Gems from Rav Herzog’s Archive (Part 2): Sanhedrin, Dateline, the Rav on Kahane, and More

Gems from Rav Herzog’s Archive (Part 2):
Sanhedrin, Dateline, the Rav on Kahane, and More
By Yaacov Sasson
EDIT Please see this post for a crucial correction – it is the conclusion of the Rav’s family that the letter  in the Herzog Archive about Kahane is a forgery.
This post continues from Part 1, here.
V Renewal of Sanhedrin
Another important file in Rav Herzog’s archive is his file on the renewal of Semicha and the Sanhedrin.[1] Among other letters, the file contains an unpublished letter from Rav Herzog to R’ Yehuda Leib Maimon regarding the issue. R’ Maimon was a well-known Mizrachi leader, the first Minister of Religion of the State of Israel, and the most vocal advocate of renewing the Sanhedrin. To that end, he wrote a series of articles on the topic in Ha-Tzofeh and Sinai, which he collected into a book in 1950, entitled Chidush Ha-Sanhedrin BeMedinateinu Hamechudeshet. Renewal of Semicha and Sanhedrin was of course not without opponents. Rav Herzog instructs R’ Maimon to proceed slowly and with caution, as there are a number of unresolved issues regarding renewal of Semicha which require great care and deliberation.
There were two main halachic objections to the renewal of Semicha. The first (not mentioned here by Rav Herzog) is based on the language of the Rambam in Sanhedrin 4:11, the very same halacha in which he suggests the possibility of the renewal of Semicha. The Rambam writes there:
נראין לי הדברים שאם הסכימו כל החכמים שבארץ ישראל למנות דיינין ולסמוך אותן הרי אלו סמוכין ויש להן לדון דיני קנסות ויש להן לסמוך לאחרים אם כן למה היו החכמים מצטערין על הסמיכה כדי שלא ייבטלו דיני קנסות מישראל לפי שישראל מפוזרין ואי אפשר שיסכימו כולן ואם היה שם סמוך מפי סמוך אינו צריך דעת כולן אלא דן דיני קנסות לכל שהרי נסמך מפי בית דין והדבר צריך הכרע.
The intention of the Rambam in his concluding words, Ve-hadavar tzarich hechrea, has been the subject of dispute for hundreds of years, going back to the dispute of the Mahari Beirav and the Ralbach, with some authorities believing that the Rambam was mesupak whether Semicha could in fact be renewed. A novel approach to the issue was suggested by Dr. Bernard Revel in an article in Chorev, Volume 5 (1939). Dr. Revel suggested the possibility that the final three words, Ve-hadavar tzarich hechrea, are not be the words of the Rambam himself, but were added later by another person who disagreed with the Rambam’s innovation.[2] Dr. Revel cited statements of other rishonim which he believed supported his theory. R’ Maimon addressed this issue in the introduction to his book, in the footnote, writing that the three words, Ve-hadavar tzarich hechrea, do not appear in “kama kitvei yad” (several manuscripts), thus supporting Dr. Revel’s hypothesis.
 
However, there is no evidence that any such manuscripts actually exist. The Frankel edition of the Rambam does not cite any alternate nusach that excludes these three words. Additionally, Professor Eliav Schochetman[3] wrote nearly 30 years ago that he found no evidence of any such manuscript in the numerous manuscripts that he consulted from across the world.

 

 
There are two potential explanations to what happened here. One potential explanation is that R’ Maimon simply lied about the existence of these kitvei yad in order to advance his agenda of renewing the Sanhedrin. Alternatively, Rabbi Eliyahu Krakowski has suggested a limud zchut – perhaps R’ Maimon forgot what Dr. Revel had written and mistakenly believed that Dr. Revel had uncovered manuscripts supporting his thesis[4], or he never saw it himself and was misinformed as to what Dr. Revel wrote, in which case R’ Maimon would be guilty of carelessness rather than dishonesty.
The second major halachic objection to the renewal of Semicha is the issue of the Samuch’s qualifications. The Rambam in Sanhedrin 4:8 writes that a Samuch must be rauy lehorot be-chol hatorah kula, capable of ruling on the entire Torah. Rav Herzog mentions in this letter to R’ Maimon that the Ralbach objected to renewal of Semicha on the grounds that no one is rauy lehorot be-chol hatorah kula. (This was also the position of the Radvaz, in his commentary on Sanhedrin 4:11.) Rav Herzog adds that if he said so in his generation, anan aniyey de-aniyey mah na’ane abatrei? Rav Herzog then makes a somewhat novel suggestion, one with halachic ramifications for the issue of renewal of Semicha. Rav Herzog suggests that rauy lehorot be-chol hatorah kula does not mean that the Samuch must literally know by heart all the relevant halachic sources. A similar approach was also suggested by the Rav[5] and the Steipler.[6] In the language of the Rav, the Samuch need not possess “universal knowledge”, rather a “universal orientation.” While this approach would certainly remove this barrier to renewal of Semicha, Rav Herzog concludes, however, that the matter requires extensive clarification and discussion, and as long as this point has not been clarified, there can be no possibility of renewing the Sanhedrin.

 

There are a number of talmidei chachamim in the last century who have deemed others to be rauy lehorot be-chol hatorah kula, in contrast to the position of the Ralbach and the RadvazFor example, in his 1935 recommendation letter for the Rav regarding the Chief Rabbinate in Tel Aviv, publicized by Dr. Manfred Lehmann[7], Rav Moshe Soloveichik wrote that the Rav is rauy lehorot veladun be-chol dinei hatorah like the mufla on the Sanhedrin. In Rav Moshe Mordechai, the biography of Rav Moshe Mordechai Shulsinger (page 275), it is related that the Chazon Ish listed to his student Rav Shlomo Cohen (Rav Shulsinger’s father-in-law) the names of 32 Rabbis whom he believed to be rauy lehorot be-chol hatorah kula and worthy of sitting in the Sanhedrin, among them the Chafetz Chaim and Rav Meir Simcha. It would appear that Rav Moshe Soloveichik and the Chazon Ish also assumed the more lenient definition of rauy lehorot be-chol hatorah kula, in line with the position of Rav Herzog, the Rav and the Steipler.
VI Halachic Dateline
The archive contains an entire file dedicated to the question of the Halachic Dateline.[8] Rav Herzog was of course involved in the Dateline controversy in 1941. At that time, some members of the Mir Yeshiva, among other Jews, were located in Japan for Yom Kippur and they sent a telegram to Rabbis Mishkovsky, Alter, Herzog, Soloveichik, Finkel and Meltzer asking for guidance. Rav Herzog convened a meeting of a number of Rabbis to decide how to proceed, and sent a telegram back to Japan with their instructions. The file contains copies of the telegrams, much of Rav Herzog’s correspondence on the issue, as well as a kuntres on the topic prepared by Rav Tukachinsky that was distributed in advance of the meeting. Most of the significant material in this file has already been published in Kovetz Chitzei Giborim – Pleitat Sofrim Volume 8, in an extensive article by Rav Avraham Yissachar Konig, which was previously reviewed on the Seforim Blog by Dr. Marc Shapiro.[9]
Rav Konig’s most significant contribution is showing that Rav Herzog’s letter as published in Rav Menachem Kasher’s Kav Ha-taarich Ha-yisraeli has been altered from Rav Herzog’s actual letter. Here is Rav Herzog’s letter to Rav Kasher as it appears in the archive:
And this is the letter as printed at the beginning of Rav Kasher’s Kav Ha-taarich Ha-yisraeli:
 
There are three sentences that have been omitted from Rav Herzog’s letter as presented at the beginning of Rav Kasher’s volume. (I would add the following point that Rav Konig failed to mention – Rav Kasher wrote explicitly on page 248 that he presented the letters at the beginning of the volume in full.) The following sentences have been omitted from Rav Herzog’s letter:
הנני להודיע עכשיו שבדיעה זו אני ממשיך ומחזיק היום. אני תפלה שיזכני הקב”ה לעיין בעצם שאלת קו התאריך ולבדוק את כל הדיעות ולהגיע לידי דיעה עצמית. אולם לעת עתה אינני נוקט שום עמדה בהן.
This omission creates the impression that Rav Herzog had a definitive position on the question of the Dateline. However, this is obviously not the case; Rav Herzog never came to any conclusion on the issue of the Dateline, as is clear from the omitted sentences, as well as from a number of other letters in the file. In fact, Rav Konig has shown that in Rav Kasher’s response to this letter, he actually complained to Rav Herzog about these specific sentences for this reason. From Rav Herzog’s original letters, it appears that his position on the question of Japan was one of hanhaga bemakom safek (i.e. instruction on how to act in absence of a clear conclusion on the location of the Dateline) not a definitive hachraa. (Rav Konig elaborates on Rav Herzog’s position at length.) The first sentence above, that Rav Herzog stands by the position of the Rabbinic meeting, in conjunction with Rav Herzog’s statement that he has no definitive opinion on the matter of the Dateline, also implies that the position of the Rabbinic meeting convened by Rav Herzog was also one of hanhaga bemakom safek. (This point is also clear from Rav Herzog’s letter to Dr. Yishurun, also in the file, that the Dateline matter remained unresolved, and the meeting of Rabbis came to no definitive conclusion on the location of the Dateline. They issued their instructions to Japan based on the majority of opinions regarding location of the Dateline, with no consensus on the issue itself.) The altered version of Rav Herzog’s letter creates the false impression that Rav Herzog had a definitive opinion on the Dateline question.
However, I must take issue with one point made by Rav Konig. In his footnote 54, he criticizes Rav Herzog for his language in the telegram sent to Japan. Rav Konig writes that the language of the telegram is misleading, and creates the false impression that the telegram represents the position of the six rabbis (Rabbis Mishkovsky, Alter, Herzog, Soloveichik, Finkel and Meltzer) to whom the telegram from Japan was addressed. This is Rav Konig’s critique, in footnote 54:
Unfortunately, Rav Konig has been misled by an inaccurate translation of Rav Herzog’s telegram. Rav Herzog’s original telegram was written in English, and Rav Konig tells us (footnote 55) that he has relied on the translation to Hebrew as it appears in the Encyclopeida Talmudit, in the addendum to the entry on “Yom”, (coincidentally also in footnote 55.) That translation is taken from Rav Kasher’s Kav Ha-taarich Ha-yisraeli on page 246. This is the telegram sent by Rav Herzog, as it appears in the archive:
An accurate translation to Hebrew would be as follows:
בתשובה למברק שלכם מיום 12.9, אספת רבנים בנשיאותי החליטה שתצומו ליום כיפור ביום רביעי לפי חשבון הנהוג ביפן וכו’
This is the mistranslation in Rav Kasher’s Kav Ha-taarich Ha-yisraeli:
Translated accurately, Rav Herzog’s telegram does not imply that the six Rabbis to whom the question was addressed are providing the answer. The main difference is a subtle, but significant one. Rav Herzog wrote “meeting rabbis my presidency”, which Rav Kasher mistranslated to Asifat Ha-rabbanim, “meeting of the rabbis”, and he neglected to translate “my presidency” at all. As noted by Rav Konig, Asifat Ha-rabbanim (with the hey ha-yedia) implies the known Rabbis, i.e. the Rabbis to whom the question was addressed. Correctly translated, however, Asifat Rabbanim be-nesiuti, “a meeting of Rabbis under my presidency” (without the hey ha-yedia) does not imply that Rabbis Mishkovsky, Alter, Soloveichik, Finkel and Meltzer were involved in the decision. Rav Konig was unfortunately misled by Rav Kasher’s mistranslation, which was also repeated by Encyclopeida Talmudit. The attack on Rav Herzog’s integrity is entirely unwarranted.
There appears to be a second very subtle error in Rav Kasher’s translation. Rav Kasher’s translation states flatly that the Taanit of Yom Kippur is on Wednesday, implying a definitive hachraa. Rav Herzog’s telegram actually says that the decision was that they should fast on Wednesday for Yom Kippur, language which is consistent with a hanhaga bemakom safek. This would also fit with Rav Herzog’s personal addendum, that the Jews in Japan ought to keep Thursday as a fast day as well while eating leshiurim. Given Rav Kasher’s apparently less-than-honest presentation of Rav Herzog’s letter, as noted above, one might surmise that this “error” was also a willfull misrepresentation of the contents of the telegram, intended to advance Rav Kasher’s preferred narrative of a definitive hachraa, in accordance with his own position.
VII Yibum B’zman Hazeh
In addition to the documents related to Rav Herzog’s tenure as Chief Rabbi of Israel, there are also a number of files from his tenure as Chief Rabbi of Ireland. Among his correspondence from his time is Ireland is a fascinating teshuva, written by Rav Kasher in 1936, regarding the issue of Yibum B’zman Hazeh.[10] The background to the question: an Ashkenazi Yavam and Yevama living in Israel want to marry via Yibum, rather than doing Chalitza. Must the beit din protest, or can the beit din allow the Yibum? This teshuva was printed by Rav Kasher in the inaugural volume of Talpiot[11] (1944), and also appears in his Divrei Menachem Volume 1, Teshuva 31. Interestingly, Rav Kasher’s conclusion in the original teshuva differs significantly from the conclusion in the teshuva that he eventually published in Talpiot and Divrei Menachem.
Here is the conclusion of the teshuva as it appears in Rav Herzog’s archive, at the end of page 11 continuing to page 12:

 

Here is the conclusion of the teshuva as it appears in Divrei Menachem:
 
Originally, Rav Kasher concluded that the beit din should try to convince the couple to do chalitza, but if beit din is unsuccessful, and if the couple is religious, then beit din should teach them to have kavana l’shem mitzvah and need not protest the yibum. The concluding sentences were removed from Rav Kasher’s published teshuva, and the ending simply states that beit din try to convince them to do chalitza. (The teshuva as published is actually quite awkward, as it is clearly building towards the conclusion that they may do yibum, yet ends abruptly without stating this conclusion.) Apparently, Rav Kasher censored his own conclusion. He does stipulate at the end of the original teshuva that he is writing le-halacha ve-lo le-maase until the Gedolei Ha-Rabbanim in Israel agree to permit the yibum. It is possible that Rav Kasher did not receive such approval, and subsequently decided to censor his own conclusion when he published the teshuva.
VIII The Rav on Rabbi Meir Kahane
In addition to the archives of Chief Rabbi Herzog, the archives of his son, President Chaim Herzog, have also been scanned and are available. A very intriguing file in his archive is the file dedicated to Rabbi Meir Kahane.[12] A fascinating document in that file is a letter about Kahane written to Herzog by the Rav in the summer of 1984. The background to the letter: in 1984, Kahane became a member of the Knesset, representing the Kach party. Traditionally, during the process of building a coalition, the president would invite every party to take part in coalition negotiations. Herzog, however, snubbed Kahane and refused to invite him.[13] It was in response to this snub that the Rav wrote the letter below to Herzog, which is surprisingly supportive of Kahane:
 
The Rav starts by mentioning his close relationship with Rav Herzog, and that Chaim Herzog was actually named for his grandfather, the great Rav Chaim Soloveichik of Brisk.[14] The Rav says that he cannot understand how Herzog could invite the representatives of Arafat, but did not invite Kahane. The Rav adds that Kahane is “ktzat talmid chacham” despite his shigonot, and that he is a yarei shamayim who fights for the Torah and kvod shamayim. The Rav says that someone as energetic as Kahane should be moderated and he could contribute.
(Other sources have portrayed the Rav’s view of Kahane far more negatively, claiming that the Rav regarded Kahane’s “selective citation of Jewish sources as a distortion and desecration of Torah.”[15] Additionally, it is related that, at some point in the 1980s[16], the Rav told others that Kahane should not be given a platform to speak at YU.[17] I am not sure how to reconcile this portrayal of the Rav’s view of Kahane with the Rav’s own letter to Herzog that was rather supportive and praising of Kahane.)
The Rav then gives Herzog some gentle mussar for being irreligious and encourages him to keep mitzvot while in public as a Kiddush Hashem. Herzog’s response to the Rav also appears in the same file.
Kahane and Herzog had quite a contentious (non-)relationship, extending far beyond the coalition snub, as is evidenced by the rest of Herzog’s file on Kahane. This is a scathing column that Kahane wrote for the Jewish Press, also found in Herzog’s archive, in which Kahane dubs Herzog “vinegar son of wine”, among other insults:
 
Additionally, Kahane’s Kach party presented Herzog with the inaugural Pras Idud Ha-hitbolelut – “Award for the Encouragement of Assimilation” 5745, as appears below:
 
The above is a sampling of the important and interesting documents contained in the archives. As mentioned, there is certainly much more fascinating material to be found. In the meanwhile, אנו יושבים ומצפים לגאולה שלמה, ייתי ונחמיניה.
[2] http://www.hebrewbooks.org/pdfpager.aspx?req=23218&st=&pgnum=16. See also Rav Chaim David Regensburg’s criticism of this thesis in Kerem Volume 1, pages 93-94 (also reprinted in his Mishmeret Chaim), and the comments of Rav Hershel Schachter brought in Shiurei Ha-rav (Sanhedrin), page 37, footnote 35.
[3] Shenaton Ha-Mishpat Ha-Ivri 14-15, page 235, footnote 77
[4] Dr. Revel did cite statements of other rishonim that he believed supported his view. Perhaps R’ Maimon mistakenly thought that Dr. Revel had supported his view with manuscripts of the Rambam, rather than other rishonim.
[5]  Nefesh Ha-rav page 18 footnote 22 , Shiurei Ha-rav (Sanhedrin) page 27. See also Leaves of Faith (volume 1) pages 121 and 134, where Rav Lichtenstein attributes this approach to Rav Moshe Soloveichik. From the other sources, it would seem that this approach was the Rav’s own. However, the recommendation letter that Rav Moshe wrote might imply that Rav Moshe also followed this approach.
[6] Kitvei Kehillot Yaakov Ha-chadashim, Sanhedrin, page 187.
[7] Sefer Yovel for Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, jointly published by Mosad HaRav Kook and Yeshiva University, at the end of Volume 1 (unpaginated). The transcription, along with an image, is also available here.
Lehmann’s transcription of Rav Moshe’s letter appears to be mostly accurate, with one exception. Towards the end of the letter, Lehmann’s transcription reads as follows:
וגם הם בדור עשירי לעזרא איכא בי’ מכל צד וצד…
This meaningless sentence is obviously an error in transcription. The transcription should read:
וגם הך דדור עשירי לעזרא איכא בי’ מכל צד וצד…
meaning that the Rav has illustrious lineage and zchut avot on both his father’s and mother’s side. (See Brachot 27b for the source of this expression.) It is also clear from Lehmann’s translation that he misunderstood this line entirely and did not realize that it was referring to the Rav and his lineage. See the translation here.
[13] “Rabbi Kahane was the only party leader in the Parliament whom President Herzog refused to see in the consultations that led to the President’s asking Shimon Peres, the Labor Party leader, to form a government.” (New York Times, August 14, 1984)
[14] Herzog himself mentions this in his memoir, Derech Chaim, although it does not appear in the English translation, Living History. Rav Chaim passed away on July 30, 1918, and Herzog was born on September 17, 1918.
[16] The Rav’s last shiur at YU/RIETS was in 1985 (The Rav, Volume 1, page 43), at which point he withdrew from public life due to his illness. Presumably, this incident must have occurred at some point before then.



