The Root of the Word מבול: A Flood of Possibilities

                      The Root of the Word מבול: A Flood of Possibilities
By Mitchell First[1]  (MFirstatty@aol.com)
                                                                                   
            A common assumption is that the word מבול means “flood.” This is how the word is translated in ArtScroll’s Stone Chumash, in the
Hertz Pentateuch, and in the Koren Tanakh. But in order to truly understand the meaning of a word, we must determine its three letter root.
           The word מבול has four letters, the first of which is a mem. Usually, a mem at the beginning of a noun is not a part of the root. It is what is added to turn a verb into a   noun. Thus, an initial thought might be that the root of מבול is בול.[2]
           But there is no evidence for a verb בול in Biblical Hebrew. Therefore, the vav is probably not a root letter here and one of the three original root letters probably dropped out. The dagesh in the bet of מבול also implies that a root letter dropped out. Our task is to determine what that letter was.
           One possibility is that the original root was בלל and that the dropped letter was a  lamed.[3] In this view, the original noun was perhaps מבלול. If the original root was בלל, the fundamental meaning of the word מבול would be “mixture/intermingling/confusion.”
          The fact that the story of migdal Bavel follows shortly after the story of the מבול gives some credence to this approach. The root בלל is a main theme of the migdal Bavel  story (see Genesis 11:7 and 11:9). But the dagesh in the bet of מבול implies that the dropped letter was the first letter of the root.[4]
           Therefore, a more likely possibility for the root of מבול is נבל.[5] The verb נבל has the meaning of “fall, decay, destroy.”[6] The root letter nun often drops as the first letter of the root. In this approach, the original noun was מנבול.
            The problem with claiming that the root נבל underlies the word מבול is that נבל is typically used in the context of a gradual destruction, such as in the context of leaves and flowers.[7] See, e.g., Is. 28:1: ve-tziz novel, Is. 34:4: ki-nevol aleh mi-gefen, and Is. 40:7: naval tzitz. It seems to mean “wither” and “decay,” rather than “destroy.” There is one instance in the Tanakh where the root נבל is applied to the world. See Is. 24:4: navlah ha-aretz…navlah tevel. But even here the implication may be one of gradual decay.[8]
             Radak agrees that the root of מבול is נבל, but takes a different approach.[9] In his approach, the fundamental meaning of the root נבל is “fall.”[10] But the word is not being used to describe the effects of the flood (earthly items falling and being destroyed). The word is being used to describe something that is itself falling from the heavens. In Radak’s view, anything that falls from the heavens (e.g., snow, hail and fire) can be called a מבול.[11]
             A third approach to the root of מבול is that it is יבל.[12] This seems to be the most likely approach. In this approach, the original noun was מיבול, but the yod dropped.[13]
            Throughout Tanakh, יבל is a root relating to movement and flow.[14] See, e.g., Ps. 60:11: mi yovileini ir matzor (who will lead me into the fortified city?), Is. 53:7: ka-se la-tevach yuval (as a lamb is led to the slaughter), and Is. 55:12: u-ve-shalom tuvalun (and you will be led out with peace).
             Another example of the root יבל relating to movement is in the context of the jubilee year. At Lev. 25:10, we are told: yovel he tiheyeh lachem ve-shavtem ish el achuzato… יובל means “ram” in several places in Tanakh.[15] Based on the statement in Lev. 25:9 that the shofar is blown to proclaim the jubilee year, Rashi believes that yovel must mean ram at Lev. 25:10, and that the reference is to the blowing of the horn of the ram. But the plain sense accords with the view of the Ramban that the meaning of yovel at Lev. 25:10 is “being brought back,” i.e., a time of being brought back to one’s land.[16]
           Also, the root יבל is connected to water in several verses. See Is. 30:25 and 44:4: מים יבלי (streams of water) and Jer. 17:8: יובל. See also Dan 8:2 (אובל).
                                         
           Hayyim Tawil’s An Akkadian Lexical Companion for Biblical Hebrew contributes to our understanding and supports our suggestion that the root of מבול in Biblical Hebrew is יבל. Tawil points out that there is a word in Akkadian bubbulu, which means something like a flood of water.[17] Most probably, this word is related to the Hebrew word mabbul, since Hebrew and Akkadian are related languages, and m and b often interchange. Since bubbulu is used in the context of water, this suggests that the root of מבול is יבל, and not נבל or בלל.                                                      
      
           The issue of the root of the word מבול is not just an etymological one. Philosophically, what we are asking is: was the מבול a force meant to cause intermingling/ confusion? a force meant to cause things to fall/decay/be destroyed?[18] or more neutrally, a force of flowing water? Most likely, the root is יבל and the last is correct.[19]
          Interestingly, Rashi conducts practically the same analysis of the word מבול that we did. In his explanation of the word at Gen. 6:17, he writes:
            she-bilah et ha-kol, she-bilbel et ha-kol, she-hovil et ha-kol min ha-gavoha la-namukh…
 
בלה means “destroy and wear down,” similar to נבל.  בלבל means “mix,” the equivalent of בלל. הוביל means “move” and is from the root יבל.[20] But Rashi seems to believe that the word מבול was purposely chosen to convey all three connotations.
                                                    Additional Notes
        1. Outside of the 12 times the word מבול appears (in various forms) in parshat Noach, the only other time the word appears in Tanakh is at Psalms 29:10: Hashem la-mabbul yashav. Many assume that the meaning here is something like “God sat enthroned at the Flood,”[21] but the prefix la- is difficult in this approach.
           An interesting interpretation is provided by Tawil. He cites a scholar who claims, based on a parallel in Akkadian, that למבול here means “before the Flood,” i.e., “from time immemorial.” The phrase Hashem la-mabbul yashav would then parallel the subsequent phrase va-yeshev Hashem melekh le-olam.[22]
          Many other interpretations of la-mabbul yashav have been suggested.[23] Most creative is the suggestion of Naphtali Herz Tur-Sinai that the reference is to God having dried up the waters of the mabbul and that ישב here is just a methathesized form of יבש![24]
        2. An analysis similar to the one we have conducted on the word מבול can also be conducted on בול, the pre-exilic name for the month of Marchesvan.[25] Is בול named for some activity in the month relating to mixing (בלל)? relating to withering (נבל)? or relating to moving/gathering produce (יבל)? All have been suggested.[26] Because בול may have typically been a rainy month, a derivation from the word מבול has also been suggested. See, e.g., Radak to I Kings 6:38.
              Interestingly, a statement at Midrash Tanchuma, Noach, sec. 11, explains the word מבול as based on the fact that the Flood spanned 40 (מ) days in the month of בול![27]
        3. I focused above on determining the root of  מבולin Biblical Hebrew. If we rephrase the question and ask what the root of the word was in proto-Semitic, the answer changes slightly. The answer would be vav-bet-lamed. The prevailing scholarly view is that most Hebrew roots with an initial yod derive from earlier Semitic roots with an initial vav.[28]

 

 

[1] I would like to thank Rabbi Avrohom Lieberman and Sam Borodach for reviewing the draft.
[2] Also, no Hebrew root begins with the two letters mem and bet. See Eduard Yechezkel Kutscher, A History of the Hebrew Language (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1984 ), p. 7: It is also instructive that [in a Semitic language] in the first two positions, not only are
 identical consonants excluded (the patterning AAB being non-existent except in Akkadian) but even  homorganic consonants (produced by the same organ) do not occur in this position.  Mem and bet are homorganic consonants. (Kutscher admits that there are some exceptions to the rule he stated.)
[3] See, e.g., R. Abraham Ibn Ezra to Gen. 6:17, who makes this suggestion. He also suggests נבל as the root.
[4] Of course, all the dagesh really shows is that whoever inserted this dagesh believed that a letter was dropped. But most likely, the vocalization was based on the pronounciation at the time, which presumably reflected a tradition that the word was pronounced mabbul,
and not mavul. This suggests that there was once a root letter preceding it.
[5] See, e.g., Ibn Ezra, Seforno, and S.D. Luzzatto, on Gen. 6:17. Those who take this approach can point to the fact that the word  מבוע (Ecc. 12:6), also with a dagesh in the bet, undoubtedly comes from the root נבע.
[6] Seforno writes that נבל means mapalah ve-hefsed and Luzzatto writes that נבל means nefilah ve-hashchatah. Seforno points to the use of the word משחיתם (=destroy them) at Gen. 6:13 as evidence that mabul probably has this meaning as well. Very likely, the roots נבל and נפל are related.
[7] R. Samson Raphael Hirsch argues that this is precisely the point. By using the term מבול, the Torah was implying that on some level the event was only of a mild character. I do not find this argument convincing. Although Noah and his family remained in the Ark for one year and ten days (see Gen. 6:11 and 7:14), the implication of verse 7:23 (va-yimach et kol ha-yekum…) is that every living thing was destroyed decisively in the first 40 days.
[8] See, e.g., the translation in the Soncino edition. The Hebrew root בלה also connotes gradual decay. See, e.g., Deut. 8:4 (clothes), 29:4 (shoes), and Gen. 18:12 (Sarah). It may be related to the root נבל. In Akkadian, the root nabulu may have more of a connotation of destruction than the Hebrew root נבל.  See, e.g., the concordance of S. Mandelkern, entry מבול, and Ernest Klein, A Comprehensive Etymological Dictionary of the Hebrew Language for Readers of English (New York: MacMillan, 1987), p. 311. This would give more of a basis to interpret מבול as deriving from נבל.
[9] In addition to his comm. to Gen. 6:17, see his Sefer ha-Shoreshim, entry נבל.
[10] In rabbinic Hebrew, a נובלת is an unripe fruit that falls off of the tree.
[11] Both San. 108b and Zev. 116a refer to a mabbul shel esh.  Radak also points to the phrase nivlei shamayim at Job 38:37, where the context indicates that the phrase refers to falling rain. But it seems more likely that  נבלי  there means “vessels,” i.e., the clouds that hold the rain.
    It has been suggested that מבול is related to the “vessel” meaning of נבל. In this view, the meaning of מבול is “a receptacle that holds water.” See, e.g., Hayim ben Yosef  Tawil, An Akkadian Lexical Companion for Biblical Hebrew  (Jersey City: Ktav, 2009) p. 196, who mentions such a suggestion. Probably, the origin of the “vessel” meaning of נבל is that vessels were often made from the skin of a fallen animal (=a נבלה.)
    נבל also has the meaning “disgusting,” probably because withering and falling things become disgusting. But it seems farfetched to connect מבול with this meaning of נבל.
[12] See, e.g., Moses David Cassuto, Peirush al Sefer Bereshit (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1953), vol. 2, p. 45, Daat Mikra (comm. to Gen. 6:17), Menachem Tzvi Kadari, Millon ha-Ivrit ha-Mikrait (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan Univ., 2006), p. 575, and Tawil, p. 196. The Daat Mikra commentary to Genesis 6:17 (p. 177, n. 52) points out that all three sons of Lemekh have a name derived from the root יבל: Yaval, Yuval, and
Tuval Kayin. See Gen. 4:20-22.
[13] Some other examples of words whose initial yods dropped are: מצע (Is. 28:10, from יצע) and מסד (I Kings 7:9, from יסד). See Daat Mikra to Gen. 6:17.  There is a dagesh in the middle letter of both of these words.
[14] The word also has the related meaning of “carry.” See, e.g., Psalms 76:12: yovilu shai (carry presents). In the Shema, the word יבולה is used to mean the produce of the land. Most likely, it has this meaning because produce must be carried in from the land. (See similarly, the word תבואה, which also means produce, and comes from the root בוא. See Klein, p. 689.) Alternatively, the word יבולה means produce because produce flows from the land.
[15] Yovel means ram at Ex. 19:13 and throughout the sixth chapter of the book of Joshua. (That yovel means ram at Ex. 19:13 is evident from Josh. 6:5. It is also suggested by Ex. 19:16.)
[16] Ramban defines yovel as הבאה. R. Hirsch also takes this approach to this verse. See also the commentaries of R. Saadiah Gaon, Ibn Ezra,
and Hizzekuni. R. Hirsch also makes the suggestion that when yovel is used in the context of a sound being made, we can translate yovel as “home-calling signal,” based on the verb יבל. Despite the brilliance of this suggestion, a comparison of Ex. 19:13 with Josh. 6:5 suggests that, in the sound contexts, yovel is merely short for keren ha-yovel (=the horn of the ram). Is there a connection between the “movement/bringing” meaning of yovel and the “ram” meaning?  R. Hirsch makes the following interesting suggestion:
[T]he  ram, is the leader of the flock, the one who “brings” them to their pasturage, perhaps quite specially, who goes in front, and the flock following him, “brings them home.” See similarly Klein, entry יובל (p. 256): “leader of the flock, bellwether.”
[17] Tawil, p. 196. The standard word in Akkadian for flood is abūbu.
[18] Or, according to Radak, a force of falling water.
[19] It is interesting to note that in the Septuagint the word מבול was translated as κατακλυσμός = down-cleansing. (The ArtScroll Tehillim commentary to Psalms 29:10, p. 354, refers to the mabul as a “cataclysmic” upheaval. Surely, this is just coincidence!) But the Greek-speaking Egyptian Jews had a very limited understanding of the structure of Hebrew words. Surely, they did not see the root יבל in the word.
[20] For further elaboration, see the Siftei Chakhamim and ArtScroll’s Sapirstein edition of Rashi. The three-pronged interpretation expressed in this Rashi seems to be his own.
[21] See, e.g., the ArtScroll Siddur. See also Rambam, Moreh Nevukhim, part I, chap. 11.
[22] See Tawil, p. 196.
[23] For example, the Daat Mikra commentary to Psalms 29:10 cites a suggestion that מבול here means “throne,” based on a resemblance to a word in Arabic. The suggestion is made by Jacob Nahum Epstein in “Mabbul,” Tarbitz 12 (1940), p. 82. But the Arabic word that Epstein bases his suggestion on is pronounced מנבר; Epstein must assume that there was a switch of resh and lamed. (The Daat Mikra comm. to Gen. 6:17 states that the relevant word is in Akkadian, but this is an error.)
    The Anchor Bible translates: “has sat enthroned from the flood” (=from the time of the flood) and argues that the reference is not to the מבול of the time of Noach, but to some other water-related Divine victory.
[24] See his Peshuto shel Mikra, vol. 4, part 1 (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1967), p. 56.
[25] See I Kings 6:38.
[26] See, e.g., J. Talmud Rosh ha-Shanah 1:2, Daat Mikra to I Kings 6:38, and Ludwig Koehler and Walter Baumgartner, The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament (Leiden-New York-Köln: Brill, 1994), vol. 1, entry בול. (The connection to בלל seems least likely.)
     Of course, because the word בול lacks a mem at the outset, there is less reason to suspect that an initial root letter such as nun or yod was dropped. But the בול of Job 40:20 surely comes from יבול.
[27] See Gen. 7:11-12.
[28] Support for this in our case is that there is a word in Arabic, wabala, to bring down rain. See Cassuto, vol. 2, p. 45. See also Tawil’s reference (p. 196) to the Akkadian word (w)abālu.
   Of course, it is possible that מבול is a non-Semitic word that happened to make its way into the Tanakh and we are completely misguided in our search for its origin and meaning in Biblical Hebrew and the other Semitic languages. But it is a noun that begins with mem and this is a typical Biblical Hebrew form. Moreover, the parallels in the other Semitic languages support our conclusion that the origin of the word   is a Semitic one and that its root is vav-bet-lamed/yod-bet-lamed.



Visiting Zoos in Halacha

Visiting Zoos in Halacha
By Eliezer Brodt
This article originally appeared in Ami Magazine (2012) Issue #88. This version has a few updates. I hope to return to this subject shortly. For a more expanded version of this article see my article in Yeshurun 26 (2012), pp. 853–874 (PDF available upon request).
Zoos are hotspots on Chol Hamoed. Standing together with the rest of Brooklyn or Yerushalayim, trying to give your children a glimpse of a penguin or seal or elephant, is always a pleasant way to spend a day. But what do the poskim have to say about visiting the zoo? [1]
 The Gemara in Berachos (58b) notes that if one sees a monkey or an elephant he should make the brachah M’shaneh habriyos.”This halachah is brought in the Tur and Shulchan Aruch. [2] There are a few questions to ask about this brachah. How often should the brachah be made? That is actually a machlokes Rishonim. The Ravi, known as the second Raavad, says that one makes this brachah of “M’shaneh habriyos” only once in 30 days on any specific animal, i.e., a particular elephant. However, if you see another animal, that is, a second elephant, you can make another M’shaneh Habriyos even within 30 days of the first brachah. [3] The Radvaz quotes this Ravi. [4] However, the Tur quotes a Raavad that one only makes such a brachah once in a lifetime, as the effect that seeing this animal has on a person is a onetime thing. The Tur himself argues and says that, as the Ravi said, after 30 days one can make a brachah on the same animal again. The Mechaber paskens like the Raavad, and the Rema paskens like the Tur. The Shulchan Aruch Harav says when we say that this brachah is made only once in a lifetime, that refers to each kind of animal. [5] This is the opinion in Rabbi Aaron Eichorn’s Mishnah Berurah [6] as well
as that of Rav Elyashiv,[7] among others. However, the Shulchan Shlomo [8] and Aruch Hashulchan argue and are of the opinion that one can make the brachah again on this same animal after 30 days. [9] This is also the opinion of the Chazon Ish. [10]
Is this brachah limited to the elephant and monkey, which are mentioned in the Gemara?
From many Rishonim, it would seem that there is something special about an elephant and a monkey, since that is all they list. [11] The Meiri writes that it’s because these animals are similar to humans. From the Preisha it appears that it is specifically a brachah on the monkey and elephant because they are very different from other animals. [12] Rabbi Aaron Eichorn also says this brachah is only on elephants and monkeys. [13] Rabbi Yaakov Emden writes that this brachah is specifically for the elephant and monkey, because the monkey has some features similar to man, and the elephant is very strong and smart as well as large.[14] Maharash Serlio writes that he heard from Reb Meshulam that the reason why we only make a brachah of “M’shaneh habriyos” on monkeys and elephants is that after the mabul G-d punished mankind and turned many into elephants and monkeys. He says that is the reason monkeys look similar to humans and elephants understand humans. [15] The Chazon Tov, a work devoted to explaining all the dreams listed at the end of Maseches Berachos, notes that based on this Reb Meshulam, we can understand the Gemara in Berachos which says that if someone sees a monkey or elephant in a dream it’s not a good sign. That is because they were originally humans who were turned into animals. [16]
However, Rabbi Yair Chaim Bacharach says that someone brought to his town a strange-looking cow with two heads and he allowed people to make “M’shaneh habriyos” on this creature. [17] It would appear from him that this brachah is not limited to these specific animals, but he is unclear which others one can make a brachah on.[18] Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach also says that one can make a “M’shaneh Habriyos” on any peculiar animal, not only on an elephant or monkey, but he doesn’t specify which.[19]
From what the Chida records in his travels (more on this shortly), it appears he held that this brachah is made only on an elephant, since he records that he saw many different animals at different times and yet he only made a “M’shaneh habriyos” on an elephant. He writes, for example, that he saw lions at least two different times but did not make a brachah on them. In the Leket Yosher, written by a student of the Rabbi Yisrael Isserlein, author of the Terumas Hadeshen, it is explained that Rav Isserlein once went on Shabbos to see two lions, because he had never seen a lion. [20] He did not make a brachah M’shaneh Habriyos,” and it would appear that he too held that one only makes such a brachah on elephants and monkeys.
Are there any problems with going to a zoo? Is it important to go to the zoo to make a brachah M’shaneh habriyos,” or even just to see animals?
Rabbi Moshe Greenwald, in Shut Arugos Habosem, writes very clearly that it is not permitted to go to the circus to view animals to make a brachah M’shaneh habriyos.” [21] Rabbi Eliezer Deutsch writes the same in his Shut Prei Hasadeh. [22] According to these Acharonim, one can ask whether it would be permitted to go to a zoo.
Rabbi Avraham Lipshitz says that one may go to a zoo to make a brachah of “M’shaneh Habriyos.” He writes that if it was not permissible, how would one ever make such a brachah? However, he says one is not obligated to go to the zoo in order to do it. [23] According to this, would it be permissible to go to the zoo to see animals that one does not make a brachah M’shaneh Habriyos” on?
One of the most fascinating figures of Jewish history in the past few hundred years was the Chida. He was born in 1724 in Jerusalem and died in 1807 in Livorno. One of the most prolific writers, he wrote on an extremely wide range of subjects, covering all areas of Jewish studies. He wrote on Chumash, Nach, Shas, halachah, derush, kabbalah, mussar, klalim, and bibliography. He authored over 60 works, but not all were printed in his lifetime and some still only exist unpublished in manuscript form. What is even more fascinating is that he did much of his writing while traveling. For a good part of his life, he traveled as a messenger, raising money for the community of Chevron. One work of the Chida that is less known is his travel diary, Maagel Tov. This work, which records his travels in Europe and elsewhere, was only published in full for the first time in 1934 by Aaron Freiman. Part of this work was printed in 1879, and another part was printed in 1910. In addition, some sections were published in journals, including a partial French translation. More recently it was translated into English. [24]
As you might expect, it is fascinating on many fronts. It provides numerous observations of many different Jewish communities of the time. In addition to being enlightening in the area of history, these documents are also very rich for those interested in the world of Jewish sefarim. To me it is clear that he never intended for this work to be printed, as it includes personal information about himself and the people he visited. In general, such works are very important because they give us a rare glimpse into the mind of the author, and this work certainly
does that. [25]
The Chida records a few times that he visited a zoo (or other place with animals) during his travels. [26] In one place (mentioned earlier) the Chida, after describing at length the exact details of an elephant, writes that he made the brachah M’shaneh habriyos.” [27] Various works on halachah quote this to point out that the Chida visited the zoo. But there are other important things to learn from his diaries. One is that it is completely permissible to go to a zoo, since he writes that he did so numerous times. [28] Two, I would say that from the fact that the Chida went to see animals numerous times during his travels, one must be obligated at least at some point in one’s lifetime to see animals to make a “M’shaneh habriyos”—not like Rabbi Avraham Lipshitz. Three, if one looks at the list of the animals that the Chida says he saw, there are many on which one does not make a brachah—and yet he went to see them. There must therefore be something significant about going to see animals besides the brachah. Rabbi Ovadia Yosef concludes, based on the Chida and Rabbi Isserlin, that it is certainly permissible to go to a zoo to see the animals. [29] Other gedolim who went to the zoo and made “M’shaneh habriyos” on these animals were the Divrei Chaim, [30] the Munkatcher Rebbe,[31] Rabbi Yaakov Shalom Sofer [32] and the Steipler.[33]
But the question remains: Why did the Chida go to see animals more than once? It was not to make a “M’shaneh habriyos,” since he records that he did so only on an elephant. Why did the Terumas Hadeshen go see a lion, on Shabbos, if he was not making a brachah?
Meir Benayhu merely says that the Chida was a curious person who wanted to investigate all sorts of phenomena. We find that he examined plants and other items during his travels. [34]
 Rabbi Kinreti writes that the Terumas Hadeshen specifically went on Shabbos because on Shabbos a talmid chacham can be mevatel Torah for oneg Shabbos. [35]
However, I will demonstrate that there is much more involved in going to the zoo. A first point: In 1841, Yosef Schoenhack began printing his work Toldot Haaretz, which deals with natural sciences. One volume is all about zoology, dealing with the different animals mentioned in Chazal. He received a haskamah [approbation] from Rabbi Yaakov Zvi Mecklenburg, author of Hakesav V’hakaballah. In this lengthy but beautiful haskamah, Rabbi Mecklenburg writes about the importance of such a work, explaining that listing all the animals helps one realize the greatness of G-d and the greatness of the creation of the World. He cites the statement in Chovos Halevavos, that when a person sees the
wisdom of the world and its workings, a person will want to emulate the Creator. Further, by studying all the animals that exist, many areas of Chazal can be properly understood, especially in Aggadah. I would suggest that if this is what Rabbi Mecklenburg says about reading about animals, how much more does it apply to actually seeing them. We know the famous rule Eino domeh shemiah leriah: Seeing is much better than just hearing.

