Approbations and Restrictions:

Printing the Talmud in Eighteenth Century Amsterdam and Two Frankfurts

by Marvin J. Heller

Approbations designed to protect the investment of printers and their sponsors when publishing a large work such as the Talmud were well intentioned. Unfortunately, the results were counter-productive, resulting in acrimonious disputes between publishers within and between cities. This article discusses the first approbations, issued for the Frankfurt on the Oder Talmud (1697-99), and the resulting dispute with printers in Amsterdam in 1714-17. The background of the presses and the pressmarks utilized by the printers are discussed, giving a fuller picture of the printing of the Talmud in the subject period, as well as addressing antecedent (Benveniste) and subsequent editions.

Approbations for books have multiple purposes, among them commendations, indicating approval or praise for the subject work, confirming that a book’s contents do not contain forbidden or prohibited matter, and to protect a publisher’s investment from competitive editions for a fixed period of time. This article is concerned with the last purpose, here rabbinic approbations (hascoma, pl. hascomot) limiting or preventing rival editions of the Talmud published in the last decade of the seventeenth century into the first half of the eighteenth century.

The restrictive approbations discussed here are unlike those issued previously, such as the first approbations for a Hebrew book, R. Jacob Barukh ben Judah Landau’s (15th cent.) concise halakhic compendium, Sefer Ha-Agur (Naples, 1487), one of seven approbations, that of R. Judah ben Jehiel Rofe (Messer Leone, 15th cent.) stating he has examined ha-Agur, and, “it is a work that gives forth pleasant words. . . . I have, therefore, set my signature unto these nectars of the honeycomb, these words of beauty,” or those in Italy or in Basle, which assured the authorities that nothing untoward or offensive to Christianity was included in the book, or to current approbations, which assure the reader that a work’s contents are in conformity with the community’s religious standards. In contrast, the approbation issued for the Frankfurt on the Oder Berman Talmud, and to subsequent editions, was a license for a fixed number of years, prohibiting other publishers from printing competitive editions that would prevent the printer and his sponsor(s), who would otherwise be reluctant to make the substantial investment required to print such a large multi-volume work as the Talmud, from realizing a return on their investment.

The discord arising from restrictive approbations for printing the Talmud were not the first such disputes. In Amsterdam, disputes between printers arose over editions of the Bible. Johannes Georgius Nisselius and Joseph Athias competed in the mid-seventeenth century over a Sacra Biblia (Hebrew Bible) for the use of students and several years later Athias and Uri Phoebus were involved in controversy over their translations of the Bible into Yiddish, competing for the Jewish market in Poland. Arguing over the right to publish for and sell to that market, they sought to reinforce their positions by seeking approbations from the Polish, as well as the Amsterdam rabbinate.[1] Nevertheless, their competition pales in contrast to the recurring altercations over the right to print the Talmud, which spanned several centuries and much of the European continent.

Raphael Natan Nuta Rabbinovicz writes that the intent in granting this and subsequent approbations was for the good of the community, to insure investors a reasonable return on their investment. The result, however, was that the Talmud was printed only eight times in the century from 1697 to 1797, and the price of a set of the Talmud was dear. Prior to that the Talmud had been printed several times in Italy and Poland within a relatively short period of time, the primary impediment then being the opposition of the Church and local authorities. Rabbinovicz concludes that after 1797 the use of restrictive approbations declined, with the consequence that within four decades, to 1835, the Talmud was printed nine times.[2]

During last decade of the seventeenth century into the first half of the eighteenth century several rival editions of the Talmud appeared, beginning with the Frankfurt on the Oder Talmud (1697-99) followed by two incomplete editions in Amsterdam (1714-17 and 1714), the Frankfurt on the Main Talmud (1720–22), again in Amsterdam (1752–1765), and finally the Sulzbach Red (1755-63) and Black (1766-70). We are concerned with and focus on the early editions, that is, on the dispute between the Frankfurt on the Oder and Amsterdam printers, their dispute resulting from restrictive approbations issued to presses printing the Talmud. This article discusses the background of the Hebrew presses that published these Talmud editions in the seventeenth and eighteenth century; its primary focus, being the disputes resulting from the restrictive approbations.

I Amsterdam – Benveniste Talmud

Amsterdam has a distinguished place in Jewish history. Among the notable features of that city’s Jewish community are its printing-houses, among the foremost in Europe for centuries. Highly regarded, Amsterdam imprints were distributed and sold throughout all of Europe. The preeminence of Amsterdam as a European book center is evident, for it is estimated that the output of the Dutch presses in the seventeenth century exceeded the combined production of all the presses of all other European countries. The number of book-printers totaled 273 at its peak in 1675-99, employing at its height in excess of 30,000 people supported through some facet of the book trade.[3] The important works published by its presses include editions of the Talmud, beginning with the Benveniste Talmud of 1644-47, through the much praised Proops’ Talmud of 1752-65. In addition to complete editions of the Talmud individual treatises, frequently in a smaller format, were also published for students and individuals who did not require or who could not afford a complete Talmud.[4]

The printing of Hebrew books in Amsterdam by Jews begins in 1627, when two printers published books, Manasseh (Menasseh) Ben Israel (1604-57) and Daniel de Fonesca. The former’s press was the first to publish with a Sephardic rite prayer-book, completed on January 1, 1627. Manasseh Ben Israel would achieve acclaim that, together with its founder’s many other achievements, is still recalled today. Manasseh did not publish Talmudic tractates but his press did issue three critical editions of Mishnayot (1632, 1643, and 1646). He also intended to publish an edition of the Talmud but that did not come to pass.

The next printer of Hebrew books of import in Amsterdam was Immanuel (Imanoel) Benveniste. Benveniste is believed to have been among the Jewish refugees from Spain or Portugal, and that he was descended from the illustrious Sephardic family of that name.[5] Beneveniste relocated to Amsterdam because, by the mid-seventeenth century that city offered better opportunities for the distribution of Hebrew books than any city in Italy.[6] Beneveniste was the publisher of the first Amsterdam Talmud, printed from 1644-47. The Benveniste Talmud is in a smaller (c. 260:195 cm.) quarto format than the usual large folio editions.[7]

Fig. 1

Although not subject to restrictive approbations it is included here due to its relevance to the history of the printing the Talmud in Amsterdam and because the title-pages of Benveniste’s publications are distinguished by his escutcheon, an upright lion facing inward towards a tower; a star is above the lion and the tower. The lion is on the viewer’s right, the tower on the left. At least six forms of Benveniste’s device have been identified. In all cases, excepting his Talmudic treatises, Benveniste’s insignia is set in a crest above an architectural frame surrounding the text of the title page. On the title-pages of the Benveniste tractates his mark appears at the bottom of the page in an ornamental shield, with a helmet in the crest (fig. 1). Given the high regard of most Benveniste imprints this device was subsequently used by several printers in Amsterdam, including two of the following subject editions, as well as by other presses in various locations.[8]

