Sixty Years Since Rabbi Dr. Yechiel Yacov Weinberg, the Seridei Eish:
A Fire the World Still Needs

By Jacques (Yacov) R. Rothschild

This week marks sixty years since the passing of Rabbi Dr. Yechiel Yacov Weinberg, the Seridei Eish. He left this world on the 4th of Shevat in 1966, well before I was born, yet his presence has never felt distant to me – because it lived, vividly and lovingly, in my mother’s voice. “Shema b’ni musar avicha, v’al titosh Torat imecha” – “Hear, my child, the instruction of your father, and do not forsake the Torah of your mother.” For me, Rav Weinberg’s Torah was transmitted precisely this way: not first through books or institutions, but through a mother who spoke of him with reverence, warmth, and quiet awe.

The following brief sketch cannot do justice to the full arc of his life. Readers seeking a comprehensive biographical and intellectual account may consult Professor Marc B. Shapiro’s authoritative study, Between the Yeshiva World and Modern Orthodoxy: The Life and Works of Rabbi Jehiel Jacob Weinberg, 1884-1966 (London: Littman Library, 1999), as well as subsequent scholarly and popular essays. What follows outlines only the essential contours.

From a young age, Rav Weinberg displayed extraordinary promise. Born in Ciechanowiec in 1884, he rose from an unassuming background to become known as the Illuy of Czechanowic. As a teenager he was already delivering public shiurim, and at seventeen he entered the Slabodka Yeshivah, studying under the Alter, Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel, and becoming a chavrusa of Rav Naftali Amsterdam, the foremost disciple of Rav Yisrael Salanter. There he absorbed a worldview that would shape him for life: uncompromising halakhic rigor joined to the Mussar movement’s insistence on human dignity, ethical seriousness, and disciplined moral self-formation. He forged close ties with leading figures of the Mussar world. Already then, he embodied a rare synthesis – intellectual rigor, spiritual sensitivity, and moral seriousness.

In the years that followed, Rav Weinberg served as Rav of Pilwischki and spent formative time in Warsaw, moving within the orbit of leading rabbinic, intellectual, and communal figures. In 1936 he published Lifrakim, a collection of essays in Hebrew, German, and Yiddish that already displayed the breadth of his mind: halakhic sensitivity, historical consciousness, literary power, and a refusal to simplify Judaism for ideological convenience. His path then led westward to Germany, where he became Rosh Yeshiva and effectively rector of Rav Esriel Hildesheimer’s Rabbinerseminar in Berlin, shaping a generation of rabbanim who carried Torah with courage, thoughtfulness, and depth, as he was confronted with unprecedented historical and theological upheavals. Unlike many of his contemporaries, he neither viewed engagement with general culture and academic scholarship as a betrayal of Torah nor mistook accommodation for capitulation. His posture was one of disciplined openness, with Torah sovereign yet resilient rather than brittle.

During the war, he served as president of the Agudas HaRabbanim of Warsaw and was also a lecturer at the University of Giessen. Universally recognized as a master of Shas and poskim, his knowledge extended far beyond Torah, encompassing history, philosophy, and Judaic studies.

He survived the destruction of European Jewry, but survival came at a severe cost. Rav Weinberg lost his entire immediate family in the Holocaust. His health was permanently damaged, and the world in which he had lived was gone. When the war ended, he emerged alone. He eventually found refuge in Montreux, Switzerland, carrying with him a loss that did not recede with distance or time. And yet it was there, after all of this, that the most consequential part of his written legacy still lay ahead.

Montreux was a quiet, picturesque town overlooking Lake Geneva and home to Yeshivat Eitz Chaim, a small and demanding institution that drew refugees, scholars, and young men who would later assume positions of leadership. Giants passed through its modest halls, carrying only fragments of the world that had been destroyed, unsure whether those fragments could be assembled into anything lasting. Torah life there was serious and inward, marked by uncertainty and strain. It was not sustained by institutions or prestige, but by individuals who lived with loss as a daily fact and understood responsibility as something that could not be deferred.

It was no accident that Rav Weinberg felt at home in Montreux. The town’s quiet dignity mirrored his own. Removed from ideological battles and institutional power, he could think clearly and write honestly. From this tranquil place, Torah once again flowed outward. Letters and visitors arrived from across the Jewish world: rabbanim, authors, medical researchers, historians, and even leaders of the young State of Israel, including David Ben-Gurion (a meeting my mother attended). Though physically distant from centers of authority, his voice remained indispensable. He was offered the position of Chief Rabbi of Israel, which he declined, choosing instead an obscurity that enabled him to remain faithful both to halakha and to the damaged human reality it was now required to address.

“From Montreux,” writes Professor Marc B. Shapiro, Rav Weinberg “resumed his correspondence with students, friends, and colleagues, writing many hundreds of letters a year, most of which have been lost to posterity.” Yet Montreux also imposed real constraints. Far from the great libraries and scholarly settings that had once sustained his academic work, serious research was difficult. More significantly, the shift from public authority to private existence carried a personal cost. For a man who had stood at the center of a major rabbinic institution, life in a small town brought with it a sense of narrowing that no material stability could fully counterbalance.

It was in Montreux, despite his broken health, that Rav Weinberg published three volumes of Seridei Eish – in 1961, 1962, and 1966 – with a fourth appearing posthumously. Seridei Eish, “Remnants of Fire,” was both literal and symbolic: much of his Torah had been lost in the Holocaust, yet what remained burned with clarity, depth, and moral courage.

It was also to Montreux that my mother arrived after the war as a young girl. She had lost the overwhelming majority of her family in Nazi Germany, surviving only through her mother’s courage in escaping clandestinely to Italy. Upon entering Italy illegally, her mother was suspected of being a spy, arrested and imprisoned, and the two young girls – my mother and her sister, both under five – were sent to a monastery. By miracle, they were reunited after the war and eventually reached Switzerland, settling in Montreux.

There, while my mother was entertained in school by Charlie Chaplin’s daughter, she also encountered Rav Weinberg, beginning a relationship that would quietly shape her life.

Starting as a teenager, my mother assisted him by typing his correspondence and helping with administrative work. She knew how to type, spoke several languages, and worked at a local Swiss bank. None of these skills was remarkable on its own; in combination, they answered a very specific need. For several years she assisted Rav Weinberg on a daily basis. She typed his responsa as he dictated them, organized and mailed his correspondence, and attended to the practical details that made sustained scholarly work possible. She sat with him for hours as he formulated replies to inquiries arriving from across the Jewish world, one after another, without interruption.

Jews in Montreux and neighboring towns knew she had daily access to Rav Weinberg, so they entrusted her with questions that structured postwar Jewish life. They would leave chickens – with kashrut questions – for her to bring to him. Kosher shechita was forbidden in Switzerland then, as it remains today, and Jews relied on mail-order poultry from France, salting their chickens at home. Observance was fragile, complicated, and deeply human.

These chickens carried more than halakhic questions; they carried hope. For Jews in post-war Europe, having a kosher chicken – literally examined and approved by a Gadol – was a way to sanctify Shabbat, to reclaim dignity and spiritual normalcy after devastation. Rav Weinberg approached each case with extraordinary care, ensuring that his rulings remained halakhically rigorous while never shattering the fragile dreams of Jews striving to observe Shabbat properly. This was not halakha in theory. This was Torah meeting kitchens, trauma, and lives slowly rebuilding.

Despite his circumstances, Rav Weinberg never sought popularity or easy acceptance. Some of his rulings were difficult and, at times, controversial – precisely because his deliberations reached beyond the present moment. He anticipated developments in science, technology, medicine, and society before they became unavoidable crises. Yet throughout, his loyalty to halakha and to Sinai was absolute, insisting that halakha be applied with foresight rather than reaction. For him, innovation did not mean rupture or accommodation. It meant responsibility, assumed fully and without evasion. His Torah moved deliberately, listened deeply, and spoke only after accounting for the full weight of human reality.

The questions that reached him were often complex and carried real consequences for those who asked them. At times Rav Weinberg did not respond immediately. My mother later recalled that he insisted on thinking matters through, and would occasionally ask her to walk with him along the shore of the lake while he worked through the questions before him. Only afterward would he commit his rulings to paper.

His involvement in my family’s life extended beyond advice and correspondence. He personally guided the shidduch of my mother’s older and only sister, and later that of my parents. These actions reflect the same moral world in which he lived and worked – a Torah attentive not only to texts and communal questions, but to the concrete ordering of individual lives from what remained after destruction.

Very recently, I learned something that cast this inheritance in an even deeper light. My sister discovered, quite by chance, a copy of Rav Weinberg’s German book Das Volk der Religion in my parents’ archives. Inside was a handwritten dedication by Rav Weinberg himself, addressed not to my maternal grandmother, whom he knew well from Montreux, but to my paternal grandmother – my mother’s future mother-in-law – Flora Rothschild. The inscription, written in German, is dated 4 Nissan 5709 (April 4, 1949), almost twenty years before my parents would marry, at a time when they were still in their early teens:

“In fond memory and in friendship of your visit to me in Montreux this past 4th of Nissan 1949.

Mrs. Flora Rothschild, the tireless one.

In admiration of our continued mutual cooperation for the fight to preserve Torah, the Jewish people and spirit, and the Land of Israel.

Best wishes and continued success.

Montreux, 4th of Nissan 5709.”

Only now does the deeper resonance of this moment emerge. Long before my mother could have imagined her future – and entirely unbeknownst to her – Rav Weinberg had already met the woman who would one day become her mother-in-law and formed a bond of respect and friendship with her.

