliezer, Neuwied, 1748

The unique nature of Hashiv’s title page is amplified when compared with to similar title pages, one may have even served as the a model for Hashiv. Critically, that title page includes subtle yet significant modifications. For example, David Gans, a disciple of Maharal, in his work Sefer Nitzahon, published in Altdorf in 1644, created one of the most exquisite Hebrew title pages. It features a similar depiction of Moshe as seen in Hashiv, with his hand resting atop the tablets that include some lines, resembling Hashiv. However, these tablets prominently display the Hebrew “Aseres ha-Dibros,” clearly underscoring their importance.

Figure 13: Sefer Nitzhon, Altdorf, 1644

Another contrary example is Yefeh Anaf, by R. Shmuel Jaffe, Frankfurt a.d. Order, 1696, which depicts a Jewish Moshe with rays emanating from his head, holding round-topped tablets with the beginning of each directive in Hebrew.

Like the three manuscripts discussed above, there is another title page that features Moshe with a scroll instead of tablets. This title page, which appears in a number of different Amsterdam books, for example, Sefer Shenei Luchos ha-Bris, Amsterdam, 1698, Yad Yosef, Amsterdam, 1700, and Eshlei Ravrevei, Amsterdam, 1711, is an amalgamation of four biblical figures, each symbolizing one of the four crowns: Torah (Moshe), priesthood (Aaron), kingship (Dovid), and a good name (Shlomo).

Figure 14: Shnei Luchos ha-Bris, Amsterdam, 1698

A later Amsterdam edition of the Humash combines all three Amsterdam illustrations on the title page. The 1827 Amsterdam Humash features Carl Christian Fuchs’s engraved title page. At the top is the image of Moshe accepting the two square tablets. Moshe appears below on the left, holding round-topped tablets with lines representing the text, and in the center is a crown of Torah. Fuchs includes another Amsterdam illustration at the bottom of the page, this one from the 1695 Haggadah, which depicts the temple.

Figure 15: Humash, Amsterdam, 1827

There is another unique depiction of the tablets on an early 19th-century title page. In the third edition of Mendelsohn’s Humash, Fürth, 1801-1803, Moshe and Aaron flank the title page. However, Moshe, with rays, holds only his staff. In the central image, the ark of the covenant is present, and the two tablets, with rounded tops, are superimposed in the foreground.

Figure 16: Derech Selulah, Fürth, 1802 (Gross Family Collection)

One printed book, however, R. Yosef Ergas’ Shomer Emunim (Amsterdam, 1736), may be a unique example that specifically addresses the minim issue. This work, which discusses the legitimacy of Rabbinic Judaism, includes a representation within a circular design surrounded by laurel leaves at the center of the upper register. Initially, the figure appears to be Moshe holding the luchos. However, the accompanying legend identifies the figure as “Rabbenu ha-Kodesh,” Rabbi Yehudah ha-Nasi, the compiler of the Mishna and a key figure in rabbinic Judaism. This suggests that the Mishna – Rebi Yehuda’s text – is synonymous with the luchos.

Figure 17: Shomer Emunim, Amsterdam, 1736 (Moreshet Auctions)

This interpretation is further supported when compared to the title page model for Shomer Emunim, David Nieto’s Matteh Dan, Kuzari ha-Sheni, (London, 1724). This work also defends rabbinic Judaism and depicts the figure labeled “Rabbenu ha-Kodesh” encircled in the upper register, but he is holding a book with the inscription “Mishna.” The printers of Shomer Emunim modeled the title page on Matteh Dan, yet went further in visually equating the Mishna with the Decalogue.

Figure 18: Matte Dan, London, 1714 (Moreshet Auctions)

Except for the Amsterdam prints, title page illustrations consistently show round-topped tablets, unlike Hebrew manuscripts where tablet shapes vary. This likely stems from printing developing after Christian art standardized the round-topped representation. Table 1 summarizes twenty-two manuscripts depicting the tablets, with no consistent shape linked to a specific era or region. In one instance both rounded and rectilinear shapes in the same manuscript.[15] In the Sarajevo Haggadah, the tablets appear on two separate panels (panels 30 and 32): once when Moshe receives and conveys the Decalogue, and a second time in the scene depicting what may be the Tabernacle, Solomon’s Temple, or the Messianic Temple.[16] In the first instance, the tablets are rounded, while in the second, they are rectilinear. It is conceivable, though admittedly improbable, that the original designs were rounded and depicted in the first panel. However, in the second panel depicting the temple, when the decision was made to construct the ark with a square shape, the tops may have been removed to ensure a better fit.

The Ultimate Message of Har Sinai

One final manuscript illustration is notable not only for the shape or material of the tablets, but for the broader message it conveys. The entire nation was present at ma’amad Har Sinai, including men, women, and children. The Dresden Machzor, circa 1290, depicts Moshe receiving the tablets on the upper right of the panel. On the left side of the top register, Moshe delivers them to a kneeling woman, with no men depicted. This representation indicates that the Torah was given to and applies to everyone equally. The shape itself conveys a universal message. The luchos feature rounded tablets within a rectangular frame, symbolizing that everyone fits within Judaism’s broad parameters.

Figure 19: Dresden Machzor, c. 1290 (MS Dresd. A.46A, 202)

Table 1: Manuscripts & the Shape of the Tablets