This Talmud has been has been praised for restoring expurgated material. Unlike Benveniste’s other publications, however, the Beneveniste Talmud is not highly regarded. Raphael Natan Nuta Rabbinovicz quotes from an approbation given by R. Moses Judah ha-Cohen, Av Bet Din, of the Ashkenazi community in Amsterdam, for the Berman Talmud (Frankfurt on the Oder, 1697-99) which states that Benveniste, due to his concern over expenses, printed a Talmud edition which was, due to its small size, difficult to learn from. Furthermore, Benveniste used letters that were “the smallest of the small and blurred so that the users eyes become heavy and his sight wanders as if from old age.”[9] This notwithstanding, no less a personage than the Vilna Gaon (R. Elijah ben Soloman Zalman, Gr”a, 1720-70) made use of the Benveniste Talmud, Rabbinovicz writing that “he had heard from a great Talmudic scholar who related that he had seen a Talmud from which the Gr”a had learned by R. Judah Bachrach (1775-1846) av bet din Seiny with his (Gr”a’s) handwritten annotations, brief and varied from his printed annotations, and that it was a Benveniste Talmud.”[10]

II – Frankfurt on the Oder – Michael Gottschalk

Printing with Hebrew letters in Frankfurt on the Oder begins when the Christian printers Joachim and Friedreich Hartmann (1594-1631), who, using new Hebrew fonts and vowels cast by Zechariah Crato (?) of Wittenberg, published a Hebrew Bible in 1595-96. While there are references to an even earlier Bible, half a century earlier, that is uncertain. More than a century later, Johann Christoph Beckmann (1641-1711), professor of Greek language history, and theology at the University of Frankfurt on the Oder, operated a printing-press in Frankfurt on the Oder from 1673 to 1717, which he acquired from his brother Friedreich on June 1, 1673 for 400 Thaler; Friedreich, in turn, had purchased the press for a like amount. Beckmann obtained a travel scholarship from the Brandenburg Elector and, during his travels in Europe came to Amsterdam. In 1663, in that city, Beckmann met Jewish students, the renowned R. Jacob Abendana (1630-85), and studied Talmud. In 1666, Beckmann returned to Frankfurt, where he obtained a position at the university (Viadrina), teaching there until his death in 1717 and serving as rector eight times. Because of the admission of Jewish students, the Viadrina became the “Amsterdam of the East,” both Hebrew and oriental studies being of importance.[11]

Beckmann was granted, initially, on May 1, 1675, a license to employ two Jewish workers, under the direct protection of the university, to print a Hebrew Bible, this despite of the protests of Frankfurt city. By 1693, however, Beckmann found that his responsibilities at the university left him with insufficient time to manage the press. Therefore, he contracted with Michael Gottschalk, a local bookbinder and book-dealer to manage the printing-house, transferring all of the typographical equipment and material to Gottschalk. Their arrangement was noted on the title-pages of the books issued by the press, which stated “with the letters of Lord Johann Christoph Beckmann, Doctor and Professor . . . at the press of Michael Gottschalk.” Gottschalk became the moving spirit of the press for almost four decades.

After printing several varied Hebrew titles Gottschalk approached Beckmann, requesting that he obtain permission to reprint the Talmud. Beckmann petitioned Friedreich III, Elector of Brandenburg (1657-1713, reigned 1688-1713, from 1701 King of Prussia), requesting a license to print the Talmud. Friedreich, in turn, sought the counsel of the Berlin professor Dr. Daniel Ernest Jablonski (1660-1741), from 1691, court preacher at Königsberg for the elector of Brandenburg, Friederick III. Jablonski, a Christian German theologian of Czech origin, an orientalist, had been associated with universities in Holland and England, settling in Lissa in 1686, and from there moving to Berlin. In 1700, Jablonski became a member of the Academy of Sciences in Berlin. Jablonski established a Hebrew press in Berlin, publishing a scholarly edition of the Hebrew Bible based on the Leusden edition (Amsterdam, 1667, Atthias) and a translation of Richard Bentley’s A Confutation of Atheism into Latin (Berlin, 1696). Jablonski, was to become personally involved with Hebrew printing in Berlin, and would be participate in the publishing of two later editions of the Talmud.

When a sponsor was sought for the Frankfurt on the Oder Talmud, Beckmann found one in the Court Jew Issachar (Ber Segal) ha-Levi Bermann (1661-1730) of Halberstadt, known as Bermann Halberstadt or, in his commercial dealings with the non-Jewish world, as Behrend Lehmann. It was Bermann who bore the cost of this Talmud, and whose name is associated with it. Selma Stern observes that Bermann was a pious and observant Jew throughout his life. He was held in high regard by his fellow Jews; and was described as “a second Joseph of Egypt” and “the chosen of the Lord, who warns him about the machinations of his enemies and miraculously rescues him when he is in dire straits.” Bermann was known among his people as “the founder of the Klaus in Halberstadt, the publisher of the Talmud, the man who defeated the first Prussian king at chess and who even in the glittering world of the Court never forgot Eternal Truth, corresponded to the ideal which Jews have had of their great men leaders.”[12]

Beckmann and Bermann entered into an agreement to publish the Talmud, Beckmann transferring his rights to Bermann, and the latter accepting responsibility for publishing the entire edition, making an initial payment of three hundred reichsthalers at the time of the agreement.[13] The printer was to be the Christian, Michael Gottschalk. Approximately half of the sets of this Talmud, known as the Berman Talmud, were distributed by Bermann to yeshivot and penurious scholars who could not otherwise have acquired a complete Talmud. Not only did he spend fifty thousand reichthalers of his own money to publish the Talmud, from which he apparently saw no financial gain, distributing copies to Talmudic students, but afterwards granted permission to the Amsterdam and Frankfurt on the Main printers to publish a complete Talmud, this in spite of the fact that he had approbations preventing republication of competitive editions.[14]

Fig. 2

Each volume of this Talmud has two title-pages. The first, a volume header page, has an engraved copper plate title-page (fig. 2) by the craftsman Martin Bernigeroth (1670-1733), Dt. Kupferstecher u. Zeichner (engraver and illustrator).[15] This initial title-page consists of an upright lamb with a pitcher on top of a portico. Below it, on the sides of the page, are Moses to the right and Aaron to the left. Beneath them, similarly situated, are King David with a harp, and King Solomon. Above each figure is that individuals’ name. Avraham Habermann and Avraham Yaari both write that the sheep and laver represent Bermann, who was a Levi. Yaari adds that the sheep further represents Bermann’s “mazel” or constellation, for Bermann was born on the 24th of Nissan (April 23), 1661, the astrological symbol for that month being a sheep.[16]

The second textual tractate title-page follows immediately after the volume title-page. The tractate title-pages are basically copied, with several modifications, from the Benveniste Talmud; but also includes some features characteristic of the Basel Talmud, which is supposed to be the source of this edition. The text concludes in Latin, informing that it is “in accordance with expurgations of the Council of Trent. . . .” and that it was printed in conformity with the Basle edition (1578 – 1581). Between the Hebrew and Latin text is Michael Gottschalk’s printer’s mark (fig. 3), which appears on the title-pages of this Talmud. It is a mirror-image monogram (cipher) of his name, the first usage of such a monogram in a Hebrew book.[17]

Fig. 3

Printed with this Talmud are approbations for the edition. When Johann Christoph Beckmann secured permission in 1695 from the Kaiser, Leopold, and from Friedreich Augustus, Elector of Saxony and King of Poland, to print the Talmud, he was given not only authorization to print the Talmud, but was also granted the sole and exclusive right to do so for twelve years. Leading rabbinic figures, according to Rabbinovicz, issued restrictive approbations, the first instance in which such rabbinic licenses were granted. The rabbis who signed the approbations were R. Naftali ben Isaac ha-Kohen Katz, av bet din (head of the rabbinical court) of Pozna, R. Joseph Samuel of Cracow, av bet din of Frankfurt on the Main, R. David ben Abraham Oppenheim, av bet din of Nikolsburg, and R. Moses Judah ha Kohen and R. Jacob Sasportas of Amsterdam concurred in granting this monopoly, issuing approbations (hascomas) for twenty years.

