Can Orthodoxy Decide Its Own History?

Rabbi Shmuel Lesher 

The Making of a Godol

In his 2004 review of Rabbi Nosson Kamenetsky’s controversy-sparking Making of a Godol,[1] Professor Mordechai Breuer notes a marked change happening within haredi culture, specifically book culture:

The contents of the traditional Haredi bookshelf have expanded and transformed beyond recognition in recent generations. Alongside … the rabbinic classics … the shelves are now filled with books of types our ancestors could not have imagined.[2]

Breuer is referring to the proliferation of a new form of biography, or hagiography, of gedolim, or “Torah scholars” sometimes referred to as “Shivhei Tzaddikim” (Praises of the Righteous).

To be sure, historically, the practice of telling stories of praise and piety about gedolim is not new. Records of this literature can be found as early as the 19th century.[3] However, the recent proliferation and high demand for these works within contemporary haredi society is a fairly recent phenomenon.

It is against this backdrop that, in his review, Breuer celebrates R. Kamenetsky’s publication of Making of a Godol. He correctly notes that this book is not just another routine addition to the existing genre of hagiography. Quite the contrary, employing the rigorous research of an academic, the book makes a serious effort to depict the lives of Lithuanian yeshiva personalities as they truly were, without embellishment or distortion. In stark contrast to those who advocate for the idealized and sanitized portrayal of gedolim as saintly individuals devoid of human flaws or weakness, R. Kamenetsky authored a book whose content was subject to a single test: the test of truth.[4]

It is for this very reason that others did not celebrate the publication of Making of a Godol. In fact, shortly after the book was published in 2002, it was subject to a ban and removed from bookstores.

Breuer has his own critiques of the book. In addition to a number of serious methodological issues he raises with the book from an academic historical perspective, Breuer takes issue with a number of passages from a religious perspective, some of which may have been the reasons why it was banned within parts of the haredi community:

It is unfortunate that the author did not refrain from delving into minutiae that lack historical significance, including the personal weaknesses of Torah scholars… Yet, the author makes no effort to reconcile this phenomenon with the ideal of shemirat halashon (guarding one’s speech) …. The extensive treatment of such topics, without any attempt to analyze or integrate them into a cohesive picture of the “Making of a Godol” borders on gossip for its own sake. It would have been better to omit such material altogether.[5]

Jewish History: Lashon Harah?

Although Breuer categorizes the inclusion of some trivial and negative descriptions of gedolim in R. Kamenetsky’s book as “bordering on gossip for its own sake,” someone who levels the claim of actual lashon harah (prohibited negative speech) against any and all accurate history-keeping is Rabbi Shimon Schwab.

R. Schwab correctly notes that history must be accurate:

History must be truthful, otherwise it does not deserve its name. A book of history must report the bad with the good, the ugly with the beautiful, the difficulties and the victories, the guilt and the virtue. Since it is supposed to be truthful, it cannot spare the righteous if he fails, and it cannot skip the virtues of the villain. For such is truth, all is told the way it happened.[6]

Clearly, there is little use for inaccurate history books. 

R. Schwab further notes that since the canonization of Tanakh, no works of Jewish history were composed by our Sages. It appears that when prophecy ceased, the recording of Jewish history stopped at the same time.[7]

This phenomenon was noted by historian Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi. He writes that after the canonization of the Bible, it appears that Jewish historiography abruptly stopped:

After the close of the biblical canon the Jews virtually stopped writing history…. It is as though, abruptly, the impulse to historiography had ceased.[8]

This, Yerushalmi writes, is remarkable. Biblical Jewry and subsequent generations of Jews drew deep meaning from history. Their people’s history was deeply wedded to their sacred scripture. They came together weekly to read aloud from these passages in synagogues for thousands of years. Generation of scribes would copy and transmit these texts to the next generation with the utmost care and concern for their sacred task.[9]

Moreover, the Torah itself commands the Jewish people to remember “the days of old and to contemplate the years of every generation”:

זכר ימות עולם בינו שנות דור ודור שאל אביך ויגדך זקניך ויאמרו לך

Remember world history, study the generational epochs. Ask your father and he will relate to you, your elders and they will tell you (Devarim 32:7).

Therefore, R. Schwab asks: Why did our great Torah leaders not deem it necessary to register in detail all the events of their period just as the Torah and the prophets had done before them? 

R. Schwab’s answer will likely be shocking to all those who love history:

Only a prophet mandated by his Divine calling has the ability to report history as it really happened, unbiased and without prejudice….An historian has no right to take sides. He must report the stark truth and nothing but the truth…if an historian would report truthfully what he witnessed…He would violate the prohibition against spreading loshon harah which does not only apply to the living, but also to those who sleep in the dust and cannot defend themselves any more. What ethical purpose is served by preserving a realistic historic picture? Nothing but the satisfaction of curiosity. [10]

Using the imagery of Shem and Yefet who covered the nakedness of their father Noah when he became intoxicated, preserving their saintly memory of their father (Bereishit 9:23), R. Schwab argues for a more synthetic and sterilized version of Jewish history:

We should tell ourselves and our children the good memories of the good people, their unshakeable faith, their staunch defense of tradition, their life of truth, their impeccable honesty, their boundless charity and their great reverence for Torah and Torah sages. What is gained by pointing out their inadequacies and their contradictions? We want to be inspired by their example and learn from their experience. Rather than write the history of our forebears, every generation has to put a veil over the human failings of its elders and glorify all the rest which is great and beautiful. That means we have to do without a real history book….We do not need realism, we need inspiration from our forefathers in order to pass it on to posterity. 

Because a historian must record the facts, and the facts remain lashon harah and therefore forbidden, R. Schwab argues that Torah-true “historians” should engage in the genre of “story-telling” rather than truthful history focusing on telling the stories that will inspire, leaving out the truth if unflattering.

Is R. Schwab correct in asserting that the reading or writing of all accurate history is in violation of the formal prohibition(s) of lashon harah and therefore renders the field of Jewish history decidedly quite “un-Jewish”? Any serious student of history must respond to this question.[11]

It appears from the literature that the standard prohibition of lashon harah only applies to the living. The Gemara in Berakhot (19a) cites Rabbi Yitzhak who states, “Anyone who speaks negatively about the deceased is as if he speaks about a stone. Some say this is because the dead do not know, and some say that they know, but they do not care [about such speech].

Simply understood, R. Yitzhak’s statement means that just as there is no formal prohibition of lashon harah for slandering inanimate objects, there is no lashon harah when speaking negatively about the dead.[12]

Although the Raavya[13] and the Mordekhai[14] quote an ancient heirem (ban) against falsely libeling the deceased which is codified in Shulhan Arukh,[15] this would not constitute formal lashon harah.[16]

Interestingly, the father of the aforementioned R. Nosson Kamenetsky, Rabbi Yaakov Kamenetsky, writes that even this ban, which reaches beyond the scope of normative lashon harah, only forbids false libel. Whereas lashon harah is forbidden when speaking about living persons even when true,[17] one is permitted, according to the elder R. Kamenetsky, to tell negative stories about people from the past as long as they are true. R. Gil Student notes that when applied to history, this principle would provide a heter (allowance) for the accurate, albeit occasionally negative, recording of facts.[18]

On the other hand, R. Binyamin Yehoshua Zilber argues, contrary to the simple reading of the Gemara cited above, the dead do, in fact, know about and are affected by what is said about them. Therefore, he rules that one may not say anything bad about the dead, false or true.[19]

The Allowance of “Toelet”

Either approach one takes to lashon harah about the dead, the allowances to permitted lashon harah would seem to apply to the dead just as it applies to the living. Regarding history, two allowances outlined by the Hafetz Haim seem particularly relevant: one permitting the “sharing of public knowledge”[20] and another based on “toelet” — having a legitimate or constructive purpose.[21] If something is already public knowledge, its inclusion in history books is permitted under the category of “sharing public knowledge.” If it is not already known, I would argue that documenting it for posterity, when it serves a constructive purpose for the historical record, should also be allowed.

