Woe Is Unto Whom?

Woe Is Unto Whom?  Christian Censorship of a Sugya in Berachos 3a 

(or What Was Bothering the Censor II)


By: David Zilberberg 
I.        A Censored Text in Berachos 3a
The Vilna Edition of Berachos 3a states as follows:
אמר רב יצחק בר שמואל משמי’ דרב ג’ משמרות הוי הלילה ועל כל משמר ומשמר יושב הקב”ה ושואג כארי ואומר אוי לבנים שבעונותיהם החרבתי את ביתי ושרפתי את היכלי והגליתים לבין אומות העולם
The identical statement is cited by R. Yose in a Braisa that follows the above-cited section.  The Braisa records the story of R. Yose’s visit to a ruin in Jerusalem to pray and his subsequent conversation with Eliyahu HaNavi upon leaving the ruin.  At the end of the conversation, Eliyahu haNavi asks R. Yose whether he heard a “kol” in the ruin.  R. Yose responds as follows:
 ואמרתי לו שמעתי בת קול שמנהמת כיונה ואומרת אוי לבנים שבעונותיהם החרבתי את ביתי ושרפתי את היכלי והגליתים לבין האומות
The meaning of the statement reported by R. Yitzchak bar Shmuel and R. Yose seems straightforward:  God is expressing the magnitude of the Jewish people’s loss.  And, by attributing this loss to the nation’s own sins and repeating this statement on a regular, thrice-nightly, basis, the statement serves as a constant reminder to the nation that their loss is their own fault.[1]  While an element of rebuke is not explicit in the statement, it dwells right beneath the surface. 
However, as noted in Dikdukei Soferim, the version of the statement appearing in the Vilna edition is incorrect.  The version of the sugya that appears in all extant manuscripts (at least those available on the JNUL online repository),[2] the earliest printings of the Talmud and various Rishonim who cite it, does not include the phrase “לבנים שבעונותיהם”.  Thus, in the Munich and the Firenze manuscripts and in citations to the sugya in the Menoras Hamaor (which is cited in the Dikdukei Soferim), and the Kuzari,[3] the statement reads:
אוי לי שהחרבתי את ביתי ושרפתי את היכלי והגליתים לבין אומות העולם
Early Talmud printings (e.g., Soncino, Bomberg), the Rosh, Rav Hai Gaon and Rabbenu Chananel have it slightly differently:

אוי שהחרבתי את ביתי ושרפתי את היכלי והגליתים לבין אומות העולם

The Paris manuscript follows the Munich and Firenze version (“אוי לי שהחרבתי”) in the story of R. Yose and follows the Soncino version (“אוי שהחרבתי”) in the statement of Rav.  Similarly, the Tosafist R’ Moshe Taku, in Kesav Tamim, cites both versions.
Either alternative has a profoundly different meaning than the Vilna version.[4]  A statement casting blame at the nation for their exile becomes a statement of divine mourning or regret. Dikdukei Soferim explains the change as follows:
ובד׳ בסיליאה (של״ט) שינהו הצענזור וממנו בדפוסים האחרונים
Thus, the original text was changed in the notorious Basel edition of the Talmud at the behest of the Christian censors, and this change was retained in subsequent versions.[5]
Why was this statement censored?  What did the censors find objectionable about the original version?
II.         Overview of Christian Censorship of the Talmud and the Basel Edition
To answer this question, it would be useful to briefly outline the history of censorship of the Talmud by the Church.  According to William Popper’s The Censorship of Hebrew Books, from the time it was first committed to writing until the High Middle Ages, the text of the Talmud survived in manuscript form relatively undisturbed by outside scrutiny.  The first significant efforts against the Talmud occurred in 13th Century France.  These efforts, spearheaded by Jewish apostates, culminated in the the burning of thousands of volumes of Hebrew books in the 1230s and 1240s.    Similar but less extreme efforts were taken against the Talmud in Spain as well.
The Golden Age of Hebrew printing that developed in Italy in the late 15th century was abruptly ended by a “golden age” of censorship.  Within years of the invention of the printing press, Italy quickly became the center of Hebrew printing.  In 1483, Gershom Soncino set up a printing press, and only a year later published Masekhes Berachos.  While this volume was not the first printed Talmud, it established the classic tzuras hadaf that has become synonymous with Talmud study until today. During the first half of the 16th century, other Italian printers published volumes of the Talmud, including Daniel Bomberg, who published multiple editions of the Talmud including at least one complete set.  These early printed editions encountered little interference by the Christian authorities. In fact, the Bomberg edition was printed with the permission of Pope Leo X (this is not to say that the printers did not engage in self-censorship). 
Starting in the end of 15th century, the Church, concerned about the ease with which the written word could now be disseminated unimpeded throughout the Christian world, began to take measures to regulate the publishing industry.  The focus of these efforts was initially on books designed for Christian readers.  However, as these measures became stricter, they ultimately focused on Hebrew books.  In 1550, the events of 13th Century France began to replay themselves in Italy.  Accusations against the Talmud by several apostates led to a renewal of anti-Talmud sentiment and ultimately to decrees directing the burning of the Talmud and prohibitions against possessing it.  The Talmud benefitted from a reprieve in 1563, when the Council of Trent modified the ban against the Talmud to allow its printing as long as it was renamed (to Gemara) and the “calumnies and insults to the Christian religion” were removed.  However, this limited dispensation was not exploited for many years, most likely because the risk of printing even an expurgated Talmud was deemed too great to justify the financial investment.  Finally, in 1578, a printer in Basel, Switzerland decided to print a version of the Talmud that would be acceptable to the Church and hired two well known figures with solid censorship credentials — Marco Marino, the papal inquisitor of Venice, and Pierre Chevallier of Geneva — for the task.[6]  The Talmud that produced in Basel was a thoroughly butchered work that was considered an utter abomination by the Jewish community. In the words of R. Rabinowitz in Ma’amar al Hadpasas Hatalmud:
ובמגינת לב ודאבון נפש ראו היהודים את התלמוד אשר הוא חיי רוחם וכל מעיינם בו נתון למרמם ביד הצענזור אשר שם בה שמות ופרעות ולזרה היה הדפוס הוה בעיניהם
Certain words were systematically replaced, sections were removed or changed and “explanatory” notes were added. The entirety of Maseches Avodah Zara was omitted. Most shocking were the notes added to Maseches Bava Metzia. An example is the following amud:
The marginal note in the lower left hand corner is a comment on a derasha regarding the purity of a person upon entry into this world.  Although difficult to read in the image posted above, Ma’amar cites the text of the note as follows:
רוצה לומר שהאדם בביאתו לעוה״ז עדיין לא חטא בעצמו ואמנם לפי אמונת הנוצרים הכל נולדים בעון אדם הראשון כדכ‘ ובחטא יחמתני אמי
There you have it – the Christian doctrine of Original Sin on a blatt Gemara.
As unconscionable as these notes are, any harm they did was short term.  These changes were both clearly gratuitous and easy enough for printers to spot.   Accordingly they were removed (for the most part) in later printings. The changes to the text of the Talmud itself were more pernicious because not only were they harder for printers to identify, printers of the 17th and 18th century were content with sticking with a text that passed muster rather than risking problems with the censors by reverting to the pre-Basel text.
III.        Explaining the Work of the Censors
Our original questions remains:  what did the censors find objectionable about our sugya?
It should be noted at the outset that it is impossible to determine definitively the reasoning of the censors. The censors left no detailed notes explaining the basis for their decisions.  In addition, the censorship of the Basel Talmud, and Hebrew books more generally, was not systematic or consistent.  Many have pointed out the almost comical examples of censorship revealing the utter incompetence of certain censors, who for example, indiscriminately replaced certain “buzzwords” such as “גוי” or “אדום” without regard to context.  In addition, identical or near identical texts that appeared in multiple places received different treatment by the Basel censors for no apparent reason other then lack of diligence (or perhaps due to the use of two censors).[7]  Thus, any attempt to divine why a particular change was made involves a bit of guesswork.
A. Anthropomorphism
Some scholars have suggested that the censors objected to the anthropomorphic nature of the original version’s portrayal of a sorrowful or regretful God, as it were.[8]  However, this reason appears to be incomplete.  The first Chapter of Berakhos is replete of anthropomorphic statements.  God wears Tefillin, God davens and God asks for a blessing from the Kohen Gadol.  All of these statements escaped the scrutiny of the censors.  Anthropomorphism, it would seem, didn’t always bother them.  While it might be argued that expressions of regret or sorrow by God was a form of anthropomorphism more troubling to the censor then other “garden variety” forms of anthropomorphism, I find this reasoning unsatisfactory.[9]

B.  Supersessionsism
A hint at what I believe is the true reason for the change in our text is found in a book called Sefer HaZikuk. This book was printed in different versions at various times but its purpose was the same: to provide the censors with Hebrew language guidance (which, because the censors were apostates, for the most part, was the only language they could read) as to what kind of passages were considered contrary to Church doctrine.
A. M. Haberman quotes a number of the guidelines printed in one of the versions of the book.[10]  Among these guidelines is:
כל מקום שאומר, שהקב”ה מצטער על אבדן של ישראל, ימחק לגמרי
The censored passage in Berachos 3a fits this guideline precisely.
Note that this book was not used by the censors of the Basel Talmud – it was written after the printing of the Basel Talmud.  However, Haberman states that this book was based on the censorship standards used for the Basel Talmud.  Accordingly, it provides a strong hint as to the kind of concern this passage likely raised with the Church and why it was changed.
While the Sefer Hazikuk doesn’t answer our original question, it certainly points us in the right direction.  Why would an expression of divine “pain” over the Churban be objectionable?  The answer would appear to be supersessionism. Supersessionism is (or at least was) a central tenet of Church doctrine.  It aims to explain the status of various Divine promises to and covenants with the Jewish people contained in Tanach in light of the New Testament.  The basic idea is that these promises were superseded by a new covenant with the followers of the Christian faith because the Jews failed to live up to their obligations.  Thus, the destruction of the Temple and the exile and persecution of the Jewish people is a fulfillment of Church teachings.
The notion of Divine lament or pain over these events is therefore a direct affront to this brand of Christian theology – if God “replaced” the Jews due to their failures with a new people and a new covenant why would he lament or feel pain over the rejection of the Jews or the destruction of the Temple that facilitated His relationship with them?  Supersessionism not only explains the “offensiveness” of the original text, but the rationale for the revised text as well.[11]
While many cases of censorship merely show the ignorance of the censor, the censorship of the passage before us should actually deepen our understanding of it.  What set off alarms in the minds of Medieval Church officials should likewise signal to us that the sugya is not merely a puzzling anthropomorphic statement attributing emotions to God but, but an implicit affirmation of God’s relationship with the Jewish people.[12]  In fact, this is the precisely the interpretation offered by R. Avraham Yitzchak HaCohen Kook in his commentary on our sugya in Ayn Ayah:

III.   A Note Regarding Recent Talmud Printings
It’s troubling enough that censored passages continued to be retained in nearly all printings of the Talmud over the several hundred years after the Basel Talmud.  But what is completely unconscionable is that many of the “Mifuar” reprintings of the Talmud in recent years have retained these passages as well, including certain editions that boast of teams of editors exerting painstaking effort to fix the text.   Most puzzling is the English Schottenstein edition of Berachos which not only retains the censored text and fails to note the correct original text, but includes a note providing a commentary on the censored text:
Accordingly, the statement “Woe to the children because of whose sins I destroyed My Temple…” may be meant to convey that since it is only because of our sins that the Temple was destroyed and our people were scattered among the nations, it is only because of our failure to repent them that the Temple continues to lie in ruins and we remain scattered among the nations.  God, however, yearns for our repentance and if only we will cry out to Him in anguish and repent over our sins and return to Him, He will surely restore us to our land and rebuild the Holy Temple.
While the notion that we can extract important lessons from texts written by medieval Christian censors is somewhat peculiar, it is ironic that the explanation somehow manages to retain the hopeful message of the original uncensored text.  Thankfully, the Hebrew Schottenstein edition, as well as the Oz v’Hadar and Steinsaltz editions, include the original texts in footnotes.
We are blessed to live in a society where we benefit from nearly absolute freedom of religion.  All sorts of expression — even the most vile, hateful and offensive sorts – receive broad protection under law.  Why do we continue to print and study editions of the Talmud marred by the fingerprints of the 16th Century Catholic Church?
Notes
[1]  The statement is echoed a third time later in the sugya but with somewhat different wording.  This post does not directly address this statement, although much of what is said here may apply to it.
[2] The JNUL repository shows three manuscripts of the sugya:  Munich, Firenze and Paris. 
[3] Saul Lieberman notes that this version of the text also appears in several anti-Talmud polemical texts by Christians and Karaites.  Shki’in at 69-70.  Lieberman demonstrates that (contra other scholars) these polemic works are valuable and trustworthy sources of Hebrew texts.
[4] More about the difference between the two alternatives below.
[5] Notably, the Firenze manuscript itself reflects the work of the censor.  Here is the relevant portion of our sugya below.

As you can see, a censor sought to remove the text under review and a later scribe apparently sought to reinsert it.  According to this, this manuscript was censored in Florence in 1472.  See below for another example of the expurgation of the passage:

This is an image of an expurgated version of the first page of Ein Yaakov (renamed “Ein Yisrael” due to the listing of Ein Yaakov on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum) taken from the Printing the Talmud website.
[6] See Stephen G. Burnett, The Regulation of Hebrew Printing in Germany, 1555-1630: Confessional Politics and the Limits of Jewish Toleration (available here) for background regarding the printing of the Basel Talmud.
[7] Although not quite a parallel text, Chagiga 5b includes identical themes to the uncensored version of our sugya, namely, God mourning, as it were, over the persecution of the Jews and nonetheless appears in the Basel edition unscathed.
[8]  Popper, Censorship at 59; Nehemia Polen, Modern Judaism, Vol. 7, No. 3 (Oct., 1987), “Divine Weeping: Rabbi Kalonymos Shapiro’s Theology of Catastrophe in the Warsaw Ghetto” at n. 18.
[9]  While I am no expert on Christian censorship or Christian theology, I don’t understand why the Catholic Church would find expressions of anthropomorphism a basis for censorship. In fact, the use of the uncensored version of this passage and others like it in anti-Talmud polemical texts discussed by Lieberman would seem inconsistent with this argument.  Presumably, these texts sought to ridicule and belittle the Talmud based on the anthropomorphism of the passage.  Why would anthropomorphism become a reason for Christians to censor these passages a few centuries later?  
[10] A. M. Habermann, The Oral Law During the Manuscript Era and the Publishing Era, available here.
[11] Credit for this insight goes to my clinical psychologist wife Penina whose prowess apparently extends to long dead church officials.
[12] Significantly, the Rosh and Rabenu Chananel, both of whom had the version of the sugya without the word “לי”, interpret the expression of woe as applying to the wicked (i.e., that due to the their misdeeds, God is compelled, as it were, to punish the Jewish nation) rather than God Himself.  This less radically anthropomorphic interpretation brings the original version of the text (at least the version that the Rosh and the Rabenu Chananel had) closer in line to the Basel text.  One can speculate that this line of interpretation provided a rabbinic basis for retaining the Basel text. However, this understanding cannot explain the version of the sugya in the extant manuscripts, which employ the word “לי”, thereby clearly attributing the expression of woe to God Himself.
It should be noted that Lieberman asserts that the “correct” version of the text includes“לי” based on the prevalence of this version in the manuscripts and in anti-Talmud polemical tracts.  He speculates that the removal of the word “לי” is an example of Jewish self-censorship resulting from discomfort with the radical anthropomorphism of the original text.  Shki’in at 70.



The Fish Motif on Early Hebrew Title-Pages and as Pressmarks

The Fish Motif on Early Hebrew Title-Pages and as Pressmarks

by Marvin J. Heller

            Fish are a symbol replete with meaning, among them, in Judaism, representing fertility and good luck, albeit that fish are not an image that, for most, quickly comes to mind when considering Jewish iconography. Created on the fifth day of creation, fish symbolize fruitfulness, and, as Dr. Joseph Lowin informs, the month of Adar on the Hebrew calendar (February-March, Pisces) is considered “a lucky month for the Jews (mazal dagim).” He adds that in Eastern Europe people named sons Fishl as a symbol of luck, and that in the Bible, the father of Joshua is named fish, that is, Nun, which is fish in Aramaic.[1] Similarly, Ellen Frankel and Betsy Platkin Teutsch note the allusion to fertility and blessing, the former that when Jacob blesses Ephraim and Manasseh, Joseph’s sons, he says “May they multiply abundantly ve-yidgu, like fish) in the midst of the earth” (Genesis 48:16) and the latter to the Leviathan, the great sea monster the Jews will feast upon in the messianic age.[2]

Other biblical references to fish include Dagon, the fish-god of the Philistines, also worshipped elsewhere in the Middle East, mentioned several times in the Bible (Joshua15:41, 19:27; Judges 16:23; I Samuel 5:2–7; and I Chronicles 10:10).  A fish also appears in the biblical story of Jonah, a large fish (dag gadol), not the popular whale that swallowed the prophet.

            Not only Jewish sources and printers used devices that were fish related. The Medjed fish, a species of elephant fish, a medium-sized freshwater fish with a long downturned snout, abundant in the Nile, was worshipped at Oxyrhynchus in ancient Egypt and appears in Egyptian art. Fish are a not infrequent image on medieval coat of arms. Indeed, there are as many as 181 shields of salmon alone in heraldry.[3] The most well-known printer device with a fish is the anchor and dolphin of Aldus Manutius (1449-1515), albeit not strictly speaking a fish, as a dolphin is actually an aquatic marine mammal. Among the most novel of the marine pressmarks is that of the Liege printer J. M. Hovii, active during the latter half of the seventeenth century, whose mark consisted of a mermaid enwrapped about a tree with a skull at the foot of the tree.[4]

            This article is the most recent in a series describing printer’s devices and motifs appearing on the title-pages and with the colophons of early Hebrew printed books.[5] The use of the fish images described here are varied, comprised of pressmarks and full page frames which include representations of marine life. The discussion of the images and the presses are for the sixteenth into the eighteenth century. Although a number and variety of presses that that utilized marks with fish are addressed in this article they are examples only and not necessarily complete. Furthermore, the entries are expansive, that is, printers’ marks are not described in isolation but with discussions of the presses that employed them and examples of the books on which they appeared. Entries are in chronological.[6]

            As noted above, the month of Adar is, if not exactly, coterminous with the astrological sign of Pisces. That sign is represented by a pair of fish swimming in opposite directions, as fish swimming against the stream represents the powerful Pisces potential. They can be ‘sharks’ – charismatic, strong leaders with vision and clarity about leadership that can guide an entire nation, like Moses, who was also a Pisces. But those Pisces who prefer to go with the flow can be weak people who get carried away easily and are prone to addictive patterns of behavior.

Pisces is known for the holiday of Purim. According to the sages, it will be the only holiday to continue to be celebrated throughout the world after the Messiah comes. “When Adar begins, joy enters,” as the famous Hebraic phrase goes. It is a month of happiness, miracles and wonders. It affords us the ability to achieve mind over matter, to overcome our doubts, and connect to the Light.[7]

            Another compatible view of Adar and fish states that “The astral sign of Adar is the fish (Pisces). Fish are very fertile, and for that reason are seen as a sign of blessing and fruitfulness. The Hebrew word for blessing is bracha, from the root letters betreish, kaff. In Jewish numerology (gematria), the letter bet has a value of 2, reish is 200 and kaff is 20. Each of these is the first plural in their number unit. What this tells us is that the Jewish concept of ‘blessing’is intertwined with fertility, represented by the fish of Adar.”[8]

            Our first example of a pressmark with a fish is the most unusual in the article, the only device in which the fish is not only completely inconsistent with the above description but is the least prominent representation of a fish of all the pressmarks in the article. Among the earliest printers to make utilize of the fish in a pressmark is Joseph ben Jacob Shalit in Sabbioneta. Although the Sabbioneta press is commonly associated with Tobias ben Eliezer Foa, it was Shalit who appears to initially have been the motivating force behind the press and, with other partners, the provider of necessary financial support. Tobias Foa is credited with providing only the physical quarters, Duke Vespasian Gonzaga’s patronage, and limited financial assistance. Also associated with the press were Cornelius Adelkind, Vincenzo Conti, and R. Joshua Boaz Baruch, all prominent names in mid-sixteenth century Hebrew printing in Italy.

The first title printed at the press was Don Isaac ben Judah Abrabanel’s (1437-1508) Mirkevet ha‑Mishneh (1551), a commentary on Deuteronomy. Abrabanel began work on Mirkevet ha‑Mishneh when still in Lisbon, unlike the remainder of his commentary on the Torah which was written much later. Its completion was postponed, however, due to his responsibilities at the Portuguese court. The incomplete manuscript of Mirkevet ha-Mishneh was lost when Abrabanel was forced to flee Portugal in 1483. However, on his later peregrinations after the expulsion of the Jews from Spain Abrabanel came to the island of Corfu in 1493, where he serendipitously (miraculously) found a copy of the manuscript. Leaving aside other work he turned to completing this commentary, but after the departure of French troops from Naples, Abrabanel went to Monopoli (Apulia), where Mirkevet ha-Mishneh was finally completed in the first part of 1496.

The title page, dated 5311 Rosh Hodesh Sivan (Wednesday, May 16, 1551) is comprised of an architectural border with standing representations of the mythological Mars and Minerva. This border was first employed by Francesco Minizio Calvo in Rome in 1523 and as late as 1540 in Milan. This is its earliest appearance in a Hebrew book. It would be often reused and copied, appearing on the title pages of books printed as far apart as Salonika and Cracow.[9]

On the final unfoliated leaf are two devices, on the right that of Foa, a palm tree with a lion rampant on each side and affixed to the tree a Magen David, about it the verse, “The righteous flourish like the palm tree” (Psalms 92:13), all within a circle, and to the sides the letters ט and פ for Tobias Foa. On the left is Shalit’s device, a peacock standing on three rocks, facing left, with a fish in its beak within a cartouche, although Avraham Yaari, after describing the peacock with a fish, adds, in parenthesis, (or a worm?). The letters יביש about this device stand for Joseph ben Jacob Shalit. Also printed by the press that year was R. Isaac ben Moses Arama’s (c. 1420–1494) Ḥazut Kashah, on the relationship of philosophy and religion. It too has the Mars and Minerva title-page, but here the last leaf is foliated and has one pressmark only, the peacock with fish of Shalit.[10] Parenthetically, Arama too was a refugee from Spain.