Flora Rothschild, my paternal grandmother, was herself a remarkable woman, selflessly involved in the rebuilding of Jewish life after World War II. After surviving the camps, she settled back in Antwerp, having lost her husband, daughter, parents, and siblings to the Nazis. Read against this background, the dedication takes on added weight.

My grandfather, Tzvi Hersh Lerner HY”D – my mother’s father – whose yahrzeit falls on the 2nd of Shevat, was murdered in Sachsenhausen in 1939 after intervening on behalf of a young Jewish boy who had been caught stealing a piece of bread in the camp. His death left my mother without a father and forced my grandmother to flee Berlin with two small children. She moved first into hiding in Italy and, after the war, on to Switzerland, where they eventually settled in Montreux. And yet, even then – long before anyone could have named an outcome – quietly and almost imperceptibly, the threads of the next generation were already being woven.

This discovery opens a vivid window into the deeply human side of Rav Weinberg: his attentiveness to individual lives, his capacity for enduring relationships, and his role as a bridge between shattered pasts and rebuilding futures.

I never met the Seridei Eish, though I have studied his responsa. My mother knew him. She typed those responsa as he dictated them. She walked with him through Montreux. She carried chickens to his door so that he could examine them. Because of that, his presence never belonged to the past for me. It was part of the daily texture of my childhood. His Torah reached me not through institutions or ceremonies, but through work done repeatedly, quietly, and without display. In that way, what survived was not only his Torah, but the way it was lived.

Studying the Seridei Eish is for me a Torat imecha, grounded in my mother’s experience and in her years assisting Rav Weinberg in Montreux. To honor his memory is not only to study his writings, but to reckon with what his absence has cost, and with the kind of Torah leadership his life continues to require.

When Rav Yechiel Yacov Weinberg passed away at the age of eighty-eight, the Jewish world lost not only a great rabbinic scholar, but a model of Torah leadership grounded in judgment, humility, and moral seriousness. He combined intellectual breadth with personal restraint, and independence of thought with unwavering fidelity to halakha. Such a voice is acutely lacking today, especially in moments of internal crisis, when slogans replace deliberation and affiliation eclipses responsibility.

Even in death, Rav Weinberg did not fit neatly into any one world. Having no surviving children, his burial in Jerusalem became the subject of controversy. The two worlds that claimed him were the Chareidi and the Mizrachi. Though Rav Weinberg had requested to be buried beside his friend Rav Yitzhak Isaac Halevi Herzog, Chareidi leaders diverted the funeral to another cemetery, claiming him as their own. The tension itself was revealing: a man too broad for easy categories, too principled to be fully absorbed by any camp.

And perhaps the truest way to honor his memory is not only to study his writings – but to recognize how deeply the world still misses him, and how desperately it still needs leaders formed in his image.

Yehi zichro baruch, and may Rav Yechiel Yacov Weinberg’s purified soul be a melitz yosher for Am Yisrael.

 

This year the sale will be 33% off the regular price of Otzar HaChomah. The sale runs from May 13 through June 7. The prices are as follows:
Full version (25,800 vol.) reg. 2275 sale 1520
Bnei Torah version (24,500 vol.) reg 2050 sale 1370
Gemara v’Halacha (18,700 vol.) reg 1525 sale 1020
Tanach u’Midrash (17,200 vol.) reg. 1525 sale 1020
also an additional 2,400 from Kehos Publishing is $70
All of the above include a “search engine” which is very good. It also has the ability to convert the “image” to “text” (at the moment only seforim with “square” print, not “rashi” print).
Also available is the “Library” version which has 28,000 vol. without search. The SALE price for the Library edition is $1050 (reg. 1130).
NOTE: There will be a special BONUS for readers of the Seforim blog (when mentioning Seforim blog)!

Also, Bar Ilan’s new version (16) will be arriving in about 2-3 weeks. Pricing is not yet available.
DBS claims that there will be an update before Shavu’os as well.
The Morgenstern Library is supposedly going to be updated on or about Rosh Chodesh Sivan (June 4). They will also be having a BIG sale at that time.
Anyway, if you could post the above I’d greatly appreciate it.

Please contact Moishe Flohr at Computer Maven to take advantage of this pricing and with any questions.
732-363-4941
cell: 917-456-7855

Book announcement:  New work on Tefilah

By: Eliezer Brodt

דוד הנשקה, לבקש תפלה: תפילות הקבע בתלמודם של חכמים, ב‘ חלקים, 1304 עמודים

I am very happy to announce the publication of an important work (in time for reading over Pesach) which I have been eagerly awaiting; Professor David Henshke of the Talmud Department at Bar Ilan University’s Livakeish Tefilah. The books were published by Magnes Press.

Back in 2016 I announced his work on the Leil Haseder. If you did not get it yet, I highly recommend it. In that post, I highlighted the reason for my excitement and the strengths and uniqueness of that work-something I still stand by.

Relevant to this new work I will quote part of what I wrote than with some minor updates:

Professor Henshke shows a command of two worlds which some feel cannot go together, the Yeshivah and Academic worlds. He learned by various greats of the past including R’ Yisroel Gustman, R’ Binyamin Ze’ev Benedict, and R’ Shlomoh Fisher, has served as a maggid Shiur, worked for Encyclopedia Talmudit for a while, and is extremely familiar with the Yeshivisheh Torah in all areas, including Kodoshim and Taharos. His works shows an incredible command of the relevant sources, from Chazal and onwards, Geonim, Rishonim and Achronim. At the same time, he shows the same impressive breadth in academic literature as well as deep understanding and utilization of the various methodologies. He is careful to examine all the material from scratch, including the manuscripts, to the finest details. This allows him to look at the sugyah with a fresh look. Additionally, he is also a great “Mechadish” and has originated many new ideas on various issues. Professor Henshke is an outstanding example of the tremendous benefit in combining both worlds (a topic for a different time). All this is done with Yiras Shamyim and with proper respect of whoever he is dealing with, even when he is arguing with them.

In general, Professor Henshke’s lectures and written material focus on the Peshat. Basing himself upon a meticulous reading of the texts, he then approaches Chazal (Midrashei halacha and Mishna-Tosefta) by putting each halachah into its proper literary perspective (each corpus reflects the Halachos as learned in a different Bais Midrash; that of R’ Yishmael and that of R’ Akiva). This approach, coupled with his phenomenal scope allows him to connect seemingly non-related halachos, weaving an intricate tapestry worthy of both Rosh Yeshiva and scholastic.

He has written over 140 articles and three books (here, here & here) developing and elaborating on his methods. Many of his articles are available here thanks to the efforts of my dear friend Menachem Butler

In recent years, Tefilah has finally begun receiving the in-depth treatment it needs and deserves, both through the publication of new Seforim, (and reprints of older ones) and through academic works. IY”H, I hope to discuss this in an upcoming podcast episode.

Henshke opens his work with an insightful overview of its goals and limitations before diving into the depths of the sugyos. The current volumes are certainly not a light read, but they provide a profound and original perspective, offering a deeper understanding of numerous sugyos related to Tefilah. This work is sure to become a definitive study on the subject.

If one is interested in reading the introduction or some articles by Professor Henshke that were later updated and incorporated into this work, feel free to email me at Eliezerbrodt@gmail.com

Here are the Table of Contents of this special work. Simply looking at it gives one sense of some of the issues he deals with.

The book can be purchased through me at Eliezerbrodt@gmail.com or via Magnes Press.

The Jewish Review of Books recently published its Fall issue, which features several excellent articles, including a discussion of the recently published Chaim Grade novel. Below is a reprint of an article from their Summer issue, “Golden Ledgers” by Dan Rabinowitz, with a short postscript.
Seforim Blog readers can get a 50% discount on a subscription to the Jewish Review of Books by using this link. 

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Golden Ledgers
by: Dan Rabinowitz

To get to the Judaica Research Centre archives in the Martynas Mažvydas National Library of Lithuania, you have to navigate through a series of passageways, across dark, empty rooms, and step over high thresholds. As your eyes adjust to the light, you are welcomed by rows of metal shelves filled with stacks of thousands of documents and dozens of bankers boxes overflowing with papers.

I was there again last summer looking for new material about Vilna’s Strashun Bibliotek, the first Jewish public library. I wrote a book about the Strashun Library a few years ago, but I was sure that there was more to learn. Lara Lempertiene, the director of Judaica, had set aside some correspondence related to the library for me, along with four large volumes. There didn’t seem to be much in the letters, so I turned to the books. They were ledgers, really, two of which bore some kind of Russian governmental red wax seal on the title page. The other two were water stained, and the cover of one was severely warped. My hands quickly blackened with dust and dirt accumulated over decades as I turned the books’ pages. They appeared to record a partial listing of the Strashun Library’s holdings, which had begun with a bequest from an erudite, idiosyncratic Torah scholar named Mattityahu Strashun. At first glance, these lists were interesting in the variety of books listed but didn’t seem to yield anything new.

 By then, it was almost time for my lunch date with Andrius Romanovskis at the Neringa Hotel, a recently restored midcentury modern building from the Soviet era (and a one-time favorite of the KGB). Andrius runs a lobbying firm, and his glamorous wife, Irina Rybakova, works in the fashion industry. Between the two of them, they seem to know everyone who is anyone in the city. Whenever we sit down for coffee, the acquaintances stop by our table—Lithuania’s former interim president; a TV broadcaster; a hipster couple; a photographer; the curator of MO, Vilnius’s museum of modern art; a government studies student; and a leading professor of modern propaganda. But Andrius, who comes from a Turkish Karaite family (the community has been in Lithuania since the fourteenth century), is deeply interested in Lithuania’s Jews, and after lunch we decided to walk back to the center.