Returning to Making of a Godol, R. Kamenetsky was aware of the potential for Breuer’s critique of lashon harah. In defense of his choice to include some less than savory passages in his book apparently for the sake of the historical record, R. Kamenetsky appears to utilize the “toelet argument”:

It goes without saying that R. Mordekhai Schwab [brother of R. Shimon Schwab who supported the study of accurate Jewish history] did not approve of revealing faults in any man without constructive purpose; and neither do I.[22]

R. Kamenetsky makes another argument to support disclosing even unsavory information. He claims there is some form of halakhic statute of limitations on people’s embarrassment. Things that transpired over a century ago are no longer subject to the rules of lashon harah:

I did not give much consideration to concealing then-sensitive matters for the reason that when my father talked about these long-past episodes he specifically applied the verse גם שנאתם גם קנאתם כבר אבדה (Both their [the principals’] enmity and their envy are already bygone)[23]…. In fact, my father considered the passage of only 50 years – a יובל (which the Torah labels ” לעולם [forever]”) – to have enough of a cumulative effect to erase one world and bring a new society in its stead.[24]

This rationale goes well beyond the toelet allowance or limiting lashon harah to the living. If one accepts this contention, any information that is at least 50 years old can be written even if the individual would not want this information shared.

Whatever the assumed allowance is, in recent years, it appears that many, even within the haredi community, have taken a more open approach to the study of Jewish history. 

Although Making of a Godol was banned, this did not impede the public’s interest in historical scholarship. Over twenty years after the Making of a Godol ban, interest in the academic study of Jewish history has only grown. Today, there is a new wave of Jewish historians, writers, and podcast hosts who are engaged in rigorous study and writing of Jewish history. In their weekly column in Mishpacha magazine “For the Record,” Yehuda Geberer and Dovi Safier cite directly from historical documents and materials from Jewish history. Geberer hosts a popular podcast entitled “Jewish History Soundbites (here).”Nachi Weinstein of Lakewood, New Jersey, the host of the Seforim Chatter podcast (here), routinely interviews academic historians and professors well outside the typical sources found in the more insulated Yeshiva community.

Although there is still a strong presence of the typical biographical or hagiographical, any careful observer of the Jewish community can discern a largely different approach being taken to the study of Jewish history.

The Ethical Imperative of Accurate Historiography

I have shown that, although debated, there is a halakhic basis for the study of accurate and truthful Jewish history. However, is there a moral imperative to study Jewish history? It may be permitted halakhically, but is there inherent value in the recording of history?

According to Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, we can derive from the Torah itself that there is an ethical value in preserving history. R. Hirsch notes that the Torah “does not hide from us the faults, errors, and weaknesses of our great men” and narrates events simply “because they took place”:

The Torah never hides from us the faults, errors, and weaknesses of our great men. Just by that it gives a stamp of veracity to what it relates . . . The Torah never presents our great men as being perfect, it deifies no man, says of none ‘here you have the ideal, in this man the divine became human’ . . . The Torah is no collection of examples of saints. It relates what occurred, not because it was exemplary, but because it did occur.[25]

In fact, recording the mistakes of our biblical heroes provides more credibility to the Torah.

R.Yehuda Leib Bloch, the Rosh Yeshiva of Telshe, Lithuania makes a similar point:

At the very moment it describes the greatness and holiness of the Patriarchs, [the Torah] does not remain silent about their shortcomings. It does not conceal their flaws, nor does it portray them as divine beings possessing every virtue without defects or shortcomings….Our Torah is a Torah of truth, a Torah of life. It teaches us that a person, by virtue of being human, cannot be divine.[26]

Aside from the lesson of our Patriarchs’ and Matriarchs’ humanity and the credibility gained by the Torah, the fact that the Torah records events simply “because they took place” is significant for R. Hirsch. The very notion that something occurred, in and of itself merits being recorded in the Torah because the Torah values the truth of history. Throughout many of his works, R. Hirsch emphasizes the importance of historical awareness and the necessity of the study of history.[27] One citation will suffice:

To obtain knowledge of Nature and History…is not only something permitted but something which is desirable to the fullest extent, for only a mind armed with such a wide panoramic view on all matters can draw the right conclusions of the Jewish position in the world, in the whole of its speciality.[28]

Censoring the “Inconvenient Truths” of History 

Rabbi Dr. Jacob J. Schacter has argued in a number of important essays that there is an ethical imperative to preserving historical truth about our past and “facing the truths of history.”[29]

In support of his position, which he notes has historically been the minority one, R. Schacter draws from R. Yaakov Emden,[30] R. Hirsch,[31] and the Hazon Ish.[32] Critical of hagiographic works that censor or remove “inconvenient truths” about gedolim, R. Schacter writes:

Is overlooking part of the truth, in fact, any less of a lie than actively distorting it? Do not both result in a less than true—let us call it what it really is, i. e., false—picture of the facts or figure being presented? W. E. B. Du Bois wrote: “One is astonished in the study of history at the recurrence of the idea that evil must be forgotten, distorted, skimmed over.”[33]

R. Schacter also responds to R. Schwab’s rationalization for omitting parts of history:

It is interesting that Rabbi Schwab does not deny that “important people” and “good people” have failings and inadequacies. Rather, he suggests that they are best overlooked and forgotten. However, even this…explains only the neglect and disregard of history; it does not justify the distorting of history. While it may explain why one should not write about the past, it does not justify distorting the past when one does write about it. Inventing the past is as foolish as foretelling the future, but more scandalous.[34]

Suffice it to say, although “facing the truths of history” may be difficult, even prohibitive according to some, according to R. Schacter and those of his school, it is imperative.

The Miracle of Jewish Survival 

There may be yet another reason to study Jewish history from a religious perspective. In an often-cited passage, R. Yaakov Emden writes that Jewish history very well may be the repository of the greatest miracle known to man:

Who is so blind as to not see the divine providence?… We the exiled nation, a dispersed sheep. After all the troubles and shifts for two thousand years. No nation in the world is as pursued as us….[Our enemies] have brought on us great sufferings but were never able to triumph over us…All these ancient, powerful nations have gone by, their strength has withered, their protection has eroded. But we who cling to G-d are all alive today…Can the hand of chance do all this? I swear by my soul that…these ideas are greater [miracles] in my eyes than all the great open miracles G-d has performed for our forefathers in Egypt, the Sinai Desert, and in the land of Israel. The longer the exile lasts, the more the miracle is confirmed…[35]

If, as R. Emden argues, the story of Jewish people’s survival is even more miraculous and contributes more to our faith than the Exodus, it would follow that the study of the Jewish people’s history and its survival would be a critical part of Jewish education and faith-building.

In fact, R. Emden’s theory of the significance of the Jewish story of survival and its place within history, was felt by Catholic historian Paul Johnson. In the prologue to his A History of the Jews, Johnson gives his fourth and final reason why he chose to write this book and to study the Jewish people:

The book gave me the chance to reconsider objectively…the most intractable of all human questions: what are we on earth for? Is history merely a series of events whose sum is meaningless?….No people has ever insisted more firmly than the Jews that history has a purpose and humanity a destiny. At a very early stage in their collective existence they believed they had detected a divine scheme for the human race, of which their own society was to be a pilot. They worked out their role in immense detail. They clung to it with heroic persistence in the face of savage suffering. Many of them believe it still….The Jews, therefore, stand right at the centre of the perennial attempt to give human life the dignity of a purpose.[36]

For Johnson, the Jews stand at the centre of the very question of history and of human existence itself. Believing and arguing, by their very existence, that mankind does matter, and that there is moral significance to the history of the human race. 

In sum, the value of the rigorous and accurate study of Jewish history has been the subject of debate. From the standpoint of halakhah, I have argued that even negative information that can provide a greater understanding of our history is permitted to be recorded if it serves a constructive purpose for the historical record. However, more fundamentally, I believe that the proper study of Jewish history is not only a moral imperative ensuring an accurate picture of the past, it provides us with a deep sense of memory and Jewish identity. 