Fig. 1 pressmarks of Joseph Shalit (left) and Tobias Foa (right)

The peacock with fish pressmark was reused by Shalit in Mantua at the press of Venturin Rufinelli with the colophon of several works, for example the late 10th century ethical work based on animal tales, translated from the encyclopedic Arabic Rasa`il ikhwan as-safa` wa khillan al-wafa` (Epistles of the Brethren of Purity and Loyal Friends) into Hebrew by Kalonymus ben Kalonymus (c. 1286-c. 1328) as Iggeret Ba’alei Hayyim (1557). The original is comprised of 52 eclectic volumes (pamphlets) on philosophy, religion, mathematics, logic, and music. The portion from which Iggeret Ba’alei Hayyim is taken appears at the end of the 25th book. The original was prepared by the Brethren of Purity, a secret Arab confraternity which flourished in Basra, Iraq in the second half of the tenth century. The tales themselves have an Indian origin. Four other varied works of note with the peacock with fish pressmark are R. Saadiah ben Joseph Gaon’s (882-942) Sefer ha-Tehiyyah ve-Sefer ha-Pedut (1556) on resurrection; R. Abraham ben Samuel ha-Levi ibn Hasdai’s (13th century) Ben ha-Melekh ve-ha-Nazir (1557), also based on an Indian romance and here derived from the Arabic; Berechiah ben Natronai ha-Nakdan’s (12th-13th century) Mishlei Shu’alim (1557-58) popular collection of fables, and a Haggadah with the Mars and Minerva title-page (1568).

The Shalit pressmark also appears on the title-page of several books printed in Venice at the press of Giovanni di Gara, without mention of Shalit, so that Yaari suggests he was not involved with the books but it was used simply as an ornament. Among the titles with this pressmark are R. David Kimhi’s (Radak, c. 1160-c.1235) commentary on Psalms (1566), R. Moses ben Baruch Almosnino’s (c.1515 – c.1580) Me’ammez Ko’ah (1587-88), R. Samuel ben Abraham Laniado’s (d. 1605) Keli Hemdah (1596), each with a biblical verse about the frame, and R. Aaron ibn Hayyim of Fez’s  (1545–1632) Lev Aharon (1608), this last without the biblical verses about the cartouche. The Shalit pressmark appears in various places in the books, after the introduction, by the colophon, least often on the title-page. Yaari notes that the Shalit device was also employed by Georgi di Cavilli in an Ashkenaz rite Mahzor (1568).[11]

Leaving Italy, for now, and Shalit, we turn to Cracow where Isaac ben Aaron Prostitz, who together with his sons after him, printed Hebrew books for fifty years, beginning in 1569. In 1578, Prostitz printed at least three large format attractive tractates from the Talmud, Avodah ZarahKetubbot, and Rosh Ha-Shanah, the last extant in a ten folio unicum fragment in the library of the Jewish Theological Seminary. Moritz Steinschneider writes that Avodah Zarah was printed “si revera Supplementi tantum instar ad ed. Basil,” and “seu castrata . . .Cracoviae vero supplementi instar excusus,” that is, to compensate for its omission of the entire tractate from the much censored Basle Talmud.[12] Another feature of this tractate is that it is the first employ by Prostitz of the shield with two fish facing in opposite directions, the upper facing left, the lower facing right, above a printer’s inker, as his device.

Prostitz’s apparent next use of this device, this the first noted in bibliographic sources, is a Mahzor (1584) printed with the support of four partners, and reused frequently afterwards on such varied titles as Josippon (1589) at the end of the book, Avot with the commentary Derekh Hayyim by R. Judah Loew ben Bezalel (Maharal of Prague, c. 1525-16) after the introduction (1589), R. Moses ben Jacob Cordovero’s (Ramak, 1522-1570) Pardes Rimmonim (1591), between the books introductions, R. Bahya ben Joseph ibn Paquda’s (late 11th century) Hovot ha-Levavot, after the translator’s preface (1593) and R. Naphtali Hirsch ben Asher Altschuler’s (16th-17th cent.) Ayyalah Sheluha c. 1595. Pardes Rimmonim was actually printed in Cracow/Nowy Dwor, the change in location due to a serious outbreak of plague in Cracow, Prostitz and his family forced to flee to Nowy Dwor with the press’ typographical equipment. Pardes Rimmonim was completed in that location, the only Hebrew book printed in that Nowy Dwor.[13]

Fig. 2 Pressmark of Isaac Prostitz

Yaari questions Prostitz’s use of this pressmark. While the employ of the printer’s tool is clear, that is not the case for the fish. He suggests that it might be a propitious sign for the partners in the printing of the Mahzor in 1584, which Prostitz continued to use afterwards. This is unlikely, however, for, as we have noted, this device had been employed previously in 1578 on tractate Avodah Zarah. Another possibility is that the fish alludes to the month (Adar) in which Proztitz was born, but he then inquires why the pressmark was not used previously on all the books printed by the press. Yaari notes Steinschneider’s suggestion that the fish represented Prostitz’s entreaty for children, as his sons were borne at an old age. Here to, however, he observes that Prostitz’s four sons were born earlier, being mentioned in the colophon to Toledot Yitzhak in 1593. Another suggestion is that the fish allude to the name of R. Naphtali Hirsch ben Asher Altschuler who was known by all as Hirsch mokhir seforim (bookseller) in Lublin and for whom Prostitz printed books, for example Hovot ha-Levavot, the fish alluding to the name Naphtali, for the portion of the tribe Naphtali included the Kinneret Sea, in which fish were plentiful, but Yaari concludes this is only speculative.[14] I would question why, even if this is true for R. Altschuler, what does this have to do with Prostitiz and why he should have adopted this fish image for his pressmark?

A short lived press existed in Thannhausen, Bavaria, near Augsburg, a zoltot (supplementary festival prayers for the period between Passover and Shavu’ot) and a Mahzor (c. 1594) for the entire year according to the Ashkenaz rite were printed in the last decade of the sixteenth century. The press was a furtive effort to print Hebrew books by R. Isaac Mazia, whose name, it has been suggested, is an abbreviation for mi-zera Yehudim anusim, that is, he was of Marrano origin, or that he had served as rabbi in several communities in southern Germany, together with R. Simeon ben Judah ha-Levi of Guenzburg (Simon zur Gemze) of Frankfurt, who arranged with the Munich printer Adam Berg, to issue those works. When printing the mahzor the printers, concerned about the Christian response to sensitive passages and accusations of blasphemy, left blanks to be filled in by the purchasers.

After an examination of the still incomplete mahzorim by the censor at the University of Ingolstadt the press run of 1,500 copies was destroyed; only five copies are known to be extant today. In August, 1597, Mazia was fined 200 florin and released, while Berg, as late as 1604, was still attempting to have his impounded press returned. All of this occurred despite the fact that the authorities concurred that the mahzorim had been approved for publication by the imperial authorities in Prague. Nevertheless, the printers had neither received nor sought permission from the local authorities in Burgau to print. Moreover, as the books were for export they gave the impression that printing was done with the permission of those authorities.

 Fig. 3b Zoltot

             

Fig. 3a Zoltot Extract

Both titles have a like frame comprised of an ornamental border with three entwined fish at the top (the signet of Mazia), at the sides are armed men in armor each with a shield, the right shield engraved with the name R. [Isaac] Mazia, the left with the name R. Simeon Levi. At the bottom is a laver pouring water on two hands, representative of the [Simeon] Levi. Isaac Yudlov informs that the fish here represent Isaac Mazia; this appearance of three fish as a printer’s mark is apparently unique. [15]

Not long afterwards we find the fish image employed in Lublin at the press of Zevi bar Abraham Kalonymous Jaffe. Lublin has a long and proud history as a Hebrew printing center, beginning with the press established by the family of Hayyim Shahor (Schwarz), that is, his son Isaac and his son-in-law Joseph ben Yakar. This press, through descendants and collateral members, would be active for almost a hundred and fifty years. The presses’ began publishing in 1551, with a folio Polish rite mahzor for the entire year, continuing until 1646 when a fire forced the press to close; printing resumed in 1648 when tah-ve-tat (gezerot Polania, the Chmielnicki massacres of 1648-49), broke out. That and the 1655-60 Swedish Muscovy wars, combined with others conflicts besetting the area made it impossible for Jaffe to continue and he had to close the press. Printing did resume when Solomon Zalman Jaffe ben Jacob Kalmankes of Turobin, encouraged and supported by his father, reestablished a Hebrew press. He printed 30 books until 1685 and the entire Jaffe family is credited with as many as 180 Hebrew titles.

Fig. 4 Pressmark of Zevi Jaffe

A device employed by Zevi Jaffe, found on the title page of tractates in the large folio edition of the Babylonian Talmud published from 1617-1639, and after the introduction to R. Joel Sirkes’ (Bah, 1561–1640), Meishiv Nefesh, and possibly other works is a deer with raised forelegs, above a crown atop a shield with two fish, the upper facing left and the lower facing representative of the fact that he was a Levi, often accompanied by two fish, here too indicating that he was born in the month of Adar.

Among the many prominent printers of Hebrew books in Amsterdam is Uri Phoebus ben Aaron Witmund ha-Levi. He had previously worked for Immanuel Benveniste; in 1658, Uri Phoebus established his own print-shop. He would print about one hundred titles, from 1658 to 1689, the period he was active in Amsterdam, generally traditional works for the Jewish community, encompassing Bibles, prayer-books, halakhic works, haggadotaggadot, and historical treatises (Yosippon). Prostitz’s first pressmark, employed in 1569 on the title-page of R. Naphtali Hertz ben Menahem of Lemberg’s Perush le-Midrash Humash Megillot Rabbah and intermittently afterwards was a stag within a cartouche. Subsequently, Uri Phoebus employed as his device a hand pouring water from a laver, representative of the fact that he was a Levi, often accompanied by two fish, here too indicating that he was born in the month of Adar.

The first usage by Uri Phoebus of this device was in 1660 on the title-page of Ketoret ha-Mizbe’ah, R. Mordecai ben Naphtali Hirsch of Kremsier’s (d. 1670) work on the aggadic portions of tractate Berakhot dealing with the destruction of the Temple and the length of the exile. The title-page of this folio book has an arabesque frame and across the lower half of the page is Uri Phoebus’s fish mark. That device would be frequently used as a decorative ornament in many of the books that Uri Phoebus printed, placed in various locations, after introductions or the colophons.

Fig. 5a Ketoret ha-Mizbe’ah

Fig. 5b Ketoret ha-Mizbe’ah Extract

Examples of the fish woodcut appears in other works, but not necessarily on the title-page, for example, in R. Hayyim ben Benjamin Ze’ev Bochner’s Or Hadash (c. 1671-75), on the laws of benedictions in a concise and abridged form, the title page of Or Hadash has an architectural frame headed by an eagle but no fish, that device being but one of several tail-pieces.

In 1662 Uri Phoebus printed an illustrated Haggadah accompanied by the commentary of R. Joseph Shalit ben Jacob Ashkenazi of Padua entitled Nimukei Yosef. The title-page of this quarto Haggadah has an architectural frame with two robed men at the sides, above winged cherubim and between them two fish with the winged head of a cherub. At the bottom are two vignettes; on the left the punishment of Shehem for the rape of Dinah and on the right the tribe of Levi killing the worshipers of the golden calf. In 1667-68, Uri Phoebus printed, also with this title-page, Nahalat Shivah (below and extract to right), R. Samuel ben David Moses ha-Levi’s (c.1625–1681) work on legal documents, particularly relating to divorce and civil matters. Nahalat Shivah has the same title-page as the Haggadah, here dated, “The Messiah ben David is coming משיח בן דוד בא (427 = 1667),” reflecting the referring to the false messiah Shabbetai Zevi. This title-page and fish crest (below) would be reused by Uri Phoebus for many years and elsewhere besides Amsterdam.

Fig. 6a Nahalat Shivah

Fig.6 Nahalat Shivah Extract

Other title-pages employed by Uri Phoebus, with different architectural frames but with a like laver and fish image include such varied works as R. Jonah ben Isaac Teomim (d. 1669) of Prague’s Kikayon di-Yonah (1669-70), novellae on tractates of the Babylonian Talmud and, attributed to R. David ben Aryeh Leib of Lida (c. 1650-96) Migdal David (1680), both with the Benveniste frame; and R. Isaac Benjamin Wolf ben Eliezer Lipman (d. c. 1698), rabbi of Landsberg, Germany’s Nahalat Binyamin (1682), the first part of a commentary on the taryag [613] mitzvot and R. Shabbetai ben Meir Ha-Kohen’s (Shakh, 1621–1662) Siftei Kohen, a commentary and halakhic novellae on Shulhan Arukh Hoshen Mishpat these with a frame with rectangular shapes, all with the fish and lave at the apex.[16]  The title-page of Siftei Kohen, the first part of a commentary on the taryag [613] mitzvot dates the beginning of the work to 21 Tammuz, days of the Messiah ימי המשיח (423 = Thursday, July 26, 1663). The colophon dates completion of the work to Monday, 21 Heshvan, in the days of the Messiah בימי   המשיח (425 = November 9, 1664, actually a Sunday), both dates (Messiah) a possible allusion to Shabbbtai Zevi.[17]

Among the more elaborate title-pages is that of the first complete translation of the Bible (1676-78) into Yiddish by R. Jekuthiel ben Isaac Blitz, a rabbi from Witmund, Germany and corrector at the press of Uri Phoebus. This edition was the subject of a serious controversy with the Amsterdam printer Joseph Athias, who published an almost simultaneous and related Yiddish edition by Joseph Witzenhausen printed (Amsterdam, 1679-87).

Fig. 7a Bible – Engraved Front-piece

Fig. 7b Later Prophets

Figs. 7c, 7d Extracts

The Bible has an engraved front-piece title-page with depictions of Moses and Aaron, Mount Sinai at the top, and in the lower right hand corner a coronet and below it the raised hands of the Kohen giving a benediction. In the lower left hand corner is a fish and laver image, here the two fish are crisscrossed. The engraved title page is incorrectly dated תזל כטל (439 = 1679), whereas the like title-pages for each of the biblical divisions are correctly dated  תלז(437 = 1677), such as Later Prophets, below. The text has a separate but like title-page for Former Prophets, Later Prophets, and Writings. Note that in the otherwise like depictions of the fish and laver the position of the laver and water is reversed.

In 1689, Uri Phoebus ceased printing in Amsterdam, in order to relocate to Poland. Faced with competition from the large number of Hebrew printers in Amsterdam, Uri Phoebus felt that he would be more successful in Poland, located closer to its large Jewish population, a major market for the Hebrew printing-houses of Amsterdam. He established the first Hebrew press in Zolkiew in 1691, bringing his typographical material with him. Uri Phoebus’ descendants continued to operate Hebrew printing-presses in Poland into the twentieth century.

One of, if not the first book printed by Uri Phoebus in Zolkiew is R. Mordecai ben Moses Katz of Prostitz’s Derekh Yam ha-Talmud (1692) a super-commentary on the Hiddushei Halakhot of R. Samuel Eliezer ben Judah ha-Levi Edels (Maharsha). The title-page of this small work (40: 8ff.), much worn, appears to be the Benveniste frame, but at the apex is the same fish image as at the apex of Siftei Kohen. Among the decorative material, after the introduction and after the colophon is Uri Phoebus’ four fish mark, one on each side facing a laver from which water is being poured.

Among the other works published by Uri Phoebus in Zolkiew with the Nahalat Shivah title page reproduced above, is R. Jekuthiel ben Solomon Zalman ha-Levi Suesskind’s Dat Yekuthiel (1696,), a concise (80: 16 ff.) versified enumeration of the taryag mitzvoth (613 commandments). After the approbations to Dat Yekuthiel, there are thirteen, is the press mark comprised of four fish and laver. The title-page informs that the manuscript was found by Jekuthiel’s son Jonah of Kalish in his father’s bag, and arranged and brought to press by his grandson Menahem Feibush.

After the approbations is a letter from Jekuthiel to his son Eliezer. Jekuthiel, who was incarcerated at the time, in which he writes from his dark cell of his painful existence, where he had “wormwood, and gall to drink” (cf. Jeremiah 9:14) until “‘My soul is weary of my life’ (Job 10:1) ‘and my soul became impatient’ (Zechariah 11:8) to die in this way with this ‘light bread’ (Numbers 21:5) that I eat, absorbed in all my limbs, ‘the bread of adversity, and the water of affliction’” (Isaiah 30:20). Jekuthiel continues, describing his hardships, and then writes, “I will pay my vows to the Lord” (Psalms 116:14, 18) and that he took “of that which came to my hand a (new) offering” (cf. Genesis 32:14) on the taryag mitzvot. He thought to write on them in verse, “parallel, one with the other” (Exodus 26:17, 36:22), in single stanzas to the end, in the order of the Torah with references to the Hamishah Homshei Torah in the margins. Jekuthiel tells his son to take this as his blessing, which will be for a remembrance for both of them.

Uri Phoebus passed away in c. 1705.[18] He was succeeded in Zolkiew by his son Hayyim David, who had assisted his father at the press. Unfortunately, Hayyim David died shortly after his father, leaving the print-shop, in turn, to his sons, Aaron and Gershon. Uri Phoebus’ descendants continued to operate Hebrew printing-presses in Poland into the twentieth century. Aaron and Gershon did not use the ornamental material brought by Uri Phoebus to Zolkiew, instead preparing new frames that also reflected that they were Levi’im, and employed on such small format books as R. Raphael Lonzano’s Kinyan Avraham (1723) and R. Meir ben Levi’s Likkutei Shoshanim (1727). This ornate frame continued to be used by their descendants, among them Judah Solomon Yarsh Rappaport in Lvov on a Shir ha-Shirim with the commentary Magishi Minhah (1817) in Lvov.[19]

Fig. 8a Kinyan Avraham

Fig. 8b Kinyan Avraham Extract

            Turning to, Germany, we find two fish, here facing in the same direction, on a title-page with an architectural pillared title-page, and at the bottom a palm tree, about it on the left a crab facing right and on the right two fish, both facing left, the former the sign of Tammuz (Cancer, scorpio), and, as already well noted, the latter the sign of Adar. The two zodiacal emblems may have had a personal significance, but, as Yosef Hayyim Yerushalmi observes describing a slightly later usage “the significance of this combination is difficult to ascertain.[20]

First employed in Fuerth by Joseph ben Solomon Zalman Schneur and his sons from 1691 through 1698, beginning with Torat Kohanim, and other folio volumes, primarily from the Shulhan Arukh, a like frame was subsequently used by Aaron ben Uri Lippman Frankel beginning with a Haggadah, in Sulzbach (below). Aaron was active in Sulzbach from the mid-1690’s until he passed away in 1720 at the age of seventy-five, first utilizing the fish image on a Mahzor printed in 1699 and afterwards in his folio imprints. Among those titles is a Haggadah (1711) with an attractive engraved copperplate front-piece (but without fish) followed by the second architectural pillared title-page described above. The architectural title-page was subsequently reused in Feurth by Hayyim ben Zevi Hirsch, who is credited with printing as many as 164 titles in that location, among the works with this frame and fish mark are several Haggadot (1746, 1752, and 1756).[21]

Fig. 9a Aaron ben Uri Lippman Frankel

Fig. 9b Aaron ben Uri Lippman Frankel Extract

The site of yet another press that employed fish on the title-page, here apparently once only, was in Wandsbeck, a borough in north-west Hamburg in Schleswig-Holstein. The first printed books in Wandsbeck are dated to the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, beginning with the Astronomiae instauratae Mechanica of Tycho Brahe (1546-1601), the famous Danish astronomer, published in 1598 by the printer Phillip van Ohr. Hebrew printing in Wandsbeck is a later occurrence, beginning approximately a century after its non-Jewish counterparts. It flourished for a brief period, primarily, albeit not solely, at the press of Israel ben Abraham.[22] The Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book enumerates forty-four titles from 1688 through 1744, several of which, including the titles previous to Israel’s sojourn in Wandsbeck, are listed as doubtful and includes duplicates as well.[23]

Israel ben Abraham was a proselyte who, reputedly, had previously been a Catholic priest. After his conversion Israel eschewed the sobriquets common among converts such as Avinu or the Ger (convert). Israel converted to Judaism in Amsterdam, where he wrote a Yiddish-Hebrew grammar Mafte’ach Leshon ha-Kodesh (Amsterdam, 1713). In 1716, after leaving Amsterdam, Israel ben Abraham acquired the typographical equipment belonging to Moses Benjamin Wulff, the court Jew in Dessau, and printed in Koethen, Jessnitz, and then in Wandsbeck from 1726-33, returning, after a brief retirement, to Jessnitz in 1739, printing a small number of titles to 1744.

Fig. 10a Selihot with ma’ariv be-zemanah

Fig. 10b Selihot with ma’ariv be-zemanah Extract

Selihot with ma’ariv be-zemanah (evening prayers in its time) is one of if not the first dated book attributed to Israel ben Abraham in Wandsbeck; it is a small octavo book (80: 7, 9, [4], 10-13, 13-23, [3] ff.). Its distinct title-page states that it is a Selihot with ma’ariv be-zemanah and that it contains matter pertaining to women; it informs that it was printed “as vowed and accepted upon themselves by the men of the hevra kaddisha (burial society) of the gemilut hasadim (charitable association) of HALBERSTADT,” and that it was “brought to press by the heads, the officers of the hevra kaddisha, R. Wulff and the noble R. Leib Warburg.” The title-page is dated in the year “You resuscitate the dead מחיה מתים אתה (469 = 1709),” a misdate, as noted by Moritz Steinschneider, who rejects the 1709 date (non admittunt; recusus ergo . . .) and dates it to 1730?[24]  At the bottom of the title-page are images of a lion at the left supporting a signet enclosing a pail, at the right a wolf supporting on the right side of the signet, two vertical fish, facing in different directions. The symbolism of these images is not clear, although it might be related to Wulff and Warburg, prominent contemporary family names.

