Afikoman – “Stealing“ and Other Related Minhagim

Afikoman – “Stealing“ and Other Related Minhagim*

By Eliezer Brodt

One of the most exciting parts of Seder night for kids is the “stealing” of the afikoman. Children plan well in advance when the best time would be for them to steal it, where they will hide it, as well as what they should ask for in exchange for it. Not surprisingly, toy stores do incredibly good business both during Chol Hamoed and in the days following Pesach because of this minhag. In this article I would like to trace the early sources of this minhag and also discuss rabbinic responses to it.[1]

That the minhag of stealing the afikoman was observed widely in recent history is very clear. For example, Rebbetzin Ruchoma Shain describes how she stole the afikoman when she was young; her father, Rav Yaakov Yosef Herman, promised her a gift after Yom Tov in exchange for its return.[2] Raphael Patai describes similar memories from life in Budapest before World War II.[3] In another memoir about life in Poland before the war, we find a similar description,[4] and in Alexander Ziskind Hurvitz’s Yiddish memoir about life in Minsk in the 1860s, he writes that he stole the afikoman on the first night of Pesach, that his father gave him nuts in return, and that he was warned not to steal it on the second night.[5]

Interestingly, there were occasions when the stealing of the afikoman involved adults as well. For example, in his informative memoir about life in Lithuania in the 1880s, Benjamin Gordon describes stealing the afikoman with the help of his mother,[6] and going back a bit earlier, we find that Rav Eliezer Shlomo Schick from Hungary was encouraged by his mother to steal the afikoman and to ask his father for something in exchange.[7]

But even those who recorded this minhag occasionally referred to it in less than complimentary terms. For example, in 1824 a parody called the Sefer Hakundos (literally, the “Book of the Trickster”) was printed in Vilna,[8] which describes how the “trickster” has to steal the afikoman and claim that someone else stole it.[9] In fact, this custom is even found in the work of a meshumad printed in 1856.[10]

Opposition to the Minhag

Given the implication that this minhag not only encouraged stealing but actually rewarded children for doing so, there were many who opposed it, including the Chazon Ish,[11] the Steipler,[12] Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach,[13] the Lubavitcher Rebbe[14] and Rav Tzvi Shlezinger.[15] Rav Shemtob Gaguine writes that Sefardim do not have the custom of stealing the afikoman, and he explains that this is because it is forbidden to steal even as a joke since it encourages stealing.[16] And Rav Yosef Kapach writes that this was not the minhag in Teiman as it is forbidden to steal, even for a mitzvah.[17]

Rav Aron of Metz (1754-1836) protests against this minhag in his work Meorei Or, as the goyim will say that the Jews are trying to teach their children to steal, as they did in Mitzrayim.[18] The question is, what does he mean?

In the anonymous work of a meshumad printed in 1738, we find a detailed description of the stealing of the afikoman by the youngest child and how he tries to get a reward for it from his father. He writes that the reason for this minhag is to teach the child to remember what the Jews did in Mitzrayim—that they borrowed from the Egyptians and ran away with the items.[19] This was the concern of Rav Aron of Metz. It is possible that this is why Rabbi Yair Chaim Bacharach of Worms writes in Mekor Chaim that there is reason to abolish this minhag.

How far back can this minhag be traced, and what is the source for it?

In most of the Rishonim and early poskim, in describing the part of the Seder called Yachatz, we find mention of breaking the matzah. Some go so far as to say that the leader of the Seder puts it on his shoulders and walks a bit with it (others do this only later on, when they eat the afikoman).[20] Some mention putting it under a pillow to watch it,[21] but there is almost no mention of children stealing it. The earliest source for the custom of stealing the afikoman that I have located is the illustrated manuscript Ashkenazic Haggadah, known as the Second Nuremberg Haggadah, written between 1450 and 1500. On page 6b, the boy puts out his hand to get the afikoman from his father. Later on in the Haggadah (p. 26b), in the section called Tzafun, the leader asks for the afikoman that the boy had hidden.[22] However, in almost all the many works related to the Seder, we do not find such a custom mentioned.

Although it’s mentioned in the Second Nuremberg Haggadah, we do not find it mentioned again after that for many years. Worth noting, for example, is that in the famous illustrated Haggadah of Prague (1526), there is no mention or picture of such a thing.[23]

In the work Siach Yitzchak of Rav Yitzchak Chayes (1538-1610), which is a halachic work on the Seder night, first printed in 1587, there is mention of the stealing of the afikoman, but not exactly the way we do it today.[24]

Rabbi Yair Chaim Bacharach of Worms (1638-1702) writes in Mekor Chaim that the children had a custom to steal the afikoman.[25]

One of the earliest printed references can be found in the work Chok Yaakov on hilchos Pesach by Rabbi Yaakov Reischer (1660-1733), first printed in 1696 in Dessau. He wrote that in his area, children had the custom to steal the afikoman.[26]

Rav Yosef Yuzpha of Frankfurt also cites this custom in his Noheg Ketzon Yosef, first printed in 1717.[27] Rav Yaakov Emden (1698-1776) cites the custom as well.[28]

Where does this minhag come from? Many Acharonim[29] point to the Gemara (Pesachim 109a), which mentions that we are “chotef” the matzos on the night of Pesach for the children.[30] What does “chotef” mean in this context? The Rishonim offer different explanations.[31] The Rambam writes that on this night one has to make changes so that the children will notice and ask why this night is different, and one answers by explaining to them what happened. The Rambam adds that among the changes we make are giving out almonds and nuts, removing the table before we eat, and grabbing the matzah from each other.[32] Rabbeinu Manoach points to the Tosefta as the source for the Rambam that “chotef” means to grab.[33] Some Rishonim, quoting the Tosefta, write clearly that it means to steal.[34]

The truth is that, based on the Rambam, we can understand where this minhag came from. The night of Pesach is all about the children. The Seder night is a time when we do many “strange” things with one goal in mind—to get the children to notice and ask.[35] The purpose of this is to fulfill the main mitzvah of the night—sippur yetzias Mitzrayim. The mitzvah of zecher l’yetzias Mitzrayim lies behind many mitzvos. The reason for this, says the Chinuch, is that Yetzias Mitzrayim was testimony that there is a God Who runs the world, and that He can change what He wants when necessary, as he did in Mitzrayim.[36] Elsewhere, the Chinuch adds that the reason Yetzias Mitzrayim is related to so many mitzvos is that in doing a variety of activities with this concept in mind, we will internalize the importance of this historic event.[37]

“Strange” Things at the Seder

Following are some of the various minhagim that are intended simply to get the children to ask questions.

The Gemara (Pesachim 109a) mentions that they gave almonds and nuts so that the children should stay awake.[38] All the various aspects of the Karpas section of the Seder, according to many, are for the purpose of prompting them to ask[39] what’s going on—from washing before eating vegetables[40] to omitting a brachah on the washing,[41] dipping the vegetable into salt water, and eating less than a kezayis,[42] breaking the matzah at Yachatz,[43] lifting the ke’arah before saying “Ha Lachma Anya,”[44] switching to Hebrew at the end of “Ha Lachma Anya,”[45] removing the ke’arah before reciting the Haggadah[46] (or removal of the table), giving even the children four cups of wine, and pouring the second cup at the beginning of the Haggadah.[47] Although numerous reasons are given for these minhagim, one common reason is that they are intended to spark the children’s curiosity, which leads to a discussion of Mitzrayim and all the miracles that took place there.

According to the Rambam, this is what lies behind the stealing of the afikoman—it is yet one more thing that we do to get the children involved and prompt them to ask questions. All this can explain another strange custom. The Chida writes that at a Seder he attended during his travels, a servant circled the ke’arah around the head of each male at the Seder three times, similar to what many do during kaparos with a chicken.[48] There are even earlier sources for such a minhag.[49]

Additional Sources in Favor of “Stealing”

At the Seder of the Chofetz Chaim and his son-in-law, the children did steal the afikoman.[50] In Persia, we find that some had this custom as well.[51] Rav Yisroel Margolis Yafeh, a talmid of the Chasam Sofer, also defends the minhag of stealing the afikoman.[52]

Earlier, I mentioned that Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach was against stealing the afikoman. Interestingly enough, his rebbe, Rav Dovid Baharan Weisfish, did allow it.[53] Rav Avigdor Nebenzahl writes that he did not understand the reasoning of his rebbe, Rav Shlomo Zalman, since it did not encourage the children to steal but simply helped them stay awake.[54]

There is a much earlier work that offers a similar premise. Rav Yosef Yuzpa of Frankfurt writes in his work Noheg Ketzon Yosef that one should not discontinue the minhag that children steal the afikoman and get something in return from their father, as this keeps them awake and they discuss Yetzias Mitzrayim.[55] And as far as the argument that stealing is never permitted, Rabbi Weingarten points to Hilchos Purim, in which we find that some level of damage is permissible for the sake of simchas Yom Tov.[56]

Other Reasons for This Custom[57]

Rabbi Yair Chaim Bacharach of Worms writes in Mekor Chaim that the reason for custom is to teach children to cherish the mitzvos.

Related to all of this is an interesting teshuvah in the anonymous work Shu”t Torah Lishmah. The author was consulted by a talmid chacham who had visited a family on the Seder night, and the head of the household put out a stack of matzah before beginning the recital of the Haggadah so that everyone could recite it over a piece of matzah. When he brought out the matzah, everyone ran to grab a piece. The guest was upset about this, and they explained to him that the purpose was to demonstrate their love for the mitzvah. The guest felt that it was an embarrassment to the mitzvah to act in such a coarse way; in addition, there is an issue not to grab bread greedily. The author of Torah Lishmah pointed to the Gemara in Chullin (133a), which suggests that since they were doing it to show their love for the mitzvah, it was not a problem.[58]

Rav Moshe Wexler, in Birkas Moshe (1902), gives a simple reason for this minhag. We are concerned that we will forget to eat the afikoman; what better way to remember than to have a child remind you since he wants to get his reward?[59]

Deeper Message Behind the Minhag

One last idea about this minhag, which is very much worth quoting, comes from Rabbi Shimon Schwab:

“I personally do not care for the term ‘stealing the matzah.’ It is un-Jewish to steal—even the afikoman! The prohibition against theft includes even if it is done as a prank (see Bava Metzia 61b)… Notwithstanding the fact that children taking the afikoman is not stealing because it is not removed from the premises, it would still be the wrong chinuch to call it ‘stealing.’ Rather, I would call it ‘hiding the matzah,’ to be used later as the afikoman, which is called ‘hidden.’

“There is an oft-quoted saying, although not found in any original halachic source, that all Jewish minhagim have a deep meaning… Thoughtful Jewish parents of old, in playing with their children, always incorporated a Torah lesson into their children’s games. Similarly, the minhag of yachatz, whereby we break the matzah into a larger and smaller piece, with each being used for its special purpose, is also deeply symbolic. The smaller piece, the lechem oni, the poor man’s bread, is left on the Seder plate, along with the maror and charoses. However, the larger piece is hidden away for the afikoman by the children, who who will ask for a reward for its return, and it is then eaten at the end of the meal.

“I heard a beautiful explanation for the symbolism of this minhag from my father. He explained that the smaller piece of matzah, the lechem oni, represents Olam Hazeh, with all its trials and tribulations. This piece is left on the Seder plate along with the maror and charoses, reflecting life in this world, with all its sweet and bitter experiences. However, the larger, main piece, which is hidden away during the Seder, to be eaten after the meal as the afikoman, represents Olam Haba, which is hidden from us during our lives in this world. The eating of this piece after the meal, when one is satiated, is symbolic of our reward in Olam Haba, which can be obtained only if we have first satiated ourselves in this world with a life of Torah and mitzvos. The children’s request for a reward before giving up the afikoman is symbolic of our reward in Olam Haba, which is granted to us by Hakadosh Baruch Hu if we have earned it.”[60]

There is an additional widespread custom of saving a piece of the afikoman for after Pesach.[61] Where does this minhag come from?

In her memoirs, Pauline Wengeroff (b. 1833 in Minsk) wrote: “In some Jewish homes, a single round matzah was hung on the wall by a little thread and left there as a memento.”[62] Mention of this custom is found in the work of a meshumad printed in 1794,[63] and another from 1856.[64] Chaim Hamberger also describes witnessing someone breaking off a piece of the afikoman and saving it as a segulah.[65] The Munkatcher Rebbe used to give out a piece of the afikoman, which some would save for the entire year.[66] In Persia, some also had the custom of saving a piece of the afikoman.[67]

In a book[68] filled with humor, which received a haskamah from Rav Chaim Berlin, a rich man complains to his friend that the mice are eating his clothes. His friend suggests that he sprinkle the clothes with the crumbs of the afikoman that he saves each year. He guarantees that the mice will not eat the clothes as the halachah is that one cannot eat anything after the afikoman!

In an even earlier source, the Magen Avraham—Rav Avrohom Gombiner’s classic work on the Shulchan Aruch, first printed in 1692—he makes a cryptic statement in Hilchos Yom Tov (not in Hilchos Pesach) in a discussion of making holes in meat, saying that one should hang the afikoman in such a way that he can make a hole in it with a knife.[69] What is he referring to?

Rabbi Yaakov Reischer (1660-1733), in Chok Yaakov on hilchos Pesach, first printed in 1696, writes that there is a custom to break off a piece of the afikoman and hang it, and he points to this Magen Avraham as proof.[70] Neither of these sources gives us insight into the reason for the practice, but it is clear that it is a segulah done with the afikoman.

The answer may be found in another work of Rabbi Yaakov Reischer. He was asked about his thoughts on the Kitzur Shlah, who writes that there is a problem with hanging the afikoman since it is a bizayon [disgrace] for the food, which is a halachic issue.[71] Rav Reischer says that it is not an issue since it serves to remind us of Yetzias Mitzrayim. He adds that his father and teachers observed this custom.[72]

Rabbi Yair Chaim Bacharach of Worms also writes that the reason for the minhag to hang a piece of the afikoman is zecher l’yetzias Mitzrayim.[73]

But why isn’t there an issue of bizui ochlin? Perhaps we can understand it based on Rav Avigdor Nebenzahl’s[74] explanation of the general issur of bizui ochlin, which is that bread is a special gift that Hashem gives us from Olam Haba so it is prohibited to use it in an embarrassing way. However, here one is using it for the mitzvah of zecher l’yetzias Mitzrayim, so maybe that’s why Rav Reisher held that it was not an issue.

From these sources it appears that hanging the matzah has nothing to do with any segulah but is simply zecher l’yetzias Mitzrayim.

The Kitzur Shlah, however, suggests that if one wants to observe this minhag, he should not hang the piece of afikoman but should carry it around with him. He adds that this segulah is a protection from thieves.[75] Rabbi Yair Chaim Bacharach of Worms also mentions that the piece of afikoman is a segulah for protection when traveling, but he does not quote a source for this.

In other early segulah sefarim, we find different segulos associated with the afikoman. In a rare work first printed in 1646, we find that it protects one from mazikim. At the end of the same work, the author writes that it can protect one from drowning at sea[76]; Rav Binyamin Baal Shem makes the same statement.[77] Rabbi Zechariah Simnar’s Sefer Zechirah, first printed in 1709, states that the piece of afikoman protects one from mazikim. This last source is an additional reason for the widespread observance of the custom because the sefer was extremely popular in its time and was reprinted over 40 times.[78]

One famous personality who actually used this segulah was Sir Moses Montefiore. When he found himself in the midst of a terrible storm, he cast a piece of afikoman into the sea. His family used to commemorate this miracle each year.[79]

In the anonymous work of a meshumad printed in 1738, he says it is used to ward off the evil eye.[80] Rav Yisachar Shlomo Teichtal has a very interesting teshuvah on this segulah. He writes that in the Shulchan Aruch it appears that the afikoman has all the dinim of the korban Pesach; with that comes the problem of leaving behind even one piece. He says that one should leave a piece behind for this segulah only from the matzah of the second night. He says that the people in Eretz Yisrael should save a regular piece of matzah. He then cites the Yosef Ometz, who writes that he made sure not to lose one crumb of the afikoman, so how could one possibly save a piece for the entire year?[81] His suggestion at the end is that it is better to save a regular piece of matzah.

Rav Chaim Hakohen, a talmid of Rav Chaim Vital, writes in his work Tur Barekes that there is a special segulah to save and hang a piece of matzah for the entire year and that it protects one from mazikim.[82] This practice is also cited in the very popular anonymous work Chemdas Yamim, which was first printed in 1731.8[3] Rabbi Moshe Chagiz (1671-1751) writes the same about the segulah, [84] as does Rav Dunner.[85] All of these sources appear to say that the segulah is not specifically associated with a piece of the afikoman.

Until 2010, these was the array of earlier sources known for this custom. In 2010, a fascinating manuscript of Rav Chaim Vital (1543-1620) was printed for the first time—Sefer Hape’ulos.[86]

Rav Chaim Vital is best known in the realm of Kabbalah; he was the primary student of the Arizal, entrusted with disseminating his teacher’s works.

What makes Sefer Hape’ulos especially interesting is that we see Rav Chaim Vital in a different light than he was previously known. In the first part of this work we see him as a doctor of sorts. He provides remedies to people for all kinds of illnesses—asthma, infertility, headaches, toothaches and many other conditions. Much of his advice was based on segulos and the like. In this work, he shows a familiarity with medical procedures of that period. He quotes advice that he had read in various medical works. There is also a section on alchemy.

The whereabouts of the actual manuscript are a mystery.

Rumors are that it is being sold page by page as segulah, and each page fetches a large sum of money. But copies of the manuscript are accessible on various databases.

In this work, Rav Chaim Vital writes that to calm the sea in a storm, one should take a kezayis of the afikoman and throw it into the sea.[87]

According to this statement, we see that Rav Vital does not agree with the sources saying that the afikoman should be regarded as regular matzah. Furthermore, we see that he was not concerned with Rav Teichtal’s issues as he was in Eretz Yisrael and he still said the afikoman should be used.

Burning With the Chametz

One last aspect of the treatment of the afikoman comes from Rav Schick, who says that since the afikoman is eaten as a zecher of the korban Pesach, we should keep a piece of it to burn with the chametz in order to remind us that any leftovers of the korban Pesach were to be burned.[88] Rav Dunner did the same.[89] The aforementioned work of a meshumad, printed in 1856,[90] mentions this aspect of the custom.

* A version of this article was printed in April of last year in Ami Magazine.

[1] For sources on this topic that helped me prepare this article R’ Moshe Katz, Vayaged Moshe, pp. 118-120; R’ Moshe Weingarten, Seder Ha-Aruch 1 (1991), pp. 336-338; R’ Y. Lieberman, Chag Hamatzos, pp. 458-460; R’ Avrohom Feldman, Halacha Shel Pesach, pp. 299-302; R’ Chaim David Halevi, Shonah Bishonah (1986), pp. 144-148; R’ Tuviah Freund, Moadim Li-Simcha (Pesach), pp. 340-354 [=Tzohar 2 (1998, pp. 196-206]; Pardes Eliezer, pp. 158-172; S. Reiskin, Yedah Ha-Am, 69-70 (2010), pp. 114-121 [Thanks to R’ Menachem Silber for this source]. See also, R’ Melamed, Hadoar 69 (1990), pp. 13-14.

[2] Ruchoma Shain, All for the Boss, (Young readers edition) (2008), pp. 6-7.

[3] Raphael Patai, Apprentice in Budapest: Memories of a world that is no more (1988), p. 156.

[4] Norman Salsitz, A Jewish Boyhood in Poland: Remembering Kolbuszowa (1999), pp. 166-167.

[5] A. Z. Hurvitz, Zichronot Fun Tzvei Dorot (1935), p. 138.

[6] Benjamin Lee Gordon, Between Two Worlds: The Memoirs of a Physician (2011), p. 24.

[7] R’ Shlomo Tzvi Schueck, Seder Haminhagim, (1880) p. 69b. About R’ Schueck, see Adam Ferziger, “The Hungarian Orthodox Rabbinate and Zionism: The Case of R. Salamon Zvi Schück”, Eleventh World Congress of Jewish Studies (Jerusalem, Israel, July 1993). I hope to return to him in a future piece.

[8] See the critical edition of this work printed in 1997, p. 67.

[9] P. 64.

[10] H. Baer, Ceremonies of Modern Judaism (1856), p. 149.

[11] R’ Z. Yavrov (ed.), Ma’aseh Ish Vol. 5 (2001), p. 19.

[12] R’ A. L. Horovitz (ed.), Orchos Rabbeinu Vol. 2 ( p. 78.

[13] R’ Y. Turner & R’ A. Auerbach (ed.), Halichos Shlomo (Moadei Hashanah: Nissan-Av) (2007) p. 260; R’ T. Freund, Shalmei Moed, (2004) p.400.

[14] R’ M. M. Schneersohn, Haggadah Shel Pesach Im Likutei Tamim Vol. 1 (2014), p. 11. See also p. 179.

[15] R’ Y. Shlezinger, Meorot Yitzchak (2012) p. 345.

[16] R’ S. Gaguine, Keser Shem Tov Vol. 3 (1948), p. 176.

[17] Halichos Teiman (1968), p. 22. See also, R’ Razabi, Hagadah Pri Etz Chaim, p. 337-338; R’ Harari, Mikroei Kodesh, p. 209.

[18] Meorei Or, Od Lomoed, p. 178a. The Orchos Chaim (Spinka). 473:19 quotes this piece. See R’ Yisachar Tamar, Alei Tamar, Moed 1, p. 311. On this work see the important article of Yakov Speigel, Yerushaseinu 3 (2009, pp. 269-309. About this specific piece see Ibid, pp. 279-289; R’ Dovid Zvi Hillman, Yeshurun 25 (2011), p. 620.

[19] Gamliel Ben Pedahzur, The Book of Religion, Ceremonies and Prayers of the Jews, London 1738, pp. 54-55. On this work see C. Roth, Personalities and Events in Jewish History, pp.87-90, David B. Ruderman, Jewish Enlightenment in an English Key, Princeton University Press 2000, pp. 242-49.

[20] See Hanaghot HaMarshal, pp. 10-11; Magen Avraham, 473:22; Chidushel Dinim Mei-Hilchos Pesach, p. 38. See Rabbi Chaim Benveniste, Pesach Meuvin, 315; Vayagid Moshe, pp. 116-117. There are numerous sources for putting on short skits at the seder I hope to return to this in the future.

[21] See Rabbi Yechiel Heller, Or Yisharim, p. 3b; R’ Reuven Margolis, Haggdas Baer Miriam (2002), p, 26.

[22] The Haggadah is now online here (http://jnul.huji.ac.il/dl/mss-pr/mss_d_0076/). See Bezalel Narkiss and Gabriella Sed-Rajna article about this Hagdah available there. Thanks to Rabbi Mordechai Honig for pointing me to this source.

[23] On this haggadah see Y. Yudolov, Otzar Haggadas, p. 2, # 7-8. See also Rabbi Charles Wengrov, Haggadah and Woodcut, (1967), pp, 69-71; the introduction to the 1965 reprint of this Haggadah; Yosef Yerushalmi, Haggadah and History, plate 13; See also Yosef Tabori, Mechkarim Betoldos Halacha (forthcoming), pp. 461-474. I hope to return to this Hagdah in a future article.

[24] Sich Yitzchack, p. 21a. About this Gaon see the Introduction of R’ Adler in his recent edition of his Pnei Yitzchchak- Apei Ravrivi.

[25] Mekor Chaim, Siman 477. This incredible work was first printed from manuscript in 1988.

[26] Chok Yaakov, 472:2. About him see S. Shilah, Asufot 11 (1998), pp. 65-86.

[27] Noheg Ketzon Yosef, p. 222.

[28] See his siddur, volume 2, p. 48. This comment is from the recent additions printed from the manuscript of his siddur.

[29] The first to tie it to this Gemarah was Chok Yakov (1696), R’ Yakov Emden; R’ Yedidya Thia Weil, Marbeh Lisaper, (1791), p. 7a; R’ Shimon Sofer (son of the Chasam Sofer), Mectav Sofer p. 110b; R’ Tzvi Segal, Likutei Tzvi, (1866) p. 28; R’ Shlomo Tzvi Schueck, Seder Haminhaghim, (1880) p. 69b; Sefer Matamim, p. 154; Meir Ish Sholom, Meir Ayin Al Seder Vehagadah Shel Leli Pesach, (1895), p. 34; Rabbi Yeshayah Singer, Mishneh Zichron, (1913) p. 180; R. Avraham Eliezer Hershkowitz, Otzar Kol Minhaghei Yeshrun (St. Louis, 1918), p. 136. See also Daniel Goldschmidt, Haggadah Shel Pesach (1948), p. 22 [This piece does not appear in his later edition]. See the interesting Teshuvah on this from R’ Munk, Pas Sudecha, Siman 51.

[30] Related to this, see Shu”t Torah Lishmah, #138 where he describes a custom on the Seder night.

[31] See Rashi; Rashbam; Riaz.

[32] Rambam, Chometz Umatzah 7:3.

[33] See R’ Saul Lieberman’s Tosefta Kifshuto, Pesachim, p. 653; R’ Yisachar Tamar, Alei Tamar, Moed 1, p. 311; Meir Ish Sholom, Meir Ayin Al Seder Vehagadah Shel Leli Pesach, (1895), pp. 34-35; Yosef Tabori, Pesach Dorot, p. 254; Shmuel & Zev Safrai, Haggadas Chazal, (1998), pp. 47-48.

[34] See Rashbam; Sefer HaMichtam; Maharam Halewa; Rabbenu Yerchem; Meiri. See also Ri Melunel and the Nimukei Yosef. See also Mahril, p. 114.

[35] This topic is dealt with at great length in Rabbi Mordechai Breuer’s Pirkei Mo’adot, pp. 171-192; Shama Friedman, Tosefta Atiktah, pp. 439-446. See also Rabbi Yosef Dubovick’s unpublished paper on the topic [many thanks to him for making it available to me]. See also Hagada Shel Pesach, Mesivtah, pp. 101-107. For more on this see the excellent recent work of Dovid Henshke, Ma Nishtna (2016), pp.271-299, 397-405.