I introduced Andrius to Lara, but, of course, they were already acquainted. We opened one of the large black books with the dramatic wax seals. On the title page was a handwritten Cyrillic inscription, which Andrius quickly translated as “A Ledger to Record All Printed Works, Without Exception, Issued for Reading from the Library of the Reading Room Located in the Building of the Vilna Main Synagogue.” When he did so, we suddenly realized what we actually had before us. These ledgers did not record the books on the shelves. Their thousands of pages were a daily record of every patron at the Strashun Library and the books they had requested for the day. What we had discovered was not a catalog of books; it was a lost catalog of Jewish intellectual culture in action.

In 1895, Russian government censors began monitoring library reading rooms throughout the empire for subversive literature. When the Strashun Library opened to the public in 1902, it was no exception. The wax seals I had seen on the title page of the volumes were from the censor’s office. Librarians were required to maintain a ledger documenting every patron and the books they read in the library’s reading room; it wasn’t a lending library—all books had to be read at one of two long tables, with chairs available on a democratic first-come-first-served basis. Even after the fall of the Russian Empire, the librarians maintained the ledger system.

The library opened its doors on November 14, 1902. According to the ledger, the first book requested was Otzar Lashon Hakodesh by Julius Fürst, a German Jewish Hebraist who had studied with Hegel and Gesenius. A patron named Aaron Spiro requested the book, which was from Strashun’s original collection and probably could not have been found anywhere else in the city, certainly not in any Vilna yeshiva or beit midrash. The fifty-six other books requested that day included kabbalistic works by Chaim Vital, Heinrich Graetz’s History of the Jews, and the Hebrew writer Abraham Mapu’s second novel.

In 1902, only a few women came to the library, but their numbers steadily grew. By January 17, 1934, the third ledger records forty-five women among the 150 patrons. A woman named Shayna checked out Jabotinsky’s historical novel Samson, Zipporah studied Dubnow’s History of the Jews in Yiddish, and Shoshana read Max Nordau’s play about intermarriage. Two women, Gita and Rivkah, took out Yiddish translations of novels by the Norwegian Nobel Prize winner Knut Hamsun.

In September 1939, following the Nazis’ invasion of Poland from the west and the Soviet Union’s invasion from the east, the Soviets briefly occupied Vilna. However, a few months later, they withdrew, and Vilna became the capital of an independent Lithuania. Tens of thousands of Jews from Poland, Lithuania, and Russia fled there, hoping to eventually escape the continent entirely. Briefly, improbably, Jewish life flourished.

Yitzhak Ze’ev Soloveitchik, known as Reb Velvel or the Brisker Rov, was one of those refugees and one of many new scholars in the library. His father, Chaim, had revolutionized Talmud study with his method of conceptual analysis, brilliantly exemplified in his commentary on Maimonides’s Mishneh Torah, and Reb Velvel had followed in his analytical path. On the afternoon of October 1, 1940, Reb Velvel came to the Strashun Library with his teenage son Raphael. Raphael checked out Iggeret Ha-Shemad, Maimonides’s impassioned defense of his fellow Spanish Jews who had been forced to convert to Islam. This is the kind of book one might expect Reb Chaim Brisker’s grandson to borrow at that particularly fraught time—a deeply relevant Maimonidean work that one couldn’t find on the shelves of a beit midrash. His father’s reading for the day was more surprising: I. L. Peretz’s short stories about Hasidim, perhaps the most famous of which was Oyb nisht nokh hekher (If Not Higher), which depicts a skeptical Litvak who comes to appreciate a Hasidic rebbe but also mocks Hasidic miracles. From the yeshivish hagiographies that were later written about Reb Velvel, one would never guess that the Litvak rosh yeshiva would read fiction by a radical secularist about the virtues of Hasidim. But the history of actual human lives is always more interesting than hagiography.

The Brisker Rov sat at the reading room table with his Peretz stories alongside the mixed multitude of Jewish readers that day. Two of them were a couple, Hayim and Hanna, who were reading Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina in Yiddish. Another was Dovid, who was studying the Minhat Hinukh, a commentary on a classic exposition of the commandments. A fourth reader had Graetz’s History. A few months later, Reb Velvel and his son succeeded in escaping Europe for Palestine. He founded the Brisk Yeshivah in Jerusalem and was never seen again in the company of such a diverse group.

The final book ledger concludes on October 31, 1940, with 128 books requested, including Shakespeare’s Complete Dramatic Works in English, several dozen rabbinic books—among them Chaim Soloveitchik’s Chidushei Rav Chaim ha-Levi, a Yiddish translation of Tolstoy’s Resurrection, Yosef Klausner’s Hebrew biography of Jesus, and a handful of Hebrew newspapers.

The last book—the 35,844th, borrowed in 1940—was a Yiddish biography of Joseph Stalin. It was borrowed by Zalman Raynus (Reinus). All of Raynus’s numerous previous requests were for traditional rabbinic works. Did he choose to read about Stalin to understand what was coming? Whatever the reason behind Raynus’s reading of Stalin’s biography, the dictator’s policies led to the shuttering of the Strashun Library. I know of no other historical trace of Zalman Raynus. He does not appear in any state archival or genealogical records, nor is he listed among the murdered Jews.

When the Nazis entered Vilna the following summer of 1941, they murdered most of Vilna’s Jews in the Ponary massacre and pillaged the library. But even as Nazis tore through the library and the community, courageous Jews hid thousands of books in secret spots, basements, and makeshift bunkers throughout the Vilna Ghetto. Among these were the ledgers that, improbably, now sat before us.

A ledger that did not survive the Gestapo’s brutal purge of the library was a VIP guest log called the Golden Book (Sefer ha-zahav). Among those who had signed it over the years were the writers Chaim Nachman Bialik, Chaim Grade, and Abraham Sutzkever (who was among the heroes who saved and recovered some of the Strashun’s holdings); artist Marc Chagall; the “Chofetz Chaim” Rabbi Israel Meir Kagan; Berl Katznelson, the founder of the Labor movement; and many, many others. But these ledgers, records of the reading habits of ordinary Jews across a broad cross section of Ashkenazi society, are even more valuable. They preserve actual data from an otherwise lost history of Jewish culture and raise a host of fascinating questions, which are now being investigated by a working group, the Strashun Library Ledger Project, which includes scholars and librarians from the National Library of Lithuania, Yale University, Haifa University’s e-Lijah Lab for Digital Humanities, and elsewhere. Most of the ledgers are still missing, although a small ledger from 1920 was recently found. It seems unlikely that we’ll discover the rest, but who knows what treasures may be hidden in bankers boxes and yellowing stacks of paper.

In her memoir of her visit to Vilna in 1938, the historian Lucy Dawidowicz described the Strashun Library:

On any day you could see, seated at the two long tables in the reading room, venerable long-bearded men, wearing hats, studying Talmudic texts, elbow to elbow with bareheaded young men and even young women, bare-armed sometimes on warm days, studying their texts.

Each of the thousands of pages of the library’s ledgers is a data-rich snapshot of such a scene—and one in which the actual reading choices of those venerable rabbis, bareheaded young men, and bare-armed young women may well surprise us.

 

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Postscript:

One account of the Brisker Rav’s time in Vilna alludes to his time at the Strashun Library. As yeshiva leaders debated whether to flee to the United States or to Palestine, supporters of the former emphasized how far removed they were from the Hitlerian threat, compared to Palestine, where Rommel was rapidly approaching. The Brisker Rav, however, argued in favor of Palestine as a place better suited for the full practice of Judaism. He based his view on Maimonides’ Ma’amar Kiddush Hashem (included with Iggeret ha-SheMad), the same work Raphael had requested from the library. The report notes that he “relied upon the Rambam that he held in his hands (she’amad ne’ged eynav).” See R Shimon Yosef Miller, Uvdot ve-Hanhagot le-Bet Brisk (Jerusalem, 1999), vol. 1, 27. Although the ledgers only record that he read Peretz, it is reasonable to assume he also consulted Raphael’s selection. (For additional information regarding the exodus to Vilna and the debate about a final destination, see Ben-Tsiyon Klibansky, The Golden Age of the Lithuanian Yeshivas (Bloomington, 2022), 265-289.) 

When refugees from Yeshivas arrived in Vilna in late 1939 and 1940, they were cared for by the Va’ad HaYeshivos. Many of the lists of those students and families are preserved in the same archive as the Strashun Ledgers at the Lithuanian National Library. Below are two documents from that archive. The first is a document that lists some of the most important rabbis, including the Brisker Rav, and their addresses in Vilna. The second document is a page from the list of students from Keltsk.

Rabbi Joseph Hertz, Women and Mitzvot, Antoninus, the New RCA Siddur, and Rabbis who Apostatized, Part 1

Marc B. Shapiro

1. In my last post here, in discussing R. Joseph Hertz’s suggested alternative text for Maoz Tzur, I wrote that this suggestion “was simply made up by Hertz or perhaps suggested by an unnamed collaborator on his siddur commentary.” At least one person wondered if I had anything in mind when I wrote about “an unnamed collaborator.” Indeed, these words were chosen deliberately. I do not know anything specifically about collaborators on the siddur commentary. However, we do know about the collaborators on his famous Torah commentary. This Chumash used to be found in every Modern Orthodox synagogue, and now, just like the Birnbaum siddur, it is missing from most of these synagogues.[1]

When it comes to what I will describe about the Hertz Chumash, it is possible that we are dealing with a great injustice. At the very least, it was a great misunderstanding between Hertz and his collaborators. Here are the Hebrew and English title pages of the Hertz Chumash.