The most dramatic, eye catching title-page with a fish motif was printed in Bad Homburg vor der Höhe at the press of Aaron ben Zevi Hirsch of Dessau. This Homburg is the district town of the Hochtaunuskreis, Hesse, Germany, on the southern slope of the Taunus, bordering, among others, Frankfurt am Main and Oberursel.[25] The title-page appears on successive editions of R. Meir ben Jacob ha-Kohen Schiff’s (Maharam Schiff, 1605-41, var. 1608-44) Hiddushei Halakhot, novellae on tractates of the Talmud, printed in Homburg in 1737, 1741, and 1747. Maharam Schiff, scion of a distinguished rabbinic family, a prodigy, was appointed rabbi of the important city of Fulda at the age of 17, where he was also served as a Rosh Yeshivah. There is a tradition that he was appointed rabbi of Prague in 1641, but if, as his grandson, who brought his works to press, reports, that he lived only 36 years, Maharam Schiff must have passed away immediately after his appointment. Maharam Schiff’s novellae are highly regarded and are reprinted in standard editions of the Talmud.[26]

The title-page has a four part frame, the top image of a fish (sea creature) attacking a ship and within the fish two men, apparently roasting a small fish (?). Below the fish (sea creature) appears to be the face of a man. On the other editions the other portions of the frame are varied. A. M. Habermann, in his work on Hebrew title-pages describes the top portion of the frame as mythological.[27]

Fig. 11 1741, Hiddushei Halakhot

Returning to Amsterdam, an edition of Avot de-Rabbi Nathan with the commentary Ahavat Hesed (1777) by R. Abraham ben Samuel Witmond (1696-1773), also the author of novellae on the Pentateuch and Babylonian Talmud (1734). Avot de-Rabbi Nathan is one of the minor tractates, fourteen (fifteen, depending upon the enumeration) minor non-canonical tractates of the Talmud today appended to Seder Nezikin. It is an ethical work, considered a supplement to or a further development of Avot but with much aggadic material not related to the Mishnah, suggestive of an aggadic midrash. Ahavat Hesed was published posthumously by Witmond’s son-in-law and grandson at the press of Gerard Johann Janson. The header and place of publication on the title-page are printed in an oversized font in red letters. At the bottom of the page is a pressmark

Fig. 12a Ahavat Hesed

Fig. 12b Ahavat Hesed Extract

At the bottom of the title-page is a shield with topped by a coronet and within it on the right are two fish facing in opposite directions, above them the sun, moon, and a star, and above them the phrase “and (Samson) said, [O Lord God,] remember me, I pray you, and strengthen me” (Judges 16:28); on the left a hand holding a pail above water, again above the sun, moon, and a star, and above the phrase “And David blessed the Lord” (I Chronicles 29:10). Yaari informs that the two phrases, allude to Witmond’s son-in-law, R. David, son of the late Solomon Bloch, together with the author’s grandson, Samson ben Moses, who brought the book to press. Furthermore, the fish refer to Samson ben Moses, born in the month of Adar, the sign of which is a fish, and the pail refers to his son-in-law David, born in the month of Shevat, that month’s sign being a pail.[28]

            The fish image, replete with its symbolism of fertility and good fortune, continued to be used in Jewish imagery and pressmarks. Indeed, shortly after its appearance on Ahavat Hesed it was again employed, if only occasionally, on the title-page of works from another Amsterdam printer, this into the nineteenth century. The usage over centuries depicted here attest to the popularity and power of the fish image, persisting to the present.

[1] Joseph Lowin, “Hebrew Root Word [D-Y-G]” Jewish Heritage on Line Magazine, http://www.jhom.com/topics/fish/lowin.html.
[2] Ellen Frankel and Betsy Platkin Teutsch, The Encyclopedia of Jewish Symbols) Northvale, London, 1995), p. 55.
[3] https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Salmons_in_heraldry
[4] W. Roberts, Printers’ Marks. A Chapter in the History of Typography, (London, 1893), pp. 201-02.
[5] Previous articles in this series are “Mirror-image Monograms as Printers’ Devices on the Title Pages of Hebrew Books Printed in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries,” Printing History 40 (Rochester, N. Y., 2000), pp. 2-11, reprinted in Studies in the Making of the Early Hebrew Book (Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2008), pp. 33-43; “The Cover Design, ‘The Printer’s Mark of Marc Antonio Giustiniani and the Printing Houses that Utilized It,’” Library Quarterly, 71:3 (Chicago, July, 2001), pp. 383-89, reprinted in Studies, pp. 44-53; “Mars and Minerva on the Hebrew Title Page,” The Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 98:3 (New York, N. Y., 2004), pp. 269-92, reprinted in Studies, pp. 1-17; “The Bear Motif on Eighteenth Century Hebrew Books” The Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 102:3 (New York, N. Y., 2008), pp. 341-61, reprinted in Further Studies in the Making of the Early Hebrew Book (Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2013), pp. 57-76; “Akedat Yitzhak (the Binding of Isaac) on the Title-Pages of Early Hebrew Books,” in Further Studies, pp. 35-56; “The Eagle Motif on 16th and 17th Century Hebrew Books,” Printing History, NS 17 (Syracuse, 2015), pp. 16-40; “The Lion Motif on Early Hebrew Title-Pages and Pressmarks,” (Printing History, NS 22, (Syracuse, 2015), pp. 53-71.
[6] Among the primary sources for this article are my The Sixteenth Century Hebrew Book: An Abridged Thesaurus (Brill, Leiden, 2004) and my The Seventeenth Century Hebrew Book: An Abridged Thesaurus. Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2011, and Avraham Yaari, Hebrew Printers’ Marks From the Beginning of Hebrew Printing to the End of the 19th Century, (Jerusalem, 1943), Hebrew with English introduction.
[7] Kabbalah Centre, https://livingwisdom.kabbalah.com/pisces-adar.
[8] Aish.com, http://www.aish.com/h/pur/b/The_Choice_of_Adar.html.
[9] Concerning the widespread use of this frame see my “Mars and Minerva on the Hebrew Title Page,” noted above.
[10] Yaari, Hebrew Printers’ Marks, pp. 12, 132 no. 19.
[11] Yaari, p. 132.
[12] Moritz Steinschneider, Catalogus Liborium Hebraeorum in Bibliotheca Bodleiana (Berlin, 1852-60), col. 220 n. 1407, col. 228 n. 1427.
[13] Nowy Dwor, Polish for ‘new manor’, is the prefix of several locations with that title. Another Nowy Dwor, Nowy Dwor Mazowiecki, was home to a Hebrew press in the late eighteenth – early nineteenth centuries, printing a significant number of Hebrew titles from 1781 through 1818.
[14] Yaari, pp. 26, 139 no. 42.
[15] A. M. Haberman, Title Pages of Hebrew Books (Safed, 1969), pp.m 48,129 no. 34; Isaac Yudlov, Hebrew Printers’ Marks: Fifty-Four Emblems and Marks if Hebrew Printers and Authors (Jeruslaem, 2001), pp. 36-40 [Hebrew]. He also informs that three small fish are the mark of the Gronim family of Prague in the sixteenth century, appearing on their headstones.
[16] Concerning Lida and Migdal David see my“David ben Aryeh Leib of Lida and his Migdal David: Accusations of Plagiarism in Eighteenth Century Amsterdam,” Shofar 19:2 (West Lafayette, Ind., 2001), pp. 117-28, reprinted in Studies in the Making of the Early Hebrew Book, pp. 191-205.
[17] Another work refering to Shabbetai Zevi noted by Ch. B. Friedberg, History of Hebrew Typography of the following Cities in Europe: Amsterdam, Antwerp, Avignon, Basle, Carlsruhe, Cleve, Coethen, Constance, Dessau, Deyhernfurt, Halle, Isny, Jessnitz, Leyden, London, Metz, Strasbourg, Thiengen, Vienna, Zurich. From its beginning in the year 1516 (Antwerp, 1937), p. 29 [Hebrew] published by Uri Phoebus is Tikkun Keria with a depiction of Shabbetai Zevi “sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up” (Isaiah 6:1).
[18] Ch. B. Friedberg, History of Hebrew Typography in Poland from the beginning of the year 1534, and its development up to our days . . . Second Edition, Enlarged, improved and revised from the sources (Tel Aviv, 1950), p. 64 [Hebrew] and Yaari, p. 158, date Uri Phoebus death to 1705. L. Fuks and R. G. In contrast, Fuks-Mansfeld, Hebrew Typography in the Northern Netherlands 1585 – 1815, II (Leiden, 1984), p. 242, writes that although Uri Phoebus was very productive in Zolkiew, he returned to Amsterdam in 1705, where, in 1710, he wrote “a short history of the first settlement of the Sephardic Jews in Amsterdam,” and where he died on 23 Shevat 5475 (17 January, 1715).
[19] Yaari, p. 158.
[20] Yosef Hayyim Yerushalmi, Haggadah and History, A Panorama in Facsimiles of Five Centuries of the Printed Haggadah from the Collections of Harvard University  and the Jewish Theological Society of America, (Philadelphia, 1976), plates 64, 65.
[21] Yeshayahu Vinograd, Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book. Listing of Books Printed in Hebrew Letters Since the Beginning of Printing circa 1469 through 1863 I (Jerusalem, 1993-95), I, p. 450 [Hebrew]; Yaari, pp. 51, 152-52 no, 82; Yudlov, pp. 59-61
[22] Concerning Hebrew printing in Wandsbeck see Marvin J. Heller, “Israel ben Abraham, his Hebrew Printing-Press in Wandsbeck, and the Books he Published,” Further Studies in the Making of the Early Hebrew Book (Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2013), pp. 169-93.
[23] Vinograd, II, pp. 168-69.
[24] Steinschneider, cols. 2792-93 no. 7517, 446-47 no. 2939.
[25] Concerning Hebrew printing in Homburg see my “Early Hebrew Printing in Bad Homburg vor der Höhe,” in progress.
[26] Itzhak Alfassi, “Schiff, Meir ben Jacob Ha-Kohen,” Encyclopaedia Judaica, (Detroit, 2007) vol. 18, p. 131; Mordechai Margalioth, ed. Encyclopedia of Great Men in Israel IV (Tel Aviv, 1986), col. 1028-29 [Hebrew].
[27] A. M. Habermann, Title Pages of Hebrew Books (Tel Aviv, 1969), pp. 104, 134 no. 88 [Hebrew].
[28] Marvin J. Heller, Printing the Talmud: A History of the Printed Editions of the Talmud from the mid-17th Century to the end of the 18th Century and the Presses that published them (Brill: forthcoming); Yaari, Hebrew Printers’ Marks, pp. 89, 169-70 no. 145.




Some Assorted Comments and a Selection from my Memoir, part 2

Some Assorted Comments and a Selection from my Memoir, part 2
by Marc B. Shapiro
1. In a recent Jewish Action (Summer 2009), p. 21, Elli Fischer writes:
Brandeis University has been enclosed by an eruv for thirty years, longer than any other campus not adjacent to an established Jewish community. Since Brandeis is a Jewish institution, the eruv is funded by the university (as opposed to the students). . . . Rabbi David Fine, who graduated from Brandeis in the mid-1980’s, recalls checking the eruv as a student. . . . The first two JLIC rabbis to serve at Brandeis, Todd Berman and Aharon Frazer, each implemented minor upgrades to the eruv.

 

This gives me the opportunity to correct some errors and tell part of the story of the Brandeis Orthodox community. The eruv was first established in the 1982-1983 school year, when R. Meir Sendor was the Orthodox advisor. (Sendor is currently the rabbi of Young Israel of Sharon and is unusual in that he is both an academic scholar of Kabbalah, with a PhD from Harvard,[1] and also involved in Kabbalah from the spiritual side.) Rabbi Sendor informs me that Rabbi Yehudah Kelemer was the initial halakhic advisor, and Rabbi Shimon Eider was later brought in to be the official rav ha-machshir. (R. Eider later helped in putting up the eruv in Sharon, which was the first eruv in New England.)
When I arrived in Brandeis in the fall of 1985 we did not carry on Shabbat. (Contrary to the Jewish Action article, David Fine didn’t arrive at Brandeis until two years later.) I assume that due to some structural changes on campus, the eruv was no longer functional. During that academic year, Rabbi Eider returned, did what needed to be done, and the eruv was once again kosher. At this time, R. Yaakov Lazaros, a Chabad rabbi in Framingham (with semichah from R. Moshe Feinstein), was the Orthodox advisor.
The university paid (and I assume still pays) for the eruv’s upkeep, but this has nothing to do with Brandeis supposedly being a Jewish institution. In fact, it is not a Jewish institution. Brandeis paid because it saw this as an important service to the Orthodox community. The university has expanded since the 1980’s so that is probably why changes to the eruv had to be made. I don’t like the word “upgrade” that Fischer used, because “upgrade” means to improve the quality of something, and I don’t think that Rabbi Eider’s eruv needed to be improved.
When one speaks of Orthodox life at Brandeis, a lot of credit must go to Rabbi Albert Axelrad, who was the Reform Hillel rabbi at Brandeis. He is someone who over time I came to admire greatly, even though our religious outlooks were so very different. What Weinberg jokingly said about another Reform rabbi applies equally to Axelrad: He is a “hillul ha-shem,” (hillul ha-shem in quotation marks!) because he shows that “one can be an upstanding and noble man, full of the spirit of love for Israel, its Torah, and its language,” even if one is not a halakhic Jew.[2]
In ways that people don’t realize, Axelrad greatly assisted Orthodox growth on campus, and today Brandeis has a very large Orthodox contingent.[3] It was Axelrad who made sure that there would be an Orthodox advisor on campus, paid for from the Hillel budget. Yet despite his leaning over backwards to help the Orthodox, there were always those in the Orthodox community who had negative feelings towards him, not only ideologically, but also personally. These were people who came from yeshivot and had never had any contact with a Reform rabbi, and here was one who performed intermarriages. Axelrad had also been involved in some leftist causes and has the dubious distinction of having been officially put into herem, ceremony and all, by Rabbi Marvin Antelman. He shared this honor with the entire membership of the New Jewish Agenda, whom Antelman also placed under herem. (I mentioned Antelman in a previous installment and hope to return to him as his books are deserving of their own post.)
Rabbi Lazaros was only at Brandeis for one year and he was followed by Rabbi Marc Gopin. Those who saw the video on the Rav will probably remember Gopin as he has a few appearances in it. At the time he was working on his dissertation, which focuses on Samuel David Luzzatto.[4] He has also published a nice article on Elijah Benamozegh.[5] Since then he has made an international reputation for himself in the area of conflict resolution, travelling widely and publishing a number of books.[6]
Gopin was followed by another rabbi, a RIETS graduate, who would have been very good for the community in another ten years. But at this time he was too much to the right for them. The community had always been a somewhat liberal place. I recall the outrage among many when R. Moshe Dovid Tendler came to campus and expressed his feelings about homosexuality. There was the same outrage when the new campus rabbi said similar things. (Shmuley Boteach or R. Chaim Rapoport would have been more in line with the students’ feelings.) The following should give a further sense of the liberal nature of the community: The practice on Shabbat morning when taking the Torah out of the ark was for the hazan to carry it through the women’s section. This struck everyone as a very nice thing to do, and although it is not done at the typical synagogue, college is a very different place. Another example of how college differs from the “real world” is that during Shabbat morning services women routinely give divrei Torah, yet this is not something that most “regular” shuls are willing to allow.
When Rabbi Lazaros was the Orthodox advisor he ruled that the practice of carrying the Torah on the women’s side was forbidden. From the way he explained his decision I understood that the major issue wasn’t carrying the Torah on the woman’s side per se, but rather women kissing the Torah. As he was the rav, we had to listen to him, even on the Shabbatot that he was not there. However, in an act of rebellion the community made a decision that when the Torah was taken out of the ark the hazan, who now could not walk around the women’s side, would also not walk around the men’s side. He would bring the Torah right to the bimah. When the Torah was returned to the ark the hazan walked to the front of the synagogue and sang Mizmor le-David, once again without walking around the men’s side. The following year, with the arrival of a new Orthodox advisor, the community revived the old practice of carrying the Torah on the women’s side.
When I was the Orthodox advisor in the early 1990’s the Orthodox culture on campus had changed, and the situation with carrying the Torah was exactly reversed from what it had been in the 1980’s. In the 1990’s it was the students, or rather some students, who wanted to stop carrying the Torah on the women’s side. They didn’t think that an Orthodox shul could have such a practice. My position was that the minhag had to remain the way it was. At that time there was a very dynamic Ramah-type minyan and if the Orthodox were seen as too close-minded we would lose people to the Conservative minyan. In fact, it was precisely because of the liberal nature of our minyan that many non-Orthodox were attracted to it, and a number of students adopted an observant lifestyle while at Brandeis. While some students, coming to Brandeis after a year in Israel, wanted the minyan to be just like their shul in Teaneck and the Five Towns, the truth was that the minyan, to be successful, had to be run like an out of town shul.
This was not the only time I felt that for the sake of the wider appeal of the Orthodox community I had to make decisions that got some people upset. On Friday night there was a communal meal for all the different denominations. Often a woman would say kiddush. After that everyone could, of course, make their own kiddush. But there were some people who wanted to make a big deal about the women saying kiddush, and were also saying that men are not yotze with this, no matter which woman is reciting the kiddush. At the same time that this was happening, there were also those in the non-Orthodox groups who wanted to start having women lead the communal birkat ha-mazon. Until then, out of deference to the Orthodox, only a man led it.
We have a talmudic principle that if you try to grab too much you will end up with nothing, so I had to make a choice. The real halakhic issue here was birkat ha-mazon, as a woman cannot be motzi a man.[7] Therefore, I told the students that it was OK for the women to make kiddush but not birkat ha-mazon, and anyone who wanted to should make his own kiddush. This compromise was accepted. A year prior to this, before I was working at Brandeis, I had been wondering about this issue and asked R. Yehudah Herzl Henkin if it was permitted for a woman to say kiddush for a man. He replied in the affirmative. Shortly after receiving his answer, the same issue became pressing at Harvard Hillel. I told the Orthodox rabbi at Harvard, Harry Sinoff, what the practice at Brandeis was and that he might want to consult with R. Henkin. This is the responsum R. Henkin wrote, published here for the first time. (See also Bnei Vanim, vol. 2, pp. 40-41.)

I myself wrote a short Hebrew “mini-responsum” dealing with women, kiddush, and birkat ha-mazon. It was taped to the wall of the campus beit midrash, but with the move to the right, I am sure that not too long after my departure the responsum came down.
I just mentioned the Brandeis beit midrash, which it itself significant. Other than Brandeis, I don’t know if there is another secular university in the world that has a beit midrash in a university building. When the beit midrash was established in the early 1990’s it was a great achievement. It was an entirely student led project, but again, Rabbi Axelrad’s involvement, behind the scenes, was crucial. He spoke at the beit midrash dedication, as did the Boston Rosh Kollel.
There were also some minor conflicts related to the beit midrash. Although it was the Orthodox students who arranged for it, it was obviously something that all students could be part of. The question came up of what type of books should be stocked there. My feeling was that since the library had all the scholarly and academic books, there was no reason for these sorts of texts to be in the beit midrash.
Another issue arose with the Boston kollel. They had recently become involved with Brandeis students as part of their outreach. One of the kollel guys, who was having a great influence on the students, wanted to start a gemara shiur on campus. This was fabulous. He wanted to give the shiur in the beit midrash, which was the natural place. However, he said that he could only do it if no women were allowed into the beit midrash during this time (even if they were not participating in the shiur). One of the women students complained to me, and I agreed that this was improper. The beit midrash was established for all students and must be open 24 hours a day for everyone. We could not have a situation where, like a pool, the beit midrash is closed to women for certain hours. It also went against the ethos of the community to declare that women are barred from attending certain classes. I told the male students who were organizing the shiur that it would have to take place somewhere else, and that is what happened.
Right when we were having the discussions one of the students drove to Brookline to attend Prof. Isadore (R. Yitzhak) Twersky’s gemara shiur, and he came back reporting that there was a woman in attendance. If the Talner Rebbe welcomed women to his shiur, were the Brandeis students supposed to be more “frum”? For those who have never seen a picture of my late teacher, who was also the son-in-law of R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, here he is:

 

There was another time when the Boston Rosh Kollel gave a decision to some of the students that I felt could drive away the less religious if it was adopted by the community as a whole. Since there were students who thought that the Rosh Kollel should be regarded as the halakhic authority for the community, I was in a difficult situation. This was especially so as I myself had asked him questions in the past, so it would not be an easy thing to reject his ruling in this case. I consulted a well-known haredi posek with whom I had discussed other matters, including an issue of possible mamzerut that came up on campus. He agreed with my position but said that he could not put his decision in writing.
I know that some people will find this objectionable, but it never bothered me. Why should I care if he put it in writing? He knew that if he did he might be attacked. Given the choice between no pesak (if it has to be in writing) or an oral pesak, obviously the latter is preferable. Although at the time I told people who gave the pesak (and anyone who wanted to could call him up to confirm it), revealing it on this blog would, I think, fall into the category of “putting it in writing.” This posek is still functioning, and if he was afraid of being attacked fifteen years ago, all the more so today. (There are reasons why I am being vague about the particulars of the pesak.)
Returning to the Brandeis beit midrash, Prof. Marvin Fox also spoke at its dedication. This was significant as it was the first time, in my memory, that the students took advantage of this great scholar and talmid hakham.[8] There was such a disconnect at Brandeis between the academic life and the religious life that regarding the latter we all overlooked the people in our midst, those who were teaching us in the classroom. I too regret not speaking to Fox in greater detail. For example, having lived in Columbus, Ohio he knew R. Leopold Greenwald very well, and yet other than hearing one or two stories about him from Fox, I never took the time to find out more. Fox also knew Chaim Bloch, the great rabbinic forger. (Greenwald and Bloch were themselves good friends.) He told me once that there was a lot he could say about Bloch, and yet I was foolish and never took advantage of this.
After Fox’s death I discovered a letter from him to Bloch in which he explains how it happened that Greenwald’s great library ended up at the Hebrew Union College. He also tells us the tragic fate of Greenwald’s huge collection of letters, letters that he received from gedolim and scholars over the course of many decades. This must have been one of the largest and most interesting collections in the world, full of priceless material which should have been given to a library so a Greenwald archive could be established. Among these papers were also to be found manuscripts from Greenwald’s own pen that had not yet been published. It was perhaps with this in mind that Fox told me very firmly, at the Brandeis beit midrash dedication, not to let the letters of Weinberg out of my hands. He was convinced that some people would want to destroy them, or at the very least make sure they were not made public.
Here is Fox’s letter to Bloch, courtesy of the Leo Baeck Institute, New York[9]:

Returning to the RIETS graduate who was the Orthodox advisor following Gopin, there were a few issues that created problems. Yet the straw that broke the camel’s back was that, in accordance with R. Moshe Feinstein’s pesak, he would not give an aliyah to Rabbi Axelrad. Axelrad’s practice was to come to the Orthodox minyan once a year. Not giving him an aliyah was something that simply wouldn’t fly at Brandeis. It was not a question of Axelrad being concerned about his kavod. I am certain that he did not take personal offense. But he was very concerned about what appeared to be a growing split in the community, a community that had always gotten along so well. To publicly refuse to give the Hillel rabbi an aliyah would give the Orthodox community a sectarian flavor very much removed from both the Hillel ethos, as well from the majority of Orthodox students as well. It was not surprising, therefore, that this rabbi was let go in the middle of the year. After he was let go he tried to create a separate Orthodox community independent of Hillel. It was to be a real Austrittsgemeinde, and he told us that money would be forthcoming from New York to help us form the new community. Yet none of the students were interested.
R. Yehudah Herzl Henkin’s responsum, Bnei Vanim, vol. 2, no. 9, on whether one can give a Reform rabbi an aliyah, is dealing with the Brandeis situation (and was sent to me). Rabbi Henkin’s responsa have an unfortunate characteristic in that they don’t mention to whom he is writing, or give other identifying details. Without this blog post, future historians would have had no way of knowing which of the many American campuses he was referring to. Think of how much we learn about the history of Orthodoxy in America from R. Moshe Feinstein’s responsa. We see him answering questions to Canton, Berkeley and all sorts of other places. Knowing to where he is writing is vital for getting a sense not only of Orthodoxy of the time, but of the responsum itself, since his ruling for an out-of-the way place cannot always be applied when dealing with a center of Jewish life. More leniencies are obviously found in the former. With regard to Bnei Vanim, since R. Henkin doesn’t tell us to whom he is writing, when he is offering comments on another’s work we have no way of identifying this text if we want to get a better sense of the opposing position. (Other poskim have also published responsa that deal with Brandeis, and I will discuss them in a future post.)
I think readers might also find the following story interesting, from my tenure as Orthodox advisor at Brandeis. Every Friday night all the different groups on campus would get together for an oneg, at which there would be a speaker. Out of respect for the Orthodox a microphone was never used, which wasn’t really an issue since the onegs were not that big. However, it so happened that Hillel had an opportunity to bring in Dr. Ruth Westheimer[10] to speak on Friday night. She wasn’t going to speak about any sexual matters, but about her early years in Germany and her family that was killed.
This was at the height of Dr. Ruth’s fame, and there was going to be a huge crowd to come hear her. Hillel had decided to break with tradition and use a microphone at the event, which was to be held in a hall much larger than was usually used. I was told that Dr. Ruth actually insisted on the microphone, and the Hillel leadership didn’t feel like they could refuse. Before continuing with the story, let me go back a few years and tell how I, and my classmates, first heard of Dr. Ruth, because I think it says something about how yeshiva administrators are sometimes very foolish. I still remember how one day on the bus all the talk was about how the administration of Bruriah High School – the girl’s school of the Jewish Educational Center in Elizabeth, where I was a student – had sent out a letter to all parents telling them about a very dangerous radio show called “Sexually Speaking” that was on very late on Sunday night. The parents were told to make sure that their daughters didn’t listen to it—as if a parent can control what a teenager does with her radio in the privacy of her room. It was an era before computers, when we all listened to radio. (I am sure many readers remember the days when 770 WABC played music.)
Now anyone should realize that the perfect way to bring teenagers to do something is to tell them that they can’t do it. Although perhaps none of the Bruriah students had ever even heard of the show, upon receipt of this letter they all were determined to find out what the administration wanted to keep them away from. Not only that, but on the bus, the day after the letter was received, they told all the boys about this strange letter. None of us had ever heard of Dr. Ruth, and our school never sent out a warning letter to parents. Yet you can be sure that after hearing the news we too were curious. It happens that some students found Dr. Ruth so funny and interesting that they listened to her while they were on the phone together. The whole novelty was about an older Jewish woman, with a strong accent, speaking so openly about the things people don’t usually speak about.
Returning to the story, I was now put in a difficult situation, since the Orthodox community could not support an event that involved Sabbath violation. I told this to the Hillel administration and I told the students that I would not be going and it was not something that the Orthodox community could be part of. I remained in the dining room with those students who chose to stay, and those who wanted to hear Dr. Ruth went upstairs, where the event was taking place. Imagine my surprise when someone sits down next to me, and lo and behold, it is Dr. Ruth. She had obviously been told that there was some controversy about her speaking on the microphone, and she wanted to come speak to me. She was extremely apologetic, and said that unfortunately she needs the microphone, otherwise no one would be able to hear her. She also told me that she was sorry that this created problems for the Orthodox community. Dr. Ruth stayed with us for about ten minutes or so, and even bentched together with us (though though she hadn’t eaten anything!). She told me that she remembered singing the standard tune to the first paragraph of birkat hamazon when she was a child in Germany. I don’t know if she had sung it since.
One other event is worth recalling, and this took place when I was an undergraduate. It involved a dispute between me and my friend David Bernstein, and I would be curious to hear what readers have to say.[11] We decided to create an organization so we could invite in speakers. In order to get money from the university, we had to be officially chartered, so in our senior year we created the Brandeis chapter of Young Americans for Freedom. It had exactly two members (we had no interest in having any others join), and lasted for only one year (i.e., until we graduated). I was a little surprised when the Brandeis student senate agreed to charter us and give us money, but hey, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. (Had Matthew Brooks not already graduated, we probably would have let him join our little club. Brooks is now the executive director of the Republican Jewish Coalition. See here)
One of our events was sponsoring a debate between my father, Edward S. Shapiro, and Stephen S. Whitfield on what political ideology was more in line with Jewish interests. This had a very large turn-out and the problem was that Whitfield, although a Democrat, is more of a Truman or Kennedy Democrat. Every time my father cited some nonsensical statement by a Democratic figure, Whitlfield agreed that it was nonsense, so they ended up agreeing about as much as they disagreed. A debate isn’t much fun unless one of the speakers is prepared to defend what others regard as indefensible (e.g., anyone looking to defend ACORN?).
For those who don’t know, Whitfield is one of the leading experts on American Jewish culture, having written an enormous amount on the topic. My father started off as a general historian, but has also written a great deal on American Jewish history. I can’t help thinking that the reason the New York Times never reviewed his book on the Crown Heights Riots[12] – which was a National Jewish Book Award Finalist – was that they didn’t want to revisit the issue. It was, after all, the great embarrassment of the Dinkins administration, and the symbol of Democratic failure in New York City, ushering in the Giuliani era. Yet it was, precisely for these reasons, one of the most important events in recent New York City history, and one would think that the New York Times would have thought it worthwhile to review such a book. But no, they let it pass without comment.
We also brought in Dinesh D’Souza to speak. This was before he had published any of his books. In fact, I had never even heard of him when Bernstein suggested we bring him. His talk, though sparsely attended, was quite good. My dispute with Bernstein happened regarding our next speaker. I wanted to bring Lew Lehrman to speak. He was a prominent conservative who almost became governor of New York. He also had some honorary role in Young Americans for Freedom. Bernstein strongly disagreed. He argued that since Lehrman had converted to Catholicism a few years prior, he was not the sort of person we should be asking to speak. Although Bernstein was not Orthodox, that was a big issue for him and I agreed to drop the idea. But from my perspective, the fact that Lehrman had left the fold had no relevance for me in terms of having him speak. I wasn’t giving him an honor or asking him to speak on his theology. I wanted to hear him talk about economic matters and the situation in Nicaragua, and didn’t think that his personal life was of any relevance.
Although the cases are obviously not identical, there was a time when many people would have reacted the same way to inviting an intermarried speaker, and my response would have been the same. Since there is such a high intermarriage rate, one day most of us will have someone running for Congress in our district who is intermarried (some already have such representatives), just like most of us already know people, or have family members, who are intermarried. I don’t think this should have any relevance on my vote. In fact, I don’t think it should have any relevance on anything. Two generations ago, anyone who intermarried realized that he was doing something very much at odds with Jewish life and upbringing. Today, hardly anyone who grows up in the non-Orthodox world thinks that it is an issue at all, and it is only a matter of time before the Conservative movement accepts intermarriage. They have no choice, as their congregations are full of people whose children intermarry, and they can’t go on forever taking a hard line on this issue. Not only do they lose the intermarried children, they often lose the parents when the rabbi tells his long-time congregants that he is sorry but he can’t perform the wedding of their children or even announce it in the synagogue newsletter. I predict that within ten years we will see Conservative rabbis doing intermarriages.
The massive intermarriage rate has also impacted the Orthodox world. A number of years ago R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg stated that he thought that it might be a good idea for a father whose son was going to intermarry to attend the wedding, thus not completely cutting off all ties.[13] Weinberg had known the problems of intermarriage very well, as the son of his good friend R. Shlomo Aronson, Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, had married a non-Jewish Russian woman. He also knew Jacob Klatzkin, the brilliant philosopher and Zionist thinker, who was the son of the even more brilliant R. Elijah Klatzkin. How many people know that Jacob Klatzkin intermarried?
According to Gotthard Deutsch, R. Esriel Hildesheimer’s son Levi intermarried.[14] It is hard to imagine that Deutsch, who was Levi’s contemporary, was mistaken with the facts, especially since he was never corrected in succeeding issues of the newspaper in which he published this information. Yet Dr. Meir Hildesheimer has told me that Levi Hildesheimer married the daughter of Abraham Brodsky of Odessa, the well known philanthropist. Levi’s son, Arnold Hildesheimer, was an active Zionist who made his living as a chemist and eventually moved to the Land of Israel. Arnold’s mother was definitely Jewish. Therefore, I don’t know if Deutsch erred or if Levi married twice.. Arnold Hildesheimer’s son was Wolfgang Hildesheimer, an important figure in pre-World War II German literature.
Unfortunately, we have a number of examples of not merely intermarriage of children of great rabbis, but even conversion. The story of the son of R. Shneur Zalman of Lyady is well known, and I don’t need to repeat it here. Let me just mention, however, that the man was clearly mentally unbalanced. Michael Bernays, a son of Hakham Isaac Bernays, is probably the most famous apostate from a rabbinic family in modern times, converting seven years after his father’s death. Another son of Hakham Bernays, Jacob, actually sat shiva when this occurred.[15] If we want to look at descendants of great rabbis who converted, then the family tree of R. Akiva Eger has plenty of non-Jews. In fact, a predecessor to R. Akiva Eger as rav of Posen, the Beit Shmuel Aharon, R. Samuel ben Moses Falkenfeld,[16] had a most significant great-grandson, yet he was not Jewish. I refer to none other than Leon von Bilinski.[17] He was Austrian minister of finance and also military governor of Bosnia when Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated.
I assume the famous Posen family got its name from the city of Posen. R. Gershon Posen, the dayan of Frankfurt’s separatist community, had a grandson who was on the verge of converting to Christianity. Nahum Glatzer describes this young man’s disillusionment with Orthodoxy, and how he tried to talk him out of conversion.[18] (The conversion never took place, and another grandson, R. Raphael Posen, tells me that the more than seventy grandchildren of R. Gershon all remained Orthodox.)
How are Orthodox Jews supposed to relate to those who intermarry, and who typically don’t know any better? Many of us have even been invited to intermarriages. R Yuval Sherlow has stated that while it is not permitted to attend an intermarriage wedding ceremony, there are times (especially when family is involved) that it would be permitted to attend the party.[19] R. Ovadiah Yosef has ruled that it is permitted to give an intermarried man an aliyah,[20] and this opinion is also shared by R. Baruch Avraham Toledano and R. Pinchas Toledano (former Sephardic Av Beit Din of London).[21] I am also told that this is the practice at the Lakewood kiruv minyanim all over the country. This is so despite the fact that the most that R. Moshe Feinstein would permit in such a case is to allow the intermarried man to open and close the Ark.[22] It is actually Aish Hatorah that has done more to “normalize” intermarriage than any other organization in the Orthodox world. Not only does Aish Hatorah do outreach to the intermarried (something we can all appreciate), but they use various intermarried Jewish celebrities in their publicity, and have even honored these people at their events. I am not saying that they are wrong in what they do. After all, the old approach to intermarriage doesn’t work today, and although I find something distasteful about using an intermarried celebrity as the poster-boy to invite people to a Torah class, I see how people can disagree. But about one thing there can be no doubt, and that is that R. Aaron Kotler would be turning over in his grave if he saw what this supposedly haredi organization has done when it comes to tacit acceptance of intermarriage.

Yet we shouldn’t assume that it is only in modern times that intermarried people have been honored by Orthodox Jews. While it would have been unimaginable in previous years to put them on a pedestal the way Aish Hatorah does, there were times that the intermarried man did such great service for the Jewish community that it was only proper to express feelings of gratitude. Adolphe Cremieux is one such example. Although being intermarried, he helped the Jewish community in many ways. One can even say that he is a model for our time, in showing that one can love the Jewish people and sacrifice for them, even after having intermarried. Here is a song written in honor of Cremieux by the noted R. Aaron Fuld of Frankfurt, author of Beit Aharon. It is taken from Judaica Jerusalem auction cataloge of Summer 1997, p. 6.

 

Worse than intermarriage is apostasy, but the same issue came up there also. The apostate Daniel Chwolson staunchly defended his former religion and people. How were the Jews to relate to him? Let me quote Louis Jacobs, The Jewish Religion (Oxford, 1995) pp. 99-100:
When Chwolson celebrated his seventieth birthday, a number of Russian rabbis, in gratitude for his efforts on behalf of the Jewish community, sent him a telegram to wish him many happy returns. Rabbi Hayyim Soloveitchik was more typical of the standard Jewish abhorrence of apostasy when he refused to participate, saying: ‘I do not send congratulatory telegrams to a meshumad.” The wry remark attributed to Chwolson himself in the following story is probably apocryphal. Chwolson is reported to have said that he became a Christian out of conviction. “Who are you kidding?” said a Jewish friend. “How can you of all people, a learned Jew, be convinced that Christianity is true and Judaism false?” To which Chwolson is supposed to have replied: “I was convinced that it is better to be a professor at the university than to be a Hebrew teacher [melamed] in a small town.”
2. I have seen ads for the soon to be published new RCA Artscroll siddur. It will be interesting to see how the battle shapes up between the Sacks siddur and the new RCA Artscroll. I can’t see how the Sacks siddur is going to make any real headway, as I don’t think many shuls are going to get rid of the Artscroll siddur they have been using for so long, and which does just about everything you need a siddur to do. While the new RCA siddur was in the production stages, R. Asher Lopatin of Chicago sent the following letter to the Siddur Committee. I think it is interesting in that it shows some of the concerns of those on the Orthodox left. Although I haven’t seen the new siddur yet, I don’t think I am going out on too much of a limb to predict that the RCA will not be adopting Lopatin’s proposal. (I thank R. Lopatin for allowing me to publish his letter.[23])

 

The Practice of Saying She’asani Yisrael for the Birchot HaShachar instead of the three “Shelo Asani”s
In Masechet Menachot, 43b (Bavli), Rabbi Meir says that a person, “Adam”, has to (chayav) say three blessings every day: She’asani Yisrael, Shelo Asani Isha and Shelo Asani Bur. There is a note there that it should be Rabbi Yehuda saying this instead of Rabbi Meir, and also on the next line Rav Acha Bar Ya’akov replaces “Shelo Asani Bur” with “Shelo Asani Aved”.
The G’mara questions why we need to say both Shelo Asani Aved and Shelo Asani Isha, but it gives an answer to this question. Rashi, in his second explanation of that answer, on Menachot 44a, says that we need to say both in order to come up with 100 b’rachot. The Bach (O.C 46) argues that the main reason for saying all three is to increase the number of b’rachot we say to 100. He argues that that is the main reason for saying three b’rachot in the negative (shelo asani) instead of one b’racha in the positive (she’asani Yisrael) – basically, if you would say “She’asani Yisrael” then you couldn’t say “Shelo asani aved, isha”. The Aruch HaShulchan (46, yud) paskins as well that if you say She’asani Yisrael, you cannot say the other two negative b’rachot. The Mishna B’rura (46,16) leaves it as a dispute.
Most Rishonim, notably the Rif and the Rambam (according to the G’ra), disagree with our existing girsa of the words of Rabbi Meir/Rabbi Yehuda, and they have the first b’racha in the negative as “Shelo Asani Goy”. This is the standard version in siddurim, nusach Ashkenaz and Sepharad and Edot Hamizrach, with the occasional nusach of “Shelo Asani Nochri” instead of “goy”. The Magen Avraham (O.C. 46, tet) mentions, that there were siddurim – perhaps many of them – that had the b’racha of she’asani Yehudi , but that that is a mistake of the printers, and the Mishna B’rura (46, 15) says that there are several siddurim with “She’asani Yisrael” but that one should not say that as it is also a mistake that of the printers (shibush had’fus).
The Magen Avraham (O.C. 46, yud) and the Haghot Ha’Gra (O.C. 46) interpret the Rama (46, 4) as suggesting that converts should say “She’asani Ger” and the Bach (46) interprets the Rama as suggesting that converts say “She’asani Yehudi” – instead of the negative.
Moreover, the Rosh is in the back of Masechet B’rachot, paragraph #24 (daf 39 in our versions, referring to B’rachot 60a) – upholds the Girsa that we have in Menachot. It’s in rounded brackets in the Rosh, and the Divrei Chamudot on the Rosh doesn’t like it, but it is there. Importantly, the G’ra affirms it is the girsa of the Rosh (and the Tur, which doesn’t appear in our versions) in his Biur HaGra on OH 46:4.
Therefore:
Since many of the Nosei Keilim and the Aruch HaShulchan feel compelled to ask: Why are these b’rachot in the negative (see Taz 46:4 “Rabim makshim…”)?
And since the girsa that we have in our G’marras is She’asani Yisrael, supported by the Rosh and the G’ra
And since even though the Shulchan Aruch rejects our positive girsa of the b’racha, the Rama does support it (in some version) as a legitimate b’racha in certain circumstances – for a convert
And since even those who reject “She’asani Yisrael/Yehudi/Ger” for a convert, (Sh’lah and Bach, see Taz 46, 10), do not reject it because it is not a legitimate nusach, but, rather, because it does not apply to a convert who has made himself a Jew, rather than being created by God as a Jew.
And since the negativity of the three b’rachot causes lots of misunderstandings in shul where many people come from Reform, Conservative or unaffiliated backgrounds – or even from Orthodox backgrounds without perhaps truly understanding the love that Chazal had for all human beings, male, female, Jewish or Gentile
I have asked my shul, Anshe Sholom B’nai Israel Congregation, a shul that does a lot of kiruv, to follow the girsa of the b’racha according to the G’ra and the Rosh, and say, “She’asani Yisrael” and that a woman say “She’asani Yisraelit” instead of “Shelo Asani Goy.”
Once the first b’racha is said in this way, the way it appears in the G’marra Menachot, then we have no choice, based on the rule of ‘safek b’rachot lekula’ and based on the p’sak of the Aruch HaShulchan (from the Bach) , to avoid saying the final two, negative b’rachot of “Shelo Asani Aved” and “Shelo Asani Isha”.
Clearly this helps avoid many of the questions that people ask about the negativity toward “goyim” or “women” that someone who does not understand Chazal do ask. The answers given help, but for a shul dedicated to kiruv, these b’rachot are a big turn off.
On the other hand, the b’racha of “she’asani Yisrael/Yisraelit” is a beautiful b’racha, thanking God for making me Jewish – proud to be Jewish, excited to begin the day as a Yisrael.
In addition, from a philosophical point of view, rather than beginning the day with negative b’rachot, which accentuate the G’mara of “noach lo la’adam shelo nivra” (see Bach 46, then Taz 46, 4), let us begin the day with a positive b’racha “k’mo sha’ar b’rachot shemevarchim al hatova” (Magen Avraham, 46, 9). Not negating the p’sak of “noach lo…”, but just respecting the positive aspects which G’mara Menachot the way we have it preferred.
Homiletically, “She’asani Yisrael” matches very well with B’reishit 32:27: “Vayomer, Shalcheni ki alah hashacher” – see Rashi ad loc where that is referring to Birchot HaShachar of the angels! And then two p’sukim later, what b’racha (“ki im beirachtani”) does Ya’akov get? “Lo Ya’akov ye’ameir shimcha, ki im Yisrael”! There is no better way to bringing these p’sukim to life than by saying birchot hashachar every day the way our G’marra has it: “She’asani Yisrael” – proud as Ya’akov was to receive the name, “Yisrael.”
Finally, Rav Benny Lau, an important Talmid Chacham and leader of Beit Morasha, has told me that he, too, follows this practice of saying “She’asani Yisrael” – and he tells his daughters to say “Yisraelit” – in the morning and having it replace the three negative b’rachot.
At the same time, it is important to emphasize the need to reach 100 b’rachot a day, and to push people to be careful about saying Asher Yatzar when leaving the bathroom, and b’rachot before and after eating, and being in shul as frequently as possible in order to hear chazarat haShatz to more easily reach 100 b’rachot.
I would humbly ask the Committee responsible for the new RCA Artscroll siddur to consider either putting this practice in the siddur itself, as a possible “hanhaga”, or allowing this way of saying birchot Hashachar to appear on the RCA Artscroll siddur web site, to that I can download it and print it up for my shul, and any other shuls interested in this hanhaga can do the same.
Sincerely yours and with wishes of hatzlacha rabba,
Rabbi Asher Lopatin

 