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks notes that although Jews were the first people to write history, biblical Hebrew has no word for “history.” Instead it uses the root zakhor, meaning “memory.”[37] History and memory are not the same thing. History is about facts, memory is about identity. History is about something that happened to someone else. It is “his story.” Memory is my story, the past that made me who I am, of whose legacy I am the guardian for the sake of generations yet to come. While, as I have argued, the study of history is crucial, without memory, there is no identity, and without identity, we are “mere dust on the surface of infinity.”[38]

[1] R. Nosson Kameneksty, Making of a Godol: A Study of Episodes in the Lives of Great Torah Personalities (Mesorah, 2002).
[2] Mordechai Breuer, “Gidulo Shel Gadol (Making of a Godol)” Hamayan 44:2 Teves 5764, pp. 81-82. For more reviews of Making of a Godol see Zev Lev, “Al Gidulo shel Gadol,” Hamayan 50:1 (Tishrei 5770) , pp. 100-104; “Teguvah le-divrei Prof. Lev z”l al ha-sefer “Gidulo shel Gadol” Hamayan 50:7 (Tishrei 5770), pp. 77-104.
[3] See Immanuel Etkes, “On Shaping the Image of ‘the Gedolim’ in Ultra-Orthodox Lithuanian Hagiographic Literature,” in Benjamin Brown and Nissim Leon, eds., The Gedolim: Leaders Who Shaped the Israeli Haredi Jewry (Magnes, 2017), p. 26 (Hebrew). I was introduced to this and several other sources referenced in this article through R. Dovid Bashevkin. See his “Is Jewish History Lashon Harah,” Reading Jewish History in the Parsha (April 10, 2024) (available here).
[4] Breuer, “Gidulo Shel Gadol,” p. 81.
[5] Breuer, “Gidulo Shel Gadol,” pp. 83-84. For more on Making of a Godol and the ban on it see R. Nosson Kameneksty, “Anatomy of a Ban: the Story of the Ban on the Book Making of a Godol; R. Nosson Kamenetsky, “Making of a Ban: A Look At the Banning of Making of A Godol,” YUTorah.org (March 12, 2005) (available here); Marc B. Shapiro, “Of Books and Bans,” The Edah Journal 3:2 (2003) (available here) and his “On Re-Reading a Banned Book: Nathan Kamenetsky’s Making of a Godol,” Jewish Review of Books (Spring 2022); Dovid Lichtenstein, “Supermen or Super Men: Acknowledging the Faults and Mistakes of Gedolim,” Headlines 3: Halachic Debates of Current Events (Mekor, 2021), pp. 385-413 and his Halacha Headlines podcast on the topic.
[6] R. Shimon Schwab, Selected Writings, (1988), p. 233.
[7] Ibid.
[8] Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi, Zakhor: Jewish History and Jewish Memory (Seattle and London, 1982), 15-16.
[9] Yerushalmi’s thesis has been the subject of much debate in academic circles. See perhaps most notably,  Robert Bonfil, “How Golden was the ‘Golden Age’ of Jewish Historiography?” History and Theory, Vol. 27, No. 4, Beiheft 27: Essays in Jewish Historiography (Dec., 1988), pp. 78-102. Also see Amos Funkenstein’s Perceptions of Jewish History (University of California Press, Berkeley, 1993); David N. Myers and Amos Funkenstein, “Remembering “Zakhor”: A Super-Commentary [with Response], History and Memory, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Fall – Winter, 1992), pp. 129-148; David Berger, “Identity, Ideology and Faith: Some Personal Reflections on the Social, Cultural and Spiritual Value of the Academic Study of Judaism,” in Howard Kreisel (ed.), Study and Knowledge in Jewish Thought (Ben-Gurion University, 2006), pp. 15-16. Thanks to Dr. Marc Herman and Dr. Tamar Ron Marvin for these sources.
[10] R. Schwab, p. 234.
[11] For a discussion of the position of the Rambam on this question see R. Zev Eleff, “The Intersection of Halakhah and History,” Beit Yitzhak, Vol. 42 (5770), p. 425n4.
[12] It should be noted that R. Yosef Shalom Elyashiv is cited as reading this Gemara differently and thereby prohibits lashon harah spoken of the dead the same as the living. See R. Benzion Kook (ed.), Shiurei Maran HaGrish Elyashiv, Berakhot 19a, with nn. 53-54.
[13] Yoma, no. 531.
[14] Yoma, no. 724.
[15] Orah Hayim 606:4.
[16] Mishnah Berurah 606:16.
[17] Emet Liyaakov al Hatorah, Vayeishev, p. 194.
[18] R. Gil Student, “Toward a Halakhic Philosophy of History,” Torah Musings (March 15, 2011).
[19] Shu”t Az Nidberu 14:68. For more see R. Daniel Feldman, False Facts and True Rumors: Lashon Hara in Contemporary Society, (2015), pp. 228-230 and R. Eleff, pp. 422-431.
[20] Hafetz Hayim 1:2:2.
[21] Ibid. 1:10:2.
[22] R. Nathan Kamenetsky, Making of a Godol, Vol. 1 (Improved Edition, 2004), p. xxv.
[23] Kohelet 9:6.
[24] R. Kamenetsky, Making of a Godol, pp. xxiii-xxiv.
[25] R. Samson Raphael Hirsch, The Pentateuch, Genesis 12:10-13.
[26] R. Yosef Yehuda Leib Bloch, Shiurei Daat, Vayikra Bishem Hashem, p. 157.
[27] See R. Hirsch, “On Hebrew Instruction As Part of General Education,” Judaism Eternal, Vol. 1 (Soncino, 1956), p. 199; The Nineteen Letters, Letter Eighteen (Feldheim, 1995), p. 273; Pentateuch, Devarim 4:32, 6:4, and 16:1. I am indebted to Professor Yehuda (Leo) Levi for many of these citations. See his “Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch: Myth and Fact,” Tradition (Spring 1997), 31.3, p. 7 and 18.
[28] Pentateuch, Devarim 4:32.
[29] See his “Haskalah, Secular Studies and the Close of the Yeshiva in Volozhin in 1892,” The Torah u-Madda Journal, vol. 2 (1990), pp. 76-133 (available here) and “Facing the Truths of History,” The Torah u-Madda Journal, vol. 8 (1998-1999), pp. 200-276 (available here).
[30] “Facing the Truths of History,” pp. 203-204.
[31] R. Jacob J. Schacter, “On the Morality of the Patriarchs: Must Biblical Heroes be Perfect?” in Zvi Grumet, ed., Jewish Education in Transition (2007), p. 5.
[32] Koveitz Iggerot Meiet Hahazon Ish, Vol. 2, no. 133.
[33] “Facing the Truths of History,” pp. 230-231.
[34] “Haskalah, Secular Studies,” pp. 111-112.
[35] Siddur Yavetz, Vol. 1, Introduction.
[36] Paul Johnson, A History of the Jews (1988), p. 2.
[37] R. Jonathan Sacks, “A Nation of Storytellers,” (Ki Tavo), Lessons in Leadership (2015), p. 278.
[38] R. Sacks, Morality (2020), p. 15.

Hebrew Printing in Lissa (Leszno), A Brief (Perchance) Transitory Moment

 By Marvin J. Heller[1]

Jewish history is replete with cities, locations, that in their time were centers of Jewish life, replete with communal activities and prominent sages, but sadly, are poorly recalled today, if at all, except in academic and historical circles. One such location is Lissa, Leszno in Polish. Given its relative prominence, Lissa is unusual in that, unlike many similar locations, it was not home to a prominent Hebrew press. Lissa did, perchance, host a printing press for a brief period of time, and that press, together with the books it is credited with publishing, is the subject of this article.