 

 

I would like to elaborate a bit more on both aspects mentioned by Rabbi Mecklenburg about the benefits of learning about animals. Similar to the Chovos Halevavos quoted by Rabbi Mecklenburg, the Rambam writes that the way to attain love for G-d is to analyze His actions and creations to see the great wisdom in how they work.[36]
The Sefer Habris also mentions that this is the importance of studying animals. [37] Rabbi Hillel Posek actually permits one to go to a zoo for this reason. [38]
Another similar aspect of studying animals can be understood via a manuscript of Rabbeinu Yehudah Hachasid, printed for the first time a few years ago, which was based on the theme of zecher asah linifle’osov—He made a remembrance for His wonders. [39]  This work uses various mysteries of creation and aspects of animal nature to show that G-d intentionally created the world in an amazing way that is beyond human comprehension and logic to clearly show that it was He who created it. Thus, going to a zoo to observe and study animals can help a person reach a better appreciation of G-d and His creations, by seeing that there are things beyond our comprehension. [40]
As an aside, it could be that this theme of Rabbeinu Yehudah Hachassid, of zecher asah linifle’osov, could explain why the brachah of “M’shaneh Habriyos” is said specifically on the elephant. In Perek Shirah, the elephant says, “How great are Your actions, G-d! Your thoughts are deep.” Rabbi Shmuel Kimchi writes in his commentary to explain this passage that an elephant is an incredible creation, and only G-d knows why it is made in that way; His exact intentions are beyond us. [41] This idea is very similar to the idea of Rabbeinu Yehudah Hachasid in his work.
Another similar concept is alluded to in the famous quote attributed to Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch upon returning from a visit to the Swiss Alps. “Now I can answer properly when Hashem asks me in the world of truth, ‘Did you see my Alps?’”[42]
 Rav Hirsch also writes:
“I almost believe that all you homebodies will one day have to atone for having stayed indoors, and when you seek entrance to see the marvels of Heaven they will ask you, ‘Did you see the marvels of G-d on earth?’ Then, ashamed, you will mumble, ‘We missed that opportunity.’ “How different were our rabbis in this respect. How they breathed, felt, thought and lived in G-d’s marvelous nature. How they wanted to awaken our senses for all that is sublime and beautiful in Creation. How they wanted to teach us to fashion a wreath of adoration for G-d out of the morning’s rays and the evening blush, out of the daylight and the night shadows, out of the star’s glimmer and the flower’s scent, out of the roar of the sea and the rumble of the thunder, the flash of the lightning. How they wanted to demonstrate to us that every creature was a preacher of His power [emphasis added], a monitor of our duties; what a Divine revelation they made of the book of nature.”[43]
Another great person who made similar observations was Rabbi Menachem Friedman. In 1929 Rabbi Friedman who was the Chassdic Rebbe of Itzkan, printed his work Al Yoffee which was incredible work all about the Torah’s attitude to beauty. The work concludes with an autobiographical chapter all about his visits to Switzerland and Italy and how he from time to time looking and observing everything around him the he would think how amazing and wonderful Gods creations are. [44]
 The truth is that all this can possibly be tied to a Yerushalmi brought down by numerous Rishonim [45] and even brought down l’halachah
by the Magen Avraham. [46] Reb Moshe Hakohen, a nephew of the Rosh, in his work Sefer Hamaskil, writes that every year a person should make sure to buy each kind of fruit so he can make a brachah on each of them, since the Yerushalmi says that everyone will have to give an account of what he saw and did not eat. One is supposed to enjoy the creations of G-d, and if he does not, he will have to give an account of why not. [47]
I think this explains why the Chida made the effort numerous times to see animals. This could also be the reason why the Terumos Hadeshen went to see the lions. It could also explain why the Chida visited many gardens during his travels. [48]
Rabbi Mecklenburg, in the abovementioned haskamah, points out that observing animals helps us understand many things. The truth is that
this knowledge is also necessary in order to understand the many chapters in Chumash that list which animals are kosher and which are not. Rabbi Yosef Fried authored a work on hilchos shechitah and treifos that had illustrations of every part of the animal’s body. In his haskamah to this work, the Aderes wrote that such a volume is extremely beneficial for both student and teacher, in that it increases one’s understanding of the halachos. [49] The commentary of Rabbi Dovid Zvi Hoffman on Vayikra demonstrates how a proper understanding of animals helps us comprehend the Chumash. [50] It is also needed to help one understand Perek Shirah. Rabbi Hillel Posek writes a similar reason permitting one to visit a zoo, [51] as does Rabbi Nosson Gestetner. [52]
 Interestingly, Rabbi Gedaliah Nadel traveled outside Eretz Yisrael in order to visit a large collection of birds and animals, which he studied in great detail to understand which are kosher and which are not. [53]
One can perhaps go even further and say that Chazal derived a real understanding of animals from actually seeing them, as is obvious from the lists compiled by Rabbi Yehoshua Heller [54] and Rabbi Yekusiel Kemelhar [55] and others.[56] This, too, could perhaps explain the Chida’s visits, which were to enrich his understanding of the Torah.
There is another point that we can learn from the Chida: Rabbi Tzvi Hirsch Koidenover writes in his work Kav Hayashar that although one is supposed to make a “M’shaneh habriyos” when seeing certain animals, one should not stare at them but rather just look at them quickly and make the brachah. He writes that looking at “impure” (i.e., not kosher) animals can cause spiritual problems.[57] One could claim that both the Chida [58] and Rabbi Yisrael Isserlin did indeed see non-kosher animals—lions and elephants— but that they looked at them quickly just to make the brachah. But the Chida’s description of the elephant shows that he definitely did not just look at it for a second, make a brachah, and leave, but rather that he observed it for some time.
There is much to gain from going to the zoo.
Notes
 
1. For more on all this see my recent article in Yeshurun 26 (2012), pp. 853–874. See also: Rav Ovadiah Yosef, Chazon Ovadiah (Tu Beshevat), Jerusalem 2007, pp. 453–456; Rabbi Betzalel Stern, Ohalecha B’amitecha, Jerusalem 2005, pp. 173–174; Rabbi Shlomo Schneider, Shut Divrei Shlomo 4, Brooklyn 2009, Siman 532; Rabbi Yitzchak Eshkoli, Tzaar Balei Chaim, Ofakyim 2002, pp. 211-216; Rabbi Dovid Yosef, Halacha Berurah, 11, Jerusalem 2010, Siman 225; Rabbi Ari Zivotofsky, “Praising God at the Zoo”, Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society, LXII, Fall 2011, pp. 43–53; Ten Da’at: A Journal of Jewish Education, Vol. XVI, Rabbi Moshe Bleich, “The Halakhah Corner: Visiting the Zoo,” pp. 10–22 [thanks to Rabbi Ari Zivotofsky for this source]; Rabbi Eliyahu Ariel, Sefer Shaar ha-Ayin (Modiin Illit, 2008; Hebrew), pp. 118–125, 350–356; Rabbi Shmuel Shtitzburg, Sharei Halacha, Beit Shemesh 2003, p. 471. Another other important source on this topic worth mentioning is the beautifully written chapter ‘Jews, Zoos and Teddy Bears’, in Rabbi Natan Slifkin, Man And Beast, Brooklyn 2006, pp. 13-38.
2. Aruch Chaim, siman 225. In general, any reference in this article to which I do not give a citation can be found in this siman.
3. Shut Ravi, siman 33. He only says Kushi, not elephant, but it would appear the same applies, because one makes the same brachah on both ”M’shaneh habriyos.
4. Shut Radvaz, 1:296.
5. Seder Bircat Hanenin, 13:13.
6. Bircat Habayis, Munkacz 1893, Shaar 29:12.
7. Ibid., 29.
8. Shulchan Shlomo, ad loc.
9. Aruch Hashulchan, ad loc.
10.  Rabbi Eliyahu Ariel, Sefer Shaar ha-Ayin, p. 417.
11.  See my Yeshurun article (above note 1), pp. 861–864.
12.  Ibid.
13.  Bircat Habayis, Munkacz 1893, op. cit., Shaar 29:13.
14.  Meor U’ketziah, ad loc.
15. Meleches Shlomo, Kelayim
8:6.This issue is not simple, because Chazal in Sanhedrin say that
after the Dor Haflagah, not the Dor Hamabul, was when they became
monkeys. There is also no mention of anyone becoming elephants. See Rav Yaakov
Kaminetsky in his Emes Le-Yaakov on Shulchan Aruch, ad loc., p.
107. See also the important sources collected by Rabbi Dovid Weiss, Megadim
Chadashim
, Berchos, Jerusalem 2008, p. 502–504; idem, Megadim Chadashim,
Bereishis, Jerusalem 2010, pp. 212–214. See also the Shevet Mussar,
ch. 47; Rabbi Eliyahu Ariel, Sefer Shaar ha-Ayin (Modiin Illit, 2008;
Hebrew), pp. 410–411. For more on all this see my recent article in Yeshurun
26 (2012), p. 863. Worth mentioning related to all this is the story I heard
from Rabbi Nosson Kaminetsky about his father, Rav Yaakov Kaminetsky, who was
flying business class from Israel to the States and was seated near Yerucham
Meshel, chairman of the Histadrut at the time. The two were shmoozing.
Meshel saw that Rav Yaakov’s son and granddaughter kept coming in from the
economy section to check if they could be helpful to him. He marveled that
there was such kibbud av, and compared it to his own situation where his
children and granchildren hardly visited him. Rav Yaakov answered that since
he, Meshel, believes in Darwin, that man evolved from the monkey, there is no
reason for them to respect him. They are another generation farther from the
monkey; he should be respecting them. He, Rav Yaakov, believed that Adam was
G-d’s handiwork and our children are another generation removed from that
glory. They therefore respect someone closer to Creation.
16. Chazon Tov, Jerusalem 1998, pp. 173–175.
17. Mekor Chaim, ad loc.
18. Yalkut Avraham, ad loc., writes that his father made such a brachah on a twoheaded human being that he saw in Vienna.
19.  Halichos Shlomo, Tefilah, p. 290.
20.  Leket Yosher, Jerusalem 1964, p. 66.
21.  O. C. siman 39.
22.  Volume 3, siman 173.
23. Yalkut Avraham, New York
2002, pp. 64–67.
24.  Benjamin Cymerman, The Diaries of Rabbi Ha’im Yosef David Azulai,
Jerusalem 1997. 25 This work has been explored very carefully in a few recent
works, most notably in Meir Benayahu’s masterpiece on the Chida entitled Ha-Chida,
first printed in 1959. This work was also used in the articles of various
scholars in the important work Sefer Ha-Chida, which Meir Benayahu
edited that same year. In 2006 a collection of Letters and history about the
Chida was printed by Shlomo Vankin called Igrot V’haskomot Rabbenu HaChida.
This work contains lots of useful information about the Chida and makes use of
these travels in his work. More recent work on these travels was done in an
article by Matthias B. Lehmann, “Levantinos and Other Jews: Reading H. Y. D.
Azulai’s Travel Diary,” Jewish Social Studies [n.s.] 13:3
(Spring/Summer 2007): 1-34. In 2010, a very good M.A. was written about these
travels by Oded Cohen: Ma’agel Tov of R. Hayyim Yosef David Azulai
(HIDA)—Meeting Between Tradition and Modernity
, MA, Tel-Aviv University,
2010, Hebrew. More recently, my articles in Yeshurun 26 (2012), pp.
853-874; Yeshurun 26 (2012), pp. 907–939; Hapamon 4 (2012), pp.
81–86. See also Yaacob Dweck, ‘A Jew from the east meets books from the west’, Jewish
Culture in Early Modern Europe
, Essays in honor of David B. Ruderman,
Edited by Richard Cohen and others,
Pittsburg 2014, pp. 239-249.
26. Ma’agel Tov, [will be
quoted as M.T.], Jerusalem 1934, p. 5, 68, 32, 68, 69. For fish,
see p. 82. For a peacock, see p. 92, 93. He also visited many different
gardens; see p. 5, 81-82, 91-92, 98, 105, 150–151, 154, 155–156. See also his Midbor
Kademos, beis: 22.
27. M.T. pp. 69-70.
28. M.T., p. 5, 32, 68, 69.
29. Yabiah Omer, 4, O.C. 20. See also his Chazon Ovadiah (Tu B’Shvat), pp. 453–455.
30. Tehillat Chaim, 2, Bnei Brak 1995, pp. 183–184.
31. Nimikei Aruch Chaim, 225; Rabbi Shabtzvi Liphshitz, Sefer Ha-Eshel, erech Baalei Chaim, 24.
32. Toras Chaim, 225:16.
33. Orchos Rabbeinu, 1. p. 94
34. Ha-Chida, Jerusalem 1959, p. 88, 161.
35. Leket Yosher, Jerusalem 2010, p. 142. I will hopefully return to this topic in a future article.
36. Yesodei Hatorah, 2:2.
37. Sefer Habris, 1, end of Maamar 14, Ch. 8. I heard from Rav Don Segal at a hesped for Rav Shach that Rav Shach used to study the Sefer Habris specifically for this reason, to gain a deeper appreciation for G-d and his world.
38. Shut Hillel Omer, O.C.
144.
39. This work was first printed by
Israel Ta-Shma, See his Studies in Medieval Rabbinic Literature, vol. 1,
Jerusalem 2004, pp. 181–207. A more recent critical edition was printed
by Yaakov Yisroel Stal, Amoros Tehoros Chizonis Upinemis, Jerusalem
2006.
40. This is based on the
introduction of Y. Stal to the previously mentioned edition. For more on this
work see Joseph Dan, History of Jewish Mysticism and Esotericism: The Middle
Ages
, vol. V, Jerusalem 2011 [Hebrew], pp. 393–423.
41. Perek Shirah, Jerusalem
2005, p. 39. Chazon Tov, (Jerusalem 1998, p. 65), adds that the reason
why the word pelah is used in relation to the elephant (besides being
related to its name) is because it is a true wonder. It is huge, and all its
features are large, but at the same time it can move very fast.
42. Rabbi Eliyahu Klugeman, Rabbi
Samson Raphael Hirsch
, New York 1996, p. 320.
43.
Collected Writings of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch 8, 1995, p.
259.
44. Al Yoffee, p. 45. On this
fascinating person see David Assaf, Caught in the Thicket (heb.),
Jerusalem 2006, pp. 283-316; on this work see ibid, pp. 299-300.
45. For an impressive listing of Rishonim
who quote this Yerushalmi, see M.M. Honig, “On the New Edition of Sefer
Hamaskil of R. Moshe Ben R. Eliezer Hacohen,” Yerushaseinu (2006), pp.
218–220.
46. Magen Avraham, ad loc.,
14.
47. Sefer Hamaskil, Jerusalem
2004, pp. 48–49.
48. M.T., p. 5, 81–82, 91–92, 98,
105, 150–151, 154, 155–156.
49. The sefer was
unfortunately never printed but the haskamah was, in the introduction to
Rav Fried’s Shut Ohel Yosef, New York 1903.
50. See also Rabbi Avraham Mi-shayer
Aryeh, Shiltei Giborim, Jerusalem 2010, pp. 228-251.
51. Shut Lehoros Nosson, 4, Bnei
Brak 1985, Siman 68.
52. Shut Hillel Omer, O.C.
144.
53. Mili De-Hespeidah, Bnei
Brak 2005, p. 80.
54. Moaz Hadas, Jerusalem
1903, pp. 35a–36a.
55. Ha-Talmud U-maddah Ha-tevel,
Jerusalem 1984, pp. 78–79.
56. See Rabbi Dr. Isaac Herzog, Judaism
Law and Ethics
, London 1974, pp. 161– 165.
57. Kav Hayashar, Jerusalem
1993, p. 8. See also Rabbi Yitzchak Eshkoli, Tzaar
Balei Chaim, Ofakyim 2002,
pp. 217-218.

 