 

The English title page refers to the Chumash as edited by Hertz. The Hebrew title page, which most people don’t even bother looking at, even if they understand Hebrew, refers to a commentary that is the work of a group of Torah scholars headed by Hertz. These are quite different formulations.

Most people who have used the Hertz Chumash, even those who have used it for many years, will not know anything about this group of Torah scholars. Indeed, when people quote from this Chumash, Hertz is given exclusive credit for everything in it. Thus, when citing this Chumash’s commentary, people will say, “Hertz writes.” Yet is this correct?

If we turn to the Chumash’s preface, we learn that Hertz was assisted by J. Abelson, A. Cohen, G. Friedlander and S. Frampton. The first three individuals prepared the commentary to sections of the Torah (the exact sections are listed), and Frampton prepared the commentary to the Haftorahs. Hertz writes: “In placing their respective manuscripts at my disposal, they allowed me the widest editorial discretion. I have condensed or enlarged, re-cast or re-written at will, myself supplying the Additional Notes as well as nearly all the introductory and concluding comments to the various sections.” We see from this that Hertz had an important role, not just as editor, but in contributing content to the Chumash. Yet the commentary itself was not the product of Hertz. He was simply the editor of the material provided by the men mentioned above. In this role, he performed the regular task of an editor who takes texts and condenses and enlarges, re-casts or re-writes, but this editorial involvement does not make the editor the author.

We therefore have to wonder why it is that the men who labored so hard in creating the commentary are given no recognition, apart from the mention of their names in the preface which virtually no one bothers to read. As I already noted, the commentary to the Chumash is universally understood to have been written by Hertz when in fact most of it – other than the “introductory and concluding comments to the various sections” – is not his at all.

Now that the facts have been laid out, I don’t think anyone will be surprised to learn that Abelson, Cohen, and Frampton were not at all happy when the Chumash appeared and they were given no recognition for their labors on the title page. (Friedlander was no longer alive.) They thought that on the title page, following the mention of Hertz as the editor, it should have said something like, “With the collaboration of the Revs. Dr. A. Cohen, Dr. J. Abelson, the Rev. S. Frampton and the late Rev. G. Friedlander.” Hertz responded to their complaint that it had already been established at the initial stages of the planning of the Chumash that the contributors’ names would not appear on the title page.[2] In fact, this a major reason for R. Salis Daiches[3] withdrawing from collaboration on the project. (Obviously, Abelson, Cohen, and Frampton had a different understanding of how Hertz was supposed to acknowledge their work.) Daiches was also unhappy with Hertz’s “editorial policy of extensively rewriting and revising the installments submitted to him by the various annotators.”[4] Hertz later implausibly claimed that his revisions were “an incredible amount of labor, easily ten times the amount of my collaborators.”[5]

Another matter that must be noted is that in the preface found in the first volume of the first edition of the Chumash—it originally appeared in five volumes—Hertz writes that he supplied “nearly all the Additional Notes.” Yet in the one volume edition this sentence has been changed and the word “nearly” has been deleted, making Hertz the only author. Harvey Meirovich has called attention to this, and shows that the Notes dealing with evolution and sacrifices came from R. Isidore Epstein.[6]

I do not know why the following paragraph, which explains the method of the commentary and appeared in the preface to volume 1 of the first edition, was deleted from the preface of the one volume Chumash. This is exactly the sort of explanation of the commentary that the reader would find helpful.

Method of Interpretation: A word must be added as to the method chosen for leading the reader into what the Jewish Mystics called the Garden of Scriptural Truth. The exposition of the plain, natural sense of the Sacred Text must remain the first and foremost aim in a Jewish commentary. But this is not its only purpose and function. The greatest care must be taken not to lose sight of the allegorical teaching and larger meaning of the Scriptural narrative; of its application to the everyday problems of human existence; as well as of its eternal power in the life of Israel and Humanity. In this way alone can the commentator hope not merely to increase the knowledge of the reader, but to deepen his Faith in God, the Torah and Israel.

Also of interest is that the first edition of the Hertz Chumash includes maps which are not found in the one volume edition.

2. In my post here I mentioned that R. Shmuel Wosner defends the practice of women saying שלא עשני גוי and שלא עשני עבד instead of substituting the words גויה and שפחה. R. Yehudah Tesner agrees with R. Wosner and adds the following: If a woman would say שלא עשני גויה this would only mean that she does not want to be a non-Jewish woman. However, she might still prefer to be a non-Jewish man instead of a Jewish woman. Also, if she said שפחה it might only mean that she does not want to be a female maidservant, as this has two negative things, namely, that she is both a woman and enslaved.

שאין רצונה להיות שפחה, שיש בזה תרתי לריעותא, גם אשה וגם משעובדת

However, it might imply that if she could get rid of one of these negative things, i.e., the female, and be a male slave, that this might be acceptable to her. In order to prevent these misunderstandings, R. Tesner says that she must keep the standard text which includes women as part of גוי and עבד. This way she is thanking God that she is not a non-Jew, male or female, and that she is not a slave, male or female.[7]

There is no question in my mind that R. Tesner’s approach is somewhat convoluted and would never represent the thinking of any woman who recited the prayer. I only mention it because R. Tesner takes it for granted that it is better to be born as a Jewish man than a Jewish woman. Yet he also sees as obvious that it is still better to be a free Jewish woman than a male slave.

With regard to this latter point, it is of interest that R. Joseph Teomim states that there are a few things in which a male slave has an advantage over a woman:

עבד חשוב לענין קצת דברים . . . במקצת דברים עדיף מאשה

One of the things he mentions is that a male slave is circumcised, and circumcision is a great mitzvah given to men that women do not have the opportunity to fulfill.[8] This perspective is obviously very different than the outlook advocated by various kiruv speakers that while women are created perfect, men are created defective and thus need a berit milah to get them up to the level of women.[9] I have no doubt that if this argument was first made by someone who identified with Open Orthodoxy, that it would have been regarded as blasphemous for denigrating the commandment of circumcision.

Regarding women not having the opportunity to fulfill the great mitzvah of circumcision (and other mitzvot), I was surprised to find that R. Leon Modena, who was quite “modern” for his time, explains that this is because they do not rank very high in God’s eyes, which is another way of saying that women are simply unworthy of these mitzvot. Here are his misogynistic words:[10]

ומצינו שלא החשיב השי”ת בתורתו הנשים בשום אופן, ולא נתן להן אפי’ אות ברית במילה, ולא רוב מצוות עשה.

Apart from circumcision, it is a popular kiruv perspective that in general women are created with more spiritual perfection, and thus do not need all the mitzvot of men. R. Meir Mazuz attacks this position which he sees as absurd.[11]

דוגמא אחת  מהסילופים: המקשים מצביעים על ברכת “שלא עשני אשה”, והמתרצים מתפלפלים להוכיח שהאשה איננה צריכה כל כך סייגים וגדרים, כי מטבעה דיה במספר מועט של מצוות, ולכן היא מברכת בשמחה רבה “שעשני כרצונו” – שהקב”ה ברא אותה תמימה ושלימה שאיננה צריכה כל כך מצוות, והאיש מברך “שלא עשני אשה” – הוא על דרך שמברכין על הרעה כשם שמברכין על הטובה . . . [ellipses in original] ואילו היה כדבריהם, למה מברכין הנשים ברכת “שעשני כרצונו” בלי שם ומלכות . . . והאנשים מברכים “שלא עשני אשה” בשם ומלכות, ואדרבא איפכא מסתברא?! ובטור א”ח (סימן מ”ו) כתב שנהגו הנשים לברך שעשני כרצונו, ואפשר שנהגו כן כמי שמצדיק עליו את הדין על הרעה . . . ולדעת המתרצים הנ”ל אפשר לומר ג”כ שהגוים עדיפי מישראל, שאינם צריכים לתרי”ג מצוות רק לשבע דוקא, אתמהה.

To R. Mazuz’s words I would only add that if people find it problematic to say that men are created more perfect than women, why do they not find it also problematic to say that women are created more perfect than men? Should I have been offended when a woman once said to me that she is exempt from a number of mitzvot because women are on a higher spiritual level than men, as they are naturally more connected to God, while men can only achieve this connection through mitzvot? I am sure she would have been offended if someone said to her that women are on a lower spiritual level than men, as they are naturally less connected to God, and the evidence of this is that do not have as many mitzvot as men.[12] And what about Torah study? Can we say that men are only commanded to study Torah because they are not at the same spiritual level as women? This would be a complete inversion of the value traditionally assigned to Torah study.[13]

Yisrael Ben Reuven’s book, Male and Female He Created Them (Southfield, 1995), devotes a good deal of discussion to the kiruv perspective. On pp. 132, 133, he writes:

A number of recent books in English propose this idea of women’s spiritual superiority over men, and reportedly, the idea is taught as well in numerous schools for women. The reader should note that none of the books in question offer a classical source for the idea, and none of several teachers of the idea have been able to supply a source when interviewed by this author and numerous individuals known by the author. . . . [T]he teaching contradicts a principle from the Gemara that commandments are placed on a person as a result of his having spirituality (as opposed to his lacking it).