Lissa (Leszno) is located in the Poznan district of Prussia, or, depending on one’s perspective, in the Wielkopolska province of Poland.[2] Previously a village, Lissa was incorporated as a town in 1534, granted a charter by Count Andreas Lescynski, whose descendants include Stanislas Leszczynski, King of Poland (1704-1709). Jewish settlement followed soon after, the settlers likely coming from Germany, having such names as Auerbach and Oldenburg, and several decades later from Silesia. There were Jews prior to that time, however, as communal records record a coronation tax in 1507.

There are contradictory reports as to Jewish settlement, one noting that the Jewish community was granted a charter in 1580, and at about that time a synagogue and a cemetery were established. Another recounting informs that the privilege granted to the Jewish community is dated March 10, 1626, and the earliest preserved tombstone dates to 1662/67. The Jewish population of Lissa consisted of approximately 5,000 Jews in 1765 (about 15% of the town’s population); one of the largest Jewish communities in the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth.

The Lissa (Leszno) community had business relations with Breslau as early as 1650. By 1740 Jewish merchants outnumbered non-Jews; by 1793, 40 of the 53 merchants were Jewish, as were 200 of the 201 brokers. Similarly, by 1800, 32 of the 51 tailors were Jews, while others were smelters, tanners, furriers, and embroiderers. Products such as woven goods, furs, and hides reached Moscow and the Turkish borders. After the second partition of Poland and the absorption of Lissa into Prussia in 1793, the community, deprived of its markets in Poland and Russia, began to decline, falling as low as 804 in 1913.

Jewish life was not entirely pacific. The Jewish community of Lissa suffered during tah-ve-tat (the Chmielnicki massacres of 1648-49) and during the second Swedish war which forced the Jews to temporarily flee in 1659. In the Northern War (1706–07), the community underwent extra exactions from both sides, suffering plunder and rape from Russian soldiers, the entire Jewish quarter being burned. In 1709, there was a plague and Jews were accused, by bringing the corpse of a Jew to be buried, of infecting the town with the plague. There were several subsequent events, including devastating fires in which Jewish homes and synagogues were destroyed.

All this notwithstanding, Lissa became a center of Jewish life in Greater Poland in the mid-eighteenth century, renowned throughout Europe for its rabbinic sages and yeshivot. Among the prominent rabbinic sages who served in Lissa are R. Isaac Eilenburg, R. Jacob Isaac ben Shalom; Isaac ben Moses Gershon; R. Ephraim Kalisch; Mordecai ben Ẓevi Hirsch; the latter’s brother, R. Abraham Abusch Lissa; R. David Tevele; R. Jacob Lorbeerbaum, and from 1864 to 1912 R. Samuel Baeck. Also associated with Lissa is R. Akiva Eger, who studied in Lissa from 1780 to 1790.

Given the above, it would be surprising if there was not a Hebrew press in Lissa. Nevertheless, Lissa’s subsequent history, would suggest that locating a press there in the early decades of the nineteenth century is also, perchance, surprising, as will be addressed later. Concerning the Lissa press, Yeshayahu Vinograd records eight entries for it in his Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book.[3] Those works are all small, in octavo format, generally booklets at best. One additional work, not recorded in the Thesaurus as a Lissa imprint, but so listed by the National Library of Israel, is R. Joseph Yuspa Hirschfeld’s Yad Yosef.

We come now as why the Hebrew press in Lissa is referred to in the article title as “Brief (Perchance) and Transitory.” In contrast to the above record of Lissa imprints, Ch. Friedberg, in his History of Hebrew Typography, does not have an entry for Lissa, but rather subsumes the publications credited to that city to his entry for Dyhernfurt (Dyhernfurth) writing concisely in a footnote, that “the printers intentionally give the place of printing on several title-pages as Lissa in place of Dyhernfurth for reasons that are unclear. There is no doubt that these books were printed in their entirety in Dyhernfurth.”[4] That location is in Lower Silesia, a community approximately 50 miles (80 km.) distant from Lissa. It had, at times, been under Austrian (Hapsburg) rule, subsequently considered part of Poland and of Prussia.

Dyhernfurth was home to a press that had previously been very successful, beginning with Shabbetai Bass (1641-1718) who established a Hebrew press there in 1689. In the more than ensuing century, Hebrew presses in Dyhernfurth printed numerous titles including individual tractates from the Talmud, as well as two complete editions of the Talmud. However, the second edition of the Talmud, printed from 1816 through 1824, was not successful.[5] The then current Hebrew press, that of David Sklower and Naphtali Zevi ben Moses David Hochmavitz, was forced to close. Part of the typographical equipment fell to Sklower who relocated to Breslau and afterwards to Warsaw. The remaining typographical equipment went, in 1821, to R. Zevi Hirsch ben Meir Katz, known as Warschauer.

It is Warschauer who is credited as the Hebrew printer in Lissa (Leszno). It is his name that appears on the title-pages of several of the books that give Lissa as the place of publication. Friedberg, as noted above, writes that these books were actually Dyhernfurth imprints. Friedberg references an article in the Soncino-Blãtter by Dr. Louis Lewin who writes, in considerably greater detail, that it has escaped notice that the Lissa type is consistently Dyhernfurth type and “dass sie durchgangig Dyhernfurther Typen aufweisen, eilweise nur Fortfetzung eines Dyhernfurther Druckes sind . . . (that it is partially only a continuation of the Dyhernfurth press)”. Furthermore, a Lissa ליסא press being concealed, only alluded to by the phrase Gedruckt in der hebrãischen “Buchdruckerei.”

Lewin continues that works such as the Mahzor are either a reprint of the popular and much reprinted Heidenheim Machzorim or a plagiarism of an author whose authorship is disputed. He is also dismissive of the women’s prayer books, not consequential works. Lewin also observes that no mention is made of the press in the Lissa commuity news or in other contenporary Lissa docments. concluding that “all these prints must be “Es mńssen darum alle diese Drucke als Pseudo-Lissaer”not noted in Jewish literature. But ratherליססא , the names of the print shop owners and staff echte Dyhernfurther bezeichnet werden, deren Druckherren die Brūder Hirsch und Markus Warschauer waren (described as pseudo-Lissaer and actually Dyhernfurth imprints, the printers being the brothers Hirsch and Markus Warsawer).[6]

Interestingly. Friedberg, in his bibliographical lexicon, Beit Eked Sefarim, records these Lissa imprints without modifying notation.[7] Other bibliographers also record Lissa imprints without qualifications. For example, Aron Freiman, in A Gazetteer of Hebrew printing, records Joseph Hirschfeld’s Lekitat Yosef as the first Lissa imprint.[8]

At this time, that is the early nineteenth century, there was a prohibition in Austria on the publication of several categories of Hebrew books, particularly Hasidic and kabbalistic books as well as Yiddish works. Lissa, however, although previously part of the Habsburg domain, appears to have been apart from that realm at this time. When those prohibitions were in effect, Hebrew printers attempted to circumvent them by either by backdating books to a period prior to its imposition of the prohibition or giving a false publication place on the title-page. However, the books credited to the Lissa press, with a rare exception, do not appear to fall into the prohibited categories and should not, therefore, have required any prevarication.[9]

As noted above, only a small number of titles are credited to the Lissa press. The titles described are indicative of the market to which this small press directed its publications. It did not publish large works, such as Talmudic tractates or major halakhic treatises. Rather its publications are small books addressed and of value to the general population.

La-Yesharim Tehillah – Among the first titles published by the press is La-Yesharim Tehillah, a drama by the renowned kabbalist R. Moses Hayyim Luzzatto’s (Ramhal, 1707–1746). Ramhal is best known today for his Mesillat Yesharim, a popular and much studied ethical masterpiece. La-Yesharim Tehillah (Praise to the Upright), a very different composition, is one of Ramhal’s last works. It is an allegory, expressing the feelings of persecution he experienced due to controversy about him, and reflecting his belief in the ultimate victory of the just. This edition was published in octavo format (8⁰: 72 pp.).