58.
The Chida saw other non-kosher animals see M.T. p. 5, 32, 68, 69.



PIYYUT ON THE SURVIVAL OF THE JEWS OF BRECLAV (LUNDENBURG) ON JANUARY 23, 1698

PIYYUT ON THE SURVIVAL OF THE JEWS OF BRECLAV (LUNDENBURG)[1] ON JANUARY 23, 1698
By David Roth[2]
I found a printed pamphlet in the National Library of Israel[3] entitled סליחות מה שאומרים כאן ק”ק לונדענבורג בי”א טבת בכל שנה והמאורע יבואר בתוך הסליחות …, translated as “the selihoth prayers that are recited here [in] the community of Lundenberg (Břeclav), on the 11th of Teveth every year, and the event [commemorated] will be told in the selihoth”.  The pamphlet was published in 5655 [1894-1895], almost two hundred years after the event took place, meaning that the practice of commemorating this date lasted for quite a long time, very possibly until the outbreak of World War II.[4]
What happened to the Jewish community of Lundenburg?
In the חטאנו piyyut contained in this pamphlet, we have a description of the events of 11 Teveth 5458, corresponding to January 23, 1698.[5]  On that day, the dome of the Synagogue collapsed, and the members of the community were almost killed, but they were miraculously saved.  As such, the community established for itself and future generations to fast half a day, and to celebrate the other half of the day, a construct commonly referred to as a “Purim”.  Note that this is the day after a public fast day, so by establishing this fast, the community accepted upon itself to fast half a day immediately after fasting a full day, something that is fairly unusual.  While the practice of establishing local fasts and Purim celebrations is well documented[6] and was practiced in many communities, this particular holiday celebrated in this community is not so well known.
About the order of the selihoth:
The order of the selihoth in the pamphlet is as follows:
  • The pamphlet begins with an instruction that the chazzan repeats the Amidah until מחל לנו מלכנו כי פשענו and then begins the selihoth, something that was common to all selihoth for fast days.
  • It then contains a selihoth service, including the full text of the piyyut איה קנאתך וגבורתך, the pizmon יי יי א-ל רחום וחנון, and the akeidah [7]אם אפס רבע הקן, with the thirteen attributes of mercy (י”ג מדות הרחמים) before and after each piyyut.
  • The service then continues with זכור רחמיך, until חטאנו צורינו, at which point the חטאנו piyyut, described at length below, is recited.
  • After the חטאנו, the service continues with זכור לנו ברית אבות[8], שמע קולינו,and וידוי until הרחמים והסליחות, with an instruction to continue ואל יעכב, meaning that at this point the chazzan finishes his repetition of the Amidah.
In addition to the pamphlet already mentioned, in אוצר השירה והפיוט (index of piyyutim), Davidson makes reference to this piyyut (number 8498א), and he refers to an article where this piyyut was previously published – אוצר הספרות ח”ב, עמ’ 112.  The article – entitled מקורות לקורות בני ישראל by דוד קויפמאנן, was published in תרמ”ח (1888), before the other pamphlet of the selihoth described above, meaning that it must have been based on an earlier printing or manuscript of this piyyut.  In the article, the earlier piyyutim (meaning everything prior to the chatanu) are not printed in full, but rather the service is summarized as follows:
והם הסליחות שאומרים בי”א בטבת
איה קנאתך וגבורתך, סימן ו
פזמון י”ג מדות יי יי א-ל, [סימן] פה
עקידה מצום גדליה: אם אפס, [סימן] מט
זכור: עד אל רשעו ואל חטאתו
ואחרי כך סליחה זו:
[טקסט השלם של החטאנו]
And for a rough translation of the service summary:
Ayei kinathecha u-gevorothekha – number 6
Pizmon – 13 attributes – [number] 85
Akeidah for the Fast of Gedaliah – im afes – number 49
Zekhor until el rish’o ve-el hatatho, and afterwards he says this: [the full text of the chatanu piyyut].
Based on this, we can infer that the selihoth service was originally distributed to members of the community as an insert to put in their selihoth book for yamim noraim.  Furthermore, the numbers listed in this description for the first three selihoth show that this community recited selihoth according to the Bohemian rite, one of the forms of the Eastern Ashkenazic rite.
Noteworthy observations:
The presence of one selihah, a pizmon, an akeidah, and a chatanu is in and of itself something very unusual, as usually a selihot service would have more than one selihah, and the presence of an akeidah would imply a longer selihot service since this type of piyyut is not always present in a selihot service.[9]
There are several unusual things that must be noted about this chatanu piyyut.  As discussed earlier, this community recited selihoth according to the Bohemian rite, one of the Eastern Ashkenazic selihoth rites. The existence of a חטאנו piyyut in an Eastern Ashkenazic selihoth rite is, in and of itself, a phenomenon that is worth noting.  While Western European rites recite a חטאנו piyyut at almost all occasions that they recite selihoth, חטאנו piyyutim in Eastern European rites, at least in print, rarely recite chatanu piyyutim.[10] It is surprising that somebody who is, most likely, not extremely familiar with this type of piyyut would see it fit to write one for this occasion.
Additionally, the structure of the piyyut is extremely bizarre.  In general, chatanu piyyutim repeat the phrase חטאנו צורנו סלח לנו יוצרנו after every two stanzas; in this piyyut, there is an instruction to recite this phrase after every stanza.  Furthermore, in most חטאנו piyyutim, there is שרשור (anadiplosis), meaning that the last word of each stanza is identical to the first word of the next stanza; this poetic phenomenon does not exist in our piyyut.  This leads me to believe that our poet either wrote this as a chatanu without fully understanding the structure of a chatanu, or it is possible that he wrote it as a different type of piyyut and somebody else inserted it in this place and added the refrain of חטאנו צורנו after each stanza.
The piyyut is signed “אני אלעזר הלוי אב”ד בקהלתינו ל”ב חזק ואמץ, I am Elazar the Levite, Rabbi our community L.B. (=Lundenburg), be strong and courageous.”  Although special emphasis is not given to all of the letters, the letters אבד, which in the context of our piyyut means “was lost” but can also serve as the abbreviation for אב בית דין, “Rabbi of the community”, are written as א”ב”ד, making clear that it is supposed to be part of the acrostic.  Unfortunately, I was not able to find any additional information about this Rabbi, although he was presumably the Rabbi of Břeclav/Lundenburg at the time of this event or slightly afterwards, and the אוצר הספרות article says that he was the rabbi at the time of the event although doesn’t cite a source for that claim.
Text and translation of Piyyut:
Below, I have typed up the text of the פיוט.  The אוצר הספרות version of the piyyut is unvocalized; the version in the pamphlet is vocalized, but the vocalization is at times problematic and contains obvious errors. As such, I have used the pamphlet as my base text, but corrected obvious problems to the vocalization.  I have also added notes on where I think there may be an alternative reading, and noted any major (anything other than מלא/חסר) variants in the other text of the piyyut I have available to me.  I have also added references to idioms from Tanakh and Rabbinic sources, and provided an approximate translation.
Text in Hebrew:
חָטָאנוּ צוּרֵנוּ סְלַח לָנוּ יוֹצְרֵנוּ
  אֶ֯ת יי נוֹדֶה בְּפִינוּ וּבְתוֹךְ רַבִּים נְהֲלְּלֶנּוּ
  אֲמִתְּךָ וְחַסְדְּךָ תָּמִיד יִצְּרוּנוּ
  יֵאָמְנוּ צִדְקוֹתֶיךָ אֲשֶׁר בְּךָ מִבְטָחֵינוּ
  מַה נְּדַבֵּר וּמַה נִּצְטַדָּק[11] אֶל אֱ-לוֹהֵינוּ חטאנו
5  נִ֯כְלַמְנוּ בַּעֲווֹנֵינוּ בּוֹשְׁנוּ בְּמַעֲשֵׂינוּ
  וְנָהִינוּ נָא אַל תִּזְכָּר לָנוּ אֶת עֲווֹנוֹתֵינוּ
  לְקִרְיַת נָוְךָ נַהֲלֵינוּ
  בְּךָ תוֹחַלְתֵּינוּ וְאַתָּה יי מְחוֹלֲלֵינוּ חטאנו
  י֯וֹם זֶה קָבַעְנוּ לָנוּ לְצוֹם וְלִזְעָקָה
10 חֲצִי לַיי וַחֲצִי לָכֶם[12] לְחַלְּקָה
   לְהוֹדוֹת וּלְהַלֵּל עַל הַנִּיסִים[13] שֶׁעָשָׂה לָנוּ לְתָמְכָהּ וּלְחָזְקָהּ
   לְבַל הָיָה[14] לָנוּ לְמִכְשׁוֹל וּלְפוּקָה חטאנו
   אֶ֯ל֯ בֵּית מִקְדָּשֵׁינוּ מְעַט[15] לְהִתְפַּלֵּל מִנְחָה הָלַכְנוּ בְּאוֹרַח יְשָׁרָה
   דָּפַקְנוּ דַּלְתוֹת הַבַּיִת יָבֹא אֶל הַקֹּדֶשׁ בְּיִרְאָה וּבְמִצְוַת בָּרָה
15 פִּתְאוֹם הָיִינוּ נִלְכָּדִים ח”ו בִּמְצוּדָה רָעָה[16] זוּ תּוֹרָה וְזוּ שְׂכָרָהּ[17]?!
   בְּי”א בְּטֵבֵת שְׁנַת חָתָ”ן תּוֹרָה
חָטָאנוּ צוּרֵנוּ סְלַח לָנוּ יוֹצְרֵנוּ[18]
   עֵ֯זֶ֯ר וּתְרוּפָה הָיָה לְכוּלָּנוּ
   לוּלֵי יי עֶזְרָתָה לָּנוּ
   כִּמְעַט כִּסְדוֹם הָיִינוּ וְלַעֲמוֹרָה דָּמִינוּ
20 יְהִי חַסְדְּךָ יי עָלֵינוּ[19] חטאנו
   הַ֯לְ֯וִ֯יִּ֯ם וְאַהֲרוֹנִים, וְכָל הָעֵדָה רוּבָּם כְּכוּלָּם הָיִּינוּ עוֹמְדִים לִפְנֵי הַר הַבַּיִת לַעֲרוֹךְ
תַּחֲנוּנִים
   וּבְיַד צִיר נֶאֱמָן[20] הַמִפְתֵּחוֹת לִפְתּוֹחַ בּוֹנִים[21]
   וּבְפָתְחוֹ הַדְּבִיר עָמְדוּ כָּל הָעָם לִכְנוֹס לִפְנַי וְלִפְנִים[22]
   כִּי לְכָל דָבָר שֶׁבִּקְדוּשָּׁה[23] הֵמָּה רִאשׁוֹנִים חטאנו
25 אָ֯בַ֯ד֯ הָיָה כִּמְעַט תִּקְוָתֵינוּ וּמִבְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל[24] וּמֵהוֹנוֹ כָּל אֶחָד יוּפְרָשׁ
   כִּי בְּזוּ הָרֶגַע נָפְלָה הַכִּיפָּה מִבֵּית יי וּכְמוֹ טִיט הַיּוֹצֵר הָיִינוּ רְמָס
   לֹא נִשְׁאַר מִשֹּׂנְאֵינוּ[25] שָׂרִיד וּפָלִיט רַק צָרָה וְצַלְמָוֶת יִירָשׁ
   וְאַתָּה יי בִּזְכוּת נָשֵׁינוּ וְטַפֵּינוּ הִצִּיל אוֹתָנוּ וְשָׁפַךְ חֲמָתוֹ עַל עֵצִים וַאֲבָנִים[26] וְהָיוּ לְמִרְמָס
חטאנו
   בִּ֯קְ֯הִ֯לָּ֯תֵ֯י֯נ֯וּ֯ הַקְּדוֹשָׁה קִבַּלְנוּ עָלֵינוּ וְעַל זַרְעֵינוּ
30 לִגְזוֹר תַּעֲנִית[27] בְּזֶה הַיּוֹם בְּכָל שָׁנָה וְשָׁנָה עַד בִּיאַת מְשִׁיחֵנוּ
   קְרָאנוּךָ בֶּאֱמֶת מְהֵרָה חוּשָׁה לְעֶזְרָתֵינוּ וּלְהוֹשִׁיעֵנוּ[28]
   פָּנֶיךָ אַל תַּסְתִּיר אֵלֶיךָ בְּשַׁוְעֵינוּ חטאנו
   לֵ֯ב֯ חָכָם יַשְׂכִּיל פִּיו וְעַל שְׂפָתָיו יוֹסִיף לָקְחָה
   אֲשֶׁר הִצִּיל אֹתָנוּ מִמָּוֶת לְחַיִּים מַעֲרָכָה מוּל מַעֲרָכָה[29],[30]
35 כְּבִימֵי הָמָן עָמַד לָּנוּ הַצָּלָה וְהַרְוָחָה
   עַל כֵּן קָבַעְנוּ אַחַר חֲצוֹת הַיּוֹם לְמִשְׁתֶּה וּלְשִׂמְחָה וְלִיתֵּן הוֹדָיָה וּשְׁבָחָה חטאנו
חִ֯זְ֯ק֯וּ וְ֯אֲ֯מְ֯צ֯וּ[31] לְבַבְכֶם אֶל יי אֱ-לוֹהֵינוּ
שְמַע יי קוֹל תַּחֲנוּנֵינוּ
בְּשַׁוְעֵינוּ אֵלֶיךָ נוֹרָאוֹת בְּצֶדֶק תַּעֲנֵינוּ
40 הֲשִׁיבֵנוּ יי אֵלֶיךָ וְנָשׁוּבָה וּכְקֶדֶם חַדֵּשׁ יָמֵינוּ[32] חטאנו
   רְצֵה נִדְבַת שְׂפָתֵינוּ בְּשִׁלּוּם פָּרִים
   סְלַח וּמְחַל לְכָל קְהַל הֲמוֹנִים
   וְאַל תְּבִיאֵנוּ בָּאֵשׁ וּבַמַּיִם[33] הַזֵּדוֹנִים
   כִּי שֹׁמֵעַ אֶל אֶבְיוֹנִים חטאנו
45 חַסְדֵּי הַקַּדְמוֹנִים זְכוֹר וּמִלְפָנֶיךָ רֵיקָם אַל תְּשִׁיבֵינוּ
   לְמַעַנְךָ עֲשֵׂה חִישׁ וּפְדֵנוּ
   יָשׁוּב נָא אַפְּךָ וּתְנַחֲמֵנוּ
   וְסָלַחְתָּ לַעֲו‍ֹנֵנוּ וּלְחַטָּאתֵנוּ[34]
חָטָאנוּ צוּרֵנוּ סְלַח לָנוּ יוֹצְרֵנוּ
Translation of Piyyut:
            We have sinned, our Creator, forgive us, our Maker.
   We will thank G-d our mouths and praise Him publicly.
   Your mercy and truth have always preserved me
   We rely on your righteous ways
   What should we say and how can we justify ourselves to G-d
(We have sinned …)
5   We have perished with our sins, and we are embarrassed by our actions
    And we cried out to G-d not to remember our sins
    To Your chosen place, you should guide us
    We rely on You, for You are our creator
(We have sinned …)
This day we established for fasting and prayer
10 To be divided half for G-d and half for you [to enjoy]
    To praise and give thanks for the miracles He did to support us
    So that we shouldn’t stumble
(We have sinned …)
To our Synagogue we went to pray Mincha, we went in a direct route
    We were about to go inside with fear and trembling
15 Suddenly we were, Heaven forbid, trapped in a bad trap. Is this Torah and its
         reward?!
    On the 11th of Teveth the year of Chatan Torah [5458 – 1698]
(We have sinned …)
    Help and healing was given to all of us
    Were it not for G-d we would have been in trouble
    We were almost overturned like Sodom and Gomorrah
20 G-d’s mercy should be upon us
(We have sinned …)
The Levites and Kohanim and all of the people we were standing in front of the
         synagogue to pray
     And with the hands of the reliable shepherd the keys were held
     And when they opened the Synagogue everyone stood up to go inside.
     They were first for all holy matters.
(We have sinned …)
25 We almost lost hope and at this time everyone will be separated from his wealth
    The roof of the Synagogue collapsed and we were trampled
    And nobody would have survived
    And You G-d, in the merit of our wives and children, saved us and let out Your
         anger on wood and stones and they were trampled.
(We have sinned …)
In our community, we accepted upon ourselves
30 To accept a fast day every year on this day until the coming of Messiah
    We called to You to listen to our prayers
    And to save us and listen to our prayers
(We have sinned …)
    The smart ones will thank G-d who saved us from death to life
    In battle after battle[35]
35 Like in the days of Haman he brought about a salvation
    Therefore, in the afternoon we established a feast to give praise and thanks.
(We have sinned …)
    Strong and courageously pray to G-d
    G-d should listen to our prayers
    When we pray to You, you should answer us
40 G-d should return to us and we will return, and like old He will return things to
         the way they used to be
(We have sinned …)
    Accept the saying of our mouths as if we brought sacrifices
    Grant forgiveness to all of the people of the multitudes
    And do not bring us to the destructive fire and waters
    For He hears the pleas of the needy
(We have sinned …)
45 The good deeds of the forefathers remember and do not return our prayers
         unanswered
For your own sake do, listen, and redeem us
    You should return from your wrath and comfort us
    And forgive us for our sins.
(We have sinned …)
[1] Lundenburg is the German and Yiddish name for the city, but the Czech name is Břeclav.  See, for example, here, accessed 19 October 2017.
[2] I would like to thank my Mother, Avraham Fraenkel, and Gabriel Wasserman for their invaluable comments and suggestions for this article.
[3] See here, accessed 19 October 2017.
[4] Nevertheless, I did not find any mention of this holiday in the ledger of the Hevreh Kadisha (Burial Society) of this community (Budapest – Orszagos Rabbinkepzo Intezet Konyvtara K 47), a microfilm of which is found in the Institute of Microfilmed Hebrew Manuscripts (47032).  This is not extremely surprising since this ledger only begins with 5522 (1762), some sixty-five years after the occurrence of the miracle, but the community was certainly still commemorating these events during this time period, so it would not have been surprising if I would have found something about this holiday in the manuscript.
[5] 11 Teveth 5458 corresponds to January 23, 1698 on the Gregorian calendar.  At this point, many countries in Europe were still using the Julian calendar, according to which this Hebrew date would have corresponded to January 13, 1698.
[6] See, for example, חיי אדם, כלל קמה, סי’ מא.  See also Zunz, Ritus, pages 127-130 (131-133 in Hebrew edition) for a list of many such local holidays.
[7] The fact that the akeidah piyyut appears after the pizmon is an indication that this community recited selihot according to an Eastern Ashkenazic rite, as Western Ashkenazic rites (as well as the Lithuanian Eastern rite) always recite an akeidah before the pizmon.
[8] The presence of שמע קולינו is also an indication that this community recited סליחות according to one of the versions of the Eastern Ashkenazic rite, as שמע קולינו is not found in the selihoth of Western Ashkenazic rites.
[9] Akeidah piyyutim are generally not recited at all on fast days, or on the days of selihot up until Erev Rosh Hashanah.
[10] Chatanu piyyutim are recited in the Eastern Ashkeanzic rite at all of the prayers of Yom Kippur.  In addition, the piyyut of א-ל נא רפא is recited in Eastern Ashkenazic communities on fast days, especially the Fast of Esther or if children are ill within the community.  Aside from these, I am not aware of any chatanu piyyutim in any printed Eastern Ashkenazic rite.
[11] בראשית מד:טז.
[12] ע”פ פסחים סח ע”ב ועוד.
[13] ע”פ פסחים קטז ע”ב.
[14] במהדורת אוצר הספרות: יהיה.
[15] ע”פ יחזקאל יא:טז.
[16] ע”פ קהלת ט:יב (ובפס’ כתוב מצודה רעה עם חולם, אבל בקונטרס הסליחות מנוקד עם שורוק).
[17] מסכת שמחות ח:יב.
[18] משום מה, אחרי מחרוזת זו, ‘חטאנו’ מודפס בשלימות במהדורת תרנ”ה, וכך העתקתי פה.
[19] תהלים לג:כב.
[20] משלי כה:יג.
[21] כך כתוב, אבל אולי צ”ל לפתוח כֵּוָנִים, ובמובן המשנה תמיד ג:ו שפותח כֵּיוָן היינו לפתוח ישר = directly.
[22] ברכות ז ע”א ועוד.
[23] מו”ק כח ע”ב ועוד.
[24] במהדורת אוצר הספרות במקום “ומבני ישראל”: ומבי’.
[25] ע”פ שמות יד:כח.
[26] ע”פ איכה רבתי פרשה ד, סי’ יא.
[27] ע”פ משנה תענית טו ע”ב ועוד.
[28] במהדורת אוצר הספרות: חושה להושיענו (ולא גרסינן לעזרתינו).
[29] ע”פ שמואל א יז:כא. הפייטן מדמה את המות והחיים לקרב שעומד כמו בין שני אויבים, והקב”ה הציל אותם בנצחון החיים.
[30] החרוז ‘מערכה’ לא מתאים לחרוז ‘לקחה’ ‘והרוחה’ ‘ושבחה’.  ואם כן אולי זה לא סוף שורה, ובמקום חיתוך זה צריכים לחתוך את שורה 36 ב-‘למשתה ולשמחה’, אבל אם כן הסימטריה של אורך השורות לא הגיונית, וצ”ע.
[31] הניקוד פה יכול להיות וְאֲמְצוּ או וְאִמְצוּ.  ובמקור מנוקד וְאַמְצוּ.
[32] ע”פ איכה ה:כא.
[33] ע”פ תהלים סו:יב.
[34] שמות לד:ט.
[35] The poet is metaphorically comparing life and death to two enemies standing at battle, and G-d saves them and makes life win.



Marc Shapiro: R. Kook on Sacrifices & Other Assorted Comments

R. Kook on Sacrifices and Other Assorted Comments
by: Marc B. Shapiro

1. At the beginning of my previous post (the Gurock review) I mentioned R. Solomon Isaac Scheinfeld (1860-1943). The source of the comment I quote is his Olam ha-Sheker (Milwaukee, 1936), p. 77.1 Scheinfeld was the unofficial chief rabbi in Milwaukee, arriving there in 1902 and serving until his death in 1943. Here is his picture.

He had a traditional education, having studied for three years in the Kovno Kollel under R. Isaac Elhanan Spektor, from whom he received semikhah.2 He also had a very original mind, and wrote a number of books and essays. One of his most fascinating works is the article he published under the pseudonym Even Shayish. In this article he argued that since sacrifices will never be revived, they are now irrelevant to Judaism and all references to them should be removed from the prayer book.
R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg has a lengthy essay in which he critiques Scheinfeld’s position. A Hebrew translation of this essay appears in volume 2 of Kitvei R. Weinberg. Yet Weinberg himself leaves open the possibility that there won’t be a return to sacrifices (p. 255):
אין דנים כאן על עצם הרעיון היסודי של הקרבנות. לו היתה היום קיימת אצלנו שאלה כזאת והיא דורשת פתרון דחוף – אין מספר מצומצם של יהודים בארץ אחת בני סמכות להכריע בענין זה, וכל שכן כאשר הם אינם מייצגים את כלל ישראל. שאלה זאת חייבים להביא לפני הבית דין של כלל ישראל. רק לבית דין כזה הרשות לקבוע אם להשאיר טקס מקודש בעם בתוקפו או לבטלו. היום שאין לנו ארץ ולא בית המקדש ולא כהנים הרי זה מגוחך ומצער כאחת להעלות תביעה לבטל עבודת קרבנות!
Weinberg doesn’t mention Maimonides, but this is usually to where people turn when seeking to argue against a revival of sacrifices. According to the Guide 3:32, Maimonides thought that sacrifices were a concession to the masses’ primitive religious notions, developed in an idolatrous society. While Maimonides is explicit in the Mishneh Torah that there will be a return of the sacrificial order, his reason for sacrifices offered in the Guide led some people to assume that his true opinion was that there will not be sacrifices in the future. One example is R. Simhah Paltrovitch, Simhat Avot (New York, 1917), pp. 7-8, who offers a mystical approach:
אמנם מה נעשה במה שדברי מורנו ורבנו הרמב”ם ז”ל שהוא בסברתו מתנגד לאלה הדברים, ואומר כי בימים הבאים עת קץ משיחנו, יבוטל עבודה בקרבנות ולא יהיה עוד . . . להעולם הזה נתנו הפשט והדרוש, ובעולם השני יקויים הרמז והסוד . . .וכן ממש הוא טעם של הרמב”ם ז”ל שיבוטל הקרבנות, כי אז יהי’ התורה על צד הרמז וסוד כמו שארי המצוות המבוארות בתורה, כי יתחלפון מן הפשט לרמז וסוד שמשונים מן הפשט.
R. Joseph Messas also cites Maimonides’ reason for sacrifices and concludes that there will be no return of the sacrificial order (Otzar ha-Mikhtavim, vol. 2, no. 1305).
לפי”ז יתבטלו לעתיד כל הקרבנות כי זה אלפי שנים משנעקרה ע”ז מישראל, וישראל גוי אחד, עובדים רק לאל אחד ועל ידי ישראל בגלותם נעקרה ע”ז גם מכל האומות.
What about the problem that the abolition of sacrifices would mean a change in Torah law, which is a point that R. Kook will also deal with? Messas answers simply:
ואין בזה שנוי בתורה חלילה, דזיל בתר טעמא
What this means, I think, is that from the beginning sacrifices were only intended to be offered in a society in which people were attached to primitive religious notions associated with idolatry, and the animal sacrifices that went along with this. However, once this era has passed from the scene, then there will no longer be any obligation for sacrifices.

A really shocking comment against sacrfices appears in a supposed letter from R. Yaakov of Lissa to R. Zvi Hirsch Kalischer (published in Ha-Posek, Kislev 5712). Responding to Kalischer’s advocacy of renewing sacrifices even before the coming of the Messiah, R. Yaakov claims that to do so would cause Jews to be a subject of mockery by the Gentiles and the non-religious Jews.

לבי נוקף ונפשי מלא רטט ורעד כי אם ישמעו הגויים והקלים בישראל שאנחנו מקריבים קרבנות ימלאו שחוק פיהם ונהיה 
ח”ו ללעג ולקלס וה’ יודע כמה צרות וקלקולים יצמחו מזה

It is very unlikely, to put it mildly, that a gadol be-Yisrael would give this as his reason for not fulfilling a mitzvah. When one realizes that the person who published this letter was the famous forger Chaim Bloch, then all doubts are removed: The letter, like so much else published by Bloch, is a complete forgery. Apparently Bloch had some negative feelings about sacrifices and transferred them to R. Yaakov. Interestingly, when this letter was republished in Dovev Siftei Yeshenim, vol. 1, Bloch made a subtle change in the letter, which as far as I know, no one has yet pointed out. The letter’s authenticity had been attacked by Zvi Harkavy in Kol Torah (Nisan-Iyar 5712), and one of the things he pointed to was this line, and that R. Yaakov could never have written it. So when Bloch republished the letter, in an attempt to bolster its authenticity, he altered it to read as follows (I have underlined the newly added words):

כי אם ישמעו הגויים והקלים בישראל שאנחנו מקריבים קרבנות בזמן הזה לפני ביאת משיח צדקנו ובטרם עומד בית מקדשנו 
על מכונו, ימלאו שחוק פיהם ונהיה ח”ו ללעג ולקלס

Had he been smart enough to have added these extra words in the first edition of his forgery, it would have been more believable. Now R. Yaakov is not speaking of the non-Jews and the non-religious mocking the offering of sacrifices, but only mocking the offering of them before the coming of the Messiah and the building of the Temple.

Michael Friedlaender’s The Jewish Religion (London, 1891), was for many years regarded as a standard work of Orthodox belief. As far as I know, it was the first of its kind in English and can still hold its own against many more recently published books. You can see it here. On pages 162-163, 417-418, he speaks of the return of the sacrificial order in Messianic days, and how we should look forward to this, even if it is contrary to our taste. He says that we should not model Divine Law according to our liking, but rather model our liking according to the will of God. Yet despite these strong statements, he was also sensitive to those who were not comfortable with sacrifices. He writes as follows (p. 452):

References to the Sacrificial Service, and especially prayers for its restoration, are disliked by some, who think such restoration undesirable. Let no one pray for a thing against his will; let him whose heart is not with his fellow-worshippers in any of their supplications silently substitute his own prayers for them; but let him not interfere with the devotion of those to whom “the statues of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart” . . . and who yearn for the opportunity of fulfilling Divine commandments which they cannot observe at present.

This passage is quoted by British Chief Rabbi Joseph Hertz in his Authorised Daily Prayer Book, p. 532. Upon seeing this, R. Yerucham Leiner, then living in London, wrote a letter to the Jewish Chronicle (Dec. 17, 1943; I learnt of this from Louis Jacobs, Tree of Life, second ed., p. xxix). Before quoting from his letter, let me reproduce what Wikipedia says about this most incredible figure.

Grand Rabbi Yerucham Leiner of Radzin, son of Likutei Divrei Torah, author of Tiferes Yerucham, Zikaron LaRishonim, Mipi Hashmua, Zohar HaRakiya. Moved from Chelm to London to America. Continuation of the Radziner line in America, and one of the last direct descendants of the Leiner family. After the war, he did not reinstitute the wearing of techeiles as other branches of Radzin did, even though his father, Grand Rabbi Avraham Yehoshua Heschel Leiner of Radzin-Chelm, wore them, as he was a chosid of his older brother, the Orchos Chayim, who had reinstituted the wearing of techeiles. Reb Yerucham believed that the original formula of his uncle was lost during the war. This is the reason that his family doesn’t wear techeiles today, only pairs that were left from pre-war Europe. Reb Yerucham was an expert in all areas of Torah and scholarship. There existed very few admorim/tzaddikim since the beginning of Chassidus who were also lamdanim in both the Polish and Lithuanian styles of learning, bibliographers, Jewish historians, very learned in Kabbalah works, philologists, and masters of both the Babylonian and Jerusalem Talmuds. Reb Yerucham was very close with the Satmar Rebbe, Rabbi Yoelish Teitelbaum ZTVK”L. He always made sure to spend a few weeks vacationing with the him, specifically learning Midrashei Chazal, of which they were both masters. He studied and visited with Rabbi Yitzchok Hutner, and they were good friends in later life. They always treated one another with special respect. He established the Radziner shtiebel in Boro Park. Died 20 Av 5724 (1964). Buried in Beth Israel Cemetery, Woodbridge, New Jersey

Responding to the quote from Friedlaender, Leiner wrote: “This opinion was put forward by the founders of Reform Judaism, Holdheim and Geiger. But it is hardly in accord with Orthodox traditions of Judaism.” The editor of the Jewish Chronicle responsed: “The words quoted with regard to the Musaph are those of the great and sainted scholar, Dr. Michael Friedlander, for 42 years Principal of Jews College: and it is certainly strange to class him with Holdheim and Geiger.”