These approbations were unlike those issued previously in Italy, which assured the authorities that nothing untoward or offensive to them was included in the book, or current approbations, which assure the reader that a work’s contents are in conformity with the community’s religious standards. The approbation issued for this Talmud, and to subsequent editions, was a license for a fixed number of years, prohibiting other publishers from printing competitive editions that would prevent the printer and his sponsor(s), who would otherwise be reluctant to make the substantial investment required to print the Talmud, from realizing a return on their investment.

Oppenheim refers to the burning of the Talmud and other Hebrew books in the Chnielnicki massacres tah ve-tat (1648–49), fires that resulted in the loss of many Hebrew books, resulting in a dire need for Talmudic tractates. Indeed, he writes that the entire Jewish educational system was endangered due to insufficient copies of the Talmud. He praises Lehmann, noting his benevolence in distributing half of the copies to needy students free of charge.[18] Towards the end of his long and flowery approbation Oppenheim forbids the printing of the Talmud by anyone without the permission of Issachar Bermann SG”L, from the day that printing commences until twenty years have elapsed from its completion. This prohibition is “whether for all or for part, even for one tractate only, whether for oneself or for others, and is not to be done by means of guile or ruse.” To enforce his decree R. Oppenheim states that “this decree falls equally upon the purchaser as well as the seller, for that which a rabbinic court declares ownerless is ownerless. Any [such tractate] found in a person’s possession without license, is to be taken forcibly, without payment or deed . . .”[20]

Similarly, R. Joseph Samuel of Cracow begins by praising Berman, noting that all realize that these many days many thought to print the Talmud due to its being unavailable, not to be found, except one to a city and two to a family. He notes, however, that although many wanted to print the Talmud it was to no avail, for it is a large project of much work and difficult to complete, until the Lord aroused the spirit of R. Berman of Halberstadt for the public benefit and the honor of the Torah, to print an entire Talmud on good paper, with fine ink, and diligent workers, well edited. Lest there be many who “bear gall and wormwood” (Deuteronomy 29:17) who also wish to print the Talmud and therefore cause great harm R. Berman’s interests, and “lock the door before him” (cf. Bekhorot 10b) who performs a great mitzvah to benefit the public, for “such is such theTorah, and such is its reward” (Berakhot 21b, Menahot 21b)? He therefore, concurs with the other leading rabbis to decree,

Excommunication and a ban on each and every person who should take it upon himself to print the Talmud in its entirety or in whole or in part without the agreement and knowledge of the noble R. Berman, except for a section needed to learn in yehivot, which is not included in the ban. It is permitted to print only that section and not a complete tractate in order to “magnify the Torah, and make it glorious” (Isaiah 42:21). A blessing should come upon he who hearkens to our words, may blessings of good come upon him and may he receive good from God Who is good. But “he who breaches through a fence, shall be bitten by a serpent” (Avodah Zara 27b) . . . and all the curses written in the Torah shall come upon him. . . .

Even before the privilege for this Talmud had expired the need for a new edition became apparent, numerous appeals being made to Issachar Bermann to republish the Talmud. Gottschalk, who had the rights granted to Beckmann, was also favorable to reprinting the Talmud. The Talmud had sold well and Gottschalk, as a result, had become a wealthy man.[20] Frederick William I of Prussia acceded to their request on May 23, and a new privilege, dated October 13, 1710, was granted to Gottschalk by Joseph I, successor to Leopold, in 1705, to print the Talmud and sell it throughout his domain, albeit with the customary restrictions and with the provision, as with all Hebrew books, that five copies be brought to the Imperial court. Similarly, on January 11, 1711, Frederick Augustus I (Augustus II), Elector of Saxony and King of Poland, also granted such a privilege. Nevertheless, these privileges were not immediately acted upon by Gottschalk and it would be several years before he printed the second of his three editions of the Talmud.[21]

III – Marches and de Palasios and Solomon Proops

Individual tractates were frequently published in Amsterdam, to address the continuing communal need for treatises for study purposes. The printers of these tractates include Moses Mendes Coutinho, Asher Anshel and Issachar Ber, Issac de Cordova, Joseph Dayyan and Moses Frankfurter, the latter two dayyanim (judges) of the Ashkenaz religious court. During the interval between the Benveniste and the Frankfurt on the Oder editions of the Talmud no complete Talmud had been printed. It must have appeared unseemly, however, that in Amsterdam, the center of Hebrew printing, with the greatest number of, and the largest, Hebrew printing-presses, that no Talmud edition had been issued for over six decades.

An attempt to correct this, even if that was not the printers’ primary intent, occurred during the interval between the first and second Frankfurt on the Oder editions of the Talmud. two independent editions of the Talmud were begun in Amsterdam in 1714. The first was published by the partners Samuel ben Solomon Marcheses and Raphael ben Joshua de Palasios, the second by Solomon Proops. Both publishers began to print in 1714; both editions are in attractive large folio format; the title-pages of both Talmuds have, as a printer’s device, copies of the Benveniste escutcheon (figs. 4, 5). Most importantly, neither Talmud edition was completed.

Except for a Sephardic rite prayer-book, printed by Samuel Marcheses at the press of Joseph Athias, neither partner, prominent members of the Amsterdam Sephardic community, had previously published any works. Their motivation in establishing a press was for the specific purpose of printing the Talmud. Furthermore, they intended to do so in such a manner as to produce an especially fine and accurate edition. The workers would not be hurried, so that they could work with care, reducing errors, supervised by R. Moses Frankfurter, who would help establish the correct text.[22] Marcheses and de Palasios did so under the influence of R. Judah Aryeh Loeb ben Joseph Samuel Schotten ha-Kohen (1644-1719), av bet din of Frankfurt on the Main, and his father-in-law R. Samuel Settin of Frankfurt n Main. Judah Aryeh Loeb had previously attempted to have a Talmud printed in Frankfurt in 1710 but, due to the prior approbations granted to the Frankfurt on the Oder Talmud his efforts were to no avail, and he was unable to get authorization from the emperor to print the Talmud. In 1713, Judah Aryeh Loeb explored the possibility of obtaining permission to print in Frankfurt from the Kaiser in Vienna, but did not even receive a response to his inquiries. Judah Aryeh Loeb next turned to Amsterdam where, with the assistance of his father-in-law and the agreement of R. Issachar (Ber Segal) ha-Levi Bermann who had the prior approbation he commenced to print the Talmud.[23] Subsequently Samuel Settin arranged for Samuel Marches and Joshua de Palasios to undertake this venture, arranging for R. Zvi Hirsh of Sharbishin, at the time a resident of Amsterdam, to visit various Jewish communities, seeking subscribers to defray the cost of publication.[24]

Printing began with tractate Berakhot in 1714; the following tractates are recorded by Rabbinovicz as having been printed: 1715 – Shabbat and Seder Zera’im: 1716 – Eruvin, Pesahim, Hagigah, Mo’ed Katan, Yoma, Shekalim, Megillah, and Ketubbot: 1717 – Bezah, Rosh Ha-Shanah, Sukkah, Ta’anit, and Yevamot.[25] Printing was discontinued in 1717 due to the approbations issued to the Frankfurt on the Oder printer for the Berman Talmud.