3. Virtually every one of our sages, together with all their brilliance, offer at least one an unusual, sometimes even incomprehensible, idea. Since I am writing this right before Sukkot, here is something to think about when you take the Arba’ah Minim. R. Jacob Ettlinger, the greatest of nineteenth-century German gedolim, writes as follows in his Bikurei Yaakov 651:13. (If you raised this safek in shiur today, the rebbe would think you were joking, but as with even the strangest suggestions, one can often find a true gadol who discusses the issue.)
נסתפקתי אם אנו יושבי אירופא יוצאין בד’ מינין שגדלו באיי אמעריקא ואויסטראליען שיושבין לצדינו ותחתינו, וכן איפכא. שידוע מה שכתבו הטבעים שרגליהם נגד רגלינו, ומה שאין נופלין נגד השמים הוא מפני ששם הבורא כח מושך בארץ. וא”כ המינים שגדלו שם אם נוטלין אצלנו הוא הפוך מדרך גדולתן, שאצלנו גדלו ראשי הלולב וההדס ההם יותר למטה מזנבם. או אי נימא, כיון שנוטל הגדל סמוך לארץ למטה זה מקרי דרך גדילתו, והכי מסתברא.
4. In the latest Hakirah (Summer 2009), p. 134 n. 189, Chaim Landerer quotes my translation of a comment by R. Solomon Judah Rapoport. I didn’t know that Landerer was going to publish my translation, and I answered his e-mail quickly and carelessly. The correct translation is not that Rapoport is “as Catholic as the Pope,” but something even stronger. Frankel says that Shir is “more Catholic than the Pope.” (Thanks to R. Ysoscher Katz who caught the error and alerted me. Also thanks to Rabbi Jonah Sievers who is always helpful in matters concerning German translation. Not being a native speaker, and obviously not familiar with all idioms of the language, every translation I have published has been carefully reviewed by expert translators.)
Speaking of errors, let me also correct something that appears in Between the Yeshiva World and Modern Orthodoxy. This correction has already been taken care of in the more recent editions of the book, but those who have the first or second printing can insert the correction into the volume. How this error came about, I have no idea. I must have been in a daze, and it was only when the book was published that I saw it. On p. 180, beginning line 3 from the top, it states “Might one then be able to say that our great divine Torah cannot endure the conjunction of Torah with so-called secular studies . . .” It should be corrected to say, “Might one then be able to say that our great divine Torah cannot compete with so called secular studies . . .”
There is a popular expression
כשם שאין תבן בלא בר כך אין ספר ללא טעויות.
The internet is so amazing as it allows all of us to correct errors that have appeared in our works, and publicize them, something that was not possible in earlier years. R. Judah Ibn Tibbon wrote to his son, R. Samuel (Iggeret ha-Musar, ed. Korah [Kiryat Sefer, 2007], p. 45):
והטעות שתצא מיד האדם הוא הנתפש עליה ונזכר בה כל ימיו.
In other words, unlike a verbal error which is forgotten, something in print is there forever. Yet today, we can minimize this problem by means of the internet. Rather than be embarrassed by errors we have made, and try to ensure that no one learns of them, we should all welcome the opportunity to point out our errors, so that our works are as perfect as we can make them. This is quite apart from the unseemliness of pointing out the errors of others, but not being prepared to call attention to our own mistakes.
Incidentally, Ibn Tibbon’s work is full of important lessons, but he says one thing that is very problematic. On p. 42 he writes:
.
.ואל תתעקש אתה להחזיק בדעתך אפילו אם תדע שהאמת אתך
What sense does this make? Doesn’t the Torah tell us לא תגורו? Didn’t the Rambam speak his mind no matter who disagreed? In our own day, isn’t R. Ovadiah Yosef fearless in expressing his opinion, no matter how much he is attacked? I posed this question to R. Meir Mazuz and he replied:
זו הערה נכונה. כנראה ר’ שמואל היה עוד רך בשנים וחשש האב שיגרום לו קנאה ושנאה כמו שקרה לר”ש בן גבירול, וגם להגר”ע יוסף שליט”א בבחרותו כשחלק על הבא”ח כידוע. אבל כשאדם כותב ספר חייב לגלות את דעתו (בעדינות ובזהירות) ולא יכוף על האמת פסכתר. ובמשך הזמן תתגלה האמת, כי היא לעולם עומדת.
5. I want to call everyone’s attention to a fascinating new book. Dirshuni, edited by Tamar Biala and Nechamah Weingarten-Mintz, is a book of modern midrashim, written by women. It has been selling very well in Israel and is an exciting genre that deserves its own discussion. Those who want to see some small excerpts can go here.
To order the book you can go here
6. In my last post I mentioned R. Meir Amsel and the memorial volume that recently appeared. I should have also mentioned that his son, R. Eli Amsel, runs the site Virtual Judaica.
7. Finally, I thank everyone who commented and e-mailed me about R. Yerucham Gorelik. There is no question that he was a fascinating man, and an entire post could be devoted to the great stories told about him. It is also true that his relationship with YU was complicated. Let me quote what Dr. Norman Lamm wrote about Gorelik, shortly after his death.
Rabbi Yerucham Gorelick appeared at times to be engaged in some kind of titanic inner struggle. He was a cauldron of activity and movement, of perpetual motion. He was a man of striking, sometimes startling contradictions. He appeared to be moving in different directions simultaneously. He was a man of changing moods, of profound dialectical tensions, although he was at all times an ish ha-emet, a man of unshakeable integrity.
For Dr. Lamm’s article, see here

Notes

[1] “The Emergence of the Provencal Kabbalah : Rabbi Isaac the Blind’s Commentary on Sefer Yezirah” (1994).
[2] Letter to Samuel Atlas, dated Oct. 16, 1959, published in “Scholars and Friends: Rabbi Jehiel Jacob Weinberg and Professor Samuel Atlas,” Torah u-Madda Journal 7 (1997), p. 113.
[3] See R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg’s letter to R. Kook, Iggerot la-Reiyah (Jerusalem, 1990), p. 128
כבר הונח לי בהשתדלותו של רב אחד מרבני העדה הליברלית (דווקא ע”י רב ליברלי של העדה הליברלית, כאלו רוצה הקב”ה לזכות את כל ישראל במעלות שונות שיש בזה מה שאין וכו’).
[4] “The Religious Ethics of Samuel David Luzzatto” (Brandeis University, 1993).
[5] “An Orthodox Embrace of Gentiles? Interfaith Tolerance in the Thought of S. D. Luzzatto and E. Benamozegh,” Modern Judaism 18 (May 1998), pp. 173-195.
[6] See here A few days before his death, Rabbi Meir Kahane spoke at Brandeis. I think it was actually his last public talk before the night he was killed. For a video of Gopin confronting Kahane see here at 24:20, 31:50, and 43:05, and 56. Gopin starts to speak extensively at 1:02:45. The man standing next to Gopin is Dr. Aryeh Cohen, who also briefly served as Orthodox advisor at Brandeis. He now teaches at the American Jewish University. See here.
[7] See Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 199:6-7.
[8] He also had a nice sense of humor. On the first day of class he would come in and write his name on the board as “F-x.”
[9] The letter is found in the Chaim Bloch Collection, AR 7155.
[10] See here.
[11] Bernstein is now a nationally known professor of law. See here.
[12] Crown Heights: Blacks, Jews, and the 1991 Brooklyn Riot (Waltham, 2006).
[13] I have given the information on this to Rabbi Mark Dratch for his paper at the Orthodox Forum on the topic.
[14] See his article in the Jewish Chronicle, June 26, 1914.
[15] See Moshe Gresser, Dual Allegiance: Freud as a Modern Jew (Albany, 1994), p. 73. Hakham Bernays’ grandaughter, Martha (daughter of Berman Bernays) married Sigmund Freud. After they were married, Freud refused to allow her to light Shabbat candles. See ibid., p. 67.
[16] For details on the controversy surrounding Falkenfeld’s selection as rabbi, and how his opponents regarded as an “uncouth Polack” see Heinrich Graetz, History of the Jews (Philadelphia, 1898), pp. 2-3. When he was rav in Tarnopol, he also had to contend with troublemakers. See R. Solomon Judah Rapoport’s letter in Leopold Greenwald, Toldot Mishpahat Rosenthal (Budapest, 1920), p. 76. For a picture of his tombstone, see here.
I can’t explain why on the tombstone he is referred to as “Moses Samuel,” when it should be Samuel ben Moses. For his biography, see Beit Shmuel Aharon al ha-Torah (Jerusalem, 1994), introduction.
[17] See here. My information on Bilinski’s family background comes from Gotthard Deutsch’s article in the Jewish Chronicle, June 26, 1914.
[18] The Memoirs of Nahum N. Glatzer (New York, 1997), pp. 126-128. Although Glatzer left Orthodoxy, in his younger years he studied in R. Salomon Breuer’s yeshiva in Frankfurt, and also with R. Nehemiah Nobel. As such, he understood Orthodoxy very well. Glatzer, who died in 1990, was retired when I came to Brandeis in 1985. To my great regret, I never took the trouble to interview him as I did with Prof. Alexander Altmann, who retired from Brandeis in 1976. On pp. 129-130 of Glatzer’s memoir we find the following, which I am sure will interest many readers of the Seforim blog.
In 1944 Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik (called “the Rov” by his followers and admirers) published in Talpiot a major article, “Ish ha-Halakhah” (the Halakhic Personality). The essay, written in a most beautiful Hebrew style, not only claimed for the observance of Jewish law the central place in Jewish life, but denied the—however circumscribed—validity of any other approach. The Halakhah demands a complete control of the Jew, to the exclusion of an emotional state of mind to accompany the halakhc function. There is no rightful place for, or justification of, a state of excitement or religious agitation, say, in the ceremony of blowing the shofar on New Year’s Day; what matters, and matters exclusively, is the proper execution of the ritual.
This exclusion of the emotional side of religion bothered me when I read the essay. I planned a polemic reply but was dissuaded by my colleagues. I happened to visit New York and voiced my feelings to Professor Louis Ginzberg, the great Talmudist. I expected him to agree with me and object to the rigid stand of the Rov. The cautious Ginzberg did not wish to commit himself, or to say something that could be quoted as a criticism of his Talmudic colleague. He, therefore, did not go beyond saying: “I like my whiskey straight,” which was a mild complaint against the Rov’s combination of Halakhah and philosophy. The only reference that could be interepreted as an admission of esthetics into the realm of religion was Ginzberg’s telling of the Gaon of Vilna (brother of Rabbi Abraham, Ginzberg’s forebear in the seventh generation), who near death admired the beauty of the etrog that was brought to him, since the day was one of the Sukkot festival days.
(The Rov, apparently, would have felt: Never mind the etrog’s beauty. What matters is that the citron is without blemish and the benediction is properly pronounced.).
I was disappointed that Ginzberg did not wish to take seriously the younger man’s question. In the meantime, the Rov changed his position and realized the wider dimension of faith. If you wait long enough . . . [ellipsis in original]. Yet, even with the changed position on the part of the Rov, Ginzberg, were he alive, would insist on having his whiskey straight.
Glatzer sees “The Lonely Man of Faith” as expressing a change in the Rav’s earlier “halakho-centrism.” I wonder if Prof. Lawrence Kaplan will agree.
[19] Reshut ha-Yahid (Petah Tivah, 2003), p. 186.
[20] Ma’ayan Omer (Jerusalem, 2007), vol. 1, pp. 186, 194, 205. R. Hillel Posek, Divrei Hillel, Orah Hayyim, no. 8, strongly supports giving an intermarried man an aliyah, but not as one of the first seven. To deny such an aliyah woould be to embarrass the man, and Posek explains why even sinners cannot be treated with disrespect. See also his comments in Ha-Posek, Sivan 5747, p. 1336. In Amsterdam the practice was also not to give an intermarried man one of the first seven aliyot. See R. Jacob Zvi Katz, Leket ha-Kemah he-Hadash (London, n.d.), vol. 3, p. 63.
[21] Sha’alu le-Varukh, vol. 1, no. 40.
[22] Of course, there are many other poskim who forbid giving an intermarried man an aliyah. Even as liberal a posek as R. Ben Zion Uziel was adamant that you cannot call an intermarried man up to the Torah. See Mishpetei Uziel, vol 8, no. 53.
[23] For those who don’t know, Lopatin was the first Rhodes Scholar to become an Orthodox rabbi. In fact, he might be the first Rhodes Scholar to become a rabbi in any denomination. R. Chaim Strauchler of Toronto is the second Rhodes Scholar-Orthodox rabbi.



Interview with Professor Lawrence Kaplan

Interview with Professor Lawrence Kaplan
Conducted by Baruch Pelta on December 22, 2008 at the 40th Association for Jewish Studies Conference
Transcribed Using the Services of Olivia Wiznitzer
Co-edited by Lawrence Kaplan and Baruch Pelta 

 

Lawrence Kaplan received his BA from Yeshiva College, his MA and PhD from Harvard University, and his rabbinical ordination from Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary. He has taught at McGill University since 1972, and is currently Professor of Rabbinics and Jewish Philosophy in its Department of Jewish Studies. In the spring of 2004 he held a Harry Starr Fellowship at the Center for Jewish Studies of Harvard. Baruch Pelta is a senior at Touro College South majoring in Jewish Studies. Olivia Wiznitzer is the Editor-in-Chief of “The Observer,” the Stern College for Women and Sy Syms undergraduate student newspaper. Olivia may be reached at chanawiz@gmail.com for those interested in contacting her. 

 

I have conducted two semi-formal interviews with Dr. Kaplan. While both interviews were conducted simply out of personal interest, I believe the latter will be of interest to Judaic Studies scholars, especially those who are interested in how Orthodoxy has developed. What follows is an edited transcript of said interview with footnotes. Although I meant to focus this conversation around his scholarly opinions about the rise of Daas Torah in Orthodoxy, we were able to discuss other topics within Dr. Kaplan’s realm of expertise as well. –BP 

 