The most famous of our sages to speak of a Messianic era without animal sacrifices is, of course, R. Kook, who envisions vegetable sacrifices. He writes this in his commentary to the siddur, Olat ha-Reiyah, vol. 1, p. 292. In the preface R. Zvi Yehudah tells us that he began writing this commentary during World War I. I don’t need to go into any detail on this, as I have done so already in The Limits of Orthodox Theology, where I also mention passages in R. Kook’s writings that offer a different approach. The notion that there will only be vegetable sacrifices in Messianic days is, of course, a radical position, and many who don’t know R. Kook’s writings find it impossible to accept that he could have said this. This is what happened when R. Yosef Kanefsky of Los Angeles published an essay in which he mentioned R. Kook’s view.3 He was attacked by some prominent rabbis since they found it impossible to believe that R. Kook could say what was attributed to him. Yet it was Kanefsky who was right, not his opponents.

In my book I dealt with R. Kook’s position on sacrifices, because positing that there will be no sacrifices in the future would seem to be in contradiction to Maimonides’ Principle that the commandments of the Torah are eternal. That consideration is precisely what makes his position so radical. A couple of years ago one of R. Kook’s notebooks dating from his time as rabbi in Bausk, which lasted until 1904, was published. We actually have two publications of this, one by Boaz Ofen called Kevatzim mi-Ketav Yad Kodsho, vol. 2 (Jerusalem, 2008), and the other, which comes out of the world of Merkaz ha-Rav, called Pinkesei ha-Reiyah (Jerusalem, 2008).

This is not the first competing publications of the same material by these people, and as I will show in my forthcoming book, the Merkaz editions are tainted by censorship in that “problematic” passages are removed.4 Those who claim to be the greatest adherents of R. Kook have once again taken it upon themselves to save their master from himself, as it were, and decided which writings of R. Kook should appear and which should not. Yet in the passage I am interested in now (no. 8 in the Ofen edition and no. 6 in the Merkaz edition), the two books are identical. The passage is very significant since it shows you that even in his earlier years R. Kook had the same notion later expressed in Olat ha-Reiyah, that the future would only know vegetable sacrifices. (In case people are wondering, R. Kook was not a vegetarian. Yet he did see vegetarianism as part of the eschatological future. His great student, the Nazir, was a vegetarian, as was Nazir’s son-in-law, R. Shlomo Goren, and as is his son, R. Shear Yashuv Cohen.5)

This passage gives us new insight into R. Kook’s view of sacrifices, and how things will change in the future era. He begins by speaking of the abandonment of meat-eating in the Messianic era, since this will not be something that people desire. Recall that in speaking of eating meat, the Torah writes (Deut. 12:6): כי תאוה נפשך לאכל בשר, which means “when thy soul desires to eat meat.” The Messianic era is not a time when people will have this desire, as R. Kook also explains in his famous essay on vegetarianism, “Afikim ba-Negev”.

What about the sacrifices that are required by the Torah? R. Kook offers a few possibilities. One is that sacrifices will still be necessary. Yet he also speculates that perhaps certain animals will be so spiritually advanced that they will on their own offer themselves as sacrifices, in acknowledgment of the great benefit that will come to them and the world through their actions.6 This solves the problem of people deliberately killing animals, which goes against his conception of the eschaton.

What is most interesting for our purpose is another suggestion by R. Kook, namely, that the Sanhedrin will use its power to uproot a matter from the Torah in order to abolish obligatory animal sacrifices. Their reason for doing this will be that the killing of animals will no longer be part of the culture in Messianic days. R. Kook even shows how the Rabbis will be able to find support for this step from the Torah. What he is doing, I think, is imagining himself as part of the future Sanhedrin that abolishes sacrifices, and informing us of the derashah that will be used to support this. This is related to what I wrote in an earlier post, see here, and I repeat it now:

As to the general problem of laws that trouble the ethical sense of people, we find that it is R. Kook who takes the bull by the horns and suggests a radical approach. The issue was much more vexing for R. Kook than for other sages, as in these types of matters he could not simply tell people that their consciences were leading them astray and that they should submerge their inherent feelings of right and wrong. It is R. Kook, after all, who famously says that fear of heaven cannot push aside one’s natural morality (Shemonah Kevatzim 1:75):

אסור ליראת שמים שתדחק את המוסר הטבעי של האדם, כי אז אינה עוד יראת שמים טהורה. סימן ליראת שמים טהורה הוא, כשהמוסר הטבעי, הנטוע בטבע הישר של האדם, הולך ועולה על פיה במעלות יותר גבוהות ממה שהוא עומד מבלעדיה. אבל אם תצוייר יראת שמים בתכונה כזאת, שבלא השפעתה על החיים היו החיים יותר נוטים לפעול טוב, ולהוציא אל הפועל דברים מועילים לפרט ולכלל, ועל פי השפעתה מתמעט כח הפועל ההוא, יראת שמים כזאת היא יראה פסולה.

These are incredible words. R. Kook was also “confident that if a particular moral intuition reflecting the divine will achieves widespread popularity, it will no doubt enable the halakhic authorities to find genuine textual basis for their new understanding.” R. Kook formulates his idea as follows (Iggerot ha-Reiyah, vol. 1, p. 103):

ואם תפול שאלה על איזה משפט שבתורה, שלפי מושגי המוסר יהיה נראה שצריך להיות מובן באופן אחר, אז אם באמת ע”פ ב”ד הגדול יוחלט שזה המשפט לא נאמר כ”א באותם התנאים שכבר אינם, ודאי ימצא ע”ז מקור בתורה.

R. Kook is not speaking about apologetics here, but a revealing of Torah truth that was previously hidden. The truth is latent, and with the development of moral ideas, which is driven by God, the new insight in the Torah becomes apparent.

Ad kan leshoni in the previous post.

In other words, R. Kook sees the Sanhedrin as able to actualize new moral and religious insights that have become apparent. That is why it is important for the Sanhedrin to use derashot when dealing with these matters, as this shows that the idea is not something new that has been developed, but something that was latent in the Torah, and only now has become apparent.

So what derashah can be used to justify an abolishment of animal sacrifices? R. Kook points to Num 28:2: את קרבני לחמי לאשי . This is usually translated as “My food which is presented to Me for offerings made by fire”. Yet the word לחמי actually means “my bread.” Right after this, in discussing the particulars of the sacrifice, the Torah states: “The one lamb thou shalt offer in the morning.” R. Kook’s proposed messianic derashah is: “Whenever animals are killed for personal consumption, you should use them for sacrifices, but when they are not killed for personal use, make sacrifices of bread.”

I don’t think I am exaggerating in saying that this is one of the most provocative and radical texts in R. Kook’s writings. I say this not because of his advocacy of abolishing sacrifices, which I don’t think to be that significant in the larger scheme, but due to how he is envisioning the process by which the Rabbis will actually use derashot to create a Messianic Judaism.

The Rambam, Hilkhot Mamrim 2:1, speaks of laws derived from the hermeneutical principles that can be altered by a future beit din ha-gadol (even one not as great as the one that established the original law). This was the great fear of the opponents of a reconstituted Sanhedrin, that the Mizrachi rabbis would take upon themselves to do precisely this. Since so many of our laws are based on derashot, Judaism as we practice it can be entirely reworked. R. Kook is showing us how this can be done, but he is going further than anything Maimonides envisioned, since sacrifices are not matters that have been established based on a rabbinic derashah but are commanded by explicit biblical verses.

Basically, what R. Kook is doing is recreating the world of the Pharisees, before Judaism was bound to codes (beginning with the Mishnah). It was a time when Jewish law was developing and the biblical verses could be read—some would say “read”— in all sorts of ways. In the days of the Pharisees much of the halakhah as we know it was created, and to a large extent that can be done again in the Messianic era.
Here are R. Kook’s words (note also his exegesis with ריח ניחוח) :

שהסנהדרין אז ימצאו לנכון, ע”פ הכח שיש להם לעקור דבר מה”ת בשוא”ת, לפטור מקרבנות החובה של מין החי, כיון שכבר חדלה הריגת החי מן המנהג של תשמישי הרשות והמקרא מסייע, שקרא הכתוב לקרבן לחם, “את קרבני לחמי לאשי”, ואח”כ אומר “את הכבש אחד”, הא כיצד? כל זמן שבע”ח קרבים לתשמיש הרשות, עשה בע”ח לגבוה, אבל כשבע”ח אינם קרבים לרשות, עשה הקרבנות מלחם, ועל זה רמזו חז”ל: “כל הקרבנות בטלין וקרבן תודה אינה בטלה” שיש בה לחם . . . רק כעת עד זמן ההשלמה תאמר להם שיקריבו כבשים, ומותנה תמיד לריח ניחוח, וכיון שיבורר בזמן ההשלמה שהריגת הבע”ח [אינה ראויה] אי אפשר שתהיה לריח ניחוח.

R. Kook then cites the proof he mentions in Olat ha-Reiyah and in his essay “Afikim ba-Negev” (Otzarot ha-Reiyah [Rishon le-Tziyon, 2002], vol. 2, p. 103), that Malachi 3:4 writes: וערבה לה’ מנחת יהודה וירושלים כימי עולם וכשנים קדמוניות . This verse, in speaking of a sacrificial offering in Messianic days, mentions the minhah sacrifice, which is not an animal offering.

As mentioned, the passage from R. Kook is so interesting because it shows that he was not merely thinking about the Messianic era, but also the actual functioning of the future Sanhedrin. He was imagining the derashot that could be used to “update” Judaism. I am unaware if this aspect of R. Kook’s thought was known before the publication of this latest volume. I also don’t know if any scholars have taken note of it even subsequent to the publication. However, in “Afikim ba-Negev” (Otzarot ha-Reiyah, vol. 2, p. 103), R. Kook also, in an offhand sentence, provides a possible derashah to justify the abolishment of sacrifices. He doesn’t develop the idea, but just puts it out there. Here is the sentence:

והגביל “לרצונכם תזבחהו” (ויקרא יט, ה) שיהיה אפשר וראוי לומר “רוצה אני”. (רש”י על ויקרא א, ג).

The Talmud, Rosh ha-Shanah 6a, which is quoted by Rashi, Lev, 1:3, states that one cannot bring a sacrifice unless it arises from one’s free will. Now the Talmud, which is speaking of one particular sacrifice, actually says that we force him to bring it until he agrees, and this means that he is “willing.” But R. Kook is using this passage to hint at a different matter. In future times, when sacrifices will be so far from human sentiment, it will be impossible to do it willingly. The derashah, לרצונכם תזבחהו , will then come into play. Since this teaches that one can only bring a sacrifice when one is willing, at a time when animal sacrifices are not considered acceptable, and thus not something people “want” to do, animal sacrifices will no longer be a requirement. Remember, R. Kook describes this future era as one in which the animals will be far advanced of what they are now. It is only when the animals are at the low state that they currently are, that we can offer them as sacrifices and eat them. He writes (Otzarot ha-Reiyah, vol. 2, p. 101), in a passage in which animals are compared to one’s children:

מי לא יבין שאי אפשר להעלות על הדעת שיקח האדם את בניו, ברוח אשר יטפחם וירבה אותם להיטיב ולהשכיל, ויזבחם וישפך דמם?

The texts we have seen are important in explaining how his viewpoint of the abolishment of sacrifices relates to the Ninth Principle of Maimonides. As mentioned, in my book I listed R. Kook’s view as being in opposition to the Principle. R. Kook is certainly great enough to disagree with Maimonides in this matter had he chosen to. Yet we see from his newly published writings that he would not have regarded himself in disagreement, because he understands the abolishment of sacrifices to be carried out in a purely halakhic fashion. Since the Rabbis have the exegetical authority to do such things, an authority given to them by the Torah, we are not speaking of a revision of Torah law. This case is then no different than any of the other examples where the Sages interpret Torah law different that the peshat of the verse.

Returning to the newly published text, R. Kook’s imagination continues to run, and he doesn’t stop with sacrifices. In my book I called attention to R. Hayyim Halberstam’s view that in Messianic days the first born will take the place of the kohanim. R. Kook must have been attracted to this view for kabbalistic reasons, and here he provides a possible basis for how this too can be justified by the Rabbis. He also notes that since the change can be justified, “it is not uprooting a Torah matter, but rather fulfilling the Torah.”! In other words, built into the Torah is the notion that the kohanim would only be temporarily in charge of the divine worship. R. Kook argues that since the First Born were removed from their role because of the sin of the Golden Calf, it is impossible for the effects of this sin to last forever, as repentance is a more powerful force. Therefore, when the sin of the Golden Calf is atoned for there will no longer any reason for the First Born to be kept from the Avodah, and it will return to them.

Following this, R. Kook offers another way of explaining why his view of sacrifices should not be seen as a “reform” or as evidence of the Torah changing (he obviously was sensitive to this point). He says ויש לדרוש, in other words, he is once again providing the halakhic justification that can be used by a future Sanhedrin in abolishing sacrifices. His new exegetical reasoning goes as follows: The obligation of animal sacrifices was only intended for an era when the kohanim were in charge of the Avodah. This is how one is to understand the verse (Lev. 11:1) ושחט אותו על ירך המזבח . . . וזרקו בני אהרן הכהנים את דמו. In other words, it is only to the descendants of Aaron that animal sacrifice is commanded,

אבל כשיהיו כשרים ג”כ בכורות, אז מטעם העילוי של בע”ח וכלל המציאות אין הבע”ח נהוגים כ”א לחם ומנחה . . . וכך הוא המדה בכל מקום שנמצא פסוק בתורה וסברא ישרה שיש כח ביד ב”ד הגדול, מכש”כ כבצירוף הנביאים לפסוק הוראת גדולות כאלה.

Note that R. Kook ties together a verse in the Torah with logic. When both are present, then the Beit Din ha-Gadol is able to act in order to make adjustments to Torah law. In this matter, the “sevarah yesharah” is the sense that animal sacrifices will not suitable for the future eschatological era, and the verses in the Torah that he cites give “cover” to the sevarah yesharah. That is, they provide the exegetical justification. (I wonder though, is R. Kook really correct when he implies that the only time the Sages could uproot a commandment was when they also had a biblical verse to justify this?)

R. Kook concludes that all that he is speaking about is a long way off, and it is possible that the Resurrection will come before this and then all sorts of things will change. Yet all his prior ruminations here are about a pre-Resurrection era, when the Beit Din ha-Gadol is functioning and adjusting Torah law by means of derashot and sevarah yesharah. This is not the sort of thing that will be taking place post-Resurrection.7

Finally, lest anyone start using R. Kook’s thoughts in an antinomian fashion, he throws in the following for good measure:

וזה היה מקור תרבות והרע ד”אחר”, שחזי שהמצות יש להן יחש מוגבל ותכליתי, חשב שבאמת אפשר להתעלות למעלה מהמעשים, גם בלא עת, ובאמת הכל אחדות יחיד היה הוה ויהיה, וכל עת וזמן את חובותיה נשמור, בלא נדנוד צל פקפוק.

Earlier in this post, I referred to the implications of R. Kook’s ideas with regard to Jewish law being adjusted because of new moral insights. In fact, I think it is R. Kook who provides the most comprehensive and satisfying approach to this issue. I don’t want to get into that subject at present, as I plan on returning to it, especially as a number of people have written to me about R. Kook’s views. In my future post I will illustrate my point by citing a number of examples of rulings and statements by mainstream halakhists from earlier centuries which could never be made today. The only way to explain this, I will argue, is that there has been a change in societal norms and this has made certain approaches not just practically impossible but simply wrong for our times. (See here where I cite in this regard R. Weinberg and R. Aviner.) However, I promised someone that I would give one example in this post, so here it is. R. Hayyim Benveniste, Keneset ha-Gedolah, Even ha-Ezer 154, Hagahot Beit Yosef no. 59, in discussing when we can force a husband to give a divorce, writes as follows:

ובעל משפט צדק ח”א סי’ נ”ט כתב דאפי’ רודף אחריה בסכין להכותה אין כופין אותו לגרש ואפי’ לו’ לו שחייב להוציא.

Can anyone imagine a posek, from even the most right-wing community, advocating such a viewpoint? I assume the logic behind this position is that even if the man is running after her with the knife, we don’t assume that he will actually kill her. He must just be doing it to scare her, and that is not enough of a reason to force him to divorce her. And if we are wrong, and he really does kill her? I guess the reply would be that this isn’t anything we could have anticipated even if we saw the knife in his hand, sort of like all those who have let pedophiles run loose in the yeshivot, presumably on the assumption that just because a man abused children in the past, that doesn’t mean that he will continue to do so.8

Notes

1 Among other interesting passages in this book, see p. 24, where he objects to people who write “ethical wills.” Quite apart from the frauds who wrote them, in order to show that they were really great people when they were in fact far from it, many tzadikim also wrote these wills. Yet Scheinfeld says that this was a mistake, since many of their children, and even more their grandchildren, assimilated among the Gentiles. He continues by lamenting how much worse things have gotten in his day:

ובימינו אלה בודאי אינו מהראוי לכתוב צוואות, כמעט כל הבנים מתרחקים והולכים מדרכי אביהם, אינם רוצים ואינם יכולים ללכת בדרכיהם: “וכשם שמצוה לאמר דבר הנשמע, כך מצוה שלא לאמר דבר שאינו נשמע.”

On pp. 82-83 he criticizes the “inflation” with regard to rabbinic titles that he saw in his day, and which has increased a great deal more since his time. Here is a very good example of this “inflation,” from responsa written by R. Moshe Malka, Ve-Heshiv Moshe, nos. 34-35. In this case I can guarantee you that the recipient is not deserving of the titles he has been given.



For another example of such exalted titles with regard to a non-rabbinic figure, see R. Michel Shurkin, Meged Givot Olam (Jerusalem, 2005), vol. 2, p. 5, who is speaking of Prof. Samuel Soloveitchik:

כיוצא בזה ראיתי מעשה, כשבשנת תשכ”ז נפטרו במשך תקופה קצרה אחיו של הגרי”ב זצ”ל, הגאון ר’ שמואל זצ”ל . . .

In R. Weinberg’s letter to Samuel Atlas, published in Torah u-Madda Journal 7 (1997), pp. 107-108, he writes: “’Geonim’ sprout up there as grass in the field. Those who were emissaries of the yeshivot and unimportant mashgihim have overnight become outstanding geonim.”

For more on the nonsense of elaborate titles of praise, see the many sources quoted by R. Pinchas Meyers, Nahalat Pinchas (Jerusalem, 1995), vol., 2, no. 41. See also R. Chaim Hirschensohn, Malki ba-Kodesh, vol. 1, p. 90, vol. 6, pp. 198, 200, 237-238.

Returning to Scheinfeld, here is what he has to say on the topic (pp. 82-83):

לרב פשוט מתארים “הרב הגאון”. לרב גדול בתורה באמת מתארים “מאור הגולה, בקי בכל חדרי התורה”. באמעריקא, ארץ החנופה והשקר, מתארים לכל דרשן פטפטן “הרב המטיף הגדול, פה מפיק מרגליות” ועוד. מגוזמים, מגוחכים עוד יותר תוארי-הכבוד של רביי החסידים: “אד”מור, סבא קדישא, בוצינא קדישא, צדיק יסוד עולם, בנן של קדושים, פרי צדיק, גזע ישישים, פטיש החזק, עמוד הימיני” ועוד ועוד. בעולם הקולטורי נוהגים: כשכותבים מכתב לאדם שקבל התואר Ph.D. מאיזה בית מדעים, מתארים אותו בתואר דר. ודי בזה. אפילו כשכותבים לדר. איינשטיין, לא היה שום אדם כותב: “כבוד הדר. החוזה בכוכבים, נהירין לו שבילי דרקיע” ועוד, דברים שהם ראויים לייחס לו באמת.

After seeing what the term “Gaon” has become in our time, it is worth recalling what appears in R. Malachi ha-Kohen, Yad Malachi, Kelalei ha-Geonim 1. If we use the following definition of Gaon, you can count the living geonim on one hand, and perhaps still have some fingers not counted:

ושמעתי אומרים שתנאי הגאון היה לידע ש”ס על פה גמ’ ומשניות.

The Hatam Sofer states (Sheelot u-Teshuvot Hatam Sofer ha-Hadashot, Yoreh Deah no. 33):

ידע מעלתו מיום שהורגלו בני מדינתו בתואר “גאון אמיתי”, גילו ופרסמו שסתם גאון אינו אמיתי, אבל חוששני שגם אמיתי אינו אמת.

The exaggerated titles are most often found in haskamot, and with this in mind see the haskamah published by Jacob Goldman in his book Peret ve-Olelot (Jerusalem, 1930).

This is not the only example of an author giving himself a haskamah (the Aderet comes to mind), but I think it is the only example of an author giving himself a haskamah which tells the world how unqualified he is.
2 See Louis J. Swichkow and Lloyd P. Gartner, The History of the Jews of Milwaukee (Philadelphia, 1963), p. 209.
3 “Willingness to Sacrifice,” Jewish Journal, available here
4 Speaking of editions, I don’t understand why people continue to cite works such as Orot and Orot ha-Kodesh. Now that we are fortunate to have the Shemonah Kevatzim, and can cite R. Kook from the source, why would anyone continue to refer to writings that have been edited, and touched up, by R. Zvi Yehudah and the Nazir?
5 In an earlier post I called attention to Joseph Ibn Caspi’s incredible comments about how we are to treat animals, wherein he notes that “we are very close to them and we both have one father”!

See here.

Elsewhere in Caspi’s writings we see ambivalence towards eating meat. There too he explains that that an animal is אחינו בן אבינו החי

He also writes

עיקר הכוונה שלא נאכל בשר, כי יספיקו לנו הצמחים. ולכן בבראשית לא הותר לנו רק עשב השדה, ואחר המבול נתפשט אכילת בעלי החיים שהוא כאילו נאכל אבינו [!] כי הוא סוגנו [סוג שלנו] הקרוב

Both of these sources, from Caspi’s Gevia Kesef, p. 31, and Metzaref le-Kesef, p. 294, are cited in Hannah Kasher, “‘Eikh Yetzavenu ha-Shem La’asot Toevah ka-Zot:’ Bikoret Akedat Yitzhak al pi R. Yosef Ibn Caspi,” Et ha-Daat 1 (1997), p. 41.

For an opposing viewpoint to that of Caspi, see R. Gershon Ashkenazi, Avodat ha-Gershuni, no. 13:
צער בעלי חיים לא שייך אלא בבעל חיים כשהוא בחיים חיותו . . . מי שנוחר את הבהמה במקום שיוכל לשחטה אין בזה משום צער בעלי חיים, וכי הבהמה אחינו הוא לברור לה מיתה יפה.

R. Zvi Yehudah Kook, Or li-Netivati, pp. 245-246, expresses himself similarly to Caspi:

בהשקפת האחדות השלמה לא נראה את עצמנו בתור דבר פרטי מיוחד בפני עצמו, וכן לא את כל אחד ואחד מכל יצורי עולם, לא את החי, לא את הצומח ולא את הדומם, אלא כולם וכולנו דבר אחד ממש . . . לא זה אוכל את זה כי אם הכל אוכל את הכל.