The approbations for this edition appear in tractate Shabbat. They are from R. Solomon ben Jacob Ayllon, R. Gabriel ben Judah Loeb of Cracow, R. Samuel ben Joseph Schotten ha-Kohen, R. Baruch ben Moses Meir Rappaport, R. Ezekiel ben Abraham of the house of Katzenellenbogen, R. Menahem Mendel Ashkenazi, R. Isaac Aaron ben Joseph Israel of Metz, and R. Phineas ben Simeon Wolff Auerbach of Cracow. The approbation of R. Menahem Mendel Ashkenazi, at the time Landesrabbiner in Bamberg and Baiersdorf, subjected anyone who violated the copyright to excommunication, placing a

ban, and anathema, and death on anyone who would reprint the Talmud during twenty years from the completion of this edition without the knowledge or permission of the above [Judah Aryeh Loeb] in any manner, whether in its entirety or in part, even a single tractate, excepting a section needed for learning in the yeshivot according to the requirements of the times, whether by himself or by his agent or his agent’s agent, directly or indirectly, whether a member of his household or not a member of his household . . . and he who heeds our words shall be blessed . . .

Marcheses and de Palasios acknowledge the existence of the prior restrictive approbation for the Berman Talmud on the title-pages of their tractates, which note that most of its benefits can be attributed to the Talmud of R. Issachar Bermann of Halberstadt, and also state

[And even though] most of the qualities to be found in this Talmud were acceded to me by the noble, the eminent, the distinguished R. Issachar Bermann Segal of Halberstadt even though the time restricting publication established by the geonim of the land for the above noble (Berman) for printing his Talmud has not yet elapsed. An palanquin to the above eminent noble for this. Now “My eyes and my heart are always toward the Lord” (cf. Psalms 25:15) . . .

Fig. 5. 1714, Berakhot, Solomon Proops

In the same year, 1714, that Berakhot was published a second Talmud was begun in Amsterdam. The publisher of that edition was Solomon ben Joseph Proops, then a book dealer, Maecenas to numerous Amsterdam publishers, and the founder of the famous Proops press. He had been a book-dealer and financed and partnered in a number of works published at other presses before establishing his own press in 1704. The printing-house founded by Solomon Proops would become one of the most illustrious in the history of Amsterdam Hebrew printing. It issued, almost simultaneously with the Marches and de Palasios edition, a copy of Berakhot with Seder Zera’im, possibly followed by Bezah.

Proops was unable to continue with his proposed Talmud edition, publishing one (two) volume(s) only. Judah Aryeh Loeb, relying on the approbations given his Talmud prior to the Proops edition, objected to the publication of a rival Talmud, and brought the matter before a rabbinic court. The court’s enjoined Proops from printing additional tractates, and trespassing on Judah Aryeh Loeb’s rights as a printer. To avoid further difficulties of this sort, Marques and de Palasios secured approbations from leading rabbinic authorities for their Talmud, prohibiting other printers from publishing a Talmud.

Rabbinovicz observes that Proop’s defense, that he was unaware that Samuel Marches and Joshua de Palasios were already engaged in the publication of the Talmud, was untenable. Proops had to know that R. Judah Aryeh Loeb was publishing tractates in Amsterdam. Proops might argue that he had begun Berakhot prior to the other press, was unaware of their approbations, and having begun, should be allowed to complete his work.

This was not the last law suit concerning the Talmud that Judah Aryeh Loeb had to contest. Although we can sympathize with Judah Aryeh Leib’s difficulties with Solomon Proops, there is a certain poetic justice to his situation, for just as he protested the Proops Talmud in Amsterdam, so too did he face objections from the Frankfurt on the Oder printer. As noted above, Michael Gottschalk, the Berlin and Frankfurt on the Oder printer, who had printed his first Talmud (1697-99) and would subsequently print two additional two editions of the Talmud (1715-22, 1734-39), brought a suit to force Judah Aryeh Loeb and the partners to cease printing their Talmud. In addition to his prior approbations Gottschalk claimed that he had obtained the sole authorization to print his second Talmud, again for twenty years, from Kaiser Joseph I of Germany in 1710, King Frederick Augusta of Poland and Saxony in 1711, Kaiser Karl VI and King Frederick Wilheim in 1715. Gottschalk filed his complaint in mid-1717.

Rabbinovicz writes that he does not know why Gottschalk waited so long to exercise his rights to stop the printing of this edition. Gottschalk had obtained royal permission, as well as rabbinic approbations, as early as 1715. Instead, he permitted Judah Aryeh Loeb to print a number of tractates over a period of several years before he acted. According to Friedberg, in that year, Samuel Schotten took tractates from the Amsterdam Talmud to the book fair in Lippsia (Leipzig).

There were several book fairs of importance in Germany, among the most important being those of Frankfurt on the Main from as early as 1240 and the Leipzig (Lippsia) fair, which predates it, from 1170. Both locations were centers of the printing industry, Frankfurt midway between north and south, Lippsia in the north. Although Frankfurt initially overshadow Leipzig, it later “was forced to yield to the Saxon city. . . . which became . . . the centre of German book publishing.” Leipzig’s importance can be further credited, “not in its number of presses but in its number of shops, its number of book dealers, and publishing houses.” Furthermore, although many German cities had book fairs, “Leipzig was one of the most important fairs eastern and south Eastern Europe and soon utilized the advantage of her connections for the development of the book trade.”[26] It is not surprising then, that Moses Schotten, the son of Samuel Schotten, attended the book fair.[27]

Returning to Friedberg’s account of events, Moses Schotten attended the Leipzig book fair, bringing samples of the tractates printed in Amsterdam. Gottschalk “waited for him and then ambushed him in secret.” Immediately after Schotten arrived in Leipzig Gottschalk contacted the fair officials, that the tractates brought by Schotten should be confiscated. The fair officials did not act, however, instead awaiting instructions from the prince of the district capital, Dresden, who delayed until the conclusion of the fair. In the interim, Schotten was able to sell the tractates that he had brought without hindrance.

Gottschalk returned home, bitter, and submitted a complaint on January 3, 1716 to the king. In it Gottschalk related what had occurred at the fair and petitioned the king for recourse against those who had trampled “with their feet” on his legal rights. The king responded to affirmatively to Gottschalk on February 12, 1716, prohibiting the sale of the Talmud at the fair by anyone except Gottschalk. Several additional tractates were printed in Amsterdam and Schotten returned, in October 3, 1717, to the fair. Gottschalk, when he became aware of this, informed the officials of their obligations and this occasion all the books (tractates) that Schotten brought with him were seized. Moses Schotten justified his actions, stating that he had come only as an agent of his father, Samuel Schotten, from Frankfurt on the Main. If the fair officials had complaints they should bring them to that city. Although Gottschalk was successful in preventing the sale at the fair and the further publication of tractates from this Talmud in Amsterdam ceased in 1717, his victory was short lived. Soon after Judah Aryeh Loeb was able to resume printing in Frankfurt on the Main, publishing a fine and complete Talmud.[28]

III

Frankfurt on the Main Talmud

Printing was relatively late in coming to Frankfurt on the Main, partly due to its proximity to Mainz, an early center of printing. The first Frankfurt printer was Beatus Murner, who printed nine books in 1511-12. Among those nine titles are the first books printed in Frankfurt with Hebrew letters, a 1512 editions of a Birkat ha-Mazon ‘Benedicite Judeorum’ (Hebrew in woodcut) and Hukat ha-Pesach ‘Ritus et celebrate phase judeorum’ by Beatus Murner’s better known brother, Thomas Murner, a Maronite brother and enemy of Martin Luther.