Baruch Pelta: I guess my first question has to be if you changed your position since writing your famous essay on Daas Torah [1] and also, has Daas Torah evolved as a conception since then?
Lawrence Kaplan: It’s an interesting question. I pretty much stumbled upon the subject- here’s a little prehistory. When Rav Hutner’s article on the Holocaust appeared in the Jewish Observer, it upset me greatly [2]. Oftentimes, things that get you angry turn out to be productive (similar to my being upset with Rabbi Meiselman’s article on the Rav [3] which led to my writing “Revisionism and the Rav” [4]). Most of my article in Tradition was really a critique of Rav Hutner’s basic position on the Holocaust—mainly a historical critique, but also somewhat of a theological critique [5]. While Rav Hutner himself did not refer to his article as  a Daas Torah perspective on the Holocaust, the editors of the Jewish Observer did. So just at the very end of my Tradition article, I decided to raise some issues about Daas Torah in a somewhat critical vein. Despite the rather tentative and preliminary nature of my remarks on the subject, it seems they received a fair amount of attention.  Therefore, when YU was having a symposium on “Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy,” the very  first Orthodox Forum, the organizors asked me to give a full-blown talk on the subject, which obviously required a good deal of work on my part. And, actually, I have a later Hebrew version of the article, where I elaborate upon some things I write in my English version, correct a few errors of mine – something I attributed to the Meiri was not really by the Meiri – and update a few comments here and there [6]. But what I want to emphasize is that, as I  explicitly state in my article, I wasn’t putting forward my own positive view of rabbinic authority. I was more criticizing the idea of Daas Torah as I think it’s popularly presented in the Haredi world. Some people might have misunderstood me to mean that I believe that all rabbis should speak only about pots and pans and should not have any say on communal matters. I never said that. And the other point which I made in my article is that I’m not sure if there’s necessarily throughout Jewish history one view of the limits and scope of rabbinic authority. Moreoever, I  acknowledged the traditional rabbinic authority accorded to the rabbi who is the rav of the kehillah – actually I may have done this more in my Hebrew article, based on a reference that Professor Marc Shapiro pointed out to me – where the rav of the kehillah, by virtue of being rav of the kehillah, is granted a good deal of extra-halakhic authority on general communal issues. But even with respect to the rav of  a kehillah, it’s not so clear – if you look at the Vaad Arba Aratzot, the laypeople oftentimes kept the rabbis on a short leash. If you look at the community in Amsterdam, it was the lay figures who put Spinoza in Cherem. Not the rabbis. Even though there were some prominent rabbis there at the time. To repeat, a lot of times, even in term of rabbis of communities – certainly in the Middle Ages and early modern times – lay leaders played quite a great role. Now the Rashba, on the other hand –but again, he was the official head of the community – obviously played a major role in the Maimonidean Controversy. But it should be pointed out that other people weren’t afraid to disagree with him, even though they admitted his preeminent stature. Other figures weren’t afraid  to take issue with him, obviously respectfully, but they weren’t afraid to take issue with him.  The idea of Daas Torah, as a charismatic notion of rabbinic authority, is something different. It doesn’t come out of nowhere, so it’s not yeish me-ayin. But, as I and others see it, it is an expanded view of traditional conceptions of rabbinic authority, precisely because of greater challenges in the modern period to rabbinic authority. And the classical sources which have been cited as support for it don’t seem to prove the larger claims made on its behalf. One such source is the notion of Emunas Chachamim.  But it must be said that the phrase is very general; what it means is not so clear. The meaning attributed to it by the exponents of  Daas Torah seems to be a late nineteenth century development, imported from the Hasidic view of the Rebbe. The source cited most often in support of the notion of Daas Torah,  and which I focused on most in my article, is Lo Sasur. As I pointed out, according to most authorities it applies only to the Beis Din Hagadol. I further pointed out that the view of Afilu omrin lekha al yemin shehu semol is that of the Sifre. The Yerushalmi is the other way, that only if they say yemin is yemin  and semol is semol do you have to listen to them. In my article, particularly the Hebrew version, I went through all the different ways how different scholars try to reconcile the two sources. The authority who seems to be the key figure for the exponents of Daas Torah is the Sefer HaChinuch — he’s the one who  applies the Sifre generally to Chachmei HaDor. But the Sefer HaChinuch’s view is more of a practical view; you have to submit to the authority of Chachmei HaDor not because they necessarily have such great understanding, but just because otherwise you’re going to have chaos and anarchy. So it’s a more practical view. So what I suggested is that the modern view of Daas Torah – again, I’m not saying it was made out of whole cloth – is arrived at by taking the idea of the Sefer HaChinuch applying Lo Sasur to all Chachmei HaDor and combining that with the view of the Ramban who talks about the Beis Din Hagadol’s great understanding and how God will protect them from error, etc [7].  Part of the problem in writing a critique of the concept of Daas Torah is that it is a moving target; people keep on defining it differently. When people are oftentimes defending it, they define it more modestly: it’s a limited notion, we’re not saying the “gedolim” are infallible, maybe there’s a plurality of views that are Daas Torah, but obviously rabbis should have some say on broader communal issues, etc. There was an exchange in The Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society between me and Rabbi Alfred Cohen — where if I understood him correctly, he proposed this type of scaled-down notion of Daas Torah [8]. And if that is all that is meant by it, I’m not sure if I would necessarily disagree that much.  But what I find is that when it’s actually used in the rhetoric of the Haredi world, it’s used to make rather extreme claims. First of all, despite the idea of the plurality of Daas Torah, it’s pretty clear to me that originally within the Agudah circles, it was used to legitimate the Haredi world and to delegitimate the Modern Orthodox.
BP: You’re saying now or back then?
LK: Certainly there was no pluralism in Rav Shach‘s use of Daas Torah in  his harsh critique of Rav Soloveitchik [9], and I think that’s the way it’s still generally used. And the second thing is that it really is used to stifle dissent and any type of criticism. I think the example of Rabbi Slifkin is the key example. It’s really clear to me that initially many prominent American Roshei Yeshiva were upset at the way he was treated. I just reread the original ban on Rabbi Slifkin [10] and was struck by the extremity of the language, almost the violence of the language — kefirah, minus, afrah le-pumei, it’s just such a terrible book, etc.   Then the banners claimed that the rabbonim who had given the book haskamos supposedly hadn’t really read the book, but they heard it was being used for kiruv so they wrote haskamos. But, of course, they all retracted their haskamos once the terrible kefirah in the books was called to their attention. We know all that is not really true, and it is also clear that the way he was treated, without giving him any time to present his case, was extremely unfair and unjust [11] –
BP: Can I interject right there, though –the story is that a lot of askanim had a lot to do with this ban [12]. So what’s the difference between those askanim and the Spinoza case?
LK: The difference is that in the Spinoza case the lay leaders were the ones who officially in the name of the community banned Spinoza. Here supposedly the askanim were there just to advise or inform the gedolim, but ultimately the idea is that the gedolim are the ones who make the final decision based on their good judgment. Of course, the question is often raised as to what extent are these askanim really limiting the flow of information and shading it and presenting it in ways in which they will get the conclusions they want to get, and I think that’s a serious question.  But getting back to the point, it seems to me pretty clear that to begin with the American Roshei Yeshiva were not happy with the ban, certainly with its language. I think they were upset and felt they would be looked upon by the general world as some type of primitives. But the bottom line was that there was no public criticism. They all fell into line. There can’t be any type of dissent. How can you disagree with the Gedolim, with Daas Torah? There was no one who actually publicly criticized the ban – supposedly, Rav Aharon Feldman originally supported Rabbi Slifkin– that’s the word. But then he too fell into line and  came out with a public attack on him [13].
BP: Maybe Rav Kamenetsky or Rav Belsky – they seem to have dissented from everybody else; they never retracted their haskamos.
LK: They never retracted their haskamos; that’s true. Then there was Rav Aryeh Carmell who continued to support Rabbi Slifkin [14]. But no one would actually criticize the actual banning of Rabbi Slifkin’s books.
BP: I think Rav Kamenetsky said they’ll have to answer for it after the Resurrection [15]. It could be he’s an exception to the rule.
LK: Okay; perhaps he’s an exception. I wonder though if he made the statement publicly. To return to the general issue of Daas Torah and to your original question as to what extent am I rethinking things. Dr. Benny Brown wrote about Daas Torah in an article, I think, in Mechkerai Yerushalayim [16]. His general point is that scholars like Professor Jacob Katz, his students, and  others who were influenced by his approach – including myself among those others – overemphasize, maybe, the break between Orthodoxy in the modern era and pre-Modern traditional Judaism. Brown also sees stages in development in the idea of Daas Torah. His more specific point is that people who wrote about the idea of Daas Torah – Jacob Katz, Gershon Bacon, myself – ignored the idea of d’kula ba, that everything somehow is contained, hinted at, or alluded to in the Torah, as one source for the idea of Daas Torah. But from my reading of the sources Brown cites, it seems to me that d‘kula ba was traditionally used not so much in the modern communal and political Daas Torah sense –  that is, d’kula ba gives the right to great rabbinic scholars to make authoritative and final decisions on matters of policy. It was generally used in more of a non-political sense, that is, you study the Torah and you get a great insight into nature and reality and history. The one who first used dekula ba in the modern Daas Torah sense was Rav Elchanon Wasserman, I think at the Agudah convention in 1937. Here Brown criticized me, and he was right.
BP: Because you said Rav Elchonon Wasserman never mentions it.
LK: Yes, so I was wrong on that. I mean, based on the writings of Rav Elchonon I had read,  I said that Rav Elchonon only speaks about de’ot torah, but doesn’t really speak about Daas Torah in the sense of this idea of special knowledge given to great Rabbis enabling them to make a final authoritative decision on public policy. There I was simply wrong, and I overlooked this talk of Rav Elchonon at the Agudah convention. But my present view is that this political communal twist to dekula ba was actually Rav Elchonon’s own innovation, and here I would disagree with Brown.  Brown pushes it back to the Chafetz Chaim. As Brown pointed out, the Chafetz Chaim speaks about dekula ba extensively. In my article I quote a text of the Chafetz Chaim – or rather  an oral shemuah attributed to the Chafetz Chaim by Rabbi Greineman. And I say there that I’m not sure whether  the Chafetz Chaim said this or not, because it’s an oral shemuah.  I’m not saying Rabbi Greineman  was dishonest, but people remember things how they remember them; we have that all the time. That’s why we have to check the archives.
BP: Did you see Yoel Finkelman’s recent article [17]? It’s very relevant to what you’re saying. 
LK: I responded to Toby Katz’s comment on Hirhurim about it [18].  Her view was that either something is 100% objective or it’s manipulation. In my view, good scholars try to be honest and present all the relevant evidence and different ways of interpreting it.  Of course, you have your own interpretation and cannot be completely objective, but still you try to give all the evidence, whether it supports your view or calls it into question, and try to be as fair as possible to opposing views. So I think it’s a false dichotomy she was drawing there.  Anyway, getting back to what I was saying. Someone was writing a memoir and remembered a conversation he had with Roosevelt on the day that Pearl Harbor was attacked. And he remembered the meeting so clearly that he even remembered the chairs in which he and Roosevelt sat! And then he checked his diary, and he wasn’t in Washington that day! So he wasn’t there! He checked his diary or his journal of appointments, and realized he must have conflated different meetings.  So, how is this relevant to the Chafetz Chayyim’s view regarding de-kula ba? The point of the shemuah of the Chafetz Chaim that was attributed to him by Rabbi Greineman was [Dr. Kaplan opens up my copy of Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy and finds page 8] — “The person whose view is the view of Torah can solve all worldly problems, both specific and general. However, there is one condition attached: the Daas Torah must be pure, without any interest or bias. However, if a person possesses Daas Torah but it is intermingled even slightly with other views of the marketplace,” then that’s not real Daas Torah. That’s a good example of Daas Torah delegitimating the more modern type of rabbis. Now Benny in his article was willing to attribute more authenticity to this statement of the Chafetz Chaim than I was. And what he found in his research were many other statements of the Chafetz Chaim in the area of d’kula ba that I didn’t know about. But it seems to me at least, and I discussed this with him, that none of the other statements of the Chafetz Chayyim that Benny cited actually made the point made by the statement attributed to him by Rabbi Greineman. All the other statements of the Chafetz Chaim were more general statements that a person who studies Torah is given insight into reality, can understand many things, etc. But the more political and delegitimating emphases of the statement attributed to him by Rabbi Greinman are not found in his other statements. The point, then, that I made to Benny was that the statements he cites from actual texts of the Chafetz Chaim himself do not really go as far as the oral shemuah. So my assumption is that Rabbi Greineman perhaps heard other statements of the Chafetz Chaim regarding d’kula ba, statements presenting the old, non-political version of de-kula ba, and he honestly misremembered them and inadvertatly conflated them with Rav Elchonon’s version of de-kula ba.  Again, I don’t think I ever said that the notion of Daas Torah was invented out of whole cloth; I do try to speak of a certain type of development. And perhaps Benny is right, and it has somewhat deeper roots than I or Gershon Bacon were willing to acknowledge. But this is a matter of degree;  I still maintain that in its current form maybe it’s drawing upon certain sources, but it’s pushing them and extending them in a more extreme direction.  You  asked me to look at ten statements and sources that Rabbi Dovid Gottlieb had cited in support of the concept of Daas Torah [19]. I have to say I was very unimpressed.
BP: But there was one that a lot of people I asked didn’t know why it wasn’t Daas Torah, where there was a pesak in the mahloket between Beit Shamai and Beit Hillel about…
LK: Oh yes, that was the gemara in Eruvin about whether noach lo l’adam she’nivra o she’lo nivra [20]. And because nimnu ve-gamru– whatever that means – that noach lo l’adam she’lo nivra mi she-nivra — does that mean  that you have to believe that? Is that an authoritative hashkafic pesak, as it were? I mean, does the Rambam ever quote that – the Rambam obviously believes all existence is good; so does he believe it would have been better for man not to be created? Actually, the Rambam says that in matters of aggadah there is no pesak. There’s also another quote where I think Rabbi Gottlieb was simply wrong. Supposedly in  Hilkhos Mamrim the Rambam attributes authority to Beis Din HaGadol in matters of hashkafah. But the Rambam doesn’t talk about that there. He speaks about three types of law: peirushim mekubalim mi’pi ha’shmuah, laws derived through interpretation– that is, through the use of the 13 Middos— and Takanot and Gezeirot. I don’t see him speaking there about issues of hashkafah. Now, there are mitzvos that deal with emunah. That’s something else.  Returning to the larger isue: There are issues of public policy, which is one thing, and then there are issues of hashkafah. I think the issue of Rabbi Slifkin is more a matter of the limits of hashkafah. I firmly believe that  there’s a great  deal of room for plural views on matters of hashkfah, and equally firmly reject the idea that only the views I accept are legitimate, while the other views  are illegitimate. Rabbi Slifkin also said that if the Haredi gedolim had said that they don’t want his books in their communities – okay, that their right, it’s their communities. But to issue general bans is a different story [21].
BP: But to return to the gemara Rabbi Gottlieb cites about whether it would have been better for man ot be created or not…how would you deal with that one?
LK: It’s a very strange thing, but I didn’t really check it carefully. My knowledge of the Rambam, which is pretty good, is that the Rambam doesn’t agree with  the supposed pesak that it would have been better for man not to have been created – maybe others do. You can do some type of computer  search through the Bar Ilan program or one of the other programs, check all of the 5000 books on file. Actually, Maimonides says it’s the other way around; Maimonides attacks, for example, Razi — in the Guide 3:12 I think it was–where Razi claims there’s more evil than good in the world. So it’s very hard to imagine how the Rambam would agree with that. In his letter on astrology to the Sages of Montpellier,  when discussing maamarei Hazal apparently disagreeing with his position, he says there are three possibilities. Either it was a daas yachid, or maybe the rabbi was saying it for his particular  audience, sort of like de’ot hechrachiyot –necessary beliefs – or maybe the rabbi didn’t mean it literally but  intended some type of metaphorical interpretation. And in this connection, what exactly does noach lo l’adam she’lo nivra mi she-nivra mean? Perhaps the Rambam would give it a metaphorical interpretation .  But it certainly seems to me that traditionally – obviously, there have been debates about these issues – but traditionally there has been a sort of general consensus that within matters of hashkafah there are certain very broad boundaries, but there’s lots of room for differences within those boundaries, and we’re not really dealing with some type of pesak. Attempts to limit or narrow those boundaries, I find troubling. Particularly, getting back to Rabbi Slifkin, when it seems that the majority of rishonim actually agree with his position. Someone had this long list- I mean, a very long list of rishonim who support his position [22]. So you want to say it was good for them, it’s not good for us, OK. You want to say that we don’t accept Rabbi Slifkin’s position, fine. But to call it kefira, minus, etc.– that’s pretty bad.
BP: I guess the question that a Haredi person would ask is okay, let’s say that’s all true. But why not have the rabbis as the ultimate authorities? In other words, let’s say we err. Like I want to be a good mitzvah-observing yid and if I err and the rabbis tell me what to do and I decide not to do it, right, so I’m erring – I’m going against the rabbis. But if I do what the rabbis say, I’m going to heaven on Rav Elyashiv’s coattails.
LK: But I think you have a certain responsibility to use your –
BP: To use your mind. But there’s a long anti-rationalist tradition within Judaism. So l’chora that’s the safe side, so why not just go with that? Because there you don’t have to think; you can do what they say to do and there’s long Jewish roots for such a tradition.
LK: Yes, but there’s the issue of whether you believe that what they say is really true. And is the anti-rationalist side so safe? This relates to some famous criticisms of Pascal’s Wager. First, Pascal is just assuming the issue is choosing between Christianity and Atheism. But what about Hinduism or Islam? But the other criticism is what happens if we get to Heaven and sure enough there is a God, but He says, “All those people who played it safe? I don’t like those types. The ones who used their own judgement, even if it led them not to believe in Me, them I like.” So how do you know that when you get to heaven, and you say to God that you latched on to Rav Elyashiv’s coattails, that God won’t reply, “Hey, c’mon, why didn’t you start thinking on your own? Obviously you should respect Rav Elyashiv’s view, of course take it seriously, study it, don’t just dismiss it out of hand. But who says I want you just to swallow it whole, particularly since there are other views out there. So why just him, and why did you assume that all the other views are illegitimate?” And of course, the truth of the matter is we know that within the Agudah’s circles there’s been a breakdown of the old unity. Rav Shach and others broke with the Agudah. It would be a worthwhile thing to read the Jewish Observer and see if they ever allude to the fundamental break when Rav Shach broke with the Agudah and founded his own party.
BP: The impression I get from the Haredi world is that even in their rhetoric there’s a certain allowance for limited pluralism. Kimmy Caplan and Nurit Stadler had an article in the AJS Perspectives on Haredim. So they emphasized in that article how this is a heterogenous community [23]. So I mean I think people say you have your Gadol, I have my Gadol and nobody can have Rav Soloveitchik because he’s treif. But I’m saying, that’s the impression I get. Is that what it is, is that how it’s always been? Or not really?
LK: It’s a complicated question. My impression is that there are two levels. When they’re explaining the idea of Daas Torah, they explain it in a more pluralistic way. But in practice, Rav Elyashiv says something and everybody falls into place.
BP: Here’s another topic: You wrote your article about Rav Hutner, then you wrote your article about Daas Torah, and you also wrote to the Novominsker Rebbe about how he misunderstood Rabbi Lamm [24]. And so I was wondering if there were any consequences to that – did anyone talk to you, did you get emails, did you get letters…?
LK: I remember ages ago when my article on Rav Hutner appeared, somebody came up to me—he is now a very noted scholar–and he told me oh how brave I was. But I don’t live in New York, I don’t live in Boro Park, I don’t live in a yeshivishe community, I don’t owe my parnassah to them. I live in Montreal and teach at McGill. I don’t think it required any particular bravery on my part. I know my article on Daas Torah has acquired a certain amount of fame –some might say notoriety– but I would say that from my standpoint, I always thought my most important article—which I wish were better known– is my article on the Shemoneh Perakim [25].
BP: That’s your real scholarship.
LK: Real scholarship, and I feel that it’s an important article, really a basic essay on the Rambam. I think I got to the heart of the Shemoneh Perakim, and various people who have studied the Shemoneh Perakim and then read my article tend to agree. I remember that I was once asked by a student what I thought  was my most important article,  and I answered the one on the Shemoneh Perakim. He said, “What about your article on Daas Torah?“ But from a scholarly point of view I think  my article on the  Shemoneh Perakim is more important. Not that there isn’t any scholarship in my Daas Torah article. Sometimes I feel bad because people assume it’s more of a critique or polemic, so they overlook the scholarly discussion. Like my discussion of Lo Sasur. As I said before, I explore in a systematic way—actually,  I probably do this more in my Hebrew article than my English one – all the different ways in which both medieval and modern rabbinic scholars and commentators have tried to deal with the issue of the apparent contradiction between the Sifre, as quoted by Rashi, and the Yerushalmi. I went through all the ways they either tried to harmonize the apparently conflicting views, as well as looked at those who say, as does Rav David Zvi Hoffman, that maybe the Sifre and the Yerushalmi  simply disagree. So I think that there are certain discussions of Lo Sasur in more strictly scholarly articles which don’t quote me, when I feel they should have quoted me. Professor Moshe Halbertal in his book on the Ramban makes a point that there are two ways of reading the Ramban on Lo Sasur, a soft reading of the Ramban and a hard reading of the Ramban [26]. When the Ramban says that Torah nitna al daatam shel Hakhmei ha-Torah, does it mean that the Sages could be wrong in their ruling, but they’re given the authority to rule, so you can’t disagree with them? Or does it mean that the meaning of the Torah is indeterminate, and the Sages determine its meaning, in which case they can’t be wrong? Already in my article, I show how Avi Sagi opts for the soft reading and Aaron Kirschenbaum for the hard reading – or is it vice-versa, I don’t remember. So Halbertal mentions these possibilities; he refers to some scholars who have discussed this; but he doesn’t refer to me, although I had already anticipated his point, because I don’t think he thought of looking at my article, since it’s considered more of a polemical work than a work of scholarship. And the truth is that it is both, and I say so in the article. I say, look, my article is not a strictly scholarly article,  but I would like to believe that it’s based on sound historical rabbinic scholarship, but obviously it has a certain ideological tendenz.  Anyway, I gather a lot of people have read it. It’s always nice when you write something and you find out people have read it and even appreciated it. Sometimes I feel I write articles and who knows who reads them. Perhaps they sunk like a stone into oblivion.This past summer I was at a conference in Frankfurt, and a young scholar said to me, “I was very influenced by your article on Maimonides and Mendelssohn [27].” So I said “Really?” He replied that he liked my idea of looking at the roots of Mendelssohn‘s thought, of showing how Mendelssohn used Maimonides, and the article  influenced his way of looking at things.  But again, even though I obviously have my own take on things, I try to be as objective and scholarly  as possible. Someone actually once wrote – which I took as a compliment – that they feel that Kaplan has no agenda, particularly in terms of his interpretation of the works  of Rav Soloveitchik. I try to see things how they are. Well, everyone thinks that’s what they are trying to do.
BP: Speaking of the Rav, maybe we could briefly discuss “Revisionism and the Rav.” So you took on the left, took on the right –
LK: More the right.
BP: Would you take issue with anybody more towards the center?
LK: The way it seems to me is that there are issues about Rav Soloveitchik which are really open to interpretation, and I might have a different interpretation of these issues than others. I wasn’t really speaking about that; I was speaking about clear cases of ideological revisionism, where I think the Rav’s position on the issues in question is pretty clear, but scholars try to deny the obvious for ideological reasons.
BP: In general, you don’t see revisionism from the center.
LK: No, I don’t see revisionism from there. People have different opinions, both legitimate. For example, I disagree with Professor Dov Schwartz. Schwartz sees a very sharp difference between the figure of halakhic man in Ish Hahalakha and the figure of ha-Ish Elokim in U-Vikashtem Misham, while I see them as much more similar [28]. That’s a matter of interpretation; that’s not a matter of revisionism. Even with regard to secular studies – there are aspects of this issue where the Rav was vague, and there’s room for disagreement. In a forthcoming essay, I take issue with Professor David Shatz’s reading of The Lonely Man of Faith. Overall, I think his article is a great article,  but I think he had a bit too much of a positive take of the Rav’s portrait of Adam 1 in The Lonely Man of Faith [29]. He said that Adam 1 in imitating God’s creativity fulfills the comand of v’halakhta b’drachav; but the Rav, when he speaks about Adam 1’s creativity, never quotes v’halakhta b’drachav. I also note that the term Hesed is only applied to Adam 2. Adam 1 attains dignity and responsibility, but only Adam 2 is motivated by a sense of Hesed. My feeling is – and I state this in my article – that David’s essay would have been stronger had he focused more on the concrete man of faith who is both Adam 1 and Adam 2. So there are legitimate issues of interpretation.  Another issue open to disagreement is how you relate The Lonely Man of Faith to Ish Hahalakha or to other essays.Yet another is the Rav’s view about evolution, and the import of his statement about it  in the beginning of The Lonely Man of Faith.  All these matters are open to interpretation. I might have my reading and have my reasons for thinking it is the most convincing reading, but I don’t think those who have other readings and disagree with me are engaging  in revisionism. There are also many similar questions about how to interpret Rav Kook. In general, only now with the publication by the Toras Horav Foundation of many of the unpublished manuscripts of the Rav are we beginning to get a clearer picture of his thought. For example, the volume  The Emergence of Ethical Man, edited by Dr. Michael Berger, sheds new light, in my view, on the Rav’s view concerning evolution. In this connection, I want to add something even if it’s off the topic. The Emergence of Ethical Man quotes Buber extensively, particularly Buber’s Moses. And not only does the Rav quote from it, but also, interestingly, the Rav’s idea that Avraham in leaving Mesopotamia behind to go to the land of Canaan was leaving the city behind for a more pastoral form of life is taken from Buber. You probably could find meforshim, maybe Abarbanel, who might say something similar, but the Rav’s way of phrasing the matter — the pastoral mode of life as opposed to the urban mode of life– reflects the influence of Buber, whom, again, he explicitly cites.  It seems he had read Moses at about the time he was writing his essay,  and obviously those views of Buber which are not Orthodox he leaves out, but other, “kosher“ views of Buber, as it were, he feels free to cite and make use of. I was thinking when I get around to it I’d like to write  a review essay of that volume. But, then again, I often tell my students I have two lists. I have a list of articles I’ve written, and another list of articles I haven’t written, but hope to get around to writing someday.  And the second list is much longer and also probably much more interesting than the first list.
BP: What are you looking at writing?
LK: Well, I have this paper I gave yesterday which I am in the middle of  writing up on the Rambam’s Hakdamah to the Peirush HaMishnah. There are also essays I’ve already written which haven’t appeared yet, but are forthcoming – one of these days! I have an article about the concept of faith in Rabbi Azriel of Gerona, where I take issue with Mordechai Pachter’s article on the subject, and offer a very different reading [30].Then I just mentioned my critique of David Shatz. It is part of a long article, which is taking forever to appear, on The Lonely Man of Faith and contemporary modern Orthodox Jewish thought. Most of the article is about Rabbi David Hartman’s readings of The Lonely Man of Faith. Another article which I wrote – but is sitting in limbo, and I have no idea when it will appear – is on Rav Hutner’s implicit theology of the Holocaust. I looked at a maamer in Pachad Yitzchak, Maamer Daled in the volume on Rosh Hashanah, where he speaks about Geon Yaakov. What does it mean when we use the phrase “Geon Yaakov“ on Rosh Hashana? My argument there is – the maamar, by the way, is a very fascinating maamar – that even though Rav Hutner in the maamar never mentions the Holocaust, I can’t imagine – and most people I discussed this with tended to agree with me—that in light of several radical and daring points he makes in the maamar, that the Holocaust wasn’t on his mind when he wrote it. So these essays should be appearing eventually. Ironically,  one article, which I  completed after all of these, but which will most probably be appearing before all of them – it should be out fairly soon – is an essay on the relationship between Rabbi Emanuel Rackman and the Rav, in which I  show that they had a close working relationship in the 1950s and that Rabbi Rackman basically – and with the Rav’s approval – assumed the role of his intellectual lieutenant. For people who only know about the Rav’s famous public attack in 1975 on Rabbi Rackman, it should prove to be an eye opener. So, stay tuned! Getting back to future projects, people tell me that I should collect my essays on the Rav and make a book of them, and do the same for my essays on the Rambam. But I still have more essays to write on the Rambam and the Rav. As I just mentioned, I am in the middle of  writing a long, and – at least I would like to believe– very important essay on the Rambam’s Hakdamah to the Peirush HaMishnah. I’ve pretty written up the first half, but I have to do the  second half and then the  footnotes. And I don’t know if you heard the paper of Dr. Mordechai Cohen this morning on Ein Mikrah Yotzei Midei Peshuto in the Rambam. I have had an ongoing discussion with him about this, we’ve been exchanging emails; I have a different take on the subject, and one of these days I would like to write about this as well.  There are a number of review essays I would like to write as well.  First a review essay on some of the recent literature on the Ramban, then another review essay on some of the recent literature on Halevi. Finally, I’d like to write a review essay on the third volume in Toras HoRav, the one on mourning, death, and suffering – Out of the Whirlwind. This review will be different from my review essay of Worship of the Heart in Hakirah, where I was quite hard on its editor, Rabbi Shalom Carmy [31]. Parenthetically, while I still believe that my criticisms of the editing were correct, and, as far as I can tell, they remain unrefuted, in retrospect it seems to me that I might have softened somewhat a harsh phrase or two, and I regret that I did not do so. Be this as it may, I thought the editors of Out of the Whirlwind did a very good job of editing. There are a few points here or there where certain things could be a little clearer; they could have given a few more references here or there, but on the whole they did a very good job, and I will be happy to say so. Contrary to what some people seem to believe, I do not take particular  pleasure in writing negative reviews. And then in the review essay, assuming I will ever get around to writing it, I will discuss the Rav’s views on aveilus and  how one should respond to evil and suffering, and, with reference to aveilus, take issue with the Rav about some matters – his reading of a comment of Rashi and his understanding of certain aspects of the Rambam on the subject. I checked my ideas out in a phone conversation with Rav Elyakim Koenigsberg, who is a Rosh Yeshiva of YU who edited  a volume of the Rav’s torah on aveilus [32]. That is a more lomdishe volume than Out of the Whirlwind. So I ran my criticisms by him, and he said okay. He’s not saying that he agrees with my criticisms, but I’m not off the wall. So if he says I’m not off the wall, you can agree, disagree, but it sounds okay to him—that’s good enough for me to go ahead. I feel safe  in putting them forward, and that no one will say “Kaplan, you’re such an am haaretz, how can you even say such things?”  Things always take longer than you expect. My daughter-in-law was recently joking that  she can see me 50 years from now still writing [Dr. Kaplan scribbles on piece of paper in mock anger], “This guy got it all wrong.”  Actually, I told people that I’m not going to write any more negative reviews, like my review of David Sorkin’s book [33]. From now on, I will review a book only if I can honestly say that it is a good book. Then, of course, I can proceed to discuss the issues the book raises, disagree with the author’s intepretation, you read the evidence this way and I read it that way, etc. Not that I don’t think it’s not important to write harsh reviews sometimes. You have to maintain standards and scare people, so people should know that you should write about things you know about and not write about things you don’t know about, do your homework, and don’t assume that you can write something sloppy and you’re not going to be called on it. Someone may sit down and rip you to pieces, so be careful! But I’ve written  my share –some may say more than my share –of such reviews, and from now on I’ll leave that necessary, but unpleasant job to other people.
[1] Lawrence Kaplan, “Daas Torah: A Modern Conception of Rabbinic Authority,” in Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy, ed. Moshe Z. Sokol (Northvale: Jason Aronson, 1992), 1-60[2] Yitzchok Hutner, “Holocaust – A Study of the Term, and the Epoch It Is Meant to Describe” trans. and ed. Yaakov Feitman and Chaim Feurman, Jewish Observer, October 1977: 6-12[3] Moshe Meiselman, “The Rav, Feminism, and Public Policy: An Insider’s Overview,” Tradition 33.1 (1998): 5-30[4] Kaplan, “Revisionism and the Rav: The Struggle for the Soul of Modern Orthodoxy,” Judaism 48, no. 3 (Summer 1999): 290-311(accessed July 29, 2009).[5] Kaplan, “Rabbi Isaac Hutner’s ‘Daat Torah Perspective’ on the Holocaust: A Critical Perspective,” Tradition 18, no. 3 (Fall 1980): 235-248[6] Kaplan, “Daat Torah: A Modern View of Rabbinic Authority,” in Zev Safrai and Avi Sagi, eds., Between Authority and Autonomy in Jewish Tradition, 105-145. Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuhad, 1997 [Hebrew].[7] For the location of all of these sources and explication on how Dr. Kaplan interprets them, see “Daas Torah.”[8] See Alfred Cohen, “Daat Torah,” Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society 45 (Spring 2003): 67-105 and the ensuing correspondence between Rabbi Cohen and Dr. Kaplan in idem. 46 (Fall 2003): 110-123.[9] Eliezer Menachem Man Shach, Michtavim U’Maamarim Mimaran Hagaon Rabbi Elazar Menachem Man Shach 4:320 [10] Michel Yehuda Lefkovitz, Yitzchak Shiner, and Yisrael Elya Veintraub, “Giluy Daat,”Zoo Torah,  (accessed July 28, 2009) [Hebrew][11] For an example of an article which promulgated the rumor that rabbis who gave their haskama to the book retracted, see the cached version of G. Safran, “Gedolei Yisrael Ban Rabbi Nosson Slifkin’s Books,” Yated Ne’eman, January 12, 2005, (accessed July 28, 2009). The Yated’s website later “updated” this article correcting this error while neither the Yated nor the website issued an official retraction of the claim. See G. Safran, “Gedolei Yisrael Ban Rabbi Nosson Slifkin’s Books,” Yated Ne’eman, January 12, 2005,  (accessed July 28, 2009). For Rabbi Slifkin’s account of how his books were banned and he was not given a chance to present his case, see Natan Slifkin, “Account of Events,” Zoo Torah,  (accessed July 28, 2009).[12] “Account”[13] See idem. on Rabbi Feldman’s original support for Rabbi Slifkin. Rabbi Feldman later wrote an essay attacking the positions espoused by Rabbi Slifkin. See Aharon Feldman, “The Slifkin Affair – Issues and Perspectives,” Zoo Torah,  (accessed July 29, 2009).[14] Rav Aryeh Carmell gave a haskamah and, when the ban came out, reiterated his support for Rabbi Slifkin. See Aryeh Carmell, Zoo Torah, (accessed July 28, 2009) and Aryeh Carmell, “Re: ‘The Science of the Torah’ by Rabbi Nosson Slifkin” Zoo Torah, (accessed July 27, 2009).[15] Daniel Eidensohn, “Age of the Universe,” Hirhurim, entry posted June 20, 2006,  (accessed July 28, 2009). There have been a few other Haredi dissenters: see Toby Katz, “My 300-Page Book on the Slifkin Affair,” Cross Currents, (accessed September 9, 2009); Rav Chaim Malinowitz’s letter of support for Rabbi Slifkin available at Zoo Torah  (accessed September 9, 2009); and Marvin Schick, “Richuk Karovim,” Cross Currents,  (accessed September 9, 2009)[16] Binyamin Brown, “The Da’at Torah Doctrine: Three Stages,” Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought 19 (2005): 537-600 [Hebrew] [17] Yoel Finkelman, “Nostalgia, Inspiration, Ambivalence: Eastern Europe, Immigration, and the Construction of Collective Memory in Contemporary American Haredi Historiography” Jewish History 23, no. 1 (March 2009): 57-82[18] The original comment by Mrs. Katz reads as follows:…I have news for you. EVERYONE manipulates history, everyone. Have you read any history textbook lately, and compared it to any history textbook of thirty or forty years ago? Women are much more prominent, Indians are noble and pure and one with nature, yada yada. No matter who writes the book, there is an agenda. Everybody has an agenda. Everybody. The myth of pure, dispassionate research — “just the facts, ma’am” — is just that, a myth. And academics are just as guilty of selective memory and revisionism as ArtScroll hagiographers, if not more so.      See Toby Katz, comment on “Nostalgia as History,” Hirhurim, comment posted December 17, 2008, #604322 (accessed July 27, 2009).[19] Dovid Gottlieb, “Sources for Daas Torah,” DovidGottlieb.com,  (accessed July 27, 2009)[20] Eruvin 13b[21] Rabbi Slifkin discusses this view in various articles on his website. See for example Slifkin, “In Defense of My Opponents” Zoo Torah, (accessed July 29, 2009).[22] DES, “Sources Indicating That Chazal Did Not Possess Perfect Scientific Knowledge,” Torah, Science, Et Al., entry posted April 30, 2006,  (accessed June 27, 2009)[23] Kimmy Caplan and Nurit Stadler, “Haredim and the Study of Haredim in Israel: Reflections on a Recent Conference,” AJS Perspectives, Spring 2008, 32[24] Kaplan, “Modernity vs. Eternity” Jewish Observer, April 1994: 13[25] Kaplan, “An Introduction to Maimonides’ ‘Eight Chapters,'” The Edah Journal 2, no. 2 (June-July 2002): 2-23[26] Moshe Halbertal, Al derekh ha-emet : ha-Ramban ṿi-yetsiratah shel masoret (Jerusalem: Mekhon Shalom Hartman, 2006) [Hebrew][27] Kaplan, “Maimonides and Mendelssohn on the Election of Israel, the Origins of Idolatry  and the Oral  Law” in Perspectives on Jewish Thought and Mysticism, edited by Alfred L. Ivry, Elliot R. Wolfson, and Allan Arkush (Amsterdam: Harwood, 1998), 423-445 [28] Dov Schwartz, Religion or Halakha: The Philosophy of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Trans. Batya Stein (Leiden: Brill, 2007)[29] David Shatz, “Practical Endeavor and the Torah u-Madda Debate,” Torah U-Madda Journal 3: 98-149. See also Kaplan, “Rabbi Soloveitchik’s Lonely Man of Faith in Contemporary Modern Orthodox Thought” (Lecture, Studies Exploring the Influence of Rabbi J. B. Soloveitchik on Culture, Education and Jewish Thought: An International Conference Commemorating the Centenary of his Birth, Van Leer Jerusalem Institute, December 31, 2003), Van Leer Jerusalem Institute,  (accessed July 29, 2009).[30] Mordechai Pachter, “The Root of Faith is the Root of Heresy,” in Roots of Faith and Devequt: Studies in the History of Kabbalistic Ideas (Los Angeles: Cherub Press, 2004), 13-51. [31] Kaplan, review of Worship of the Heart: Essays on Prayer, by Shalom Carmy. Hakirah 5 (Fall 2007): 79-114.[32] Elyakim Koenigsberg, Shiuirei ha-Rav `al Inyenei Aveilus ve-Tisha be-Av (Jerusalem: Mesorah,1999)[33] Kaplan, review of Moses Mendelssohn and the Religious Enlightenment, by David Sorkin. AJS Review 23, no. 2 (1998): 300-307.