[36]. See Chinuch Mitzvah 10.

[37] Chinuch Mitzvah 20.

[38] See R’ Chaim Berlin, Nishmat Chaim, p. 179. Yechezkel Kotik describes in his memoirs (Ma She’ra’iti, p. 164) getting nuts on Erev Pesach. See also Pauline Wengeroff, Rememberings, p. 44 who also describes getting nutson Pesach.

[39] See R’ Chaim Berlin, Shut Nishmat Chaim (Bei Brak), Siman 50.

[40] Chock Yakov, 473:28 see also Mahril, p. 98; Yosef Tabori, Pesach Dorot, (1996), pp. 212-244; R’ Yosef Schachar, Hod Vhadar Kevodo, pp. 124-125 [A Letter of Rabbi Chaim Berlin]; my Bein Keseh La-asur, pp. 148-153.

[41] See Yosef Tabori, Pesach Dorot, ibid.

[42] See Drasha of the Rokeach, p. 97

[43] Seder Hayom, p. 153

[44] Drasha of the Rokeach, p.98.

[45] Drasha of the Rokeach, p.98.

[46] See Drasha of the Rokeach, p. 9. But see Magan Avrhom 473:25 and Chock Yakov 473:33.

[47] See Magan Avrhom, 473:27; Seder Haaruch, 1, p. 388-390.

[48] Maagal Tov, pp. 62. On this work see my article in Yeshurun 26 (2012) pp. 853-874 and my earlier article in Ami Magazine, September 27, 2012 Is the Zoo Kosher?

[49] See the collection of sources in Rabbi Tovia Preshel, Or Yisroel 15 (1999),pp. 149-151; Rabbi Yisroel Dandorovitz, Yechalek Shalal (2014), pp. 92-98. It appears that the Barcelona Haggadah, produced after 1350, is the earliest record of the custom to place the Seder Plate on someone’s head during the recitation of Ha Lahma Anya [Thanks to Dan Rabnowitz for this source].

[50] Hagadas HaGershuni, p. 58

[51] Yehudei Poras, pp. 25, 26-27.

[52] Shut Mili D’avos (3:14).

[53] Orech Dovid, p. 107

[54] Hagadah Yerushlyim Bemoadeah,p. 55. See also R’ Harari, Mikroei Kodesh, p. 209

[55] Noheg Ketzon Yosef, p. 222.

[56] Seder Haaruch 1, p. 338. However see the Aruch Hashulchan 696:10 who says today we are not on such a level.

[57] For additional reasons see R’ Shimon Sofer (son of the Chasam Sofer), Mectav Sofer p. 110b; R’ Yisroel Margolis Yafeh, Shut Mili D’avos (3:14); Rabbi Yeshayah Singer, Mishneh Zichron, (1913) p.67a.

[58] Shut Torah Lishma, #138. On this work see: M. Koppel, D. Mughaz and N. Akiva (2006), New Methods for Attribution of Rabbinic Literature Hebrew Linguistics: A Journal for Hebrew Descriptive, Computational and Applied Linguistics; M. Koppel, J. Schler and E. Bonchek-Dokow (2007), Measuring Differentiability: Unmasking Pseudonymous Authors, JMLR 8, July 2007, pp.1261-1276; R’ Y. Liba, Shevet MeYehudah, pp. 213-236; R’ Yakov Hillel, Ben Ish Chai (2011), pp. 410-422; (excellent) intro-

duction to the new edition of this work; Levi Cooper, A Bagdadi Mystery: Rabbi Yosef Chaim and Torah Lishmah, JEL 14;1 (2015), pp 54-60.

[59] Birchat Moshe, pp. 15-16

[60] Rav Schwab on Prayer, pp. 542-543.

[61] R’ Menachem Kasher, Torah Shlemah, 12:286; Rabbi Moshe Weingarten, Seder Ha-Aruch 2 pp.244-245; Pardes Eliezer, pp.172-179. The most recent discussion of this custom is by R’ Bentzion Eichorn where he devoted a complete work called Simchat Zion (2008) (73 pps.) devoted to the many aspects of this minhag. See also D. Sperber, The Jewish Life Cycle, p. 585.

[62] Rememberings, p. 45.

[63] H. Isaacs, Ceremonies, Customs Rites and Traditions of the Jews, London 1794, pp. 111.

[64] H. Baer, Ceremonies of Modern

Judaism, Nashville 1856, p. 149.

[65] Tzefunot 11 (1991), p.97.

[66] Darchei Chaim Ushalom, pp. 193-194.

[67] Yehudei Poras, p.27.

[68] Osem Bosem, p. 35.

[69] Siman 500:7. For a possible early source for this dating to 1550 see Y. Yuval, Two nations in your Womb, p.245.

[70] Chok Yakov, 477:3.

[71] Kitzur Hashilah, p. 67a. See Hatzofeh Lichochmas Yisroel 9 (1925), pp.235-241 for an additional problem with observing this custom.

[72] Shut Shevous Yakov, 3:52.

[73] Mekor Chaim, Siman 477.

[74] Yerushalayim BeModeah (Purim), p. 258.

[75][76] Derech HaYashar, p. 8, p. 42.

[77] Amtachas Binyomin, p. 18.

[78] Sefer Zechira, p. 271. On this work see my Likutei Eliezer, pp. 13-25.

[79] See Cecil Roth, Personalities and Events in Jewish History, p. 85. See also Abigail Green, Moses Montefiore: Jewish Liberator, Imperial Hero (Cambridge, Mass. Harvard University Press, 2010, pp. 82-83 and 447 n.104. [Thanks to Menachem Butler for this last source].

[80] Gamliel Ben Pedahzur, The Book of Religion, Ceremonies and Prayers of the Jews, London 1738, p.78. Earlier on p. 55 he mentions some carry it with them as a segulah when traveling to stop a storm.

[81] Mishnat Sachir, # 122.

[82] See also R’ Dovid Zechut, Zecher Dovid, 3:27, p. 183.

[83] Chemdas Yomim, Pesach, p. 26 b. On this work see my Likutei Eliezer, p. 2.

[84] Eleh hamitzvos 19, p. 58.

[85] Minhagehi Mahritz Halevi, p. 167-168.

[86] On this work see Gerrit Boss, extensive article “Hayyim Vital’s Practical kabbalah and Alchemy; a 17th Century book of secrets” in the Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy, Volume 4, pp. 54-112. See also my Likutei Eliezer, pp.46-89.

[87] Sefer Hape’olot p. 241. In 2015 a beautiful haggadah, Hagaddas Medrash BiChodesh, (2015), was printed for the first time of R’ Eliezer Foah (died 1658) talmid of the Remah Mi Pano where he also brings this segulah of throwing it in to the sea (pp. 19-20). The editor incorrectly writes that this is the first source for this segulah.

[88] Siddur Rashban, 33b.

[89] Minhagehi Mahritz Halevi, p. 167-168.

[90] H. Baer, Ceremonies of Modern Judaism, Nashville 1856, p. 149.

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

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

Avi
Grossman

Abstract

Typical
Jewish calendars list two particular z’manim for “the
first time that one may begin to recite kiddush l’vana (or
birkat hal’vana).” The first is referred to as minhag
yerushalayim or minhag haperushim, or simply “the
three-day minhag,” and the second time, to wait for seven
days to pass from the start of the lunar month to recite the
blessing, is attributed to the Shulhan Aruch. These two times are
calculated as exactly either 72 hours or 168 hours after the average
molad of each Hebrew month. These positions do not truly
reflect those of our sages, nor of the Rishonim, and nor of the
Shulhan Aruch. The usual shul calendars,
like the Ittim L’vina calendar and the Tukachinsky calendar,
mislead the public with regards to when the earliest time for saying
the blessing really is. The issue is based on a number of fallacious
calculations, including misapplying a chumra of the Pri
M’gadim regarding an opinion of the Rema to an opinion of the
Shulhan Aruch, and assuming that the
Shulhan Aruch completely dismissed the
halacha as described by the Talmud in favor of a later, kabbalistic
opinion. The purpose of this article is to argue for a reevaluation
as to how the typical calendars present these issues to the laymen
and to call for a more accurate presentation of the z’manim
as understood by Rishonim like Maimonides.

Introduction

If
you take a look at the usual Jewish calendars, you will find that
every month two particular z’manim are presented for “the
first time that one may begin to recite kiddush l’vana (or
birkat hal’vana).” The first is based on the writings of
the Vilna Gaon, and referred to as minhag yerushalayim or
minhag haperushim, or simply “the three-day minhag,”
and the second is attributed to Rabbi Yosef Karo, the author of the
Beth Yosef and the Shulhan Aruch, who was
usually referred to by the name of his former work. The Shulhan
Aruch makes mention of waiting for seven days to pass (ostensibly
from the start of the lunar month) to recite the blessing. These two
times are calculated as follows: exactly 72 hours (3 times 24 hours)
or 168 hours (7 times 24 hours) after the average molad of
each Hebrew month, the molad that is announced in the
synagogue before each Rosh Hodesh and used to calculate when each
Tishrei is to start, thereby making it the basis for our set
calendar.

It
is my goal to show that these positions do not truly reflect those of
our sages, nor of the Rishonim, and that Beth Yosef himself actually
held like the majority of Rishonim, while his seven-day minhag
is also misrepresented in the printed calendars. The usual shul
calendars, like the Ittim L’vina calendar and the Tukachinsky
calendar, mislead the public with regards to when the earliest time
for saying the blessing really is. I have tried to speak to the
publishers about this issue, but to no avail.

Talmud
And Rishonim: Birkat Hal’vana Ideally On Rosh Hodesh

Rabbi
David Bar Hayim maintains that the monthly recitation of birkat
hal’vana
should, in accordance with the plain meaning of the Talmud and the
opinion of the rishonim, ideally be on Rosh Hodesh, and in the event
that that cannot be done, as soon as possible thereafter. See here.
His first proofs are the most elegant.

“Whoever
recites the b’rakha over the new moon at the proper time
(bizmano) welcomes, as it were, the presence of the Sh’khina”
(Sanhedrin 42a). What does bizmano mean if not that one
should strive to recite this b’rakha at the earliest
opportunity? In a number of manuscripts we find a variant reading –
“Whoever recites the b’rakha for Rosh Hodhesh…” – which
leaves no room for doubt as to R. Yohanan’s
intention.

It
should also be noted that throughout the rest of the Talmud, “z’mano”
of the new moon is the night it is supposed to be sighted, i.e., the
first night of the month. He also points out that

The
Talmud Y’rushalmi (B’rakhoth 9:2) speaks plainly of reciting the
b’rakha at the time of the moon’s reappearance (HaRo’e
eth HaL’vana b’hidhusha).
This is also the very deliberate wording of both Halakhoth G’dholoth
and Riph (Chap 9 43b). This expression can only be understood as
explained above.

This
is also the language utilized by Maimonides and the Shulhan
Aruch, and will become crucial when we seek to understand the opinion
of the Beth Yosef. Rabbi Nahum Rabinovitch,
the math professor turned Rosh Yeshiva, also told me that such is the
halacha, and it is proper to make others aware of this. There is a
group called the Israeli New Moon Society that keeps track of the
sightings of the new moon and publishes online guides for amateurs
who wish to spot the new moon. The society enjoys Rabbi Rabinovitch’s
support, and he used the society’s founder’s diagrams in his own
commentary on Maimonides’s Hilchot Kiddush
HaHodesh.

This
position should come as a surprise to many. In America, the
prevailing practice is to wait specifically for after the Sabbath,
while here in Israel most are used to hearing about the three-day or
seven-day customs.

We
should begin our discussion with the relevant Talmudic sources, YT
Berachot 9:2 and BT Sanhedrin 42-43, which state that one has until
the sixteenth of the month to recite birkat hal’vana. The
running assumption of the rishonim and logic is that the assumed
first time to recite the blessing is right at the beginning of the
month, similar to the obvious point that if one were told to perform
a commandment in the morning and that he had until 9am, then it would
be understood that he can start doing it when the morning starts.
After all, is he supposed to do it before the morning, while it is
still the preceding night? This position is explicit in Rashi’s
comments to the gemara, the Meiri’s explanation thereof, and in
Maimonides’s codification of the law (Berachot, 10:16-17), but is
also the only way to understand the halacha unless other
considerations are introduced. A simple reading of the both Talmudim
indicate without a doubt that the blessing is to be recited on Rosh
Hodesh. Rabbi Kappah, in his commentary to the Mishneh Torah (ibid.),
writes that this is and always was the Yemenite practice. Note also
that this halacha makes no mention of the molad or of any
calculation concerning the first time for reciting this blessing,
because as one of the birkot har’iya, it only depends on
seeing something.

I
believe that Hazal instituted this blessing specifically for the
first sighting of the moon because, once upon a time, the Jewish
people joyously anticipated the first sighting of the moon. The
Mishna in Rosh Hashana (chapter 2) describes how the Sanhedrin
actually wanted to encourage competition among potential witnesses!
Jewish life once revolved around the calendar, which itself was not
predetermined. Thus, every month, Jews throughout ancient Israel and
the Diaspora were involved in keeping track of the sighting of the
new moon, as it affected when the holidays would be. Imagine not
knowing during the first of week of Elul if the first of Tishrei was
going to be on Thursday or perhaps on Friday some weeks later. It can
have a major effect on everyone’s holiday plans.

However,
most of the calendars do not take into account when the actual first
sighting of the moon will be every month. Instead, they follow a
different interpretation of a view cited in the Beth Yosef, thus
presenting a first time for birkat hal’vana
that is sometimes as many as three days after the actual first
opportunity.

Massechet
Sof’rim And Rabbeinu Yona: Other Considerations

Rabbeinu
Yona (attached to the Rif’s rulings at the very end of the fourth
chapter of BT Berachot, page 21a in the Vilna printing, and cited by
the Beth Yosef to Tur Orah Hayim 426, “garsinan
b’masechet sof’rim;”)
describes three ways to understand what Massechet Sof’rim
meant by not reciting the blessing “ad
shetitbassem.” Evidently, his version of Sof’rim was
different from ours, in which the first line of chapter 20 begins
with “ad motza’ei shabbat, k’shehu m’vusam.”
This verb, titbassem, is from the root b-s-m, and like most
future tense forms with the prefix tau but no suffix, it can
either have a second-person masculine singular
subject (in this case, the one reciting the blessing), or a feminine
third-person singular subject (the moon). Rabbeinu Yona
rejects the interpretation that it means to wait until Motzaei
Shabbat, when we recite the blessing over the besamim, because
Saturday night and Sunday have nothing to do with Rosh Hodesh more
than other days of the week. Our Rosh Hodesh is actually distributed
perfectly evenly among the days of the week. That is, one out of
every seven days that we observe as Rosh Hodesh is a Sunday, and
waiting for Saturday night every month can often considerably delay
the blessing. What if Rosh Hodesh was Monday? Why wait practically a
whole week to recite birkat hal’vana? The idea does not fit
with the typical halachic principle of trying to perform a religious
function as soon as possible.

Rabbeinu
Yona does not then entertain the reading of Sof’rim we possess,
which offers a different connection between the root b-s-m and
Motza’ei Shabbat, but instead offers his own interpretation: that
the moon should look like a “canopy.”
If only about a 90 degree arc is visible, it is a stretch to say that
it looks canopy-like, but if it is closer to 180 degrees, then it
looks like what he is describing. This opinion was apparently not
accepted by any subsequent scholars, because it finds no mention in
subsequent literature. Lastly, Rabbeinu Yona offers his own mentor’s
understanding, and this is the basis for all later misunderstandings:
titbassem refers to the light of the
moon being significantly “sweet,” a
state that it only achieves “two to (or
‘or’) three days” into the new lunar cycle. He uses
intentionally vague language, because no
two months are the same. By the time the moon becomes visible for the
first time, it could be that the molad
itself was anywhere from approximately twelve hours to 48 hours
before that, and each month has its own set of astronomical
conditions that affect this.[1] The possibilities are endless, and there is no objective rule for
determining how much time the moon takes each month to get to the
stage Rabbeinu Yona’s mentor describes, and that is why he used the
vague terminology “two to three days.”
More importantly, the “two to three days”
statement is just an example of how long it takes, but the underlying
rule is when the light becomes “sweet.”

I
will give an analogy.

Rubin
wished to buy a silver goblet from Simon. Simon asked Rubin for $200
in exchange for the goblet. Rubin, searching through his wallet,
realized he had not the cash, but he needed the goblet very soon.
Turning to Simon, he said, “Right now, it
is about 9:30 Wednesday morning. I need this goblet at lunch today,
and if you give me two to three days to come up with the cash, I
would be grateful.” Simon agreed, because he knew that Rubin was
going to go back to his own business selling tomatoes and shoes, and
that sometimes he did not work Fridays, and the odds were good that
Rubin would have enough left after sales and buying his children
snacks to pay Simon. Now, we would all consider it perfectly
reasonable for Rubin to come back to Simon Thursday night at 8pm, or
Friday morning at 10am, or right before Shabbat, or even right after
Shabbat, because in languages like 13th-century Rabbinic Hebrew and
Modern Hebrew and English, “two to three
days” or “two or three days” allow
for all of those possibilities. The halacha also allows for that.
Thursday evening is at the end of two business days, right before
Shabbat is at the end of three, and right after Shabbat is the end of
the third day from when Rubin asked for more time. But all can be
described as having as taken place “two
to three days” from when Rubin made his request.

Back
to the moon: it seems that in every subsequent work you can find
(with the very important and critical exception of the Beth Yosef),
the opinion of Rabbeinu Yona’s mentor is referred to as “Rabbeinu
Yona’s opinion,” even though he offered
one that actually differed from that of his mentor, and it is
inaccurately reported as “waiting for three days after the molad,”
taking out the critical “two or/to.”
Even later, it is further transformed into waiting until after three
full days have passed, i.e., at least 72 hours. This
evolution is clear from reading the sources as they appear in the
halachic record in chronological order. This is unfortunate and also
illogical, because we saw above that the whole idea of “two
to three days” is only offered as a way to describe how long it may
take the light of the moon to become “sweet.”
It could actually vary, because the sweetness is the point.

A
typical example was Rosh Hodesh Adar 5777,
when both the mean molad and the
actual molad happened
early Sunday morning, e.g. between 4 am and 9 am, the moon was
not visible Sunday night, nor visible all Monday during the day, but
Monday night, after sunset, which is halachically Tuesday, the new
moon became visible to most people, assuming cooperative weather
conditions. Thus, it takes “two to three
days,” i.e., a vague window of 26 to 72 hours, for the new moon to
show up after the molad. In our
case, it took most of Sunday, all of Monday, and just the beginning
of Tuesday, about 40 hours later, for the moon to reappear. Rabbi
Rabinovitch’s son, Rabbi Mordechai Rabinovitch, pointed this out to
me some years ago. The idea that miktzat hayom k’chullo,
that a part of the day is considered a full halachic day, is well
grounded in halacha. To sum up, Rabbeinu Yona did not mean “three
days, in every single situation, no matter what,” and even if he
had said that the underlying rule is to wait three days from the
beginning of the cycle, why did later authorities add that “at
least” modifier?

The
Beth Yosef and others who came after Rabbeinu Yona mentioned that the
new lunar cycle officially starts with the molad. Now, the
molad as discussed by the
authorities is just an average; the actual conjunction is usually a
few hours before or after it. It takes some time after the actual
conjunction for the new moon to become visible. Enough time has to
elapse from the conjunction for the moon to be both objectively large
enough to actually be seen and far enough from the sun’s location
in the sky for it not to be out shone. The first time any moon is
visible is usually after sunset the day after the actual molad,
and sometimes only after the sunset two days after the molad.
In practice, it is usually impossible to see the new moon on the
halachic day of the molad or on the
halachic day after the molad. Only
on the third day, which starts at sundown concluding the second day,
is the new moon visible.[2]

This
is the first premise of the misunderstanding: the actual first
sighting of the new moon will, in the overwhelming majority of cases,
satisfy Rabbeinu Yona’s rule as actually stated, but if one were to
decide to wait to recite the blessing the maximum interpretation of
“three days” from the molad,
and only decide to use the mean molad,
which has no actually bearing on the reality of the moon’s
visibility, then he would wait 72 hours from that molad,
and in the vast majority of months the end of that 72 hour period
will either greatly precede the next possible citing of the moon or
just miss that sighting. Because the new moon is visible for a few
minutes to an hour and a half or so after the sunset, if those 72
hours do not terminate around then, one will have to wait for the
next night to recite the blessing. In our example above, such a
person would wait until Wednesday morning between 4am and 9am to
recite the blessing, when the moon by definition is not visible due
to its proximity to the sun, and then be forced to wait even longer,
until Wednesday night, which is halachically Thursday, in order to
recite the blessing “at the first
opportunity”! Thus, he has delayed the recitation two full days! It
gets more extreme, when for some reason, the calendar invokes the
(not so talmudic) rule that the blessing not be recited on Friday
night even when it is the “first
opportunity,” pushing off the blessing to Saturday night, three
days after the true first opportunity.[3]

Why
would anyone do such a thing? Who would read Rabbeinu Yona such a way
and then rule that normative practice should follow it? The Beth
Yosef himself does not subscribe to Rabbeinu Yona’s rule to begin
with.

The
answer is the Pri M’gadim, but first some more background.

The
Last Time For Birkat Hal’vana

According
to BT Sanhedrin (ibid.), the last opportunity for the birkat
hal’vana is the 16th of the month. Now, the Gemara is speaking
quite generally. It assumes that a month is 30 days long, thus making
the 16th night the beginning of the second half of the month, and
usually marking the point that the moon is beginning to wane. Indeed,
in deficient, 29-day months, it makes sense that the last opportunity
should be the night of the 15th. The Beth Yosef (ibid., “uma
shekathav rabbeinu w’hanei shisha asar”)
makes note of this and other similar issues, and then notes that
there are more exact ways of determining the midpoint of the lunar
month.

That
is, the Talmud gave a very imprecise sign for determining when the
moon is no longer waxing, but leaves room for more precise
calculations. The Tur, (ibid.) for example, mentions that the true
last time for the blessing is exactly half the time between the
average moladoth, what the pos’kim
call me’et l’et
(literally, “from time to time”), and
often meant to mean exactly 24 hours after a certain event. In this
case, it means exactly half the time between the moladoth,[4] which, as pointed out by many commentators, can actually fallout
before or after the 16th (or 15th) night of the month. This is the
opinion adopted by the Rema (Orah Hayim 426:3) for determining the
final time for the blessing. The Beth Yosef (ibid.) mentions an even
more exact determination of the middle of the lunar month: the lunar
eclipse, which by definition occurs at the exact midpoint of the
month.

Presumably,
in a month absent a lunar eclipse, the midpoint of the month could be
calculated by studying the actual moladoth
before and after that month, and there are now many free computer
programs that can easily do this. The Shulhan
Aruch thus rules that one can stick with the most inexact calculation
(Orah Hayim 426:3), but the Pri M’gadim (Eshel Avraham 13 to
Orah Hayim 426) declares that just like we, the Ashkenazim, follow
the Rema, who said that the yard stick for measuring the last time of
the blessing is me’et
l’et, exactly half the time between
the average moladot,
so too, with regards to the first time of the blessing, the practice
is to wait three days me’et
l’et, exactly 72 hours, from the
molad, before reciting
the blessing!

The
Pri M’gadim makes no explanation as to why that should be so, and
it is especially hard to justify his claim, as the first time for
saying the blessing should strictly depend on the first sighting of
the moon, whereas the final time for the blessing should depend on
when the moon is full. Further, the Rema himself made no actual
mention of when he believes to be the first time for the recitation
of Birkat Hal’vana, and without this interjection of the Pri
M’gadim, one would figure that the Rema holds like the implication
of the Talmud above, that the ideal time for the blessing is on Rosh
Hodesh, or at least perhaps when Rabbeinu
Yona says it should be.

Despite
this, the Pri M’gadim’s opinion is mentioned by the Mishna Berura
(426:20), and that has ended the discussion for the calendar
printers, despite the fact that it was clear for millennia before the
Pri M’gadim, who was born in 1727, that the first opportunity for
the recitation of this blessing should not be delayed. After all, how
many of us ever delay the blessing over seeing the ocean or
lightning? Further, one cannot derive that there is a both a rule as
to how luminous the moon needs to be and about how Saturday night is
ideal because they are mutually exclusive, alternate readings of the
same line in Sof’rim. The whole idea that the authorities ever
accepted that the moon needs to be a minimum size was never fully
accepted, and even if there were those who subscribed to Rabbeinu
Yona’s vague position, none of them
before the Pri M’gadim assigned a
strictly quantifiable time period to that standard.

We
now need to address the following questions: 1. If it is clear from
the Gemara and Rishonim that the blessing should be recited as soon
as possible during the lunar month, why did Rabbeinu Yona’s novel
opinion gain so much support? 2. Why has this opinion of the Pri
M’gadim become so popular? Does it not misunderstand an opinion
that itself should be discounted?

In
Maaseh Rav 159, it is recorded in the name of the Vilna Gaon (who was
a contemporary of the Pri M’gadim) that birkat hal’vana
should not be postponed until seven days after (the start of the
month), nor until Saturday night, but rather “we sanctify
immediately after 3 days from the molad.” This seems to be
an endorsement of Rabbeinu Yona’s position and the source for
minhag yerushalyim, but as we have just argued, it would be a
stretch to say that it could only be understood as the Pri M’gadim
did. It would seem to make more sense to interpret this as Rabbeinu
Yona himself wrote, “2 or 3 days” which allows for periods of
time much shorter than the maximum 72 hours.