Torah & Rationalism – Writings of the Gaon Rabbenu Aaron Chaim HaLevi Zimmerman zt”l

Torah & Rationalism – Writings of the Gaon Rabbenu Aaron Chaim HaLevi Zimmerman zt”l (Feldheim 2020, 216pp.)*

Ovadya Hoffman

Deviating from conventional book reviews I shall not enter into a discussion of the author – R. Chaim Zimmerman’s genius, schooling, breathtaking erudition, oeuvre, philosophies or his broader Weltanschauung. I leave that for the biographers, that is, if any will take up the challenge.[1] Nor does this survey qualify as a comprehensive book review as I will explain later on. 

First, a word on the book itself. When a posthumously published book appears any critical minded reader wonders where the material came from, in what condition it was, did the publishers do any editing at all to the materials etc.? These are very important questions with serious ramifications and any responsible publisher should want to provide as much detail as possible. Unfortunately, in the present book we are presented with a vague picture. The reader is only informed (Preface, viii) “The text presented includes redacted variants of articles published during the 1980s under the headline Torah and Logic.” No precise list of the publications’ previous appearances is given, a proper bibliography, no exact description of the redactions or even who committed the redactions – the editor, Moshe Avraham Landy, or R. Zimmerman himself. One example, which relates to the section I’d like to focus on, is Landy’s note on p. 131 n. 265 (duplicated in the Hebrew section, p. 174). He informs us that R. Zimmerman “compiled a page by page critique of Professor Ginzberg‘s A Commentary on the Palestinain Talmud that shows most of the sources quoted by Ginzberg are found explicitly in earlier lesser-known printed books on Talmud Yerushalmi; and any chiddush, or “original idea”, offered by Ginzberg could also be found in sefarim and books of previous rabbis and scholars. This critique was written about 1950, and for various reasons was not published. Some galley proofs and other remnants of this manuscript are in the archive of the collected writing of the Gaon Rabbenu… They are presented herein for the reader in the original Hebrew…” I am unsure if what is presented are pieces of a longer manuscript which runs “page by page” (on all three volumes of the Commentary and the posthumously published fourth volume) or if this is the complete critique which, in its current composition, only encompasses the first eighty or so pages of the first volume. Again, a precise description and an unequivocal report of the materials would have obviated any confusion. 

CHAPTER IX – The Falsity of Chochmas Yisrael

I shall focus on R. Zimmerman’s charges leveled at Professor Louis Ginzberg’s Perushim VeChiddushim BaYerushalmi (herein, “Commentary”); specially the explicated charges mentioned in this chapter as they are reflective of the criticisms in the Hebrew recension, “רצנזיה” (Appendix, 175ff.), which will not be treated in this essay. I do not think such a presentation is misrepresentative or fragmentary of R. Zimmerman’s complete critique since he himself maintained that “[f]or the intelligent reader, the following evidential examples should suffice” (p. 131). Additionally, I resisted from responding to the cryptic one-liner allegations sprinkled on the preceding pages (pp. 127-130) since I’m not at all sure to what precisely R. Zimmerman was referring to and are, supposedly, detailed only in the Hebrew section. I surmise that the citations to the Commentary referenced in the notes of those one-liners were provided (or, suggested) by the editor of the manuscript, either Landy or Rabbi Eliyahu M. Zelasko (cf. p. 175). Finally, to assay the buildup and the opinions expressed in the chapter of the wider “Falsity of Chochmas Yisrael” is more tedious and requires a much more in-depth systematic debate as it relates to their different schools of thought, principles and religious philosophies, which is entirely beyond the scope of this scrutiny. This review is not intended as a rejoinder or an exculpation of Chochmas Yisrael, its “truthfulness” or its fidelity to Halachah and tradition. In this brief register it is strictly Ginzberg’s [rabbinic] scholarship I attempt to address in light of R. Zimmerman’s allegations; not the man, his beliefs or his affiliated institution(s). Transliterations below follow the method employed in the book under review. Emphasis, in italics, are of the current writer. 

P. 127
He [Ginzberg] writes in his book that he developed a novel approach and a scientific method to Halachah.
These are Ginzberg’s actual words (English intro., viii):
In these volumes an attempt has been made to deal with the writings of the mishnaic-talmudic period as a unit and, within the framework of a commentary on the first treatise of the Palestinian Talmud, to present a novel approach to the study of this literature.
To the initiated with the Yerushalmi’s commentaries I think a tenable argument can be made that Ginzberg’s tomes are a unique attempt at approaching the study of Talmud Yerushalmi with modern methods through the very framework he delineated in his introductions. Alas, R. Zimmerman did not offer examples to the contrary, i.e. books predating Ginzberg which approached the Yerushalmi mirroring the latter’s methods. This is in stark contrast to Solomon Zeitlin’s perspective who wrote in his review of the Commentary: “It is the first and only serious rabbinic work published so far in this country. Ginzberg is the first to give us a thorough, scholarly treatment of the Palestinian Talmud from the old rabbinic and also scholarly point of view.” Zeitlin, not being one to ingratiate with embellishment, went so far to suggest “Solomon ibn Adret said there was only one in a generation who could understand the Palestinian Talmud. Prof. Ginzberg, I believe without exaggeration, has no equal in our generation and is one of the greatest authorities on the Palestinian Talmud since the time of the Gaon of Vilna.”[2] Among the many Roshe Yeshivot and rabbanim who respectfully referred to and/or corresponded with Ginzberg, mention should be made here of what R. Mordechai Gifter wrote to Ginzberg upon receiving a copy of the Commentary
זה כשבוע שהובא אוצר גדול לביתי הוא ספרו של כבודו “פירושים וחידושים בירושלמי”, ואתמול גמרתי העיון בכרך הראשון על שני פרקים הראשונים במס’ ברכות. ואף שאין כבודו צריך לדכוותי, לא אוכל להתאפק לומר לו “יישר חילו לאורייתא”, ואקוה שיזכה להו”ל ספרו על כל הירושלמי, להאיר עיני ההוגים בתלמוד זה. הספר גזל ממני הרבה שינה, ואקוה שיהיו לרצון לפניו הערות אחדות שמצאתי להעיר בדבריו[3]
P. 132 

R. Zimmerman introduced the question regarding the strength of the obligation to recite the paragraphs of the Shema section; is it Biblical or rabbinical and, if any, which paragraphs? He called attention to the Peri Chadash and Sha’agas Aryeh who offered their respective
“great pilpulim… The Sha’gas Aryeh in his great teshuvah [responsum] has a pilpul on the subject, where he quotes some pieces of the Peri Chadash and argues against them… Ginzberg writes in a very trivial and casual tone against these two renowned geonim… Ginzberg writes that these two geonim, despite all their lengthy pilpul, overlooked an explicit and open source in the Talmud Yerushalmi.”
Not only is this an overly exaggerated characterization of Ginzberg’s actual words, the irony is eyebrow raising as Ginzberg’s words are presented in the footnote and the readers can detect this themselves, save for the note which contains a truncated text of Peri Chadash and therefore gives a different impression of what Peri Chadash actually wrote and how he formulated his discussion. These are Ginzberg’s words [with emphasis on the phrasing under attack]:
האחרונים האריכו לפלפל אם למ”ד ק”ש מן התורה ב’ פרשיות הן מן התורה או רק פרשה ראשונה (עיין פרי חדש ס”ו [ע.ה.: צ”ל ס”ז], ושאגת אריה ס’, ב’) ולא העירו על דברי הירושלמי כאן, שכבר אמרנו בכמה מקומות שלהירושלמי ק”ש מן התורה, ומ”מ טרחו למצוא טעם למה אין צריך כוונה רק פרק ראשון ולא אמרו שפרק ראשון מן התורה ולכך צריך כוונה ופרק שני מדרבנן ולכן אינו צריך כוונה, וע”כ ששניהם מן התורה, ועיין ראש דבור הקודם, ואכמ”ל
First of all, such common stock phrases, in all of rabbinic literature, needs no elaboration other than to say that it is not perceived as an undermining and disdainful “very trivial and casual tone” (never mind the harsher verbiage, and no less from R. Hezkiah de Silva himself). 

After repeating this same stricture (p. 133) R. Zimmerman adds:
…it is astonishing that the academic “scientific scholar” Louis Ginzberg either did not understand the words of the Peri Chadash and Sha’agas Aryeh, or deliberately deceived to discredit them. The error of Ginzberg here is because in the same chapter of the Peri Chadash, the Peri Chadash himself quotes this Talmud Yerushalmi, and brings this very proof with respect to which Ginzberg claims that he “caught” the Peri Chadash and the Sha’agas Aryeh in overlooking the Talmud Yerushalmi. Of course, the Sha’agas Aryeh makes reference to the Peri Chadash, so obviously he does not have to repeat the proof from this Yerushalmi which is clearly stated by the Peri Chadash.
Let us inspect the Peri Chadash. He begins chapter 67 with a thorough exposition determining what the obligatory status is with regards to reading chapters of the Shema. After about eight long paragraphs he arrives at his own conclusion that the reading of both chapters are biblically mandated and suggests that Rambam’s words appear to evoke the same opinion. He writes:
מעתה נשאר לנו לברר הדעת השלישי’ והיא היותר אמיתי מכולן דפרש’ שמע ופרשת והיה אם שמוע השתי פרשיו’ הוו מן התור’… וכך מטין דברי הרמב”ם ז”ל… וזו היא דעתי ומסתייעא הדין סברא דילן מהא דגרסינן בפ’ היה קורא…
Moving on to a dissection of the respective topic in the Bavli in order to prove his opinion, Peri Chadash qualifies that there is a Tanaitic dispute if the reading of both also require intent (“kavannah”) or only one of the chapters and adduces support from a Tosefta, interpreting the two opinions to be debating this last question vis-à-vis intent. To further corroborate this interpretation Peri Chadash finally adds:
ובירושלמי אמרינן מה בין פ’ ראשון דבעי כוונ’ לפ’ שני דלא בעי כוונ’ ומשני לה, נמצא דהני תנאי ס”ל דשתי פרשיו’ ראשונו’ הוו מן התור’…
It seems it is quite reasonable, if not absolute, to understand Peri Chadash’s usage of the Yerushalmi only as support to his interpretation of the views in the Tosefta regarding intent as it relates to “דהני תנאי” of the Tosefta. In other words, Peri Chadash did not cite the Yerushalmi in order to settle the question regarding the status of the Shema passages. One would imagine that if it was his intention do so he would have introduced such a critical source much earlier in his discussion and devoted more than a brief quote of this Yerushalmi passage. It appears that Sha’agas Aryeh too understood the Peri Chadash in this vein since, in his responsum, he does not merely “make(s) reference to the Peri Chadash” – he systematically went through Peri Chadash’s proofs and refutes them one by one, yet he does not single out the Yerushalmi in attempt to disprove the proof from it.
PP. 134 

Before moving to this example it is important to present the relevant rabbinic materials. Briefly put, the Yerushalmi presents two opinions as to why one must have his feet together when praying. One of the two opinions learns this from the exegetical requirement of the Kohanim to walk heel-beside-toe (“עקב בצד גודל”). A mishnah in Yoma (2:1) tells us that prior to certain Temple regulations Kohanim would race up the ramp in order to merit doing a particular service. The Tosefos Yeshanim (Yoma 22a s.v. bezman) points to this contradiction; namely, how were the Kohanim permitted to run if it is indicated in the Yerushalmi that the Kohanim were required to walk heel-beside-toe? Dismissing the possibility that they ran heel-beside-toe (“ואין נראה לומר דרצין עקב בצד גודל קאמר”) Tosefos Yeshanim goes on to present what appears as two answers. Answer 1: “ושמא כיון שלא [היו] עדיין עסוקין בעבודה כמו בהולכת אברים לכבש יכולין לרוץ” (= since they had not yet been involved in a service, such as the delivering of the limbs via the ramp, they were allowed to run). Answer 2: “אי נמי רצין עקב בצד גודל שלא להראות כמו עושה כן אלא כי כן צריך לו לילך בשעת עבודה כדפי’”. One readily discerns that this reading is textually defective. On the margin of this folio in the standard Vilna edition, a gloss is brought closing with “וע’ ש”י” (= see Siah Yitzchak [Nunes Vaes, Jerusalem 1960, p. 293]), presenting a substantiated alternative reading which, for the sake of brevity, I will not get into other than to point out that the alternative phrase indicates that there is no second answer. Instead, the rest of the text is a further explanation of a particular, related Talmudic passage elsewhere. On the other hand, in R. Avigdor Arieli’s edition of the Tosefos Yeshanim (Jerusalem 1993, p.30) some text of Tosefos HaRosh is incorporated and such is the text given: “אי נמי רצין עקב בצד גודל [קאמר שהיו ממהרין ללכת בענין זה…]”. This answer seems to say that the Kohanim would hurriedly walk heel-beside-toe. The nuanced difference borne in this answer compels one to consider that Siah Yitzchak’s emendation is more likely. 

This now brings us to the commentary of R. Avraham Abba Schiff in his To’afos Re’em which R. Zimmerman uses to level charges against Ginzberg. Here is the pertinent text of R. Schiff:
…ובירושלמי… אמרו זהו שעומד ומתפלל צריך להשוות את רגליו כו’ ח”א כמלאכים וח”א ככהנים כו’ שהיו מהלכים עקב בצד גודל וגודל בצד עקב משמע משם דוקא וכ”כ התוס’ ישנים יומא שם עיי”ש שכ’ אי נמי רצין עקב בצד גודל שלא להראות כחו עושה כן אלא כי כן צריך לו לילך בשעת עבודה כדפי’ עכ”ל ודבריהם אלו אינם מובנים והנראה לי דט”ס יש שם וכנ”ל אי נמי רצין ועולין בכבש עקב כו’ ור”ל דמתני’ ה”ק היו רצין עד לכבש והולכין בכבש כדרכן עקב בצד גודל וזהו שסיימו בת”י שלא להראות כחו עושה כן כו’ פי’ במ”ש ועולין בכבש לא להראות כחן היו עולין לכבש דעולין בכבש כדרכן עקב בצד גודל אלא עיקר הקדמתן במ”ש היו רצין דהיינו עד לכבש…
R. Schiff likewise noted the textual difficulty of the Tosefos Yeshanim and therefore suggested a different reading. He proposed that the second answer means (reads) the Kohanim would run up until the ramp but from there they would walk heel-beside-toe. If this is the second answer it seems somewhat forced as its underlying rationale is presumably to restrict running when ascending the ramp, i.e. executing a designated service, and it is essentially the same as the first answer. 

Returning to R. Zimmerman, after he informs us of the aforementioned Tanaitic contradiction, he continues:
Tosefos Yeshanim… gives these two terutzim [solutions] to answer this contradiction. On the Sefer Yere’im… there is a perush [commentary] by the name To’afos Re’em where he brings all the bekiyus [referecnes] on this subject. He also writes this contradiction and explains both terutzim. And after he writes these two terutzim, he references the Tosefos Yeshanim, as quoted above.
Next, R. Zimmerman asserts that:
…with the claim of originality, Ginzberg answers the contradiction asked by the Rishonim and of Tosefos Yeshanim with these two solutions, not being aware that Tosefos Yeshanim himself wrote these two answers word for word.
Here too, Ginzberg’s text is presented and the reader can see that he nowhere asserts any claim of originality. He merely referenced the classic sources, including the Tosefos Yeshanim, and then paraphrased what some of the Rishonim asked and answered. The only phrase one can guess (or, read into) which R. Zimmerman based this imputation is where Ginzberg wrote, regarding the distinction of ascending the ramp when executing an actual part of the service, “והיה אפשר לומר”. But, this is borderline pedantic as any accustomed student of rabbinics does not expect an author to reiterate every time they allude to an aforementioned source. He essentially claimed that Ginzberg quoted the sources but “did not make the effort to look up the Tosefos Yeshanim, and he plagiarized the words of the To’afos Re’em… taking credit for himself, and taking for granted that no one will catch him in plagiarizing these two big “chiddushim” word for word from the To’afos Re’em.” By that token one must assume as well that the other sources which Ginzberg quoted and dealt with were also gotten from a different (albeit, unnamed) source. More importantly, it is not entirely clear that To’afos Re’em even spelled out both answers of Tosefos Yeshanim, precluding the possibility that Ginzberg plagiarized “word for word from the To’afos Re’em”. Never mind the strange notion that Ginzberg wouldn’t look up an explicit Tosefos Yeshanim which he cited and instead opted to quote an unclear formulation of the To’afos Re’em.

(The reference in p. 135 n. 279 to the Commentary should read: ‘עמוד 45’, and “שהרי על הלכה כהנים זו” should read ‘…הלכת כהנים זו’. For “keves” on p. 134, “keveṣ” or “kevesh” should be supplied.)
PP. 136
R. Zimmerman opined that with all the reference books on the Yerushalmi et al.
…if someone has in front of him all these sefarim when he learns Talmud Yerushalmi (he does not have to be an expert in Halachah), he could produce most of Ginzberg’s works.
Leaving aside this fantastic assumption and the certain debatable quality of the older reference books, one wonders if the careful inclusion of “most” was some admission that even with all reference books at one’s disposal, Ginzberg’s monumental ‘Legends of the Jews’, however, could certainly not have been produced by just anyone, not even today with our advanced digital databases. If this assumption is correct, one wonders how to reconcile the acknowledgment of Ginzberg’s singular erudition but then to accuse him of plagiarizing even known, classical sources.