I believe that Ben Reuven is correct in noting that attributing this notion to the Maharal is a mistake. Yet I disagree with his discussion of the view of R. Samson Raphael Hirsch, as Hirsch indeed suggests that women are not commanded in the positive time-bound commandments because they do not need them, for they, by nature, have “greater fervour and more faithful enthusiasm for their God-serving calling.” Contrary to Ben Reuven, doesn’t this mean that they are created with a superior innate spirituality? Men, on the other hand, according to Hirsch, can only reach their spiritual potential through the mitzvot. Hirsch includes circumcision as one of the commandments that men need because they are by nature on a lower spiritual plane then women.[14]

R. Zvi Yehudah Kook also thinks that women are inherently spiritually superior to men. The problem is that men don’t realize this. However, R. Zvi Yehudah claims that in Messianic days when men will understand the truth, they will no longer be able to able to make the blessing שלא עשני אשה, as they will see that women are superior to them.[15]

במצב העכשווי האיש יותר חזק בגופו, ומתוך כך בפרקטיקה האנושית. הוא אקטיבי יותר בכל החיים המעשיים. יש הרגשה שהוא תופס יותר מקום. הרגשה זו היא לפי המדריגה האנושית, והברכות נקבעו על פי ההרגשה האנושית היחסית. זאת התפיסה האנושית הרגילה, והברכה מתייחסת למציאות זו. משום כך אומר האיש כהרגשתו “שלא עשני אשה”, שהרי זו האמת היחסית, והאשה מברכת “שעשני כרצונו”. אך, כאמור, זו תפיסה אנושית חלקית, וההרגשה היא רק עניין יחסי של מצב עכשווי נתון, אמת נוכחית.

לעומת זאת, ההשקפה האלהית, האמת המוחלטת, אינה ענין של הרגשה חולפת, אלא האמת הנצחית מראשיתה ועד סופה. לעתיד לבוא, כאשר גם האדם יכיר את האמת, ויהיה כולו מבחינת “הטוב והמטיב”, לא יוכל לברך “שלא עשני אשה”, שהרי אז יכיר שבניינה של האשה יותר רם, יותר אלהי ופחות אנושי, ממצבו הוא.

For virtually all, the approaches suggested by Hirsch and R. Zvi Yehudah Kook in which women are created more perfect than men would have been inconceivable in pre-modern times. One possible exception, and the only exception I know of, was the sixteenth-century R. Gedaliah Ibn Yahya, author of Shalshelet ha-Kabbalah. He actually enumerates numerous ways in which women are superior to men. He also claims that women are not intellectually inferior to men, and they can thus understand all the wisdoms of the world. In the sixteenth century, this was a very radical position.[16]

Regarding women, R. Yonason Rosman called my attention to the following. The ArtScroll Chumash, p. 1086 (beginning of parashat Nitzavim) states:

On the last day of his life, Moses gathered together every member of the Jewish people, from the most exalted to the lowliest, old and young, men and women, and initiated them for the last time into the covenant of God. What was new about this covenant was the concept of ערבות responsibility for one another, under which every Jew is obligated to help others observe the Torah and to restrain them from violating it. This is why Moses began by enumerating all the different strata of people who stood before him, and why he said (v. 28) that God would not hold them responsible for sins that had been done secretly, but that they would be liable for transgressions committed openly (Or HaChaim).

According to the ArtScroll summary, R. Hayyim Ben Attar, the author of Or ha-Hayyim, states that women are obligated in ערבות. But is this really what he says? Here is his commentary to Deuteronomy 29:9:

R. Hayyim ben Attar actually says the exact opposite of what appears in the ArtScroll summary, in that he states that women are not obligated in ערבות, and they are grouped together with children and proselytes. R. Ben Attar tells us that children are not obligated because they do not have the requisite understanding for such an obligation. Proselytes are not obligated because it is not their place to be rebuking, and thus exercising authority over, those who were born Jewish.[17] Why are women not obligated? R. Ben Attar writes:

ואין הם נתפסים על אחרים שהטף אינם בני דעה והנשים כמו כן הגרים גם כן אין להם להשתרר על ישראל

The sentence is ambiguous, and it all depends on where you put the comma. Here is one way to read the sentence:

ואין הם נתפסים על אחרים שהטף אינם בני דעה והנשים כמו כן, הגרים גם כן אין להם להשתרר על ישראל

If you place the comma after the words והנשים כמו כן, the sentence seemingly means that women are just like children in not having the requisite understanding of the various sins to be obligated in ערבות. R. Yaakov Hayyim Sofer finds it incomprehensible that R. Ben Attar would say that women’s level of understanding is comparable to that of children.[18] He therefore explains that when R. Ben Attar says והנשים כמו כן, he only means to say that the law for women is like the law for children, but not that the reason is the same.

You can also place the comma after the words אינם בני דעה so that one reads the sentence this way:

ואין הם נתפסים על אחרים שהטף אינם בני דעה, והנשים כמו כן הגרים גם כן אין להם להשתרר על ישראל

Now the sentence means that children do not have the requisite understanding to be obligated in ערבות, and women are like proselytes in that it is not their place to be rebuking, and thus exercising authority over, Jewish men. Although this is how R. Avraham Sorotzkin understands the Or ha-Hayyim,[19] I find it difficult as the second half of the sentence does not read well this way.

3. In my post here I referred to Nero and Antoninus and their supposed conversions to Judaism. The Talmud, Gittin 56a, indeed states that Nero converted, and it adds that R. Meir was descended from him. Soncino’s note to the passage reads: “This story may be an echo of the legend that Nero who had committed suicide was still alive and that he would return to reign (v. JE IX, 225).” The Koren Talmud’s note, which is a translation of what appears in Steinsaltz, states that the talmudic story cannot be referring to the famous Nero: “The Roman emperor Nero was killed under strange circumstances and after his death rumors circulated that he was not actually killed but had taken refuge elsewhere.” The note continues that even though Nero is referred to in the passage in Gittin 56a as ,נירון קיסר the story actually refers to another person who was an officer in the Roman army in the campaign against Judea. This person’s name was also Nero, and since he was from the larger Caesar family, he too was called Nero Caesar. This explanation apparently first appears in Seder ha-Dorot.[20]

Graetz thought that the story of Nero converting was part of a rabbinic polemic against Christianity, while Bacher “attributed the origin of the legend to the view which considers the power of Judaism to be so great, that even its greatest enemies become converts either themselves, or, at any rate, their descendants.”[21]

Let me offer another way of explaining the story of Nero’s conversion, which I have not seen anyone else suggest. Josephus tells us that the Jews put up a wall in the Temple to prevent King Agrippa from viewing the sacrificial service. This upset both Agrippa and the Procurator, Festus, and Festus ordered that the wall be torn down. The Jews decided to go over Festus’ head and turned to Nero. Nero’s wife, Poppaea Sabina, pleaded their case, and as a favor to his wife, Nero ordered that the wall should stay.

Why would Poppaea plead the case of the Jews? Josephus tells us that she was a “God-fearer.”[22] Whatever the exact connotations of this term, which has been greatly discussed, she was clearly a sympathizer of the Jews. Josephus tells us that on another occasion she helped secure the release of some Jews who had been placed in prison in Rome. He also tells us that that Poppaea gave him many presents.[23] Could it be that originally the story about the conversion of Nero was said about his wife, and that in the hundreds of years before it was recorded in the Talmud, it was transferred to Nero himself?

As for the Emperor Antoninus, who was friends with R. Judah ha-Nasi, we do not know who this refers to as the title Antoninus was used for various emperors.[24] However, I want to call attention to a different point. In Sefer Yuhasin ha-Shalem, ed. Filipowski, p. 115, in listing the talmudic sages, R. Abraham Zacut includes a “Rabbi Antoninus”. Where does he get such a name? As he indicates, it comes from Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael, and there are actually two separate references there to R. Antoninus.[25] The first reads:[26]

[א”ר אנטונינוס למלך שהוא דן על הכימה [הבימה

The second reads:[27]

…ר’ אנטונינוס אומר ג’ היו והוסיף עליהם עוד אחד והיו ד’

R. Antoninus is being cited as the source for halakhic teachings. Yet the text is corrupt, as was already pointed out by the Vilna Gaon. He emended both passages so that while Antoninus is mentioned, he is not identified as a rabbi.[28]Thus, in the first passage the Vilna Gaon emended it to read:

 [אמר רבי אנטונינוס המלך שהוא דן על הכימה [הבימה

The second passage he emended to read:

רבי אומר ג’ היו הוסיף עליהם עוד אחד והיו ד’ הוסיף אנטונינוס עוד אחד והיו ה’

While the Vilna Gaon may have only sensed intuitively that the text was corrupt, manuscript evidence exists that offers versions similar to or identical with that suggested by the Vilna Gaon.[29]

As for the conversion of Antoninus, R. Solomon Judah Rapoport argues that this is a late, and non-historical, aggadah.[30] He points to a passage in the Jerusalem Talmud, Megillah 1:11, which shows that it was not clear whether Antoninus converted.

אית מילין דאמרין דאתגייר אנטונינוס ואית מילין אמרין דלא אתגייר אנטונינוס

Nevertheless, despite these words, the continuation of this talmudic passage records that he did in fact convert. This is also the conclusion in the Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin 10:5. However, the matter is still not clear, since regarding the Megillah text the Leiden manuscript has a different version which leaves the matter of Antoninus’ conversion undecided.[31] Furthermore, as Shaye J. D. Cohen writes, “the Bavli clearly implies that Antoninus was not a convert, unlike the Roman dignitary Qetia who was.”[32] Cohen also calls attention to Yalkut Shimoni: Isaiah, no. 429, which states that Antoninus was one of the tzadikei umot ha-olam, that is, not a convert.