We
have thus shown that with regards to general Ashkenazic practice, the
calendars present a time for birkat hal’vana that has little
basis in the oldest sources. I have not found a single work that
takes up the problem of the Pri M’gadim declaring what the Rema’s
position is with regard to the first time of birkat hal’vana,
and the contemporary scholars familiar with the matter all hold like
the simple understanding of the gemara according to Maimonides,
namely that birkat hal’vana should be recited as soon
as the new moon can be seen, with no consideration of how much time
that actually takes after the molad. It would seem that the
calendars, if they were to be honest, would notify their readers of
when the moon is first technically visible each month, as per the
Israeli New Moon Society’s charts, which usually satisfy Rabbeinu
Yona’s and anyone who subscribes to his position’s conditions,
and then to present the Pri M’gadim’s position, and refer to it
as such.

To
be continued in part 2.

[1] See this chart.
Notice that no two months share a percent illumination, nor location
in the sky, and each has its own level of difficulty being spotted.
When two days are shown consecutively, it is because the first day’s
conditions were not sufficient for most to have actually enjoyed or
even seen the light of the moon.
[2] As pointed out on the last page of the linked file in note 1, Maimonides did feel that there was a mathematical formula for determining minimal visibility.
[3] The Mishna Berurah (426:12 and Sha’ar Hatziyun ad loc) mentions that based on Kabbala, birkat hal’vana should not be said on Friday night, probably lest reciters come to dance, However, the way the halacha stood for millennia never included this novel rule, and the prohibition against dancing on the Sabbath and Festivals is itself a Rabbinic “fence” around a Biblical prohibition, and there is a Talmudic rule that we do not make “decrees to protect decrees.” More so, even though there are still some lone holdouts who maintain that this prohibition against dancing is still in force, most communities follow the opinion of the Tosafists (Beitza 30a) that nowadays there is no such prohibition. Thus, the almost universal custom of hakafot on Simchat Torah, which, if not for the Tosafists’ leniency, would be rabbinically forbidden.
[4] 29 days, 12 hours, and 793 chalakim. Each chelek is 3 and 1/3 seconds, so 793 chalakim equals 2643 and 1/3 seconds, or about 44 minutes. The half way point between the moladot would therefore be 14 days, 18 hours and 22 minutes or so after the first molad.

The Pros and Cons of Making Noise When Haman’s Name is Mentioned: A historical perspective (updated)

The Pros and Cons of Making Noise
When Haman’s Name is Mentioned: A historical perspective (updated)

By:
Eliezer Brodt

Severalweeks before Purim, one can already see children of various ages playing with cap guns and other loud noisemakers. All of this is done in the spirit of preparing for the laining of the Megillah and the noise that will be made whenever the name of Haman is mentioned—sort of like reviewing the halachos of Yom Tov 30 days before the chag!

On a more serious note, what are the reasons for the minhag of “banging” whenever the name of Haman is said? In this article I will try to trace some of the sources and their various aspects.[1] This post first appeared last year as an article in Ami Magazine; the current version contains many additions to that article. A much more expanded version of this article will appear in Hebrew (IY”H) in the future.

According to the Yerushalmi, one should say “arur Haman ubanav,” Haman and his children should be cursed, but it does not specify when. It then mentions that R’ Yonasan would curse Nevuchadnetzar after he was mentioned during the Megillah.[2] However, in Masechtas Sofrim, where this is also brought down, it says that “arur Haman ubanuv” was said after the Megillah was read. From this it is clear that the reason for saying this is the pasuk in Mishlei, that when one mentions the name of a tzaddik he should say “zecher tzaddik livrachah” and “shem reshaim yirkav” whenever an evil person is mentioned.[3] Today, the practice is to say “arur Haman ubanav” after the Megillah, during the piyyut Asher Heini[4], and specifically when its most famous stanza is recited, Shoshanas Yaakov.[5] In fact, this might be what the Gemara is referring to when it says one should be intoxicated to the point of not knowing the difference between “arur Haman” and “baruch Mordechai.”[6]

The Manhig writes that in Spain the custom was to say “arur Haman baruch Mordechai” after the Megillah reading. The children in France and Provence had a custom to write Haman’s name on the bottom of rocks and bang them together in fulfillment of ““shem reshaim yirkav.”[7] From this source it would appear that this was done specifically by children and each and every time Haman’s name was mentioned.

Rav Aharon Hakohen Miluneil (d. 1330) in his work Orchos Chaim adds that the children of France and Provence did this for the additional reason of fulfilling “macho timcheh es zecher Amalek,” but does not specify when this was done. It appears that this was simply a custom that was done on Purim although not necessarily during the Megillah, reading. [8]

The Avudraham mentions the custom from the Manhig and adds that there is a source in the Midrash saying that one should erase Amalek from wood and stones.[9]

The Sefer HaAsufot cites another Midrash (which we don’t have) to show that the children banged on the wall when Haman’s name was mentioned.[10] The Shibolei Haleket writes that some people in Italy had the custom of stamping their feet, banging stones and breaking pots, after which everyone would get up and thank Hashem for saving the nation;[11] he writes that while it is not obligatory, it is a good custom. It appears that this was done by everyone, not only the children.

From the Sefer Hatadir, it appears that “children who were zealous to do mitzvos” would break pots when Haman and Zeresh were mentioned.[12] It seems from both of these Italian sources that it was not done during the Megillah reading, but neither gives a reason for this custom.

In yet another Italian source, the Machzor Kiminhag Roma printed by Soncino in 1485-1486, we find that they would
smash pots when the piyyut was recited after the Megillah, but during the Megillah laining they would stamp their feet, clap
their hands and make other sounds. It’s also clear that this was done by everyone.[13]

A bit later, R’ Yehudah Aryeh Modena (1571-1648) wrote about Italy that some would bang when Haman’s name was said.[14]

R’ Zalman of St. Goar, in his work Sefer Maharil, writes that he observed that his Rebbe, the Maharil, did not bang when Haman’s name was said.[15] The Rama brings this down in his Darchei Moshe.[16] Various Acharonim have different explanations as to why the Maharil did not bang.[17] There is, however, a manuscript written by the Maharil’s son saying that his
father did indeed bang when Haman’s name was mentioned.[18]

R’ Avraham Saba writes that some have the custom to bang two stones together, based on the words “vehayah im bin hakos harasha,” as the final letters of the first three words spell Haman[19]. This remez is also brought by the Sifsei Kohen Al Hatorah[20], Minchah Beilulah[21], Levush[22] and Mateh Moshe.[23]

The Rama writes that there was custom among children to make a picture of Haman or write his name on wood or rocks
and erase them in fulfillment of “macho timcheh” and “shem reshaim yirkav.” From this they developed the custom of banging during the Megillah reading, and one should not abolish or belittle any custom because there was a good reason for it being established.[24] In Darchei Moshe he writes that his source is from the Manhig as quoted by the Avudraham.

In the very popular Yiddish book by R’ Shimon Ginsburg, first printed in 1590, we find the custom of the children “banging”[25]. Similarly, the Levush also writes that we should keep this custom, as does the Magen Avraham.[26] The Levush then says that when Haman’s name is mentioned one should actually say “shem reshaim yirkav”[27]. At first glance this appears to be a big chiddush, as talking during the Megillah reading is a hefsek. The Mishnah Berurah[28] and Rav Moshe Feinstein conclude that one should not say this during the Megillah.[29] However, after quoting the Levush, the Magen Avraham writes “see Midrash Rabbah about Nevuchadnetzar”.[30] The Magan Avrhom is referring to the Medrash we quoted in the beginning, of Esther which says R’ Yonasan would curse Nebucadnetzar after it was mentioned during the Megilah. So from this Medrash we see clearly that during the Megilah reading he would say this and he would not wait for after the Megilah. This supports the Levush.[31]

R’ Avraham Klozner writes that the reason children bang rocks together is that they do not know how to say “shem reshaim yirkav, Whereas the adults say that during the Megillah”.[32] The anonymous comments, in Sefer Haminhagim of Rav Isaac Tirina writes the same.[33]

Those Opposed to “Banging”

R’ Binyamin Halevi writes in the Machzor Maagalei Tzedek (first printed in 1550) that he is opposed to these customs,
as well as the burning of a mock Haman in effigy. Not only do they cause a great disturbance in shul, but we live among non-Jews who are constantly looking for reasons to attack us. In other words, these minhagim are dangerous and should be abolished, as was done with other customs.[34]

To illustrate how these things can get out of control, R’ Eliyahu Capsili describes an incident that occurred in Crete in 1545 when a firecracker went off and caused utter pandemonium in shul. A takanah was subsequently made forbidding this kind of thing on Purim.[35]

R’ Avrohom Chaim Naeh writes about Yerushalayim in the 1940’s :

הרמ”א כתב על מנהג הכאת המן דאין לבטל שום מנהג… אבל המנהג היה להכות בעצים, ויומא כי האדינא חידשו להם הילדים מנהג חדש שמכין עם כדור פולווער [חומר נפץ], שנשמע קול יריה והפולווער הזה מוציא עשן מסריח ומחניק, עד שאי אפשר כלל לעמוד בבית הכנסת. העשן נכנס בגרון הקורא, וקולו נעשה צרוד, ובקושי אפשר לו להמשיך הקריאה, וכן הצבור סובלים מחוסר אויר, ומצפים מתי יגמרו הקריאה. בודאי חובה לעקור המנהג של היריות שעת הקריאה, דזה אינו מנהג וותיקין ועל דבר זה צריך לעמוד לפני הקריאה בכל תוקף, ולהוציא מידם כלי היריות [קצות השלחן, הערות למעשה, עמ’ קמו אות ה].

Another reason to refrain from banging is found in the Shelah Hakadosh, which is that it simply makes too much noise and people can’t fulfill the obligation to hear the Megillah.[36] The Pri Megadim writes something similar, that it confuses people.[37]

Another early source opposed to banging R’ Shmuel Portaleone (1570-1648).[38] One of his concerns was that the non-Jews would make fun of us.

The Seder Hayom (1599) writes that it’s not proper to make a ruckus in shul but if it’s being done by small children there’s no need to be concerned, due to simchas hayom.[39]

In Egypt and in London[40] (1783) they abolished the noisemaking completely.[41] Rabbi Avraham Levinson in Mekorei Haminhaghim[42] and R’ Ovadiah Yosef[43] were also for abolishing it. Similarly, Rav Yosef Henkin writes that the banging should be stopped during the actual Megillah laining.[44]

A Compromise

Rabbi Chaim Benveniste (1603-1673) in his work Sheyarei Knesses Hagedolah writes that in Izmir the chazzan would say the names of Haman and his children very loudly so the children would hear it and bang on the floor;[45] this was the intention of the Orchos Chaim. The banging was only done this one time during the Megillah. However, it’s worth pointing out that eventually the banging was abolished completely in Izmir.[46]

Rabbi Yuzpeh Shamash (1604-1678) of Worms writes that noise was made only when the Haman of “asseres bnei Haman” was said.[47] The Mekor Chaim writes the same but adds that woman and children did stamp their feet when Haman’s name was mentioned.[48] The Ben Ish Chai writes that the community would bang when “asseres bnei Haman” was read in Bagdad, but he himself would stamp with his foot after the first and last Haman.[49]

R’ Avrhom Chaim Naeh writes:

בעיה”ק חברון ת”ו, שהצבור היו אומרים עשרת בני המן לפני שהבעל קורא אומרם, ובזמן זה היו התינוקות מכים, ואחר כך אומרם הקורא מתוך המגילה. ויש לומר, דמשום זה זכו עשרת בני המן שהציבור יקרא אותם תחלה, כדי שיוכלו לספוג המכות, דבזמן שהקורא אומרם אי אפשר להכות כיון שצריך לאמרם בנשימה אחת [קצות השולחן, הערות למעשה, עמ’ קמו].

We find a few sources showing that attempts were made to abolish the minhag but for the most part they were unsuccessful.

In her memoirs, Pauline Wengeroff (b. 1833 in Minsk) wrote: “Whenever the hateful name of Haman was heard the men stamped their feet and the young people made an uproar with shrill graggers. My father was irritated by this and forbade it but it was of no use; every year people did it again”.[50] Her father was R’ Epstein, a talmid of R’ Dovid Tevel, author of Nachalas
Dovid who was a talmid of R’ Chaim Volozhiner.[51]

R’ Yosef Ginsburg writes that it best to bang only when Haman’s name is mentioned with his father’s, as done in communities in Lita and Rasin.[52]

In a memoir written describing Kovno the author relates how a local talmid chacham unsuccessfully tried to convince the children not to throw firecrackers during the Megillah laining.[53]

In a letter written in Telz in 1915 R’ Avraham Eliyhau Kaplan notes that Purim has passed and the children have already made their disturbances with their graggers.[54]

According to the Orach Hashulchan, one should make sure that the noise does not get out of control; otherwise it is preferable to hear the Megillah at home with a minyan.[55]

Sources that they did bang

Still, it appears that for the most part, the minhag remained.

R’ Yair Chaim Bachrach writes:

כלי נקישה שעושין לתינוקות לנקש כמו בפורים יזהר גדול מלטלטלו, אבל ביד התינוקות אין מוחין, כ”ש כשחל פורים ביום א’ כשהולכין בערב לבה”כ [מקור חיים, סי’ שמג]

This appears to be some sort of noise maker.

R’ Yakov Emden brings down that his father the Chacham Tzvi used to bang with his feet when Haman’s name was said during the Megilah.[56]

In the cynical, anonymous, satire Ketav Yosher, first printed in 1794 (and attributed to Saul Berlin), we find one of the Minhaghim he makes fun of is the banging by Haman.[57]

In 1824 a parody called the Sefer Hakundos (trickster) was printed in Vilna. This parody was written by a maskil as a vicious attack on the Jews of the time poking fun at many things. The plus about this parody is we get a very interesting glimpse into Jewish life in those days.[58] When discussing Purim he writes “He (the trickster) must bang with all his strength for a long time every time Haman’s name is mentioned until he is either thrown out or quieted down. If he gets thrown out due to his long
banging even better and he must scream welcome when Haman’s name is said”.

See here what On the Main line brings about New York in 1841.

In a very informative Memoir describing life in Lithuania in the 1880’s the author describes: “We all went to the Synagogue equipped with our Haman Dreiers… and each time the reader of the Megillah… mentioned the name haman the nosie of the rattles was deafening”.[59]

In a diary describing Russia in the 1890s the author writes: “At every mention of Haman’s name there are general cries while the children howl and make as much noise as possible with graggers…the adults beat their pews with sticks as a token of their desire to beat Haman”.[60]

S. Ansky writes in his memoirs of World War One: “On Purim I went to Synagogue to hear the reading of the book of Esther. At the the mention of Haman’s name the children traditionally make noise say by clapping but when these children tried to clap, though very softly, their frightened parents hastily shushed them. Why didn’t they let the children make noise? I asked somebody afterword. Someone might object he stammered. Try and prove that they meant the ancient Haman and not the present one.”[61]

R’ Elayshiv, zt”l, never stopped the crowd from making noise but he himself did not.[62]

Jews in the Eyes of Gentiles

Many of sources of information about how various minhaghim were observed come from non-Jews or meshumadim, which must obviously be used with caution because some of these writers were tendentious or may not have fully understood what they observed or heard of even if they tried to be objective. These accounts however seem sound.

Johannes Buxtorf (1564-1629) writes in his Synagoga Judaica: ” There is also the custom that as often as the name of Haman is mentioned the young Jews knock him, and there is a great commotion. They used to have two stones, on one of which was written “Haman,” and they knocked them together until the name had disappeared, and they said and called out: Jimmach Schmo, his name shall be blotted out, or, Schem reschaim jirkabh, the name of the wicked shall rot. Arur Haman, cursed be Haman…”.[63]

In a letter written by John Greenhalgh in 1662 to a minister friend of his we find the following description of his visit to a shul: “My Rabbi invited me afterward to come and see the feast of Purim which they kept he said for the deliverance from Haman’s conspiracy mentioned in the Book of Esther in which they use great knocking and stamping when Haman is named”.[64]

In the Present State of the Jews (1675) Lancelot Addison writes: “Both the women and children…at the naming of Haman make a hideous noise with their hands and stamping with their feet.”

Johann Eisenmenger (1654-1704) writes that “the boys… clench their fists and strike them together, and hissing at the name of Haman make a mighty noise”.[65]

In the Ceremonies of the Present Jews (1728) we find: “They clap their hands or beat the benches to signify that they curse [Haman]”.[66]

In the book Religion, Ceremonies and Prayers of the Jews the pseudonymous Gamaliel Ben Pedazhur (1738) writes: “All the Jews, young and old, stamp their feet on the floor… the children generally have hammers with them at the synagogue… this
is done by way of rendering [Haman’s] memory as obnoxious as they can.”

Hyam Isaacs in Ceremonies Customs Rites and Traditions of the Jews, first printed in 1794, writes (second edition, 1836, p. 89): “and as often as the reader mentions the name Haman… it is customary for the children, who have little wooden hammers to
knock against the wall as a memorial that they should endeavor to destroy the whole seed of Amalek”.

In his notes, a Christian traveler describes the events of a visit of his in a shul in Jerusalem, he also writes how the kids would make noise with graggers whenever haman’s name was said and the adults would bag with their feet or sticks.[67]

Reasons for this Custom

What follows from all this is that according to some Rishonim it ties specifically to Shem Rishoim Yirkav whereas others tie it to Mochoh Timcha Es Zeicher Amalek. According to some it was done specifically by the children; according to others it was also
done by adults. Some sources report it as being done after the Megilah reading; others say it was done during the Megilah reading.

The Rama (S.A. 690:17), after bringing some of the earlier sources for this custom, writes that one should not abolish or make fun of any custom because there was a good reason for its establishment.

It is interesting that the Rama, who brings many customs throughout his work, specifically chose this case to spell out this rule.[68] Two, the Magan Avrohom specifically here (690:22) has a lengthy discussion as to various “halachos” of Minhaghim. The question is, why?

Throughout history there were many who were against the “banging of Haman”. So the question is, what lies behind this Minhag. If we can understand that then perhaps we can better understand the Rama and Magan Avrohom.

To backtrack a bit, the Gemara in Sanhedrin (64b) mentions something about jumping on Purim “k’mashvarta d’puria.” R’ Nissim Gaon and Rashi understand this to be referring to fires that the children made to jump through on Purim. But the Aruch says that it refers to a minhag to make an effigy of Haman that the children would hang from the roofs and burn on Purim, dancing and singing around it.[69] This is mentioned by others such as such as the Orchos Chaim[70] and Avudraham[71] as well as in Mesechtas Purim by R. Kalonymus ben Kalonymus (1286-1328).

Many have also noted that in the year 408 (!) a law was passed banning the Jewish custom of burning an effigy of
Haman on a gallows in the form of a cross.[72]

In Yemen they did not “bang” but fashioned a man out wood, dressed him up and dragged him around the whole day before hanging him in effigy.[73] The same was done in Baghdad[74] and other communities.[75]

Another minhag related to all this; R’ Tzvi Hirsch Koidonover in his classic work Kav Hayashar brings from his Rebbe R’ Yosef MeDubnov that R’ Heschel[76] (known as the Rebbe R’ Heshel) had a custom when he tested out his writing instrument he used to write either the name Haman or Amalek and then he would erase it to “fulfil” Mocho Timcha Es Zeicher Amalek.[77]

The significance of this source is this work was first printed in 1705-1706 in both Hebrew and Yiddish and was printed over eighty times! It was extremely popular amongst all kinds of readers so this custom of R’ Heschel was very famous.

An additional reason for the widespread popularity of this custom was that the Sefer Zechirah from R’ Zecariah Simnar also brings it, first printed in 1709.[78] This work was extremely popular in its time and was printed over 40 times.

It appears that the custom has to do with both Shem Rishoim Yirkav and Mochoh Timcha Es Zeicher Amalek.

But why did they do this?

What follows is an adaptation of Shut Mili D’avos (3:13) by R’ Yisroel Margolis Yafeh, a talmid of the Chasam Sofer, 9 with some additions and elaboration):

The Torah enjoins us to remember what Amalek did to us. The question is how do we go about doing this, and how often do we need to? The Arizal had a custom to say it every day.[79] What is behind this? It’s to remind us how Amalek set out to completely destroy us. But it also represents our other enemies throughout time, even if they are not direct descendants of Amalek.

The Chinuch writes that the reason for this mitzvah is to impress upon us that whoever oppresses us is hated by Hashem and that their punishment is commensurate with their wrongdoing.[80] Doing an action helps us remember. The banging is to help us remember that part of what we are doing is Mocho Timcha Es Zeicher Amalek, when we read the Megilah. Furthermore it takes time to read the Megilah so to constantly remind us, we bang. It’s also to keep us awake during the leining,[81] but even more so, writes R’ Margolis Yaffe, that similar to Pesach where we do many things for the children’s sake, on Purim as well the children were also saved from this decree of Haman. To get them to learn and remember about Purim we do all this, i.e. have them bang etc. Therefore it is not considered a Hefsek to bang or say Shem Rishoim Yirkav.

In various Rishonim we find a custom to say certain Pisukim of the Megilah out loud. The reason given is that it adds to the Simcha[82] while some add to this that it’s specifically for the children.[83]

On Rosh Hashonah we have a custom to eat various fruits and say Tefilos. Many ask why we do this. Numerous Achronim,[84] when explaining this Minhag point to a Ramban[85] who writes that when an action is done down here it has an affect ‘upstairs’ causing something on earth to happen. To illustrate this a bit better this Ramban is used to explain numerous issues. There is a custom amongst some that when they say Poseach Es Yodecha during Ashrei, where one is supposed to have in mind about asking Hashem for parnasha, they keep their hands open to “receive” the parnasa.[86]

When an action is done ‘down here’ it has an affect ‘upstairs’, thereby causing something to happen in the physical world.[87] When we make noise when Haman’s name is mentioned, it “triggers” Hashem to destroy Amalek and our other enemies. This, R’ Dovid Pardo in his work on the Sifrei writes, is what is behind this Mitzvah of “Remembering what Amalek did to us” and why some say it daily.[88]

Moreover, when R’ Yehudah Hachasid was asked why we bang on the walls when Haman is mentioned, he answered that they do the same thing in gehinom.[89]

Connected to all this is the second reason brought for banging by Haman which is Shem Rishoim Yirkav. The Nezer Hakodesh explains that when evil people are cursed it has a great effect on their punishments in gehinom[90]. According to some this lies behind the reason when referring to Yoshkah we say Yeshu (Yud-Shin-Vav) as it’s the abbreviation of Yemoch shemo Vizichro[91]. With this we can easily understand its connection to Haman and the banging by Haman, all of the above explanations lie behind the custom.

R’ Eliezer Hakalir even wrote a piyyut for Parshas Zachor in which one says “yimach shemo vezichro” after every (other) stanza.[92]

Another reason is found in the Kaf Naki. He writes that we find Jews, children and adults, from all over, bang with sticks and stones for Haman as if he is still alive. He writes that although the Goyim mock us for this, there is a sound reason for all the commotion. The reason is to remind us that Haman and other enemies were destroyed by Hashem, therefore we bang and make a big deal to remind us of this fact and so that the children will learn that if another enemy rises against us, he too will be destroyed.[93]

Perhaps with all this we can understand why the Rama wrote about Minhaghim not to make fun of them; to teach us that even though it appears to not make sense to us, there is more to the story.

[1]The first large collection of sources on this subject was printed by Yom Tov Lewnsky, Keisad Hekahu Es Haman Betufuzos Yisroel, 1947, 89 pp. For other useful collections on this topic see; Rabbi Avrohom Levinson, Mekorei Ha-Minhaghim, Siman 62; R’ Shem Tov Gagin, Keser Shem Tov, 2, pp. 542-545; S. Ashkenazi, Dor Dor Uminhagahv, pp. 98-104; Rabbi Gedaliah Oberlander, Minhag Avosenu Beydenu, 2, pp. 307-324; Rabbi Tuviah Freund, Moadim Li-Simcha, 3, pp. 299-323; Pardes Eliezer, (Purim) pp. 186- 252; Rabbi Gur-Aryeh, Chikrei Minhaghim,1, pp. 218-222; Rabbi Rabinowitz, Iyuni Halachot, 3,pp.
488-515; Daniel Sperber, Minhagei Yisroel, 3, pp. 156-159; 4, pp. 331-333; 6, pp. 242-246; Ibid, Keisad Mackim Es Haman, 47
pp. See also M. Reuter, The Smiting of Haman in the Material Culture of Ashkenzai Communities: Developments in Europe and the Revitalized Jewish Culture in Israel- Tradition and Innovation, (PhD Hebrew University 2004) (Heb.).
Another important work that was very helpful for this topic is Eliot Horowitz, Reckless Rites, Princeton 2006. I hope to deal with all this more in depth in the future.

[2] Yerushalmi, Megillah, 3:7. See the comments of the Korban HaEdah; Shiurei Korban; R’ Eliyahu Hacohen, Midrash Eliyhau, 89b; R’ Shlomo Kluger, Chochmas Shlomo, 690. See also R’ Ratner, Ahavas Tzion Vi-Yerushlayim, Megillah pp. 77-78; S. Abramson, Rav Nissim Gaon, p. 279; R’ Yissachar Tamar, Alei Tamar, Megillah, pp. 142-144; R’ Palagi, Yafeh Li-Lev, 690:6-7.

[3] Mesechtas Sofrim, 14:6-7. See the Mikra Sofrim (on Mesechtas Sofrim), and the sources in the Higger edition of Mesechtas Sofrim, pp.254-255. For other versions of this Chazal, see the Midrash Bereishis Rabbah (Theodore-Albeck), pp. 496-497; Yalkut Makheri Mishlei printed from a manuscript by Yakov Spiegel, Sidra 1 (1985), pp. 123-125; Torah Sheleimah, Esther, p. 62. 200; Esther Rabbah, (Tabori and Atzmon Ed.) pp. 178-179, 114-115, [on this new edition see here].

[4] On the Piyyut Asher Heni see I. Davidson, Otzar Hashira Vehapiyyut 1, p. 372, #8215; R’ Fack, Yemei Mishteh Vsimcha, pp. 158-161; Avrohom Frankel, “Asher heniya – toldoteha shel berakhah mefuyetet, available on the Piyyut website here; Rabbi Yakov Stahl. Segulah (2012), p. 32, no. 30-31.