1824, La-Yesharim Tehillah

The title-page, which has no ornamentation, neither decorative borders nor a printer’s mark, states:

La-Yesharim Tehillah
Shir Yididos

On the day of the wedding of the sage, the wise, כהר”ר [the honorable rabbi]
Jacob Di-Gais יצ“ו [may his Rock and Redeemer watch over him]
With the bride, the virgin, the modest
Lady Rachel De Vega Enriques יצ“ו [may her Rock and Redeemer watch over her]

I, the young Moses Hayyim ben Jacob Hayyin Luzzatto, have written it.
First printed in Amsterdam in 1740
And printed a second and third time in Berlin in 1780
And in the year
[5]584 (1824) לב“ע [From the creation of the World].
LISSA
At the press of the partners, Gabridor Warschauer, and Company.
At the expense of the exalted R. Lipman of Koenigsberg.

The title, La-Yesharim Tehillah, is from the verse “[Sing forth, O you righteous, to the Lord; it is fit that] the upright [acclaim, praise] Him” (Psalms 33:1); the subtitle, is from “For the leader; on the shoshannim by the son of the Korah, A maskil, a song of endearment (A Love Song, Shir Yididos” (Psalms 45:1).

The title-page is followed by prefatory material set in rabbinic letters, among them introductions, one from R. Solomon ben Joel of Duvno, descriptions of the allusions in the play, a list of the characters, and the play. The text is in square vocalized Hebrew. La-Yesharim Tehillah, Ramhal’s third and last play, was written in Amsterdam and represents the climax of his dramatic art. The play is an allegory in three acts of four, five and six scenes. [10] An example of the text,

Understanding: O Uprightness, Beloved of my soul, let thy heart take courage; like a girdle gird on strength! For when assistance seems far away, relief comes suddenly to us. When in the blazing heat, in summer drought, the sky is covered with thick darkness of the clouds whose thunder roaring makes the earth beneath to quake; when lightning flashes like an arrow; when the wind rends the mounts, as thought they were earthen pitchers . . . then the beasts of the forest all together take refuge, and all the young doves flee into the clefts of rocks. . . .

Uprightness: O understanding, of joy of my heart, thy comforting has surely enlarged my heart. For now it seems as though from the words of thy mouth I behold an opening for my hope. But be so kind, if thou hast good tidings. Withhold it not from me.[11]

A popular and much reprinted work, the Bet Eked Sepharim records twenty-six editions through 1949. According to the Bet Eked Sepharim this is the eighth edition, not the fourth printing of La-Yesharim Tehillah.[12]

Likitat Yosef – Also printed in 1824 and, reportedly, again in 1826 is R. Joseph Yuspa ben Tzvi Hirsch Hirschfeld’s Likitat Yosef, a linguistic work, a Hebrew-Yiddish Dictionary with references to Biblical verse for instructing children.[13] This too is an octavo ([6], 61, [1] ff.). The publishers are given as Medihernfort and Kamp. Hirschfeld (d. 1848), a pedagogue, is credited with three additional works, Yad Yosef (below), Middot ha-Derashot Halakah (Berlin, 1840), and Shir ha-Yahid (Berlin, 1833), on prayer and zemirot.[14] Another work, recorded by William Zeitlin is Bechinath Olam (Berlin, 1838), “Reflections on the world and its inhabitants by R. Jedaya Penini. …”[15]

The title-page of Likitat Yosef is formatted in the same manner as La-Yesharim Tehillah, that is, without ornamentation. However, unlike the preceeding work, which is dated in a straight forward manner, Likitat Yosef is dated with a chronogram, “‘Accursed is the one who moves the boundary of his fellow ארור מסיג גבול רעהו (584 = 1824)’ (Deuteronomy 27:17) for fifteen years.” The restriction on reprinting Likitat Yosef is highly unusual, not because it states the time limit for reprinting the work, but due to its mention on the title-page rather than in an approbation, which is the customary way of restricting unauthorized republication, and that it is used as the dating chronogram. The title-page states that it is:

Sefer
Likitat Yosef
A key
To finding pleasing items,
One language and other things[16]
Hebrew . . . words from
Yuspa Hirschfeld
Preschool teacher . . .
Printed
Here, in the crowned city
LISSA
“Accursed is the one who moves the boundary of his fellow” (584 = 1824) for fifteen years.
At the press of the partners from Dyhernfurth, Medihernfort and Kamp

The title-page is followed by the introduction which begins “‘A wise man has his eyes in his head’ (Ecclesiastes (2:14), an understanding scale in his hand, and the roots of understanding branch out in his eyes. He will see that ‘My heart overflows with a goodly theme’ (Psalms 45:2): to teach the young of the children of Israel ‘a clear language’ (Zephaniah 3:9).” Hirschfeld continues on the importance and value of the youth of Israel learning the language well, on a daily basis. The heart of the wise person values this in contrast to the fool who has no appreciation. Hirschfeld states that due to his love of brevity he has not expounded on words at length

There is a brief postscript in which Hirschfeld references his father, R. Tzvi Hirsch, followed by a brief statement from the printer who states that it is not as leket shikhhah, the forgotten gleanings from the field, but rather is selections all pure. Below is an acronym, the first letter of each line spelling Joseph Yuspa. Next is a list of sixty-three contributors (sponsors) arranged by city in German (Fraktur), that is, Breslau (22), Posen (17), Lissa (14), Krotoschin (6), Wortenborg (2), and D. Ostrowo (2).

1824, Likitat Yosef

The text is set in two columns, arranged alphabetically. Within each column words are given in Hebrew in square vocalized letters with their explanation in Yiddish set in a smaller font comprised of a mixture of Vaybertaytsh and rabbinic letters. Synonyms are given in order and words are organized by letters of the alphabet and vowels, for example, ayin patach, ayin segol, for example

Likitat Yosef has been reprinted several times, beginning, as noted above, with a reported second Lissa edition (1826), Vienna (1825), and again in Vienna (1835).[17]

Tehinat Imahot; Techina Shlosha She’arim – Our next Lissa titles are two small octavo tehinot, that is, Tehinat Imahot ([8] ff.) by Hadas, the wife of the late R. Yudel of Hadzish and Techina Shlosha She’arim ([16] ff.), no author given. Both were printed, respectively, in 1824 and 1825, by the Hebraisher Buchdruckerei (Hebrew book printers) with the same title-page format as noted above.

Tehinnot are described by A. Idelsohen as private devotions, often the source for later public prayers. They are a personal, spontaneous and inspired form of expression representing the craving of the soul. They may be understood as in keeping with Berakhot (28b), which states, “do not make your prayer routine, but rather free supplications and petitions before God.” Tehinnot were written through the ages by men of piety; they have been described as a “rivulet of that warm and soulful outpouring [that] never ran dry in Israel.” They have been written through the generations to express plights, needs, wishes, and aspirations which move the heart. Originally in Hebrew, they have been written in all languages spoken by Jews. Tehinnot in Yiddish were mainly for women and those unfamiliar with Hebrew. In many cases tehinnot were published in book form.[18]

Similarly, Meyer Waxman writes that “Tehinoth were the special medium of devotion of the women of Israel and were adapted . . . both in form and content to their needs. Generation after generation of pious souls had poured forth their hearts before their Maker and pleaded for the health and welfare of their near and dear ones in the semi-lyrical language of these supplication prayers.” He notes their varied nature, describing them as heterogenous, addressing all phases of life, supplications in an intimate tone.[19]

The text of both or our tehinot are set in Vaybertaytsh, a semi-cursive type generally but not exclusively, reserved for Yiddish books, so named because these works were most often read by the less educated and women. They were clearly meant for an Ashkenazi audience, for books in Vaybertaytsh were certainly not directed or intelligible to a market outside that community, but also evidence that that market was sufficiently large enough to justify the publication of works for a particular element of rather than for the entire Jewish community.[20]

The title-page of Tehinat Imahot (mother’s supplications) states that it is a collection of prayers of life, continuing in Yiddish that it is with the merit of our fathers and mothers and the Lord who has given us years of life through honorable deeds. The text is in a single column, set in Vaybertaytsh.