The printing of a significant number of Hebrew books begins in the last decades of the seventeenth century, in about 1675. Four hundred ninety titles, albeit some questionable, are ascribed to Frankfurt in the hundred-year period from 1640 to 1739.[29] Johann Koelner (1708–28), who published a complete Talmud (1720-22) is credited with more than one hundred titles, although that number includes each of the tractates in his edition of the Talmud.[30] This Talmud was initially the completion of the Talmud begun in Amsterdam in 1714 by R. Judah Aryeh Loeb together with Samuel Marches and Joshua de Palasios interrupted by the suit, based on approbations for his edition, brought by Michael Gottschalk

Judah Aryeh Loeb now attempted, successfully, to complete the Talmud he had begun in Amsterdam in Frankfurt on the Main. Given that Gottschalk, based on the approbations he had received for his second Talmud, was able to prevent publication of Judah Aryeh Loeb’s Talmud in Amsterdam, only three years earlier, how was Judah Aryeh Loeb able to publish a complete Talmud only three years later in Frankfurt? Friedberg writes, tersely, that “the eminent, the prominent R. Samson Wertheimer from Vilna, court Jew of Karl VI, influenced him to give Aryeh Loeb ben Joseph Samuel av bet din Frankfurt on the Main authorization to print a new edition of the Talmud. The sovereign acceded to his request and authorized publication of the Talmud in Frankfurt from 1720.”[31] Rabbinovicz remarks that the interruption in the work on the Amsterdam edition and the ensuing great expense, as well as the bribes in the courts until Aryeh Leib succeeded, left him in reduced financial condition, until Samson Wertheimer, became involved, making it possible to continue and publish this fine edition.[32]

Fig. 6

Approbations were also published with this Talmud, primarily reprints from the Amsterdam edition and with one new approbation, from R. Jacob ben Benjamin Katz (Poppers, Shav Ya’akov) (1719). Another example of the continuity of the two editions is that the volumes issued in both cities are alike, the title pages showing minor textual variations only, such as the new place of publication, and on some but not all of the Frankfurt tractates, the inclusion of accompanying Latin text, confirming that it was printed in accordance with the text of the censor Marco Marino (Basle Talmud, 1578-81) and variations of the printer’s mark. Whereas the treatises printed in Amsterdam have a new woodcut of the Benveniste printer’s mark, the Frankfurt volumes, although retaining the outer crest with helmet, replace the lion and tower with the double headed eagle of the Hapsburgs (fig. 6).

Printing began in Frankfurt on the Main in 1720 with tractate Kiddushin, it having been anticipated that they would be allowed to bring the tractates printed previously in Amsterdam to Frankfurt. However, this was not permitted, so that they began to print the remainder of the Talmud, beginning with Berakhot completing the Talmud until Kiddushin that year, except for Seder Zera’im and tractate Ta’anit which were printed in 1722. Another possibility, suggested by Rabbinovicz, is that they were allowed to publicly sell the tractates printed in Amsterdam in Germany, but the market for the tractates printed in Frankfurt exceeded expectations, so that, to complete sets of the Talmud it was necessary to reprint those tractates printed earlier in Amsterdam.[33]

IV Aftermath

The next controversy over rival editions of the Talmud occurred with the second printing of the Talmud by the Proops’ press in 1752 – 1765. This edition, published by Solomon Proop’s sons, Joseph, Jacob, and Abraham, is a large, very fine folio edition. Publication was interrupted for several reasons, but primarily due to the publication of rival editions of the Talmud in Sulzbach by Meshullam Zalman Frankel and afterwards by his sons, Aaron and Naphtali, that is, the Sulzbach Red (1755-63) and the Sulzbach Black (1766-70). The first Sulzbach Talmud is known as Sulzbach red because the first title-page in the volume was printed with red ink, in contrast to Sulzbach black, in which the first title-page in the volume is printed entirely in black ink. Both the red and the black are smaller folio and not highly regarded.

Resolution of the dispute between the two publishing houses was settled by a rabbinic court that determined, among its findings, that despite Proops’ prior approbations the Sulzbach printer did not have to desist from publishing, for the Sulzbach Talmud was less expensive and therefore available to individuals who could not afford the larger and finer Amsterdam Talmud, the latter marketed to a more affluent market.

One other dispute of significance, that embroiled leading rabbis in Europe, was over the rival editions of the Talmud printed by the Shapira press in Slavuta and the Romm press in Vilna of their respective editions of the Talmud in 1835. Both the Amsterdam-Sulzbach and Slavuta-Vilna disputes are beyond the scope of this article. However, they, as well as the controversy surrounding the Frankfurt on the Oder and Amsterdam editions of the Talmud, the subject of this article, confirm Raphael Natan Nuta Rabbinovicz’s observation as to the negative and disruptive results of restrictive approbations.

Even though the intent in granting approbations was for the good of the community, to insure investors a reasonable return on their investment, the result, as noted above, was detrimental. The Talmud was printed only eight times in the century from 1697 to 1797, and the price of a set of the Talmud was dear. Prior to that the Talmud had been printed several times in Italy and Poland within a relatively short period of time, the primary impediment then being the opposition of the Church and local authorities. After 1797 the use of restrictive approbations declined, with the consequence that within four decades the Talmud was printed nine times, this notwithstanding the Slavuta-Vilna rivalry. Given these controversies and their negative outcomes, perhaps a better course for all would have been to apply Hillel’s admonition in Avot.

Be of the disciples of Aaron, loving peace and pursuing peace.

(Avot 1:12)

[1] See here

[2] Hebrew Printing in America, p. 501.

[3] See here.

[4] In his e-mail to me Kamenetsky mistakenly wrote R. Meir Berlin. I have corrected it.

[5] The introduction to this book and also his Beit Ridbaz (Jerusalem, 1908), are fascinating, because he describes in detail many of the communal problems he saw. One wonders if he was writing his book today, which problems he would identify. I don’t think English sermons would still be an issue for him, although I think it is fair to say that advertising a “Pretty Woman” sheitl would definitely outrage hiim. After all, the sheitl is supposed to represent modesty, and Julia Roberts’ profession in that particular movie was not exactly tzniusdik. See here (Unfortunately, some of the comments to this post are inappropriate.)

[6] I heard this from an eyewitness. The event took place in the 1950s.

[7] See Fraud, Corruption, and Holiness (Port Washington, 1974), p. 91.

[8] Quiz question: Which contemporary gadol be-Yisrael was born in Scranton?

[9] See Gastwirt, Fraud, p. 145, that Eskolsky was expelled from Agudat ha-Rabbanim for giving a hekhsher on a plant that produced both kosher and non-kosher meat. This was in violation of the Agudat ha-Rabbanim takkanah. Those rabbis who opposed Agudat ha-Rabbanim’s policy formed the competing Kenesset ha-Rabbonim, which was led by R. Gavriel Zev Margulies.