PP. 137 

R. Zimmerman gave some examples to illustrate Ginzberg’s dependency on the various reference books and in particular Rabbi Dov Ber Ratner’s ‘Ahavas Tzion vi-Yerushalayim’ of which he alleges:
Ginzberg being aware that one may discover the obvious, that most of his references and citations are plagiarized from Ratner… and others, always tries to disqualify Ratner and others.[4]
I’m going to leave aside the obvious question as to the merit of such a claim, whether or not an author should always cite a reference book at every instance. Instead, I prefer to determine if there is any basis at all to the claim of deceit.

The first example of Ginzberg’s alleged attempt to disqualify Ratner’s work is R. Zimmerman’s oblique citation to the English introduction of the Commentary. Here are Ginzberg’s actual words:
The most important source for establishing a correct text are the numerous quotations… and one must be grateful to Baer Ratner (1852-1917) for collecting them in twelve volumes of his work… The parallels must however be used with great caution for the following reasons…
Ginzberg then continued to list three sound and ostensibly true critiques and words of caution.[5] Perhaps interpretation is in the eyes of the reader so suffice it to say there is no readily discernible attempt to “disqualify Ratner’s work”. Conversely, in Ginzberg’s Seride Yerushalmi, after he described the importance of collecting and collating quotes of Yerushalmi as found in Rishonim, he stated “וכבר התחיל במצוה הרב הגדול וכו’ כמוה”ר בער ראטנער נ”י בספרו יקר הערך ורב השבח ספר “אהבת ציון וירושלים” אשר בו העיר על גרסאות הירושלמי שבספרי הראשונים והאיר עיני לומר הירושלמי.”” (New York 1909, intro. IV). Such statements would be counterproductive and ineffective if attempting to disqualify a work.

IBID
He copies from Ratner verbatim without mentioning his name.
The reference is given to Commentary p. 54 where Ginzberg indeed quoted the same two passages from the Yalkut which Ratner quoted. Now, even before analyzing the material one must wonder if two authors cite the same classical and relevant sources is that sufficient to presume one copied from the other?[6] In any case, if one reads the detailed discussion of Ginzberg it is unmistakable that he independently studied and scrutinized the sources for he included much detail of which Ratner does not give the slightest mention. Furthermore, mention should be made of the fact that the referenced volume of Ratner was published in 1901 and the first volume of Ginzberg’s ‘Legends’, a work which had begun in 1903 was published in 1909 (JPS 2003[7], intro. XVI). There, in describing the distance between earth and heaven (the focus of the aforementioned Yalkut) Ginzberg referenced the Yerushalmi under discussion in addition to numerous other sources (ibid. p. 10 n. 31 & 32). Interestingly, he did not, however, cite the Yalkut which he later cited in his Commentary. With intent to minimize Ginzberg’s scholarship we can fault him for not referencing the Yalkut in the notes to his ‘Legends’. But, an obvious explanation can be, due to the enormous and difficult task in reworking all available ancient texts and incorporating them into a flowing narrative by necessity would require paraphrasing and omitting subtle Aggadic amplifications. The passage in the Yalkut, which Ginzberg expresses doubts per its original text, contains almost identical phrasing as the Yerushalmi and therefore added nothing for his sources. Had Ginzberg only known about the Yalkut passages from Ratner he should have referenced it in his ‘Legends’. This is, again, leaving aside the perplexing claim that someone who organized and authored the intricate, colossal and scholarly sources and discussions in the notes to the ‘Legends’ did not independently know the Yalkut, a primary text quoted throughout the ‘Legends’.

IBID
…he writes “many erred” because they did not know the sources, but the sources are written by Ratner…
Ginzberg commented that a particular passage of the Yerushalmi is found similarly in the Bavli, and while some Rishonim/Geonim quote the passage as it’s reflected in the Yerushalmi Ginzberg posited that their source was from the Bavli, unlike Ratner who quoted the parallels in the Sheëltot and BH”G and determined that their source was the Yerushalmi. Ginzberg concluded the brief comment by exclaiming
וטעו אלה שאמרו שבהג והשאלתות השתמשו כאן בירושלמי, עיין מה שכתבתי גואניקא א’, פד.
Ginzberg clearly was taking issue with what some erroneously assumed that the Yerushalmi was the common source for those two authorities, not that some did not know the sources. Besides for his objection being rather clear, when one examines the reference to Geonica they are met with a more detailed analysis of this error. As if it’s not explicit enough, there Ginzberg wrote:
“In his learned scholia… Ratner does not hesitate to attribute it to the Yerushalmi as Rabbi Aha’s source, and yet it can be readily demonstrated, from the words of the Sheëltot, that it goes back to the Babli.” 
P.138
Again, Ginzberg writes ‘Ratner did not indicate this source’, and this is an outright falsification, because in that same place Ratner quoted the source.
The reference here is to Commentary (p. 75 fn. 84). Ginzberg writes
לאוהבו של מלך שבא והרתיק על פתחו של מלך. במחזור ויטרי שי”ג (וראטנער לא העיר על מקור זה) גרס, תערו במקום פתחו, וזה יותר מדויק…
In the parenthesis, after “מקור זה”, a footnote reads
וכן לא העיר על הילקוט… אשכול… ושלחן ארבע שמביאים דברי הירושלמי על התכיפות
R. Zimmerman must have been referring to the Yalkut reference since Ratner (cited by R. Zimmerman) does not refer to Mahzor Vitri, Eshkol or Shulhan Shel Arba. Yet, even the Yalkut is only cited by Ratner on the preceding piece of Yerushalmi “מי שתוכף לסמיכה שחיטה”. On the piece under discussion, indicated by the caption of Ginzberg’s quote, Ratner only makes reference to the Amsterdam ed. of the Yerushalmi and did not note the textual variants contained in the Yalkut. Aside for this not being “an outright falsification”, the language used to quote Ginzberg is misleading. R. Zimmerman specifically referred to the footnote in Commentary, though it does not say there “Ratner did not indicate this source”; that exact phrasing is in the main text regarding the Mahzor Vitry which Ratner did not reference. The footnote says (if rendered in English) “he also did not indicate A, B and C.” If one were to object that A was indeed indicated by Ratner then a fairer phrasing would be something to the effect of “one of the sources was quoted by Ratner” thereby not wholly discrediting the author’s point. 

At this junction I’d like to refer to one piece produced in the Hebrew section (p. 211) as it directly relates to this piece. Ginzberg’s aforementioned text is quoted and then R. Zimmerman notes
מ”ש “במחזור ויטרי שי”ג גרס תערו במקום פתחו” לא היה ולא נברא. וזה לשונו [במחזור וויטרי] סימן י”ז [עמוד 13] א”ר חמי של מי שאינו סומך גאולה לתפלה למה הוא דומה לאוהבו של מלך שבא והרתיק על פתחו של מלך… וכו’. ואמנם הגירסא זו [תרעו ולא כמ”ש גינזבורג תערו] הובא בספר המנהיג [דיני תפלה, עמוד מ”ד, הוצאת מוסד הרב קוק] וכבר ציינה ראטנער [אהבת ציון וירושלים, צד 11] וזה המחבר זייף דברי ראטנער כדרכו. ואמנם כך פירשו שמה המחזור וויטרי, תרפ”ד, דף 31, כמו שציין גינזבורג אלא שהרי המחזור וויטרי סותר את עצמו…
Admittedly I’m unsure what to make of this protest. R. Zimmerman unabashedly quotes a second text from Mahzor Vitry, which Ginzberg was explicitly not referring to, and then impugns Ginzberg of quoting a spurious text from Mahzor Vitry (and plagiarizing from Ratner), despite R. Zimmerman’s subsequent acknowledgment that Mahzor Vitry does elsewhere contain the very text quoted by Ginzberg. Additionally, the bracketed words, which dismiss Ginzberg’s quote of “תערו”, are also disingenuous since Ginzberg was not referencing the Manhig’s text at all. This also brings us back to my earlier suspicion of the editor’s methods: Who inserted these erroneous brackets? Was R. Zimmerman being unfair or was the editor unmindful?

In summation, a pattern emerges before the reader which betrays a vendetta against Ginzberg; picayune criticisms and inflated accusations which don’t hold much water. Any time a reference provided by Ginzberg had been cited elsewhere it is automatically assumed to be stolen and any explanation offered is deemed unlearned, unless there is precedence to it then it is assumed to be plagiarized. It appears it was Ginzberg himself who was the object of R. Zimmerman’s attacks, while grasping at straws under the pretense of a scholarly critique. One cannot but wonder why R. Zimmerman did not publish these galleys while Ginzberg was alive, affording him the opportunity to respond. It is not as if R. Zimmerman was one to shy from polemicizing, as he famously engaged with R. Menachem M. Kasher over the International Date Line matter. Had R. Zimmerman published the materials while Ginzberg was still alive perhaps he, and its current readership, would have merited the author’s own rebuttal.[8]
___________
 
*My thanks to the editors at the Seforim Blog and R. Moshe Maimon for reviewing the paper and offering their suggestions.
[1] For a brief biographical sketch, see the journal Yeshurun (Israel 2012, Vol. 27, 855ff.).
[2] JQR (April 1943, p. 433).
[3] Marc B. Shapiro, Saul Lieberman and the Orthodox (Scranton 2006, p. 13 n. 45, 31-21; for R. Gifter see n. 117). It would not be out of place to note how R. Zimmerman addressed Prof. Saul Lieberman, 

לחד מתקיפי דורנו הגאון המופלא הבקי בכל מכמני התורה והחכמה
(Shapiro, ibid. p. 42), while Lieberman referred to Ginzberg
 
מרא דהלכתא ומרא דאגדתא הגר”ל גינצבורג
 
(Sinai, Jerusalem 5739, p. 225; repub. Mehkarim BeTorat Eretz Yisrael, Jerusalem 1991, p. 127). On a different occasion Lieberman estimated:
ודבר אחד מבליט את גינצבורג מתוך כל החכמים שקדמו לו. בספריהם של בעלי “חכמת ישראל”, ואפילו מן הגדולים שבהם, אתה מוצא לפעמים טעויות גסות בפירושן ובפשטן של הסוגיות אשר לפניהם. מה שאין כן אצל גינצבורג העומד למעלה מזה. בכל ספריו ומאמריו המרובים אין אף פעם טעויות ממין זה ודומה להן. ואין לזלזל בפרט חשוב זה, כי טעויות גסות מן המין הנ”ל פוסלות את כל הספר בעיני בני תורה והמחבר מאבד על-ידי זה את הסמכות ואת ההשפעה שלו. ועוד זאת: גינצבורג באחת מחוברותיו “תשובה בדבר יינות הכשרים והפסולים למצוה”… הראה את כוחו גם בפסק הלכה כאחד הרבנים הגדולים, ואף בני הישיבה שאין להם עסק עם חכמת ישראל רואים בו מתוך ספרו זה אחד משלהם, את העילוי מישיבת טלז וסלובודקה. 

(ibid., pp. 613-614)
[4] Noteworthy is Ratner’s own declaration that in preparation for his volume on mas. Rosh Hashanah he utilized Ginzberg’s Seride Yerushalmi on Rosh HaShanah:…היו לנגד עיני הספר היקר שרידי ירושלמי מאת הרב הגדול ר’ לוי גינצבורג מנויארק והשתמשתי בו במס’ רה”ש (Ahavas Tzion vi-Yerushalayim, Vilna 1911, Rosh HaShanah, petah davar). Indeed the two had maintained correspondence even prior to the publication of Seride Yerushalmi, as is evident from the letter Ratner quoted which he received from Ginzberg (Ahavas Tzion vi-Yerushalayim, Piotrków 1908, Pesahim p. 55) and in the subsequent volumes he continued to use Ginzberg’s Seride Yerushalmi and Geonica. Incidentally, one instance akin to the “trivial and casual tone” but in Ratner’s work which, with equal justice, should have awakened the ire of R. Zimmerman, Ratner wrote: המפרשים יגעו בזה לפרש, אבל הגי’ הנכונה בשרידי ירושלמי… (Ahavas Tzion vi-Yerushalayim, Vilna 1913, Bez. p. 10).
[5] Similar words of caution were likewise expressed a few years later by another contemporaneous eminent scholar and expert on Talmud Yerushalmi, Professor Saul Lieberman (HaYerushalmi Kiphshuto, N.Y. & Jerusalem 1995, intro. p. 24). The words of caution had already proven to be wise and advisory as Lieberman, earlier in his ‘Al HaYerushalmi’ (Jerusalem, 1929), in multiple instances called attention to some mistakes in Ahavas Tzion vi-Yerushalayim. Cf. also J.N. Epstein in Mehkarim BeSifrut HaTalmud uVeleshonot HaShamiot, Jerusalem 1988, Vol. 2 Part 1, p. 263 n. 1. More currently, Prof. Yaacov Sussmann acutely demonstrated the shortcomings of Ratner’s magnum opus in the journal Mada’ei HaYahadut (World Union of Jewish Studies 2002, vol. 41 pp. 23; my thanks to R. Eliezer Brodt for this last reference.)
[6] It would appear that the only distinction with regards to Ginzberg is that he belonged to the “Chochmas Yisreol” camp which R. Zimmerman frequently disparaged. Otherwise, what would prevent R. Zimmerman from leveling the same charges against R. Chaim Heller, a universally recognized talmid hacham and scholar par excellence, who compiled a collection of parallel sources of the Yerushalmi in his essays ‘HaMa’alot LeShlomo’ (LeShelomo, Berlin, 1910, 246ff.) and ‘A”D [‘Al Derech] Mesoret HaShas BeYerushalmi’ (LeDovid Zvi, Berlin 1914, 55ff.), both published after Ratner’s Ahavas Tzion vi-Yerushalayim? The same can be said for R. Ze’ev Wolf Rabinovitz’s ‘Sha’are Torath Eretz Israel’ (Jerusalem, 1940) who certainly made use of Ahavas Tzion vi-Yerushalayim but only seldom referenced it, as did R. Shlomo Goren in his ‘HaYerushalmi HaMefurash’ (Jerusalem, 1961). Is one to accuse them too of plagiarism in all the instances they could have quoted Ratner? Conversely, in his review of Prof. Ginzberg’s posthumously published fourth volume of the Commentary and R. Goren’s HaYerushalmi (Kirjath Sepher, Jerusalem, vol. 33 p. 199), Professor Avraham Goldberg noted the common sources often cited by both in drawing parallels between the Yerushalmi and other rabbinic texts, yet he apparently saw no oddity and did not go as far as to accuse the later of the two, R. Goren, of plagiarism, for obvious reason.
This point of common sources is of serious significance as it relates to multiple instances where R. Zimmerman alleges the charge of plagiarism. One in particular is found in the Hebrew section (199ff.) where R. Zimmerman claims that Ginzberg copied from Jehiel Bornstein and the texts of both of these figures is then presented side-by-side (in Bornstein’s text “היה ראוי לו” should read “היה נראה לי”; “את” in “את הכוכבים הסמוכים לארץ” should be omitted; “ג’ פעמים”should read “ג’ כוכבים”; “אולי ישיבני” should read “…ישיבנו”; “שיבאו השמש והריח” should read “…והירח”; “לא” in “לא נבעו להם” should be omitted; in Ginzberg’s text “ורבי חנינא כוונו” should read “ורבי ור’ חנינא כוונו”; “רבי ב’ דקים” should read “רק ב’ דקים”). The subject under discussion pertains to the solar and lunar rotations in calculating the time of twilight (ben hashmashot). R. Zimmerman points out that Bornstein had explained the Talmudic passage in an essay published in the journal ‘HaTekufah’ (Warsaw 5786) and Ginzberg copied his explanation, even including what Bornstein had inserted in parenthesis, except that the former Anglicized the word “refraction” [presumably to conceal the plagiarism]. In truth, there’s reason to believe that Ginzberg had seen Bornstein’s essay since he referenced Bornstein’s incipient essay in his ‘Legends’ (JPS Philadelphia 1968, VI p. 129 n. 758). However, since the objective was to explain a Talmudic passage, to offer “the simple peshat”, avouched by the titular “פירושים וחדושים”, is it incredulous that Ginzberg independently arrived at the same explanation? Did R. Goren, who suggested the same explanation in his HaYerushalmi (p. 8), also plagiarize from Bornstein or Ginzberg? The parenthesis in question are in fact a parenthetical explanatory gloss which would have rightfully been placed as such by any commentator expounding the given Talmudic passage and the usage of the word “refraction” is common locution for the subject under discussion. Let us not forget that Ginzberg was a highly competent mathematician to the extent that Albert Einstein was impressed with his knowledge in mathematics (cf. The Responsa of Professor Louis Ginzberg, N.Y. & Jerusalem 1996, intro. pp. 3, 15). In all likeliness, an individual of such caliber would have independently comprehended this passage, as did Bornstein. Furthermore, the collated texts of Ginzberg and Bornstein bear very dissimilar phraseology in their attempts to explain the passage. (See also Heshey Zelcer’s comparison of three later commentaries on this passage, Ḥakirah N.Y. 2004, vol. 1 p. 113).
[7] This edition of the Legends should be used with caution as there are numerous typographical and referential errors in the main text as well as in the notes. As with all publications, Ginzberg’s Commentary was at the mercy of its publishers and it too suffered corrupted passages, some of which he communicated to S. Petrushka (see below, fn. 8).
[8] For instance, Simcha Petrushka published in the Bitzaron periodical a letter which he had sent Ginzberg containing questions and notes on his Commentary. Upon receiving a letter in response to each of his claims, Petrushka had the letter published in the following Bitzaron issue (N.Y. 1945, vol. XII, 214ff.).



Another Case of Historical Censorship at Volozhin or Simply Poor Research?

One of the more important sources for the history relating to the famed Volozhin Yeshiva is Moshe Shmuel v’Doro, by R. Moshe Shmuel Shapiro (Shmukler), which is is full of important material on this yeshiva and the related personalities. R. Schapiro also published a monograph on the founder of the Yeshiva, R. Chaim of Volozhin. This work, Toldot Rabbenu Chaim Volozhin, was first published in 1909 in Vilna, republished a year later in Vilna and then published twice in Israel, once in Bnei Brak in 1957 and once in Jerusalem in 1968. Recently, in 2000, Toldot Rabbenu Chaim Volozhin, was republished by R. Schapiro’s descendants.

In the 2000 edition of Toldot Rabbenu Chaim Volozhin, R. Schapiro’s descendants include a brief introduction about the history of the book, yet they were unaware of some key facts. First, they claim the book was only published twice, when in fact it was published four times. Additionally, then erroneously note that their edition is the third when in fact it is the fifth. Finally, they claim the first edition was the 1910 edition, when in fact the first edition appeared in 1909.