R. David Zvi Hoffmann examined the various aggadot regarding R. Judah ha-Nasi and Antoninus. With regard to most of them he concludes that they arose in Babylonia long after the events described, and that “it is difficult to find a historical core to them.”[33]He does not tell us whether he regards these stories as simply legends that arose from the people or if they should be seen as didactic tales no different than the numerous other aggadot that describe actions and dialogues of various biblical figures, matters that were also never intended to be taken as historical. R. Hoffmann also discusses how the notion of Antoninus actually converting to Judaism developed from earlier sources that only regard him as a “God fearer.”[34]

Regarding referring to people as rabbis when they do not deserve the title, such as Rabbi Antoninus, here is another interesting example that I believe was pointed out to me many years ago by Prof. Shnayer Leiman. When R. Jonathan Eybeschuetz’s Luhot Edut was reprinted in 1966, the publisher helpfully added an index of names at the back. What seems to have happened is that he went through the index putting “Ha-Rav” before all the names, and mistakenly added this title before Shabbetai Zvi’s name.

When the book was reprinted again by Copy Corner in the 1990s, they fixed this mistake and added שר”י.

It is interesting that in Solomon Zeitlin’s review of Gershom Scholem’s biography of Shabbetai Zvi, he criticizes Scholem for referring to Nathan of Gaza as “Rabbi Nathan.”[35] Had Scholem wished to defend himself from an Orthodox perspective, he could have pointed to the fact that decades after Nathan’s death (and also after Shabbetai Zvi’s death), one of the leading rabbis in Salonika, R. Solomon ben Joseph Amarillo (died 1722), refers to Nathan as הרב הקדוש מהר”ר נתן [36].אשכנזי ז”ל R. Joseph Molho (1692-1768), another leading rabbi in Salonika, refers to Nathan as הרב נתן ז”ל.[37] This positive reference to Nathan is found in R. Molho’s response to R. Solomon ben Isaac Amarillo, who also referred to Nathan this way.[38] In his famous work, Shulhan Gavoah, R. Molho refers to Nathan as follows: וכן קבלו מהרב נתן אשכנזי ז”ל המקובל האלהי.[39] I was surprised to see that in the new edition of Shulhan Gavoah (Jerusalem, 1993), this appears without any censorship, which presumably means that the editor did not know who R. Nathan Ashkenazi is. One final example: The famed R. Moses Zacuto (c. 1620-1697) refers to Nathan as הרב המופלא כמהר”ר נתן הידוע זלה”ה.[40]

Those who are interested in rabbinic history are familiar with R. Naphtali Yaakov Kohn’s nine volume Otzar ha-Gedolim. In vol. 4, p. 125, we find an entry for none other than the notorious Spanish apostate, Joshua Lorki, and his name is followed by שר”י ימ”ש.

Why is such a person included in a book of “gedolim”? The author explains that before he apostatized, he was a rabbi. (I do not believe this is correct. I have never before seen him described as a rabbi and know of no evidence to support such an assumption.) One can easily understand that even if someone was a rabbi, if he later converted, or became a Reform rabbi for that matter, including him in a book of “gedolim” is not going to sit well with many. This is so even though most of the rabbis included in the book are far from what one can consider “gedolim” in the way the term is used today.

Kohn did not print any letters or haskamot in the first four volumes of his work. These first appear in volume 5, and are from such varied figures as R. Joel Teitelbaum and the Chief Rabbis of Haifa. Kohn also includes a four-page letter from R. Yekutiel Yehudah Halberstam, the Klausenberger Rebbe. R. Halberstam saw the entry for Lorki and was very upset. He writes that just as no one would dream of including Dathan and Abiram among the great Jewish leaders, all the more so one should not include Lorki among the rabbis of Jewish history. He further asks, rhetorically, if אותו האיש ימ”ש שר”י   should also be included because he was a student of R. Joshua ben Perahiah?

R. Halberstam is even upset that the book includes an entry for Lorki’s father, and unfairly wonders what type of man he must have been if his son turned out this way. (I say “unfairly” since there are many examples of pious people whose children ended up very differently.) Finally, R. Halberstam makes the following strong point to Kohn: If you are going to sayyemah shemoafter someone’s name, then it has to actually mean something. By including an entry for Lorki in the book, not only are you not blotting out his name, but you are doing the exact opposite by preserving his name for all to see.

ובאמת שאצל המומר לורקי כתב כת”ה בתר שמו ימ”ש שר”י. אבל זה לא רק להלכה אלא גם למעשה ואם אומרים ימח שמו א”כ איך חוקקים שמו להזכירו בזכרון קדוש אחרי שבע מאות שנים?

Kohn thought that it was OK to include an entry for Lorki because he was a rabbi before he apostatized. With this logic it would be OK to also study the Torah works of rabbis who later apostatized, since these works were written before their apostasy. (In part 2 of this post I will deal with rabbis who published seforim and then apostatized.)

5. In my last post here, I wrote that the new RCA siddur will come to be the standard siddur at hundreds of synagogues for decades to come. This was a reasonable conclusion to reach, since ArtScroll is no longer allowed to sell the RCA ArtScroll siddur which has become the standard at Modern Orthodox synagogues. Thus, when these synagogues need to purchase new siddurim – and these siddurim must have the prayers for the State of Israel and the IDF – they would naturally buy the new RCA siddur. Yet it seems that I was mistaken, as I did not anticipate ArtScroll’s response to its anticipated enormous loss of revenue. Here is the ad that many of you have already seen.

ArtScroll is continuing to sell the RCA siddur, minus the name “RCA” on the cover and Rabbi Saul Berman’s introductory essay. Instead of being the RCA edition, this siddur is now called the “Synagogue Edition.” This is designed to ensure that Modern Orthodox synagogues, when they need to buy new siddurim, continue purchasing the ones congregants are used to.

This move by ArtScroll is obviously a serious threat to the success of the new RCA siddur, as the typical Modern Orthodox synagogue will probably find it easier just to buy the new “Synagogue Edition.” It is going to take a lot of effort from the RCA to ensure that the new siddur becomes accepted across America, and only time will tell who will win the battle for the loyalty of the Modern Orthodox synagogues. I don’t know the details of ArtScroll’s contract with the RCA, so I can’t say if what ArtScroll has done is illegal. It certainly appears unethical.

When the original ArtScroll siddur appeared some thirty-five years ago, it immediately caught on, so much so that today it is hard to find an English-speaking Orthodox home that does not have an ArtScroll siddur. This is an enormous historical achievement. However, there was an obvious lack in that the classic ArtScroll siddur did not include the prayers for the State of Israel and the IDF. This meant that it could never be adopted as the siddur for Modern Orthodox synagogues. There were many people who were upset with ArtScroll for not including these prayers. Would it have been so difficult for ArtScroll to have included them with the note that “Some congregations recite these prayers”? In a siddur that found room to include Gott fun Avrohom at Havdalah, for the tiny population of ArtScroll siddur-users that says it, why could it not include prayers recited by many thousands every Shabbat? They could also have put these prayers in the back of the siddur, with the Yotzerot that today hardly anyone says. These steps would have made for an inclusive siddur, and there never would have been a need for the RCA ArtScroll Siddur.

We were led to believe that as a matter of principle, as dictated by ArtScroll’s gedolim, the prayers for the State of Israel and the IDF could not be included. It was thus a surprise that ArtScroll agreed to include these prayers in the RCA edition of the ArtScroll Siddur. The RCA recognized that everyone was moving over from Birnbaum to ArtScroll, and therefore it made sense to produce a Religious Zionist version of ArtScroll. How was ArtScroll able to include the religiously objectionable prayers? Obviously, the reason was money, but there was also deniability, as people could say that it wasn’t actually an ArtScroll siddur. Rather, it was an RCA siddur using the text of ArtScroll, so in this way ArtScroll wasn’t implicated as a partner in religious Zionism and its objectionable prayers.

With the publication of the new “Synagogue Edition” siddur, we now have a situation where ArtScroll itself is publishing a siddur with the prayers for the State of Israel and the IDF. In other words, ArtScroll is publishing a Religious Zionist text. This is definitely news. You can be as cynical as you wish in explaining why when it comes to making lots of money from Modern Orthodox synagogues, Daas Torah can be pushed aside, but it is significant that a so-called haredi publishing house has broken with haredi standards in such a significant way. Nevertheless, I hope that Modern Orthodox synagogues will realize that there is a great difference between the old RCA ArtScroll siddur, which is just the standard ArtScroll siddur with a few extra pages, and the new RCA Siddur which, in its ideological outlook and historical sophistication, is a siddur perfectly suited for today’s Modern Orthodox community.

6. Rabbi Pini Dunner recently publishedMavericks, Mystics and False Messiahs, and I know readers of the Seforim Blog will find it a wonderful read. If you have ever watched any of Dunner’s videos, you know that no one can tell a story like him. The figures and events he discusses (Samuel Falk, Emden-Eybeschuetz dispute, ClevesGet, Lord George Gordon, R. Yudel Rosenberg, Ignatz Timothy Trebitsch-Lincoln) are ones that are perfectly suited for his skill in this area. Readers should not go to this book looking for new discoveries of the sort that he has spoken about in some of his online lectures. Some people will have even read the published works upon which the chapters are based (e.g., Scholem, Leiman, Wasserstein). These sources are discussed in the concluding chapter which is itself fascinating, especially for those who love books. I heartily recommend the book even for those who know the original sources, because no one can bring a story to life quite like Dunner.