[10] Experience has shown that a rabbi who is financially corrupt can easily win back his reputation (and in some circles financial corruption doesn’t affect his reputation to begin with). Yet if a rabbi is accused of not being reliable in matters of kashrut, even if the accusation is false, it is almost impossible for him to turn this around. Unfortunately, when it comes to kashrut supervision, American Orthodoxy has distorted our tradition. People are constantly told that if they see a hashgachah on a product or restaurant, that they cannot rely on it without investigating who the rav ha-machshir is. This is completely mistaken. According to halakhah every rav is regarded as trustworthy unless you have been reliably informed otherwise. Without receiving negative information, one should always assume that a rav is reliable. This is no different than if you arrive in a new city and go to shul on Shabbat and you are invited to someone’s house for lunch. One should assume, unless he has reason to think otherwise, that the person inviting him keeps kosher, as religious Jews have a hezkat kashrut. Certainly, if the rabbi invites you to his house you must assume this. The notion that is currently rampant, that we don’t trust a rav until we investigate him, is the exact opposite of what the tradition has always held. Rather, we are supposed to trust the rav unless we are given reason to think otherwise. Every rav, even a rav ha-machshir, has a hezkat kashrut and is assumed to be doing his job reliably.

To show how far this idiocy has gone, let me share something that happened a couple of years ago when I was visiting a city that shall remain nameless. Someone was eating with us and mentioned that he was going to be travelling to Elizabeth, New Jersey. He asked me if I knew about kosher food in the area. I told him that Elizabeth has a very nice Jewish community, with plenty of kosher food. He then asked who gave the hashgachah, and I replied that it is Rabbi Teitz. The man wasn’t happy with my answer, which troubled me since I had never heard of anyone question R. Teitz. In fact, in speaking to him it was apparent that he had never even heard of R. Teitz. Yet he announced for everyone that his family would have to avoid visiting any of the kosher eateries when he was in Elizabeth. I was really shocked and I asked him, “Why? What is wrong with R. Teitz?” I further asked him where he thinks the people he will be visiting in Elizabeth get their food. Yet he would only reply: “We only eat at places under the supervision of a Vaad.” I told him that I didn’t think that there was a Vaad in Elizabeth, and why in any case does he need a Vaad? A Vaad might be a good idea from a practical standpoint, in order to create one communal standard, yet there is nothing in the Shulhan Arukh about a Vaad, and R. Teitz is as reliable as anyone. Yet all I got from him was the same nonsense about how without a Vaad a hashgachah cannot be trusted. (I never asked him what he would do in a one-rabbi town.)

[11] Afarkasta de-Anya, vol. 1, no. 165:3. While Sperber later became a mainstream haredi posek, in his youth he was also exposed to Haskalah. See Joseph Ibn Kaspi, Asarah Kelei Kesef ed. Last (Pressburg, 1903), vol. 2, pp. 190ff. (Hebrewbooks.org for some reason splits up Asarah Kelei Kesef into separate volumes. If you search hebrewbooks.org under נקדות כסף you will find the Sperber letters.) Sperber, p. 193, asks Last, when he publishes his letters, to describe him as a hasid. His reason is incredible:

נא לתארינו [צ”ל לתאריני] בשם “חסיד” והיה אם לא ייטבו דברי בעיניהם ידינני לכ”ז, ויאמרו כי חסיד הוא וחכמה מה לו, ואם אולי ימצאו דברי נכונים, אז ירומם שם חסיד תחת לשונם ויאמרו הגם חסיד יודע ומבין דבר.

[12] See Gastwirt, Fraud, p. 93. Cf. Jenna Weissman Joselit, New York’s Jewish Jews (Bloomington, 1990), p. 62, regarding R. Moses Z. Margolies and his kashrut battles: “Determined to teach the Ramaz a lesson, a band of disgruntled butchers alledgedly banded together to poison the meat at his daughter’s wedding supper, sickening some 2000 guests, including the bride.” During his great dispute with R. Shalom Elhanan Jaffe, R. Gavriel Zev Margulies was physically attacked by shohatim who supported Jaffe. See Gastwirt, Fraud, p. 121.

[13] Since I mention Jacobs, I must also note the following. In a recent AJS Review (vol. 32, 2008), pp. 450-452, I reviewed Miri Freud-Kandel’s history of Orthodox Judaism in Britain. I mentioned the “Jacob’s Affair” and there is a note explaining what this was.

This was added by the editor. I never would have referred to Jacobs as “Louis.” I have, incidentally, many letters from Jacobs that I hope to publish. Although we only met three times, we corresponded for almost twenty years. Only now do I realize how lucky I was, that this world-renowned scholar took the time from his busy life to correspond with a young student, especially a student who had no compunctions telling Jacobs when he disagreed with him. Occasionally, I would send Jacob’s material that I thought would interest him. One time I sent him R. Joseph Messas’ Mayim Hayim, and was surprised to later see that he cited this work in Beyond Reasonable Doubt (London, 1999), pp. 216-217. He showed great insight in describing Messas as follows: “As is evident from his responsa, Mashash, for a rabbi of the old school, was something of a modernist. But his historical sense was sufficiently acute not to allow him to read modern ideas into the sayings of the ancient rabbis.” I also sent him Haym Soloveitchik’s famous article, “Religious Law and Change,” AJS Review 12 (1987), pp. 203-221, which surprisingly he had never seen. When A Tree of Life was reprinted in 2000, he added a new introduction and cited this article as further support for the thesis of his book.

Regarding editors adding material to an author’s work without asking, see the recent comment by Haym Soloveitchik in “Mishneh Torah: Polemic and Art,” in Jay M. Harris, ed., Maimonides After 800 Years (Cambridge, 2007), p. 333 n. 25. (This is a truly wonderful article.) In referring to an entry he wrote for the Oxford Dictionary of the Jewish Religion, Soloveitchik notes: “The editors, wishing to improve upon my scant bibliography, added Shemuel Argaman, The Captivity of the Maharam: A Narrative of the Events Surrounding the Arrest and Captivity of the Maharam of Rothenburg (New York, 1990)—a children’s storybook published by the Lakewood Heder.”

[14] See here. This source does not give the book and page no. that is excerpted: It is Av be-Hokhmah (New York, 1927), pp. 85-86.

[15] R. Moshe Zvi Berger, “Av le-Hakhamim: Ha-Gaon R. Avraham Aharon Yudelevitz,” Yeshurun 2 (1997)), pp. 686-691.

[16] For an example from the most recent volume, see Yeshurun 21 (Nisan 5769) p. 417, where in discussing “Ha-Gaon R. Moses Aaron Poleyeff” we are told that he שימש אז כראש ישיבה באחד מהישיבות שבאמריקה. If this was someone who taught at RIETS for a short period of time, I might understand it, but Poleyeff spent his entire adult life teaching there. (He began teaching at RIETS in 1920.) He was also widely regarded as Yeshiva’s most beloved teacher. Poleyeff, more than anyone else, would be offended at this attempt to “kasher” him by hiding the fact that he taught at RIETS. (An outstanding talmid hakham recently commented to me that in his opinion Poleyeff was a greater lamdan than R. Moshe Feinstein!)

[17] I found the picture here.

[18] R. Michel Shurkin, Meged Giv’ot Olam ( Jerusalem, 2005), vol. 2, p. 23. He also quotes R. Leib Malin as saying that it is not good to be an illui.

[19] Eliezer Brodt called my attention to the fact that R. David Luria offered this reason as well. See Dov Eliach, Ha-Gaon (Jerusalem, 2002), vol. 3, p. 1286.