Techina Shlosha She’arim is in three parts, as noted on the title-page, that is, hallah, niddah, and lighting Sabbath candles; Shabbat and Rosh Hodesh; and the Yamim Nora’im. The text, set in a single column in Vaybertaytsh, excepting headings and introductory lines, is comprised of both prayers and brief halakhic notes. The references to hallah, niddah, and lighting Sabbath candles concerns the taking of a portion of bread for an offering; niddah, the monthly menstrual separation; and hadlaka, lighting the Friday evening Sabbath candles. The importance of these activities is based on Shabbat 31a, which states “For three transgressions woman die in childbirth. Because they are not observant [of the laws] of Niddah, Hallah, and lighting of Sabbath candles.”

1825, Techina Shlosha She’arim

This is the only edition of Tehinat Imahot. This is the first edition of Techina Shlosha She’arim; it has been reprinted numerous times, the Thesaurus records twenty-one editions.[21]

Yad Yosef – Our second R. Joseph Yuspa Hirschfeld title is Yad Yosef. This, the first edition, is not, as noted above, recorded in the Thesaurus as a Lissa imprint but rather as having been printed in Vienna at the press of Anton Schmidt in 1826. Friedberg, in the Bet Eked, does record this edition as a Lissa imprint.[22] It was published as a duodecimo (12⁰: [2], III-VI, [VII-XII], 216, [2] pp.). The title-page, which does not name Lissa as the place of publication, follows the style of the other Lissa imprints, that is, with a simple title-page devoid of ornamentation. It describes Yad Yosef as the names of the persecuted שמות הנרדפים for which there are references. It is dated “And we will rejoice in the words of your Torah ונשמח בדברי תורתך (588 = 1828).” The colophon dates completion of the work to Wednesday, Rosh Hodesh Heshvan, in the year “Happy is the one who waits אשרי המחכה (589 = October 8, 1828)” (Daniel 12:12).

Yad Yosef reads from left to right, like a German book. Nevertheless, it begins with a Hebrew title-page followed a multi-page vorrede (preface) in German followed by a second lengthy preface in Hebrew. The former has an image of justice, sitting blindfolded with a sword in one hand, scales in the other. Below it is Hebrew text that states,

“See for yourselves how my eyes
lit up when I tasted that bit of honey” (I Samuel 14:29)
“If my anguish were weighed” )Job 6:2) on the matter.
“My full calamity laid on the scales” )Job 6:2) and for my heart suffices.

Repeated below it are those verses in German. The Hebrew introduction begins in a light manner that might perchance be meant to be humorous or sarcastic, stating that “it is well known, especially to those who love words of acumen אמרי בינה that it is the custom for a work, small or large, to have a have a brief summary of the book’s topic – to place words in the mouth of the reader, his eyes to see, his eyelids discern the apology, and quickly find the object of his desire.” He then continues, begins, in a more serious vein,

that he “has walked in their footsteps and prepared a lexicon, also I – and this work (letter) I gathered with great diligence, nights as days, with exertion for the honor of the Torah and those who study it: who love and cherish it the beloved! “The teaching of the LORD is perfect” (Psalms 19:8), in it are written and I have found the reasons of DIFFERENT WORDS IN EXPRESSION AND TOUGHT – I have arranged them alphabetically . . .

1828, Yad Yosef

The introduction is followed by the text, set from left to right, comprised of Hebrew works and concise bi-lingual references. Entries are brief, the Hebrew word in the center in square vocalized letters, to the left a source of the term in rabbinic letters, and to the right a translation in German and biblical source. Three examples of the text, one only with a reference, that to Rashi, from the above image, are:

כביר ע’ רש’י ובאור – Matratze. 1. Sam 19. 13.

ענג Lust, Wohlleben. Jes. 58. 13

תענוג Vergnūgen. Sprūch. 19. 10.

כביר – Matratze. 1. Sam 19. 13. which refers to the verse “Michal then took mannequins and placed them in the bed, and she put a כביר goat-skin at its head and covered it with a cloth.” (I Samuel 19:13).

ענג Lust, Wohlleben. Jes. 58. 13 (If you restrain your foot because it is the Sabbath, refrain from accomplishing your own needs on My holy day; if you proclaim the Sabbath ענג ‘a delight’ and the holy [day] of the Lord ‘honored’ and you honor it by not engaging in your own affairs, from or discussing the forbidden: seeking your own needs.” (Isaiah 58:13)

תענוג Vergnūgen. Sprūch. 19. 10. תענוג Pleasure does not befit a fool; surely [it is not fitting for] a servant over dignitaries. (Proverbs 19:10).

Yad Yosef concludes with a multi-page bi-lingual Hebrew-German Oeffentliche Danksagung (public thanksgiving) addressed to Tobias Marcus and L. Mende, an example below:

Let your home be wide open, and let the poor be members of your household. (Avot 1:5)
Dein Haus sei offen, Fremde aufaunehmen, um Gastfreiheit an ihnen su üben; achte sie wie deine Hausgebornrn.”

Open your hand to the poor and needy kin in your land (Deuteronomy 15:11)
Thue deine Hand auf gegen deinen Bruder, de Arman und Dürftigen in deinem Lande.

Yad Yosef has been reprinted twice, in Frankfurt on the Oder (1828) and in Berlin (1830).[23]

A final word on Joseph Yuspa Hirschfeld. Moritz Steinschneider has an entry for Joseph Hirschfeld, which begins “Privatlehrer in Schweria a. d. Warte. [Postena Berol. etc. Mrt. mense Decmbr. A1848. – Autor suspectus,” that is he describes Hirschfeld as a private tutor and concludes that the authorship is suspect.[24] No reason is given for that suspicion and in the absence of any supporting or contradictory evidence Steinschneider’s position remains open, unresolved.

Also attributed to the Lissa press is a Mahzor, dated 1824, not seen by the author. Perchance, this is the Heidenheim Mahzor referred to by Lewin. Another work credited to the press, although its date distances it from the general period of activity of the subject press, is R. Saul Isaac ben Ahron Jacob Kaempf’s Toldot Rabbi Akiva Eger, dated 1838. Also noted is another undated edition of Techina Shlosha She’arim.

We now return to the subject of perchance, that is, whether there was a press in Lissa or, as Dr. Lewin suggests, the books attributed to Lissa were actually printed in Dyhernfurth. Lewin was a respected scholar and his reservations need be taken seriously. However, upon inspection, his contention does not appear to be convincing.

Among his arguments for a Dyhernfurth publication site for the books attributed to Lissa are the likeness of the fonts in the books printed in both locations. However, likeness of fonts is not a strong argument: not only is type available to more than one press from a foundry, but more likely Warschauer took typographical equipment with him when relocating to Lissa, as did Sklower when he relocated to Breslau. Similarly, there is no reason why the worker’s names, not noted in the colophons, is any more suggestive of Dyhernfurth than Lissa, nor does the insufficient description of the press seem sufficient evidence to question its location. That the women’s prayer books appear to be inconsequential to Lewin does not detract from their communal value or suggest that they were printed elsewhere. That the press is not mentioned in communal news or documents may be because the press was not consequential. It might be well asked, if the Lissa press was in Dyhernfurth, why is it not mentioned in their communal records, or, finally, what was to be gained by concealing the press’s location.

On the other hand, just as Sklower left Dyhernfurth for Breslau so did Warschauer leave Dyhernfurth for Lissa. That the press appears to have done poorly there actually supports a Lissa location. A small press, it did not publish “consequential” works such as the Talmud, large halakhic titles, or responsa. The books that it did publish were of value to a, perchance, less educated community, addressing their needs, including women’s prayer books.