There is one thing, however, that I wish had been explained by Dunner. In the longest chapter of the book, dealing with the Emden-Eybeschuetz dispute, there are lengthy dialogues recorded between different people. We also read about when individuals smiled, when they gasped, when they turned pale, when their voice was shaky, when tears flowed down their cheeks, when they sat upright in bed, etc. Occasionally, we find this also in other chapters. Since all this is made up by Dunner (and with regard to the Emden-Eybeschuetz dispute could even be the beginnings of a movie storyline), it would have been helpful for some discussion as to why he decided to spice up the book this way. The most we get is that in the concluding chapter (p. 172), Dunner tells us that portions of the book “have been written in a style that has much more in common with dramatic fiction than with non-fiction history, including details of private conversations, and descriptive elements that may cause readers to wonder about their accuracy.” Yet the reader is never told why Dunner sometimes adopts this approach and at other times he sticks to the facts.

The chapter on the Emden-Eybeschuetz dispute includes as part of the story the legendary account of how R. Emden, on his deathbead, said, “Barukh haba, my revered father, barukh haba, Rabbi Yonatan.”[41] This was understood to mean that he was finally reconciled with his longtime adversary, and explains why they were buried in the same row. Unless one reads the concluding chapter of the book, which deals with the sources, the reader will have no way of knowing that there is no historical basis for this tale. It is attributed in the original source to R. Abraham Shalom Halberstam of Stropkov (1857-1940), though he presumably was repeating a tradition he had heard. The story was obviously invented to create a posthumous peace between the two great rabbis.

I realize that what I have described is part of the liberties taken by any good storyteller. However, anyone who reads the book will wonder why the Emden-Eybeschuetz chapter in particular, which freely mixes fact with fiction, is written in such a different style than the other chapters, which stick much more closely to what the evidence tells us. Dunner has shown that he can be both expert storyteller and historian, but speaking as a fellow historian, my preference would have been not to mix these genres in one book.

[1] Regarding the Hertz Chumash, see the articles by Mitchell First here, and Yosef Lindell here.

[2] See Harvey Meirovich, A Vindication of Judaism: The Polemics of the Hertz Pentateuch (New York and Jerusalem, 1998), pp. 187-189.

[3] Unlike the other contributors, Daiches was actually a rabbi (something not so common in Britain at the time). He received semikhah from the Rabbinical Seminary of Berlin as well as from his father, the great R. Israel Hayyim Daiches, R.  Solomon Cohen of Vilna, and R. Ezekiel Lifshitz of Kalisz. See Hannah Holtschneider, “Salis Daiches –  Towards a Portrait of a Scottish Rabbi,” Jewish Culture and History 16 (2015), p. 4. Holtschneider’s biography of Daiches will be out later this year. See here. The famous author David Daiches was his son, and his book Two Worlds (Edinburgh, 1997) has a lot about Salis Daiches. Here are some passages that I think readers will find of interest, as it speaks to the differences between what it meant to be an Orthodox rabbi in Britain a century ago vs. today.

Pp. 29-30: The electric radiator – which did, I suppose, make some difference, though memory links it only with extreme cold – could be switched on and off on the sabbath, as the electric light also could, in accordance with a decision of my father’s which differentiated his position sharply from that of my grandfather, patriarchal rabbi of an orthodox Jewish congregation in Leeds, who would have been shocked if he had known how cavalierly we treated electricity. Gas light or heat, which required the striking of a match, was another matter that was clearly prohibited. But electricity was a phenomenon unrecognized by the Talmud, and my father felt free to make his own interpretation of the nature of the act of switching on the electric light or heat. He decided that it was not technically ‘kindling a fire’, which a biblical injunction prohibits in the home on the sabbath.”

Pp. 81-82: “For years we travelled with our own meat dishes (for we could not eat off the meat dishes of a non-Jewish house) and Mother had supplies of meat sent out by post from the Edinburgh Jewish butcher. Packing a trunk full of dishes was an arduous business, and eventually Mother gave it up and we went vegetarian throughout August – which was no hardship for Mother could do marvelous things with fish (the term vegetarian in our family meant simply eating no meat but did not exclude fish). Slowly and gradually, and I am sure never consciously on my parents’ part, we relaxed a bit in the matter of diet. When she was first married Mother baked all her own bread, but ceased to do this after her illness in 1919. And on holiday one found oneself going a little further than one would have done in the city. In Edinburgh, we usually ate bread from the Jewish bakery, but occasionally we would get a loaf from a non-Jewish shop. Cakes and biscuits we regularly got from non-Jewish sources. But though Mother would buy ordinary cakes from a non-Jewish baker, she would always make her own pastry, for pastry from a gentile shop was liable to have been made with lard. On holiday, however, pastries started to creep in among the cakes bought for tea, and nobody raised the question of what they were made with.”

I am certain that Daiches is mistaken in his last sentence, and that his father confirmed with the bakery that there were no non-kosher ingredients in these pastries.

Pp. 92: “At home we always covered our heads to pray, and to say grace before and after meals, but we were never expected to keep our heads covered continually. My father wore a black skull cap when receiving members of his congregation in his study, but as the years went by he developed the habit of keeping it in his pocket throughout much of the day and diving hastily for it when the bell rang. In his father’s presence he wore it continually.”

Pp. 174, 176: The rabbi did not believe in a literal personal Messiah; he believed in historical movements, in progress, in amelioration, and in the acceleration of movement in the right direction by the actions of individuals. . . . The Messiah was not a person, but a historical ideal. God, the rabbi was in the habit of telling his congregation, works in history.”

Pp. 175-176: “The priestly benediction recited on High Festivals, when all the Cohens assembled to bless the congregation in the old biblical words of benediction, had been abolished by the rabbi in his Sunderland synagogue and he would not allow it in Edinburgh either.”

[4] Meirovich, A Vindication of Judaism, p. 31.

[5] Meirovich, A Vindication of Judaism, p. 33.

[6] Meirovich, A Vindication of Judaism, pp. 41ff.

[7] Siah Tefilah (Ofakim, 2003), p. 361.

[8] Mishbetzot Zahav, Orah Hayyim 46:4.

[9] See Excursus which will be in part 2 of this post.

[10] Magen ve-Herev, ed Simonsohn (Jerusalem, 1960), p. 47.

[11] See his derashah in R. Rephael Kadir Tsaban, Nefesh Hayah (Bnei Brak, 2007), vol. 2, pp. 269-270.

[12] See e.g, Derashot Rabbi Yehoshua Ibn Shuaib (Cracow, 1573), p. 48a:

כי נשמתן של ישראל הן קדושות יותר מן האומות ומן העבדים הכנעניים הפחותים ואפילו מן הנשים ואם הם שייכי במצות והן מזרע ישראל אין נשמתן כנשמת הזכר השייך בתור’ ובכל המצות עשה ולא תעשה.

[13] R. Shlomo Aviner, in discussing this matter, does not go so far as to say that men are obligated in Torah study because they are not at the same spiritual level of women. However, he comes close, and he is led to this approach because of his understanding of Torah study as leading to devekut, a position which is at odds with the Lithuanian perspective on Torah study. See Aviner, Bat Melekh (Jerusalem, 2013), p. 104:

שאלה: מדוע האשה, שניחנה בבינה יתרה, אינה מחוייבת בלימוד תורה?

תשובה: האיש, שאין בו בינה יתרה, דווקא הוא צריך להרבות בלימוד, אך האשה, שיש לה בינה יתרה, מבינה גם ללא הלימוד הרצוף והממושך. המהר”ל מסביר, שמי שיש לו נטיה טבעית לדבר, הוא משיגו בנקל. ללא נטיב טבעית יש צורך בעמל רב. לאשה באופן טבעי יש נטיה, שהאיש צריך לעמול עליה קשה (מהר”ל, דרוש על התורה עמ’ כז-כח). אלא, עמל לימוד התורה אינו איסוף ידיעות, בעומק הנפש, ודבקות בתורה. האיש הוא קשה עורף, מתקשה לשמוע לכן יש להכותו בגידים (שמות רבה כח ב. רש”י, שמות יט ג), בשוט השכלי של הלימוד. מי שניחן בנטיה טבעית לתורה אינו זקוק ל”גידים” כדי שתחול בו אותה תמורה פנימית, והיא מגיע אליו ביתר קלות . . . זו נטיה עמוקה באישיות האשה, לכן היא מגיעה לדבקות וקישור והתמלאות בתורה בנתיבים שונים מן האיש. האיש מגיע לדבקות זו בנתיב הלימודי, והאשה בנתיב ספיגת הדברים מן החיים.

See here from a Chabad site where we are told that “the female child inherently carries a higher degree of holiness, due to her own biological, life creating capability.” Would anyone today write the same sort of comment, but instead state that the male child has a higher degree of holiness? Faced with a situation where many people believe that women are regarded as inferior in traditional Judaism, defenders of Judaism are often led to offer apologetic answers that argue the reverse, namely, that it is actually women who are more special, spiritual, holy, etc. than men.