[20] See Dayan I. Grunfeld, The Dietary Laws (London, 1972), vol. 2, pp. 180-181

[21] R. Yitzhak Yosef, in his new work, Einei Yitzhak (Jerusalem, 2009), vol. 3, p. 439, also accepts this methodological rule.

[22] Keneset Hayyim (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 9-12. See also Isadore Twersky, Rabad of Posquieres (Cambridge, 1962), pp. 175-176.

[23] In the recently published Kol Brisk (Jerusalem, 2009), p. 20, it refers to R. Hayyim delivering words of Mussar on Shabat Shuvah. Gulevsky strongly denies this. The most that he would acknowledge is that perhaps in his first year or two he gave derashot, but never after that. (R. Chaim’s and the Brisker Rav’s way of “rabbinating” did not find favor in the eyes of all of Brisk’s citizens, ואכמ”ל.) In general, there are historical points in this book that are doubtful, leading me to question its reliability in such matters. Even if the historical information came from R. Aaron Soloveichik, it was not uncommon for R. Aaron to err in such matters, and again אכמ”ל. (Kol Brisk is authored by one of R. Aaron Soloveichik’s son. He doesn’t give his name on the title page so I will respect this.)

Let me give one example of the questionable material in this book. On p. 33 there is a whole story, seemingly legendary, to explain how R. David Feinsten, R. Moshe’s father, received the name Feinstein, since the family’s original name was not this. Yet in the introduction to vol. 8 of Iggerot Moshe, p. 6, the children of R. Moshe state that Feinstein was indeed the family name.

Perhaps in another post I will return to this book, as it has a number of what are certain to be controversial statements. For example, on p. 656 it blasts the OU for naming its Israel center after someone who, we are told, caused R. Aaron Soloveichik so much trouble:

בפעולה זו הם מבזים גדול בתורה שכל ימיו הרביץ תורה לאלפים.

[24] See Naftali Hertz Wessely, Yein ha-Levanon (Rishon le-Tzion, 2003), p. 28.

[25] Regarding R. Shneur, a recent article in Ha-Ma’ayan reveals that in the mid-1940’s he was involved in founding the first yeshiva in Palestine that taught secular studies. See R. Yoel Amital, “Sabi ha-Rav Zvi Yehudah Meltzer,” Ha-Ma’ayan 49 (Tamuz, 5769), p. 66.

[26] See R. Menasheh Klein, Mishneh Halakhot, vol. 8, no. 128, vol. 15, no. 127 (responsum to Gulevsky; this last source quotes R. Moshe Feinstein as stating that there was also an eruv in Karlin, despite the fact that R. Yaakov of Karlin was the leading opponent of city eruvin). In his responsum to Gulevsky, Klein says some of the strangest things imaginable, which raise questions as to how he can be taken seriously as a posek in matters of eruvin. According to his calculations, and this is directly related to his halakhic understanding, in Second Temple days there were billions (!) of Jews in the Land of Israel, and roughly thirty million of them would descend on Jerusalem for the holidays. He concludes (vol. 15 p. 201):

והבוליווארדיס והמעטראפאליטין של קווינס וגרענד סענטאראל אף לא הגיעו לקרסולי ירושלים עיה”ק וזה לפענ”ד פשוט

In another responsum to Gulevsky dealing with eruvin (Mishneh Halakhot, vol. 8, no. 168), he says something equally strange:

גם מרן הח”ס נחשב מתלמידי בעש”ט שהי’ תלמיד מובהק של מרן בעל הפלאה

[27] Schachter, Nefesh ha-Rav, p. 170.

[28] R. Sternbuch adds:

ומאמר היה בפיו בשם אביו הגר”ח זצ”ל, “קשה למצוא עירוב כשר וקשה למצוא מקוה פסול”, וכוונתו שבעירוב נכנסים לדחוקים ומכשירים, ובמקוה אף שמדינא יש להקל מחמירים.

[29] Ha-Pardes (January, 1979), p. 26.

 

 

Christian M. Rutishauser on Being Drawn to the Rav

Christian M. Rutishauser’s The Human Condition in the Thought of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik has just been published by Ktav (having earlier appeared in German). Quite apart from Rutishauser’s scholarship, the book is noteworthy in that Rutishauser is a prominent Jesuit priest (see here; for those who don’t know, the University of Scranton is also Jesuit). The Seforim Blog is happy to present the introduction to the book where Rutishauser explains what led him to the Rav.

A Catholic Glimpse of Rav Soloveitchik

I never met Rav Soloveitchik personally. The reason is not only that I was born in the second half of the twentieth century and live in Europe. Actually, apart from a few scholars, Soloveitchik was hardly known in the German speaking world of the 1980s and 1990s. As a student of Catholic theology with a deep interest in philosophy, I neither met him nor came across his work, even though I moved around the academic world of Germany and France with an open and interested mind. As a Jesuit and a chaplain at Bern University, I organized study tours to Israel almost every year, but even there I never heard of him. Neither my involvement in Jewish-Christian dialogue in Switzerland nor my deep interest in Judaism altered any of this, at least for some time.

Then a lucky coincidence changed everything. In July 1997, I was attending an Ulpan at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. During a break one day, I walked over to the Hecht Synagogue on the Mount Scopus campus. I decided look around, more to kill time than out of any particular interest. I wandered about the room, enjoying its coolness on this hot summer day, browsing aimlessly among the books displayed on the shelves along the wall. By chance I picked up a copy of Halakhic Man by the Rav—naturally in the English translation, as my Ivrit would not have allowed me to read the original. The name Soloveitchik did not ring a bell. Opening the book at random, I read a few chapters and became so fascinated by its outline of the Orthodox life ideal that I “kidnapped” the book from the synagogue. Naturally the books were not supposed to be removed, but as everyone knows, students find ways to get around rules of this kind. Actually, I returned the book four days later, after I finished reading it. I would have liked to know more about Soloveitchik, but I didn’t follow up on my interest at that time. Nevertheless, I was deeply impressed by the original way he presented, and above all differentiated, the homo religiosus; the modern scientist and the halakhic man stayed with me.

One and a half years later, when I began to look for a suitable subject for my doctoral dissertation, my discovery on that hot summer day in Jerusalem came to mind. I felt a desire to delve more deeply into Soloveitchik’s life and works. Moreover, I was not much inspired by the topic suggested by Prof. Clemens Thoma, my thesis adviser. An analysis of the Servant Songs from the Book of Isaiah really did not turn me on. Too much has already been written on this subject. Furthermore, I truly wanted to become more familiar with the theological and philosophical domain of Jewish thought, this being much more up to date. Meanwhile, I had been dealing with mattan Torah, the rabbinic concept of revelation, and had been intending to consecrate my energy to the interrelated theology of canons. However, I had to give up this topic too, because it went too far and had become too complex to be treated in a dissertation. Thus, the materials I had prepared for a discussion of revelation also had to be laid aside, and it was only several years later that I was able to use them in my first lecture at the Jesuit Philosophical School in Munich. In other words, the extended endeavor had not been in vain.