A likely reason for the presses’ difficulties and brief existence may actually be its location, that is, in Lissa. That location, as noted above, at one time a city of import, had begun to decline after the partition of Poland and its annexation by Prussia in 1793. No longer an important commercial center nor a location with a history as a center of printing. Lissa had no prior press, nor was it well situated for a press. The books it published were small, of value to a local population, consisting of ethical, linguistic and liturgical works, but did not address the needs of a more sophisticated population with leading yeshivot, as Lissa had been so earlier. It was not set up for book distribution, a basic requirement for a successful press. Several of the books that it did publish, were quickly reissued in Vienna, republished at the press of Anton Schmidt, a publisher of consequence.[25]

Given the restrictions on reprinting stated on the title-page of Likitat Yosef it would appear that the almost immediate reprinting of that title and other works were at the initiative of the author. Given the poor distribution of Lissa imprints Hirschfeld likely sought a larger and more successful press, an objective filled by the press of Anton Schmidt. Perchance, no, in this instance certainly not perchance, but more likely, indeed assuredly, if the books had been printed in Dyhernfurth, with its history of printing and successful book distribution, there would not have been a need to reprint these titles in Vienna.

All of the above notwithstanding, the books that were published in Lissa, albeit small in number and in size, were worthy titles. Lissa was, as noted at the beginning of this article, one of many presses, small in size and output, which are poorly recalled today. Nevertheless, this does not detract from the fact that these presses published valuable works, serving the needs of the local population. Here too, the Lissa press, despite being short lived, published books of value to its community and deserves to be remembered and well regarded.

The Physicians of the Rome Plague of 1656, Yaakov Zahalon and Hananiah Modigliano
Reclaiming a Long-Lost Role and the
Only Known Example of Father and Son Diplomas

By Edward Reichman

Ellen Wells of the Smithsonian Libraries wrote,[1] “The plague of Rome of 1656 was one of the best recorded medical events of the 17^th century. It was referred to in most major political and ecclesiastical histories, in diplomatic correspondence and in personal memoirs. Books and pamphlets were issued in profusion. Commemorative prints were published …” The Jewish physician Yaakov Zahalon[2] contributed to this documentary phenomenon from the Jewish perspective.[3] Zahalon is one of the most famous physicians in Jewish history, and his book Otzar HaHayyim, published in Venice 1683, is one of only few original Hebrew medical treatises written in the premodern era. Therein, Zahalon added to the personal memoir genre of the plague.[4]

In the context of his discussion of pestilential fevers and plague, Zahalon records his recollections, both medical and non-medical, of the Bubonic Plague in Rome of 1656.[5] This passage is well-known and has been partially translated by Friedenwald.[6] It is in this passage that we read of Zahalon preaching from the balconies of the Rome Ghetto due to the closure of synagogues during the plague, an account recalled frequently over this past year.[7]

Zahalon was clearly present and practicing medicine in Rome during the epidemic, as he mentions a first-hand encounter with a patient, Shabtai Kohen, who died with fever and groin swelling, typical of bubonic plague. Zahalon diagnosed an intestinal hernia, despite the insistence of the non-Jewish physician that the patient had succumbed to plague. A diagnosis of plague would have necessitated quarantine of Kohen’s entire household. A postmortem exam confirmed Zahalon’s diagnosis. Yet, Zahalon’s exact role during the plague has remained elusive.

Regarding the administration of medical care in the Ghetto during the plague, Zahalon identifies a number of medical roles. An isolation house, called a Lazaretto, was set up in the Ghetto to accommodate those afflicted with plague.[8] The medical care in the Lazaretto was provided by Samuel Gabai, and his father, Ciroccio (Mordechai), who succumbed to the plague.[9]

Zahalon discusses the division of the ghetto into three sections, each with its appointed physician.[10]

The three physicians who equally divided the medical care of the city were Hananiah Modigliano, Gavriel Lariccia, and Yitzhak Zahalon. Who were these three physicians?

On Lariccia, I have found no additional information, and it is possible that this mention by Zahalon may be the only historical record of his existence. As recorded by Zahalon, Lariccia died during the plague.

On Modigliano, we are fortunate to have archival material. Hananiah Modigliano was a graduate of the University of Siena in 1628 and was one of a mere eleven Jewish graduates from this university from the years 1543 to 1695.[11] His medical diploma is extant and housed in the Jewish Theological Seminary Library.[12]

The invocation reads “In Dei Nomine Amen” (in the Name of God, Amen). While I have not seen any other diplomas of this period from the University of Siena,[13] there are a number of extant medical diplomas from this period issued by the University of Padua. The typical Padua diploma invocation reads “In Christi Nomine, Amen” (in the Name of Christ, Amen). The only diplomas that deviated from this norm were those of non-Christian students, in particular diplomas of Jewish graduates. Virtually every Jewish graduate’s diploma begins with the invocation, “In Dei Aeterni Nomine.” It is possible that the University of Siena made the same accommodations for its Jewish graduates as did Padua, few as they may have been.[14] Modigliano was also identified as a Jew in his diploma, with the word “Hebreo” appearing after his name:

This was also commonly found in the diplomas of the Jewish graduates of Padua, where the word “Hebreus” or “Iudeus” would typically, though not always, follow the name of the Jewish graduates.

We next hear of Modigliano on August 14, 1650, when upon the departure of Rafael Corcos,[15] the Roman Jewish community appointed three new worthy teachers, one of whom was the doctor Hananiah b. Rafael Modigliano.[16] As reported by Zahalon, Hananiah tragically died while serving as a physician for the Jewish community in Rome during the Bubonic Plague of 1656.

Modigliano’s son Raphael was also a physician, as well as a rabbi.[17] Extant medical diplomas of Jewish students are exceedingly rare, yet in this case, we are fortunate not only to possess a copy of Hananiah’s diploma, but we also possess the diploma of his son Raphael as well.[18] This is the only known case of extant father and son diplomas. A copy of his medical diploma from the University of Ferrara in 1662 is below:[19]

The invocation, similar to his father’s diploma, reads, “In Dei Nomine, Amen,” and he is likewise identified as “Hebreus.”

Of note, the document explicitly restricts his medical practice to Jewish patients.

We also have record of Raphael delivering weekly Shabbat sermons in the synagogue in Siena. Moses ben Samuel ben Bassa of Blanes records in his manual for preachers, Tena’ei ha-Darshan,[20] that both he and Raphael Modigliano would deliver weekly sermons, after which they would each provide constructive criticism of the other’s sermon.

What of our third and final physician, Yitzhak Zahalon? Regarding the third of the Jewish plague physicians for Rome in 1656, the author does not reveal additional details about him, despite their sharing the same last name. A few sentences later, however, Yaakov Zahalon enumerates the fatalities of the plague at around eight hundred deaths and mentions his cousin, the young skilled surgeon, Yitzhak Zahalon, amongst the casualties.

This has led at least one scholar to identify the physician in charge of one third of the city as the same Yitzhak Zahalon, the surgeon and cousin of Yaakov, the author. Sosland writes, “Three Jewish doctors are mentioned by Zahalon as having charge over the patients. One of them was a first cousin of our author, a certain Isaac Zahalon, a “skilled surgeon” who died toward the end of the epidemic.”[21]

With the physicians in charge of the medical care of the Lazaretto, as well as the different sections of the Ghetto, accounted for by name, we are left to wonder about the role, if any, the author, Yaakov Zahalon, played during the plague. As Sosland notes, “as to the exact role Jacob filled, we have no direct knowledge.”[22]

Zahalon’s medical work was published in Venice in 1683, and unlike the work of his rough contemporary, Tuviya Cohen, whose Ma’aseh Tuviya has been reprinted numerous times, has not yet merited even a second printing.[23] There is however one extant manuscript of Zahalon’s Otzar HaHayyim housed in the Vatican,[24] dated from no later than 1675, and it is in this manuscript that we find the solution to the riddle of Zahalon’s role in the administration of medical care to the Jews in the Rome Ghetto during the plague.

The manuscript appears to reflect that Otzar HaHayyim was initially part of a larger multi-section work entitled Ohalei Yaakov Otzar HaHokhmot. Zahalon’s medical work is labelled as section two, Hokhmat HaRefuah, the only section in the Vatican manuscript.

Below is the section describing the division of the city into three sections, each with its respective physician.