In my experience, men never seem to be offended when they hear this. One haredi friend explained to me that this is because the men do not believe it to be true, and thus no reason to be offended if it makes the women feel better. This is a cynical answer, but can anyone come up with a better reason? Imagine the scenario: A Shabbat meal with many guests and the father offers a devar Torah whose upshot is that men are more holy and spiritual than women. This will not go over well and the women (and some men also) will be offended. Yet if the message of the devar Torah is that women are more holy and spiritual, no one will take offense. Why not? And my more basic question is, why we can’t just say that men and women are equally holy and spiritual (albeit with different roles)? Why do people feel a need to say that one is more special than the other?

All this is in the realm of Jewish thought. However, when it comes to explaining halakhic matters in which women might be portrayed in a way that they would take offense at, here too new approaches must be offered. For example, can anyone imagine explaining to modern women why they cannot perform shechitah by telling them what R. Joseph Messas quotes from manuscript from the nineteenth-century R. Jacob Almadyoni (spelling?) of Tlemcen, Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2, Yoreh Deah no. 1?

אין להניח הנשים לשחוט ואפי’ בדיעבד ראוי להחמיר שאף המכשירין יודו האידנא שאין דעת נשי דידן מכוונות כדעת נשי דידהו. ואם על נשיהם אמרו אין חכמה לאשה אלא בפלך [יומא דף ס”ו ע”ב], קו”ח לנשי דידן

[14] See Hirsch’s commentary to Lev. 23:43, and regarding women and circumcision, see also Hirsch to Gen. 17:15. The most comprehensive discussion of Hirsch’s view of women and Judaism is found in Ephraim Chamiel, The Middle Way (Brighton, MA, 2014), vol. 2, pp. 152ff. On p. 153 he titles the section of a chapter: “Revolution: Women are Superior to Men.” Hirsch obviously opposed the notion found in R. David Abudarham that the reason women are not obligated in positive time-bound commandments is because they are “enslaved” to their husband to do his will, and if they were busy performing these commandments they could not serve him properly and this would create marital discord. See Abudarham ha-Shalem (Jerusalem, 1963), p. 25:

והטעם שנפטרו הנשים מהמצות עשה שהזמן גרמא לפי שהאשה משועבדת לבעלה לעשות צרכיו. ואם היתה מחוייבת במצות עשה שהזמן גרמא אפשר שבשעת עשיית המצוה יצוה אותה הבעל לעשות מצותו ואם תעשה מצות הבורא ותניח מצותו אוי לה מבעלה ואם תעשה מצותו ותניח מצות הבורא אוי לה מיוצרה לפיכך פטרה הבורא ממצותיו כדי להיות לה שלום עם בעלה.

The same reason is offered by R. Jacob Anatoli, Malmad ha-Talmidim (Lyck, 1866), pp. 15b-16a:

לפי שהנקיבה היא לעזר הזכר ואל אישה תשוקתה והוא ימשל בה להנהיגה ולהדריכה בדרכיו ולעשות מעשה על פיו והיותה על הדרך הזה הוא גם כן סבה שהיא פטורה מכל מצות עשה שהזמן גרמא כי אלו היתה טרודה לעשות המצות בזמן היה הבעל בלא עזר בזמנים ההם והיתה קטטה נופלת ביניהם ותסור הממשלה המכוונת שהיא לתועלתו ולתועלתה.

R. Ahron Soloveichik adopted an approach similar to that of Hirsch. He claimed that Judaism “recognizes the feminine gender as possessing an innate, unique spiritual blessing as compared with the male gender. . .  [T]he woman has innate spiritual advantage as compared with men.”Logic of the Heart, Logic of the Mind(Jerusalem, 1991), p. 93.

[15] Itturei Kohanim, no. 167 (5759), 4-5; R. Aviner, Panim el Panim (Jerusalem, 2008), p. 194. Significantly, R. Zvi Yehudah’s explanation acknowledges that the blessing שלא עשני אשה implies male superiority. While this was a common understanding in pre-modern times, in recent generations this interpretation was usually rejected. Yet R. Zvi Yehudah claims that the blessing’s formulation was a concession to human feelings. Does this then mean that if a contemporary man recognizes the superiority of women, or even just that they are equal to men, that according to R. Zvi Yehudah he can stop saying this blessing?

[16] See Avraham Grossman “Ma’alot ha-Nashim ve-Adifutan be-Hibur shel R. Gedaliah Ibn Yahya,” Zion 72 (2007), pp. 37-61.

[17] R. Simhah Bunim Lieberman raises a strong objection to Or ha-Hayyim‘s position. See Bi-Shvilei Orayta al Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh la-Zeh, p. 124:

אבל האמת דעצם דברי האור החיים צ”ע, דאטו מוכיח יש בו שררה, וכי מצאנו איסור לגר להוכיח ישראל שחטא

[18] Edut be-Yaakov, vol. 2, p. 164.

[19] See R. Avraham Sorotzkin, Rinat Yitzhak, Deut. 29:10.

[20] R. Yehiel Heilprin, Seder ha-Dorot (Bnei Brak, 2003), vol. 1, p. 251.

[21] Naomi G. Cohen, “Rabbi Meir, A Descendant of Anatolian Proselytes,” Journal of Jewish Studies 23 (1972), pp. 54-55. Cohen also provides the Graetz reference.

[22] Antiquities 20.8.11.

[23] Life of Flavius Josephus, ch. 3. See A. Andrew Das, Solving the Romans Debate (Minneapolis, 2007), pp. 77ff.; Louis H. Feldman, Jew and Gentile in the Ancient World (Princeton, 1993), p. 351.

[24] R. Maimon ben Joseph (the father of Maimonides), Iggeret ha-Nehamah, trans. Binyamin Klar (Jerusalem, 2007), p. 38, states:

וכבר אמר פעם אחת אחד ממלכי רומי – קללה תבוא על כולם, חוץ מאחד רם המעלה המובדל מהם, הוא אנטונינוס שהיה בדורו של רבנו הקדוש ע”ה.

[25] R. Yehiel Heilprin, Seder ha-Dorot, vol. 2, p. 138, has a version of the Mekhilta that reads Antigonos, and he therefore identifies a “Rabbi Antigonos”.

[26] Beshalah, hakdamah. In the edition with the Netziv’s commentary it is on p. 79.

[27] Beshalah, parashah 1. In the edition with the Netziv’s commentary it is on p. 111.

[28] Surprisingly, Abraham Joshua Heschel did not take note of the Vilna Gaon’s emendation, and cited one of the Mekhilta texts as is. See Torah min ha-Shamayim be-Aspaklaryah shel ha-Dorot (London and New York, 1962), p. 183 n. 3.

[29] See the Horovitz-Rabin edition of the Mekhilta, pp. 82, 89.

[30] See Rapoport, Erekh Milin (Prague, 1852), p. 270.

[31] See the comprehensive discussion in Shaye J. D. Cohen, “The Conversion of Antoninus,” in Peter Schäfer, ed., The Talmud Yerushalmi and Graeco-Roman Culture (Tübingen, 1978), pp. 141-171.

[32] “The Conversion of Antoninus,” pp. 164-165.

[33] “Die Aggadot von Antoninus in Midrash und Talmud,” Magazin für die Wissenschaft des Judenthums 19 (1892), p. 46.

[34] “Die Aggadot von Antoninus in Midrash und Talmud,” pp. 51-52.

[35] See Jewish Quarterly Review 49 (1958), p. 153.

[36] Penei Shlomo (Salonika, 1717), p. 43d.

[37] Ohel Yosef (Salonika, 1756), no. 14 (p. 13a).

[38] Devar Moshe (Salonika, 1750), vol. 3, no. 11 (p. 8a). The three sources just cited are mentioned by Meir Benayahu, Ha-Tenuah ha-Shabta’it be-Yavan (Jerusalem, 1978), pp. 191, 274-275.

[39] Shulhan Gavoah (Salonika, 1756), Orah Hayyim, vol. 2, Hilkhot Yom ha-Kippurim 620 (p. 68a). He also refers to Nathan this way ibid., Hilkhot Rosh ha-Shanah 584 (p. 35a).

[40] See Benayahu, Ha-Tenuah ha-Shabta’it be Yavan, p. 119. For sources regarding Zacuto, see Gershom Scholem, Mehkerei Shabtaut, ed. Yehuda Liebes (Tel Aviv, 1991), p. 528; Bezalel Naor, Post Sabbatian Sabbatianism (Spring Valley, 1999), p. 176 n. 8.

[41] The source of the story for Dunner is David Ginz, Gedulat Yehonatan, vol. 2, p. 286. Abraham Hayyim Simhah Bunim Michaelson, Ohel Avraham (Petrokov, 1911), p. 28b, also heard the story from R. Halberstam, but in his version R. Emden states simply, ברוך הבא אבא.

Daf Yomi: Seforim on Masseches Taanis
By Eliezer Brodt

Daf Yomi just started learning Masseches Taanis this week.  Earlier today I had a conversation with Rabbi Moshe Schwed of All Daf.  The purpose of the conversation was for me to briefly highlight some of the Rishonim and Achronim “out there” on this masechtah, adding some tidbits of interest about them. A nice amount of the conversation was devoted to discussing if Rashi on Taanis is by Rashi or not.

We recorded it and it’s available for viewing here and here.

It’s only a half hour long. Many aspects could have been discussed at greater length but R. Schwed had mercy on potential listeners!

This is an experiment which we are trying on the Seforim Blog and we hope to have other presentations from others over time. Feedback or comments of any sort are appreciated.

This is the fourth such conversation I have had with him of this kind this year (earlier we discussed Yerushalmi Shekalim [here], Yoma [here], and Rosh Hashanah here).