In the winter of 1999 I seriously began my research on Soloveitchik. My first discovery was his collected oral discourses in On Repentance. Once again, I was fascinated by his presentation of a traditional core concept of Judaism organized in modern philosophical categories with an eminently practical sense. My reading of this text was a spiritual and intellectual experience that filled me with the talmudic spirit. As a Christian who had long been interested in Judaism and had studied in depth the works of such German-Jewish philosophers as Moses Mendelssohn, Franz Rosenzweig, Martin Buber, and Walter Benjamin, I was somewhat disappointed, for I did not find Soloveitchik to be as philosophically innovative as I had hoped. Nevertheless, I was convinced that I had discovered the authentic bedrock of Orthodoxy and Halakhah, presented in a reliable and responsible form that corresponded to an important strand of modern thought. I was particularly thrilled by the way he conveyed talmudic-rabbinical tradition in a modern idiom as a line of thought and way of life for the world of today. This version of Judaism, living and reflective, was exactly what I, as a Jesuit, was anxious to know. We Jesuits are charged with the vital mission of transposing the Catholic faith and the wider Christian tradition, in an intellectually responsible way, into a form appropriate to modern and postmodern society. It was essential for me to understand how somebody whose background was so different from mine had dealt with the same challenge in respect to his own tradition; this became my very personal motivation for devoting my dissertation to the Rav.

Unfortunately, my adviser’s reaction to my desire to concentrate on Rav Soloveitchik was far from encouraging. “How can you possibly write about a person who opposes Jewish-Christian dialogue?” was his reaction, more or less. I had discussed my project with very few people, and the even fewer among them who had heard of Soloveitchik knew little more about him than his refusal to engage in dialogue, because the Rabbinical Council of America had publicized his essay “Confrontation.” The image of the Rav held by non-Jews did not bother me, because my interest in him had nothing to do with his views on Christianity or his attitude toward dialogue. Nevertheless, I was very pleased when, during the months of my stay in Jerusalem, I heard a shiur by David Hartman, a student of Soloveitchik, in which he refuted the too simplistic interpretation of “Confrontation.” Hartman showed that the Rav was not fundamentally opposed to dialogue, but insisted on certain conditions. Actually, for me the Rav represented exactly the type of qualified Orthodox figure who would be necessary for a serious interreligious dialogue. Later, subsequent to my own analysis of Soloveitchik’s writings, I could only agree with Hartman, especially after I realized that the Rav must have seriously studied Christian theology in connection with his encouraging selected educated people to take an interest in this field. However, Jewish-Christian dialogue was neither his main concern nor the reason for my interest in him. On the contrary, what I so eagerly wanted to know in greater depth was his exposition of the self-understanding and thought of Orthodox Judaism.

My dissertation presented the philosophy of the Rav to a German-speaking and predominantly non-Jewish public. The Jewish community, I realized, might also find some value in my research, because while both On Repentance and Halakhic Man were fairly well known, only a handful had studied Soloveitchik in depth. In my dissertation, it was essential for me to fully grasp Soloveitchik’s intellectual and philosophical context, which were hardly presented in the writings about him I found. This is most unfortunate, because he was actually a product of German and European culture and philosophy. His time in the Berlin of the Weimar Republic, where he studied from 1926 to 1932, had a profound impact upon him. In the German metropolis, he majored in philosophy, with a focus on the work of the recently deceased Jewish philosopher Hermann Cohen (d. 1918). The young and very talented Soloveitchik, already trained in talmudic studies, was receptive to the search for the scientifically based truth of the neo-Kantianism that prevailed in Berlin. In the pure thought of Hermann Cohen, he discovered a system of categories that helped him to protect the revelation of Torah against the challenge of historical relativism. Nineteenth century historico-critical research had reduced the Holy Scriptures to no more than literary products of their time. However, it was not only research on the very existence of the Bible and the Talmud that threatened to dissolve the revelation. For a person so intensely devout, the identification of religiousness with inward feelings and subjective perceptions was the greater temptation and challenge. Psychology of religion and philosophy of religion at that time, as represented by William James and Rudolf Otto among others, reduced the origin of religion to the personal experience of the inner self. The reduction of religion to a historical and psychological phenomenon, so mightily in effect even today, was the adversary Soloveitchik fought against. He considered the Halakhah to be the specific core of the revelation, understanding it as a process of pure thought that he described by means of the reconstruction method of Paul Natorp, who held that psychic processes can only be perceived with the help of the categories of reason, because pure experience does not exist. Although the philosophical movement known as idealism had broken away, Soloveitchik succeeded in separating the Halakhah from subjective religiosity and placed it as an opposition. As a result, he was able to engage in a productive dialectic. It is obvious from some of his writings that the dialectical theology of Karl Barth was a great help in his endeavors.

Thus, the Rav searched for an authentically Jewish way of acknowledging reality, tackling it face to face, and shaping its form. He did not turn only to halakhic concepts or religious topics. The way he understood Halakhah was more as an instrument of world encounter. This enabled him to integrate into his Orthodox way of life the most diverse aspects of society, environment, and the preconceptions of modernity. Through this method, he attached less of his Orthodox identity to external facts and contents, becoming more and more rigid during the course of history, with a tendency to incline toward a fundamentalist stance. Identity, with Halakhah in hand, can be newly reestablished under any conditions and everywhere, as our whole life is constantly being reshaped through it. Soloveitchik introduced a uniquely Jewish approach to reality in the modern world, which is of interest to me as a Christian even though I am not supposed to, and do not want to, follow the Halakhah. Catholicism too does not wish to turn religion into a subjective, individualized exercise of piety, but, as postulated by Soloveitchik, wants it to be seen as an objective “truth” that man has to adhere to and make the main guideline of his life. Although there are great differences as regards content, there are nevertheless many similarities on the structural level.

There is a second element that Soloveitchik took along to the New World; something that added depth and seriousness to his American-rabbinical pragmatism. This was his existentialist view of man, most certainly shaped by Sören Kierkegaard. He personally makes only a few tangible statements in this vein when discussing certain philosophers, theologians, and writers. He does not convey much about the sources of his ideas, in order not to cast a shadow on his crucial source, the Halakhah, and its regulatory status. The silence that from time to time shrouds his life in Berlin and his personal intellectual history in the “Old World” envelops him in an aura of mystery within which he led his existence as the lonely man of faith he really was. In any case, his encounter with Kierkegaard may have taken place early in his life. The works of the Danish philosopher had already been translated into Yiddish in Lithuania during the Haskalah of the nineteenth century. Moreover, since Soloveitchik wrote his most important works in the period from the 1940s to the 1970s, we must not underestimate the influence of the existentialist spirit of the postwar years. Experiencing the breakdown of tradition, not only in the premodern era but also in the middle-class European world to which most Jews belonged at the time, seems to have driven him into the isolation of a displaced person who had lost his home. Looking at his biography, it is evident that his migration from an East European Orthodox Jewish environment, to the sophisticated Berlin metropolis, and finally to the Jewish no-man’s land of Boston, mirrors the external symptoms of his uprooting and loneliness. The experience of loneliness, however, turned the Rav’s line of thought into an explosive, existentially fundamental experience, out of which human existence grows in a qualified sense. This throwing into loneliness signifies for him the conditio humana that can bring man into authentic life. He correlates it with Halakhah, because for Orthodox Jews the Halakhah is the instrument that shapes their existence. Halakhic existence takes place between these two poles of the ellipsis; it is the duty of the Orthodox Jew to accept both deliberately and to lead his life with their guidance.

In a similar area of tension, a spiritual life is drawn for every human being who, in the modern, open world of today, feels committed to the revelation of God. That is why for me as a Jesuit priest, as well as for my Catholic brothers and sisters, Rav Joseph Dov Soloveitchik is of interest and his work is a source of inspiration.