[5] On the exact Nussach of Shoshanas Yakov and the censors see R’ Yakov Laufer, Mei-Soncino Vi-ad Vilna, pp. 41-43; Sefer
HaZikuk in Italia 18 (2008), p. 183.

[6] Some Rishonim assume it is referring to a Piyyut; See Sefer Hamanhig, 1, p. 242; Zror Ha-Chaim, p. 118; Shita leMesechtas
Megillah, pp. 34-35; Avudraham, p. 209; Rashash, Megillah 7b; Meir Rafeld, Nitivei Meir, p. 198. I hope to return to this topic;
for now see Rafeld, ibid, pp. 190-209.

[7] Sefer Hamanhig, 1, pp. 242-243.

[8] Orchos Chaim, Purim, 41. The Beis Yosef (690) appears to have a different version of the Orchos Chaim than we have. On
the Orchos Chaim, see Dr. Pinchas Roth, Later Provencal Sages- Jewish Law and Rabbis in Southern France, 1215-1348, (PhD Hebrew University 2012), pp. 38-41.

[9] Avudraham, p. 209. I believe this addition is not a quote from the Manhig, contra Y. Rafael (in his notes to Sefer Hamanhig, 1, pp. 242) and others appear to have understood the Avudraham.

Regarding the source of this Midrash, Rashi at the end of Ke Sisa brings such a Midrash. The Minchas Chinuch writes he does not know the source for it (Mitzvah 604) The Aderes (Chesbonot Shel Mitzvah, pp. 377-378) and R’ Meir Simcha point to the Mechilta in Beshalach [See Mechiltah Di R’ Yishmael at the end of Parshas Bishalach and the Mechiltah Di Rashbi, p. 126; R’ Menachem Kasher, Torah Sheleimah, Beshalach p. 270 (120), 274 (130); See also Menachem Kahana, Hamechiltos Li Parshas
Amalek, pp. 190-191, 194, 314, 355. See also the important comments of Daniel Sperber, Minhagei Yisroel, 4, pp. 331-333.

[10] Meorot Rishonim, pp. 168-169.

[11] Shibolei Haleket, Purim, 200. See also the Tanyah Rabosi (Purim, 40) who says the same.

[12] Sefer HaTadir, p. 209. On this work see R’ Rafael Nosson Rabinowitz, Ohel Avrohom, pp. 14-15.

[13] Machzor Ki-Minhag Roma (1485) in the 2012 reprint p. 62a. See Yitzchack Yudolov, Kovetz Mechkarim Al Machzor Ki-Minhag Bnei Roma (2012), p. 34, and pp. 32-33. M. Gidman, Ha-Torah Ve-Hachaim, 2, pp. 189-190 brings another Italian Machzor from manuscript that says the same. See also E. Horowitz, Reckless Rites, p. 272.

[14] Shulchan Orach, p. 84.

[15] Maharil, pp. 427-428. On this work see the Y. Pelles, The Book Of Maharil According to its autograph manuscripts and its specialty as a Multi-Draft versions work (PHD, Bar Ilan University 2005).

[16] Darchei Moshe, 690. See Magan Avrohom, 690:19 who brings down the Maharil.

[17] See Shut Maharam Shick, Y.D. # 216

[18] Maharil, p. 428, note 6.

[19] Eshkol Hakofer, 9:32. About him see the introduction to the recent edition of his work Tzror Hachaim, Jerusalem 2014.

[20] End of parshas Ki Sisa.

[21] Ki Sisa, 25:2.

[22] Levush, 690:17.

[23] Mateh Moshe, 1006.

[24] S.A. 690:17

[25] On this work See Jean Baumgarten, “Prayer, Ritual and Practice in Ashkenazic Jewish Society: The Tradition of Yiddish Custom Books in the Fifteenth to Eighteenth Centuries”, Studia Rosenthaliana, Vol. 36, (2002-2003), pp. 121-146.

[26]The Magan Avrhom (690:19) says to be careful not to miss words [See the Noheg Ketzon Yosef p. 200 who says the same]. The Magan Avrhom says to say a pasuk or two from the Chumash (because might have missed it). However the Mekor Chaim says this is only if you have a kosher Megillah.

[27] 690:17.

[28] Sharei Tzion, 690:57.

[29] Igrot Moshe (O.C., 1:192). R’ Moshe deals with the intention of the Yerushalmi and more. See also Chazon Ovaadiah, pp. 93-94; Haghot Pnei Menachem, (printed in the back of the Zichron Aron Levush).

[30] 690:21. See the important comment of the Machtzis Hashekel. See also the Yafeh Mareh on the Midrash Raba on parshas Va-Yayra 49:1.

[31] There is much more to this story, depending on the exact Girsa in the various Midrashim that talk about saying ‘Aror Haman Ubanuv’. I hope to return to this in the future; for now see the important notes in Midrash Rabah (Theodore-Albeck), pp. 496-497; Yalkut Makheri Mishlei printed from a manuscript by Yakov Spiegel, Sidra 1 (1985), pp. 123-125. See also the important Teshuvah of R’ Yissachar Teichtal, Mishnat Sachir, siman 228-229 where he deals with when exactly do we say Shoshanas Yakov, which relates to all this.

[32] Sefer Ha-Minhaghim Li R’ Avrohom Klozner (2006), p. 74. On this work see Rachel Mincer, Liturgical Minhaghim Books: The Increasing Reliance on written texts in late Medieval Ashkenaz, (PhD JTS, 2012), pp. 91-149.

[33] Sefer HaMinhaghim Li R Issac Tirina, (2000), p. 48 # 55. On the authorship of these notes see the Introduction Ibid.

[34] Maagalei Tzedek, (2000), pp. 175-176. I hope to return to this work in the near future.

[35] Takonot Kandyah, pp. 130-131. See also the Kitzur Shelah, p. 88a, who describes a similar incident. For the most recent work on R’ Capsali see: Aledia Paudice, Between Several Worlds: The life and writings of Elia Capsali, Munchen 2010.

[36] Shelah, p. 87a.

[37] The Mishna Berurah quotes this but it’s not clear what his outcome with all this is.

[38] Printed in Meir Benayhu, Yosef Bechiri, p. 437,418.

[39] Seder Hayom, p. 240.

[40] Keser Shem Tov (above note 1).

[41] See Niveh Sholom, Dinei Purim, 7; Na-har Mitzrayim, pp, 52b-53b.

[42] Siman 62. See also R’ Yakov Reifman, Ha-maggid (1858), issue # 11, p. 44.

[43] Chazon Ovadiah, Purim, pp. 62-63.

[44] Shut Gevurot Eliyhau, p. 209.

[45] Shirei Knesses Hagedolah, 690. About him see the recent work of Yakov Barnai, HaMaruh Shel Europia, Jerusalem 2014.

[46] Yafeh Li-Lev, 690:15.

[47] Minhaghim De-Kehal Vermeizah, (1988), pp. 259-260.

[48] Mekor Chaim, 690.

[49] Ben Ish Chai, first year, Parshas Tzaveh, 10.

[50] Pauline Wengeroff, Memoirs of a Grandmother, 2010, p. 113

[51] Her father authored an important work called Minchas Yehudah. On this work see S. Abramson, Sinai, 112 (1993), pp.1-24; N. Steinschneider, Ir Vilna, pp. 248-249.

[52] Itim LeBinah, p. 237.

[53] Yoser Yasrani, 1, p. 168.

[54] Be-Eikvot Ha-Yeriah, p. 162,

[55] Oruch hashulchan, 690:23.

[56] Siddur R’ Yakov Emden 2, p. 472.

[57] Prakim BeSatira Haivrit (1979), p.93.

[58] See the critical edition of this work printed in 1997, p. 67.

[59] Benjamin Gordon, Between Two worlds: The Memoirs of a Physician, p. 37.

[60] M. Zunser, Yesterday, p.42.

[61] The Enemy at his Pleasure (p. 284).

[62] I witnessed this myself a few times when I davened there. See also Halichos VeHanhagot, (Purim), p. 14; Ish El haedah, 2, p. 275.

[63] Synagoga Judaica, pp. 556-557.

[64] Dr. A. Cohen, An Anglo-Jewish Scrapbook 1600-1840, London 1943, p. 267. See also Ibid, p. 260.

[65] Johann Eisenmenger, The Traditions of the Jews, U.S.A. 2006, p. 853. On this work see E. Carlebach, Divided Souls, London 2001, pp. 212-221.

[66] Ceremonies of the Present Jews, p. 44.

[67] Masei Notzrim Le Eretz Yisroel, p. 802.

[68] See Maharatz Chayes, Darchei Horaah, pp.235-235. For general information about the importance of Minhaghim, see R’ Heller, Maoz Hadat, Chapter 3.

[69] Aruch, s.v. Shvar quoted by the Rama in Darchei Moshe (690). See R’ Yakov Shor, Mishnat Yakov, pp. 398-399; S. Abramson, Rav Nissim Gaon, p. 278; Sefer haManhig, Mossad Harav Kook ed. vol. 1, pp. 249; Herman H. Pollack, Jewish Folkways in Germanic Lands (1648-1806), pp. 175-177,328.

[70] Orchos Chaim, Purim, 42.

[71] Avudraham, p. 209.

[72] See Yom Tov Lewnsky, (above note one), p. 16; Daniel Sperber, Minhagei Yisroel, 1, p.17; E. Horowitz, Reckless Rites, pp. 213-217; Sarit Gribetz, “Hanged and crucified: The book of Esther and Toledot Yeshu”, in Toledot Yeshu Revisited, (Peter Schafer and others ed.), Tubingen 2011, pp. 171-175. See also another early source that appears to be alluding to this, Shirat Bnei Ma-Aravah (Yahlom and Sokolof ed.), pp. 216-217, 33.

See also Levi Ginsburg, Shut Ha-Geonim Min Hagenizah New York 1909, pp. 1-3; R. S. Schick, Sefer Haminhaghim p. 51a; Korot Luv Ve-Yhudehah, p. 198; Israel Davidson, Parody in Jewish Literature, pp. 21-22; E. Horowitz, Reckless Rites, pp. 93-106. See also R’ Reuven Margolis, Margaliyot Hayam, Sanhadrin 64 b (17-18); Israel Yuval, Two Nations in your Womb, pp.165-166; T. Gaster, Festivals of the Jewish Year, pp. 227-229.

[73] See Rabbi Yosef Kapach, Haleichos Teiman (1968), p. 40. Earlier about Teiman the famous traveler R’ Yakov Sapir already describes this, Even Sapir, pp, 86b-87a [R’ Reuven Margolis Nefesh Chayah, 690].

[74] See R’ Dovid Sasson, Maseh Bavel, p. 226. See the nice collection of sources about this in Pineinim 54 (2012); Pineinim 55, (letters to the Editor); Pineinim 64, (letter to the editor) [Thanks to Yisachar Hoffman for sending me these sources].

[75] This kind of stuff gets out of control in 1932 some youngsters made such a Mock Haman out of R Kook! See Rabbi S. Goren’s autobiography, With Might and strength (Heb.), p. 68; R’ Menachem Porush, Besoch Hachomos, (1948), pp. 323-324. See also the recent collection of Material on this called “Einei Yochel Lehashlim Im Das Hakanoyim“.

[76] E. Horowitz, Reckless Rites, p. 109 identifies this R’ Heshel incorrectly to be R’ Heshel Zoref. However already in the first edition printed by the author in the Yiddish part he writes he is referring to R’ Heshel Av Beis Din of Cracow. See also R’ Shmuel Ashkenazi’s notes to the Kav Ha-Yosher (1999), p. 23.

[77] Kav Ha-Yosher, ch. 99; Yesod Yosef, Ch. 82. On this work see: Y. Schachar, Bikurot Hachevrah, pp. 3-6; Jean Baumgarten, ‘Eighteenth-Century Ethico-Mysticism in Central Europe: the “Kav ha-yosher” and the Tradition’, Studia Rosenthaliana, Vol. 41, Between Two Words: Yiddish-German Encounters (2009), pp. 29-51; see also his Introduction to old Yiddish Literature, index; Yakov Elbaum, ‘Kav Ha-Yashar: Some remarks on its structure, content and literary sources’, Chut Shel Chein (heb.), pp. 15-64. On the Yesod Yosef, see: Yeshurun 3 (1997), pp. 685-687.

[78] Sefer Zechirah, (1999), p. 273. See R’ Shmuel Ashkenazi’s notes to the Kav Ha-Yosher (1999), pp. 4-5. On this work see my Likutei Eliezer, pp. 13-25. For additional sources on this see E. Horowitz, Reckless Rites, pp. 107-109; Pardes Yosef, Devarim
beis, pp. 1077-1078 [Thanks to Professor Yakov Speigel for pointing me to this source].

[79] See Olat Tamid (O.C. 1:6); Magan Avrohom 60:2 See also his important comment in his Zayis Raanan, p. 51 b; Radal, Pirkei Di R’ Eliezer, Ch.44:5 (Haghot); Malbim, Artzos Hachaim, Eretz Yehudah, 1:4; Moshe Chalamish, Chikrei Kabbaah UTefilah, pp. 209-226 who collects numerous sources on this topic. See also: Aderes, Chesbonot Shel Mitzvah, pp. 382-383; R’ Zevin, Leor Ha-Halacha, (2004), pp. 270-278; Encyclopedia Talmudit, 12, pp. 217-223.

[80] Chinuch, Mitzvah 603.

[81] Some say this is why some pesukim of the Megilah are read out loud by everyone (see more on this further on).

[82] Sefer Hamanhig, 1, p. 243.

[83] See Yakov Spiegel, Pischei Tefilah UMoed, pp. 195-204.

[84] See for example R’ Margolis in his Shut Machlos Hamachanyim, pp. 27b-28a.

[85] Breishis, 12:6; 48:22.

[86] R’ Yosef ben Naim, Noheg BiChochma, pp. 167-168. See Daniel Sperber, Minhagei Yisroel, 3, pp. 113-172.

[87] See Daniel Sperber, Minhagei Yisroel, 3, pp. 113-172.

[88] Sifri DeBei Rav, 4, (1990), pp. 181-183.

[89] Meorot Rishonim, p. 171; M. Gidman, Ha-Torah Ve-Hachaim, 1, p. 121. A similar idea is found in R’ Eliyahu Hacohen, Midrash Eliyhau, 89b.

[90] Nezer Hakodesh, 2, (2014) p. 400. On the actual concept of Shem Rishoyim see Chida in his work Kisay Rachamim on Mesctas Sofrim, 14:7 I hope to return to this in the future.

[91] R’ Avigdor Hazarfati, p. 414. For additional sources on this see R’ Hamberger, Mishichei Sheker Umisnagdeyium, (2009), pp. 121-122.

[92] In the recently discovered Pirish from the Beis Medrash of Rashi on the piutim [Piyutim LeArbah Parshiyous, (2013), p. 77] it says the reason for saying Yemoch shemo Vizichro in this piyyut is because of the Medrash quoted earlier.

[93] Kaf Naki, Lud 2014, pp. 95-96. The Chida brings this piece down from manuscript in his Machzik Beracha, Kuntres Achron, Siman 687 and in his Midbar Kadmot, Ois peh:12.

Comments on This and That, part 1

Comments on This and That, part 1

by Marc B. Shapiro

1. In this post I referred to R. Hayyim Hirschensohn’s Nimukei Rashi, and stated that I thought it was one of his best works. This led to some correspondence with readers regarding the commentary. I have no doubt that I could devote ten posts to Hirschensohn, but then what would happen to everything else I want to discuss? But there are people who want me to call attention to some more interesting comments from Hirschensohn. I know that among them are those who go to hebrewbooks.org and print out some of the sources I refer to and bring them to shul on Shabbat. That is fine, as long as you aren’t looking at it during the rabbi’s sermon. As it is, Hirschensohn writes a good deal about how the rabbis are not given proper respect, and how ignoramuses have all too much power. At least in one respect, however, things have gotten better since Hirschensohn’s day. In Nimukei Rashi, Bereshit, pp. 46a-46b, he speaks about how the people give more respect to the hazzan than to the rabbi. This doesn’t apply anymore because there are hardly any synagogues that still have a hazzan.

In response to requests, let me therefore mention one more very interesting passage in Hirschensohn’s Nimukei Rashi in this post (with more to come in future posts). But my real suggestion is to study it yourself, even though it might make for difficult reading at times. To paraphrase Chazal (Avot 5:22), “no pain, no gain.” Or as R. Tuvia Hanks put it: “It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great.”[1]

Before quoting the comment in Nimukei Rashi that I have promised, I also want to record one formulation of Hirschensohn that I think it is magnificent. While R. Soloveitchik undoubtedly would disagree with much of what Hirschensohn writes, if he would have heard the following, I know that he would have regarded it wonderful, expressing the essence of what real Torah learning is all about. In his Musagei Shav ve-Emet, Section Penei ha-Hamah, p. 64, Hirschensohn gives his definition of a lamdan. I am sure readers have their own definitions. Some will say that one who knows a few tractates is a lamdan, while other will say that one who gone through the Ketzot ha-Hoshen earns the title. Hirschensohn has his own approach:

אינני קורא למדן (שם זארגני על ת”ח גדול) רק את זה אשר רמב”ם קשה או רש”י סותרות או תוספות מופרך לא מניח לו לישון

When one can honestly say that a difficult Rambam or Rashi keeps you up at night, only then can you be called a lamdan. As I mentioned, this is a formulation that the Rav would have embraced, and he actually lived this way. I heard from Dr. David Fand, a student of the Rav from the 1940s, who studied in Boston’s Yeshivat Heichal Rabbenu Hayyim Halevi, that one night the Rav woke some students up in order to tell them a hiddush.

In Nimukei Rashi, Bereshit, p. 48b, Hirschensohn discusses the comment of Rashi, Gen. 26:8. The verse states that Abimelech looked out his window and saw that Isaac “was amusing himself with Rebekkah.” Upon this verse, Rashi, based on a Midrash, states that Abimelech saw them having marital relations. The question is, of course, obvious. How is this possible that Isaac and Rebekkah would do this in such a way that people could observe him? As Hirschensohn puts it:

ובאמת זה קשה מאד לחשוב כזאת על עולה תמימה כיצחק שיעשה דבר מגונה כזה ונגד היכל מלך

Hirschensohn therefore refuses to take this Midrash literally. He sees it as a mussar derash about how people living among those at a lower moral level can be negatively influenced by them. He offers his own example of this: elderly women in America. (By “elderly”, I think he means women over sixty.) In Europe they used to dress modestly but in America they were negatively influenced to dress in an inappropriate fashion. He continues:

ואינני חושב שחשבו חכמים שבאמת שימש יצחק מטתו ביום לפני חלון פתוח נגד היכל המלך, רק זה אחד מדרכי הדרוש המוסרי לקשור אותו לאיזה צלצול בלשון להפריז הדבר להגדיל את מוסרו.

Hirschensohn’s comment is not surprising. We have come to expect that anytime there is an unusual Midrash, or one that reflects poorly on a biblical figure, that one of the aharonim will argue that it is not meant to be taken literally. This is no different than the attempts to understand various strange Aggadot allegorically.[2] A good rule of thumb is if the Aggadah is strange, then someone will interpret it in a non-literal fashion. I opened up the Artscroll Rashi translation for the verse we are discussing and was therefore not surprised to find the following: “In truth, according to the Zohar, Isaac conducted himself modestly with Rebekkah. Abimelech did not see them in a physical sense; he understood through some astrological means that they were having relations (Maskil LeDavid).”

Regarding the character of Isaac, Hirschensohn writes:

על יצחק אשר ישב ארבעים שנה בלא אשה ולא שם עיניו על בנות הארץ וישב עשרים שנה עם אשתו בלא בנים ולא לקח אשה אחרת עליה אשר לזה הי’ דבר הרגיל מאד בכל איש שם להרבות נשים ופלגשים ושפחות, אות הוא שהי’ מצונן או מצדקתו משל ביצרו, ואיש כזה לא ישמש מטתו נגד חלון פתוח מול היכל מלך.

In dealing with the issue raised, Hirschensohn appears to be correct that there are only two options in describing Isaac. Either that he didn’t have a sexual drive or that he overcame it. Nevertheless, it does strike me as a bit strange to be speaking of the Patriarch in this fashion, although maybe this is just my own prudishness. Here, for example, is what R. Yehiel Michel of Glogau (died 1730) says about this episode with Isaac in his Nezer ha-Kodesh, vol. 3, p. 329a (64:5), a classic commentary on Bereshit Rabbah.

אע”ג דאמר ר”י המשמש מיטתו ביום ה”ז מגונה והיינו כמ”ש המפרשי’ דמיירי אפילו בבית אפל או במאפיל טליתו דאל”ה מה מגונה דקאמר הא אפילו איסורא איכא . . . ולא שרי בכה”ג בת”ח אלא לצורך שעה בראותו שיצר תאותו מתגבר עליו הרבה כדי שלא יבא לידי הוצא’ ש”ז לבטלה או הרהור רע אצ”ל דבאמת הוי נמי כה”ג ביצחק וזה רמז הכתו’ באומרו והיה כי ארכו לו שם הימים כלומר שאירע לו מקר’ כזה להתגבר יצר תאותו ע”י שארכו לו הימ’ שלא נזדווג לאשתו משו’ שמקמי הכי אפילו בצינעא בלילה לא שימש מיטתו פן תתעבר ויתפרסם הדבר לפני אבימלך ועמו אבל אז הי’ צורך שעה לכך ולזה לא נזהר מלשמש אף ביום.

The author might think he is helping Isaac’s reputation with his explanation, but I actually think just the opposite, that what he says reflects negatively on Isaac. Let’s remember who we are speaking about here. We are not talking about some average guy. We are speaking about the Patriarch Isaac, whom many sources portray as the holiest of the Patriarchs. And regarding him R. Yechiel Michel says that it was צורך שעה?! Does he really expect us to believe that it was such an emergency that Isaac couldn’t have waited until the night? With all due respect to the author, who certainly knew who Isaac was, I can’t understand how he could suggest this. Hirschensohn’s description of Isaac is thus much more in line with how the Tradition encourages us to view the Patriarchs. Of course, I understand what is driving R. Yechiel Michel, namely, the reality of Isaac having sexual relations in the daytime. Unless one is prepared to read this in a non-literal fashion, as did Hirschensohn, there is a real problem and I guess the answer he offered was the best one he could come up with.

I am sure most readers are with me in not feeling comfortable engaging in speculation about the sexual life of the Patriarchs, and yet the truth is that we find such speculation among the commentators. Let me give one example. The Torah states (Gen. 29:20): “And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her.” R. Hayyim Zev Rosenfeld, in his Sefer ha-Hayyim (London, 1922), p. 22, asks a very good question. If you love someone, and desperately want to be with her, then it is not seven years that will seem like a few days, but precisely the reverse. A few days would seem like seven years. So why does the Torah say that the years went by very quickly for Jacob? According to Rosenfeld, the answer is that Jacob’s love for Rachel had no sexual component.

Rosenfeld brings the following support for his contention. In blessing Reuben, Jacob says (Gen. 49:3): “Reuben, thou art my first-born, my might, and the first-fruits of my strength.” As a number of talmudic and midrashic passages explain, the sperm that impregnated Leah was the first one ever to leave Jacob’s body.[3] Since the Talmud tells us that a woman cannot become pregnant from the first intercourse, [4] how is it that Leah became pregnant? The Maharsha, Yevamot 34b, deals with the problem. In what can only be described as an exercise in original Midrash, Maharsha suggests that since Jacob was able to prevent any seminal emissions for more than eight decades, one can assume that in his first intercourse with Leah he also did not ejaculate (so that the sperm not be wasted). Therefore in truth, Leah did not become pregnant from the first intercourse.

Maharsha’s explanation, which shows how far removed Jacob was from carnal pleasures, is cited by Rosenfeld as support for his assumption that Jacob’s love for Rachel was entirely non-sexual:

שפיר נוכל לומר עליו באהבתו אותה שלא היה כונתו תאות המשגל

And since his love was non-sexual, that is why the long time waiting seemed like a short time.

(As is often the case with biblical commentaries, Rosenfeld’s question is better than his answer. We can all point to plenty of examples of non-sexual love in which a short time seems much longer [e.g., a parent longing for a child]. Just because Jacob’s love was non-sexual, why should that mean that seven years seemed like a few days?)

The Rashi dealing with Abimelech, Isaac, and Rebekkah reminds me of how in high school, when we first learnt Rashi intensively, we would sometimes come across texts which created all sorts of problems, and the teachers often didn’t deal with them properly. Would it have been so hard for the rebbe to acknowledge that yes, he too finds certain Midrashim strange? I specifically remember when we learnt Rashi to Gen. 25:26, which quotes a Midrash that explains why Esau was born first even though Jacob was conceived first. At the time, we were studying biology and knew that the biological description in this Rashi was incorrect. In what was for me a prologue to the Slifkin affair, one of the students raised this point. I also recall how his question was pushed aside, as if it was unimportant.[5] (Later, I was surprised to find that even in the nineteenth century R. Akiva Eger was clueless about the anatomy of pregnant women. Here is what he writes in his comment to Berakhot 63b, quoting a medieval source:

דז’ חדרים יש באשה שלשה מימין ושלשה משמאול ואחד באמצע אם תתעבר מימין יהיו זכרים ובשמאל נקבות ובאמצע טומטום או אנדרוגינוס)

Another Rashi which raised a problem, for me at least, was Gen. 24:2. Commenting on the biblical expression, שים נא ידך תחת ירכי, Rashi quotes the Midrash that Abraham asks Eliezer, in taking his oath, put his hands on Abraham’s circumcision.