In addition to these three inaccuracies and omissions, there is a much more glaring one; not bibliographical in the abstract, but related to the content of the book – they have left out something which appeared in the earlier editions. In the first (1909) edition, a letter from R. Dr. Abraham Eliyahu Harkavy (1839-1919), a former student at the yeshiva in Volozhin, appears which contains both his warm approval of the book as well as a few comments on the book. Further, the fact Harkavy’s letter was included was no small thing as this was noted on the title page of the book. Specifically, the title page states the book includes:

עם הערות ומלואים מאת הרב החכם הגדול
ד”ר אברהם אליהו הרכבי

In the 1909 edition of Toldot Rabbenu Chaim Volozhin, Harkavy’s letter and notes were included by R. Moshe Schapiro. In the current reprint, the time that the fifth edition of Toldot Rabbenu Chaim Volozhin, published in 2000, by Schapiro’s grandchildren, Harkavy’s letter and notes are mysteriously missing. Perhaps this letter was removed intentionally as Harkavy was a maskil (intellectual) and later the head librarian at the Imperial Library in St. Petersburg.

It is possible these are missing due to a corrupted reprint the current publishers are relying upon. But, even if that would be the case, it does not absolve them of getting the first (or their “first” edition – the 1910 edition). Moreover, the title page they include does not give the current editions date, instead, the date and thus the reference is to the Vilna 1910 edition. Thus, giving the appearance they are merely reproducing the 1910 edition which is incorrect.

As an interesting aside, in 1999 the Artscroll publishing house released the first of two volumes of Shenot Dor v’Dor (the second was published in 2004) by Reuven Dessler, of a collection of priceless letters from important rabbinical personalities culled from the invaluable manuscript collection of the Dessler family, wherein an entire section (in vol. 1) is devoted to correspondence between Harkavy and some of the greatest rabbis of his time, many of them his colleagues and teachers at the yeshiva in Volozhin, including R. Naftali Zvi Yehudah Berlin (Netziv) and R. Chaim Soloveitchik.

Appendix:
Title page of Toldot Rabbenu Chaim Volozhin (1909)




The Cup for the Visitor: What lies behind the Kos Shel Eliyahu?

The Cup for the Visitor: What lies behind the Kos Shel Eliyahu?
By: Eliezer Brodt
 
In this post I would like to deal with tracing the early sources for the Kos Shel Eliyahu. A version of this article was printed last year in Ami Magazine (# 65).  This post contains a few corrections and additions to that version. A much more expanded version of this article will appear in Hebrew shortly (IY”H).
One of the memorable parts of the seder night is during Shefoch Chamascha when we open the door for Eliyahu Hanavi to come inside and drink from the Kos Shel Eliyahu. Children all over the world look carefully to see if there is less wine in the cup after he leaves, while many adults ‘accidently’ shake the table to make sure that there is less wine. What are the sources of this custom? When do we pour the kos of wine and what should we do with the leftover wine from the kos—drink it, spill it out, or save it? In this article I hope to trace this custom to its  earliest known sources and to discuss some other aspects of the seder night related to this topic.[1]
I would like to point out that my intention in this article is not to collect all the sources and reasons on these specific topics but rather to focus on the earliest sources and how these various minhagim came about.[2]
To begin with, it is worth pointing out that as far as we know today, there is no mention of the concept of Kos Shel Eliyahu in all of the literature that we have from the Geonim and Rishonim. Neither is there mention of it in the Tur, Shulchan Orach, Rema, or other early commentators on the Shulchan Orach.
One of the earliest mentions of a Kos Shel Eliyahu can be found in Rabbi Yaakov Reischer’s (1660-1733) work, Chok Yaakov, on Hilchos Pesach, first printed in 1696, in Dessau. He wrote that in his area, people had the custom to pour an extra glass of wine and call it Kos Shel Eliyahu.[3] He does not mention a reason for this custom, or at what point during the seder it is done, nor does he connect it to the opening of the door during Shefoch Chamascha or the idea Eliyahu Hanavi comes to the Seder.
Rabbi Chaim Benveniste (1603-1673), famous for his work Knesses Hagedolah, in his work on Pesach called Pesach Meuvin, first printed in 1692, writes that he saw some Ashkenazi Jews that leave an empty glass in the middle of the table for the leftovers of each cup of wine, and they call it Kos Shel Eliyahu. He writes that he liked this minhag so much that he started doing it himself, and he drank this glass during the Meal.[4] Here too, there is no connection made between the Kos Shel Eliyahu and opening the
door during Shefoch Chamascha for Eliyahu Hanavi.
In 1728, Rabbi Moshe Chagiz (1671-1751), printed part of a work of his, on minhagim, in the back of Sefer Birchat Eliyahu[5]. He writes that he was asked about the custom of Ashkenazi Jews to pour a cup of wine at the beginning of the seder for Eliyahu Hanavi, and that after the seder the head of the household slept next to this full glass of wine. Rabbi Moshe Chagiz was asked if observing this custom was a problem of nichush [divination].
Rabbi Chagiz replied that it was not a problem of nichush at all. He explained that the reason for this custom was similar to the reason we prepare a special chair for Eliyahu Hanavi at a bris milah.[6] Eliyahu Hanavi witnesses that the bris is performed. So too, on Pesach, Eliyahu Hanavi is supposed to be a witness that the Korban Pesach is done properly. The Korban Pesach is dependent on milah, since the halacha is that only someone with a bris milah can eat the Korban Pesach.[7] However it is important to point out that according to this reasoning, Eliyahu Hanavi does come to the seder, but it would seem that this would apply only during the times when the Korban Pesach was eaten.

 

New early sources for Kos Shel Eliyahu
 
Until 1984 these were the three earliest sources that made any mention of Kos Shel Eliyahu. In 1984, Rabbi Binyomin Nuzetz printed parts of a manuscript of Rabbi Zeligman Benga on Pesachim. Rabbi Benga was a grandson of Rabbi Menachem Tzioni and a close talmid of the Maharil, and he died around 1471. Rabbi Benga writes that he noticed some people pour a special glass of wine and call it Kos Shel Eliyahu. He writes that a possible reason for this is that we pour wine for Eliyahu Hanavi, since we are expecting him to come and he will need wine for the Arba Kosos.[8] This source helps us date the Kos Shel Eliyahu a few hundred years earlier than previously thought. Previously, the earliest source was printed in1692. What is interesting about this source is that he was not sure where the minhag came from and, again, he mentions no connection to Shefoch Chamascha.
In 1988, the department in Machon Yerushalayim that prints early works of German Jewry printed two volumes from manuscript from Rabbi Yuzpeh Shamash (1604-1678) of Worms. Rabbi Yuzpeh Shamash writes that it was the custom in Worms at the beginning of the seder to pour one extra cup of wine. Just as we say in the Haggadah, “Kol dichfin yesev v’yachul,” we prepare a glass for the guest who might come. This glass is called Kos Shel Eliyahu since this is the guest we await. Rabbi Yuzpeh Shamash brings another reason why it is called Kos Shel Eliyahu:
because it is a segulah to say “Eliyahu” to get rid of mazikim [destructive forces], and we do various things on the seder night to chase away the mazikim.[9]
In 1985, a manuscript of Rav Yaakov Emden was printed in the Kovetz Kerem Shlomo of Bobov. This manuscript contained Rav Yaakov Emden’s notes on the Pesach Meuvin of Rabbi Chaim Benveniste. He says that there is a minhag to have a Kos Shel Eliyahu but not to pour leftover wine in a cup for him—that would not be an honor for him at all. He points out that the Chazal say not to drink from a cup that someone else drank from.[10]

 

Additional Reasons for Kos Shel Eliyahu
 
Rabbi Aron of Metz (1754-1836) suggested that the origin of the Kos Shel Eliyahu is that on Pesach the head of the household does not pour for everyone. Therefore, out of convenience, people would leave a big cup in the middle of the table for everyone to take from. Once the children started asking what the cup was for, they would tell them it was a cup for Eliyahu Hanavi.[11]
Rabbi Mordechai Gimpel Yaffe suggests an original possibility for the Kos Shel Eliyahu. The halacha is that when one makes a seudah he should leave over a little space empty as a zecher l’churban. He says that on Pesach, a glass of wine was left over as a zecher l’churban. It was called Kos Shel Eliyahu to represent the hope that Eliyahu Hanavi would come quickly to correct the Churban.[12]
Rabbi Shimon Falk asks the following question: The halacha is that one cannot bring a full loaf of bread to the table before bentching, since it looks like one is doing it for some form of idol worship. So why isn’t it a problem to prepare a glass of wine for
Eliyahu Hanavi? Rabbi Falk suggests that it this might the reason we do not find any mention of a Kos Shel Eliyahu in the Gemara, but today, when there is no one amongst the goyim who worship in this manner, it’s not a problem.[13]

 

Maharal Haggadah
 
In 1905, in Warsaw, Rabbi Yudel Rosenberg printed the Haggadah of the Maharal which he claimed was from a manuscript of the Maharal’s son in law. In this Haggadah there is a lengthy discussion of the number of glasses of wine one should drink at the seder. The Maharal concludes that one has to drink five cups of wine and that this fifth cup is the Kos Shel Eliyahu.[14] If this is correct we have an early source for Kos Shel Eliyahu, the Maharal, and based on his words we would have many more early sources, since various Rishonim listed by the Maharal mentions the fifth glass of wine.
However, it has been proven that, although Rabbi Rosenberg was a tremendous talmid chacham, he was also a forger. He may have possibly had good intentions behind his forgeries.[15] His most notable forgery was the story about the Maharal’s golem.[16]
Rabbi Avraham Benidict devoted two articles to proving that this Haggadah is a forgery.[17] One of the points he discusses relates to our topic. In 1582, the Mahral publised his work about Pesach and the seder titled Gevuros Hashem. In this work, the Maharal writes that one may drink a fifth cup, but he doesn’t connect the fifth cup to Kos Shel Eliyahu.

 

The Fifth Cup of Wine
 
However, whether or not the Maharal said that one has to drink a fifth cup, and whether or not he says that this is the Kos Shel Eliyahu, there are others that make a connection between the fifth cup and Kos Shel Eliyahu. A small introduction is needed. The Mishnah at the beginning of Arvei Pesachim says that even a poor person has to have four cups of wine at the seder. Later on, the Mishna and Gemara discuss exactly when the cups should be poured and drunk. The Gemara (119a) says that Reb Tarfon held that the fourth cup should be drunk after we say Hallel Hagadol. Many Geonim and Rishonim interpret this to be referring to a fifth cup of wine. In 1950 Rabbi Menachem Kasher printed a booklet collecting all the Geonim and Rishonim that deal with this issue and he showed that many held that one should, but does not have to, drink a fifth cup of wine.[18] It is worth noting that in Teiman[19] and in Italy,[20] many people drink a fifth cup of wine at the seder because of this. None of the sources that Rav Kasher collected tie this fifth cup to the Kos Shel Eliyahu.
Some bring in the name of the Gra,[21] others in the name of Rabbi Ephraim Zalman Margolis,[22] an interesting explanation for the development of the Kos Shel Eliyahu. There is an argument in the Gemara in Pesachim (119a) whether one needs to drink the fifth glass of wine. There is no final halacha given. Because we are not sure what to do, we prepare a cup of wine, but do not drink
it. The reason it is called Kos Shel Eliyahu is that Eliyahu is going to come and tell us what the din is.[23]
So according to this Gra, Kos Shel Eliyahu is not really a new concept. It always existed, as the numerous sources that Rav Kasher collected demonstrate, but it was not called Kos Shel Eliyahu.
Many times we have different versions of something said over in the name of the Gra. Sometimes that is because things were added to what he actually said. In this case, one version has the Gra saying this idea a bit differently, that the opinion in the Gemara that one should drink a fifth cup of wine was Reb Eliyahu, so the fifth cup is called Kos Shel Eliyahu after him. This version concludes that this reason was revealed to the Vilna Gaon because his name was Eliyahu, as well. The problem with this version is that as far as we know there was no Tanna or Amorah with the name Eliyahu and that the person who said to drink a fifth cup of wine was Reb Tarfon.[24]
Be that as it may, it is likely that there are early sources for a fifth cup of wine at the seder and at some point its name became Kos Shel Eliyahu. But none of these explanations (except for that of Rav Moshe Chagiz) tie the cup to Eliyahu coming to the seder.

 

The Custom of Opening the Door
 
There is a custom of many that before we begin saying Shefoch Chamascha someone opens the door. What is the source for this minhag? One of the earliest sources of keeping the door open the whole night of Pesach is found in the Geonim. Rav Nissim Gaon says that one should be careful to leave open the doors the whole night.[25] The Manhig explains that this is because the night of Pesach is Leil Shimurim and if Eliyahu will come the door will be open and we would be able to run and greet him.[26] The Rama writes in the Darchei Moshe that because of this we open the door when saying Shefoch Chamascha, to show that we believe in Hashem and that Moshiach should come.[27] So it is clear from this that there is some connection between Shefoch Chamascha and Moshiach coming, but there is no mention in the Geonim and Rishonim that Eliyahu comes when we open the door. Rather it is understood to be a preparation for his eventual coming. It is worth pointing out that not everyone said Shefoch Chamascha[28]
and that there are many different versions of what is said by Shefoch Chamascha.[29]
Rabbi Yosef Hann Norlingen (1570-1637) writes in Yosef Ometz (first printed in 1723) that in Frankfurt there was a custom that when the door was opened by the head of the house at Shefoch Chamascha someone would come in the door, to show our belief that Moshiach will come.[30]
However, Rabbi Yair Chaim Bachrach of Worms writes in Mekor Chaim that the minhag that some had to have the form of a person appear when the door was opened at Shefoch Chamascha was not proper.[31]

 

Woodcuts and Pictures From Early Haggadahs
 
Some have claimed that there is no basis for a connection between Shefoch Chamascha and Eliyahu coming to the seder. However, as I will demonstrate, this is not so. Some of the earliest Haggadahs printed include many woodcuts and pictures of various aspects of the seder. These Haggadahs are a great resource to help find early sources of how various things were done at the seder.[32] Regarding Eliyahu Hanavi coming to the seder, Professor Sperber noted[33] that in a few of these Haggadahs there are pictures by Shefoch Chamascha of a man on a donkey in some of them he is being led by someone, for example, in the Prague Haggadah printed by Gershon Cohen in 1527.[34] The pictures were updated in a Haggadah printed in Prague in 1560. Another early Haggadah that has such pictures by Shefoch Chamascha can be found in the Haggadah printed in Mantuvah in 1550.[35] Yosef Guttman collected fifteen illustrated Haggadah manuscripts from the fifteenth century which all show a man on a donkey by Shefoch Chamascha.[36] From all this evidence it is clear that already a few hundred years ago there
was a belief that when the door is opened by Shefoch Chamascha that there is a connection to Eliyahu Hanavi and Moshiach.
Mantua 1550:
Prague 1556:
Prague 1590:

 

 

Sleeping Near the Kos Shel Eliyahu
 
In 1958, Rabbi Yosef Avidah wrote a small work devoted to gathering all the known information about the Kos Shel Eliyahu. He makes the following interesting observation. Rabbi Moshe Chagiz writes that the custom was that the head of the house slept near the Kos Shel Eliyahu the whole night but he does not say why. He suggests that the reason for this was similar to the reason for sleeping with the door unlocked to show we eagerly await Eliyahu’s and Moshiach’s arrival. He goes further to show that there is an early source for this minhag. The Leket Yosher writes that his Rebbe, Reb Yisroel Isserlin, author of the Terumas Hadeshen,
used to sleep on Pesach on the bed that he leaned on during the meal and he does not know what his reason for this was.[37] Rabbi Avidah suggests that he was sleeping there to remind himself of the concept that on Pesach night we show that we eagerly await Moshiach.[38]
It is interesting to note that the Likutei Chaver from Rabbi Chaim Plaut, a talmid of the Chasam Sofer, writes that the Chasam Sofer would keep the cup the entire night and use it for Kiddush the next morning.[39] This would seem to have a connection to the same idea.
However it is worth pointing out that these don’t point to a connection between Kos Shel Eliyahu and Shefoch Chamascha.
 

 

Opening the Door and Zugos
 
Another nice possibility given to explain the opening of the door by Shefoch Chamascha is from the Bais Halevi. The Rama says we open the door to show that it’s Leil Shimurim. The Bais Halevi comments that according to this it would make more sense to open the door at the beginning of the seder not at the end specifically when we say Kol dichfin yesev v’yachul ?[40] He answers that the Gemara in Pesachim (109 b) asks how can there be a halacha to drink four cups of wine if there is a danger to eat or drink things in pairs—which is known as zugos. The Gemara answers since it is Leil Shimurim, there is no danger. So the Bais Halevi says that we specifically open the door when the fourth cup is drunk to explain to the person who would ask why isn’t there a problem of zugos. We show him that it’s not a problem because it is Leil Shimurim as we open the door.[41]

 

Additional Reasons for Opening the Door by Shefoch Chamascha
 
 A similar explanation for the opening of the door specifically by Shefoch Chamascha is suggested by Rabbi Yosef Zechariah Stern. He says the Gemara in Pesachim says another way that there is no problem of zugos is if one opens the door to the street. So that is why we open the door specifically at this point in the seder.[42]
Others suggest the reason for the opening of the door by Shefoch Chamascha was to show the gentile neighbors that the accusations against the Jews about using blood of Christians and the like are false.[43] Rabbi Shmule Ruzuvski suggested that the
possible reason why the door is opened by Shefoch Chamascha is that when we used to eat the Korban Pesach the halacha
is that one cannot take any of it out of the house so they used to lock the door. After bentching, they would go to the roof to say Hallel, so they opened the door.[44]
A Very Original Explanation for this Custom of Eliyahu Hanavi and the Seder
 
One possible explanation of why Eliyahu Hanavi is associated with the seder could be the following: Rabbi Yuzpeh Shamash writes[45] that on Pesach night we say Eliyahu and Moshiach will come because mazikin run away from a place where they recite Eliyahu’s name. He says that because of this some make a picture of Eliyahu and Moshiach for the children so that the children seeing it will say “Eliyahu,” causing the mazikin to disappear.[46] Interestingly enough he writes that this could also be the reason it is called Kos Shel Eliyahu to get rid of the mazikin.[47] According to all this, what lies behind saying Eliyahu’s name at the seder is simply a desire to get rid of mazikin.
Earlier I mentioned the Bais Halevi and others who say that the opening of the door at the seder by Shefoch Chamascha is to get rid of mazikin. According to Rabbi Yuzpeh Shamsash this was the also reason some used to draw pictures of Eliyahu and Moshiach.