 




April Fools! Tracing the History of Dreidel Among Neo-Traditionalists and Neo-Hebraists

April Fools! Tracing the History of Dreidel Among Neo-Traditionalists and Neo-Hebraists

These explanations [for playing with the sevivon] are far from reality. Why do no sources dating from the Maccabean period, and only in the last few hundred years, mention playing sevivon? If “Hakhamim” decreed it, or it was the custom in ancient times, of if “Beis Din shel Hashmonaim” established it, why is it not mentioned for all these generations?

Yitzhak Tesler, “Ha-Dreidel (Sevivon) be-Chanukah: Mekoroseha, Ta’amyah, u-Minhagyah,” Or Yisrael, 14 (1999), 50.

I have seen a toy in London called a Teetotum. It is exactly like a Hanucah Trendel with English letters instead of Hebrew on it. But why it is called by its peculiar name, no one can tell me. Of course, the name comes from the letter T, which is inscribed on one of the four sides of the toy; thus T Totum or T takes all. This reminds me of the noted Latin epigram addressed by the boy to the twirling Teetotum Te, totum, amo, amo, te, Teetotum.

Leopold Dukes to Leopold Löw, September 1864.

Only two mitzvot of Chanukah are mentioned in Rabbinic sources: lighting candles and reciting the full Hallel. Over the centuries, many other practices came to be associated with Chanukah. Some are unique to specific geographic regions, while others saw universal adoption. One that is lesser-known today is the custom of Venetian Jews to travel on gondolas, rowing through the city, and greeting each house with a blessing and “a merry Hebrew” carol. Or the custom in Avignon, France, recorded in 1779, that women were permitted in the men’s section of the synagogue during the eight days of Chanukah.[1] Many Jews accept these as the evolution of Jewish practice without requiring any sacred reasons; others are unwilling to do so. These neo-traditionalists locate the practices within the rubric of Jewish ritual and even claim historical legitimacy when there is none. The dreidel is an example of this phenomenon.

The dreidel toy is not Jewish in origin. Instead, dreidel is the ancient game of teetotum that remained popular until at least the twentieth century. Teetotum, at its most basic, is a four-sided dice with a stick in the middle. While some versions use dots or numbers to denote players’ actions, letters are the most commonplace. The letters vary based upon the vernacular, with the name teetotum from the Latin version of T (totum-all), and the remaining letter instructions, A (aufer-take), N (nihil-nothing), D (depone-put down). Even the Hebrew letters are merely a transliteration of the German version: G (ganz-all), H (halb-half), N (nischt-nothing), and S (schict-put).

Figure 1 Detail: Pieter Bruegel, Children’s Games, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

Teetotum is documented in Vienna’s Kunsthistorisches Museum displays Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s (1525/30-1569) masterpiece, “Children’s Games” (1560). Another of his works in the museum is the “Tower of Babel,” which is the subject of a forthcoming post. Children’s Games depicts over two hundred children playing eighty different games. Bruegel’s encyclopedic pictorial catalog of games is unique in the annals of art. A small child is at the bottom left corner, her arms raised, holding a teetotum. (See here for a detailed view and here for Amy Orrock’s excellent article, “Homo ludens: Pieter Bruegel’s Children’s Games and the Humanist Educators,” discussing the purpose and interpretation of the painting within Erasmus’s views on the benefits of play.) Teetotum also appears in the list of games of Bruegel’s near contemporary French author François Rabelais’s (d. 1553) satirical work, Gargantua. The Oxford English Dictionary identifies it as “a favorite Victorian toy.” It appears in well-known English literature such as Lewis Carol’s Through the Looking Glass, where the White Queen (then a white sheep) asks Alice, “Are you a child, or a teetotum.” Other examples are Charles Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend, Edgar Allen Poe’s The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether, and James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake as “finfoefom” (based on Joyce’s unique lettering system).[2]

Despite the widespread awareness of teetotum in Europe from at least the 1500s, the earliest Jewish sources connecting it with Chanukah date to the nineteenth century. Other Chanukah games boast much earlier recognition. For example, R Yosef Yuspa Nördlinger Hahn (1570-1637) mentions chess, tic-tac-toe, cards, and possibly backgammon.[3] Likewise, a 1638 herem banned cards and dice on Chanukah, although chess was excepted.[4] In subsequent Jewish literature, card playing has the most mentions, but that is due to their moral and ethical concerns rather than approval. None of these mention dreidel or any similar game.

The lack of historicity and mesorah was no barrier for 19th-century rabbis, nearly all Hassdic, from asserting Jewish relevance and stating that it is among the customs that qualify as minhag Yisrael Torah. R. Tzvi Elimelech Spira of Dinov is perhaps the most well-known example. In his Bnei Yissaschar, he contrasts the operation of the dreidel with the other Jewish play toy, the Purim gragger. The dreidel is activated from the top, symbolic of the heavenly source of the Chanukah miracle. The gragger is turned from the bottom because the catalysts of the miracle were Mordechai and Ester.

Others explain the symbolism of the dreidel’s letters, נ, ג, ה, ש. According to one explanation, these allude to the two rabbinically sanctioned mitzvot that we have on Chanukah, נרות שמונה (candles all eight nights) and הלל גמר (the complete Hallel). Others note the gematria (numerical value) of the letters, which correspond to the same gematria as משיח (the Messiah). Others still link the letters with גשנה the city Yosef secured for his family in Egypt that appears in the weekly Torah reading that coincides with Chanukah.[5]

None of these, however, locate the dreidel within the Chanukah story, and for that, we need to wait until the early twentieth century. According to this modern origin story, after the Greeks prohibited Torah study, Jewish teachers and students continued to do so surreptitiously in caves. When the authorities discovered these groups, they quickly switched from studying to playing dreidel.

The first appearance of this account appears in a collection of customs published in 1917 in Saint Louis. R. Avraham Eliezer Hirshovitz (1859-1924), originally from Kovno (today Kaunas), Lithuania, and in 1908 emigrated to the United States and was the preacher of Shaary Torah and taught children in Pittsburg, PA.[6] In 1892, he published the first edition of his book on Jewish customs, Minhagei Yeshurun, in Vilna. It includes three haskamos (approbations). The only discussion regarding Chanukah is the source of the name. Seven years later, he published an expanded second edition in Vilna, with 280 customs and now eight additional approbations (he omitted one from the first edition), most notably one from R Yitzchak Elchanan Spektor. R Spektor caveats that he only had time to read a few lines but that “it is a nice work.” Another approbation is from the maskil, Kalman Schulman.[7] We are unaware of any other religious book that bears his approbation. Hirshovitz provides that he obtained “many other approbations and letters of support” that he did not include. Neither of these editions discusses dreidel.

In 1899, Hirshovitz published a further expanded version in Yiddish in Vilna. By then, he had emigrated to the United States. He discusses game playing on Chanukah for the first time, although only cards. He explains that some play cards as it is like war, evoking the military victory over the Greeks. Nonetheless, he disapproves of playing cards, noting that cards are non-Jewish (he does not mention any halakhic reasons or the numerous Jewish sources that explicitly prohibit cards and other forms of gambling on Chanukah).

Finally, in the first American edition, published in Saint Louis in 1918, now with approximately 500 customs, Hirshovitz addresses the custom of playing dreidel. He does not mention any of the Hassidic explanations. Instead, he tells the story of the dreidel and how it was used to hoodwink the Greeks.[8] Despite the complete lack of evidence and the absurdity of the Greeks falling for such a simplistic and completely unrealistic ruse, Hirshovitz’s narrative quickly entered the Jewish collective consciousness. For example, in the collection of customs, Pardes Eliezer devotes an entire chapter to dreidel and explains “that despite the fact dreidel doesn’t appear in the sifrei ha-achronim it does not prove it is a recent custom.” Rather, “kama hokerim” (many scholars) describe it as “an ancient custom, dating to the Hasmonic period,” and then uses Hirshovitz’s story. Or, in the book Minhag Yisrael Torah, Hirshovitz’s narrative is “the simple” explanation.[9] Today, if one does a cursory search on the internet, there are articles from the Aish.com website regarding dreidel entitled “A Serious Game,” or on Chabad.org that describes Hirshovitz’s rationale as “the Classic” and “common” reason, and many others.

Not all were so taken with Hirshovitz’s work. R Shmuel Kraus published a highly critical article in Kiryat Sefer in 1933 that highlights numerous methodological issues with Hirshovitz’s work.[10] While Kraus notes the book was sloppily published with omissions and other defects, he reserves the bulk of his article is devoted to Hirshovitz’s hallucinatory customs and corresponding sources. While the article does not discuss the dreidel, it criticizes Hirshovitz for identifying sources for the “custom” to trick people on April 1, the word “daven” that is identified as either Aramaic or from the English word Dawn and provides a reason why in Europe a Bar Mitzvah boys give a “derasha,” but in the United States a “speech.” Hirshovitz sometimes tries to adopt a more substantive and historically defensible explanation, even citing an article from JQR regarding the Magen David.[11]

While Hirshovitz’s explanation is unsupportable, one hypothesis is worth mentioning. Israel Abrams, in an article that initially appeared in The American Hebrew and republished in his collection Festival Studies, posits that Teetotum:

It is a very ancient game, known to the Greeks and Romans. But why was it specially favoured on Hanucah? No answer has ever been given to this natural question. It may be that the Teetotum was regarded as a very innocent form of gambling, if that be not altogether too harsh a word to use. Many pious people never played cards or any other game of chance, but they may have felt that so simple a game as this was lawful enough. But I can now supplement this with a new suggestion. Teetotum is still in parts of Ireland the indoor recreation of the peasantry at Christmas tide. Now it is well known that such games seldom change their seasons. I should wonder if the Teetotum was a favourite toy elsewhere at Christmas. If so, the Jews may have transferred it to Hanucah. For they never invented their own games, except those of intellectual species such as Hanucah Ketowes [riddles]. The Ketowes even gave rise to a folk proverb: “Zechus Owes, Kein Ketowes,” i.e., I suppose merit of the fathers is not the solution of life’s riddle. Indeed, the moral of Hanucah, is after all, that Judaism must rely on present effort of the children as well as on the past merits of their sires, if it is to remain in any true sense a “Feast of Light.”[12]

 

The Case of the Origin Story of the Creation of the Word Sevivon

Another mythical story associated with dreidel occurs with the origin of the modern Hebrew word for the toy, sevivon. The most well-known history is found in the autobiography of Eliezer Ben Yehuda’s son, Itamar ben Avi (1882-1943), Im Shahar Atzmotenu, published in 1961. Rochel Berlov, in her article “Me Hidush ha-milah ‘Sevivon’?”, however, demonstrated that the term long predated Itamar. (See also Ester Goldenberg’s article).  David Yeshayahu Silberbusch coined it and first appeared in Hayyim Zelig Slonimski’s journal Ha-Tzefirah on December 24, 1897 (See Zerachyah Lict’s comprehensive article regarding Slonimski’s challenge to the miracle of the oil and Marc Shapiro’s subsequent discussion). A week and a half later, Silberbusch used the word as the title of a satirical article, and it subsequently regularly appeared in the newspaper. In 1923, Levin Kipnis published his now famous song, sevivon, sov, sov, sov. Itamar wrote his autobiography when he was fifty, and it was published posthumously. He tells the story of how

one day, when he and his family were preparing to go on a trip outside the city, outside the wall, I suddenly jumped towards my parents: Mother! Mother! I found a sevivon for Chanukah. My mother hugged and kissed me with admiration. “How beautiful is the word you created, my son!” This is how the word sevivon was created and became standard for decades among all Jewish children. I, the writer of these memories and the one who created it when I was a child, among countless other words that are now incorporated into our language, but [not everyone] recognizes who created them.

Despite this story, the word does not appear in any newspapers his father, Eliezer Ben Yehudah, edited. Moreover, Ben Yehudah did not include it in his monumental dictionary of modern Hebrew. Nonetheless, Itamar’s story was retold countless times in children’s books and treatments of Itamar (and some still think the issue remains unsettled). Zohar Shavit’s assessment of Itamar’s book, which can be equally applied to Hirshovitz’s dreidel origin story, aptly sums up the willingness to accept such tall tales:

Above all, he understood the importance of creating an interesting and fascinating story, apparently even at the expense of historical credibility… It is quite clear that in some of his personal stories, Ben-Avi prefers the interesting story over fidelity to the facts.

Notes:

[1] Recorded in Israel Abrahams, “Hanucah in Olden Times,” in Festival Studies Being Thoughts on the Jewish Year (Philadelphia, 1906), 146, 152.

[2] Joseph Shipley, The Origins of English Words: A Discursive Dictionary of Indo-European Roots (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2001), 411; John P. Anderson, Joyce’s Finnegans Wake: The Curse of Kabbalah (Universal Publishers, 2008), 211-12.

[3] Yosef Kosman, Noheg ka-Tzon Yosef, (Tel Aviv, 1979), 188 n.12; Herman Pollack, Jewish Folkways in Germanic Lands (1648-1806): Studies in Aspects of Daily Life (MIT Press, 1971) 181, 330n184.

[4] Minhagei DK”K Vermisia, Yitzhak Zimmer, ed., vol. 1 (Mefal Toras Hakhmei Ashkenaz, 1988), 238-39.

[5] See R. Yitzhak Tesler, “Ha-Dreidel (Sevivon) be-Chanukah: Mekoroseha, Ta’amyah, u-Minhagyah,” Or Yisrael, 14 (1999), 50-60 (collecting these and other sources).

[6] For biographical and complete bibliographical information, including a discussion of variant versions, see Yosef Goldman, Hebrew Printing in America 1735-1926: A History and Annotated Bibliography (Brooklyn, 2006) n583&622 (see here and here for our review of this work).

[7] For biographical information, see Hillel Noah Steinschneider, Ir Vilna, vol. 2, Mordechai Zalkin, ed. (Hebrew University Magnes Press, Jerusalem, 2002), 182-83.

[8] Avraham Hirshovitz, Otzar Kol Minhagei Yeshurun (St. Louis, 1918), 57. Hirshovitz cites “HaRav Ziv” as his source. But otherwise, it provides no information regarding this person. Two authors from that period use “Ziv,” Yehoshua ben Aba Ziv, who wrote a book of songs and a fictional work in Yiddish on the life of a Yeshiva student. The book of songs, Asifas Shirim: Al Mo’adei ha-Shana (Vilna, 1875), 13-15, includes a song for Chanukah but does not mention dreidel. The other possibility is Nehemiah Shmuel Libowitz, who used the pseudonym “Ziv.” Libowitz was a contemporary of Hirshovitz in America, and although we have not discovered any evidence, it’s possible they met in the United States. That may account for Hirshovitz’s inclusion of the dreidel story in his U.S. edition. Nonetheless, none of Libovitz’s published works include Hirshovitz’s Dreidel story, which includes the book Herod and Agrippa, which touches upon the Hashmonim.

[9] Kollel Damesek Eliezer, Pardes Eliezer, Hanukah, vol. 2 (Machon Damesek Eliezer, Brooklyn, 2004), 650-51; Yosef Lewy, Minhag Yisrael Torah, vol. 3 (Brooklyn, 1997), 216. Gavriel Zinner  however, in his extensive discussion of Chanukah customs and dreidel in his Neta Gavriel, does not mention Hirshovitz’s reason.

[10] Shmuel Kraus, “A.Y. Hirshovitz, Otzar kol Minhagei Yeshurun,” in Kiryat Sefer 11,3 (1934), 311-12.

[11] See Hirshovitz, Otzar Kol Minhagei Yeshurun, 4 (April fools), 28 (speech versus derasha), 88 (JQR).

[12] Abrahams, “Hanucah,” 154-55.