לפי שהנשבע צריך שיטול בידו חפץ של מצוה, כגון ספר תורה או תפילין, והמילה היתה מצוה ראשונה לו ובאה לו על ידי צער והיתה חביבה עליו ונטלה

I remember in high school thinking that this was very strange. But I assumed that it was only since I was corrupted by modern values that I found this strange, and that those who had a pure “Torah hashkafah” would not even raise an eyebrow. I was even too embarrassed to ask the rebbe about this Rashi (which comes from Bereshit Rabbah).[6] It was only many years later that I found that the great R. Raphael Berdugo (1747-1821), known as the מלאך among Moroccan Jewry, had the same response as a fourteen-year-old American student. He does not hesitate to tell us that he finds this Midrash quite strange (Mesamhei Lev, ad loc.).

שהמילה אין בגופה קדושה אדרבה הוא מקום הבושת ואיך יקח בידו ערות חבירו ויזכיר שמו ית’ . . . גם אם רבינו הקדוש לא הניח ידו למטה מחגורו ק”ו אברהם אבינו ע”ה, גם מאכילת עץ הדעת יבושו בני אדם זה מזה וזילותא הוא לאדם נכבד שיחזיק אחר במבושיו

What this shows us is that when a rebbe is asked about this Rashi by one of his students, he should not put on an act and make believe that he too doesn’t find it strange. Instead, he should be honest, just like Berdugo, and acknowledge that this is indeed an unusual Midrash. Such an honest approach will earn the respect of the students and come in handy as the class comes to other strange Midrashim.[7]

Rosenfeld, whom we just cited, also deals with this passage and has a very interesting formulation (p. 21):

שים נא ידך תחת ירכי: כאשר רמזתי לעיל שהיה כלי הולדה קדוש בעיניו, אך משה אסר זאת בתורתו להיות קדושים.

In other words, the old way of taking an oath, which was acceptable in Abraham’s day, was later rendered invalid due to the heightened moral standards of the Torah. His comment, that Abraham regarded the genitals as holy, is explained by him as follows (p. 19):

שאצל אברהם היתה המילה תיקון הדת להקדיש כלי הולדה שהוא המקור מכל מין האנושית, ולכוף את תאותיו . . . וגם המילה היא מקור הולדה והשפע בא על ידו

I will return in a future post to discuss Rosenfeld, who was very unconventional and expressed all sorts of provocative notions.[8] He was also unusual among those born in Eastern Europe in that he published many books in English. Here is his picture, which appears in his Sefer ha-Hayyim, showing that despite his unusual ideas he certainly had the rabbinic look.

2. I want to now go back to one of my earliest posts, from four years ago, in which I discussed the meaning of the word olam in the Bible and how the words Adon Olam should be translated. See here.

I received many e-mails after this post, and there were many important comments posted online. I told a number of people that I would try to mention their comments in a post. Although I can’t get to all of them, at least with regard to some, better late than never.

With regard to appearances of the word olam in the Torah where modern scholars say it means eternal (or something along those lines[9]) and traditional interpreters understand it to mean “world”, R. Nathan Kamenetsky called my attention to Gen. 21:33, where it is clear from Onkelos, Rashi, and Ramban that the word means “world.”[10] To this I will add that Maimonides also understands olam in this verse to mean “world”. See Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Avodah Zarah 1:3 (Simon Glazer, in his translation, mistakenly renders it “Everlasting God” instead of “God of the World”, “God of the Universe” or something like that. Similarly, Eliyahu Touger, in his translation of this halakhah mistakenly renders it “eternal God”.) See also the index to Pines’ translation of the Guide under Gen. 21:33 for instances in the Guide where Maimonides refers to the verse, and also Schwartz’ edition of the Guide 2:13 n. 14. We must also translate Maimonides’ opening words of each of the three sections of the Guide (and elsewhere[11]) בשם ה’ א-ל עולם as “In the Name of the Lord, God of the World.”

As for what the words Adon Olam mean, in a comment to the original post, Kovner clinches the meaning, I think. He called attention to Berakhot 7b: “From the day that the Holy One, blessed be He, created the world (olam) there was no man that called the Holy One, blessed be He, Lord, until Abraham came and called Him Lord (adon).” I had forgotten about this passage, and I think it is obvious that the words Adon Olam are based on this text, meaning that the passage should be translated as “Master of the Universe”, or something along those lines. A very learned reader also pointed out to me that this same point is made by R. Pinchas Zebihi in his Mi-Zahav u-mi-Paz (Jerusalem, 1993), at the end where there is a commentary on Adon Olam. See also the online discussion here.

Responding to Kovner, R. Yitzhak Oratz e-mailed me that Kovner’s very point was approved by the Vilna Gaon and repeated by none other than the Brisker Rav. See Dov Eliach, Sefer ha-Gaon, vol. 1, pp. 425-426, where it states that the Gaon was shown this point in the siddur Magid Tzedek and said that the entire siddur was worthwhile for this one point. Ad kan R. Oratz.[12]

With regard to the word olam, it is true that in rabbinic literature it means “world”, but I would be remiss in not mentioning that the older meaning is found as well. Sometimes, it is unclear which the correct meaning is. For example, Mishnah Yadayim 3:5 reads:

אין כל העולם כולו כדאי כיום שניתן בו שיר השירים לישראל

Soncino translates: “The whole world is not as worthy as the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel.” Others translate similarly. Yet A. S. Halkin renders it: “All of time is not as worthy as the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel.”[13] Halkin’s opinion is noted in a comprehensive article devoted to the very issue here being discussed.[14] Fuderman and Gruber, the authors of this article, also point to two biblical texts “of Hellenistic date” in which they claim olam means “world.” One of them is Dan. 12:7: .חי העולם They translate this as “the life/vital force of the world,” and note that this usage is found in the Jewish liturgy where it has been transformed into חי העולמים, with the same meaning.

The other example they give is Eccl. 3:11: גם את העולם נתן בלבם. They are not the first to translate olam here as “world.” The old JPS also translated it this way: “He hath set the world in their heart.” But in the Soncino edition, which uses the old JPS, the commentary rejects this translation, commenting that “the only signification” olam has in the Bible is “eternity.” The translation would therefore have to read: “He hath set eternity [i.e., a sense of the future] in their heart.” Soncino’s note might be based on Ibn Ezra’s comment to this verse, where he says flatly that in the Bible the word olam only means “eternity,” not “world.” (He says likewise in his Short Commentary to Exodus 31:17; Commentary to Psalms 66:7, 89:4.) Daat Mikra agrees with Soncino, explaining the verse as follows: את העולם: את השאיפה לחיים עולם ונצחיות ולדעת את הנעלם, מה שהיה לפנים ומה שיהיה לאחור [15]

I will leave the meaning of olam in this verse to the biblical scholars to fight over. But I want to return to the point made by Fuderman and Gruber that Ecclesiastes was composed in the Hellenistic period, many centuries after Solomon. Based on this they don’t see it as at all incongruous that the word olam means “world” in this book because we are dealing with a later development of biblical Hebrew.[16] This relates to another interesting point.

At the beginning of the standard Vilna edition of the Mishnah there is an essay on R. Judah the Prince by R. Moses Kunitz. Here is the first page.

This essay is excerpted from Kunitz’ Beit Rabbi (Vienna 1805), most of which is actually a play in six acts.[17] Kunitz is best known for his Ben Yohai which is a valiant, if unsuccessful, defense of the ancient dating of the Zohar against R. Jacob Emden’s Mitpahat Sefarim. He was a very pious man and in his lifetime was treated with great respect.

In the next issue of Milin Havivin I will have information regarding this, so there is no need to repeat it here. Here is his picture.

Kunitz is also famous as one of the rabbis whose responsum to the early Reformers is printed in Nogah ha-Tzedek. This was from a time when the Reformers made it seem that all they were looking for was a more lenient halakhic approach. They also succeeded in receiving letters from two Italian rabbis. Just as these rabbis were not Reform in any way, neither was Kunitz. Not knowing who the Reformers were, he fell into their trap, which is perhaps the best way to put it. Yet as I mentioned, this didn’t greatly affect his standing in the rabbinic world, because people assumed that his was an innocent error. In fact, in all the polemics against the Reformers, none of the great rabbis of the day even mention Kunitz.[18]

A few years ago a new edition of the classic Vilna Mishnah was reprinted, and lo and behold, Kunitz’ essay is missing. The publisher was obviously told that there was some controversy around Kunitz, and he therefore just cut out the essay. Yet if the publisher wanted to censor, he missed the real thing. (I wouldn’t be surprised if following this post, future printings of the Mishnah also cut out what I will now discuss. That is the reason why I don’t call attention to various “interesting” books that have been put up on hebrewbooks.org [including Karaite literature], at least until they are also on Google books. I know that soon after I discuss them, they will be taken down. As it is, a number of anti-hasidic and Haskalah works have already been removed from the site. Sometimes these books have come down within a day or two of being put up, after someone has informed the site that they put up a “dangerous” volume. So you have to be quick when they post the new books and download anything you think might be removed.)

Immediately following Kunitz’ essay, there is another article on the grammar of Mishnaic Hebrew by Solomon Loewisohn. In the very first note he refers to the book of Ecclesiastes, and concludes his comment with והטעם ידוע למשכילי עם Here is the page.

What he is alluding to in this note is that Ecclesiastes is a late biblical book, and thus could not have been written by Solomon. To show this he points to the word חוץ, which in its usage in Ecclesiastes 2:25 is an Aramaism, and thus post-dates the biblical Hebrew of Solomon’s day.[19] To use an expression of the Sages, we live in an olam hafukh. Kunitz’ essay was thought worthy of censorship, and at the same time this note remains in every printing of the Vilna edition of the Mishnah. Yet as I mentioned above, let’s see how long it is before this note, or even the complete essay, is also removed.

Regarding the book of Ecclesiastes, in Limits, p. 26 n. 140, I referred to a comment of R. Israel Bruna which appears to say that Ecclesiastes was not divinely inspired. R. Yonasan Rosman (one of whose seforim I mentioned in an earlier post) has taken issue with me in this. However, he also points out that this is exactly what Maharsha seems to be saying in his commentary to Shabbat 30b. I also found that R. Zvi Hirsch Chajes, in his note to Berakhot 4a and in Kol Sifrei Maharatz Chajes, vol. 2, p. 927, states explicitly that Ecclesiastes was not divinely inspired. R. Michael Broyde has noted that this is also stated by R. David Ibn Zimra in his responsa, vol. 2, no. 722.[20]

Rosman also points out that Maimonides, Hilkhot She’ar Avot ha-Tum’ot 9:6, states that Ecclesiastes (and Song of Songs) are “words of wisdom”, with the implication that these books are not divinely inspired. This expression, “words of wisdom”, comes from Tosefta Yadayim 2:14, where it is explicitly contrasted with ruah ha-kodesh.

ר’ שמעון בן מנסיא אומר שיר השירים מטמא את הידים מפני שנאמרה ברוח הקדש. קהלת אינה מטמא את הידים מפני שהיא מחכמתו של שלמה.

Based on the passage just mentioned, I initially assumed that Maimonides is indeed saying that Ecclesiastes was not written with divine inspiration. I also found that the important commentator R. Masud Hai Rakah is of this opinion. Yet then there is a problem, because according to the Tosefta, Song of Songs was written with divine inspiration and yet Maimonides also refers to this book as “words of wisdom.” Rakah himself raises this problem and can offer no solution,[21] but it is likely that when Maimonides speaks of these books as being “words of wisdom” it does not mean that they are lacking in divine inspiration. We can see this from Hilkhot Talmud Torah 5:4, where he quotes Song of Songs and writes regarding it אמר שלמה בחכמתו. The same words are found in Hilkhot Yesodei ha-Torah 2:12 and Hilkhot Deot 3:3, 4:15, 19 and in these cases Maimonides is quoting verses from Proverbs. Maimonides believed that both Song of Songs and Proverbs were written with divine inspiration, and yet we see that he uses the term “wisdom” with regard to them. The truth is that this phraseology comes directly from the Talmud,[22] and need not have anything to do with whether the text being described is divinely inspired. This whole problem is dealt with by the brilliant R. Meshulam Roth in an article in Sinai 17 (1945) pp. 267ff. With his typical erudition, Roth shows that Maimonides indeed regarded Ecclesiastes as being divinely inspired and in fact states so explicitly in Guide 2:45. Roth also shows how in a few places he describes Solomon as a prophet.[23]

Many might find this entire discussion strange, for they assume that if a book is in the canon that means it must be regarded as having been divinely inspired. I have found such a conception in many books.[24] Yet it is incorrect, and as Shnayer Leiman has shown, the tanna R. Simeon ben Menasia, while he regarded Ecclesiastes as an uninspired book, also thought that it was canonical. Thus, while he states that Ecclesiastes does not defile the hands, he also expounded a verse from Ecclesiastes.[25]

As far as I know, the Sages never “decided” that Ecclesiastes is a divinely inspired book. It would therefore seem to be entirely acceptable for one to hold the position of R. Simeon ben Menasia, which was shared by Beit Shammai and R. Meir,[26] that the book is not a product of ruah ha-kodesh. Obviously, one who rejects the book, or any other biblical text, claiming that it was a mistake to have been included in the Canon, has to be regarded as a sectarian. However, here too I think that there is more room for personal opinions than people often think. For example, what about someone who accepts Ecclesiastes as part of the Canon but thinks that the Sages were wrong in this decision, and that they should have adopted the view that the ideas of this book are not fit to be included in the Bible? This was Samuel David Luzzatto’s early position, although he later became more sympathetic to Ecclesiastes. Yet despite this negative view, Luzzatto never rejected the canonical status of this book.[27]

Or what if someone thinks that the halakhah should have been decided in accordance with Samuel (as understood by a number of rishonim)[28] that the book of Esther should not have been included in the canon? As long as one accepts the halakhah as recorded by the Sages he is not to be regarded as a Zaken Mamre, which shows that acceptance of the halakhah in practice is what is important, but one doesn’t have to think that the Sages were correct. After all, in the story of the Oven of Akhnai (Bava Metzia 59b), while R. Eliezer was forced to accept R. Joshua’s viewpoint, I don’t think there can be any doubt that R. Eliezer still believed that he was correct. How could he not, when God Himself agreed with him? Yet the most R. Eliezer could hope for was that his decision would be adopted by a future beit din, and maybe only after the arrival of the Messianic era. Let us not forget that the Mishnah in Eduyot 1:5 explicitly tells us that minority opinions are recorded so that a later court can rely on them, meaning that there is no problem for one to argue the case of a rejected opinion, as long as one does not adopt it in practice (i.e., before a later court gives its imprimatur to do so).[29]

All this seem to be no different than someone who, after examining a talmudic dispute, thinks that the weight of the evidence shows that the halakhah should be in accordance with Abaye, and yet the Talmud decides the halakhah in accordance with Rava. Such a person accepts the practical halakhah, and this is no different than someone who thinks that the Shulhan Arukh decided the halakhah improperly, but who nevertheless follows the law as recorded. You can even argue that this is a very high level of commitment, namely, one who thinks the halakhah should be different, but nevertheless sublimates his personal feelings and accepts the law as we have it.[30]

Similarly, the assumptions of academic Talmud study lead, in theory, to the undermining of many talmudic conclusions. But the practitioners of this form of study have always insisted that since they don’t seek to change the accepted halakhic practice, there can be no religious objection to their approach.

The only reason the Song of Songs was included in the Canon is because it was interpreted in an allegorical fashion.[31] Does this mean that one must accept that this was the original meaning of the book? Jacob Barth (1851-1914) certainly didn’t think so. Barth was the son-in-law of R. Esriel Hildesheimer and one of the most brilliant Semitists of his day. In addition to teaching at the University of Berlin, he was also a long-time and revered faculty member at the Rabbinical Seminary of Berlin. Just to give one example of this, in discussing the great achievements of German Orthodoxy, R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg lists the following four men as examples of what German Orthodoxy can be proud of: Hirsch, Hildesheimer, Hoffmann, and Barth.[32]

Here is a picture of Barth.

Barth argued—and taught his students at the Rabbinical Seminary of Berlin—that the Song of Songs was not originally intended as an allegory, but this was a later interpretation of the Rabbis, and as already mentioned it was precisely this interpretation that enabled the book to be included in the Canon.[33] Barth believed that the Song of Songs was actually a collection of different songs, composed in various periods.[34] They were designed to be sung at a wedding and the days of feasting, and give expression to marital happiness and love which are basic to the Jewish family. According to Barth, just like the Psalms were originally written by the Psalmist with specific circumstances in mind, but their meaning for the Jewish people throughout history is not tied to this original intent, the same can be said for the Song of Songs. What it originally meant is different than what it later came to mean for generations of Jews.[35]

To be continued

* * * *

In my last post, available here, I wrote about the issue of lo tehanem. As far as the Modern Orthodox are concerned, based on the Meiri and others, these laws are no longer regarded as applicable in modern times. (Although as I mentioned, the Centrists are trying to bring them back.) Someone sent me a link to Dov Bear’s post available here. Dov Baer included the following text that recently appeared (and highlighted certain sections).

I have already mentioned the Slifkin controversy in this post, and regarding matters of science and Torah there definitely are differences between the Modern Orthodox and the haredim. However, I think that when it comes to matters like lo tehanem, the divide is much more significant. If the haredi/ hasidic world really accepts the outlook of the page printed above, then its understanding of what “Jewish values” are all about is far removed from that of the Modern Orthodox.[36] We can also see how secure haredi Jews in America must feel in order for them to put this sort of material in the English language, for all to see.

In two posts from now, I will discuss a dispute currently taking place in the hasidic world in America about how to relate to non-Jews. For now I will simply note that a common theme among virtually all who abandon hasidic life, in explaining what they found objectionable in their former lifestyle, is the denigration of “the other” found in the hasidic world. In the forthcoming post, I will deal with a brave voice from that world who is putting forth a different approach.

[1] See here.

[2] Here is what Louis Ginzberg wrote about the unusual aggadot (On Jewish Law and Lore [New York, 1970], p. 77 (I thank Gershon Bacon for reminding me of this passage.) There is a lot one can say about this comment.

With your permission I shall commence my lecture by recounting an incident that happened to me. It is a memory from boyhood, which means the time when I had already been liberated from the hard discipline of the master of the heder, and, though yet a child of nine, had begun to study, in the traditional phrase, “by myself.” I was then studying the tractate Baba Bathra. When I reached the tales of Rabbah bar bar Hannah, doubts began to disturb my mind; my peace was particularly troubled by those geese who were so fat that they had streams of oil flowing from them and by the bird that was so big that the waters of the sea reached only to its ankles and its head split the heavens. My joy was great when I came across a book by one of the “enlightened” of the older generation (if my memory is correct it was the Maphteah by Shatzkes), from which I learned that these geese were neither fat nor thin and that the giant bird possessed neither feet nor wings, but that the whole tale was merely a flight of the imagination, or, as the ancients used to say, it was only a parable—the moral I have forgotten. I was a child then; but when I reached maturity I realized that in truth the geese of Rabbah bar bar Hannah were real geese and the giant bird was literally a bird. When regarded as natural creations of the folk imagination, they lost their strangeness and incomprehensibility. On the contrary, it would be all the more strange if we possessed no such tales; in that case it would be extremely difficult to explain so striking a difference between our people and all others, one involving so great a triumph of reason over imagination that the latter had become completely atrophied.

[3] See Torah Shelemah, Gen. ch. 49, note 47.

[4] Do any of the readers know where the Talmud picked up this piece of folklore? I assume it was a common notion in ancient times. See Bereshit Rabbah 45:5, where the matter is disputed. Noda bi-Yehudah, Even ha-Ezer no. 22, recognizes that there are women who do become pregnant after first intercourse, and therefore claims that the Talmud was only giving a general rule, but there are exceptions. See R. Neriah Gutel, Hishtanut ha-Tevaim (Jerusalem, 1995), pp. 88ff.

[5] I assume that the rebbe’s response was due to the fact that the passage quoted by Rashi is a Midrash. If it was Rashi’s own explanation, I don’t think he would have regarded it as a disrespectful question. In general, and readers can correct me if I am wrong, I don’t think that the opponents of Slifkin assume that together with Hazal the greatest rishonim are also infallible on scientific matters (the one exception perhaps being the Lubavitchers when it comes to the Rambam). When I was in yeshiva I never came across a rebbe who thought that, although I can’t remember anyone actually spending time on one of the rishonim and explaining why what he says is not correct scientifically, or, to take a different issue, that perhaps the rishon’s view of women doesn’t reflect how we currently think. Had they done so, it would have had an enormously positive influence on some of the students who instead came to believe that the Torah was out of date and not relevant to their lives.

To give one example of many, the online elucidation of Tosafot, available here, in discussing Tosafot, Shabbat 65b. s.v. sahada, offers the following preface:

Before we approach this Tosfos we must realize that during the times of the Reeshonim, there were very few if any maps in Europe of any of the areas that are being discussed in the G’moro. All the knowledge that they had about the rivers and places was what they gleaned from the G’moro or Midrosh about these places.

What forces the translator to add this comment is that Tosafot rejects Rashi’s explanation (which I will soon come to) and incorrectly states that all rivers flow from east to west. (Among European rivers, the Danube flows west to east.) It turns out that Rashi’s explanation is also geographically incorrect. Rashi, Shabbat 65b s.v. sahada, writes about the Euphrates: שהוא יורד מארץ ישראל לבבל

In other words, Rashi thought that the Euphrates originated in the Land of Israel, and flowed from there to Babylonia. Yet this is incorrect as the Euphrates is not within the Land of Israel. Artscroll recognizes the problem and states that the Euphrates is on the northern border of “Greater Israel,” i.e., the land promised to Abraham. I believe that this is an apologetic explanation. The Euphrates will only be part of the Land of Israel in messianic days. It was never a part of Israel during the First Temple, or during the Second Temple. Yet Rashi is speaking about the river as actually part of the Land of Israel. See Isaac Samuel Reggio, Ha-Torah ve-ha-Filosofyah (Vienna, 1827), p. 63.

[6] See also the various Midrashim cited in Torah Shelemah, Gen. 47:29, where Jacob is speaking to Joseph and he too says שים נא ידך תחת ירכי.

[7] There are other ways of dealing with the Midrash. See e.g., R. Paragi Alush, Ohev Mishpat (Djerba, 1928), vol. 1, no. 3, that Eliezer only touched the organ from outside of Abraham’s clothes. R. Eliyahu Katz, Amar ve-Amarta (Beer Sheva, 1994), Gen. 24:2, finds the Midrash so strange that he can’t take it literally, and even uses the term has ve-shalom with reference to the literal meaning. He does so even though, as far as I can tell, all the standard commentaries on the Midrash and Rashi do take it literally. Here are his words:

תמוה מאד שהמילה נחשבת כחפץ של מצוה. והרי אין בזה מן הצניעות . . . אך ודאי שאין הכוונה ח”ו כפשוטו, אלא הכוונה שהזכיר את המצוה כמו שאומר שנשבע בשם ה’.

[8] For now, here is one just one example. He assumes that Gen.36:31-43 is post-Mosaic.

ואלה המלכים אשר מלכו בארץ אדום לפני מלוך מלך לבני ישראל: מזה נראה כי זמן רב נכתבה פרשה זו, כי ידע כבר את מלכי ישראל.

[9] See Sacha Stern, Time and Process in Ancient Judaism (Oxford, 2003), pp. 75 n. 43, 109ff.

[10] Mordecai Spitz called my attention to Neh. 9:5, where the traditional commentaries also understand olam to mean world.

[11] See Saul Lieberman, Hilkhot ha-Yerushalmi, p. 5 n. 7.

[12] I should also mention that there is dispute about how the word חבלי should be translated in Adon Olam. According to Salomon Speier the meaning is “my portion” and not “my pain” See his note in Journal of Jewish Studies 4 (1953), pp. 40-41. Zebihi, Mi-Zahav u-mi-Paz, at the end, also argues for this understanding. None of the many translations I have checked agree with this. [S. of On the Main Line calls my attention to David Levi’s London 1794 Rosh Hashanah Machzor, where the passage is translated as “Rock of my portion in time of distress.”]

[13] The meaning of olam in Avot 1:2 – על שלשה דברים העולם עומד – has also been called into question. See Judah Goldin, Studies in Midrash and Related Literature (Philadelphia, 1988), p. 34.

[14] Kirsten A. Fudeman and Mayer I. Gruber, “’Eternal King/ King of the World’: From the Bronze Age to Modern Times” A Study in Lexical Semantics.”REJ 166 (2007), pp. 209-242.

[15] R. Elijah Benamozegh translates Ps. 106:48: ברוך ה’ אלקי ישראל מהעולם ועד העולם as “Blessed is the Lord, God of Israel, From World to World,” and Ps. 145:13 מלכותך מלכות כל עולמים as “Your kingship is a kingship of all worlds.” See Israel and Humanity, trans. Maxwell Luria (New York, 1995), p. 184. I wonder if Benamozegh meant these as scientific translations, or if this is to be regarded as derush.

[16] See also Robert Gordis, Koheleth—The Man and His World (New York, 1968), pp. 231-232.

[17] The version of Kunitz’ essay that appears in the Vilna Mishnayot is not identical to that which appears in Beit Rabbi. In particular, a few footnotes have been added. This is not the only example where the editors of the Vilna Mishnayot (Romm) tampered with texts. See Kalman Kahana, Heker ve-Iyun (Tel Aviv, 1960), vol. 1, p. 134 (called to my attention by Eliezer Brodt).

[18] Anyone who wants to visit Kunitz’ grave can find it in the Kozma cemetery in Budapest. For people looking to visit graves, the most famous in the Kozma cemetery is R. Shimon Oppenheim, and he is easy to find. He is not that well known and yet his grave is visited more than many other gedolim who were of much greater significance. This is because R. Shimon promised, as it states on his tombstone, that whoever comes to his grave and recites the Menuhah Nekhonah, his prayers will be answered. (The E-l Male Rachamim commonly recited is an abridged version of the Menuhah Nekhonah, which is found in the kabbalistic work Maavar Yabok) . Since this is a guarantee from a holy rabbi, it is not surprising that his grave would attract people.