 

Eliyahu Actually Comes
 
There are quite a number of stories concerning Eliyahu at the seder just to list some of them:
 The Yismach Moshe once sent some of his chassdim to eat the seder with the Chasam Sofer. When they returned they told him that \in the middle something strange happened. A farmer came in. He drank a cup of wine that the Chasam Sofer gave him and then the Chasam Sofer drank from the cup after him. The Yismach Moshe told them that this was Eliyahu Hanavi.[48]
The Chiddushei HaRim once was speaking about the greatness of the Nodeh B’Yehuda. He said that when the Noda B’Yehuda would say Shefoch Chamascha he would escort Eliyahu Hanavi all the way to the street. The Noda B’Yehuda said, “It’s not that I actually see him, but rather \that I believe so strongly that he does come to everyone, and this emunah is better than gilui Eliyahu![49]
Rabbi Yitchock Weiss writes that Rabbi Shneur Lublin, author of the Shut Toras Chesed, did not allow anyone to eat at his seder,
He also told said that Eliyahu or a messenger comes to every great person on the night of the seder.[50]
The Belzer Rebbe would great Eliyahu when he opened the door by Shefoch Chamascha.[51]
 
Rabbi Yitchock Weiss writes that Rabbi Chaim Gottlieb of Stropkov would be visited by Eliyahu Hanavi at the seder. Many
wanted to come to see this so they asked him permission to come. He answered, “Why not?” While they were there, they fell into a deep sleep until the seder was over.[52]

 

Conclusion
 
In conclusion there are definitely early sources that talk about a fifth cup of wine at the seder. According to some, this fifth cup at some point started being called Kos Shel Eliyahu. Starting from the late 1400s we find that people would pour a special kos, and call it Kos Shel Eliyahu.  I have shown that there are early sources for opening the door at Shefoch Chamascha that give various reasons. I also showed that there are many drawings by Shefoch Chamascha of a man on a donkey and Eliyahu found in the early manuscripts and printed illustrated Haggadahs. This would logically lead us to conclude that there was a belief that he did indeed come to visit when the door is opened and I offered another possible explanation for all this. May we be zocheh for Eliyahu to come with Moshiach this year at the Leil Haseder.

NOTES

[1] For sources on this topic that helped me prepare this article See Rabbi Yosef Zecharia Stern, Zecher Yehosef, pp. 39-40; Rabbi Moshe Weingarten, Seder Ha-Aruch 1 (1991), pp.576-582; Shmuel & Zev Safrai,Haggadas Chazal, (1998), pp.177-178; Rabbi Gedaliah Oberlander, Minhag Avosenu Beydenu, 2, pp. 392-409; Rabbi Tuviah Freund, Moadim Li-Simcha (Pesach), pp. 358-376; Pardes Eliezer, pp. 180-243. These collections of sources were useful but it is worth noting that much earlier than all these collections many of the sources on this topic were already collected by Rabbi Yosef Avidah in 1958, in a small work called Koso
Shel Eliyahu
. As I mentioned a few weeks ago I recently reprinted this work with additions from the author’s copy. Another earlier useful article on the topic is from Yehudah Rosenthal, Mechkarim 2, pp. 645- 651. For general useful collections of material related to Eliyahu Hanavi see the two volume work Romot Gilod from Rabbi Eliezer Veisfish, (2005) and the earlier work of Aharon Weiner, The Prophet Elijah in the Development of Judaism (1978). I would like to thank my good friend Yisroel Israel for help with the beautiful pictures to accompany this article.
[2] I hope to return to all this in my forthcoming article in Hebrew on this topic.
[3] Chok Yaakov, end of Siman 480.
[4] Pesach Meuvin (1997), p. 124, #182.
[5] See also the end of his Shut Shtei Lechem. Rabbi Freund (above note 1), p. 359 was apparently not aware of where this piece was printed first. This explanation is also brought in Rabbi Dovid Zecut, Zecher Dovid, Mamar Rishon, Chapter 26, pp. 174-175. See Elisheva Carlbach, The Pursuit of Heresy, (1990) esp. pp. 247-249.
[6] I hope to return to this topic in a future article.
[7] See Hagadat Baer Miriam of Rabbi Reven Margolis (2002), p. 90-91 where Rabbi Magolis brings a similar idea from the Toras Emes.
[8] Moriah, 13, (1984), n. 146-147, p. 17. See Chidushei MaHarz Binga, (1985), p.195.
[9] Minhaghim De-Kehal VerMeizah, (1988), p. 85-86.
[10] Kovetz Kerem Shlomo, 76 (1985) p. 7
[11] Meorei Or, Pesachim. On this work see the important article of Yakov Speigel, Yerushaseinu 3 (2009, pp. 269-309.
[12] Techeles Mordechaei in Keser Kehunah, (2004), p. 40. See also his Hagadas Mordechai, p. 75.
[13] Shut Shem Mishimon, (2003) 2, pp. 100-101.
[14] Hagdah Shel Pesach, Loshon Limudim , 1905, pp. 65-66.
[15] See Meir Bar Ilan, Alei Sefer 19 (2001), pp. 173-184.
[16] On all this see the excellent work from Dr. Shnayer Leiman, 2004, The Adventure of the Maharal of Prague in London. See also E. Yassif, Ha-golem Me-Prauge U- Massim Niflayim Acharyim, (1991).
[17] See Moriah 14 (1985) n. 3-4, pp. 102- 112; Moriah 16 (1989) n. 9-10, pp. 124- 130. See also Y. Yudolov, Otzar Hagadas, p. 171, #2299; Rabbi Shlomo Fischer, Tzefunot 3 (1989) p. 69.
[18] Kos Chemeshi, Later reprinted in the back of Haggadah Shelimah, pp. 161-177. See also Yosef Tabori, Pesach Dorot, (1996), pp. 325-341; Shmuel & Zev Safrai,Haggadas Chazal, (1998), pp. 40-41.
[19] See Rabbi Yosef Kapach, Ha-Liechos Teiman (1968), pp. 22-23. See also Rabbi Y. Ritzabi, Aggadata Depischa, (1996), pp. 388-390; Moshe Garba, Mechkarim BeSidurei Yeiman 1 (1989), pp. 139-141
[20] See Machzor Roma (1485), p. 73b [in the facsimile edition of this Machzar printed in 2012]. See also Sefer Ha-Tadir, (1992), p. 217.
[21] See the excellent article of Rabbi Y. Avidah in Hatzofeh (1958) which I
recently
reprinted in his Koso Shel Eliyahu pp. 53-57where he explains why he does not believe that the Gra actually said this idea.
[22] Hagdah Shel Pesach shel Haflah.
[23] See Likutei Tzvi, p. 28; Pineinim MeShulchan Ha-Gra, pp. 112-113; Hamoer Ha-godol, pp. 126-127. See also Rabbi Yeruchem Fishel Perlow in his notes to the Chidushel Dinim Mei-Hilchos Pesach, pp.29-30 who gives this explanation himself. See also A. Hopfer, Ha-Tzofeh Le-chochmas Yisroel, 11 (1927), pp. 211-21; Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, Shalmei Moed, p. 404.
[24] This version appears in the beautiful Haggadah Beis Avrhom- Beis Aron (p.117b) where the author heard this from The Belzer Rebbe T”l in the name of the Gra. On all this see Yaakov Speigel, Yeshurun 7 (2000), p. 728-730. See also Shut Ber Sheva, end of siman 73; Rabbi Yosef Zecharia Stern, Mamar Tahaluchos HaAgdot, p. 26.
[25] Rav Nissim Goan, (Abramson) p. 278.
[26] Sefer Ha-Manhig, 2. p. 423-424. See Daniel Sperber, Minhagei Yisroel, 3, pp. 81-82.
[27] For a discussion of the opening of the door see Rabbi Yosef Avidah, Koso Shel Eliyahu, pp. 4-8. See also his work Bershis Be-mlitzah Ha-ivrit, (1938), pp. 40-43. For an early illustration of the opening of the door at Shefoch Chamascha see Therese and Mendel Metzger, Jewish Life in the Middle ages, (1982),p. 380.
[28] For example, in Italy they did not say it. See Machzor Roma (1485); Machzor Moscovitz, (2005), p.29. See Yitzchack Yudolov, Kovetz Mechkarim Al Machzor Ki-Minhag Bnei Roma (2012), pp. 17-18.
[29] See Daniel Goldshmidt, Haggadah Shel Pesach (1960), pp. 62-64; Haggadah Sheilmah, pp. 177-180. See also Yosef Tabori, Mechkarim Betoldos Halacha (forthcoming), pp. 370-389; Shmuel & Zev Safrai,Haggadas Chazal, (1998), pp.174-175.
[30] Yosef Ometz , p. 172, #786.
[31] Mekor Chaim, end of Siman 480.
[32] See Cecil Roth, Areshet 3 (1961, pp. 7-30, especially, pp. 14-1. See also Richard Cohen, Jewish Icons, (1998), pp. 90-100; U. Schubert, Emunos HAsefer HaYehudit (1993); Marc Epstein, The Medieval Haggadah: Art, Narrative, and Religious Imagination (2011), especially, pp. 80-84.
[33] Minhaghei Yisroel 4, pp. 168-170.
[34] On this haggadah see Y. Yudolov, Otzar Haggadas, p. 2, # 7-8. See also Rabbi Charles Wengrov, Haggadah and Woodcut, (1967), pp, 69-71; the introduction to the 1965 reprint of  his Haggadah; Yosef Yerushalmi, Haggadah and History, plate 13; See also Yosef Tabori, Mechkarim Betoldos Halacha (forthcoming), pp. 461-474.
[35] On this rare Haggadah see Y. Yudolov, Otzar Haggadas, p. 3, # 14.
[36] The Messiah at the Seder—A Fifteenth Century Motif in Jewish Art, pp. 29-38 printed in Sefer Rephael Mahaler (1974). See also his Hebrew manuscript Painting (1978), pp. 98-99. See also the Illustration of the Washington Haggadah 1478 in Betzalel Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated manuscripts, pp. 140-141,34.
[37] Leket Yosher, p. 86.
[38] Koso Shel Eliyahu, pp. 12-13.
[39] Likutei Chaver Ben Chaim, 5 (1883), p. 110 b.
[40] The truth is as previously mentioned originally that was indeed the custom.
[41] Bais Ha-Levi, Parshas Bo, p. 15. The Chasam Sofer says this same idea in his notes to Shulchan Orach, 480.
[42] Rabbi Yosef Zecharia Stern, Zecher Yehosef, p. 39. See also Mishna Zicron (1923), p. 138; Rabbi Tzvi Farber, Kerem Hatzvi, p. 79. See the comments of the Dvar Yehoshuah on this printed in Hagadat Baer Miriam of Rabbi Reven Margolis (2002), p. 91.
[43] Likutei Tzvi, p. 29; Rabbi Shlomo Schick, Siddur Rashban, p. 32; Hagaddas Ha-Malbim (1883), p.50 (editor’s note).
[44] Mikrai Kodesh (Harri), p. 548.
[45] Rabbi Oberlander and Freund (above note 1) incorrectly thought that this comment is from the Chavos Yair.
[46] Minhaghim De-Kehal VerMeizah, (1988), p. 87. Rabbi Gedaliah Oberlander, Minhag Avosenu Beydenu, Rabbi Tuviah Freund, Moadim Li-Simcha, and Pardes Eliezer, all quote this piece of Rabbi Shamash But they did not realize what he was really saying.
[47] Minhaghim De-Kehal VerMeizah, p. 86.
[48] Orchos Hasofer, p. 115.
[49] Or Pnei Yitchak, p. 16.
[50] Elef Kesav, p. 21.
[51] Elef Kesav, p. 72.
[52] Elef Kesav, p. 97.



The “Doctored” Medical Diploma of Samuel, the Son of Menasseh Ben Israel: Forgery or “For Jewry”?

The “Doctored” Medical Diploma of Samuel, the Son of Menasseh Ben Israel:[1] Forgery or “For Jewry”?

Rabbi Edward Reichman, MD

Menasseh ben Israel is a prominent figure in Jewish history known for his role in the return of the Jews to England in the time of Oliver Cromwell, as well being the first to establish a Hebrew printing press in Holland.[2] Menasseh had two sons and a daughter. His son Samuel, born in 1625, was a Hebrew printer,[3] publishing a number of his father’s works, and also assisting his father with his diplomatic endeavors in England. Here we focus on another aspect of Samuel’s life- his medical career.

In a correspondence dating from the mid seventeenth century, we find information about Samuel’s medical training and degree. The letter, dated Tammuz, 5416 (1655), is from Yehuda Heller Wallerstein to Samuel Ben Israel. Yehuda writes from Salonica and reports how he encountered Jan Nicholas, the brother of Sir Edward Nicholas, British politician and advocate for the resettlement of the Jews in England, who enlightened him as to Samuel’s recent activities: “He informed me that in a short period of time you achieved great success in your study of the sciences and merited, with the assistance of Edward his brother, to present for examination before the professors of the University of Oxford, and to obtain the distinction, ‘Doctor of Medicine and Philosophy’.”[4]

There would appear to be no reason to doubt this account. Menasseh was certainly connected to the influential Sir Edward Nicholas, whose work advocating for the Jews return to England he translated. Samuel is in fact known to have been a physician. However, this account is found in the writings of Abraham Shalom Friedberg, master of historical fiction. While Samuel is an historical figure, Heller Wallerstein is a likely a figment of the author’s imagination and the letters are primarily a vehicle to explore the historical chapter of Shabbetai Zevi, the false messiah, for which this account of the diploma is only peripheral.

The only historical source, upon which the remainder of this fanciful account revolves, is a medical diploma from the University of Oxford granted to Samuel ben Israel on May 6, 1655,[5] and even the veracity of this document is suspect. A number of historians have discussed this diploma, primarily through the lens of Samuel’s famous father Menasseh, and have concluded that it is a forgery. Here we introduce a new perspective to this discussion and view the diploma from the vantage point of Jewish medical history, an aspect strikingly absent from previous discussions. It is only through this lens that we can gain an accurate assessment of its content and context. Was it really a forgery, or merely a product of the historical realities of its age?

A Word on the Medical Training of Menasseh ben Israel, Samuel’s Father

As a backdrop to our discussion about Samuel’s medical training, it is instructive to analyze the medical qualifications and practice of his father. Aside from his activities as a rabbi, statesman and author, Menasseh was also a physician.[6] The medical face of Menasseh has received scant treatment by historians, and perhaps for good reason. It was clearly not a major aspect of his daily life or contribution to Jewish history. His medical personality was manifest only peripherally or secondarily, and inconsistently as well. Nonetheless, understanding Menasseh’s medical identity sheds light not only on Jewish medical history in general, but also on his son’s medical training.

In a number of published works Menasseh refers to himself as a physician. In his letter to the Lord Protector of the Commonwealth, published in 1655, the very same year as Samuel’s diploma, he is identified as a “Doctor of Physick.”

In the work below from 1656 he is called a physician:

Menasseh also referred to himself as “Medicus Hebraeus.”[7] This title was also used to describe Ephraim Bueno, a prominent Amsterdam physician, as well as a friend and supporter of Menasseh.[8] Furthermore, his connection to medicine is reflected in his translation of the aphorisms of Hippocrates into Hebrew [9] and his relationships with a number of physicians.[10]

To my knowledge there is no record of Menasseh obtaining a medical diploma or graduating from a university. One scholar writes, without reference, that he attended medical school at the University of Groningen for a short time, though apparently did not complete his degree.[11] I have seen no evidence to corroborate this assertion and the university has no record of his matriculation in their archives.[12]

Menasseh’s identification as a physician was not consistent. In some works, the medical title is omitted:

Another curious fact is that Menasseh’s Hebrew writings make no mention whatsoever of his role or title as a physician, nor have I seen him identified as a rofeh in any Hebrew literature. Roth suggests that he may have practiced, though evidence is lacking, and that he included his address when he identified as a physician in his English works as a form of advertising.[13] The tombstone of Menasseh in the Ouderkerk Cemetery does not bear the title doctor or physician.[14]

While historians are wont to call Samuel’s diploma a forgery, his own father considered himself a physician without obtaining a degree or diploma. Should we not, to be consistent, consider Menasseh an imposter physician?

Essential to our assessment of the medical titles and careers of both Menasseh and his son is an understanding of the training of Jewish physicians at this period in history. While today the notion of a physician without formal university training culminating in a diploma is anathema, not to mention criminal, this was simply not the case in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, particularly for the Jew. In fact, Jews were universally barred from attending or graduating universities, which were invariably under the auspices of the Catholic Church. Graduation from universities, such as Oxford, included and required statements or oaths avowing one’s belief in Christianity.

This did not prevent Jews from becoming physicians. They pursued an alternate medical educational pathway comprised of independent learning and clinical training through apprenticeship.[15] This enabled them to take licensing exams and earn the title doctor. Some simply self-identified as a physician or rofeh by virtue of their extensive training. The overwhelming majority of Jewish physicians trained through this alternate pathway, and it is likely that Menasseh is counted amongst them. Once universities began to open their doors to Jewish students,[16] a number of academically motivated students chose this conventional pathway. These university-trained physicians initially accounted for only a small percentage of the health professionals in the Jewish community. Thus, the title “rofeh” or “doctor” in this period was not specifically associated with a university degree.[17]

The Medical Diploma of Samuel ben Israel

The full text of Samuel’s medical diploma was first printed by Koenen in 1843.[18] Koenen raises no doubts whatsoever as to the veracity of the document and publishes it, without discussion, comment or context, as part of a collection of important documents in Dutch Jewish history. Through what training or means Samuel attained this diploma is entirely omitted.

After its publication, the diploma was initially accepted by historians and scholars without question. For example, G. I. Polak wrote that Samuel, through extraordinary skill and acumen, was able to obtain his degree in medicine and philosophy from Oxford.[19] Some even took the liberty to provide additional details. For example, Graetz writes in his classic History of the Jews:[20]

Samuel ben Israel … was presented by the University of Oxford, in consideration of his knowledge and natural gifts, with the degree of Doctor of Philosophy and Medicine, and according to custom, received the gold ring, the biretta, and the kiss of peace.[21]

Where could Graetz have derived this detailed information? It actually appears in the Latin text of Samuel’s diploma, which describes the features of the classic graduation ceremony for European universities during this period. The biretta, often called the Oxford Cap, is the ancestor of our contemporary four-cornered graduation cap.