For the view, expressed by a couple of rishonim as well as the Aderet, that before his sin Adam was permitted to eat meat, see R. Bezalel Naor, Maamar al Yishmael (Spring Valley, 2008), pp. 52ff. (first pagination; there is an enormous amount of learning in this book. In addition, it opens with a Hebrew letter to Naor from Prof. Isadore Twersky.).
.
6 In the following section (no. 9 in the Ofen edition and censored from the Merkaz edition for reasons unclear), he offers another possible reason for the continuation of sacrifices:

יתכן שימשכו הקורבנות גם בזמן התקופה של השלמת הבעלי חיים רק בתור עזר לתקן הנפשות המגולגלות בבהמות, וכפי המעלה הגדולה של הדעת אז תהי’ הדעת ברורה מי יבוחר לקרבן.
7 Regarding the authority of the Court to uproot a mitzvah from the Torah, see the interesting observation of R. Hayyim Hirschensohn, Commentary to Horayot, vol. 1, p. 3b (Hirschensohn’s numbering):

אמר ר’ יוסי לא שהורו מותר לאכל חלב יודעין היו שאסור לאכול חלב והתורה נתנה רשות לב”ד להורות, וזה לא נקרא לדעת הירושלמי עקירת כל הגוף, שטעו שיש כח לב”ד לעקור דבר מן התורה אפילו בקום ועשה, וזה נקרא הגוף קים רק עקירת מקצת, לאמר שאין נצחיות ח”ו לחוקי התורה שיוכל הב”ד לעקרם כרצונם, כדעת רבני הרפארים היום החושבים שמפני צורך הזמן יכולים להתר איסורים מפורשים וקבועים בתורה, ולא נקראים בזה כופרים בעיקר, רק ב”ד טועים ולו הי’ בהם שאר תנאי פר העלם דבר היו חייבים עדת הראפרים בפר העלם דבר.

8 There is another theory as to why the sectarian hasidic world in particular has had so many cases of covering up and defending child sex abusers. It is that they simply do not regard these people as so terrible. The evidence for this appears obvious, in that in case of after case we see that they continue to allow sex abusers to teach and refuse to turn them over to the authorities and warn the parent body. Had they caught the rebbe eating at McDonald’s, you can be sure he would have been fired, but not so when it comes to fooling around with kids. The question is why do they have this outlook, and how come they don’t regard child sex abusers as so terrible? Here is a possible answer (which a wise person suggested). Look at where these societies get their information about human nature, the information that they regard as authentic and true. It does not come from modern psychology, but from Torah sources and folk beliefs. If you look only at traditional rabbinic literature, you won’t conclude that child sex abuse is as terrible as modern society views it. Yes, it is a sin and the person who commits it must repent as he must do with all sins, but there is nothing in the traditional literature that speaks to the great trauma suffered by the victim. How do we know about this trauma? Only from modern psychology and the testimony of the victims. Yet this type of evidence does not have much significance in the insular hasidic world (unless it is your own child who has been abused). Certainly modern psychology, which is often attacked by figures in that community, is not given much credence, especially not when they are confronted with an issur of mesirah. This theory makes a lot of sense to me and I am curious to hear what others have to say.



Slobodka

Slobodka

By Dr. Shlomo Tikochinski

Seforim Blog Editors: In 2016, Dr. Tikochinski published his work Lamdanut, Mussar, and Elitism (Mercaz Shazar, in Hebrew). Thanks to new translation tools, the process has become much easier. We will be posting a chapter of this work every week or two. As this is a work in progress, we appreciate your patience.

Introduction:

  • What, in its deepest sense, is the Slabodka doctrine of Gadlut ha-Adam—the greatness and nobility of the human being?

  • How did this idea take root in Lithuania and shape the spirit of an entire generation of yeshivot?

  • What role did Slabodka play within the Mussar movement, and in what ways did its path diverge from that of Kelm, its stark and disciplined counterpart?

  • And finally: does the legacy of Slabodka still echo in our own time, and if so—how?

The first part of this book sets out to explore these questions, tracing the origins of a daring educational vision and following the imprint it left on the world of Torah and beyond.

This work was originally submitted in Hebrew back in 2009.
In the years since, it found its way into print—also in Hebrew—under the title Lamdanut, Mussar and Elitism, published by the Shazar Center in 2016. Still, the present draft contains a great deal of material that never made it into the final book.

Over the years, many people have expressed interest in the world of the Lithuanian yeshivot and in the themes explored here. With the arrival of new translation technologies, I felt that the time had finally come to bring this research into English. I used these tools as a starting point, but every line has been reviewed with as much personal care and attention as I could give.

What you are holding now is the first part of the work—the chapter of the yeshiva’s life in Lithuania, before its move to Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel). The second part will follow in due course, shaped also by your observations, suggestions, and encouragement.

Since English is not my first language, I would be sincerely grateful for any corrections or comments you may wish to share. I will update the text continuously, and every thoughtful note will help make this translation clearer and more faithful.

Thank you for taking the time to read this early version. I hope you find the journey both meaningful and enriching.

Rabbiner Dr. Shlomo Tikochinski
Jüdische Gemeinde St. Gallen, Switzerland
41767107403+
shlomotiko@gmail.com

Preface to the English Edition, 2025

The roots of my family on my father’s side lie deep in the soil of Lithuanian Jewry and its yeshivot — a lineage of rabbis, heads of yeshivot, and figures shaped by the Mussar movement. My father, Rabbi Rafael Tikochinski, z”l, was himself an extraordinary masmid, who later became a teacher and a rosh yeshiva to hundreds of students. I grew up in this world, surrounded by its voices, its teachers, and its inner rhythms. After years of study in yeshivot and kollels—among them the Ponovezh Yeshiva in Bnei Brak, under the shadow of Rabbi Shach z”l —I gradually found myself drawn toward the humanities, especially Jewish Studies, with a particular interest in Jewish philosophy and Jewish history. And so, at the age of thirty-two, I arrived at The Hebrew University of Jerusalem.

After several years of general coursework and the gradual acquisition of methodological tools, I turned—at the advice of my teachers—to examine the world from which I had come: Lithuanian Jewry, the Lithuanian yeshivot, the Mussar movement, and the intellectual and sociological roots of today’s Lithuanian Haredi community.

I wrote my master’s thesis on the formation of the Lithuanian yeshiva method of Talmudic analysis, and my doctoral dissertation on the educational method of the yeshivot, rooted in the Mussar movement.

Over time I came to see the principles of Mussar education as both significant and influential—almost the only platform that still shapes the religious experience and conceptual world of students in Lithuanian yeshivot today, even if we have long drifted from the original intentions of the movement’s founders.

Kenesset Yisrael—the Slobodka Yeshiva founded by Rabbi Nosson Tzvi Finkel, the Alter of Slobodka—was the pioneering Mussar yeshiva in Lithuania. And because it was the first to arrive in the Land of Israel in an organized way before the Holocaust, it preserved an unbroken line of “Lithuanianness” and, in my view, left a profound and lasting imprint on the renewed yeshiva world in Israel.

I grew up in the shadow of educators who were among the last living echoes of the Mussar movement. My great-uncle, Rabbi Moshe Tikochinski, the mashgiach of the Slobodka Yeshiva in Bnei Brak, and Rabbi Chaim Fridlender of the Ponovezh Yeshiva, shaped much of the atmosphere of my youth. I had the privilege of hearing Mussar talks — shmuessen — from figures whose voices once filled entire worlds: Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe, Rabbi Yaakov Galinsky, Rabbi Moshe Shimon Waintrob, Rabbi David Avrahami, Rabbi Dan Segal, Rabbi Shimshon Pinkus, Rabbi Shalom Shvadron, and other Mashgichim and preachers, famous or lesser known, each with his unique cadence.

During my years in the Ponovezh Yeshiva, I listened to the aged Rabbi David Povarsky, who brought us, as if by direct transmission, the spirit of his old home in Kelm, Lithuania. From my teacher my father , I absorbed talks shaped by the teachings of his own master, Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, author of Mikhtav me-Eliyahu.

Like many other students in Lithuanian yeshivot in Israel, the foundations of my education and Torah outlook were formed out of ideas that flowed from the Mussar tradition — though at the time I had no name for them. Around the age of twenty, I too became a Mussarnik of the old school. For several years, I held fast to that way. I studied Mussar with strong emotion — “with the excitement of the soul, with a ready heart, with a pained voice, with burning lips,” as the early disciples of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter taught. I recited long, fervent prayers and joined a Mussar va’ad of earnest young men who were serious practitioners. Our meetings revolved around shared spiritual introspection and the taking on of kabbalot — personal spiritual commitments.

During those years, I also delivered Mussar talks to a small circle of attentive friends, until I became, almost without noticing, a kind of spiritual guide for students younger than myself.

Something of that deep, formative experience — and of the quiet inner currents that flowed through it — remained within me even years later, when my path turned toward academic study. Paradoxically, it was my very attachment to the Mussar world that eventually guided me into the field of Jewish Studies. When I first encountered Immanuel Etkes’s book on Rabbi Yisrael Salanter and the beginnings of the movement, I found myself unexpectedly moved. The scholarly gaze — its ability to look closely, to refine, to name, to offer perspective and historical setting to feelings and ideas I had known from such close range — opened a new window for me.

This brief autobiographical note may explain why the reader will find in the present work a structure slightly different from that found in other studies of the Mussar movement, and conclusions that lean in directions not always identical to theirs.

I wish to express my thanks to my teachers and mentors — from the yeshivot and from the academy — and to the many friends and colleagues who have accompanied me. My gratitude goes in particular to my teacher, Professor Immanuel Etkes, to Rabbi Professor Naftali Rothenberg, Professor Avi Ravitzki, and Professor Benjamin Brown, who has followed my research for many years with steady wisdom and generous counsel.

Introduction

On Mussar and the Development of the Mussar Movement within the Lithuanian Yeshiva World

The Hebrew term Mussar (מוּסָר) is commonly translated as “Moral” or “ethics,” reflecting its biblical usage (e.g., Prov. 1:2: “to receive wisdom and Mussar,” meaning instruction or reproof). The Mussar cultivated in nineteenth-century Lithuanian Jewry, however, represents a later and fundamentally different development. Conceived by Rabbi Yisrael Salanter (1810–1883), it was primarily a rigorous system of self-education grounded in Torah learning, aimed at intensifying yirat shamayim (fear of Heaven) and refining one’s character traits. This system articulated a structured set of principles concerning human psychology and conduct, drawing on rabbinic aggadah, homiletic literature, and the classical Jewish ethical corpus. Accordingly, the overlap between Mussar and the English category “Mussar” is only partial. While the cultivation of positive traits, commitment to ethical values, aspiration toward good action, and continuous self-supervision form an important conceptual backdrop, the actual goal is specifically religious: the deepening of fear of Heaven within the Jewish framework of Torah and halakhah.

A further methodological observation is essential. The now-familiar designation “Mussar Movement” (Tenuʿat ha-Mussar) appears to have been consolidated only in the post-Holocaust period, chiefly through Israeli writers such as Rabbi Dov Katz, whose multi-volume Tenuʿat ha-Mussar (Jerusalem 1957) became authoritative and is cited throughout this study. For this reason, when referring to this modern term, I do not employ the diasporic milʿel vocalization. Likewise, in construct expressions such as sifrut Mussar (Mussar literature) or sifrei Mussar (Mussar texts), I retain the standard Hebrew usage, as these terms already designate an established genre within the Jewish textual tradition.

Lithuanian Mussar emerged in the 1840s against the backdrop of far-reaching processes of modernity within Eastern European Jewry. As with other contemporary spiritual movements, it constituted both a conscious and subconscious response to Jewish modernization as well as to modernity itself, which reshaped the structures of Jewish life. Some scholars view Mussar as a form of religious renaissance within the Mitnagdic (non-Hasidic) Orthodox world, developed in contrast to Hasidism, which had arisen several decades earlier. Just as Hasidism introduced its own spiritual revolution, the Mussar Movement placed new spiritual challenges on the Jewish agenda, emphasizing tikkun adam—the Mussar and religious transformation of the individual—rather than tikkun olam. Scholarly opinion is divided on whether Mussar should be understood chiefly as a reaction to modernity or as an internal religious renewal focused on individual divine service.

Mussar entered the Lithuanian yeshiva system only in the second and third generations after Rabbi Salanter. From that point onward it became a structured pedagogical method for thousands of students across the Pale of Settlement. By then, three major schools had crystallized—Kelm, Slobodka, and Novardok—each interpreting Salanter’s teachings in its own way and implementing its distinctive program of Mussar education and supervision.

The Lithuanian yeshivot functioned essentially as advanced academies of Talmudic study. They placed intellectual rigor at the center of their curriculum and cultivated competitiveness and excellence in analytic study of the Talmud and its commentaries. Yet as traditional communal structures eroded in the early twentieth century, the yeshivot gradually became institutions of religious socialization and guardians of tradition. This role was carried out by Mussar educators, each shaped by the ideas of his own school. Even students who did not fully engage in intensive Mussar practice could acquire a broad foundation in Lithuanian Jewish thought, which provided spiritual resources, interpretive methods, and modes of reflection on aggadic texts. Much of the intellectual production of the Lithuanian yeshivot from the late nineteenth century through the mid-twentieth century centered on developing a homiletical-philosophical discourse that drew ethical meaning from biblical narratives and rabbinic aggadah.

This heritage shaped the inner world of the Lithuanian yeshiva student and stood at the heart of his consciousness of distinctiveness—both from other Orthodox groups and, all the more so, from the largely secular Jewish majority. The interpretive study of aggadah through the lens of Mussar strengthened spiritual aspiration, reinforced a sense of belonging to an Orthodox avant-garde, and instilled confidence in the necessity and significance of the yeshiva way of life. This is no small matter: throughout the twentieth century, the influence of the yeshiva world steadily expanded and penetrated other streams of Orthodoxy. Mussar educators and thinkers became influential role models, shaping the worldview of thousands of Haredi youths who adopted their interpretive approach to Jewish ethical and aggadic traditions. The result is a distinctive school of Jewish thought unique to the students and graduates of the Lithuanian yeshivot—one they continued to develop even after leaving the yeshiva, and which they transmitted to the next generation.

Guiding Ideas and Foundational Assumptions

The Mussar movement, which was created in Lithuania in the 1840s, began to conquer the Lithuanian yeshivot at the end of the nineteenth century, and the yeshiva in Slobodka was one of the leaders of the process. In the Mussar controversy that stirred up the Jewish public in Russia in the 1890s, this yeshiva was in the eye of the storm. With the passage of the crisis, the Knesset Israel Yeshiva became one of the most famous and influential yeshivas in Lithuania. In both Lithuania and the Land of Israel, it was considered a prestigious and leading yeshiva. And in the eyes of many, even the heir to the famous Volozhin Yeshiva.

At the end of 1924, the yeshiva immigrated to Eretz Israel, first settled in Hebron and after the 1929 riots moved to Jerusalem. From the perspective of the Jewish Yishuv in the Land of Israel during the British Mandate, Slobodka was a new element that had hitherto been unknown in the Orthodox community. Torah learners identified with the old Yishuv, which was perceived as a symbol of decadence. The Mussar Lithuanian yeshiva represented the alternative, in the form of an opinionated Torah elite that was interested in maintaining proper relations with the new Yishuv, and around it developed a community with a Yeshiva identity that combined Torah with practical life.

The starting point for our discussion is the establishment of the yeshiva in 1882, and we will review its various stages and crises, at the turn of the centuries, during the First War, and in the Land of Israel. There will be two sections in the essay: The first will deal with the formative period in Lithuania and will discuss structural, ideological, and especially educational-social aspects of Rabbi Finkel’s yeshiva. The second division will deal with the immigration and absorption of the yeshiva in the Land of Israel, in its various branches, while examining its relations with the old and new settlements and its status as a unique entity. We will conclude the discussion with a snapshot of the Lithuanian Yeshiva institution in the State of Israel in the early 1950s, as a milestone that concludes the period of the yeshiva’s uniqueness. From then on, it merged into the Haredi yeshiva establishment in Israel, with expansion and change in the structure and educational challenges. Numerical growth, the absorption of immigrant students from Sephardic countries, the change of generations in leadership, and the confrontation with secular political sovereignty – these and more characterized the era that concludes the connection.

As noted above, in the first half of the twentieth century, the Lithuanian Yeshiva and the Mussar Movement were two entities that merged with each other, with the first being the type of institution, and the second being the method of education used in it. During this period, there were few yeshivot that did not introduce Mussar education, and at the same time, there were few bodies of the non-yeshiva Mussar movement.

The rise of the Mussar yeshivot to Israel is an important chapter in the history of yeshivot and Orthodoxy in general. In addition to the implications that this had on the way and methods of the yeshiva institution, in the Land of Israel the Lithuanian yeshiva became a central model that was also adopted by Hasidim, Sephardim, and national religious. Its educational heritage and the ethos that underlies it radiate to this day on the entire Orthodoxy, the fields of spirituality, education, and even the field of halakha. It seems that understanding the process of absorption and consolidation of this institution in the Land of Israel, It is the key to understanding the roots of the religious world in today’s Israel.

Why Slobodka? A few answers to this:

The focus of this yeshiva stems from observing the Israeli yeshiva world and its founders, and tracing its contemporary educational positions. The impression is that among the schools that made up the Lithuanian Mussar movement, the only one that remained active in the second half of the twentieth century was Slobodka, and its influence on the educational ethos of the post-Holocaust yeshiva world is considerable. Most of the leading figures in the yeshiva world after the Holocaust came out of this yeshiva, both in Israel and in the United States. There are two possible reasons for this: first, that it was a single case of the transfer of a yeshiva with its rabbis and students from Lithuania to the Land of Israel, and thus it was saved from destruction. Second, Slobodka’s education contained elements that ensured survival and integration in a changing world, namely Jewish society in Lithuania between the wars and the emerging society in the new settlement in the Land of Israel. My work will seek to examine these elements, and through them explain Slobodka’s decisive influence on the formation of the Israeli yeshiva world. I will try to show that, in contrast to other streams of ethics, Like Kelm and Novardok, Slobodka incorporated certain elements of modernity into the realms of thought and behavior.

The story of the relocation of the Lithuanian yeshiva and the Mussar movement to the Land of Israel is composed of groups and individuals who immigrated to Israel at different times and under different circumstances. A group of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter’s close disciples immigrated back in the 1890s and established the Jerusalem Beit Mussar and the Or Chadash Yeshiva in the Strois Courtyard (today in the Musrara neighborhood). This was the “first aliyah” of the Mussar movement, which belongs to the old type of traditional immigrants who sought a life of Torah and celibacy in the Holy Land. This small Mussar core dispersed even before the First World War, and its people merged into the institutions of the Old Yishuv.

After the First War and the Balfour Declaration, the wave of immigration of the Mussar yeshivot began, the Slobodka Yeshiva in 1924, the nucleus of the Lomza Yeshiva (Poland) in 1926, and in the early 1930s – the nuclei of the Novradok network. This was the “second aliyah” of the Mussar movement, which, in terms of consciousness and goals, was already part of the patterns that characterized the Fourth and Fifth Aliyah. The reference environment of this Haredi aliyah was the new Yishuv, and it chose to merge into the new colonies precisely. From here until the end of the 1940s, additional groups and a few members of the Mussar movement immigrated to Israel. Among them were Holocaust refugees, who, together with their predecessors, became the inheritors of Mussar education in the renewed yeshiva world in Israel. A comprehensive discussion of the question of the absorption of the Mussar movement in Israel requires reference to the personalities who were known as Mussar influencers in the country, the rabbis: Lupian, Dessler, Levinstein, Wolbe and others. However, these Mussar figures and their teachings, even if their influence in the long run was great, will not be included in the discussion. I want to remain within the boundaries of the Yeshiva Mussar establishment, while examining the history of an institution that immigrated to Israel in an organized manner, as an educational framework with defined goals for institutionalization, continuity and influence in the new Yishuv.

For this purpose, I asked for a Mussar yeshiva that was born in Lithuania, which chose to relocate and cope with a new space of action. Preference was given to the institution, which, even after its relocation, maintained as much continuity as possible, while embodying its original values in its new place, but in a different way. If we look at the Mussar movement and its yeshivot in the twentieth century, we have nothing but the Slobodkian yeshiva Knesset Yisrael that meets our demands.

3. The assumption underlying our work is that there is a constant tension between the study of Talmud, or more precisely, scholarship as a challenge and a symbol of status, and the study of ethics and the self-education that it entails. At the beginning of the path of ethics in the yeshivot, this tension led to open struggles, but it continued to exist in the background even after the resistance had subsided. A covert struggle over the birthright nourished the dynamic between students and their rabbis and between students and their yeshiva, when they studied there and even after they left it.

Against this background, Slobodka can be noted as a yeshiva that for most of its periods fostered scholarship and even managed to concentrate the best young forces in its environment. In the study of Mussar, Slobodka took an optimistic line, focused on the theoretical-philosophical aspect of it, and disapproved of the asceticism and melancholy that accompanied it. Its opponents claimed that she had “created a vacuum” in Mussar and dealt only with “education in the brain” and the like, because she saw Mussar as internalizing ideas and neutralizing its demanding sting. With the move to Eretz Yisrael, this approach became apparent to be an advantage. At that time, the optimistic-adaptive elements that were embedded in Slobodka’s philosophy and character were expressed, and out of a sense of solidarity with the Aliyah and settlement enterprise, she approached it from within in her own way. Fostering excellence and education for inclusion were the basic principles of Slobodka Eretz Israel, and most of its graduates were integrated into positions of education and rabbinate and other positions of influence. Rabbi Yisrael Salanter’s special interpretation of the Mussar teachings ensured its survival under the new conditions dictated by the Yishuv of the Land of Israel during the Mandate period and in the early days of the state.

It should be noted that this is in fact an existing institution, which, with the exception of the institutions of the Old Yishuv in Jerusalem, is the oldest Lithuanian yeshiva in Israel and the world today. It can be said that since its establishment in 1882, the Knesset Israel Yeshiva has led an almost continuous elitist line. Rabbi Finkel was meticulous in choosing the students for his yeshiva, and with Mussar education at the top of his mind, he invested efforts and even succeeded in concentrating intellectual forces and renowned scholars in his yeshiva. It is a fact that despite the student Revolts and divisions, the exile in Ukraine during the First War, the move to Palestine, the 1929 riots, economic crises and internal control struggles, the yeshiva maintained its status and produced prominent leaders from the Orthodox world.

In contrast to Slobodka, the Novardok school is presented, which led a pessimistic line in the Mussar movement, and preached extreme actions of breaking the inclination. In Torah study, too, the theoretical aspect gave way to the study of halakha in practice and grammar in mitzvot. Novardok prioritized the activity of “acquitting the public” and opened many branches, first in Russia and then in Poland. In the late 1920s, she arrived in the Land of Israel and established branches in Tel Aviv and Bnei Brak. However, Novardok did not survive the move to Israel. Most of its students have abandoned, and some have even left the tradition. If in Lithuania the difference between Novardok and Slobodka was limited to the method of education, in the Mandatory Land of Israel it received additional meanings that had implications for the future of the Lithuanian yeshiva. Slobodka’s path turned out to be more suitable for the new environment, and elements of her Mussar thought found their way into the Haredi education system.

The accepted assumption is that the Yeshivot of the Mussar Movement succeeded in curbing the influence of the Enlightenment and Zionism, in addition to other yeshivot that did not belong to this movement. This assumption is true only for Lithuania between the wars, and it derives from the image that emerged of the Mussar Movement in literature and research, which was greatly influenced by the extreme and severe nature of the Mussar yeshivot, the aforementioned Nobardok. With regard to the Land of Israel, things are quite different. In this essay, I would like to present Slobodka as someone who survived and withstood the challenges presented by the new environment. Precisely because of the adoption of a modern way of thinking and thanks to a certain contact with education.