So how to find Kunitz’ grave? Unfortunately, the computer print-out provided by the cemetery directs people to the wrong place. If you are standing at R. Shimon’s grave, the plot to the left is that of R. Israel Wahrmann. He was the first chief rabbi of Pest. His grandson, Mor Wahrmann, was the president of the Jewish community from 1883-1892 and a member of parliament from 1869. He was a proud Jew, no question about it. He once even had a duel with an anti-Semite. Neither was killed, but Wahrmann was sentenced to eight days in prison. See Kinga Frojimovics, et al, Jewish Budapest (Budapest, 1999), pp. 214ff., 260. However, he despised the Orthodox (and they detested him). During the debate in Parliament over the Orthodox request to create separate communities, he stood up and started reading sections of the Shulhan Arukh to show how foolish the Orthodox were. All three of his children ended up converting to Catholicism. See Jewish Budapest, p. 216 and R. Leopold Greenwald, Korot ha-Torah ve-ha-Emunah be-Hungaryah (Budapest, 1921), p. 78, and in Apriyon 2 (1925), p. 130.

Two graves to the right of R. Shimon’s is that of Kunitz. Unlike R. Shimon, no one has yet stepped forward to redo Kunitz’ tombstone, which is in bad condition. In another hundred years it will probably be entirely illegible. However, a good portion of it can still be read. This left me perplexed, as it is not the same inscription as that found in Greenwald’s Mekorot le-Korot Yisrael (Humenne, 1934), p. 27. How to explain this?

[19] See R. Meir Mazuz, Kovetz Ma’amarim (Bnei Brak, 2003), p. 60. There are a number of other unusual words in Ecclesiastes, such as pardes (2:5) and pitgam (8:11; both Persian loanwords), which academic scholars have pointed to to show that the book is post-Solomonic. (Pardes is also found in Song of Songs 4:13.) See Shadal in Otzar Nehmad 3 (1860), p. 19, who discusses this and among other points notes that the words כבר and ענין do not appear in any other biblical book. See also Robert Gordis, “Koheleth: Hebrew or Aramaic?” Journal of Biblical Literature 71 (1952), pp. 93-109. In Amos Hakham’s introduction to the Daat Mikra Shir ha-Shirim, pp. 12-13, he rejects the significance of Persian loanwords in dating the text.

Incidentally, R. Moses Isaac Ashkenazi, Ho’il Moshe: Hamesh Megilot ve-Sefer Mishlei (Livorno, 1880), pp. 80-81, states that you can also find some Aramaic words and expressions in Proverbs, as well as later Hebrew forms, none of which could originate in Solomon’s era. Yet this discovery did not trouble Ashkenazi in the slightest.

אין לתמוה אם נפלו בספר זה כמה תיבות ומליצות מל’ ארמי וגם איזו זרות בדקדוק הלשון כמו פעל נשתוה (סימן כ”ז ט”ו) בנין נתפעל ע”ד נשתנה נתרפא נצטרע ודומיהם בלשון חכמים . . . לפי שמפי שלמה יצאו המשלים בל’ מדויק, רק בעברם מפה אל פה דור אחר דור בעוד שקרבת ארם הכניסה בשפת ב”י [בני ישראל] תיבות ומליצות נכריות, נהיה שבבוא יום ונרשמו על ספר כבר הורגלו לאמרם כמו שנמצאו אצלנו, ואם היו מחליפים בהם דברים היו נגרעים מערכם, כי כן יארע לכל משל מאיזה לשון שיהיה שצריך לאמרו כמו שהוא בפי המון העם ואין לתקן בו או להוסיף עליו או לגרוע ממנו

[20] “Defilement of the Hands, Canonization of the Bible, and the Special Status of Esther, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Songs,” Judaism 44 (Winter 1995), p. 70.

[21] Ma’asah Rakah,ad loc.: לא ידעתי למה קרי שיר השירים דברי חכמה דהלא ברוח הקודש נאמר וקדש קדשים הוא He does not ask this question about Ecclesiastes, which shows that he assumes that according to Maimonides Ecclesiastes is only divrei hokhmah.

[22] See R. Zvi Hirsch Chajes, Kol Sifrei Maharatz Chajes, vol. 1, p. 439; Sid Z. Leiman, The Canonization of Hebrew Scripture (New Haven, 1991), p. 173 n. 317.

[23] For examples from the Talmud where Solomon is described in this fashion, see R. Betzalel Zev Safran, She’elot u-Teshuvot ha-Rabaz, vol. 1, Yoreh Deah no. 64 (in the note). Regarding R. Meshulam Roth, it is unfortunate that almost nothing has been written about him. The Tchebiner Rav is reported to have stated that had R. Meshulam been a member of Agudat Israel, the haredim would have crowned him gadol ha-dor. I hope to discuss him in a future segment of my Torah in Motion classes.

[24] Pretty much everyone also seems also to assume that a divinely inspired book included in the Canon had to be have been written in Hebrew. Yet Ibn Ezra, Job 2:11, thinks that the book of Job is a translation from another language, and that is why it is so difficult to understand.

[25] See Leiman, Canonization, p. 113.

[26] Megillah 7a.

[27] Shadal originally thought that Ecclesiastes taught heretical doctrines and was fraudulently attributed to King Solomon. Along these lines, I should note that there were talmudic sages who thought that Solomon had sinned so grievously that he lost his share in the World to Come. See Saul Lieberman, “Hearot le-Ferek Alef shel Kohelet Rabbah,” in Studies in Mysticism and Religion Presented to Gershom G. Scholem (Jerusalem, 1968), pp. 163ff. If someone today expressed agreement with this rabbinic position, I am certain that he would be roundly condemned.

[28] See Broyde, “Defilement of the Hands,” p. 68.

[29] By the same token, someone I know once commented that while in practice he accepts the halakhah as recorded in the Talmud and Shulhan Arukh, some of these halakhot relating to economic matters derive from a very different circumstance than what we have today. He assumes that a future Sanhedrin will revise some of these halakhot which are economically counterproductive and out of touch with how markets work.

[30] See Seridei Esh, vol. 3 no. 54 where R. Weinberg admits that a halakhah in the Shulhan Arukh causes him anguish.

ואודה על האמת, שאיסור זה גורם לי צער גדול

Weinberg was dealing with whether a woman whose father isn’t Jewish can marry a kohen. He would have liked to permit it, but the Shulhan Arukh ruled otherwise. What made the Shulhan Arukh’s ruling so frustrating to Weinberg is the fact that R. Joseph Karo went against his own principle and ruled in accordance with R. Asher, despite the fact that the Rif and Rambam ruled differently. Furthermore, the Vilna Gaon agreed with the Shulhan Arukh. So in the end, Weinberg felt that he must accept the Shulhan Arukh’s ruling. While Conservative halakhists are able, in cases like this, to fall back on conscience, which can trump even biblical law, Orthodox halakhists cannot do so. They must accept the halakhah even if they think it should have been decided differenttly.

[31] Interestingly, Daniel Boyarin has argued that the earliest rabbinic approach to the book was not allegory. He writes as follows:

According to the earliest strata of Rabbinic hermeneutics, the Song of Songs was not an allegory in the sense of paradigms projected onto the syntagmatic axis or concrete entities and events that signify abstractions. Rather it was an actual love dialogue spoken by God to Israel and Israel to God in concrete historical circumstances, or written by Solomon, as if spoken by Israel and God in those circumstances. . . . If the impulse of Origen is to spiritualize and allegorize physical love quite out of existence in the allegorical reading of the Song, the move of the midrash is to understand the love of God and Israel as an exquisite version of precisely that human erotic love. Reading the Song of Songs as a love dialogue between God and Israel is then no more allegorical than reading it as a love dialogue between King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. The Song is not connected with an invisible meaning but with the text of the Torah and thus with concrete moments of historical memory.

See Boyarin, “The Eye in the Torah: Ocular Desire in Midrashic Hermeneutic,” Critical Inquiry 16 (1990), pp. 543, 549. See also Gerson D. Cohen, Studies in the Variety of Rabbinic Cultures (Philadelphia, 1991), pp. 3-17.

[32] Li-Frakim (1967 edition), pp. 232-233.

[33] “Hartzaotav shel Yaakov Barth al Sefer Yishayahu ba-Beit Midrash le-Rabanim be-Berlin” in Uriel Simon and Moshe Goshen-Gottstein, eds., Iyunei Mikra u-Farshanut (Ramat Gan, 1980), pp. 83-85. (Regarding the dating of Ecclesiastes, discussed earlier in this post, see ibid. for Barth’s view that Ecclesiastes was written ca. 200 BCE.) I have elsewhere discussed the controversy that broke out when R. Raphael Breuer published a commentary to the Song of Songs that interpreted the book in a literal fashion. See Between the Yeshiva World and Modern Orthodoxy, p. 83, and my article on the Frankfurt rabbinate in Milin Havivin 3 (2007), available here.

This commentary was one of the issues that led people to oppose Breuer inheriting his father’s position as rabbi of the Frankfurt separatist community. I find it hard to understand why this commentary aroused such opposition. After all, why can’t the Song of Songs be understood as describing a loving Jewish marriage? Breuer was not denying the allegorical interpretation, only adding an additional level of meaning.

Incidentally, once when a cantor at a wedding sang some words from Song of Songs as the bride walked around the groom, R. Soloveitchik “was not happy. This, after all, was a passuk [verse] in Shir Hashirim which he felt should not be applied to a man and woman in a literal sense.” See Heshie Billet, “Rav Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveitchik (The Rov) ZT”L: Role Model Par Excellence,” in Zev Eleff, ed., Mentor of Generations (Jersey City, 2008), p. 152. The same opinion is expressed by R. Yosef Lieberman, Mishnat Yosef, vol. 7, no. 101. See also R. Moshe Feinstein, Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh Deah II, no. 142. In addition, Sanhedrin 101a states הקורא פסוק של שיר השירים ועושה אותו כמין זמר . . . מביא רעה לעולם (Avot de-Rabbi Nathan, ch. 36, states that such a person has no share in the World to Come.) However, Kallah Rabati: Baraita, ch. 1, explains this passage as follows: היכי דמי כמין זמר כגון דזמיר ביה ודעתיה על הרהור See also R. Jacob Emden’s note to Sanhedrin 101a:

הקורא פסוק של שיר השירים ועושה אותו כמין זמר נראה דהיינו שמשתמש בו לעשות ממנו זמר לחשוקה אילת אהבים ולחבר אותו לשיר עגבים

This means that there is no objection to singing a song from Shir ha-Shirim in a “kosher” fashion, such as at a wedding or if sung as praise of God. (Emden’s note was published from manuscript in the Wagschal Talmud, and does not appear in the standard editions. I learnt of this from R. David Teherani, Divrei David, vol. 2, Orah Hayyim no. 37.)

See R. Ovadiah Yosef, Yabia Omer, vol. 3, Orah Hayyim 15:5, that in Egypt the practice was to sing verses from Song of Songs in the synagogue between Passover and Shavuot. He also quotes R. Meir Abulafia, Yad Ramah, Sanhedrin 101a who writes:

ויש לפרש דהני מילי מאן דקרי ליה דרך שחוק אבל מאן דמיכוין לשבוחי ביה לקב”ה דרך ניגון שפיר דמי ומילתא צריכא עיונא

Returning to the Rav, it must be noted that he was opposed to all singing under the chupah. See Daniel Greer, “Ma’aseh Rav – V’dok,” in Eleff, ed., Mentor of Generations, p. 177, that at his wedding Rav stopped the cantor from singing Im Eshkochech Yerushalayim. (Others are opposed to all songs which use biblical verses, whether the words are taken whether the words are taken from Song of Songs or from any other biblical text. The only permission would be at a seudat mitzvah. See R. Ben Zion Abba Shaul, Or le-Tziyon, vol. 2, ch. 14 no. 35.) As for the Song of Songs, the Rav also stated that it is “forbidden” to interpret it literally. He even put this into a halakhic context:

בשיר השירים איכא הלכה שאין בו פשט אלא כפי הבנת הרמז הדרש והסוד. המקרא יוצא מידי פשוטו והדרש הופך להיות הפשט

See Reshimot Shiurim, Bava Kamma, ed. Reichman (New York, 2005), p. 494 (to Bava Kamma 83b). See also R. Hershel Schachter, Nefesh ha-Rav, pp. 289-290.

[34] אפריון and פרדס (3:9, 4:13) are among the late Hebrew words he points to show that some sections of the book were composed in the post-exilic period, many centuries after Solomon. R. Moses Isaac Ashkenazi, introduction to Ho’il Moshe: Hamesh Megilot ve-Sefer Mishlei, rejects the notion that based on a couple of individual words one can establish the book’s date. Yet while Ashkenazi defends the Solomonic authorship of Song of Songs and Proverbs (see above, n. 19), he does not believe that Ecclesiastes was written by Solomon. One of his proofs is from Eccl. 1:16: “Lo, I have gotten great wisdom, more also than all that were before me over Jerusalem.” According to Ashkenazi, since Solomon was only the second king to reign in Jerusalem, he never would have written in this fashion. See also 2:7. 9 where the author writes about how he differs “from all who were before me in Jerusalem.” Again, Jerusalem had not been in Israelite hands for that long so it is hard to see Solomon saying this. Ashkenazi also points to the numerous Aramaic words in the book as showing that it had to have post-dated Solomon.

[35] I found a difficult passage in the Netziv’s commentary on Song of Songs, (Metiv Shir). Commenting on the first verse, he writes:

וכן שיר אחות לנו קטנה נאמר בימי א”א [אברהם אבינו] כמבואר בב”ר פ’ לך, ויבואר במקומו, אבל שלמה אסף השירים ברוה”ק וגם הוסיף הרבה משלו ועשאן שיר נפלא אחד.

The Netziv states that the section of Song of Songs beginning with ch. 8:8 (“We have a little sister . . .”) was written in the days of Abraham. What is his proof? Bereshit Rabbah 39:1 states: “R. Berekhiah commenced: We have a little sister (ahot; Song of Songs 8:8), this refers to Abraham, who united (ihah) the whole world for us.” R. Berekhiah continues to find allusions to Abraham in the next couple of verses as well. In other words, R. Berekhiah offers a nice Midrash about how Song of Songs homiletically refers to Abraham. But how does the Netziv possibly derive from this that the verses were written in the days of Abraham? The very next section in Bereshit Rabbi cites a verse from Ecclesiastes and states: “this refers to Abraham.” Does the Netziv assume that this too was written in the days of Abraham? Midrash is full of this type of homiletic comment, so why here does the Netziv think that we can learn something historical from R. Berekhiah’s statement?

[36] See also my post here.

New Writings from R. Kook and Assorted Comments, part 5

by Marc B. Shapiro

Continued from here.

The next post (or perhaps the one following) will return to my analysis of R. Kook’s recently published Li-Nevokhei ha-Dor with which this series began. Yet before doing so, there are a number of other points I would like to make and respond to some comments and questions.

1. In previous installments I have mentioned how R. Kook compares the Torah scholars and the masses, and how the masses have elements of natural morality that are not to be found among the scholars. This is not the only provocative distinction R. Kook makes. He also distinguishes between the great tzadikim and everyone else. These two groupings are, of course, different in many ways. Yet one of the most interesting distinctions R. Kook makes—and one can find parallels to this in Ibn Caspi and hasidic texts— is that for the elites the nitty-gritty of halakhic study can have a negative affect on their spiritual life. Here is what he writes in Shemonah Kevatzim 1:412:

האדם הגדול כשהוא מכניס את עצמו יותר מדאי במדת הפרטים, בין בלימודם בין בחרדתם, הרי הוא מתקטן, ומעלתו מתמעטת, וצריך לשוב בתשובה מאהבה, מתוך גדלות הנשמה, לקשר את תוכן חיי נשמתו בענינים גדולים ונשגבים.

R. Kook goes so far as to say that for these elites the very practice of mitzvot is not part of their spiritual identity per se. They have, as it were, moved beyond this, and their involvement with the practical sphere of mitzvot is based on their connection to the larger world.[1] I think that this passage, from Shemonah Kevatzim 1:410, is the most antinomian in all of R. Kook’s writings. In it we also see how problematic the halakhic details of life are to the special personality who wants to soar the heights of spirituality and yet has to be involved with practical halakhic matters. I think it obvious that R. Kook is reflecting his own personal spiritual struggle here. On the one hand, he wants to lose himself in love of and experience of God, to bind his soul with the divine. On the other hand, as a practicing rabbi he was called upon day in and day out to answer all sorts of everyday halakhic questions. One can imagine him alone in his study, enraptured in mysticism, even nearing prophetic insights, and someone comes to his door asking him to determine the kashrut of a dead chicken. With this he is brought down to the mundane halakhic world.[2]

ישנם אנשים גדולים כאלה, שמהלך רוחם הוא כל כך נשא, עד שמצדם אם כל העולם היה במעמדם, היו המצות בטלות כמו שיהיה לעתיד לבוא, לימות המשיח או תחיית המתים. והם בכל זאת מקושרים הם במצות הרבה מאד, לא למענם, כי אם למען העולם כולו, המקושר עמם. וכשהם באים אל הפרטים, לעסוק בהם מצד עצמם, מוצאים הם סתירות נפשיות גדולות האלה, שהם נמוגים מרוב יגונם. וכשבאים לעסוק בתורה ובמצות בפרטיות בשביל העולם, יושפע עליהם מעין של גבורה ושל קדושה, שאין דומה לו.

Let me also return to the issue of the Jewish masses’ natural morality vs. the rabbinically tuned morality of the scholars, and how according to R. Kook the former is superior to that of the latter. I was asked if I can provide some examples of this. I think the most obvious such example is the response to sexual abuse that we have witnessed in the Orthodox world. While the natural impulse of the masses was that abusers must be immediately removed from any contact with children, many of the learned rabbis were able to come up with all sorts of reasons why this was not necessary, and why the police should not be called. Over time the view of the rabbinic class has evolved and many of them now advocate a strong response to sexual abuse. However, what took them a long time to get to was immediately understood by the Jewish masses, and they understood it intuitively. Years from now people will wonder how it was that rabbis refused to protect children. It will be incomprehensible to them how this could have happened. We who lived through this experience know that it was precisely the pressure on the ground, from the Jewish laypeople (and the bloggers and newspapers), that forced changes in this matter.[3] Here I think is a good example where talmudic learning led scholars לטהר את השרץ בק”ן טעמים, while the Jewish masses, with their intuitive natural morality, saw that evil must be exposed and they emerged victorious.[4]

The same phenomenon was seen in the Leib Tropper affair, where once again it was the masses, together with a couple of indefatigable bloggers, who saw what was really going on, and forced the issue. This happened while many leading rabbis continued to stand by Tropper. They were oblivious to what was unfolding before their eyes and what was obvious to everyone but them.[5] And let’s not forget about all the gedolim who signed a letter in support of the monster Elior Chen.[6] It is difficult to make sense of these terrible lapses of rabbinic judgment with a haredi Daas Torah perspective, but with R. Kook’s analysis all becomes clear.

I thought of R. Kook’s comments on the intuitive morality of the masses after hearing a few shiurim on the subject of lo tehanem. One of them has since been removed from the site. Listening to these shiurim was shocking to me, not simply because I found the views discussed at odds with what everyone in my community regards as basic Jewish values (and matters about which we would be quick to criticize non-Jews if they ever spoke this way). What was particularly surprising was how the speakers, all learned talmudically, have fallen into what I would call the textualist trap of Centrism. What this means is that the written word has become so sanctified that they feel it is their obligation to resurrect every halakhah recorded in the standard codes in order improve the masses’ behavior.

Yet for all their learning, these rabbis don’t appreciate that there are some halakhot that simply fell out of practice. This happened in pre-modern times, before there were Reform and Conservative movements. In other words, it happened at a time when communities had the status of kehillah kedoshah. Because of this, historically the poskim generally tried to be melamed zekhut on the actions of the people, on the assumption that kol hamon ke-kol sha-dai, which is in line with how R. Kook understood the pious Jewish masses. That explains why, to give just one example, confronted with the fact that pious people did not wash before eating wet food, the vast majority of poskim tried to find a justification for this. They did not lecture the people about how they were sinning and try to resurrect a practice that had fallen out of fashion. Their assumption was that there must be some justification for the practice of the masses, even if it is not readily apparent.[7]

As Haym Soloveitchik discussed in “Rupture and Reconstruction,” there is today no faith in the practice of the masses. Therefore, instead of justifying the practices which oppose the textual tradition, the rabbis are attempting to reestablish the textual tradition. The problem with this is that there is also what I call an aggadic tradition, where values and morality were passed on, and this sometimes was in tension with the letter of the law. The Jewish people, acting with their innate Torah-intuitive morality, developed an approach, and this was recognized as legitimate until recent times.[8] So we now have a situation where shiurim are being given on the prohibition of lo tehanem telling people all sorts of things about how to relate to non-Jews that no one, and this includes great rabbis, ever paid attention to (e.g., one can’t say that X is a good baseball player!).

I am not going to get into the halakhic justification which can be offered as to why the pious Jewish people didn’t follow the letter of the law. There is indeed halakhic justification. (See R. Eliezer Waldenberg, Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 15 no. 47.) Yet my point is that the Jewish people didn’t need any specific halakhic justification, because they knew from their intuitive natural morality what was proper. This is what R. Yehudah Amital meant when he said that growing up in Hungary he never heard anyone talk about “halakhah this, and halakhah that”.[9] As R. Amital pointed out, the people who speak like this, who have an endless focus on halakhic particulars, are those who have lost touch with the tradition. In a traditional society there is no need for one to delve into endless halakhic details, as simply by growing up in this society one knows how to conduct oneself. In a traditional society, you don’t need books to tell you, for example, how big the matzah needs to be and how much water you need to wash your hands, and by the same token you don’t need books to tell you what you can and can’t say about the Mets’ leading slugger or whether or not you can give your maid a gift on her birthday. There has been so much discussion about how Haredism is a modern invention, but the truth is that Centrism, with its Pan-Halakhism, is just as much a modern invention as haredism. Looking around, it is actually some groups of Hasidim who are the only real traditionalists, the ones who have a mesorah and who don’t need to constantly look into a book to tell them how they should live. As the great Hungarian scholar Ludwig Blau put it, “A drop of tradition is worth more than a ton of acumen.”[10]

2. In my last post I summarized R. Eleazar Ashkenazi’s position in his Tzafnat Paneah, pp. 29-30, as follows:

He also offers another explanation for the lengthy lifespans [in the Torah], namely, that the Torah recorded what the popular belief was, no matter how exaggerated, and Moses was not concerned about these sorts of things. In other words, just like today people say that the Torah is not interested in a scientific presentation of how the world was created, R. Eleazar’s position is that the Torah is not interested in a historically accurate presentation.

Dr. Eric Lawee, who has a chapter on Ashkenazi in his forthcoming book, wrote to me that he reads Ashkenazi differently than I did. I went back to the text and thanks to Lawee, I would like to clarify some of what I wrote.[11] It appears that the first part of Ashkenazi’s comment is merely stating that the Torah recorded exaggerated numbers as figures of speech, much like the Land of Israel is described as flowing with milk and honey which was never meant to be understood literally. Although it is true that people understand the lifespans literally, Ashkenazi sees this as a misinterpretation of the Torah. In other words, it is not correct to say that the Torah recorded the exaggerated numbers because that was what the people believed.

Yet in this very discussion, Ashkenazi also states that the exaggerated numbers are only found in the very ancient stories. However, with regard to events closer to Moses’ time the latter was more careful about recording the details accurately. It is because of this comment that I wrote that Moses left the stories of the distant path cloaked in legend. I should have also clarified that Ashkenazi is only referring to the ענייניהם ושנותיהם of the ancients who are not part of the prophetic tradition which includes Adam, Noah, and the Patriarchs. Here Ashkenazi does seem to be saying that the Torah records popular conceptions, for if not from these conceptions, where did Moses get the inaccurate information that he recorded?

It is possible to explain that the lengthy lifespans of people like Adam and Noah, whom Ashkenazi stresses were of concern to Moses and he was therefore careful with regard to their details, were always intended be understood figuratively. However, with regard to the others mentioned in the early chapters of Genesis, Ashkenazi speaks of הגוזמות הספוריים הבלתי מדוקדקים , and here it seems that he does advocate the notion that the Torah is including material that was popularly believed, even if not accurate.[12] He also writes about how certain matters in the Torah were recorded בבלבול ובקיצור מופלג ומקומותיהם ומקריהם שלא בדקדוק One such matter is the genealogies, about which he writes: לא היתה הכוונה לדקדק במספר שנות חיי כל איש כי אם על דרך כלל

Ashkenazi’s viewpoint is interesting because he acknowledges that in certain factual matters the Torah is not exact, and indeed this is not a concern of the Torah. This sounds very similar to how many people explain the first few chapters of Genesis. Yet it is much less common for Orthodox spokesmen to extend this approach to later chapters of the Torah, e.g., to say that say the genealogies recorded are not accurate. But is there a conceptual difference between saying that the Torah is not interested in presenting creation in a historically accurate form, and that is why there is no mention of billons of years or of evolution, and saying that the Torah is not interested in exact genealogies, but simply presents what was commonly thought and this explains the lengthy lifespans? If there is no conceptual difference, where does one draw the line? Surely there are some parts of the Torah in which factual history must be assumed. This is an issue that has not yet been adequately dealt with, and I will soon be publishing a letter by a great Torah scholar which refers to this problem.

3. In the last post I cited an example where R. Shalom Messas was criticized for not understanding an Aggadah literally. More than one person thought that I should have cited sources showing how foolish it is to take bizarre aggadot literally. It is, of course, easy to cite such sources, beginning with the Rambam’s Introduction to Perek Helek.[13] Most of these are quite famous, so let me call attention to a book not so well known. It is R. Eliezer Lippmann’ Neusatz’ Mei Menuhot, published in 1884. Here is its title page.

Neusatz was a student of the Hatam Sofer, and this book appears with the approbation of R. Simhah Bunim Sofer (the Shevet Sofer).

Here is the first page of the approbations to his book Be-Tzir Eliezer. Pay careful attention to how R. Abraham Samuel Sofer (the Ketav Sofer) describes Neusatz’ standing as a student of the Hatam Sofer.