The scholar Adolph Neubauer appears to have been the first person to suspect something was not kosher with Samuel’s credentials, and at his behest, in 1876, Richard Griffith, the Keeper of the Archive at the University of Oxford reviewed the text of the diploma.[22] The following are the summary points of his analysis:[23]

  • Samuel is not mentioned in the Registers of the university as having ever attended or received a degree.
  • Degrees from Oxford were not issued in the month of May, the date of the diploma.
  • The diploma is signed by two specific people, while the typical Oxford degree is conferred by the university and bears a seal, without the signature of any specific person.
  • The degree is granted in both philosophy and medicine, and Oxford never granted degrees in philosophy, either alone or combined with medicine.
  • There are multiple phrases not used in the Oxford diploma and multiple procedural aspects referred to that simply were not part of Oxford’s protocols.

Griffith’s inescapable conclusion is that this is unequivocally not a genuine Oxford diploma. His analysis is unassailable. Griffiths was certainly familiar with the text of the medical degrees from Oxford during Samuel’s time; indeed, he literally wrote the book on the subject.[24]

Based on Griffith’s analysis, Samuel’s diploma is so fundamentally different than the standard Oxford diploma, there would seem to be no reason to obtain an actual Oxford diploma from that time to further compare the two. Even if one were to consider such a comparison, it would be challenging if not impossible to find an extant diploma from Oxford contemporary with Samuel. In response to my query, the Oxford Archives today responded that they do not possess any diplomas from this period, nor, for that matter, are they aware of any held elsewhere. The archivist added that they cannot be sure that diplomas or degree certificates, in the sense we understand the term, were even created or issued at Oxford from the 15th to the 17th centuries. As mentioned, there was however a specific template and wording associated with the granting of degrees at Oxford,[25] and the graduate would receive some confirmation of their degree, albeit perhaps not a formal diploma in the classic sense. The document did however bear the university seal. It is upon this Oxford template that Griffith based his analysis.

After negating any connection to Oxford, Griffith adds that the diploma was rather an adaptation of a form then used by the University of Padua, “with alterations willfully and insufficiently made.” Griffith was familiar with the Padua diploma template from his Oxford position for a curious reason. In the seventeenth century many graduates in medicine desiring to practice in England obtained their degrees outside of the United Kingdom, often at the University of Padua. In order to practice in England, the graduate had to be “incorporated” into either the University of Oxford or Cambridge. As a prerequisite to incorporation the students were required to present their diplomas/degrees from the granting institution.[26]

The Location of the “Original” Diploma

While Koenen published the full text of Samuel’s diploma, he makes no reference as to the location of the original document. Roth notes that he received a photo of the diploma from the Montezinos Library (known today as Ets Haim- Livraria Montezinos) in Amsterdam. A catalogue of the library holdings from 1927[27] states that the library possessed copies of the first and last pages of the diploma, though not the original.[28] The Ets Haim Library today does not have a record of the diploma photographs.[29] I reached out as well to the Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana, the other major Jewish historical collection in Amsterdam, to see if perhaps the diploma ended up there, which it did not.[30] I also contacted the Roth Collection at the University of Leeds to see if perhaps Roth’s copies of the diploma are kept there, and to my dismay, they likewise have no record of Samuel’s diploma.[31]

Without the actual document, it is impossible to definitively comment on its veracity. Access to the original would allow analysis of the ink and paper for dating. Even access to the copies would be useful. For example, the diploma contains signatures of two faculty members of the University of Oxford. A comparative graphological analysis with known signatures of these men could easily confirm the document’s origin. Regretfully, I have access to neither the “original,” nor the copies. I nonetheless offer additional information and analysis in defense of a Jewish physician accused of forgery in the hopes of restoring his reputation. Absent such essential material information for my case, you may feel free to conclude that my diploma (analysis) is a forgery of sorts. I hope to nonetheless persuade you to drop the charges of forgery, though definitive proof beyond a shadow of a doubt awaits the discovery of the “original” diploma.

Was the diploma a forgery?[32]

Samuel’s diploma was beyond doubt not an official Oxford-issued document, as Griffith details, but was it necessarily a forgery? All historians to date familiar with Griffith’s analysis assume the answer to be a resounding yes, some even labelling it a “brazen” forgery.[33] There is no evidence of any suspicion of the document’s veracity during the lifetime of its bearer. As to when the document was supposedly forged, while the theoretical possibility exists that the diploma was a product of the nineteenth century, Roth convincingly dismisses this theory. He concludes, “The hypothesis of a nineteenth-century fabrication may thus be definitely ruled out.”[34] We are thus left with the universally accepted belief that Samuel forged his own diploma.

Kayserling notes that Menasseh, and thus Samuel, had not yet visited England in May of 1655, the date of the document. This would seemingly conclude the case for forgery and leave little room for discussion. Roth however subsequently rejected this assertion upon finding record in the Calendar of State Papers of the period (documents not accessible to his predecessors and only then recently made available) that Samuel had been sent ahead to England prior to his father and was indeed there at that time.[35] 

The accumulated evidence is certainly suggestive of forgery, but is it dispositive? Could there be another plausible explanation behind this diploma? I would like to suggest that its rejection as an official Oxford diploma does not inexorably lead to a verdict of forgery. By placing this diploma into the larger context of Jewish medical training and diplomas, as well as comparing Samuel’s diploma to other known medical diploma forgeries of the time, specifically for the universities of Padua and Oxford, we may be able to offer another alternative to criminality for one not known to be inclined to such behavior, not to mention being the son of a prominent Jewish rabbi and statesman. I endeavor at minimum, to prove reasonable doubt regarding the accusation of forgery.

Griffith’s Omission and the “Jewish” Diploma

Griffith correctly asserts that Samuel’s diploma is modeled after that of Padua. There is however, a key aspect of this supposed forgery that has previously gone unnoticed. What Griffith did not mention, nor was he likely aware, is that the diplomas issued to Jewish students in Padua often differed in a number of ways from the standard university issue. While there was no specific Jewish diploma template per se, as the standard diploma contained a number of Christian references, the diplomas of Jewish graduates invariably contain some combination of omissions or emendations to the standard text.

As part of our investigation into the diploma’s possible forgery, it is important to ascertain whether Samuel’s diploma is a copy of a standard Padua diploma or one of the Jewish variety. Below we list a few of the typical changes found in Padua diplomas of Jewish medical graduates of Samuel’s period, providing examples of each. We then compare them to Samuel’s diploma.

  1. The Headline of the Diploma

The most obvious change to the Jewish diploma meets the eye of the reader immediately upon viewing the document. The headline of the typical diploma reads, “In Christi Nomine Amen” (in the name of Christ, Amen), and it usually appears in larger decorative font, occasionally occupying an entire page.

William Harvey’s Medical Diploma (Padua 1602)

This would clearly have been objectionable to the Jewish student. The diplomas of the Jewish students were therefore usually emended to read, “In Dei Aeterni Nomine” (in the name of the eternal God), or some variation thereof.

Below are a number of emended diplomas of Jewish students:

Diploma of Isaac Hellen (Padua, 1649)[36]

Diploma of Emanuel Colli (Padua, 1682)[37]

  1. The Date

There are number of ways the year of the degree could appear on the typical diploma, and all of them include Christian reference. Examples include Anno Domini, Anno a Christi Nativitate, and Anno Christiano. Two typical examples are below.

Diploma of Giulio Antonio (1679)[38]

Diploma of John Wallace (around 1618)[39]

The date was unaltered for many Jewish diplomas

Diploma of Jacob Levi (Padua, 1684)[40]

Diploma of Isaac Hellen (Padua, 1649)

In some Jewish diplomas however, the Christian reference is omitted, and the date is listed as “currente anno,” current year.

Diploma of Moise Tilche (Padua, 1687)[41]

Diploma of Lazzaro De Mordis (Padua, 1699)[42]

The date alone is not a reliable indicator of the “Jewishness” of the diploma.

  1. The Location of the Graduation Ceremony

The graduation ceremony for the Catholic medical students was held in the Episcopal Palace and this was recorded in the diploma:

Diploma of Giulio Antonio (Padua, 1679)

The degrees of the Jewish students were not granted in the Episcopal Palace, but rather in non-ecclesiastical venues. As such, the words “Episcopali Palatio” are omitted, leaving the phrase “in loco solito examinu,” (in the usual place of examination).[43]

Diploma of Isaac Hellen (Padua, 1649)

This is the case in virtually all Jewish diplomas.

  1. Hebreus or Iudeus

There is one feature of the typical Jewish diploma that is not an emendation or omission, but rather an addition. With few exceptions, the Jewish students were identified as Hebreus or Iudeus. This was the convention in Padua for centuries and was found in other Italian universities as well.[43]

Diploma of Isaac Hellen (Padua, 1649)

Diploma of Emanuel Colli (Padua, 1682)

Diploma of Moise Tilche (Padua, 1687)

There are a few exceptions:

Diploma of Moysis Crespino (Padua, 1647)[45]

Notarized Copy of Diploma of Abraham Wallich (Padua, 1655)[46]

Abraham Wallich graduated Padua in 1655, the same year as Samuel’s diploma. His original diploma is not extant, though we have a notarized copy that he presented to the Jewish community of Frankfurt as proof of his credentials. In this copy, the identifiers of Hebreus or Iudeus do not appear. I suggest that “Iudeus” could have in fact appeared in his original diploma and was possibly omitted here by the copyist. As Wallich was a religious Jew applying to a Jewish institution, it would have been superfluous to add “Hebreus.”

  1. The Details of the Graduation Ceremony.

The standard Padua diploma also included a description of the graduation ceremony. This was not altered in the Jewish diplomas as the Jewish students participated in this ceremony, albeit with some changes. While the location may have been different, and perhaps the oath would have been tailored for the Jewish student, the core of the ceremony for the Jewish student otherwise remained the same. A remarkable pictorial testimony to this fact is the diploma of Moise di Pellegrino (AKA Moshe ben Gershon) Tilche, who graduated Padua in 1687.[47]

Underneath the portrait of the graduate is the illustration, represented with putti, of the features of the graduation ceremony of Padua.

This ceremony involved a golden ring, a wreath and a hat, known as a biretta (though not the four-cornered variety). The opening and closing of books as a representation of the transmission of knowledge was also a part of the ceremony.

Was Samuel’s Diploma modeled after a standard or “Jewish” Diploma from Padua?

In review of the Jewish diplomas from Padua of Samuel’s day, the headline was consistently altered, as was the location of the graduation. The typical Christian recording of the year of graduation was occasionally, though not uniformly altered. The majority of the Jewish graduates, with few exceptions, were identified as either Iudeus or Hebreus.

Which of these additions, omissions or alterations appear in Samuel’s diploma?

  1. The Headline

In his article republishing the existing material on Samuel’s diploma, Neubauer writes, “in order to make the documents concerning this degree accessible to the Anglo-Jewish public, I shall reproduce here the Latin diploma line by line (Neubauer’s emphasis) as given by Koenen.” The text of the diploma he provides begins as follows:

In the original publication by Koenen however, the diploma begins with a short phrase:

Neubauer omitted the introductory words, “In Nomine Dei, Amen,” perhaps assuming they were not part of the diploma, or simply noncontributory to the text. In fact, these four words are crucial in identifying the nature of Samuel’s diploma and reflect one of the major differences found virtually ubiquitously in the Jewish diplomas of Padua.

  1. Date

A typical Christian date is used.

  1. Location of Graduation

The location of the ceremony is given as the Academy of Oxford.

  1. Hebreus or Iudeus

The identifier Hebreus or Iudeus is not found in Samuel’s diploma.

The headline in Samuel’s diploma is clearly consistent with the Jewish form of diploma. The date is of a Christian format, Anno Christiano, and the location is listed simply as Oxford with no reference to an ecclesiastical venue.

The identifier “Hebreus” is conspicuously absent. To be sure, there were certainly other examples where this was true. However, the omission in Samuel’s case is noteworthy, as his own father, Menasseh, self-identified as Medicus Hebreus, as did other Jewish physicians in Amsterdam, such as Ephraim Bueno. Surely the son would have adopted the title of the father.

In sum, the headline of Samuel’s diploma, a crucial element in determining its style, conforms to the Jewish Padua diploma, as does the venue for the degree, which is non-ecclesiastic. While the date retains the Christian reference, this is non-contributory. Samuel’s diploma does however omit the typical Jewish identifier of Hebreus, a title specifically used by his own father, a fact that begs explanation.

Other Medical Diploma Forgeries of the Seventeenth Century

If Samuel’s diploma were indeed a forgery, it would be the only known case of a forged medical diploma by a Jewish physician in the pre-Modern era. To be sure, there have been numerous forgeries of diplomas, including the medical variety, throughout history. Below we discuss two forgeries of the same historical period as Samuel and purported to be from the two very institutions with which Samuel’s diploma is associated. These may shed light on our forgery discussion.

A Forged Medical Diploma from Padua 1628

The diploma of John Wallace sat in the Royal College of Physicians for centuries, assumed to be genuine. It was only recently that Dr. Fabrizio Bigotti took a closer look at the diploma, revealing that it was a clear forgery.[48] Below you see the latinized name of Wallace clearly written in a different pen and different hand than that of the original diploma.

The year of graduation, 1628, was also altered.

The date was proven to be fake, as the authentic signatures at the end of the diploma include Fabrici d’Acquapendente and Adrian van de Spiegel, both of whom had died by 1628. The true date is assumed to be around 1618.

In this case of forgery, Wallace procured an existing diploma and replaced the name and date with his own. There is apparently no record of his medical practice, so it is unclear if his forgery was successful. Perhaps he forged this diploma with intent to present to Oxford for incorporation. I do not know if the RCP checked the Oxford Register of Congregation for the relevant years.[49]

The Frankland Forgery of an Oxford Diploma[50]

In the diary entry for Anthony Wood, Oxford antiquary, for November 15, 1677, we find the following:[51]

Frankland first presented his false credentials in 1667.[52] He was apparently a haughty and disagreeable man disliked by his colleagues at the college. It was his juniors who raised suspicion about his credentials and privately inquired of Dr. Hyde, King’s Professor of Physic, as well as the registrar, to verify his documents. The forgery was confirmed by Oxford in November 1677,[53] when it was determined that Frankland was not listed in the Medical School Register and that he had forged the university seal.[54] Furthermore, Frankland defrauded Cambridge University, which granted him a medical degree solely on the basis of his previously obtained Oxford diploma. Frankland not only forged the university seal of Oxford, which was an integral part of the official document, he seems to have added an element to the diploma which was a tip off as to its forgery. Dr. Brady of Cambridge reported:[55]

This exact issue was also identified by Griffith as one of the elements of Samuel’s diploma that deviated from Oxford protocols. Of course, with Samuel’s diploma, this was one of many deviations from Oxford’s template; for Frankland, this was more essential in identifying the forgery.

These two forgeries from Samuel’s period, and from the very institutions associated with his diploma are instructive. If Samuel was truly a forger, could or should he have pursued the methods of Wallace or Frankland?

A Padua Diploma Forgery ala Wallace

Forging a genuine Padua diploma would have been more challenging than one from Oxford for a number of reasons, both technical and cultural. While objectively few Jewish students attended the University of Padua Medical School,[56] it was the main address for Jewish students wishing to obtain a university medical degree. While far from Amsterdam, the Jews of Europe were all connected. In addition, Amsterdam was a hub of Jewish printing and a number of works by Italian authors were printed there. A forged medical diploma could possibly have been detected by Italian visitors. It would have been risky.

From a technical perspective, the Padua diploma, in Italian Renaissance fashion, was copiously illustrated and meticulously calligraphed, often including a portrait of the graduate. A number of these diplomas are extant in libraries and private collections.[57] It would have been exceedingly difficult to replicate the diploma itself, not to mention that it was typically bound in a gilded leather binding with official wax seals attached by thread.

Picture Courtesy of Professor Fabrizio Bigotti

All these accoutrements would have made the endeavor of forgery prohibitive from the outset.

There could have been another option for a Padua diploma forgery. Abraham Wallach had a notarized copy of his 1655 Padua diploma made for his job application as a community physician in Frankfurt.[58]

Beginning of the copy of the diploma:

Notarization of the diploma:

Perhaps Samuel could have created a similar “notarized” copy, which would not have required the artistry or associated binding and seals. This option would likely not have sufficed for Samuel, who as the “graduate,” would have been expected to possess and present the original.

Could Samuel have obtained an existing Padua diploma and simply replaced the name of the graduate with his own, as Wallace had done? This would certainly have been easier than forging the diploma de novo. However, recall that the Padua diplomas of the Jewish students had some alterations, the most obvious one being the headline change from In Christi Nomine to In Dei Aeterne Nomine, not to mention other more subtle, less noticeable changes. Samuel would have had to procure an old diploma that previously belonged to a Jewish student, an impossible task.

An Oxford Diploma ala Frankland

Should Samuel have created a diploma more in line with the actual Oxford model, as Frankland, whose forged university seal and diploma were sufficient to fool even the Royal College of Physicians and Cambridge University? Had he produced a Frankland-esque diploma no one would have suspected otherwise, as no Jew had ever obtained or presented an Oxford diploma before. While this could have been an ideal forgery,[59] I suggest below why this may not have served Samuel’s needs.

The Medical Training and Practice of Samuel ben Menasseh

Irrespective of the veracity of his diploma, Samuel appears to have been a practicing physician. Samuel is listed as a physician by both Steinschneider[60] and Koren,[61] each of whom provides additional references. He is also listed in an early twentieth century work among a group of exceptionally prominent Jewish physicians across the ages.[62] Moreover, his tombstone identifies him as a physician. To my knowledge we do not have any specific account of his clinical practice.

As we have no direct evidence as to how Samuel trained in medicine, we can only surmise based on the general climate of Jewish medical training at the time, coupled with whatever fragmentary evidence we have of Samuel’s personal medical exposure.

Samuel had personal exposure to both the apprenticeship and university pathways of medical training. His father most likely obtained his education through the apprenticeship pathway. Samuel certainly could have learned the medical art from his father Menasseh, though the biographies of Menasseh reveal that he had little time, if any, for the practice of medicine. It would have been difficult for Samuel to acquire comprehensive medical knowledge without prolonged extensive clinical exposure, something his father could not provide.