We will leave the rest of the Lithuanian yeshivot that had established a foothold in Israel – we will leave them out of the discussion, and we will refer to them only for the sake of comparison. It should be noted that after the yeshiva immigrated in 1924, the Slobodka Yeshiva in Lithuania was reorganized under the leadership of the rabbis: Sher, Zusmanovich and Grodzinsky. Rabbi Sher led his yeshiva in an independent way and different from that of his rabbi and father-in-law, Rabbi Finkel, as did the mashgiach Rabbi Grodzinsky. Before the outbreak of World War II, Rabbi Sher managed to escape. And in 1947 he established a yeshiva in Bnei Brak that bears the name ‘Slobodka’ to this day. From the beginning, this yeshiva was attended by young people born in Israel, mainly of Hasidic origin and even members of the old Yishuv. Based on close acquaintance with her and her supervisor, Rabbi Moshe Tikoczinsky, and from interviews with her alumni, it seems that this was not a continuation of Slobodka’s method in any sense, and that there is nothing between the two but the sharing of God’s name. Therefore, it will also remain outside of our discussion.

Research Questions

The focus of the essay will be the question of relocation: a method of education that was a clear product of time and place, was relocated to a new and different place, and tried to survive and even influence its new environment. Questions of continuity versus change are key questions in every field in the study of the history of the modern era. All the more so when it comes to an educational framework that has fundamentally changed its operating environment. The question is most intense when we are dealing with a religious institution that is imbued with a consciousness of continuity and even declares it. But he wants to function under changing conditions. From this question all the sub-questions relating to the two divisions of the composition will be derived: the period of Lithuania and the period of Eretz Yisrael, with the period of transition and adjustment between them. The yeshiva is required as an educational institution that manages a system of relations with its environment, while examining its goals, mechanisms of social supervision and social deviance, and discussing questions of authority and autonomy within the system.

We will first deal with the formative stage of Slobodka, in which her unique social structure was formed. An examination of the conceptual roots of this structure will contribute to an understanding of the process of copying and the changes that followed. The starting point is Rabbi Finkel’s educational philosophy, which became known as “the greatness of man”, we will examine its uniqueness in comparison to other streams of Mussar, its attitude and response to modernity, and its possible connections to contemporary ideals. No less important is Rabbi Finkel’s complex educational act. His status and influence in the yeshiva, the nature of his relations with his students, and the nature of the student community in Slobodka. We will dedicate a special discussion to Slobodkai ethics as an exegetical method of rabbinic legends, in the light of which ideas and patterns of outlook that are prevalent to this day in Haredi educational thought have been formulated. We will also discuss Rabbi Finkel’s attitude toward the Enlightenment and secular studies, Zionism, and the Land of Israel, especially in light of the fact that some of his close students became prominent leaders who combined Torah and ethics with Western education and culture. These include: the heads of the Rabbinical Seminary in Berlin, Rabbi Avraham Eliyahu Kaplan and Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, and in America – Rabbis Yitzhak Hutner, Yaakov Kamenetsky, and Yaakov Ruderman. Through these personalities, Slobodka became a bridge between Mussar and modern orthodoxy in all its varieties.

The chapter on Aliyah to Eretz Israel presents us with central questions: What was the social and political background to Aliyah? What aspirations motivated the yeshiva’s leaders and students, and what was the significance of the move in the world of Lithuanian yeshivot? We will try to find the connection between Slobodka’s unique character and her being the first yeshiva to initiate organized aliyah. Why did Slobodka see the “new Yishuv” as a natural goal, and what were her expectations and the quality of her relations with the Yishuv before and after Aliyah?

The chapter on the establishment in Israel is the last in chronological order, but the first in importance for understanding the roots of the Israeli yeshiva world. How did the yeshiva adapt to the new environment, and what was the social and economic framework within which it functioned? In the field of Mussar education, the environment in the Land of Israel presented more difficult challenges than those that were the lot of Slobodka in Lithuania. We will find out how the new environment influenced the study and Mussar, the educational ethos of the yeshiva, and the policy of the management. We will examine the emotional and practical involvement of yeshiva students in the life of the Yishuv, its struggles, and even its ways and culture. This issue is of great importance for understanding the process of formulating a Yishuvite-Lithuanian identity in the Land of Israel, the fruits of which are evident to this day.

We will also examine the relationship between the yeshiva and the old Yishuv in Jerusalem, especially after the events of 1929 and the relocation of the yeshiva from Hebron to Jerusalem. These were the days of a fierce struggle between extremists and moderates in the Old Yishuv, which led to a split of powers between the “Haredi Community” and the “Agudat Yisrael.” At the center of the debate was the recognition of the National Committee and its leadership, and the “obligation to leave” the Knesset that was introduced in the Old Yishuv. The Aliyah Yeshiva took place between two decisive events in the struggle between the old and the new: the murder of De Haan, the powerful political figure of Agudat Yisrael Eretz Yisrael, took place right next to Slobodka’s immigration. and the establishment of the Hebrew University – immediately afterwards. Both extremists and moderates had political expectations of the Slobodka Yeshiva, but the official line of the yeshiva was to refrain from political identification and from involvement in struggles of any kind.

The organizations of the yeshiva’s graduates and their activities within the Yishuv will be presented as a final stage, which expressed the characteristics of Slobodka’s education and its ability to stand the test of time. The discussion will take place in light of the gaps that arose on this issue between the yeshiva’s students and its rabbis, which were expressed in its two branches of the Land of Israel: Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Another point: In Lithuania, Slobodka was a center of attraction for young people from the rabbinical elite, as well as from the wealthy economic strata from Western countries. In the Land of Israel, the yeshiva opened its ranks to all the young people of the Yishuv. And we will seek to examine the change in the yeshiva’s social and educational messages in light of this change. The concluding discussion will return to the key question: Slobodka’s response in idea and action to the challenges of modernity, and the question of her resilience to the crises and transitions she experienced in the twentieth century.

Methodology and State of Research

The study of the Lithuanian Yeshiva and the Mussar movement touches on the following areas of research: social history, history of ideas, history and philosophy of education. The state of the research that we will present here will teach us that there is still a lot of work to be done in the study of the Lithuanian yeshiva and the Mussar yeshivot in the twentieth century, and many important topics in this field have not yet been studied.

The history of Jewish society in Eastern Europe in the modern era has been dealt with in the study mainly with a focus on the main changes that this society has experienced, which is collectively known as the “crisis of modernity,” centered on the process of abandonment of tradition and observance. The transition to the modern era gave birth, among other things, to the interest in the history of the ‘Old World’, from a critical perspective that is also a product of modernity. The traditional society, which remained in the minority, was studied mainly from social and economic aspects, and less from ideological and spiritual aspects. In these fields, it was perceived as the abandoned starting point, as the old ‘obvious’ whose methods and beliefs are known and do not arouse research interest. In the last thirty years, research has also begun to deal with the inner spiritual world of traditional society in modern times, as a developing and creative environment. However, the research’s tendency toward the transformational, the new and the changing, still left the picture unbalanced. The main attention was given to the Chassidic movement, with its various aspects: historical, social, ideological, and theological, while the society that held on to the old and known as the Mitnagdic Society, with its yeshivot and its Mussar movement, has not yet been sufficiently enlightened and few are engaged in it. A handful of scholars of the spiritual world in the opposing society have so far produced a small but very important crop, the main points of which we will present here, and the details of which are included in the full bibliographic list.

The existing research in this area extends over three sequential fields:

The teachings of the Vilna Gaon and his disciple R. Chaim of Volozhin,

The study of the Lithuanian Mussar movement.

The study of the Lithuanian yeshiva.

The teachings of the Vilna Gaon and his disciple Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin were handled by Immanuel Etkes, Nahum Lam, Shaul Stampfer, Tamar Ross, and others. The characteristics of the opposing ideology were reviewed in Alan Nadler’s book The Faith of the Mithnagdim. The activities of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter and the beginning of the Mussar movement were also investigated by Immanuel Etkes in his book R. Yisrael Salanter and the Beginnings of the Mussar Movement (Jerusalem 1982). Mordechai Pachter analyzed Rabbi Salanter’s teachings in the introduction to the edition of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter’s Writings (Jerusalem 1973). A few articles on the world of ethics were written by Haim Hillel Ben-Sasson, Gedaliah Alon, Hillel Goldberg, and David Fishman. The methods of study in the yeshivot were reviewed in Mordechai Breuer’s book Ohalei Torah (2004), and the literature of memoirs from the Lithuanian yeshivot was reviewed by Immanuel Etkes in the introduction to the collection “The Lithuanian Yeshivot – Chapters of Memories.” Shaul Stampfer’s book “The Lithuanian Yeshiva in the Making” (Jerusalem 2004) deals with the yeshivot of Volozhin, Slobodka and Telz, and focuses on their structural and organizational aspects in their early years. This book, as well as Ross and Brown’s studies on the Mussar movement, will be discussed in more detail below.

A comprehensive study has not yet been written on the history of the Mussar movement from a socio-historical perspective, its spread and scope of activity, its central figures, and their spheres of influence. The only monograph that exists in this field so far is Dov Katz’s series of books, The Mussar Movement, which, despite its fine and practical writing, is not an academic study, but rather an informative one. Nothing has yet been written about the Lithuanian yeshivot between the wars, most of which were “Mussar yeshivas” at the time. The method of study that was introduced in these yeshivot, the balance of power between scholarship and Mussar, influential figures in study and Mussar, and their method – all of these are still waiting for study. The history of the Mussar movement in the Land of Israel has not yet been touched by anyone, neither with the immigration of the Disciples of Kelm to the Old Yishuv, nor with the rise of the Mussar yeshivot in the twentieth century. In general, many important issues related to the Lithuanian yeshiva are still waiting to be addressed, especially the inner world of the yeshiva. From a variety of aspects: Academic, educational and social, central figures, streams and methods of study.

This essay tries to fill in the gaps a little. As noted, we will discuss the Slobodka Yeshiva from educational-social aspects, on the assumption that the influence and continuity of the Mussar yeshivot was first and foremost the result of a social reality and an implemented educational ideal, while the contribution of the Mussar literary work was only secondary, and in some places even minimal.

Tamar Ross wrote a theoretical-philosophical study on the teachings of some of the successors of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter. In the introduction to her research, she declares that her research is the result of arbitrary selection and subjective evaluation in the choice of material. She admits that relying on the writings of the Mussar movement, while ignoring the historical aspect, is liable to lead to conclusions that sin against the original intention of their perpetrators.

On the other hand, the premise of my work is that the Mussar movement was first and foremost a living and breathing educational arena of action, and not just an ideological stream. Moreover, without an examination of the educational act and its areas of activity, our understanding of the theoretical realm would also be lacking. This is even more true with regard to the Slobodak doctrine of Mussar, which, as I would like to argue, was more of an educational environment than a conceptual one, and a discussion of its ideas cannot be conducted in isolation from its historical context. From this perspective, These studies are a complementary contrast to Ross’s research, whose focus on the theoretical and philosophical aspect of the Mussar movement, and according to the criteria she set for the study of the “problem of will,” placed Slobodka out of the picture, due to her lack of engagement with the psychological aspect.[1] On the other hand, I would like to devote attention to Slobodka, whose historical-social aspect is what made it an influential school of thought in the yeshiva world of the twentieth century.

Shaul Stampfer’s pioneering book[2] serves as an initial background for the Lithuanian yeshiva in general and the Slobodka Yeshiva in particular. Stampfer lists the differences between Volozhin in its time and[3] Slobodka between 1881 and 1905. He was already preceded by the people of Slobodka themselves, who noted their yeshiva as the successor of Volozhin, and at the same time were aware of the differences between the two.[4] Volozhyn, at least in the first half of the nineteenth century, functioned in a supportive traditional environment, where there was still widespread agreement on the importance of Torah study. In contrast, Slobodka in its time faced indifference to Torah study and tradition in general. At the end of the nineteenth century, young Jews were offered alternatives that appealed to them, such as membership in revolutionary movements, and opportunities to integrate into society through general studies and education. Against these, the Lithuanian yeshiva was redesigned. No longer just as a beit midrash for Torah study, but rather as a place that saw its role in responding to the renewed challenges, by shaping the student’s personality in the spirit of the Mussar movement.[5]

In addition to these differences, however, there have been changes in the status of the yeshiva within traditional society, about which the Slobodka Jews did not give their opinion. Here comes Stampfer and completes the picture: while Volozhin at the time expressed values that were familiar to her students from their communities of origin, Slobodka tried to instill in her students an ideology that was new to them and that she did not know from their parents’ home. Moreover, while Volozhin enjoyed the full support of the rabbinical establishment for most of her years, Slobodka did not receive a similar status. Its affiliation with the Mussar movement, which was controversial among the rabbis, placed its on the margins of the traditional stream.[6]mThese are important distinctions that relate to Slobodka as a pioneer and representative of the Mussar yeshivot, and it should be remembered that they are not unique to her. The lack of support from the rabbinical establishment in Lithuania is a common fact for all the institutions that were conducted in the spirit of Mussar, such as the Kollel Kaunas, the Kollel of Rabbi Yozel in Novogrodek and its environs, the Beit Talmud in Kelm, and more.

Stampfer’s interest is in Slobodka’s structural innovations as a pioneer of ethics yeshivot. In the comparative discussion with the Volozhin Yeshiva, he emphasizes the struggle for primacy between the study of Mussar and the study of the Talmud, a struggle that was one of the causes of the division of the yeshiva in 1897. However, Stampfer’s focus on the organizational level left room for many other aspects of the Slobodka Yeshiva: its innovations in the landscape of the Mussar movement itself, its ideological innovations that contributed to the world of Jewish thought, the educational practice it led, the goals it set for itself, and its comprehensive activity among the Lithuanian yeshivas. All these characteristics characterized the yeshiva from its inception, but mainly between the two world wars, a period that was not handled by Stampfer.

Moreover, Stampfer first put the subject of the Mussar yeshiva on the research table, explained the historical background to its establishment, and described the challenges of modernity that it sought to face. In this sense, Slobodka should indeed be seen as a prototype. However, this is not enough, because it too arose not only against the background of external challenges, but also and mainly against the background of developments that took place in the Mussar movement. Rabbi Finkel shaped his concept of Mussar from within and into the world of young learners. From his conversations with his students, both public and private, it is clear that he took yeshiva life for granted, and on this basis he demanded Mussar demands from them. In contrast to her ideological forefathers in the Mussar movement, Slobodka reformulated the goals of Mussar education, and in light of this, she laid a new agenda on both the table of the Mussar movement and the Lithuanian yeshiva as an institution. I would like to give expression to this argument in my work.

Benjamin Brown analyzed some of the writings of the Mussar figures, as Jewish thinkers in modern times. His relevant article deals with Rabbi Finkel’s educational philosophy,[7] focusing on its philosophical aspect. Brown suggests that it responded to the challenges of the European “zeitgeist” that placed man at the center, and did so by emphasizing his supernatural virtue and theological status. According to him, Rabbi Finkel chose to focus on a Mussar judgment of man, thus deviating from the framework of R. Yisrael Salanter, who was preceded in a psychological, educational description and a study of the powers of the soul. This deviation stemmed from an optimistic attitude toward man and his status. And under R. Yisrael Salanter, who placed man at the center as an object of discussion and occupation, Rabbi Finkel placed him as a value in himself.[8] These important insights clarify Rabbi Finkel’s conceptual method. However, the historical picture will only be completed by clarifying the educational goals that Rabbi Finkel had in mind when he conceived the doctrine of “human greatness,” and the practical challenges he faced in his arena of activity.

Brown placed Rabbi Finkel in the world of Jewish thought according to what he called the “radical aspect” of his ideas. Accordingly, he also weaved the historical picture, and made a distinction between Rabbi Finkel’s early and later students. According to him, in the early periods, these were students who were inclined to the ideas of the Enlightenment, and therefore were a good receptacle for his ideas, which were also drawn from the optimistic foundations of European thought before the world wars. This was not the case with his later disciples, who already saw the idea of ‘human greatness’ as rather stained, “for the horrors of the two world wars and the rise of totalitarian ideologies did not reinforce the lofty and positive image of man.”[9]

Well, in all the writings of the Slobodkas, there is no reference to wars in the context of the doctrine of human greatness. Rabbi Finkel’s best ideas came to us through his later students who experienced both wars, and it seems that on the contrary, they perceive them as relevant and appropriate even for the younger generation that grew up after the wars. The reason for this is simple: the students did not recognize the “radicalness” in his teachings at all, and not because they read it as a “harmonious” Haredi reading that blurs between different opinions in the Jewish tradition. Rather, it was because they had apparently descended to the end of his mind, and before them stood the complete picture of both the man and his actions. This whole picture is not as radical and innovative as Brown presented it. In the opinion of the students, the teachings and educational methods of their rabbi are worthy of a generation that witnessed man’s wickedness and made negative use of the superiority of the chosen creatures. A careful study of Rabbi Finkel’s teachings proves that he did not ignore what was happening in the world, and that he even had a great deal of pessimism about the modern, materialistic world, which is full of intrigue and conspiracies. He appreciated the progress of science, but he complained about the emptiness of human conscience. At the same time, in his opinion, in the end, a person has a positive element, the potential has not disappeared, and the “image of God” in him has not changed. Man is able to overcome and return to his solid source, and therefore the human responsibility for self-correction never expires.

The premise of this study is that the Lithuanian Mussar movement did not set before it a metaphysical conceptual clarification of Mussar, but rather a theory of personal guidance that is expressed in practical life. Therefore, any discussion of the matter, even if it relates to the field of the idea, cannot afford to be conducted in isolation from the real historical context and the educational field of action. From this approach, Slobodka and her field of activity should be seen as a natural development of the “world of action” of the Mussar movement, centered on the development of an equal “Mussar thought” for everyone, and the regulation of individual and social life in accordance with this doctrine.

To summarize the state of the study: There are two approaches in the study of the Yeshiva-based Mussar movement, for which Slobodka is the tipping point: on the one hand, an approach that focuses on the philosophical principles of the Mussar movement, and finds its purpose in the writers and schools that have produced a cohesive and graspable thought. From Slobodka, it ignores, or chooses only interesting radical sides. On the other hand, the approach focuses on the challenges faced by the creators of the Mussar yeshivot, and examines the structural innovations. This approach treats Slobodka only as a representative of the Mussar movement, sometimes coloring it with colors and even associating it with the images that clung to it. Against these two I would like to propose an intermediate approach, which sees the Mussar movement as an educational arena for the realization of spiritual challenges, and therefore examines each school of ethics on its own. According to this approach, Slobodka is distinguished from the other ethics yeshivot in the unique field of activity she created, in the combination of scholarship and Mussar, and the idea of practice in Mussar education. It was this format that succeeded in surviving the Revolts and crises, the immigration to the Land of Israel, and even influencing the entire Yeshiva establishment in the twentieth century.

The Sources

1. Slobodka Mussar thought yielded a large literary harvest: Rabbi Finkel’s talks were recorded by students, and were published in the books Ohr Hatzafon, edited by his senior students. An equally rich selection of Slobodka’s teachings can be found in the writings of selected students, who published articles and books of thought in the spirit of the school, and included personal memoirs and critical reviews of great value. The most prominent among them are: Rabbi Avraham Eliyahu Kaplan, Rabbi Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, Rabbi Yechezkel Sarna, Rabbi Dov Katz, Rabbi Yisrael Zissel Dvoretz, Rabbi Yosef Ze’ev Lipovich and Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Lassin.

As with any internal material of a reviewed school, its use should be done with due caution, as it may sometimes give rise to methodological difficulties. In this case, since we are concerned with the Slobodkai education and its implementation among the students, we are required to write and think about them just as we are required of the thought of their teacher, Rabbi Finkel. In addition, Slobodka’s education encouraged independence of thought, sometimes to the point of criticizing it, and some of the aforementioned writers applied this privilege in practice in their personal lives and in their written work. The use of these writings will be made while familiarizing ourselves with the biography of the author, the two fields complement each other and present us with the image of a graduate of the Slobodka School.

2. Diaries and autobiographies written by students of the Slobodka Yeshiva and other yeshiva students, shedding light on important periods and events in the yeshiva world during this period, and on the Mussar movement and the problems it faced. These are valuable sources about the inner world and self-consciousness of yeshiva students. Within them, a distinction must be made between diaries written at or near the time of the event, and autobiographies written at a distance of time and space. Among the diaries, there are some that have not yet been published, and even those that have been published, for the most part, have been affected by them and important excerpts have been censored. In several cases I managed to obtain the manuscript of the diary, from which I learned other important things that would be reflected in the body of the work.

3. Most of the documentary material comes from private collections, which I reached through my connections in the Haredi world. Infiltrating such collections is a difficult task, due to a characteristic suspicion that stems from two reasons: first, the unsympathetic attitude toward academia in general, and second, the most significant collections are in the hands of family members who are in a state of ongoing conflict with each other. So far, important and vital material has come to my attention from both family and neutral sources, and all the sources have been brought with reference to their origin, whether explicitly or in acronyms for obvious reasons.

4. Interviews: I conducted with graduates of the Knesset Israel Yeshiva and other yeshivas, as well as interviews conducted by others and published in various media outlets. It should be remembered that some of the interviewees today are at very advanced ages and sometimes it is difficult to trust their memory. The most effective interviewee is the one who, on the one hand, was directly close to the system, and on the other hand, was not personally involved in a way that might cast doubt on the accuracy of the information in his mouth.

5. Biographical, ‘geographic’ and lexicon literature: The use of Haredi literature written for educational purposes requires careful use of historical information. However, when it contains information that is given in the first person, it can teach us a great deal about the self-consciousness of yeshiva students and members of the Mussar movement. Sometimes these sources actively participate in the research when they are part of the process we wish to present. An example of this is Rav Dov 20″Z, who certainly deserves to be considered a ‘historian’ of the Mussar movement. Despite the didactic tone, his series of books “The Mussar Movement” brings together most of the information about the movement and its prominent personality in one place. As a member of the movement, he is an unmediated source for everything related to the insider’s perspective, especially towards the Slobodka school in which he grew up. The observing reader will be able to discern the difference between his descriptions of his grandfather of Slobodka and his descriptions of other Mussar figures. The chapters dealing with the description of Slobodka’s method of education are imprinted with the imprint of Katz’s personal experience as a student, and besides being an authentic first-hand report, they teach us about the perspective that Slobodka’s students had toward their yeshiva.

6. Research material: The studies of the Lithuanian yeshiva and the Mussar movement reviewed above contribute a great deal of useful information. I will also use research from the field of educational thought and the history of education, sometimes for the purpose of possible comparison with a parallel educational school, and sometimes as background material for understanding the situation required for our discussion. The latter category includes the studies of Zvi Lam, Mordechai Nissan, Jonathan Cohen, Zvi Kurzweil, and Yona Ben-Sasson.

7. Background research: the documentary and research literature of the Fourth and Fifth Aliyah, studies on the Yishuv during the Mandate period. In order to understand the socio-political background of Orthodox society in this period, I used the research of Menachem Friedman, Israel Bartal, Moshe Lisak, Israel Kolat, and Gershon Bacon. The files of letters that were printed also contribute to this field by a hundred key figures in the Orthodox world during the period under discussion, headed by Rav Kook, Rabbi H.A. Grodzinsky, the Chazon Ish, and Rabbi Sarna.

[1]Ross does not deal with Slobodka at all, and Rabbi Finkel’s book “The Light of the North” does not even appear in her bibliography.
[2] Shaul Stampfer, The Lithuanian Yeshiva in the Making, Jerusalem 2005.
[3] Founded in 1802 by Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, a student of the Gra, it was closed in 1892 by order of the authorities.
[4] See Weinberg, The Yeshivot in Russia, followed by Dov Katz in his book The Mussar Movement.
[5] Weinberg is there. (Shapira, ibid., pp. 221-222).
[6] Stampfer, The Lithuanian Yeshiva, p. 270.
[7] See Brown, The Greatness of Man.
[8] Brown, ibid., p. 251.
[9] Brown, ibid., p. 269.