On p. 16a, after citing Maimonides’ words that the majority err in understanding aggadot literally, Neusatz comments that this was the situation in earlier times, which were less religiously sophisticated than later generations. The proof that the earlier generations were religiously naïve is that belief in divine corporeality was widespread then. According to Neusatz, people who were so mistaken about God that they imagined him as a corporeal being would obviously not be able to understand Aggadah in a non-literal fashion. He contrasts that with the generation he lived in, which was able to properly understand Aggadah.

אמנם בדורנו זה נזדככו יותר הרעיונות ונלטשו הלבבות והמושגים האלהיים הנשגבים האלה מצטיירים בלבות המאמינים בטוהר יותר ורוב זוהר, ונתמעטו אנשי הכת הזאת, ותה”ל רובם יודעים שחז”ל כתבו אגדותיהם ע”ד משל ומליצה וחדות וכפי הצורך אשר היה להם לפי ענין הדורות אשר היה לפניהם, פנימיותם הם ענינים אמתיים נשגבים עומדים ברומו של עולם.

I assume that Neusatz would say that the traditional notion of the generations declining only refers to the scholars, as it is obvious from his words that when it comes to the masses the generations have been getting better.

Neusatz also has an interesting explanation as to why certain prophecies, in particular those of Ezekiel, are not written in proper grammatical Hebrew. This was already commented on by Abarbanel. Abarbanel simply attributes this to Ezekiel’s and Jeremiah’s unpolished Hebrew skills![14] He further claims that this is why there are an abundance of keri u-khetiv, ketiv ve-lo keri etc. in the book of Jeremiah. The original Hebrew had to be corrected!

Neusatz has a different approach to explain certain prophets’ apparent deficiencies in the Hebrew language. He explains that since the prophets were speaking to the lower classes, and they wanted their message to sink in, they adjusted their language accordingly. (Mei Menuhot, pp. 13b, 34b). This is also how he explains certain passages in the book of Ezekiel which would appear to be at odds with modest and proper speech. Since the prophet was speaking to the masses, he had to use their coarse language (p. 35a). This is no different than politicians today, who adopt a certain mode of speech to connect with the listeners. It also explains many of R. Ovadiah Yosef’s outrageous comments. In speaking to the masses he forgets who he is, and uses the sort of lower class language that allows him to connect with his listeners, but that is not acceptable for someone in his position.

Neusatz calls attention to R. Joseph Albo’s comment, Sefer ha-Ikarim 3:25, that even the Torah was written so as to speak to its various audiences, which included not just the wise people but also the foolish ones:

לפי שהתורה לא נתנה לחכמים ולמשכילים בלבד, אבל לכל העם מקצה גדולים וקטנים חכמים וטפשים, ראוי שיבואו בה דברים מוכנים [צ”ל מובנים כמ”ש במהדורת הוזיק] לכל.

Neusatz is also explicit that very few aggadot are actually the result of the Sages’ ruah ha-kodesh (p. 32a). He states that Maimonides’ astronomical views in the Mishneh Torah do not come from a holy source, but from the Greeks, and in our day must be rejected (p. 38a). He also acknowledges that at times the Sages’ opinions were based on the best scientific knowledge of their time, which we now know is mistaken (pp. 36a-36b, 38a-38b). On page 39b he discusses Maimonides’ rejection of astrology. The problem with Maimonides’ position is that the Talmud clearly accepts astrology. In Studies in Maimonides and His Interpreters I argue that Maimonides must have assumed that the greatest of the Sages rejected astrology. Yet the problem is that although Maimonides might assume this, is there any rabbinic source to justify this assumption? Neusatz argues that there is. There is a famous rabbinic statement in Shabbat 156a: אין מזל לישראל This means that Israel is not under the planetary influence. However, the statement is not a denial of the efficacy of astrology per se, and indeed assumes that the nations of the world are under the planetary influences. In very original fashion, Neusatz argues for a different understanding of the statement that he believes was shared by Maimonides:

והנה ידוע דעת הרמב”ם שהמזל אינו פועל כלל ונ”ל דס”ל שזה הוא כונת ר’ עקיבא ור’ יוחנן ורב ושמואל ורב נחמן ב”י בסוף מסכת שבת שאמרו אין מזל לישראל, וכונתם שאין ראוי לישראל עם חכם להאמין שמזל פועל.

In other words, אין מזל לישראל means that it is not proper for a smart people like the Jews to believe in the efficacy of astrology!

Neusatz also discusses Maimonides’ general attitude towards superstition, and argues that today, when all the superstitious beliefs have been proven false, it is a religious requirement to advocate Maimonides’ approach in these matters (p. 40b). As to why the Sages appear to believe all these superstitions, Neusatz assumes that they had to deal with the masses who were enmeshed in these notions, and that as long as the superstitious ideas were not idolatrous, the Sages were willing to tolerate them (p. 41ff. This is exactly Meiri’s view with regard to Zugot, but Neusatz had no way of knowing this as this section of the Meiri had not yet appeared in print.) Neusatz adopts the same view with regard to demons, which like Maimonides he too sees as non-existent (pp. 43ff.).[15]

Neusatz sees no harm in the Sages using common figures of speech if they never actually took them literally. Just as today we use expressions such as “the devil is in the details,” so too the Sages would refer to phenomena as due to a demon even though they didn’t believe this literally. To support this assumption, he brings a very interesting example where the Sages even used a mythological image (p. 45a). Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer, ch. 6, in speaking of the sun, writes: “The sun rides in a chariot and rises, crowned as a bridegroom.” This is obviously taken from the Greek myth of Helios, the god who drives the chariot of the sun across the sky every day. Yet despite this mythological origin, which Neusatz assumes must have been known to the Sages, the image appears in a Midrashic text. Neusatz writes:

ומי לא יבין? שרק על צד יופי הדבור והמשל אמרו כן לציירה כפי פעולתה, באשר מימי קדם ועד היום מפורסם משל זה לפעולת השמש ניתן לה מאת בעלי הממשילים (קראם הרמב”ם טלסמאות ובל”א מיטאלאגיע) ועד היום מציירים הממשילים את פעולת השמש בתמונה זו וכנודע.

It is in his discussion of demons that Neusatz brings amazing testimony from the Hatam Sofer, rejecting the authenticity of the vast majority of what is included in the book known as the Zohar.[16] Before quoting it, let me repeat that this book has the haskamah of the Hatam Sofer’s grandson, R. Simhah Bunim Sofer (the Shevet Sofer). Here is what Neusatz writes on p. 43b:

בפירוש שמעתי כן מפה קדוש אדומ”ו גאון ישראל קדוש ד’ מכובד מוהר”ר משה סופר זצוק”ל אב”ד ור”ם דק”ק פרעשבורג שאמר בפני רבים מתלמידיו, אלו היה יכולת ביד אדם להעמיד מדרשי רשב”י על טהרתן לבררם מתוך מה שנתחבר אליהם מחכמי הדורות שאחריו לא יהיה כולו רק ספר קטן הכמות מאד מחזיק דפים מעוטים.

The Hatam Sofer is often portrayed as both a religious extremist as well as lacking a critical sense. The first assumption, that he was an extremist, is absolutely false and is a creation of the nineteenth-century Reformers. I won’t go into it here, but suffice it to say that the Hatam Sofer was often a very lenient posek, the exact opposite of what people mean by “extremism”.

As for not having a critical sense, this too is false. I am not saying that he viewed matters as did R. Zvi Hirsch Chajes or R. Solomon Judah Rapoport,[17] but the quotation from Neusatz shows that the Hatam Sofer was much more complex than he was caricatured by his opponents. There are numerous examples that could be cited to illustrate this. In Limits of Orthodox Theology I mentioned that the Hatam Sofer leaned towards Ibn Ezra’s view that the entire last chapter of Deuteronomy was not written by Moses. He also wondered whether the Targum on Ruth was of Sadducean origin.[18] Another example relates to what was discussed in this post regarding the Jerusalem Talmud’s view that there is a mistake in the book of Jeremiah. (I neglected to mention that the J. Talmud there also states that there is a mistake in the book of Ezekiel.) According to the Hatam Sofer, the mistake in our book of Jeremiah is due to an erroneous emendation that dates back to biblical times.[19]

4. In my last post I quoted what R. Itzele of Ponovezh said about the superiority of the religious masses’ outlook to the Daas Torah of the gedolim. I had originally quoted this in an earlier post and referred to what R. Avraham Shapiro said about it. R. Avraham, before he became known as the Rosh Yeshiva of Merkaz ha-Rav and Chief Rabbi of Israel, had published R. Itzele’s teshuvot, Zekher Yitzhak, in 1949. Here is the title page of the book (taken from hebrewbooks.org).

Unfortunately, the version on Otzar ha-Hokhmah has been censored. Here is the title page at it appears on Otzar ha-Hokhmah, with no indication as to who brought the book to publication.

The Otzar ha-Hokhmah version is also missing R. Avraham’s learned introduction. I have no doubt that Otzar ha-Hokhmah is innocent in this matter, and was unaware that the volume it put online had been tampered with. (If you have Otzar ha-Hokhmah there is actually no reason to use the first edition of Zekher Yitzhak, as a second edition, with an additional volume, was published by Machon Yerushalayim in 2000, and this is also found on the Otzar.)

All this is by way of introduction to saying that a couple of people wondered if R. Avraham had any interesting ideas in addition to being a posek and Talmudist.. Many people indeed only see him in the latter mold. I remember some years ago when I asked an acquaintance in Israel how it was possible that some people in Merkaz ha-Rav were willing to go against the Rosh Yeshiva, R. Avraham, and establish Yeshivat Har ha-Mor. It was explained to me that “if you want to know if something is muktzeh, then you should ask R. Avraham. But in terms of hashkafah, R. [Zvi] Tau is the one to follow.”

Yet I think this is an exaggeration, and those who are interested in R. Avraham can find lots of interesting things in his book Morashah, as well as in the two volumes published on R. Avraham by R. Yitzhak Dadon, Imrei Shefer and Rosh Devarkha. (Dadon is the man – ספרא וסייפא – who killed the terrorist who attacked Merkaz a few years ago.) I have also given two lectures on R. Avraham at Torah in Motion that can be downloaded.

R. Avraham knew an enormous amount about the history of great Torah scholars, and while he didn’t have a critical sense, he knew when a story was nonsense.[20] For example, R. Shalom Schwadron told a story about how when R. Kook, R. Isser Zalman Meltzer, and R. Moshe Mordechai Epstein were together once, they decided that each one should repeat a tractate of Talmud by heart.[21] That was the extent of their conversation. R. Avraham thinks that the story is, to put it bluntly, crazy. No normal person could sit and listen to someone else rattle off an entire tractate. Furthermore, are we supposed to think that these gedolim had no Torah to speak to each other about and that they would be happy to just sit and listen to the other repeat the Talmud? (Imrei Shefer, p. 269).

A valuable story is recorded in Imrei Shefer, p. 34. One of the students asked as follows: If when peeling a cucumber he mistakenly took off some of the cucumber itself, is that is regarded as ba’al tashhit? The students started laughing upon hearing this question, but R. Avraham became very serious. He replied:

זו שאלה של “עצבנות”, יש עצבנות ביראת-שמים, לכן מגיעים לשאלות כאלה. אדם נורמאלי מקלף וזהו! אסור לבחורים להגיע למצב של שאלות כאלה.

We see from here that R. Avraham was aware that there is a fine line between religious practice and obsessive-compulsive behavior. Many readers have probably come into contact with individuals who unfortunately have crossed the line. It is interesting to speculate if observance of halakhah can sometimes lead to obsessive-compulsive behavior or if it is simply that an obsessive-compulsive personality is able to function very well in the halakhic system. As for humrot and hiddurim, which many critics see as connected with obsessive-compulsive behavior, R. Avraham had a simpler approach. He believed that the humrot we see are simply because people have more money today than in the past. When you have money, you can adopt hiddurim that no one dreamed about years ago.[22]

Since many people who read this blog are very interested in R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik and his family, let me mention something fascinating in Imrei Shefer, p. 251. R. Yehoshua Magnes, one of R. Avraham’s leading students, is quoted as follows (and the information certainly come from R. Avraham): R. Moses Soloveitchik supported R. Isaac Rubenstein. The extremists wanted to put R. Moses in herem until R. Baruch Ber Leibowitz told them in no uncertain terms that one doesn’t put “the son of the Rebbe” in herem!

This is referring to the great dispute in Vilna over the chief rabbinate in the late 1920s. The Mizrachi decided to put forth their own candidate, Rubenstein, who emerged victorious. This was seen as a terrible slap in the face to R. Hayyim Ozer Grodzinski, who until then was regarded as the unofficial chief rabbi of Vilna. The election of Rubenstein was also a rejection of the tradition that, since the late eighteenth century, there was no chief rabbi in Vilna.[23]

This story, assuming it is true, answers a perplexity I had for some time. Making of a Godol, p. 749, relates how some Polish rabbis were so upset at R. Moses Soloveitchik that they threatened to put him in herem. In response to this threat, R. Baruch Ber is quoted as saying that one doesn’t put the son of the Rebbe in herem. The story quoted by Kamenetsky has to do with a rabbinical dispute between a certain Agudist rabbi and a Mizrachi shochet. We are told that R. Moses opposed R. Zvi Hanokh Levin’s support of the rabbi. Yet why would this occasion a herem? Others have assumed that the rabbis may have wanted to place him in herem for accepting the position at the Warsaw Takhkemoni, the Mizrachi school. Yet again, why would this lead to a herem? R. Hayyim’s great student, R. Shlomo Polachek, the Meitchiter, also taught at a Mizrachi school.

Assuming the information in Imrei Shefer is correct, all is understandable. If R. Moses supported R. Isaac Rubenstein, then the herem would make perfect sense. Here was an issue in which the entire rabbinic world had joined together to support R. Hayyim Ozer. The great dayan of Vilna, R. Henokh Eiges, the Marheshet, resigned from the Mizrachi on account of the slight to R. Hayyim Ozer’s honor. R. Aaron Rabinowitz, the son-in-law of R. Reines, the founder of Mizrachi, did likewise.[24] To support Rubenstein would thus be viewed as a terrible betrayal of rabbinic solidarity, which in the rabbinic mind would be deserving of a herem.

Why would R. Moses have supported Rubenstein? Presumably this was tied in with his opposition to Agudat Israel. It is known that he was quite opposed to the Agudah, claiming that in this opposition he was simply following in the path of his father, R. Hayyim .[25] In fact, this opposition explains another interesting point. In Keneset Yisrael 10 (1932), a journal published by the Hazon Ish’s brother and brother-in-law, there appears an article by “Shlomo Kohen.” Kohen was one of the Hazon Ish’s students, but the article was by the Hazon Ish. Why did the Hazon Ish not want to sign his own name to it? The article is directed against another article published by R. Moses Soloveitchik in Ha-Pardes, in which he cited the hiddushim of his son, R. Joseph Baer. As the Steipler explained, the Hazon Ish wanted to disprove what R. Moses wrote (in the name of his son) because R. Moses was associated with the Mizrachi (teaching at Takhkemoni) and he therefore wanted to diminish his stature (לבטלו).[26] In other words, the fact that the Hazon Ish decided to dispute with R. Moses (and he rarely disputed with contemporaries) was not because he so respected the latter, but the exact opposite.[27]

With regard to Mizrachi rabbis, let me quote something else repeated by R. Avraham Shapiro: The Hafetz Hayyim once wrote to a certain Mizrachi rabbi with all sorts of elaborate titles. When R. Velvel Soloveitchik was asked how the Hafetz Hayyim could write with such respect to a Mizrachi rabbi, R. Velvel responded that this is what happens when you don’t listen to any lashon ha-ra! (Imrei Shefer, p. 271). He said this as a criticism of the Hafetz Hayim. In other words, sometimes you need to listen to lashon ha-ra in order to know how to properly evaluate people. (R. Avraham was very upset with this story and doubted its veracity, although the comment is very much in line with how R. Velvel would express himself.)

Regarding Imrei Shefer, I was very happy to see on p. 267 that R. Avraham studied Kitvei R. Weinberg, which I published a number of years ago. Both volumes of this work are now available on hebrewbooks.org.

5. People continue to write to me about my earlier posts on R. Kook.[28] Many are fascinated with R. Kook’s position on sacrifices that I discussed here.

Let me therefore call attention to another recently published text, found in R. Tsuriel’s Peninei ha-Re’iyah, p. 212. (It earlier appeared in Meorot ha-Re’iyah, Haggadah shel Pesah, p. 225.). This is actually the text from which R. Kook’s famous words in Olat ha-Re’iyah, p, 292, are taken. There R. Kook envisions a future of vegetable sacrifices.

Olat ha-Re’iyah was published in 1939, after R. Kook’s death. Now that the original text of R. Kook’s words has been published, we can see how R. Zvi Yehudah did not merely “abridge” his father’s text, as Tsuriel puts it, but clearly censored it to soften its radicalism, which is a pattern seen again and again in R. Zvi Yehudah’s editing.

What appears in R. Kook’s original text is further elaboration about how in Messianic days the animals will be raised in intelligence to the level of man, and he even brings a biblical verse in support of this notion. Isaiah 43:20 reads: “The beasts of the field shall honor Me, the jackals and the ostriches.” The fact that animals are portrayed as honoring God shows that they will move beyond behavior based purely on instinct. Then R. Kook writes as follows, and pay careful attention to what I have underlined, which is undoubtedly the reason why R. Zvi Yehudah thought he had to censor the text.

אם כן יהיה כערך האדם עכשיו. על כן לא יהיה צריך לקרב מהם ולהקריב, ויהיה איסור בזה, ותהיה ההקרבה רק מנחה מהצומח, שהוא לא ישכיל עוד על שיעלהו בפועל. על כן תערב המנחה, ולא שאר קרבן מהחיים.

Here R. Kook isn’t just expressing a preference for vegetable sacrifices, but telling us that it will actually be forbidden to offer animal sacrifices.

Regarding Tsuriel’s Peninei ha-Re’iyah, some of the passages from R. Kook cited from manuscript are quite valuable. See e.g., p. 385, where R. Kook states that when it comes to a war to defend the Jewish people even the tribe of Levi goes out to fight. What this means, of course, is that R. Kook would be opposed to any draft exemption for yeshiva students.

In addition, Tsuriel has selected passages from R. Kook’s writings and arranged them in order of the various parshiyot, so that one can always find a good piece for a devar Torah. For parashat Metzora (p. 231), he quotes R. Kook’s statement in Ezrat Kohen, no. 21, that even if one expresses heretical thoughts, this doesn’t mean that he really is a heretic. Rather, it could be that he is simply trying to show that he is in line with what “the world” is saying, but it doesn’t mean that he really believes it.

This is just one more angle whereby R. Kook tries to defend the modern free-thinkers. His most famous defense is that modern heretics have the status of onsin, in that the environment today almost forces them into their false beliefs so that they cannot be held responsible for their views. He also states that those who express heretical beliefs are not really certain of their heresy, and it is only one who is certain in this who is to be regarded as a heretic.

With the publication of Shemoneh Kevatzim we see that R. Kook goes even further and completely removes the orthoprax individual from the status of heretic. I quoted the relevant passage here.

We see from R. Kook that one who holds a heretical belief, but lives as an observant Jew in his daily life, is regarded as part of the Torah community. As I put it in my earlier post: Two important things stand out. First, while not condoning orthopraxy, R. Kook states that one who is observant, despite the fact that he denies ikkarim, is to be regarded as an erring Jew, not as a heretic. R. Kook’s position is a complete rejection of the idea that people who are shomrei Torah u-mitzvot can be read out of the fold and be regarded as heretics because of their incorrect beliefs. The second important point is that he rejects the Rambam’s entire theological conception of Principles of Faith and aligns himself with the Ra’avad, showing once again that the Rambam’s position has not attained unanimity.[29]

Had R. Zvi Yehudah printed this text, we might have been spared some of the heresy hunting in the religious Zionist world, and discussions of whether one can drink this or that observant Jew’s wine due to the fact that he might have some heretical thoughts. In fact, it is only with the publication, uncensored, of R. Kook’s writings that the “lights” of his soul are revealed in all their grandeur. What other spiritual leader with unconventional views could declare that he is ready to fight the entire world for the truth as he sees it, to proclaim his views without any compromises and without worrying about what the “world” will say? While I greatly respect R. Herzog, R. Weinberg, and R. Soloveitchik, they certainly could never say the following (Pinkasei ha-Re’iyah [2010], vol. 2, p. 201):

“אם אני מוכרח להיות איש ריב לכל העולם מצד הנטיה של האמת העמוקה שבנפשי, שאינה סובלת שום הטיה של שקר, אי אפשר לי להיות איש אחר. וצריך אני להוציא מן הכח אל הפועל רק את יסודות האמת העקריים הצפונים ברוחי, בלא שום התחשבות עם מה שחושב העולם בכל הסכמותיו.” זהו הפתגם של דורש האמת, המתעורר בגבורתו העליונה.

See also ibid., p. 208, where we see his self-image as a prophet of old, and that no one other than he can see clearly what is taking place in the world:

מה יש עכשיו בעולם? וכי מפני שאין שום איש, ושום למדן ביחוד, רוצה להביט מה שיש עתה בעולם, וכי בשביל כך, גם אנכי לא אביט? לא! אני אינני משועבד להרבים. הנני הולך במסילתי, בדרך הישרה, ישר אביט.

R. Kook’s commitment to his path, despite the controversy that ensued, was a trait also seen in R. Shlomo Goren, with all the tragic consequences, both personal and professional. Perhaps the Lubavitcher Rebbe is the only one after R. Kook who was able to successfully chart a path undisturbed by the opposition, and without any need for compromise.

One other passage from R. Kook’s recently published Pinkasei ha-Re’iyah vol. 2, p. 207, is worth noting. While tolerance of opposing viewpoints is often viewed as characteristic of a watered-down commitment to one’s own belief, R. Kook adopts a different perspective:

הסבלנות בדעות, כשהיא באה מלב טהור ומנוקה מכל רשעה, אינה עלולה לקרר את להבת רגש הקודש שבתוכן האמונה הפשוטה, מקור אושר החיים כולם, כ”א להרחיב ולהגדיל את יסוד ההתלהבות המקודשת לשמים.

To be continued.

[1] For a different perspective, see the recently published Pinkesei ha-Re’iyah, vol. 3, p. 69, where R. Kook states that one might have expected non-Jewish philosophers, since they are not involved with practical mitzvot, to be able to attain a higher grasp of theological truths, as they can devote themselves exclusively to this. Yet R. Kook explains that this is not the case.

[2] In R. Soloveitchik’s Halakhic Man we also see his dissatisfaction with practical halakhic decision-making. His alternative to this is theoretical halakhic study, which is very different than what R. Kook saw as his goal. In the hasidic world, the communal rav was relegated to the role of halakhic technician, while the focus of spiritual leadership was the Rebbe, who did not involve himself in practical halakhic rulings.

[3] Together with the crackdown on sexual abuse, there have been other changes as well. In my youth there were teachers who would punish students physically. This was, in fact, the traditional method of disciplining students, and is mentioned in Makkot 2:2, Bava Batra 21a, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Talmud Torah 2:2, Rotzeah u-Shemirat ha-Nefesh 5:6, and Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 551:18, Yoreh Deah 245:10. See also the picture from the 1395 Coburg Pentateuch, of a teacher with his whip, available here.

It is clear from the rabbinic sources that the physical punishments were not designed to inflict real pain, although one wonders whether the picture from the Coburg Pentateuch reflects a harsher reality. See Elliot Horowitz, “The Way We Were: ‘Jewish Life in the Middle Ages,’” Jewish History 1 (Spring 1986), pp. 81-82. In any event, today, what parent will allow the teacher to lay a hand on his child, even if the pain is minor?

Even though, as mentioned, teachers were never supposed to inflict real pain, I think it is fair to say that the physical punishments over the generations sometimes did get out of hand (see next note). I recall vividly one rebbe who would squeeze kids’ arms and even throw them against the wall. Today, in every Modern Orthodox school and even some haredi schools, that type of behavior would be grounds for immediate termination. Regarding how students were physically punished in the great yeshivot, we have reports of Roshei Yeshiva and mashgichim who would slap students in the face. See e.g., Moshe Tzinovitz, Mir (Tel Aviv, 1981), p. 464; Shaul Stampfer, Ha-Yeshivah ha-Litait be-Hithavutah (Jerusalem, 2005), p. 335 n. 76. Even R. Naftali Zvi Judah Berlin, who was a very gentle person, would occasionally slap a student in the face. On one occasion this even led to the students going “on strike” (i.e., ceasing all Torah study) in protest against the Netziv’s action. They viewed the slap as an insult to the entire student body since this was the sort of thing one would expect a melamed to do in a heder, not the rosh yeshiva of the great Volozhin. The Netziv was forced to publicly apologize to the entire student body. See M. Eisenstadt, “Revolutzyah ba-Yeshivah,” Ha-Tzefirah, 1 Sivan 5676; Stampfer, Ha-Yeshivah ha-Litait, pp. 128-129, 149.

On at least one occasion, a student certainly deserved being slapped in the face. It happened at Telz in 1905. At this time there were two mashgichim, and as was often the case at the great yeshivot, the students were very opposed to the mashgichim. (A few years earlier the students had gone on strike due to the invasive actions of a previous mashgiach, R. Aryeh Leib Hasman. See Stampfer, Ha-Yeshiva ha-Litait, p. 334.). One of the students waited above and when given the signal poured a bucket of fish sauce upon the mashgiach. R. Eliezer Gordon, the Rosh Yeshiva, slapped the suspected student on the face. Simcha Assaf, who records the story, tells us that this was the only time Gordon ever did such a thing. See Assaf, “Shenot ha-Limudim sheli bi-Yeshivat Telz (5665-5668),” in Immanuel Etkes and Shlomo Tikochinski, eds., Yeshivot Lita (Jerusalem, 2004), p. 235.