There is one key difference in this passage between the printed edition and the manuscript version. The physician in charge of the third section of the city is not Yitzhak Zahalon, whose identity is ambiguous, but rather, Yaakov ben Yitzhak Zahalon, none other than the author himself! A part of the name was accidentally omitted in the printed work. Zahalon refers to himself here in third person. This correction now facilitates a better understanding of the next sentence in the text, in which Zahalon continues to refer to himself, expressing gratitude to God for having rescued him from the ravages of the plague.

In this vein, I conclude with a comment on Zahalon’s conclusion to his plague passage. Despite the unspeakable tragedies experienced by the Jewish community, Zahalon ends his plague discussion by sharing a positive, though bittersweet, thought reflecting the continuity of the Jewish community:

As a good sign for the people of Israel, a pregnant woman named Zivia, the wife Yitzhak Mondolfo, contracted the plague, and though confined to the Lazaretto, was able to deliver a healthy child, whom she was able to nurse for a period before her demise. In the final line of this section in the printed work, we read that the child was still alive “until today,” and that his name was Efraim Levi. Though Zahalon’s book was published in 1683, this line appears in the manuscript, thus “until today” would be some twenty years after the plague.

While this indeed is some form of consolation, the manuscript adds an additional sentence which yields a far more powerful conclusion.

“And the circumcision was performed there (in the Lazaretto), and I say to you by your blood you shall live, and I say to you by your blood you shall live.” Zahalon concludes with the phrase from Yechezkel 16:6 which is traditionally recited as part of the circumcision ceremony. The allusion here to the plague is obvious.

Omitting this last sentence denies us not only the additional factual information about the performance of the circumcision in the Lazaretto, itself a remarkable event, but also Zahalon’s homiletic flourish which marked the community’s (re)birth after the tragedies of the plague. As I write these words, we are still in this midst of the Covid 19 pandemic, though the dissemination of the vaccines portends, God willing, for its cessation in the near future. These final intended words of Zahalon resonate deeply with us today, perhaps even more so than they would have when Otzar HaHayyim was published, some three decades after the plague.

JEWISH TREASURES FROM OXFORD LIBRARIES

By Paul Shaviv

Ed. Rebecca Abrams and Cesar Merchan-Hamann / Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, 2020 / ISBN 978 1 85124 502 4 / Available in the USA via Amazon $55

307pp, 140 full-colour plates

Oxford,[1] the ‘City of Dreaming Spires’, is one of the world’s greatest repositories of Hebraica and Judaica, both books and manuscripts.

This sumptuous volume was initiated at the encouragement and support of Martin J. Gross, a New Jersey philanthropist and Jewish community activist. It is a bargain at the price. The book is absolutely handsome – the quality of the printing is outstanding, and it is printed on 135gsm paper.

The core of ‘Jewish Treasures from Oxford Libraries’ describes seven collectors and their eponymous collections, which together constitute the Hebraica holding of the Bodleian library; plus a description of smaller, but important, holdings of some individual College libraries; and the Genizah fragments held in Oxford. There are additional essays describing the history of the Bodleian itself, and the role of successive Librarians in encouraging the acquisition of Hebrew (and other ‘Oriental’) manuscripts; of the great cataloguers (Neubauer and Cowley); and of other benefactors, including the amazing figure of John Selden.[2]

Each chapter is written by different scholars. Archbishop Laud (1573–1645), by Giles Mandelbrote; Edward Pococke (1604-1691) by Benjamin Williams; Robert Huntington (1637-1701) by Simon Mills and Cesar Merchan-Hamann; Benjamin Kennicott (1718-1783) by Theodor Dunkelgrun; Matteo Luigi Canonici (1727-1805) by Dorit Raines; Rabbi David Oppenheim (1664-1736) by Joshua Teplitzky; and Heimann Joseph Michael (1792-1846) by Saverio Campanini. Each describes the biography of the collector, the characteristics and most important items of their collection, and how and why they amassed them.

The first thing that readers will note is that only the last two are Jewish. Even in the case of David Oppenheim, his unique collection of approximately 4,500 printed books and just under 1,000 bound volumes of manuscripts languished in storage in Europe until Revd. Alexander Nicoll, the Regius Professor of Hebrew, engineered its purchase by the Library. Otherwise they are a parade of Anglican Divines and Christian Hebraists (except Canonici, who was a Jesuit), witness to the intense interest (and expertise) in Hebrew and Jewish Studies by non-Jewish scholars in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The stories of the collections are fascinating. Ambassadors, merchants and missionaries all have a part in purchasing (and pursuing) manuscripts. A special place seems to be occupied by the ‘Chaplains’ attached to the Embassies – one can surmise that they both had some expertise in Hebrew, even if rudimentary, and also perhaps time to devote to the ‘hunt’. We visit the great cities of the ‘Orient’ – Constantinople, Damascus, Aleppo, Cairo, and of Europe – Italy, Spain and Germany.

The objectives and interests of each collector were different. Some – Oppenheim is the obvious example – were happy to scoop up whatever was on the market. Kennicott was interested in Biblical material, resulting in his two-volume study of variations in extant biblical texts. Along the way, each of them acquired examples of the most magnificent decorated and illuminated works, covering the entire span of Judaica – texts, contracts, ketubot, from every place. The calligraphy itself is to be savoured and enjoyed. As mentioned, the 140 full-colour (and often full-page) plates do all of this justice.

Although overshadowed by Cambridge, Oxford too has significant Genizah holdings – described by Nadia Vidro. These were acquired in the nineteenth century and pre-dated Solomon Schechter’s bulk removal of the Genizah contents to Cambridge. They are apparently strong in Talmudic texts, and also include an autograph copy of Rambam’s Mishneh Torah – complete with alterations and editing notes. Adolph Neubauer sifted through the material; kept the largest fragments, often complete or semi-complete pages – and rejected the remainder, which were sold on to Elkan Adler. Neubauer could not foresee the techniques available later, and utilized in Cambridge, to read, identify and reap the benefits of the tiniest pieces.

It is very difficult to summarize such a wide-ranging work in a short review. I am left with several thoughts:

• In the case of the Bodleian, their holdings were purchased, not plundered, although the circumstances by which the objects came into the possession of previous owners is not necessarily known. The scholarship, and enthusiasms, of the Christian Hebraists, familiar to scholars, is of course little appreciated in today’s wider Jewish community. Were it not for them, many, many of these works would be lost. Were it not for the conscientious curation and preservation of these books and manuscripts by non-Jewish, mainly academic, libraries, they would almost certainly be lost, and even if they existed, would probably be far less accessible.

• The sheer aesthetic beauty of many of the manuscripts speaks of a different culture. Even if, as is surmised, many were illustrated by non-Jewish professional artists[3] – they were commissioned by Jewish patrons. Even the almost-certainly Jewish artists (of Ketubot and the like) seem to show a joyfulness absent from our contemporary production of texts; which I take as a reflection of a certain dour outlook and philosophy. The same comment could be made about the narrowness of contemporary religious publishing compared to the width of thought, concern and scholarship of our forebears.

• On a different perspective, as an (ex-pat) Anglo-Jew, and a former graduate student of Jewish Studies at Oxford (way back in the 1970’s!), I have to again sigh at the neglect of its own treasures by the Anglo-Jewish community[4]. Even the initiator of this project hails from New Jersey! Perhaps a ray of optimism may come from the fairly recent appointment of Prof. Judith Olszowy Schlanger as head of the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies (formerly housed at Yarnton Manor)? Until now, most of the OCHJS Presidents have been specialists in one or another aspect of the ancient world, or of other, wider areas of Jewish study. This is not to disparage any of these eminent scholars in any way whatsoever! But Professor Olszowy Schlanger has already published on Anglo-Norman and pre-Expulsion manuscripts; perhaps we will see fresh scholarship on English and European rabbinic study from her Presidency, from still-to-be-researched corners of the Bodleian!

A great read, a great book to possess, and – happy are they who may receive this book as a perfect gift!