Some Observations Regarding the Mah Nishtannah

Some Observations Regarding the Mah Nishtannah[1]
by: Mitchell First

1. It is well-known that the Mishnah in the tenth chapter of Pesachim includes a set of mah nishtannah. But if one opens a standard printed Babylonian Talmud (Pes. 116a), one sees four questions[2] in the text of the Mishnah (matzah, maror, roast, and dipping), while if one opens a standard printed Jerusalem Talmud, one sees three (dipping, matzah and roast). Is this an instance of a disagreement between the text of the Mishnah preserved in Babylonia and the text of the Mishnah preserved in Palestine? There are such disagreements,[3] but this is not one of them. Here, the manuscript evidence points overwhelmingly to the conclusion that the original text of the Mishnah recorded only the questions of dipping, matzah and roast.[4] Moreover, if one opens up a standard Masechet Pesachim of the Babylonian Talmud and looks at the text of the Mishnah recorded in the Rif and the Rosh, one sees that they too record a Mishnah which included only the questions of dipping, matzah and roast. Also, Rambam utilized a text of the Mishnah which included only these three questions.[5] Let us see how the Encyclopaedia Judaica in its original and new editions deal with this issue. When Daniel Goldschmidt published his classic work on the Haggadah in 1960, after earlier German and Hebrew versions,[6] he clearly took the position that the original text of the Mishnah included only three questions.[7] It was therefore somewhat surprising when the “Mah Nishtannah” entry in the original Encyclopaedia Judaica (published in 1972 and written by the anonymous editors) stated that “[t]he Mishnah enumerates four questions.” In its bibliography, this entry had cited only Goldschmidt’s 1960 work, and one other less scholarly source.[8] We are now in the 21st century. There is now a widespread consensus among scholars that the original text of the Mishnah included only three questions.[9] But when one looks at the new edition of the Encyclopaedia Judaica, one finds only a reprint of the original entry![10] —— 2. A widely quoted explanation of the Vilna Gaon takes the positions that there were always four questions, and that, after the churban, the roast question was substituted by the reclining question.[11] We have already seen that the first of these positions is incorrect. The Haggadah fragments found in the Cairo Genizah show that the second of these positions is incorrect as well. Genizah material generally dates from the 10th through the 13th centuries.[12] It is reasonable to assume that this is roughly the period of the Haggadah fragments from the Genizah.[13] Of course, not all of the Haggadah fragments from the Genizah span the mah nishtannah section. But of those that do, many include the roast question.[14] (The survival of the roast question for 1000 years, post-churban, has been implicitly acknowledged in the Haggadah shel Pesach, Torat Chayim, published by Mossad ha-Rav Kook, at p. 29, n. 59.) [15] Furthermore, although most of the mah nishtannah Haggadah fragments found in the Genizah record four questions the way they are asked today,[16] we also find the following:[17] -Several record three questions: matzah, dipping, and roast,[18] just like the original text of the Mishnah. Most likely, the fragments with these three questions reflect the original Palestinian tradition of the Haggadah,[19] which followed the text of the Mishnah, and the fragments with four questions reflect the Babylonian tradition,[20] which gradually penetrated into Palestine and its surrounding areas.[21] -One records the following three questions: dipping, matzah and reclining.[22] -One records five questions: dipping, matzah, roast, maror, and reclining.[23] (See the photograph in M. Kasher, Haggadah Shelemah, p. 93.) In this fragment, the roast question is phrased:… צלי כולו המקדש בבית אוכלים היינו הזה והלילה. This is the only fragment in which the roast question is phrased with such a qualification. [24] -Two record only the questions of dipping and roast.[25] (But there does not appear to be any reason why the matzah question would have been intentionally discontinued. Perhaps the matzah question was accidentally dropped by a scribe in one source, and further copies were later made from that source. It would have been easy for a scribe to accidentally turn his eye to the wrong mah nishtannah line in the source he was copying from, and thereby omit a question.) – One records only the questions of dipping and matzah. I would like to focus on this last source, which is not actually a Haggadah fragment, but is a section of an anonymous Geonic responsum which includes an outline of the procedures at the seder. It can be deduced that the responsum was composed in Babylonia because it includes avadim hayyinu, which was not a part of the Palestinian seder ritual in this period.[26] This responsum was published by Louis Ginzberg, in his Ginzey Schechter, vol. 2, pp. 258-260. [27] Theoretically, it is possible to argue that the author of this responsum gave only an abbreviated version of the mah nishtannah, and listed only the first two questions, even though his practice was four. This seems to be the understanding of Ginzberg, who writes (p. 259, n. 1): הראשונות השאלות ‘ב אלא כאן נאמרו ולא נתקצר נשתנה מה נוסח. B.M. Lewin included this responsum in his Otzar ha-Geonim, Pesachim (pp. 154-55), and he seems to agree with Ginzberg. (See p. 154, n. 13: נתקצר נשתנה מה נוסח.) But this interpretation seems very unlikely. The whole purpose of the responsum was to spell out the procedures and text of the seder. Abbrevation here would have defeated its purpose. The Safrais take a different approach to this responsum in their monumental work, Haggadat Hazal. They write (p. 64, n. 53) that the third and fourth questions are העמוד בסוף חסרות, implying that these questions were originally included in this responsum but were cut off. Moreover, in their chart on p. 266, they put brackets over a supposed area of the third and fourth questions in this responsum, implying that these questions were once there. They take this approach so that the set of questions in our responsum could then parallel the set of questions found in the other known Babylonian Geonic sources of the Haggadah text: Seder R. Amram Gaon, Siddur R. Saadiah Gaon, and the Haggadah text published in 1984 by M. Lehman.[28] All these sources record the standard four questions: dipping, matzah, maror, and reclining.[29] But I was able to view an image of the responsum (T-S Misc.36.179), and with the kind permission of the Cambridge University Library, have included this image at the end of this article. It is clear that the third and fourth questions were never there. The first side of the fragment ends with the last words of the matzah question (the last three words of this question were written below the last regular line), and the next side continues immediately with avadim hayyinu. It is clear from the image that there are no missing lines in between. Assuming we reject the unlikely interpretation of Ginzberg, this source records a two-question set in Babylonia.[30] The idea that we have now been able to “excavate” such a set, evidence of a period before four questions became the universal practice there, is truly remarkable. An issue remains whether the responsum dates to the period before the maror and reclining questions were added in any Babylonian communities, or whether it dates to a period after they were added, but was composed in a community which did not add them. The latter seems more likely. (The responsum does have at least one other unique aspect.[31] It includes the statement: חורים בני היום[ו] עבדים היינו אתמול. The Safrais discuss this statement at p. 111 and do not mention any other fragments from the Genizah with this language.[32] On the image at the end of this article, this statement is found on the first page, six lines above the last full line.) Regarding the issue of when the maror and reclining questions were added, the following are some reasonable observations that have been made by scholars to date: ◦ The reclining question was probably the last question to be added.[33] Unlike the maror question, it did not make its way into in any manuscripts of the Mishnah,[34] and in all communities, it is the last question of the set.[35] ◦ The maror question probably did not arise until after the text of the dipping question was changed in Babylonia (see Pes. 116a[36]) and the dipping question lost its connotation as a maror question. Once the dipping question lost this connotation, it was probably viewed as necessary to add a question relating to maror.[37] ◦ The reclining question probably originated in Babylonia as well.[38] It was probably added, after the maror question, due to a desire to fix the number of questions at four, parallel to the themes of four cups of wine and four sons.[39] Aside from Haggadah fragments found in the Genizah, the earliest sources which include the reclining question are: Seder R. Amram Gaon,[40] Siddur R. Saadiah Gaon,[41] and the Geonic Haggadah text published by Lehman in 1984. (With regard to Seder R. Amram Gaon, it is accepted that many additions and changes were made to it in the centuries after R. Amram’s death, c. 875. The three surviving manuscripts of the work are only from the 14th-16th centuries. See D. Goldschmidt, Seder R. Amram Gaon, pp. 11-13. With regard to the Siddur R. Saadiah Gaon, the material in our possession has traditionally been viewed as representing a generally reliable version of the original 10th century work by R. Saadiah.[42] With regard to the Geonic Haggadah text published by Lehman, see above, n. 28.) —— 3. A main issue of debate among scholars has been whether the mah nishtannah set of the Mishnah reflects questions from Temple times. If we focus on the roast question ( הלילה הזה כולו צלי ), a reasonable initial assumption is that this question is referring to the pesach sacrifice, since the pesach sacrifice was something that was required to be roasted. This would suggest that this question, and hence perhaps all the questions, were composed during Temple times. But many scholars argue that the roast question is not referring to the pesach sacrifice and that this question was composed after the churban (and hence, the other questions probably were as well.) They make the following arguments: 1. A practice arose after the churban, approved (or perhaps initiated) by Rabban Gamliel of Yavneh, of eating a gedi mekulas as a method of commemorating the pesach sacrifice.[43] See Betzah 2:6-7 and Eduyyot 3:10-11. (Although these two sources do not specify that the Rabban Gamliel they are referring to is Rabban Gamliel of Yavneh, it seems fairly clear, for a variety of reasons, that this is the case here.[44]) The meaning of the term mekulas is subject to debate.[45] Nevertheless, it is clear that the gedi mekulas was not designated as a pesach sacrifice, but was arranged on the spit during the roasting process in the same manner as a pesach sacrifice, and was roasted in its entirety just like a pesach sacrifice. See Tosef. Betzah 2:11 (איזהו גדי מקולס? כולו צלי ראשו וכרעיו וקרבו ) and Pes. 74a.[46] The Sages prohibited the gedi mekulas,[47] but it is possible that a large section of Jewry followed the leniency of Rabban Gamliel and engaged in this practice.[48] The roast question could have been composed post-churban in an area which followed this practice and could be referring to this practice.[49] 2. The Mishnah at Pesachim 4:4 records:מקום שנהגו לאכול צלי בלילי פסחים, אוכלים; מקום שנהגו שלא לאכול, אינן אוכלין. It is possible that this Mishnah was composed during Temple times and is referring to a practice of eating roast meat on the seder night outside the Temple. But just as likely, this Mishnah was composed after the churban and is referring to a post-churban practice of eating roast meat[50] as a commemoration of the pesach sacrifice. It is possible to understand the roast question in the Mishnah as composed, post-churban, in an area which followed this practice and as referring to this practice.[51] But (as pointed out to me by my friend Sam Borodach) the precise phrasing of the roast question does not support either of these interpretations. When read in light of the parallel matzah question, the roast question implies that the question is about a required behavior of the evening. While there were areas which had a custom on this evening, post-churban, to eat a gedi mekulas or to eat roast meat, these were not required behaviors. It is hard to imagine the roast question phrased the way it was by someone composing it with the above optional commemorative behaviors in mind. The language of the roast question, read in light of the parallel matzah question, fits the pesach sacrifice best.[52] Does it follow from this interpretation that the roast question was composed during Temple times? Not necessarily. Even if the roast question is referring to the pesach sacrifice, it very possibly could have been composed after the churban, as a simulation of a question that might have been asked during Temple times. Once the idea for a mah nishtannah question about matzah took hold, it would be have been natural and instructive to create a parallel question covering such an important commandment as the pesach sacrifice, even if the pesach sacrifice was no longer being offered. (All the more so if practices commemorating the pesach sacrifice were ongoing!) (It is also possible to understand the roast question as having been composed post-churban if the pesach sacrifice itself continued after the churban.[53] But the evidence for this is weak.[54]) The Mishnah that concerns us, Pesachim 10:4, is found in the last chapter of this masechet. This suggests that this Mishnah was composed after the churban, since it is reasonable to presume that mishnayot that are presented in the early parts of a masechet were composed first and that mishnayot that are presented later were composed later.[55] Moreover, there is specific evidence suggesting that this particular chapter was composed after the churban. Mishnah 10:3 includes the statement:ובמקדש מביאין לפניו גופו של פסח. This statement suggests that the normative statements in this chapter describe only post-churban practice.[56] Of course, the questions themselves could still reflect questions from earlier times, which were recorded in a chapter composed after the churban. Based on recent scholarly developments, a new argument can be made to support the idea that the questions were composed post-churban. The mah nishtannah is not included in the tenth chapter of the Tosefta. This chapter includes much material parallel to the tenth chapter of the Mishnah. In his Tosefta Atikta, published in 2002, Shamma Friedman studied the relationship between the Mishnah and Tosefta of Pesachim in the first four chapters and in the tenth chapter.[57] He came to the conclusion that the material in the Tosefta in these chapters seems to have originated earlier.[58] If Friedman is correct, this also tends to support a post-churban origin for the mah nishtannah. So far, I have not discussed the precise role that the mah nishtannah serve in the Mishnah. But most likely, the mah nishtannah of the Mishnah was not a mandated piece of liturgy to be recited by the father or a typical son. Rather, it was what the child who lacks understanding is taught to ask (…מה נשתנה אביו מלמדו, אם אין דעת בבן).[59] This also perhaps implies that the mah nishtannah text was a later development. ——– Note finally that the Talmud, at Pes. 70a, records and accepts a statement by R. Hisda that the roast question was authored by Ben Tema. Ben Tema took the position that the chagigah too had to be roasted. In the view of R. Hisda, the language of the roast question, הלילה הזה כולו צלי, fit the position of Ben Tema only. Ben Tema is only mentioned at Pes. 70a and Yoma 83a and there is not enough information to determine if he lived during Temple times. (Some suggest that he is to be identified with R. Judah Ben Tema, who probably dates to the second century C.E,[60] but this identification is only conjecture.) The above statement of R. Hisda is not recorded again at Pes. 116a, where one would expect it.[61] R. Hisda’s statement is also surprising, because it takes an overly literal approach to the roast question. There is also no statement in the Jerusalem Talmud expressing the view that the roast question was authored by Ben Tema.[62] ———- To summarize, it is possible that the mah nishtannah was composed during Temple times, but it also possible that it was composed post-churban. In support of the latter is that the mah nishtannah is found in the last chapter of the masechet, and in a chapter whose normative language suggests that it was composed post-churban. The inclusion of a question about roast meat is not inconsistent with this approach. This question could have been composed post-churban in an area which followed the post-churban practice of preparing a gedi mekulas or in an area which followed the post-churban practice of eating roast meat. More likely, if the question was composed post-churban, it is referring to the pesach sacrifice and was composed for educational purposes, as a simulation of a question that might have been asked during Temple times. The fact that the mah nishtannah is not included in the Tosefta may also support a post-churban origin for it. ——— Cambridge University Library T-S Misc.36.179 (reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library)

[1] I would like to acknowledge Dr. Jay Rovner, Rabbi Mordy Friedman, and Sam Borodach for their thoughts and assistance. The views expressed are solely my own. Several sources will be cited throughout: -D. Goldschmidt, Haggadah shel Pesach (1960), cited as “Goldschmidt.” -M. Kasher, Haggadah Shelemah (third ed., 1967), cited as “Kasher.” -Y. Tabory, Pesach Dorot (1996), cited as “Tabory.” -S. and Z. Safrai, Haggadat Chazal (1998), cited as “Safrai.” -S. Friedman, Tosefta Atikta: Masechet Pesach Rishon (2002), cited as “Friedman.” -R. Steiner, “On the Original Structure and Meaning of Mah Nishtannah and the History of Its Reinterpretation,” JSIJ 7 (2008), pp. 1-41, cited as “Steiner.”[2] I will call them questions, even though some have argued that they are best understood, in the context of Mishnah 10:4, as explanations or exclamations. See, e.g., Safrai, pp. 31 and 206, and the sources cited by Steiner, pp. 21-22. Steiner strongly defends the traditional understanding of the mah nishtannah as questions (actually, as one long question). He points out that the Talmud (Pes. 116a) includes the following passage:ת”ר חכם בנו שואלו ואם אינו חכם אשתו שואלתו ואם לאו הוא שואל לעצמו ואפילו שני תלמידי חכמים שיודעין בהלכות הפסח שואלין זה לזה מה נשתנה הלילה הזה מכל הלילות שבכל הלילות אנו מטבילין פעם אחת הלילה הזה שתי פעמים:(Although the printed editions have punctuation between שואלין זה לזה and מה נשתנה, this punctuation is only a later addition. See Steiner, p. 26, n. 95, and Kasher, p. 35. But see Goldschmidt, p. 11, and Safrai, p. 112, for a different approach to the above text.) Steiner argues that the Mishnah is most properly understood as intending only one (long) question, i.e., “what special characteristic of this night is causing us to depart from our normal routine in so many ways?” He shows that R. Saadiah Gaon and every early medieval source understood the mah nishtannah as only one long question. It was not until the 13th century that a medieval source first referred to them asשאלות (plural). A study of the the mah nishtannah inevitably raises other issues. Is the mah nishtannah to be recited by the child only if he cannot formulate his own questions? Is it perhaps to be recited by the father? On these issues, see, e.g., Goldschmidt, pp. 10-11, Kasher, pp. רד-רב, Safrai, p. 31, ArtScroll Mishnah Series, comm. to Pes. 10:4, p. 210, and J. Kulp and D. Golinkin, The Schechter Haggadah: Art, History, and Commentary, p. 196. Most likely, the correct understanding of Mishnah 10:4 is that the mah nishtannah is what the child who lacks understanding is taught to ask. See Steiner, pp. 26, and 33-36. (Steiner suggests that we should read the beginning of Mishnah 10:4 elliptically as if it includes the words לשאל after בבן דעת אין, and again after אביו מלמדו.) It was only sometime in the post-Talmudic period that the mah nishtannah began to be treated as a mandated piece of liturgy.[3] A well-known example is the first Mishnah in the fourth chapter of Bava Metzia. On this topic generally, see M. Schacter, “Babylonian-Palestinian Variations in the Mishnah,” JQR 42 (1951-52), pp. 1-35. [4] This is what the earliest and most reliable Mishnah manuscripts record. See Safrai, p. 26 and Tabory, pp. 260, 262, and 361.With regard to the order of these three questions, almost all of the early sources which record the mah nishtannah as dipping, matzah and roast, record them in that precise order. See Tabory, p. 262. Kasher, p. 113, n. 6, refers to eight manuscripts of the Babylonian Talmud to Pesachim which include the Mishnah. All but one include only the above three questions in their text of the Mishnah (in the order dipping, matzah, and roast). (In this note, Kasher did not cite the Munich 95 manuscript of the Talmud, which also includes only these three questions, because it includes them in a different order.) Almost certainly, it was the familiarity of later copyists with the maror question from the texts of their Haggadah that led them to insert it into texts of the Mishnah. See H. Guggenheimer, The Scholar’s Haggadah, p. 250. Now that it has been established that Mishnah 10:4 includes only three questions, many scholars claim that the three explanations of R. Gamliel at Mishnah 10:5 (pesach, matzah, maror) are the answers to the mah nishtannah. But this approach must be rejected. As Steiner explains (pp. 32-33), although the topics of the mah nishtannah match the topics of the three explanations (the dipping question was the maror question of the time), the “explanations” given do not specifically answer the questions posed. Moreover, the mah nishtannah is most properly understood as only one long question, i.e., “what special characteristic of this night is causing us to depart from our normal routine in so many ways?” If so, what we should be looking for in an answer is one fundamental answer and not three piecemeal ones. According to Steiner, כל הפרשה … מתחיל בגנות is the answer expressed in the Mishnah to the mah nishtannah. (The prevalent view among the Rishonim was that avadim hayyinu was the answer to the mah nishtannah. See Steiner, p. 31. But avadim hayyinu is not found in the Mishnah, and was not even included in the Palestinian seder ritual. See Steiner, p. 32 and below, n. 26.)[5] See the edition of the Rambam’s commentary on the Mishnah published by Y. Kafah. Rambam copied a text of the Mishnah (presumably one that he felt was authoritative) and wrote his commentary on that text. For most of the sedarim of the Mishnah (including Pesachim), we have this text of the Mishnah and the Rambam’s commentary, all written in the Rambam’s own hand. This text of the Mishnah with the Rambam’s commentary was published by Kafah. The edition of the Rambam’s commentary on the Mishnah included in a standard Talmud volume does not include a text of the Mishnah.[6] The German version was published in 1936. The earlier Hebrew version was published in 1947.[7] Goldschmidt, pp. 11-12. He also clearly took this position in the 1947 version (pp. 9-10, and p. 29). I have not seen the 1936 version.[8] The other source cited was: “J. Levy, A Guide to Passover (1958).” There is a typographical error here, as the author’s name was Isaac Levy. This was not a work which compared in any way with the level of scholarship reflected in Goldschmidt’s 1960 Haggadah. At p. 27, Levy assumed, without any discussion, that the Mishnah enumerated the matzah, maror, roast, and dipping questions.[9] E.g., Safrai, p. 26, Tabory, pp. 260, 262 and 361, Steiner, p. 32, and Kulp and Golinkin, pp. 198-99.[10] It includes no new bibliographical references either, unlike many of the other entries.[11] The Gaon’s explanation is printed at Kasher, at p. 115. According to this explanation, reclining at the seder would not have been a shinui prior to the churban, since it was the practice to eat while reclining all year round. Only after the Temple was destroyed did reclining at the seder become something unusual. At the same time, the pesach sacrifice ceased. The Gaon’s explanations to the Haggadah were first published in 1805 (a few years after his death) by his student R. Menachem Mendel of Shklov. The Encylopaedia Judaica entry “Mah Nishtannah” also essentially follows the approach of the Gaon. Another widely quoted view is that of the Rambam, who writes that there were originally five questions before the question about roast meat was dropped. The Rambam writes (Hilchot Chametz u-Matzah 8:3): בזמן הזה אינו אומר והלילה הזה כולו צלי שאין לנו קרבן. [12] R. Brody, The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture, p. 32.[13] For a listing of the Haggadah fragments from the Genizah, see Safrai, pp. 293-301. Most of these have not been published.[14] For some published examples, see: 1) I. Abrahams, “Some Egyptian Fragments of the Passover Haggadah,” J.Q.R. (O.S.) 10 (1898), pp. 41-51, fragments # 2, 7,8 and 10; 2) the Haggadah manuscript first described briefly in an article by J.H. Greenstone in 1911, and later published in full by Goldschmidt; 3) the Haggadah manuscript published by Jay Rovner, “An Early Passover Haggadah According to the Palestinian Rite,” J.Q.R. 90 (2000), pp. 337-396, and 4) MS Cambridge T-S H2.152 (photograph at Kasher, p. 93). There are other such fragments as well. For example, see Safrai, p. 53, n. 21 and p. 114, nn. 9 and 11. (The manuscript published by Rovner is probably, but not certainly, from the Genizah.). In only one of these texts (T-S H2.152) was the text of the question amended to צלי כולו המקדש בבית אוכלים היינו. With one exception (see below), the roast question is found only among sets of mah nishtannah which are based on the three questions included in the Mishnah. These sets either follow the set of three included in the Mishnah, or have a modified version of the set which leaves out the matzah question (perhaps erroneously, see the discussion in the text). (But not all of the fragments which include the roast question include a complete set of questions, so the above conclusions are not absolute.) The exception is T-S H2.152 which includes the roast question along with four other questions. One text from the Genizah (Abrahams, fragment #5) includes the following blessing immediately after ha-motzi: מרורים מצות לאכל אבותינו את צוה אשר העולם מלך … ‘ה ‘א ‘ב הברית זוכר ‘ה ‘א ‘ב גבורותיו את להזכיר אש צלי בשר(The Safrais quote this text at p. 30, but erroneously leave out the words אבותינו את.) Whatever community was using this text was almost certainly eating roast meat at their meal, although Tabory (p. 103) raises the possibility that they may have only been partaking a small, symbolic amount. A similar blessing is found in a different Genizah fragment printed by the Safrais at p. 289. There, however, the blessing is included before the blessing for washing and ha-motzi, so it is less clear that the blessing was meant to precede the actual eating of roast meat. Regarding the concluding blessing הברית זוכר, there are other fragments from the Genizah which include such a blessing in this section of the Haggadah (without reference to אש צלי בשר ). See, e.g, the Greenstone-Goldschmidt manuscript (Goldschmidt, p. 83), and Abrahams, fragment #7. For further discussion of this concluding blessing, see Goldschmidt, p. 60, n. 10.