I have seen haredi authors who argue that opposition to physical punishment in school is a sign that people have moved away from “Torah values” in favor of modern psychology. See R. Chaim Rapoport’s response to this approach in his wonderful discussion of the issue in Datche 41 and 41 (2008). See also R. Avraham Steinberg, Encyclopedia Hilkhatit Refuit, vol. 6 cols. 767-768.

Another change in our era is that signs of physical affection between a rebbe and student, which at one time were very important especially as the rebbe served as a father figure, are no longer acceptable. A student cannot even sit on his rebbe’s lap, as was done in years past. It is reported that when R. Hayyim Soloveitchik visited his great student, R. Baruch Ber Leibowitz, who at this time was serving as rosh yeshiva of Keneset Beit Yitzhak in Slobodka, R. Baruch Ber sat on R. Hayyim’s lap. Just like he sat on R. Hayyim’s lap when he was a young student, R. Hayyim wanted R. Baruch Ber to sit on his lap when he was a grown man. See Making of a Gadol, p. 87. The fact that we could never imagine something like this happening today shows how different our mindset is. There are loads of stories of rebbes kissing their students. R. Zvi Yehudah Kook was known in particular for this. See e.g., Iturei Yerushalayim, no. 55 (2011), p. 4. Here are three stories from R. Shlomo Riskin’s recently published memoir, Listening to God, which also bring us back to a more innocent time.

I couldn’t wait to share my discovery [of Darwin’s theories and how they could help explain the Torah] with my rebbe, Rav Mandel, that Monday morning. I brought him the book, and showed him the relevant passages—totally ignorant of the “red flag” raised in religious circles by the mere mention of Darwin. Rav Mandel barely took the book in his hand; he slapped my face, and then kissed my forehead. “Your interpretations are magnificent, but it is forbidden to read such heretical literature,” he said gently. I smarted at the slap, felt vindicated by the kiss, and continued to adore my rebbe. . . . “ (p. 51)

Riskin describes being tested by Dr. Samuel Belkin.

He asked me which Talmudic tractate I was studying, spoke to me “in learning,” and gave me a section of Gemara and the Tosafot commentary to read. He then came around the desk where I was sitting, kissed me on the forehead, and said to Tante, “you’re right, He can have a full scholarship to Yeshiva University.”(pp. 67-68)

After Riskin passed the examination to become a city rabbi in Israel, “Rabbi [Shaul] Yisraeli rose—and visibly moved—kissed me on the forehead.” (p. 369)

In general, I have to say that Riskin’s book is quite interesting. I must note, however, that in a number of places where he is critical of people or tells a story that might be embarrassing, Riskin refers to individuals by their initials. If he did so in order to leave the figures anonymous, he was not entirely successful, since in a few cases it is not that hard to figure out whom he had in mind.

[4] Unfortunately, refusal to protect children is not a new thing. See this post where I mentioned even allowing rapists to go free.

What is new is that parents are now beginning to stand up. Here is a passage from a nineteenth-century memoir from which we see that in the past even murder was covered up. (The case described is definitely not manslaughter, which is what is described in Makkot 2:2 and Rambam, Hilkhot Rotzeah u-Shemirat ha-Nefesh 5:6. Incidentally, the latter two sources are only speaking about a society in which teachers were permitted to hit the students, and have no applicability today vis-à-vis most of the Orthodox world.)

One of the angry teachers I mentioned was nicknamed David with the tangled hair, as his head was covered with a mass of knotted hair. He was hot-tempered and frightening, and often came to within an inch of killing a pupil. When particularly enraged, he would lift a child up and ferociously throw him to the ground, so that he landed like a corpse. That actually did happen once. After the funeral the parents of the deceased never dared accuse him of murdering their child. They accepted it as preordained that their son should die while learning Torah, and so did the rest of the community. No one considered the melamed a murderer. Even the sons of M.S. who made it their business to ferret out sinners in the town, in order to cause strife and contention, kept silent on this matter, and David the melamed kept on teaching as if nothing had happened.

Yekhezkel Kotik, Journey to a Nineteenth-Century Shtetl (Detroit, 2002), p. 145. On p. 431, David Assaf, the editor, calls attention to a different memoir which tells of a child dying as a result of his melamed’s beating. On p. 145, Kotik also speaks of another melamed who “would take all his anger out on that particular part of the boy’s anatomy that is generally not mentioned in print.”

(In some segments of the hasidic world the cover-ups unfortunately also continue. Had the New Square madman succeeded and killed the five people in the house he was intent on burning down, does anyone think that the community would have assisted the police in finding the murderer? In a future post I will mention cases of murder and attempted murder carried out for “pious” reasons.)

After my previous post on ultra-Orthodox tolerance of sexual abuse, there were some who doubted that there is any rabbinic support for this. Those who can read Hebrew, please read the following responsum from R. Menasheh Klein, Mishneh Halakhot, vol. 16, pp. 169-171.

According to Klein, there is never a time when sexual abuse can be reported to the police, even if a child is being continuously raped. That is because there are never two male witnesses who see the abuse. If someone does report the abuse, it is a mitzvah to kill the moser. If anyone has a difficult time understanding why a segment of the hasidic world time and again offers support for the perpetrator and ostracizes the victim, this is all the explanation you need. From their perspective, the victim who goes to the police is worse than the sexual abuser. Based on Klein’s understanding, I don’t think there is a “heter” for a woman who has been raped by a Jew to go to the police, because there is no halakhic evidence of a crime. (He also says that it is forbidden to turn in a murderer. In case anyone needs to be reminded how crazy this viewpoint is, I am writing these words only a few hours after the monster who killed Leiby Kletzky was identified.)

A friend insists that there is no difference between Klein’s position and that of Agudat Israel. This is not true at all. Whereas Klein states that someone can never be turned in to the police, the Agudah position is that a molester can be turned in, but only after a rabbi gives approval. The Agudah position continues to develop, and I have no doubt that in the end the Agudah will end up holding a position identical to that of the RCA. I also think that it is public pressure that will move Agudah in this direction, as public pressure has been responsible for all the adjustments in the Agudah’s position that we have seen until now.

Yet even without public pressure, the current Agudah position is so untenable, that it will have to be updated. For one, it asks people to violate the law. The law is clear that some people are obligated to contact the police when they suspect child abuse. By insisting that a rabbi be consulted before doing so, mandated reporters are being put in the position of being told by a rabbi to refrain from doing something that the law requires. Do the Agudah constituents realize that listening to the rabbi in these circumstances can open them up to both criminal and civil penalties?

As for the rabbis, I can’t imagine who would agree to be on the Agudah’s panel of rabbis that will examine accusations of abuse in order to determine if it is permitted to go to the police. If one of these rabbis rules that the evidence is not compelling and it is therefore forbidden to go to the police, and the rabbi is wrong, he opens himself (and the mandated reporter) to a lawsuit by the parents of the molested child. Whatever the ultimate verdict, the lawyer fees alone will end up bankrupting the rabbi. Is the Agudah prepared to set up a fund to defend rabbis sued by parents of molested children? Certainly not, which is why no rabbi who is thinking straight will ever agree to put himself in such a circumstance. The Agudah’s position also leaves the organization itself vulnerable to a lawsuit by parents of victims.

Finally, unlike so many of the cynics in our community, I don’t think the Agudah position is all about protecting rabbis, guilty or not. I really do believe that the Agudah recognizes that there is a problem. It is convinced that the rabbis it will charge with examining abuse cases will indeed make sure that molesters are turned in. The problem, however, is that we have seen all this before. We have seen over and over again that it is precisely the rabbis who have failed in this matter, often because they are not willing to turn on their own. It was precisely because of this that the community of laypeople rose up and said “No more.” One doesn’t need to be a prophet to see that by relying on individual rabbis to determine if an accusation of sexual abuse is credible, there will continue to be cover-ups. (Am I wrong in assuming that these cover-ups never would have happened if women were in charge? Would mothers ever have permitted child molesters to continue to prey on the young?)

The Agudah position is thus both a public relations and legal disaster in the making. The Church tried such an approach already and it doesn’t work. I don’t understand why such smart people in the Agudah don’t see how their new position is doomed to failure.

[5] See here where I attribute the rabbinic silence to the money Tropper was handing out. I also brought proof that even great rabbis are not immune to being influenced by money. Regarding this point, see the recent biography of R. Zvi Pesach Frank written by Shabbetai Dov Rosenthal, Geon ha-Hora’ah (Jerusalem, 2011),, vol. 1, pp. 410-411. A letter from R. Frank is published in which he criticizes members of the Israeli Chief Rabbinate (of which he was a member). The subjects of his criticism were gedolei Yisrael, and yet he accuses them of being improperly influenced by Israeli government money. He adds:

מי לנו גדול מהכהן הגדול שלא צירפוהו לדון בענין עיבור השנה, שהיה חשש נגיעה שמפני הקור יכריע שלא לעבר השנה

[6] See e.g., here.

[7] I hope to treat this phenomenon in great detail when I am able to complete my article on contemporary halakhic practices in opposition to the Shulhan Arukh.

[8] There are loads of sources that speak of the great weight to be assigned to the practices of the Jewish people, even when these practices appear to violate the textual halakhah. For one example, see R. Solomon Laniado, Beit Dino shel Shlomo (Jerusalem, 1986), Orah Hayyim no. 17 (p. 96): שכל מה שנהגו ישראל שכינה מוסכמת עמהם

Laniado (died 1793) was the chief rabbi of Aleppo.

[9] See my post here.

[10] Moshe Carmilly-Weinberger, ed., The Rabbinical Seminary of Budapest 1877-1977 (New York, 1986), p. 77.

[11] I would also like to mention a recent article by Lawee that deals with some issues relevant to earlier installments of this series, such as the possibility of errors in the biblical text. See Lawee, “Isaac Abarbanel: From Medieval to Renaissance Jewish Biblical Scholarship,” in Magne Saebo, ed., Hebrew Bible/Old Testament (Goettingen, 2008), vol. 2, p. 210, who calls attention to Ibn Ezra, Ex. 25:29, who claims that there is a mistake in the Book of Chronicles. He also notes Abarbanel’s commentary to I Kings 10:22, which suggests another error in Chronicles, due to Ezra misunderstanding a verse in the Book of Kings.

[12] Elsewhere, Ashkenazi speaks of Moses having access to historical records, but there he assumes that these records are accurate. See Epstein, Mi-Kadmoniyot ha-Yehudim, p. 136:

כי כל התורה ברוח הקדש כתבה משה וידע שמות אלופי אדום ומשכנותם ומלכיהם ידועה [!] גמורה מפי ספרים ומפי סופרים ונודע לו האמת ונכתב בספר.

[13] See also this earlier post of mine.

[14] See Abarbanel’s introductions to Jeremiah, p. 298, and Ezekiel, p. 434. In the latter source he writes:

הן אמת שיחזקאל הנביא לא היה בקי בלשון הקדש ולא בכתיבתו

For other references, see Eric Lawee, Isaac Abarbanel’s Stance Toward Tradition )Albany, 2001), p. 276 n. 46.

[15] On p. 46a he offers a different perspective which I don’t think can be brought into line with what he says earlier. Here he accepts the existence of some sort of demonic beings, and claims that the superstition is only that humans can interact with and influence them. Neusatz’ book was published posthumously, and it is possible that had the author been alive he would have worked out a more consistent theory.

[16] In the next issue of Milin Havivin, I deal with Orthodox views of the Zohar. In the meantime, I was surprised to find that R. Berel Wein describes the Zohar in an unsympathetic manner. Although some may claim that Wein was only presenting the history, his less than reverential attitude towards the book comes across very clearly, even if he didn’t consciously intend this. See the video here.

For another surprising piece by Wein (called to my attention by Mel Barenholtz), see here.

Wein describes Midrash as “legend.” While this might be a term used by academics (and is in the title of Louis Ginzberg’s great work), the Yeshiva World has always rejected the word as a proper description. Wein’s entire article can be seen as a reflection on the fact that rabbis, in their sermons, quote all sorts of Midrashim as if they are historical, which they are of course not. So what value do these “legends” have, and why should we use them to fill in the “missing parts” of the biblical text? That is the question Wein deals with.

In fact, Wein’s entire article, with its demand for truth in history and the need to abandon fantasy, is the sort that in today’s day and age could generate a herem. Here, for example, is one very provocative sentence: “Many times legend becomes myth. Myth is a sense of human recognition that the story being told is not factual but it nevertheless changes legend from history or biography into literature and philosophy – sometimes sacred holy literature and philosophy.” (emphasis added). And how about this paragraph, which uses the word “mythology,” certainly knowing the knee-jerk reaction it will provoke among people.

The Torah does not deal with myth per se. Yet the Flood and Noah’s ark, the Tower of Babel, the centrality of the land of Israel, factual as they all are in the biblical narrative, nevertheless were all combined to create a basis for the holy mythology of the Jewish people. In addition, the idea that the “events of the works and decisions of our founders, the fathers of Israel, are a sure guidepost for their descendants” helped strengthen a mythology that binds the Jewish generations together and gives us insights into the values of Judaism and historical events, past and present (emphasis added).

In speaking of the Flood, Noah’s Ark and the Tower of Babel, Wein states that they are factual “in the biblical narrative.” Does this mean to imply that they are really not historical events, but it is only in the biblical narrative that they are regarded as factual? Since these events, Wein tells us, are among the great myths of Judaism, and he just finished telling us that myth is not factual, this seems to be what he is saying.

[17] These two scholars would never have said, as did the Hatam Sofer, that Yiddish was invented by the medieval Jewish sages to keep Jews separate from non-Jews. See She’elot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, Even ha-Ezer, vol. 2 no. 11. There are many other examples that show that the Hatam Sofer was still very much part of the medieval worldview, which is why I state that he is a complex figure. For instance, he still leaned towards Ptolemaic astronomy, centuries after Copernicus (although he acknowledged that the issue was complicated). See Eliezer Brodt’s post here.

Another example is the Hatam Sofer’s famous comment that he doesn’t understand the value of Jews training to be doctors in medical schools where they dissect non-Jewish bodies. Since Jews keep kosher, how can the information obtained from non-Jewish bodies be applicable to them? See Hiddushei Hatam Sofer, Avodah Zarah 31b. Yet I think it is more important is that in this very passage the Hatam Sofer also laments how there is no Jewish medical school.

[18] See Lishkat Soferim to Even ha-Ezer 17:43 (found in standard editions of the Shulhan Arukh).

[19] Derashot Hatam Sofer, vol. 1, p. 331b. This text is discussed here.

[20] The same was true with R. Moshe Feinstein. See R. Aharon Felder’s recently published Rishumei Aharon, pp. 18-19. This book has lots of interesting stories about R. Moshe. Felder is not afraid to point out how R. Moshe, unlike other Roshei Yeshiva, had a more moderate viewpoint when it came to attending college. See pp. 19-21. See also p. 21 for the following story, which shows R. Moshe as a real down-to-earth person, who was far removed from “frumkeit” and had little patience for the aspiring pietist:

פעם ניגש למו”ר זצ”ל חתן ביום חתונתו וביקש לדעת איזו כוונה צריך לכוין בשעת ביאת מצווה. פנה אליו מו”ר זצ”ל וענה “איני מאמין שתוכל לכוין כלל וכלל”. והוא לא הסתפק והמשיך לשאול שוב את שאלתו, אם אני יכול לכוין מה הכונה הראויה לאותו זמן? ומו”ר זצ”ל לא הגיב, ורק המשיך ללכת לדרכו.

For another such story, see p. 20 where he records how R. Moshe told a certain Rosh Yeshiva that it was inappropriate for him to refuse to be mesader kidushin just because there would be mixed seating at the wedding. See also p. 22 that R. Moshe refused to write a letter to the judge on behalf of one who was to be sentenced for drug dealing. R. Moshe told the criminal’s father that his son damaged people’s lives and therefore “Let him sit in prison.” On p. 28 he quotes R. Moshe’s positive view of R. Kook. On p. 73 he quotes R. Moshe that a male massage therapist can massage a woman if he does not have a continuing professional relationship with her (!), a man can cut a woman’s hair, and a male teacher or principal can be present when girls in the school sing as the assumption is that he is involved with other things and not paying attention.

What many will regard as a surprising pesak appears on p. 36:

מותר להיות Wine Tester ולטעום סתם יינם, באופן שפולט ואינו בולע

I assume this pesak is based on Rama, Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh Deah 108:5, who is speaking about יין נסך, implying that it is permitted to taste but not swallow סתם יינם. See also Pithei Teshuvah, Yoreh Deah 98:1, for the view that it is permitted to taste, but not swallow, things forbidden by the Sages.

(Regarding tasting without swallowing, see Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 567:1-3. Based on the Rama in 567:3 it would appear that it is permissible to chew gum on a fast day other than Yom Kippur.)

Although I can’t be certain, I find it hard to believe that R. Moshe would require the wine taster to make a blessing on the non-kosher wine. If so, then R. Moshe would presumably agree with those poskim who have ruled that one does not make a blessing on gum and that you can chew it before morning tefillah. See what I wrote here.

See R. Yitzhak Barda, Yitzhak Yeranen, vol. 2, no. 11, and R. Moshe Levi, Birkat ha-Shem, vol. 2, pp. 41ff., vol. 5, pp. 537ff., for complete discussions of the topic. R. Meir Mazuz also holds that one does not make a blessing on gum. See Or Torah, Tamuz 5771, p. 973. The logic of this viewpoint is explained by the Beit Yosef, Orah Hayyim 210:

ולי נראה דברכה לא בטעימת חיך תליא אלא באכילה תליא כדכתיב ואכלת וברכת ואכילה היינו הנאת מעיים כדברי הרא”ש ז”ל

Speaking of gum, I wonder if R. Moshe would agree with R. Yitzhak Abadi that all the standard gums (Wrigleys, Trident, etc.) are kosher. See Or Yitzhak, vol. 1, Yoreh Deah no. 24:

כפי שבררנו החלק הטעים והמתוק שבו אין בו שום שאלה, ומה שנשאר הגומי אח”כ וממשיכים ללועסו אין בו לא טעם ולא ריח, והרי הוא כעץ בעלמא ושרי ללועסו כל היום כולו אף אם עירבו בו מדברים האסורים.

The kashrut organizations assume that gum needs a hashgachah. Here is what R. Zushe Blech has to say on the subject

The need for reliable Hashgacha for gum stems from many ingredient concerns. Plasticizers can be pure lard or tallow and emulsifiers are also often made from animal fats. Flavors and glycerin can also be completely non-Kosher. Even if all of the ingredients in a Kosher gum were acceptable, the equipment on which the product is made requires a Kashering from non-Kosher productions. Although the gum itself is not swallowed, these fats and flavors migrate from the gum into the mouth.

See here. (What does Blech mean by “reliable Hasghacha”? Does it mean that hashgachot that disagree with his understanding are not “reliable”?)

Let’s leave flavors out, as none of the flavors in the major gums are non-kosher. Let’s also leave out the issue of equipment, since this is not a real halakhic concern (as anyone who has ever lived in a place other than Israel and America, and thus has to buy foods without hashgachah, is well aware.) The issue is glycerin, emulsifiers etc. I don’t understand why this should be a problem. Even assuming that it is forbidden to swallow these things as part of a food, why would it be prohibited to simply chew on these tasteless items? Is there any kashrut problem when my son chews on his pigskin baseball glove while waiting patiently for a ball to be hit to him?

Returning to Felder, I give him credit for not being embarrassed to tell us how he once asked R. Moshe the following idiotic question (p. 20):

פעם הלכתי עם מו”ר זצ”ל לניחום אבלים, ולפני שנכנסנו לרכב ביקש ר”מ אחד מישיבת “רבינו יצחק אלחנן”, אם יכול להצטרף לנסיעה כי בית האבלים היה בקרבת מקום לשכונה של הישיבה הנ”ל. ושאלתי את מו”ר זצ”ל האם מותר לנו לקחת את אותו ר”מ לאותה ישיבה? וענה לי “למה לא, הרי נמצאים שם הרבה גדולי ראשי ישיבה שמלמדים תורה”.

Could it be that Felder didn’t know that R. Moshe’s great student, R. Nissan Alpert, taught at YU, or that his son-in-law, R. Moshe Tendler, likewise did? Did he not know that R. Moshe had close relationships with many of the Roshei Yeshiva at YU, and was colleagues with them in Agudas ha-Rabbonim?

While on the subject of teachers at YU, here is a page of a letter, never before published, by R. Yaakov Kamenetsky. It was sent to his son, R. Nosson, whom I thank for giving me permission to publish it. (The notations on the side of the letter are by R. Nosson.) In the letter, R. Yaakov admits that it would have been better for him to teach at YU, since the YU musmachim have a much more significant role in American Orthodoxy than those he was teaching. However, what prevented him from doing so is how this would appear to his sons. They would wonder, if YU was good enough for him to be part of the faculty, why did he think it so important to send his sons to haredi yeshivot?

[21] Kol Hotzev (Jerusalem, 1999), pp. 178-179.

[22] Among my children’s generation, many kids believe that there is a halakhic requirement to have two sinks. Some of these kids have literally never been to a kosher home which doesn’t have this. If they saw such a home, they would probably assume that there must be a heter for one sink, but only for those who can’t afford to redo their kitchens.

[23] R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik wrote of the difficulties R. Hayyim Ozer had, and strongly identified with the latter. See his hesped for R. Hayyim Ozer in Divrei Hagut ve-Ha’arakhah (Jerusalem, 1982), p. 194:

הגאון ר’ חיים עוזר לחם על זה בחרוף נפש. הוא סבל הרבה בעטיה של שיטה זו, סבל יסורי נפש ורוח. בשעה שהרבה מאחינו נכונים היו למסור את החושן לידי זרים ולהסתפק בציץ. עמד הוא בפרץ ומחה נגד זה.

The truth is that R. Soloveitchik is incorrect when he writes עמד הוא בפרץ ומחה נגד זה R. Hayyim Ozer did not protest the slight to his honor, or lead the opposition to Rubenstein. It was the other sages, including the Hafetz Hayyim and the Hazon Ish, who took the reins in this matter. Regarding the Hazon Ish, see Binyamin Brown, Ha-Hazon Ish (Jerusalem, 2011), p. 53.

[24] See Aharon Sorasky, Rabban shel Yisrael (Bnei Brak, 1971), p. 115; Moshe Tzinovitz, Ishim u-Kehilot (Tel Aviv, 1990) p. 240. Rabinowitz was the father-in-law of R. Avigdor Zyperstein, who taught at YU. In Vilna, the center of European Jewish scholarship, an Agudah rav, Grodzinski, and a Mizrachi rav, Eiges, sat on the same beit din and worked closely together. In Europe, every small town had a rav. Sometimes the rav was an adherent of Agudah, and other times a follower of Mizrachi. But as far as the townspeople were concerned, that didn’t matter. He was the rav and if there were halakhic questions in the town he was the one to decide them. If you were an Agudist and the rav was a Mizrachi man, when you had a halakhic question you would go to your rav. The politics of the Jewish world did not interfere when it came to halakhah. Furthermore, the various Agudat Rabbanim in Europe (and also in the U.S.) welcomed all rabbis, regardless of where one stood in the Agudah-Mizrachi dispute. In the post-World War II world, however, the haredi world has entirely changed all this and rewrote the rules. They were able to convince their followers that unless a rav follows the haredi Daas Torah he is not a reliable rav, and therefore he should not be consulted on halakhic matters. In other words, the halakhic competence of a rav was made dependant on his political outlook. This is a complete break with Jewish tradition, as it existed in Europe. While some might regard this development as simply another example of haredi “shtick”, I think it is more significant as it illustrates once again that haredi Judaism can be just as modern and revolutionary as that which it sees itself as fighting against.

[25] See Zvi Weinman, Mi-Katovitz ad Heh be-Iyar (Jerusalem, 1995), pp. 52ff.

[26] E. Horowitz, Orhot Rabbenu (Bnei Brak, 2005), vol. 5, p. 169

[27] See Brown, Ha-Hazon Ish, pp. 55-56.

[28] One well-known haredi rav wrote to me as follows:

I just read your post . . . regarding the abolishment of animal sacrifices. Barukh sheKivanti l’Da’ato shel Harav Kuk when I once told my students at . . . (and advised them to keep it under wraps) that perhaps a future Sanhedrin will find a drash to do that. But I had a caveat in that our present moral sensitivities were formed during the Exile in which we were enslaved to general, non-Jewish thinking. Therefore, after the Messiah arrives and we are able to think independently, and until we are on own long enough to form our own, Jewish ideas, all we will be able to do is continue from where we left off at the Destruction of Ba’yit Sheni. Only after some time has passed may the Sanhedrin decide that animal sacrifices ought to be abolished. This approach explains why the Rambam sets down Hilkhot Korbanot though he may have been prepared to abolish them had he been sitting on the Sanhedrin. It’s for that interim time — between the arrival of Mashiah and whenever the Sanhedrin makes its Judaism-inspired [changes].

He then added the following critical note:

Within the blog you used a term which ruffled my sensibilities: “Messianic Judaism.” Simply because that term has been usurped and corrupted by Christians who call themselves “Messianic Jews,” you should have written “Messianic-Era Judaism”.

[29] R. Isaac Hutner is quoted saying something very similar to that of R. Kook.. See R. Yitzhak Alster, Olat Yitzhak (Jerusalem, 2003), vol. 1, p. 188 (referred to by Bezalel Naor, The Limit of Intellectual Freedom [Spring Valley, 2011]):

שאין דנים הכופר עפ”י מחשבתו ודבורו לחוד עד שעושה מעשה מומרות. וכך היה לשונו: איך וואלט ניט געפסקנט אויף אימיצר אז אעהר איז אן אפיקורס סיידן איך וואלט געזעהן א ריעותא אין זיין מצוות מעשיות, כאיטש אפילו אפיקורסוס איז נישט תלוי אין מעשים, אבער מעלע וואס א מענטש רעדט – ער גלויבט אליין נישט וואס ער רעדט

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 mitsva. Mechanisms 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 (1885 – 1976), 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.