Kadesheinu beMitsvotekha – The Function of the Mitsva

 Kadesheinu beMitsvotekha – The Function of the Mitsva[1]By Rabbi Aryeh A. Frimer* *Rabbi Aryeh A. Frimer is the Ethel and David Resnick Professor of Active Oxygen Chemistry at Bar Ilan University, Ramat Gan 52900, Israel; email: frimea@mail.biu.ac.il. He has lectured and published widely on various aspects of “Women and Halakha;” see: http://bermanshul.org/frimer/ Abstract: The mitsva reflects one of the most pivotal concepts of Judaism. It sanctifies those who answer its calling, and the Jew and Judaism is unique and “chosen” because of it. In this article we highlight the various ways the mitsvot and Halakha transform us and mold the Jewish personality: (a) by converting the “ought” into a “must”; (b) by transforming daily prosaic acts of man into sacred deeds; (c) by converting simple chronological, linear time into special moments of kedusha. The mitsva involves the total personality – “head, heart and hand” and makes the body equally important with the soul in the service of Hashem. Sanctification is accomplished both through deed and thought. The Torah wants the Jew to build an environment which strengthens his religious values and has designated Erets Yisrael as the most fitting place for kedusha. Sanctification through MitsvotOne of the central themes of the Days of Awe is “haMelekh haKadosh” – that the Almighty is not only ruler of the universe, but also its source of holiness. Man for his part is bidden to imitate G-d and, hence, to be holy as well – “You shall be holy, for I your G-d is Holy” (Lev. 19:2).  But how exactly is Man expected to become holy? What is the recipe for sanctification? The answer to this question is found in the Sabbath and Holiday prayers: “Kadsheinu be-mitsvotekha – Sanctify us through your Commandments.” Similarly, before performing mitsva actions, we say: “…who has sanctified us through his commandments.” If G-d is THE Kadosh – THE source of sanctity, we become sanctified by linking up with Him – specifically, by doing His will, by fulfilling His commandments. Centrality of MitsvotR. Norman Lamm[2] notes that the term mitsva reflects one of the most pivotal concepts of Judaism: Firstly, the word mitsva implies a Metsaveh, One who commands. The divine Metsaveh must obviously be a personal G-d – for only a personal G-d is sufficiently concerned with men to care about them and command them into action. Secondly, mitsva implies that man lives under obligation to the Metsaveh, and that his life must be regulated in accordance with G-d’s will. Furthermore, the very existence of mitsva suggests that this personal G-d has made his will known to man through some form of revelation – such as ma’amad Har Sinai.  Uniqueness of the Jewish PeopleBut more importantly, the mitsva is at the heart of our uniqueness as a people. When we talk about Israel as being the “chosen people” – what is it that makes us unique? In Jewish tradition there are essentially two basic approaches:[3] The Mystical Approach suggests that, indeed, there is something about the Jewish neshama that makes it fundamentally different from that of the gentile. This is referred to as the Pintele Yid – the Jewish spark within us. As far as converts are concerned, this approach cites the Talmudic tradition that in addition to the Israelites who departed Egypt, all future souls who would be born or join Klal Yisrael were at Sinai (Shevuot 39a). Therefore, a convert was somehow born with a Yiddishe neshama, a Jewish soul.  According to this approach, the Talmudic statement “A Jew, even should he sin, remains a Jew” (Sanhedrin 44a) is more than just a legal statement about personal status and obligation; it suggests that there is some inherent quality about being a Jew – and one can never opt out. The Rational Approach, on the other hand, argues that a Jew is not intrinsically better. Rather, the People of Israel are a unique entity because of their special calling to do mitsvot. As we say in the birkhot haTorah: “You have chosen us, and given us Your Torah.” And again in the holiday liturgy: “You have chosen us from all nations … and sanctified us through your commandments.” According to this latter approach, we are indeed the “Chosen People,” but we were chosen for responsibility and obligation – not privilege. We become elevated and sanctified by answering this special calling – by doing mitsvot. One has the freedom of choice not to heed this calling. Furthermore, one not born a Jew may take this calling upon oneself by conversion. But those of us who opt to answer this calling affirmatively are sanctified through the fulfillment of the mitsvot. It is through the performance of mitsvot that we Jews become unique. Uniqueness of JudaismBut the mitsva is also what makes Judaism as a religion unique. Most of the religions of the world are primarily spiritual or neshama religions. They are chiefly concerned with “other-worldliness.” The emphasis is on feeling, will or thought. Salvation in Christianity is through faith; the mitsvot are, therefore, superfluous and even in the way. Judaism, on the other hand, is a religion of this world – it is a religion of action. One does not become holy by withdrawing from life, but rather by living it fully under the Torah’s direction.[4] All of life is guided by Torah which is a Jew’s manual for living. Rabbis are generally famous for their Talmudic analysis and halakhic decisions, rather than their works of thought and theology. It is not at all surprising that Jewish action is codified in a Shulkhan Arukh entailing reams and reams of fine print on large pages. Yet the basic elements of faith are simply summarized in 13 principles – and many Rishonim dispute even these.[5]Judaism is also a human religion and by that I mean that, while G-d is the source, it was given to humans for humans. This expresses itself in two ways. Firstly, from the verse “It is not in heaven” (Deut. 30:12), we learn that the Torah was given to Man to interpret, apply and resolve difficulties within given rules – without Divine intervention. Secondly, it teaches us that the purpose of the Torah was not to convert us into angels. The Creator intended the Torah for Man as he is, recognizing all his frailties and all his potential. And yet its goal is to sanctify us by guiding us in how to interact with world around us. This attitude resonates in the oft quoted statement: “The Torah was not given to angels” (Lo nitna Torah le-malakhei ha-sharet; Berakhot 25b). In this regard R. Adin Steinzalts writes: “If G-d had wanted Man to become an angel and do everything as such, He simply would have created more angels. But His wish was to create Man.”[6]In summary, then, the mitsva sanctifies those who answer its calling and the Jew and Judaism is unique because of the mitsvaMechanisms of SanctificationA little over a decade and a half ago, Anthony Eitan Fiorino wrote insightfully about his conversion and spiritual growth through Judaism.[7] He cites testimony from over the ages indicating that simply behaving as a Traditional Jew leads to spiritual growth. But what, however, is the mechanism of this change? We highlight below the various ways the mitsvot and Halakha transform us and mold the Jewish personality. 1) Firstly, the mitsvot convert the “ought” into a “must” – relative morality into absolute morality. “Thou shalt not steal” is applicable even if the thief is an impoverished ambulance driver stealing $100 from a deceased billionaire. Relative morality, the greater good, might well say the theft is acceptable – after all no one is really hurt. The Torah says “Lo tignov” with absolute authority. An ought is converted into a must – a relative value into an absolute one.[8] 2) Secondly, the mitsva transforms daily prosaic acts of man into sacred deeds. It takes simple actions and converts them into meaningful events. Let’s look first at several examples. (a) Eating is a neutral: it is neither good nor bad, just necessary. Yet in halakaha it is sanctified by a variety of required actions. First there is the simple act of reciting a berakha, which is an acknowledgement of the G-d of Creation. Ultimately, He is the source of all reality and making a berakha is an act of submission to His will. The sundry laws of kashrut, ritual slaughtering, blood removal, separation of milk and meat etc. – all make eating important, special and sacred. This is because now the neutral act of eating is part of avodat Hashem – Divine service. (b) There is nothing more neutral, perhaps, than going to the washroom. Yet here, too, halakha requires us to stop and think. In the Asher Yatsar benediction recited following use of the lavatory, we acknowledge a Creator “who has formed man in wisdom and created in him a complex system of openings and cavities. It is well known before your glorious throne that if one of these (openings and cavities) be opened or closed improperly, it would be impossible to exist in Thy presence. Blessed art Thou Lord who heals all creatures and does wonders.” Halakha utilizes this commonplace experience to meditate on the wonders of creation, and ponder the miraculous nature of the body. Even this basic occurrence is elevated to the spiritual. In this regard, R. Danny Levine recounts that prior to a shul board meeting, he went to use the amenities. The President of the shul caught him exiting the lavatory mumbling something. Upon being questioned, R. Levine explained all about Birkhat Asher Yatsar and its import. When they returned to the Board meeting, the President lightheartedly commented how holy their rabbi was! “After all, he even makes a berakha when he goes to the washroom.” As fate would have it, six months later the Shul President was hospitalized and the Rabbi went to visit him in the hospital. As he entered, the Rabbi’s eye caught sight of the catheter at the President’s bedside. To this the President insightfully commented: “Forget about the annual Kol Nidrei, Rabbi – it’s the daily Asher Yatsars that count!”[9] (3) But the mitsva also transforms simple chronological, linear time into special moments of kedusha – what the ancient Greeks called the conversion of chronos into chiros. Thus, halakha takes 25 hour periods and converts them into what R. Abraham Joshua Heschel referred to as “Sanctuaries in Time”[10] – into a Shabbos, a Yom Tov or a Yom Kippur. On Shabbat and Yom Tov we attempt to bring down the spiritual and meld it with the physical. On a fast day, we attempt to raise the physical up to the spiritual. R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik zt”l, “The Rov,” commented that, on the Regalim in Temple times, Jews were invited to visit G-d’s home; on Shabbat, Hashem visits ours – if we will only invite him in.[11]Ultimately, the goal of Yiddishkeit is to capture chunks of life and bring them tahat kanfei haShekhina – into the spiritual, sanctified realm. This what Hazal mean when they comment “Sanctify yourself in the neutral areas” (Yevamot 20a). Sanctify yourself by taking even those areas which are halakhically neutral and permissible, and dedicate them toward Divine service.[12] Ideally every action should be linked somehow and in some way with the divine will and divine service: eat so you have the strength to better serve Hashem;  sleep so as to be awake and alert to better carry out the Divine will;  go to museums and zoos, so as to better appreciate the wonderfully multifaceted world Hashem has created. In all these actions, there is nothing wrong with enjoying yourself. But it is the element of kavana – my intention and motivation – which sanctifies the act and makes it part of Divine service.[13]One of the most important lessons in this regard I learned when I was in my early teens at Camp Munk in the Catskills. At that time, R. David Cohen Shlita, now one of the leading Poskim in New York, was head learning group teacher. One morning, while we were playing baseball, “Reb Dovid” came down to the field and asked if he could “hit a few out.” We were, of course, thrilled  to see this then budding gadol playing baseball. But after a short while, the third baseman called out: “Hey Rebbi, isn’t this bittul Torah [Isn’t this a waste of time, when you could be learning Torah]?”Reb Dovid smiled and asked us all to gather at the pitchers mound. He explained to us that Divine service doesn’t just mean to learn, learn, learn or do, do, do. The Torah was given to a complete human being who has strengths and weakness, desires and needs. The Torah was not given to angels (Berakhot 25b). Even budding scholars need to play a little baseball or basketball! And then he taught us the important lesson of kavanah – intention and motivation. If you indulge in baseball to simply while away the time, because you think you have nothing better to do – yes this is most definitely bittul Torah. However, if you engage in sports and exercise so that your body will be healthier to serve your creator; to clean out the cobwebs of your mind; or so that you will be more relaxed and have more stamina to learn Torah – this too is part of the complete picture of serving G-d.[14] Of course, everything must be done within good taste and reason.Another important lesson in this regard I learned when I was 17.  I spent the summer in Israel at Camp Daroma in Rehovot, Israel. One Shabbat afternoon, we were invited to the home of R. Elimelekh Bar-Shaul, then Chief Rabbi of the city. He asked us what we thought about the Halakha which instructed one to put on the right shoe first, but then tie the left shoe first (Shulkhan Arukh, O.H., 2:4). The younger campers giggled, but the older ones realized the import of the question: was this what the halakha had to occupy itself with? Are these the issues that need to preoccupy a Jew?And then R. Bar-Shaul explained: “You see,” he said softly, “Yiddishkeit is in a constant struggle to sanctify more and more of life. Putting on your shoes is a neutral action – how do I sanctify it? The answer is by linking it to the service of THE Kadosh. I put on my right shoe first, because right symbolizes strength and I begin my service of the Creator with strength. But I tie my left shoe first, because a male Jew ties his Tefillen on his left hand. Hence, with regard to tying, left is more sanctified. You see this is not at all silly or trivial,” said the Chief Rabbi, “it’s about Kedoshim tihiyu (Lev. 19:2). – our attempt to capture more and more neutral chunks of life and bring them under the wings of the Shekhina.” To summarize, then, the mitsva converts the “ought” to a “must”; it reshapes simple acts into sacred events; and similarly, it transforms simple time into sanctified moments. 4) We are continuing our discussion of how mitsvot sanctify. And in this regard it is important to note that the religions of the past were reserved either for intellectuals and philosophers, or for people capable of mystical depth, or for individuals with profound spiritual gifts.  But full performance of the mitsva involves the total person – not just the head (thought and kavana), and not just the heart (sentiment or emotion), but also and primarily the hand – the body. Hence, even the simple Jew can serve Hashem – you don’t have to be a philosopher or mystic. In a sense, then, the mitsva, democratizes living because all people, rich or poor, weak or powerful, learned or illiterate, low or high born, gifted or not – all serve G-d through the calling of the mitsva.  Nevertheless, since the mitsva involves the total personality – “head, heart and hand” – and since each individual is unique, so is their avodat Hashem (Divine service). 5) This brings us to a crucial fifth point. Judaism makes the body equally important with the soul in the service of Hashem – by making the body the only real agent for the fulfillment of mitsvot. As the verse (Psalms 35:10) says: “All my limbs call out: Hashem who is like you.”[15] In that visit I described above at the home of R. Bar-Shaul in 1964, the Rehovot Chief Rabbi noted that this verse is cited as the source for “shokeling” – swaying back in forth in prayer.[16] “You see,” said R. Bar Shaul, “prayer is primarily service of the heart. The body too wants to be involved – so it shokels.The critical point is that, in contradistinction to Christianity and the ascetics, mainstream Judaism does not consider the neshama as good and the body as bad. How could the body be bad? It was made by Hashem! What’s more, it is only through the body that we can reach out and serve the Almighty. In his Iggeret haKodesh, Nahmanides argues that the body is neutral, neither inherently good or bad. It all depends on how it is used. A hand that writes a sefer Torah is sanctified; while one that murders is defiled. The same is true for sexual relations. Not only is intimacy sanctified and sanctifying by the marriage ceremony, Sheva Berakhot, laws of family purity, procreation and mitsvat onah (conjugal relations) – but it also creates an emotional and physical bond between husband and wife. It is within this firm and warm relationship of sharing and love that children should be born and educated to serve as the next link in the chain of tradition.  By contrast, Catholicism views celibacy as the true ideal. For Judaism, the body is the chief agent of avodat Hashem, and hence is to be protected and respected, and it will share in the heavenly rewards of the Messianic period and “the days to come.”Summarizing once more: the mitsva works on the total personality – head, heart and hand. In addition, the body is a full partner with the soul in the fulfillment of mitsvot and the attainment of spirituality. Sanctification through Deed and ThoughtThere are two types of mitsvot. The specific commandments guide us through specific actions or prohibitions. But there are also the mitsvot kelaliyyot, the general mitsvot that provide a general blueprint of the Torah’s vision and direction. These include actions required by the verses: “Thou shalt be holy” (Lev. 19:2); “Do what is just and good” (Deut 6:18); “Love thy neighbor as thyself” (Lev. 19:18); and “The Torah’s ways are the ways of pleasantness” (Prov. 3:17). The general commandments guide attitudes and motivation. They aid in the development of a Jewish Weltanschaung so that, firstly, one can cope with the gray areas – the ambiguities of life. But, secondly, general mitsvot open up the possibility of lifnim me-shurat ha-din – of supererogatory acts. They allow us to reach out towards an ideal vision of that which can, could, or ought to be. In short , the specific mitsvot sanctify the personality through the body, through the deed, through the experience. The general mitsvot sanctify the individual through the intellect, thought and attitudinal changes.  The Role of the Land of IsraelThere is, however, one last issue regarding the role of mitsvot in the life of a Jew that we have yet to discuss. Is there a preferred site or location for the fulfillment of mitsvot?  The answer is, of course, a resounding yes – and that place is the Land of Israel. I am reminded of it every time I return to the States for a sabbatical and am forced to eat in the Sukkah in the freezing cold, or try to burn my hamets in the snow! It’s not how the Torah meant it to be! From a Jewish perspective “It simply ain’t natural!” Indeed, Nahmanides, citing the Sifri, goes so far as to suggest that the only reason why the Torah commanded us to do mitsvot in the exile was so that we wouldn’t forget them before we returned to Israel.[17]              But Erets Yisrael represents much more. It is ideally the location where Jews are meant to be in control of their cultural environment – where the surroundings strengthen the values that a Torah-true Jew attempts to inculcate in his children and family members at home. As noted by Hazal time and again, in the galut, Jews suffer from dominion of the nations of the world (shi’abud malkhuyot). What troubled Hazal was not primarily the political dimension of this foreign control, rather its cultural aspects. In the diaspora, a traditional Jew cannot function completely naturally; he is always a minority and constantly apologizing.  He is often at odds with many of the values of the world around him. Talmud Berakhot (17a) recounts that R. Alexandri concluded his Shemoneh Esrei as follows: “Ruler of the world: You are well aware that our honest desire is to do Thy will. But what prevents us? The evil inclination and the dominion of the nations.” The Yetser haRa erodes man’s Torah values from within, while shi’abud malkhuyot does so from without. With such adversaries, it is little wonder that the battle to remain a committed Jew is not always easy. The Torah wants the Jew to build an environment which strengthens his religious values and has designated Erets Yisrael as the most fitting place for kedusha. It is for this reason it is referred to as Erets haKodesh. I’m not so naïve as to think that there isn’t cultural – if not an element of political – shi’abud malkhuyot in modern day Israel. On the contrary, this is perhaps THE major challenge for religious Zionism in the next decade: to rebuild Israel spiritually. Reciprocity between G-d and IsraelWe began our presentation with a discussion of the meaning of “the Chosen People.” Interestingly, in this regard, we find two famous yet seemingly contradictory Rabbinic traditions regarding the giving of the Torah (Avodah Zara 2a,b). One indicates that indeed
G-d chose Israel. Actually what it says is that G-d held up Mt. Sinai over their heads threateningly and said “you either accept the Torah, or I will return the world to tohu va-vohu (chaos).”  The second tradition maintains, however, that the People of Israel chose G-d. Actually, what the Talmud says is that G-d went around to the nations of the world trying to give them the Torah. But, when they heard its various restrictions, prohibitions and moral imperatives, they rejected it. Only klal Yisrael said “Na’aseh ve-nishma.”.               R. Norman Lamm[18] indicates that these two traditions are not irreconcilable. Indeed, at Sinai, G-d chose us to receive the Torah and mitsvot. Each of us in klal Yisrael, for better or for worse, is born into a people who have a Divine calling. But revelation is of no value unless we willingly accept that calling, unless we willingly choose G-d by answering Na’aseh veNishma, unless we respond with hineni.  I may be a Jew by virtue of G-d’s choice, but only I can determine what kind of Jew I choose to be!This reciprocal relationship between G-d and Israel[19] is an idea made famous in the form of two jingles – the first, is that of British Journalist William Norman Ewer (18851976), who wrote: How odd of G-d, to choose the Jews.To which Hebrew University philosopher Leon Roth (1896-1963) responded:It’s not so odd – The Jews chose G-d.Indeed, there exists a mutual bond of love between G-d and the Jewish people. God chose Israel out of love, as we say prior to the morning recitation of Shema: haBoher be-amo Yisrael be-ahava.” We, in turn, reciprocate by declaring “And thou shalt love the Lord thy God.” The Call of the ShofarDuring the course of the year we are dragged along by the ebb and flow of life.  We have little time for kavana, less for renewal and rededication.  But the Shofar of Elul and Rosh HaShana and the fasting of Yom Kippur are the clarion call to re-evaluate the purpose and message of our life. It is a call to consciously sanctify our thoughts, our deeds and our actions – to bring more and more of our individual and communal lives “tahat kanfei haShekhina.”               May we be worthy this year to see the fulfillment of our prayers: “Sanctify us through Your commandments, and grant us a share in Your Torah, sustain us with Your kindness and rejoice us with Your salvation, and purify our hearts to serve You sincerely.”10 


[1] I would like to acknowledge the enormous contribution made by Avi Mori R. Norman E. Frimer zt”l, to the substance and content of this piece – and would like, therefore, to dedicate it to his memory. I would also like to thank R. Shlomo Pick and Arnold Lustiger for their many sources, comments and suggestions.[2] R. Norman Lamm, “Issues of Faith,” Dimension, Winter 1967, pp. 5-9.[3]   R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik held a hybrid position, namely, that a Jew had two types of sanctity, one inherited from the Avot, and the other by fulfilling mitsvot. See: R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Al haTeshuva, ed. Pinchas Peli (Jerusalem: World Zionist Organization, 1975), pp. 132-133 (citing Rashi to Deut. 14:2); R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Shiurim leZekher Aba Mori z”l, Vol. II, “beInyan Birkot haTorah,” pp. 13-14. See also Arnold Lustiger, Derashot haRav (New Jersey: Ohr Publishing, 2003), pp. 208-209.[4]   See the related comments of R. Yehuda Amital, “Human Holiness,” available online at: http://tinyurl.com/qmpv4k.[5] See: (a) R. Marc B. Shapiro, The Limits of Orthodox Theology: Maimonides’ Thirteen Principles Reappraised (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). (b) Menachem Kellner, Dogma In Medieval Jewish Thought: From Maimonides To Abravanel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986).[6] R. Adin Steinzalts, “Human Holiness,” in The Strife of the Spirit (Northvale, New Jersey: Aronson, 1988), p. 38. For further discussion of “The Torah was not given to angels” principle and it’s halakhic ramifications, see: R. Shlomo A. Glicksburg, “Lo Nitna Torah leMalakhei haSharet: Al Gevulot haDiyyuk haMada’i biPesikat Halakha,” BD”D – Journal of Torah and Scholarship (In Press).[7]  Anthony Fiorino, “One Soul’s Adventure: Spiritual Growth Through Halacha,” Jewish Action, Winter 5753/1992-3, pp. 32, 84-93.[8]  See the comments of R, Joseph B. Soloveitchik, cited by Arnold Lustiger, supra note 3, Appendix B, esp. pp. 235-236.[9]   See the moving article of Kenneth M. Prager, “For Everything a Blessing,” A Piece of My Mind column, JAMA 277, no. 20 (May 28, 1997), p. 1589; reprinted in ASSIA – Jewish Medical Ethics, III:2 (September 1998), pp. 34-35. [10] R. Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Sabbath: Its Meaning for Modern Man (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1951). The Kabbalistic work Sefer Yetsira (6:1) speaks of three dimensions in which holiness may be created: time, space and being (soul).[11]  R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Shiurim leZekher Aba Mori z”l, Vol. I, “Kibbud veOneg Shabbat,” pp. 50-68, at 67; R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Exalted Evening, R. Menachem Genack, ed. (New York: OU Press, 2009), pp. 88-89; R. Hershel Schechter, Nefesh haRav, p. 157.[12] See: R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man (Philadelphia PA: Jewish Publication Society,1983).[13] See Shulhan Arukh, O.H. sec. 231, no. 1. [14] Regarding exercise, see the comments of R. Abraham Isaac haKohen Kook, Orot, Orot haTehiyya (Jerusalem, 5753), Chap. 33, p. 80.[15] See: R. Norman E. Frimer, A Jewish Quest for Religious Meaning (New Jersey: Ktav, 1993), p. 78.[16] R. Hezekiah Da Silva, Peri Hadash, O.H., sec. 95; R. Israel Meir haKohen, Mishna Berura, ad. loc. subsec. 7. See the extensive discussion of R. Eric Zimmer, Olam keMinhago Noheg (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center, 1996), pp. 97-111.[17] R. Moses ben Nahman, Commentary to Lev. 18:25; see also Rashi and Ramban to Deut. 11:18.[18] Supra, note 2. See also R. Norman Lamm, in “Symposium: You have Chosen Us from Amongst the Nations,” Jewish Action, Fall 5765/2004 (65:1).[19] See: R. Jonathan Sacks, Covenant and Conversation, Ki Tavo, Sept. 9, 2006.