[15] The passage reads:
זו שאלה גם גורסים הגדות שבמספר י עמ׳ שלמה הגדה עי׳.

[16] Safrai, p. 113. (I am not concerned with variation in the order of these four questions.)[17] In this section, I am only including fragments whose total number of questions in their mah nishtannah set can be determined. Therefore, I am not including fragments such as Abrahams #7 and Abrahams #8, which include mah nishtannah questions but which are cut off mid-set. For example, Abrahams fragment #7 starts with the roast question, but is cut off before it. Abrahams fragment #8 starts in the middle of the matzah question. [18] See, e.g., Abrahams, fragments #2 and #10. See also our discussion below of the Greenstone-Goldschmidt fragment. Safrai writes (p. 65) that ניכר מספר of the Haggadah fragments from the Genizah are of this type. [19] Safrai, pp. 26, 64 and 113. But a few fragments which include the roast question follow the Babylonian rite in other essential respects. See Safrai, p. 30, n. 55, and p. 114, n. 9.[20] Safrai, pp. 113 and 206.[21] We know from many other contexts that Babylonian customs gradually penetrated into Palestine and its surrounding areas and became the majority custom. See, e.g., Brody, The Geonim of Babylonia and the Shaping of Medieval Jewish Culture, pp. 111, 115, and 117. (An example is the practice of reciting kedushah in the daily amidah. The letter of Pirkoi ben Baboi, early 9th cent., describes how Babylonian Jews moved to Palestine and forced Palestinian Jews to adopt the Babylonian practice of reciting kedushah daily.) See also I. Ta-Shema, Ha-Tefillah ha-Ashkenazit ha-Kedumah, p. 7. [22] See Kasher, p. 113, n. 11. Kasher calls this manuscript “21ק.” It is MS Cambridge T-S H2.145. It is possible that this is not a legitimate variant and that the maror question was omitted in error by the scribe who copied this fragment. As explained in the text, the reclining question was almost certainly the last question added and there was little reason for a community to have dropped the maror question. We also have evidence of a mah nishtannah set of dipping, matzah, and maror. This does not come from the Genizah, but from additions inscribed at the end of a certain siddur. The siddur was authored by a rabbinic authority from Morocco, who lived in the 11th or 12th century. The additions, inscribed by the owner of the siddur, describe various local rites, and include a mah nishtannah set of dipping, matzah and maror. See Rovner, p. 351, n. 57.[23] T-S H2.152. [24] Safrai, p. 53. This set is so aberrant that it may not reflect an actual rite. Possibly, the set was created by a lone scribe who combined the various questions that he knew of into one set. Since this set records the language of the roast question in a manner found nowhere else, this is evidence that the scribe who copied this fragment may have been a creative one.[25] The Haggadah manuscript published by Rovner clearly records only these two questions. The Greenstone-Goldschmidt manuscript initially recorded only these two questions, but a later scribe inserted the matzah question. See the last line of fragment א/ד and the first line of fragment ב/ד, in the photos at Goldschmidt, p. ii. These photos show that these lines are in a different handwriting. (The Safrais also print a text of the Goldstone-Goldschmidt manuscript. But they print it as if it included all three questions initially. See Safrai, pp. 286-89.) [26] Safrai, p. 50. See also the responsum of R. Natronai Gaon quoted, for example, at Kasher, pp. 27-28, Goldschmidt, p. 73, and Safrai, pp. 56-57. (In this responsum, R. Natronai criticizes an alternative Haggadah ritual for many reasons, one of which was the ritual’s omission of avadim hayyinu. R. Natronai thought it was a sectarian Haggadah ritual. It turns out that he was criticizing the Palestinian Haggadah ritual. See Goldschmidt, p. 74, Safrai, pp. 56-59, and Brody, p. 96.)[27] It is cited in Kasher, p. 113, n. 11 with the symbol ש. The responsum is not devoted solely to the seder. The first few lines of the responsum, whose beginning is cut off, deal with the hoshanot of Sukkot.[28] M. Lehman, Seder ve-Haggadah Shel Pesach le-Rav Natronai Gaon Al Pi Ketav-Yad Kadmon, in Sefer Yovel li-Chevod Morenu ha-Gaon Rabi Yosef Dov ha-Levi Soloveitchik Shelita, ed. S. Israeli, vol. 2, pp. 976-993, at p. 986. The title of Lehman’s article is unfortunate. The text of the article does not even claim that the Geonic Haggadah text published there served as the Haggadah of R. Natronai Gaon. Lehman composed the article initially based on a manuscript which spanned three sections, one of which was a Haggadah text. The first section of the manuscript included a caption stating that the material in that section (a long paytanic version of kiddush for Passover, and a long paytanic version of the blessing before drinking the second cup) was enacted and arranged by R. Natronai. The Haggadah section had its own caption which stated that what followed was the text of the Haggadah accepted by the Talmud and the Geonim (with no mention of R. Natronai). Three Passover-related responsa followed, without any caption. Later, Lehman acquired another page from the same manuscript. He writes that the body of his article was already in final form by this time, but he was able to add his discussion of the new page at the end of the article. The new page included three anonymous responsa, one of which is recorded elsewhere in the name of R. Hai Gaon. This made Lehman realize (p. 991) that his pages were part of a collection of material from various Geonim, and not material that may all have had some connection to R. Natronai. Probably, the article was given its title (by Lehman or perhaps by someone else) before Lehman acquired the additional page. But even before Lehman acquired the additional page, the title was unjustified, as the Haggadah section had its own caption which did not connect it to R. Natronai. (Despite its caption, even the material in the first section of the manuscript may not have been composed by R. Natronai.) It is unfortunate that the Safrais refer to Lehman’s text throughout their work as the “Haggadah of R. Natronai Gaon.” It is evident fom their discussion of this text (p. 261) that all they were really willing to accept is that the text reflected a Haggadah from the time of the Geonim in general.[29] See Safrai, pp. 261 and 266.[30] See Kasher, p. 42, J. Rovner, “An Early Passover Haggadah: Corrigenda,” JQR 91 (2001), p. 429 (correcting p. 351, n. 59 in his original article), and J. Kulp and D. Golinkin, The Schechter Haggadah: Art, History, and Commentary, p. 199. Note that the Rif quotes a text of M. Pesachim 10:4 which includes only the questions of dipping, matzah and roast, and then remarks פסחא לן דלית צלי בשר לימא לא והשתא. It can be argued based on this that, in his community, the mah nishtannah at the seder may have only included dipping and matzah.[31] Perhaps close examination of the responsum will reveal other unique aspects. The responsum follows an alternative nusach for kiddush, but this nusach is widely attested to. See, e.g., Siddur R. Saadiah Gaon, pp. 141-142, Kasher, pp. 183-85 and ג-ב, Safrai, p. 61, and Lehman, pp. 977-980 and 982-83. The responsum records the Sages in Bnei Brak as having been מסיחין about yitziat mitzrayim all night. But there is other evidence for this reading or its equivalent: משיחין. See Safrai, p. 208.[32] But this language is recorded in the haggadot of Djerba (which also include the standard language that we are now slaves and will be free next year). See Kasher, p. 201, and Safrai, p. 111, n. 6. (Djerba is an island off the coast of Tunisia. The Jewish community there has ancient roots. ) R. Shlomo Goren saw fit to to include the above Geonic language (along with the standard language) in the haggadah he composed for the use of the Israeli army. See, e.g., Kasher, p. 201, citing the 1956 edition of the Haggadah Shel Pesach published by הראשית הצבאית הרבנות. Many editions of this haggadah were published and I saw this language in later editions as well. Kasher discusses the Geonic language at pp. 198-201 and attempts to provide a rationale for it.[33] Tabory, p. 260.[34] The maror question made its way into some, but not the earliest, texts of the Mishnah. See Tabory, p. 261.[35] Tabori, p. 261, n. 36.[36] In Amoraic Babylonia, there was no practice of dipping throughout the year. This led the Babylonian Amoraim to rephrase the question. Based on the statements by the Babylonian Amoraim expressed at Pes. 116a, the text of the dipping question was changed in many Mishnah manuscripts. Various forms of the question developed. See Safrai, p. 27, and Goldschmidt, p. 77.[37] Tabory, pp. 261-262. Almost certainly, the original formulation of this question described the herb as מרורים. See Siddur R. Saadiah Gaon, p. 137, Goldschmidt, p. 12, Kasher, pp. 113-14 and pp. יא-י (variant readings), and Tabory, p. 261. See also Rambam, Hilchot Chametz u-Matzah 8:2. (In the nusach ha-haggadah included in the standard printed Mishnah Torah, the reading is מרור. But the Frankel edition points out that some versions read מרורים here.) מרורים is the phrase used in the Bible (Ex. 12:8 and Num. 9:11). Moreover, the singular מרור refers to only one of the five herbs with which one can fulfill one’s obligation. See M. Pes. 2:6.[38] In suggesting that both the maror and reclining questions arose in Babylonia, I am following the approach of the Safrais. The Safrais believe that even though the majority of the mah nishtannah Haggadah fragments from the Genizah include dipping, matzah, maror and reclining, these fragments do not reflect the original Palestinian custom. These fragments only show that the Babylonian custom became the majority custom in Palestine and its surrounding areas. [39] Guggenheimer, p. 250. [40] P. 113 (ed. Goldschmidt).[41] P. 137.[42] But N. Cohen has noted several contradictions between the instructions provided by R. Saadiah and the liturgical texts, and between parallel prayer texts in different sections. According to Cohen, some of the liturgical texts included in the Siddur may have been supplied by later copyists, or at least changed by them. See Cohen, le-Ofiyyo ha-Mekori shel Siddur Rav Saadiah Gaon, Sinai 95 (1983/84), pp. 249-67. Cohen does not address the mah nishtannah in her study.[43] A gedi (=young goat) was one of the animals permitted for the pesach sacrifice. Ex. 12:5 states that the pesach sacrifice must come מן הכבשים ומן העזים (=from a lamb or a goat). [44] One such reason is that plain references to Rabban Gamliel (i.e., without the description “ha-Zaken”) are almost always references to Rabban Gamliel of Yavneh. See Safrai, p. 28, n. 50, E. Schurer, The History of the Jewish People in the Age of Jesus Christ, ed. Vermes, Millar and Black, vol. 2, p. 368, n. 48, and Tos. Niddah 6b, s.v. בשפחתו. A story referring to a practice of preparing a gedi mekulas among Roman Jewry, and the objection of the Sages of Palestine, is found in many sources. See, e.g., Pes. 53a: תודוס איש רומי הנהיג את בני רומי לאכול גדיים מקולסין בלילי פסחים שלחו לו אלמלא תודוס אתה גזרנו עליך נדוי שאתה מאכיל את ישראל קדשים בחוץ … See also Ber. 19a, Bezah 23a, and in the Jerusalem Talmud: Pes. 7:1, Bezah 2:7, and Mo’ed Katan 3:1. Most scholars believe that Todos lived after the churban. See Tabory, p. 98. But there are some scholars who believe that Todos lived during Temple times. See Safrai, p. 28, n. 52. Even if it can shown that there was a practice outside of Palestine of preparing a gedi mekulas during Temple times, this does not mean that there was such a practice in Palestine, where going to Jerusalem and participating in an actual pesach sacrifice was largely possible. (The version of the above story in the standard printed edition of the Talmud at Ber. 19a states that the message to Todos was sent by Simeon b. Shetach. But this is an erroneous reading. See Tabory, p. 98.) Aside from being recorded in both Talmuds, the above story is also recorded in the Tosefta (Bezah 2:11). But the Tosefta has a slightly different reading:תודוס איש רומי הנהיג את בני רומי ליקח טלאים בלילי פסחים ועושין אותן מקולסין… טלא is the Aramaic term for שה, a broader term than גדי . Regarding the significance of this reading, see S. Lieberman, Tosefta ki-Feshutah, 5, p. 959.[45] See the following note.[46] Tosef. Betzah 2:11:איזהו גדי מקולס? כולו צלי, ראשו וכרעיו וקרבו. בישל ממנו כל שהוא שלק ממנו כל שהוא אין זה גדי מקולס … Pes. 74a: איזהו גדי מקולס דאסור לאכול בלילי פסח בזמן הזה כל שצלאו כולו כאחד .נחתך ממנו אבר נשלק ממנו אבר אין זה גדי מקולס (Perhaps it was only the preparation of a gedi mekulas that was forbidden by the Sages, or perhaps the preparation of any kind of מקולס שה was forbidden as well. See the version of the story involving Todos recorded in Tosef. Betzah 2:11 and Lieberman, Tosefta ki-Feshutah, 5, p. 959.) There was a dispute as to the proper manner of positioning the legs and entrails of the pesach sacrifice while it was being roasted. See M. Pesachim 7:1. The view of R. Akiva was that they are hung outside it. This perhaps sheds light on the meaning of the difficult term mekulas. Mekulas in Aramaic can be interpreted as wearing a helmet (see the similar word at Targum Pseudo-Jonathan to I Sam. 17:5). According to Rashi, comm. to Pes. 74a, when R. Akiva expressed the view that the legs and entrails were roasted outside the animal, he meant that they were placed above its head. This made the goat look like it was wearing a helmet. Mekulas would therefore be another way of describing the method of positioning according to R. Akiva. (Rashi elsewhere give a slightly different interpretation of how the term mekulas accords with the view of R. Akiva. See Rashi, comm. to Pes. 53a and Betzah 22b.) An alternative approach is to understand mekulas as meaning “beautiful” or “praised.” See, e.g., Rambam, comm. to Mishnah, Betzah, 2nd chap. The root קלס often has the meaning “to beautify” or “to praise” in rabbinic literature, derived from the Greek word καλος (beautiful). See also J. Gereboff, Rabbi Tarfon: The Tradition, the Man, and Early Rabbinic Judaism, p. 70, where two other Greek derivations for mekulas are suggested: καλως, an animal led on a string, and κολος, a hornless animal. Gereboff also cites S. Krauss for the view that χαυλος in Greek means “helmeted.” See also Tabory, p. 97, n. 248.[47] No reason is given in the Mishnah for the Sages’ prohibition. But in the response to Todos, a reason is given. If the practice of preparing a gedi mekulas is permitted, people will think that kodshim can be eaten outside of the azarah, because the practice was to refer to the gedi mekulas as if it were a pesach offering. Probably, Palestinian Jewry as well as Roman Jewry referred to the gedi mekulas as if it were a pesach offering. See below, n. 54.[48] There would be evidence of this if the custom referred to at M. Pesachim 4:4 is the custom to prepare and eat a gedi mekulas. [49] The Safrais (p. 28), for example, take this approach, as does Friedman (p. 92).[50] Some scholars argue that the custom being referred to in this Mishnah is simply the custom to prepare and eat a gedi mekulas. See, e.g., Safrai, pp. 27-28. But this is not the plain sense of the Mishnah.[51] Scholars who take this approach include G. Allon, The Jews in their Land in the Talmudic Age, pp. 264-65, and Goldschmidt, p. 12. In this approach, the roast question arose in connection with what was perhaps the practice of a large section of Jewry. By contrast, the custom to prepare a gedi mekulas may not have been a widespread custom. [52] A response to this would be that the roast question was phrased the way it was so it could be parallel to the matzah question, even though the phrasing did not exactly fit the concept of an optional commemorative practice.[53] There are those who suggest that the pesach sacrifice (and other sacrifices as well) continued after the churban (perhaps outside the makom ha-mikdash and without the permission of the Sages). See, e.g., J. Brand, “Korban Pesach le-Achar Churban Bayit Sheni,” Ha-Hed 12/6 (1937) and 13/7 (1938), and the references at D. Bleich, Contemporary Halakhic Problems, vol. 1, pp. 247-48. See also Tabory, Moadey Yisrael be-Tekufat ha-Mishnah ve-ha-Talmud, p. 99, n. 65.[54] For example, M. Pesachim 7:2 records a story in which Rabban Gamliel told his slave Tavi to go out and roast “the pesach” on the roasting tray. (The Rabban Gamliel who had a slave named Tavi was Rabban Gamliel of Yavneh. See Safrai, p. 28.) But this story can easily be interpreted as involving only the preparation of a gedi mekulas, post-churban, with the term “pesach” being used only loosely. For similar probable loose usages of the term “pesach,” see Tosef. Ohalot 3:9 and 18:18, and J. Talmud Meg. 1:11. See also Tabory, p. 100-101. The argument that the pesach sacrifice continued after the churban has also been made based on a passage in Josephus’ Antiquities. Josephus writes (II, 313): “to this day we keep this sacrifice in the same customary manner, calling the feast Pascha…” Josephus tells us (XX, 267) that he completed this work in the 13th year of the reign of Domitian (= 93-94 C.E). (The precise year that book II was written is unknown.) But Josephus was writing in Rome, not Palestine, and almost certainly all he meant is that the pesach sacrifice has been kept throughout the centuries through approximately his time. See also B. Bokser, The Origins of the Seder, p. 106. The historian Procopius, describing events in Palestine in the 6th century, wrote: [W]henever in their calendar Passover came before the Christian Easter, [Justinian] forbade the Jews to celebrate it on their proper day, to make then any sacrifices to God or perform any of their customs. Many of them were heavily fined by the magistrates for eating lamb at such times… In the late 4th or early 5th century, the church father Jerome wrote: Take any Jew you please who has been converted to Christianity, and you will see that he practices the rite of circumcision on his newborn son, keeps the Sabbath, abstains from forbidden food, and brings a lamb as an offering on the 14th of Nissan. See Secret History of Procopius, ed. R. Atwater, pp. 260-261 and S. Krauss, “The Jews in the Works of the Church Fathers,” JQR (OS) 6 (1893/1894), p. 237. But almost certainly, these passages are only referring to the practice of slaughtering a gedi mekulas. See Safrai, p. 30, n. 55. (Obviously, the references to “sacrifices” and “offering” in the above passages are only translations.)

There is evidence that the practice of preparing a gedi mekulas on the seder night continued in Palestine through at least the 7th century. This is seen from the Palestinian work Sefer ha-Maasim which dates from this time and includes the following passage:
… קרבו על כרעיו ראשו על שלם ניצלה זה מקולס גדי .

See T. Rabinovitz, “Sefer ha-Maasim le-Vnei Eretz Yisrael:Seridim Hadashim,” Tarbitz 41 (1972), p. 284. Sefer ha-Maasim is a work whose purpose seems to have been to record decisions of halachah applicable in its time. Safrai p. 30, and Rabinovitz, p. 280.[55] Actually, the matter of the order of the chapters in Mishnah Pesachim is not so simple. Some manuscripts of the Talmud and commentaries by Rishonim follow an arrangement in which the tenth chapter follows the first four chapters. All these chapters together are called Masechet Pesach Rishon and the other chapters are called Masechet Pesach Sheni. R. Menachem Meiri writes that this alternative arrangement dates from the time of the Geonim or later. See Safrai, p. 19, n. 1. But some scholars, such as Shamma Friedman, believe that this alternative arrangement has a more ancient origin. See Friedman, p. 12, n. 5. If this alternative arrangement was the original arrangement, it is a mistake to view the tenth chapter as if it were the last of ten chapters.[56] Also, the names of the Sages included in the tenth chapter are: R. Tarfon, R. Akiva, R. Yose, R. Yishmael, Rabban Gamliel, and R. Eliezer b. R. Tzadok. (References to “Rabban Gamliel” in the Mishnah, without the description “ha-Zaken,” are almost always references to Rabban Gamliel of Yavneh. As to R. Eliezer b. R. Tzadok, he was active both before and after the churban.) M. Pesachim 10:6 records that R. Akiva included a prayer for the rebuilding of Jerusalem at his seder. The introductory statement ערבי פסחים סמוך למנחה לא יאכל אדם עד שתחשך and the detailed instructions governing the drinking of wine also give the impression of a chapter composed after the churban, detailing how an individual was obligated to conduct himself in his home. See Friedman, p. 409. Two arguments between Bet Hillel and Bet Shammai are also included in this chapter. In general, these reflect arguments from Temple times. But the author or editor of chapter 10 could simply have inserted this earlier material into a chapter composed after the churban. See Safrai, p. 19. Many printed editions of Mishnah 10:3 read: ובמקדש היו מביאין לפניו גופו של פסח. But היו is a later addition. (See Safrai, p. 25 and Friedman, pp. 89 and 430.) Some have argued that the absence of היו provides a basis for dating this section of the Mishnah, and by implication, the rest of the chapter, to Temple times. In this interpretation, the Mishnah first states the practice in the גבולין in its time (…הביאו לפניו), and then continues with the practice in theמקדש in its time (…ובמקדש מביאין). But as Safrai (p. 25) and Friedman (pp. 89, 430-32 and 438) point out, such an interpretation is very unlikely, and the addition of היו does not change the meaning of the phrase but correctly clarifies the original meaning. The debate about whether the tenth chapter was composed before or after the churban is summarized nicely by Friedman (see, e.g., pp. 88-92, 430-432, and 437-38). Friedman strongly advocates the position that the chapter was composed after the churban.[57] With regard to why these particular chapters were chosen, see above, n. 55.[58] The precise relationship between the Mishnah and the Tosefta has always been an issue. See, e.g., the entry “Tosefta” in the original Encyclopaedia Judaica and the revised entry in the new edition.[59] Steiner, pp. 26, and 33-36. Steiner suggests that we should read this statement elliptically as if it includes the words לשאל after בבן דעת אין, and again after מלמדו אביו.[60] See EJ 10:354 and S. Friedman, le-Ofiyyan shel ha-Beraitot be-Talmud ha-Bavli: Ben Tema u-Ben Dortai, in Netiot le-David: Sefer ha-Yovel le-David Halivni, pp. 248-255.[61] But see Tos., s.v. כולו.[62] Many authorities seem to disregard the statement of R. Hisda. For example, the Rif writes that the chagigah is to be commemorated at the seder by an item that is mevushal. Yet he implies in a different passage that the roast question was a normative question during Temple times. Similarly, the Rambam does not follow the position of Ben Tema (see Hilchot Karban Pesach 10:13), but at the same time, he includes the roast question in his list of mah nishtannah from Temple times. See Hilchot Chametz u-Matzah 8:2 (and Lechem Mishneh there). Note that R. Joseph Caro, OH 473, takes the position that the egg that commemorates the chagigah should be מבושלת. Compare Tos. Pes. 114b, s.v. שני (the halachah follows Ben Tema), and R. Moses Isserles, OH 473 (the egg that commemorates the chagigah must be roasted). Friedman, in his Tosefta Atikta: Masechet Pesach Rishon (2002), pp. 91-92, accepts the essence of the interpretation of R. Hisda, but believes that the roast question must have been composed in accordance with a majority view. This leads him to conclude that the roast question must have been composed after the churban. (In Temple times, a chagigah offering was brought, and according to the majority view, it was not roasted. Since the roast question includes the phrase הלילה הזה כולו צלי, it could not have been composed in accordance with the majority view in Temple times.) In a later article, le-Ofiyyan shel ha-Beraitot be-Talmud ha-Bavli: Ben Tema u-Ben Dortai, pp. 195-274, in Netiot le-David: Sefer ha-Yovel le-David Halivni (2004), Friedman discusses the Ben Tema passage extensively, and takes a different approach.