Though Menasseh himself may not have had the time to mentor his son, he could have delegated the task to one of his physician colleagues.[63] Ephraim Bueno, for example, was a prominent physician in Amsterdam with whom Menasseh had a relationship.[64] Bueno supported Menasseh’s first publication.[65] They also both shared the distinction of having their portraits drawn by Rembrandt.[66] Perhaps Samuel apprenticed with, or at the very least, was inspired by Bueno.

Had he desired, Samuel could have obtained a formal university medical degree. In the early part of the seventeenth century, this would only have been possible in Italy, and primarily at the University of Padua. Traveling to Padua, however, would entail leaving the family and other potential hardships, such as the language barrier. Fortunately, beginning in the mid-century universities in the Netherlands (primarily Leiden), following in the footsteps of Padua, began opening their doors to Jewish medical students for the first time.[67] In fact, Samuel’s cousin Josephus Abarbanel, who also lived in Amsterdam, graduated from the University of Leiden on June 2, 1655, just a few weeks after Samuel received his Oxford diploma.[68]

Which option/pathway did Samuel choose? Though his diploma is Padua-esque, there is no record of Samuel attending the University of Padua. There is also no record of his attendance or graduation from any school in the Netherlands.

Samuel certainly would not have attended the University of Oxford as a student. Professing Jews were not allowed there. Moreover, it would also have required his presence in England for a prolonged period, which, by all accounts was not the case. Roth writes regarding the likelihood of Samuel obtaining an Oxford degree, “it was as difficult for a Jew to be graduated from it (Oxford) as it would have been for an anthropoid ape.”[69] This unwelcoming climate for the Jews persisted even long after the return of the Jews to England.[70] In fact, in Herman Adler’s lecture on the Jews of England in the late nineteenth century, he comments on the medical degree of Samuel, which he assumed to be authentic: “This fact (granting a medical diploma to the Jew Samuel ben Israel) would seem to show that the university was more enlightened in the year 1655 than it is in 1870.”[71]

Samuel’s “For Jewry” Diploma

I suggest that Samuel trained primarily through the apprenticeship pathway but requested and received university acknowledgement or imprimatur of his medical education and knowledge. The diploma was thus an affirmation of Samuel’s expertise attested to by members of the Oxford faculty. As opposed to today, when a student must attend a certain number of years in a university as a prerequisite to obtaining a degree, universities often gave exams and imprimatur to those who studied elsewhere, either formally or not, but passed the required examination demonstrating the required knowledge and competence. This could explain the unusual nature of the diploma he procured from Oxford.

While many Jewish physicians in this period practiced freely without university education or diplomas, there may have been an additional impetus for Samuel to procure this affirmation from Oxford. The Dutch were generally known for their tolerance, but this apparently did not extend to the Jews and the practice of medicine. According to historians, “Although Jews with foreign degrees were permitted to engage in medicine as general practitioners, tolerance was not extended to tertiary education.”[72] Thus, even though Samuel may have been qualified to practice by virtue of his apprenticeship, and could have practiced freely in other European countries, his practice in the Netherlands would have been limited without a foreign degree.[73]

Do the existing facts and diploma support this theory?

The Signatories

The two signatories on Samuel’s diploma were Dr. John Owen and Dr. Clayton at Oxford. Owen was a friend of Cromwell and Vice Chancellor of the University at that time. Thomas Clayton was Regius Professor of Medicine at Oxford from 1647 to 1665. These were not fictional characters, and if one were to obtain an affirmation of medical knowledge or education, these would be the perfectly appropriate people to attest to such a document. Given Menasseh’s connections, it is not inconceivable that he utilized his influence to arrange for his son’s exams, or that they acceded to Samuel’s request out of deference to Menasseh.

The Absence from the Oxford Register

Griffith highlights the fact that Samuel’s degree is not found in the Oxford Register. Indeed, no professing Jews were listed in the register at Oxford at that time. According to our theory, this absence from the Register is no proof of forgery. There was not the slightest thought of entering this exchange into the official university Register, as not only did it not meet the standard protocols, the recipient was also of the Jewish faith and expressly precluded from such a privilege. Samuel may have assured the examiners that he had no intention of practicing in the United Kingdom, a fact that would have made it easier for them to feel comfortable affixing their names to the document.

Likelihood of Exposure

If indeed Samuel were prone to deceit, what is the likelihood his rouse would have been discovered? His father would certainly have realized.[74] The very purpose of Samuel’s trip was to pave the path for his father’s visit. Samuel was thus expecting his father to later visit England and likely interact with the very same people he did. Indeed, Menasseh appears to have visited Oxford.[75] Surely Samuel’s diploma would have come up in conversation, if only peripherally. This alone could have served as a deterrent for forgery. Additionally, John Owen, a signatory on the diploma, was a close friend of Cromwell’s, and a forgery could have been revealed through this avenue. If one were to arbitrarily choose Oxford faculty for a fake diploma, better not to choose someone whose trail could ultimately lead to disclosure.

A forgery would have been suspected, if not revealed, from another source. Samuel’s cousin Joseph Abarbanel completed his medical training in Leiden at the very same time as Samuel’s diploma was issued, and also lived in Amsterdam. He surely would have been suspicious if Samuel suddenly started practicing medicine after a forged Oxford diploma emerged de novo and appeared, metaphorically, framed on Samuel’s office wall.

The Text of the Diploma- An Oxford-Padua Synthesis ala Samuel ben Menasseh

Working with our new theory, which type of diploma would Samuel have procured or designed had he genuinely presented to Oxford and successfully passed oral exams from the university faculty? This would not have been an official, formal process, but rather a unique private opportunity to confirm his medical expertise with the Oxford faculty. As this was a personalized, non-institutional diploma, the examiners would not have much cared or paid attention as to the diploma’s format and could have left the document particulars to Samuel.

I suggest, therefore, that Samuel designed the document in a way that would best serve his needs and would be well-received by his Jewish clientele in the Netherlands. A brief informal text with attestation from the Oxford professors would have been unfamiliar and unimpressive to his Jewish patients.[76] Virtually the only diploma a Jewish university-trained physician would have possessed in this period is a diploma from the University of Padua.[77] He therefore utilized the familiar Padua template, as awkward and inconsistent with Oxford’s typical diploma it may have been. Furthermore, he made sure to use the emended headline and non-ecclesiastic venue consistent with the “Jewish” diploma.

Why did Samuel not include the term “Hebreus,” which would surely have been familiar to the Jewish viewers of the diploma, not to mention following in the path of his father, who was known as “Medicus Hebraeus?” It is possible that Samuel would have specifically omitted this title given the history of the degree-granting institution. Professing Jews were categorically precluded from attending or graduating Oxford. While the signators may not have paid close attention to the details of the diploma, the word Hebreus after Samuel’s name would likely have caught their eye, especially as it appears adjacent to the graduate’s name.

There are numerous elements in the diploma that were simply untrue. For example, included is a description of the graduation, as cited by Graetz. Did Samuel actually participate in a formal graduation from Oxford? Whether Samuel obtained a genuine diploma of some sort from Oxford can be debated, but there is no doubt that as a professing Jew in England at this time he would never have participated in any formal graduation ceremony. Samuel may have disregarded these details favoring style over substance in order to achieve his objective. The signators would likely not have bothered to analyze the text.

Not a single Jew would have known the difference, let alone read the Latin document, nor would they have questioned further.[78] They would have seen a document that appeared in style and largely in substance similar to the diplomas they had seen previously. Samuel’s father would have been proud of his son’s accomplishment, as would his cousin Josephus Abrabanel, who later graduated from Leiden. Menasseh could also have personally thanked Drs. Owens and Clayton for their kindness when he visited Oxford a short time later. If this construct is true then Samuel’s diploma would not have been a forgery, but rather “for Jewry,” being designed intentionally with the Jewish community in mind, and in the context of Jewish medical history.

Postscript

Whether forged on not, Samuel sadly had but little time to utilize the Oxford diploma dated May 1655. Later that month he returned to Amsterdam, diploma in hand, to persuade his father to go to England and personally lay his case before Cromwell. Two years later, Manasseh ben Israel arrived in London, accompanied by Samuel. Samuel tragically died during their stay. In accordance with Samuel’s dying wish, Manasseh ben Israel conveyed his son’s corpse back to Holland where he was buried on 2 Tishrei, 5418. Below is a picture of the grave of Samuel ben Israel in the Middleburg Cemetery, 1912, shortly after it was renovated.[79]

Here is a picture of the grave and tombstone today:[80]

His medical identity is forever enshrined on his tombstone, where he is referred to as “Doctor Semuel.”[81]

Roth writes, “It seems obvious that the honorific description (on the tombstone) has its basis the supposed Oxford degree.”[82] I beg to differ. Many Jewish physicians were trained through apprenticeship and never obtained university degrees, Samuel’s own father being a case in point, and they were nonetheless known as physicians. I believe Samuel could have been such a physician.

Menasseh himself died shortly thereafter on Nov. 20, 1657, before reaching his home at Middelburg, Zealand.

Which account is closer to the truth? Was Samuel an ambitious and accomplished student of medicine, honestly earning some form of an Oxford diploma, perhaps not unlike Friedberg’s description at the beginning of this article; or was he an unabashed imposter possessing no medical training, brazenly forging a medical diploma, and practicing medicine without proper training? Historians have been quick to condemn Samuel, though they have neglected to incorporate the history of Jewish medical training into their analyses. Ultimately, I suggest that the truth lies in the chasm between these two polar extremes. Closer to which one? I leave to the reader to decide. At the very minimum I believe we have provided enough evidence to at least create reasonable doubt as to whether Samuel the son of the right honorable Menasseh ben Israel committed willful forgery of his medical diploma.

[1] Also known as Samuel Abravanel Soeyro. See Moritz Steinschneider “Judische Aertze,” Zeitschrift fur Hebraeische Bibliographie 18: 1-3 (January-June, 1915), p. 45, n. 1923. Abravanel is taken from his mother’s family and Soeyro from his father’s family. Both names have multiple variant spellings.
[2] Cecil Roth, A Life of Menasseh Ben Israel: Rabbi, Printer, and Diplomat (Jewish Publication Society, 1945); Jeremy Nadler, Menasseh ben Israel: Rabbi of Amsterdam (Yale University Press, 2018). See also the wonderful online exhibit, “Menasseh ben Israel, rabbi, scholar, philosopher, diplomat and Hebrew printer, 1604-1657,” curated by Dr. Eva Frojmovic of the University of Leeds.
[3] For a history of Jewish physicians as printers, see J. O. Leibowitz, “Jewish Physicians Active as Printers,” (Hebrew) Harofe Haivri Hebrew Medical Journal 1 (1952), 112-120; Hindle Hes, “The Van Embden Family as Physicians and Printers in Amsterdam,” (Hebrew) Koroth 6:11-12 (August, 1975), 719-723.
[4] https://benyehuda.org/read/3230#fn:173, Zichronot LiBeit David vol 4 (Achiasaf Publications, Warsaw, 1897).
[5] Friedberg himself references the mention of the diploma in Meyer Kayserling’s The Life and Labours of Menasseh Ben Israel (London, 1877). 63 and 92, n. 241.
[6] Friedenwald mentions Menasseh, but as opposed to his other entries, adds justification for his inclusion in his work: “He is included in this list because several of his works bear his name with the title Medicus Hebraeus,” as well as his identifying as a Doctor of Physick in his letter to the Lord Protector. See Harry Friedenwald, The Jews and Medicine vol. 2 (Johns Hopkins Press: Baltimore, 1944), 739. Menassah is also is listed in Koren under the spelling Manasseh ben Israel. See Nathan Koren, Jewish Physicians: A Biographical Index (Israel Universities Press: Jerusalem, 1973), 89.
[7] Roth, op. cit., Menasseh, 109.
[8] While Bueno is famous for his portrait drawn by Rembrandt, his portrait was also drawn later in life by another Dutch artist, Jan Lievens. The description underneath the painting, Dor Ephraim Bonus Medicus Hebraeus, found in the collection of Joods Historisch Museum Amsterdam, can be seen below:

[9] This work is not extant. See Roth, op. cit., Menasseh, 314, n. 17.
[10] I. M. Librach, “Medicine and Menasseh Ben Israel,” Medical History 4:3 (July, 1960), 256-258 discusses Menasseh’s connection to physicians. Librach suggests that the close relationship between religion and medicine among the Jews has led some historians, notably Henry Milman (1863) to regard Menasseh as a physician as well as a rabbi. For further reference to Menasseh’s physician friends see Ernestine G.E. Van Der Wall, “Petrus Serrarius and Menasseh ben Israel: Christian Millenarianism and Jewish Messianism in Seventeenth Century Amsterdam,” in Yosef Kaplan, et. al., eds., Menasseh Ben Israel and His World (E. J. Brill: Leiden, 1989), 172; George M. Weisz and William Albury, “Rembrandt’s Jewish Physician- Dr. Ephraim Beuno (1599-1665): A Brief Medical History,” Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal 4:2 (April, 2013).
[11] Van Der Wall, op. cit., 165.
[12] Personal communication with Hans Froon of the Central Medical Library in Groningen (December, 2020).
[13] Roth, op. cit., Menasseh, 42, 109, 314, 341
[14] This picture of the epitaph appears in Cecil Roth, “New Light on the Resettlement,” Transactions of the Jewish Historical Society 11 (1924-1927), facing p. 118.
[15] For articles on the training of Jewish medical students, see Harry Friedenwald, “The Jewish Medical Student of Former Days,” Menorah Journal 7:1 (February, 1921), 52-62; Cecil Roth, “The Medieval University and the Jew,” Menorah Journal 19:2 (November-December, 1930), 128-141; Idem, “The Qualification of Jewish Physicians in the Middle Ages,” Speculum 28 (1953), 834-843; Joseph Shatzmiller, “On Becoming a Jewish Doctor in the High Middle Ages,” Sefarad 43 (1983), 239-249. Idem, Jews, Medicine and Medieval Society (University of California Press: Berkeley, 1994), esp. 14-27; John Efron, “The Emergence of the Medieval Jewish Physician,” in his Medicine and the German Jews: A History (Yale University Press: New Haven, 2001), 13-33; Edward Reichman,  “From Maimonides the Physician to the Physician at Maimonides Medical Center: The Training of the Jewish Medical Student throughout the Ages,” Verapo Yerape: The Journal of Torah and Medicine of the Albert Einstein College of Medicine 3 (2011), 1-25; Nimrod Zinger, Ba’alei haShem vihaRofeh (Haifa University, 2017), 242-251.
[16] The University of Padua was the first to formally allow admission of Jews to its medical school.
[17] It is possible that there were titles that distinguished between university and non-university trained physicians, such as rofeh mumheh, but this requires further study.
[18] H. J. Koenen, Geschiedenis der Joden in Nederland (Utrecht, 1843), 440-444.
[19] Gabriel Isaac Polak, Seerith Jisrael: Lotgevallen der Joden in alle werelddeelen van af de verwoesting des tweeden tempels tot het jaar 1770 (Amsterdam, 1855), 549.
[20] Heinrich Graetz, History of the Jews vol. 5 (Jewish Publication Society: Philadelphia, 1956), 38.
[21] Herman Nathan Adler clearly follows Graetz in his, The Jews of England A Lecture (Longmans, Green and Co.: London, 1870), 23.
[22] Since the initial publication of Griffith’s letter was in an obscure inaccessible journal, both the transcription of the diploma as well as Griffith’s letter were later republished. All the documents and articles are reproduced in Rev. Dr. Adler, “A Homage to Menasseh ben Israel,” Transactions of the Jewish Historical Society of England 1 (1893-1894), 25-54, esp. 48-54. This explains why some scholars were unaware of Griffith’s conclusions until years later. For additional comments and analysis, see Cecil Roth, A Life of Menasseh Ben Israel (Jewish Publication Society: Philadelphia, 1934), 221-222 and 337-339; Idem, “The Jews in English Universities,” Miscellanies of the Jewish Historical Society of England 4 (1942), 102-115, esp. 105, n. 14.
[23] Griffith lists fifteen differences in the form of the diploma from that of Oxford.
[24] Statutes of the University of Oxford codified in the year 1636, under the authority of Archbp. Laud, Chancellor of the University, with an introduction on the history of the Laudian Code by C.L. Shadwell, ed. by John Griffiths, 1888. See p. 126. For the study of medicine at Oxford in the seventeenth century see chapter by Robert G Frank Jr. entitled “Medicine” in The History of the University of Oxford, volume IV: Seventeenth Century Oxford (ed. N Tyacke, Clarendon Press, 1997). For a more general study of the period, see Phyllis Allen, “Medical Education in 17th Century England” Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 1:1 (January 1, 1946), 115-143.
[25] G. R. M. Ward, Oxford University Statutes (1845), 53-54, 117-118, 128-131.
[26] Oxford’s Register of Congregation during this period contains numerous examples of Padua students applying for incorporation.
[27] Alphei Menasheh Catologus of J. S. Da Silva Rosa (Portugeesch Israelietische Seminarium: Amsterdam, 1927), 25, no. V. lists a picture of the first and last pages of the diploma in the possession of the Montezinos Library.
[28] Roth did not mention if he possessed copies of the entire text of the diploma.
[29] I thank Heide Warncke, Curator of the Ets Haim Library for her assistance.
[30] I thank Rachel Boertjens, Curator of the Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana for her assistance.
[31] I thank Eva Frojmovic and the staff of the Roth Collection at University of Leeds for their assistance. The cataloguing of the Roth Collection is an ongoing process and there is a fair amount of material still uncatalogued. I am hopeful the copies of the diploma will one day surface there.
[32] In the interest of full disclosure, I recently wrote an article entitled, “Confessions of a Would-be Forger: The Medical Diploma of Tobias Cohn (Tuvia Ha-Rofeh) and Other Jewish Medical Graduates of the University of Padua.” I am not however personally inclined to forgery. I would be happy to send the reader a copy of my medical diploma upon request, once I am able to locate it.
[33] David S. Katz, Philo-Semitism and the Readmission of the Jews to England, 1603-1655 (Oxford University Press, 1982), 197.
[34] Roth, op. cit., Menasseh, 338-339
[35] Roth, op. cit., Menasseh, 338-339.
[36] Germanisches Nationalmuseum, reference no. HA, Pergamenturkunden, Or. Perg. 1649 Juli 09.
[37] A copy of the full diploma is accessible through the Magnes Online Collection, http://magnesalm.org (accessed January 5, 2021).
[38] See G. Baldissin Molli, L. Sitran Rea, and E. Veronese Ceseracciu, Diplomi di Laurea all’Università di Padova (15041806) (Padova: Università degli studi di Padova, 1998), diploma C21, p. 151.
[39] See below for further discussion of this diploma, which is a forgery. The body of the diploma, including the relevant phrase cited here, is original and dates to around 1618.
[40] This diploma is housed in the Umberto Nahon Museum of Italian Jewish Art in Jerusalem. See http://www.museumsinisrael.gov.il/en/items/Pages/ItemCard.aspx?IdItem=ICMS-EIT-0076. The museum website provides a description of the diploma and a picture of the outer cover. I thank Dr. Andreina Contessa, former Chief Curator of the U. Nahon Museum, for kindly furnishing me with pictures of the entire diploma. I thank Sharon Liberman Mintz for bringing this diploma to my attention.
[41] The diploma is in the William Gross Collection and is available for viewing at the website of the National Library of Israel, system number 990036743400205171 (accessed January 3, 2021). I thank Sharon Liberman Mintz for bringing this diploma to my attention.
[42] NLI, system number 990035370060205171.
[43] Of course it was not “the usual place of examination,” but this text allowed for the least amount of deviation from the diploma template.
[44] See, for example, the diploma of Chananya Modigliani from Siena, 1628 in the Jewish Theological Seminary Library, MS 8519.
[45] NLI, system number 990034232880205171.
[46] Stadt Frankfurt am Main, Altes Archiv – Städtische Überlieferung bis 1868, Medicinalia, Akten, Nr. 250 (fol. 51-52v).
[47] For an expansive discussion on the diplomas of Jewish medical students from the University of Padua, see Edward Reichman, “Confessions of a Would-be Forger: The Medical Diploma of Tobias Cohn (Tuvia Ha-Rofeh) and Other Jewish Medical Graduates of the University of Padua,” in Kenneth Collins and Samuel Kottek, eds., Ma’ase Tuviya (Venice, 1708): Tuviya Cohen on Medicine and Science (Jerusalem: Muriel and Philip Berman Medical Library of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2019), in press.
[48] Pamela Forde, “Power and Beauty: Fakes and Forgeries,” (December 11, 2015) Royal College of Physicians Museum. I thank Dr. Bigotti of Centre for the Study of Medicine and the Body in the Renaissance, Domus Comeliana Pisa (Italy) for providing me the images of this diploma.
[49] I do not have access to the relevant years.
[50] For the most expansive discussion of the Frankland affair see William Munk, The Roll of the Royal College of Physicians of London vol 1, 1518-1700 (Longman: London, 1861), 358ff.
[51] Andrew Clark, The Life and Times of Anthony Wood, Antiquary, of Oxford, 1632-1695, Described by Himself vol. 2 (Clarendon Press: Oxford, 1892), 392-393.
[52]  Munk, op. cit., 359.
[53] Munk, op. cit., 360.
[54] Munk, op. cit., 363.
[55] Munk, op. cit., 362.
[56] For a list of the Jewish students attending the University of Padua during Samuel’s time, see Abdelkader Modena and Edgardo Morpurgo, Medici E Chirurghi Ebrei Dottorati E Licenziati Nell Universita Di Padova dal 1617 al 1816 (Bologna, 1967). This list has been supplemented over the years, but the overall numbers are not significantly different.
[57] For a collection of diplomas from the University of Padua, see G. Baldissin Molli, L. Sitran Rea, and E. Veronese Ceseracciu, Diplomi di Laurea all’Università di Padova (15041806) (Padova: Università degli studi di Padova, 1998). Only a very small percentage of the diplomas in this book are from the medical school. For examples of diplomas from other Italian universities, see Honor et Meritus: Diplomi di Laurea dal XV al XX Secolo, ed. F. Farina and S. Pivato (Rimini: Panozzo Editore, 2005), a catalogue of an exhibition held in 2006 to mark the 500th anniversary of the founding of the University of Urbino.
[58] For more on Abraham Wallich and other physician family members of the Wallich family, see, Edward Reichman, “The Medical Training of Dr. Isaac Wallich: A Thrice-Told Tale in Leiden (1675), Padua (1683) and Halle (1703),Hakirah, in press.
[59] It is possible that Samuel was simply unaware of the composition and protocols of the Oxford degree, as he would not have had occasion to see one. Perhaps he was attempting to mimic a genuine Oxford diploma, but just erroneously assumed it was similar to that of Padua.
[60] Moritz Steinschneider “Judische Aertze,” Zeitschrift fur Hebraeische Bibliographie 18: 1-3 (January-June, 1915), p. 45, n. 1923. He is listed as “Samuel (b. Menasseh) b. Israel Abravanel-Soeyro (Suerus).”
[61] Nathan Koren, Jewish Physicians: A Biographical Index (Israel Universities Press: Jerusalem, 1973), 126. He is listed as “Soeiro Samuel Abrabanel of Amsterdam, son of Menasseh ben Israel, grad. in Oxford.”
[62] Dov Bear Turis, Shiva Kokhvei Lekhet (Warsaw, 5687), 16. Menasseh is not mentioned in this list.
[63] I thank Heidi Warncke for this suggestion.
[64] On Bueno, see, for example, George Weisz and William Albury, “Rembrandt’s Jewish Physician Dr. Ephraim Beuno (1599-1665): A Brief Medical History,” Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal 4:2 (April 2013), 1-4.
[65] Sefer Penei Rabah (Amsterdam, 1628)
[66] See Steven Nadler, Rembrandt’s Jews (University of Chicago, 2003). Nadler discusses the debate as to whether Rembrandt actually painted a portrait of Menasseh ben Israel. In either case, both Bueno and Menasseh were well acquainted with Rembrandt, who lived in the Jewish quarter of Amsterdam.
[67] Hindle S. Hes, Jewish Physicians in the Netherlands (Van Gorcum, Assen, 1980); Kenneth Collins, “Jewish Medical Students and Graduates at the Universities of Padua and Leiden: 1617-1740,” Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal 4:1 (January, 2013), 1-8; M. Komorowski, Bio-bibliographisches Verzeichnis jüdischer Doktoren im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (K. G. Saur Verlag: Munchen, 1991). Komorowski, p. 33, lists the dissertations of a handful of Jewish graduates of Netherland universities prior to 1650.
[68] Hes, op. cit., 3, Komorowski, op. cit., 33. Josephus was Menasseh’s first cousin. His dissertation was entitled “De Phthisi.” Joseph’s father, Jonah, joined Bueno in supporting Menasseh ben Israel’s book, Penei Rabah. Joseph Abarbanel was later excommunicated by the Sephardic community for rejecting the prohibition against buying poultry from Ashkenazi Jews. See Yosef Kaplan, An Alternative Path to Modernity: The Sephardic Diaspora in Western Europe (Brill, 2000), 136.
[69] Roth, op. cit., Menasseh, 221. The only Jews who would have attended Oxcam at this time would have been converts to Christianity, though Jews from birth. See Cecil Roth, “The Jews in English Universities,” Miscellanies of the Jewish Historical Society of England 4 (1942), 102-115. This is why Roth comments that the diploma is a “not too skillful forgery of an inherently improbable doctorate.” Roth adds that into the eighteenth century the climate for Jews at the universities in England was so unwelcoming that even native English Jews travelled abroad to Germany, Netherlands, Scotland, or Italy to obtain their medical degrees.
[70] Until the 1800’s Jews could not graduate Oxford or Cambridge unless they professed their belief in Christianity. See Joseph L. Cohen, “The Jewish Student at Oxford and Cambridge,” Menora Journal 3 (1917), 16-23.
[71] Graetz, op. cit., also wrote, “It was no insignificant circumstance that this honor should be conferred upon a Jew by a university strictly Christian in conduct.”
[72] Weisz and Albury, op. cit.
[73] Admittedly, this is also a strong motivation for forgery, but I shall leave this line of argument for the prosecution.
[74] Roth comments that, “it is impossible to believe that Menasseh ben Israel can have been a party to the deception. One can only imagine that he was a victim of it.”
[75] Roth, op. cit., Menasseh, 251-252.
[76] It likely would not have sufficed for the Dutch government either.
[77] While the universities of the Netherlands had begun issuing diplomas to Jewish students, the Padua diploma would still have been far more common.
[78] Would the Dutch government have accepted such a document? The record is silent on this question.
[79] https://www.zeeuwseankers.nl/verhaal/portugese-joden-in-zeeland. In 1911/1912 English Jews visited Middelburg and found the grave in decay. They told the city that a very important person is buried there who played a vital role (together with his father of course) in the readmission of the Jews in England. The gravestone was renovated, and possibly raised at that stage, and a chain was put around it. I thank Heide Warncke, Curator of the Ets Haim Library in Amsterdam for the information and references.
[80] https://www.omroepzeeland.nl/nieuws/100031/Joodse-begraafplaatsen-verstopt-in-Middelburg.
[81] Ephraim Bueno is also identified as a physician on his tombstone. Picture in Weisz and Albury, op. cit.

On the tombstone on the left, the end of the second line reads, Dor (doctor).

Joseph Abarbanel, while identified in the Ouderkerk Cemetery record as a physician, is not identified as such on his tombstone (inscription at the bottom of the document).

I thank Heide Warnicke for her assistance with the translation of these tombstones.

[83] Roth, op. cit., Menasseh, 139. Nadler echoes the same sentiment, adding that no one suspected the ruse in his lifetime as his gravestone identifies him as a doctor. See Nadler, op. cit., 263.




Depicting Difference: The Tower of Babel and the Language of Sacred Art

Depicting Difference: The Tower of Babel and the Language of Sacred Art

“For form is only the manifestation, the shape of content.”
Ben Shahn, The Shape of Content, p. 72

Genesis chapter 11 presents the narrative of the Tower of Babel, detailing how, contrary to the divine directive to disperse and populate the earth, the descendants of the flood’s survivors congregated in a single city and commenced construction of a substantial tower. God intervened to prevent further cooperation among them by disrupting their shared language, thereby introducing linguistic diversity, which ultimately ceased the building process and resulted in the broad dispersal of the population.

The account of the Tower of Babel offers a unique context for exploring what characterizes an image—and, by extension, a work of art—as Jewish. In Christian artistic traditions, from medieval illuminations to Renaissance paintings, the tower is often portrayed as a symbol of pride and serves as a cautionary emblem against human ambition. In contrast, Jewish philosophy and visual culture do not treat the tower as an important iconographic motif or as a warning against aspiration. Where the story does appear in Jewish art, it offers an alternative interpretation, and in certain instances, it recasts the tower motif in a more positive light.

The Architecture of Arrogance: Bruegel’s Tower and the Christian Moral Imagination

A painting of a tower of babel AI-generated content may be incorrect.

Figure 1: Pieter Bruegel, The Tower of Babel, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

Among the most celebrated representations of the Tower of Babel is Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s painting housed in Vienna’s Kunsthistorisches Museum (we previously discussed another painting from the museum, Samuel van Hoogstraten’s Old Man at a Window, and whether it is a Jewish painting, its subject a famous Rabbi). Measuring over three feet wide and five feet high, this work features a monumental spiral structure composed of arches and tiers that ascend unevenly into the clouds. The immense scale of the tower stands in stark contrast to the small human figures depicted throughout—hundreds of workers engaged in various tasks. Bruegel’s paintings are notable for their comprehensive and detailed portrayal of subjects. (This site allows you to zoom in on all the details.) In this scene, each trade and stage of construction is rendered with meticulous attention; some laborers transport massive stone blocks along ramps, while oxen-pulled carts bear heavy loads of building materials. Human-powered treadwheel cranes lift supplies upward, and scaffolding constructed from poles, planks, and ropes clings to the sides of the tower. Masons apply mortar and lay bricks, carpenters reinforce beams, and overseers direct operations, attempting to manage the complexity and activity inherent in such an undertaking.

In the foreground, King Nimrod, adorned in elaborate robes and a crown, oversees the construction as the principal architect of the tower. He reviews architectural plans with his attendants while laborers kneel. Surrounding him, foremen gesture towards the ascending walls, effectively conveying his directives to the assembled workforce. Beyond the imposing structure of the tower, ships are visible entering the harbor, their masts prominent on the horizon.

Bruegel often used allegory in his work. By integrating contemporary construction methods and maritime elements into the depiction of the ancient story, he placed Babel in the context of his own time. The painting presents examples of human innovation alongside the risks associated with ambitious endeavors, making its observations applicable from the 16th century to the present day.[1]

A painting of people working on a tower AI-generated content may be incorrect.

Figure 2: 13th Century Manuscript of Rudolf von Ems Poetry

A letter l with a tower and people working AI-generated content may be incorrect.

Figure 3: 14th Century York Manuscript

Earlier artistic portrayals commonly focused on Babel’s height and grandeur. Medieval manuscripts and Church paintings often depicted it as upright, rectilinear, and monumental, resembling a fortress or cathedral spire. In contrast, Bruegel presents the tower as unstable, leaning, and showing deterioration at its foundation, while construction continues at the upper levels. The structure appears to challenge natural order by being built atop a mountain and using brick, which leads to rock formations that affect its stability. Bruegel incorporates Roman arches reminiscent of the Colosseum, suggesting parallels to historical architecture that had fallen into decline by the time of his visit in 1560. Some areas are already inhabited; for example, a woman is seen hanging laundry. The residents appear unaware of the structural issues beneath them, blinded by their hubris. Nimrod’s prominence in the foreground, with the workers genuflecting to him and his plans that he holds in his hands, further emphasizes the fetishization of human ambition.

At the time, Bruegel’s audience didn’t have to look far to see a potential Babel in the making: Antwerp was booming, expanding, and building like never before, and its populace risked falling into the sin of pride. In 1563, when Bruegel painted the Tower of Babel, the city was Europe’s busiest port and a magnet for wealth, with goods and materials streaming in daily through the Scheldt River. Massive new fortifications were under construction to secure the city’s growth, while the Cathedral of Our Lady still stood unfinished, its single soaring spire a symbol of grandeur halted midstream. Cranes, treadwheels, scaffolding, and teams of laborers were familiar sights on Antwerp’s skyline, all details Bruegel carefully folded into his painting. Even the ships visible in the harbor of his Babel recall Antwerp’s bustling docks, tying the biblical story directly to his contemporaries’ lived experience. For Bruegel’s viewers, the tower was not just a monument to ancient pride but a mirror of their own city’s dazzling ambition and its underlying fragility.

Bruegel does not show the dramatic aftermath, the confusion of tongues, and the scattering of peoples across the earth. Instead, he arrests the narrative at the moment of construction, filling the canvas with the feverish activity of workers and the looming mass of the tower itself. In doing so, he lets the architecture bear the weight of the story: the leaning walls, the buckling arches, and the crumbling base foreshadow the enterprise’s futility. The punishment is absent because the tower already embodies it, an image of human ambition that carries within itself the seeds of its own destruction.

Bruegel’s legacy is twofold. On the one hand, he fixed Babel’s appearance for centuries: spiraling, leaning, and crumbling, the visual template repeated in paintings, engravings, church murals, and biblical illustrations well into the modern era. From 16th-century Flemish workshops to 18th-century Bibles, from church frescoes to Romantic illustrations, and even into 20th-century literature and contemporary art, Bruegel’s leaning Tower of Babel has been endlessly reimagined as the enduring image of human ambition and collapse.[2] On the other hand, he reshaped its meaning. Earlier images celebrated human pride by showing the tower upright and impregnable. Bruegel’s version, and the generations of artists and authors who followed, transformed it into a parable of fragility, a monument doomed to collapse even as it rose.

Buildings Fall Books Endure: The Jewish Reading of Babel

Within the Jewish exegetical tradition, the story of Babel carries a different emphasis than in Bruegel’s Christian retelling. The tower itself is a bit player in a larger story, a catalyst and not the focus, less important than the human decision it symbolizes. In Genesis 9:1, God commands Noah’s descendants to “be fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth.” Yet instead of dispersing across the world, humanity chooses to settle in one place and build a city and tower “lest we be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth” (Gen. 11:4). In this reading, the sin is not arrogance against heaven but resistance to God’s plan of dispersal. The tower becomes a narrative device, a means of dramatizing humankind’s determination to remain unified, sedentary, and secure.[3]

Seen from this perspective, the confusion of languages and scattering of peoples is not so much a punishment as a necessary correction. The multiplicity of tongues is God’s way of ensuring that His will for humanity, for it to spread, diversify, and populate the earth, is carried out. The Jewish interpretation, therefore, reads the story as a lesson about human attempts to thwart divine design, not Bruegel’s Christian vision, which centers on pride and monumental ambition. What matters is not the tower’s collapse but humanity’s refusal to scatter, and the way God ultimately enforces the order of creation.

This contrast is confirmed by the way Jewish tradition titles the episode “Dor Haflagah,” meaning “the Generation of Division,” rather than “Migdal Bavel,” the Tower of Babel. (Sanhedrin 10:3; Baba Metziah 4:2). The Hebrew name shifts attention away from architecture altogether and toward the human drama: the refusal to scatter, the divine act of dividing languages, and the dispersal across the earth. In other words, where Christianity made the tower a visual icon, Judaism made the generation itself the lesson.[4]

This approach was not only in Jewish exegesis but also in Jewish art. There are only five identified examples of the tower in Jewish art, but in all of them, it is illustrated in a uniquely Jewish manner.

A mosaic of people in different poses AI-generated content may be incorrect.

Figure 4: Tower of Babel, Khirbet Wadi Hamam Mosaic, c. 3rd century, source.

A mosaic of people working on a building AI-generated content may be incorrect.

Figure 5: Tower of Babel, Huqoq Synagogue, c. 5th Century

The earliest two examples are synagogue mosaics, a third-century synagogue in Wadi Hamam, and a recently discovered fifth-century mosaic on the floor of the Huqoq Synagogue in northeastern Israel. Only a part of the Wadi Hamam scene has survived, though it is the largest intact biblical scene found. It shows workers and a tower on the left. In the center, two workers are hitting each other. The Huqoq mosaic is larger and illustrates all stages of construction, including detailed depictions of hoists, levers, and various chiseling and cutting tools. At the center of the scene, two workers are engaged in conflict—one wielding a hammer and the other a saw.[5] Similarly, three medieval manuscripts feature this theme; in two, the depiction of violence is the central focus, while in the third, it forms part of a broader image, akin to the mosaic. [6]

A close-up of a painting AI-generated content may be incorrect.

Figure 6 Golden Haggadah, fol. 3r

Although these examples feature the tower, they can be distinguished from the Christian perspective. Firstly, the labeling of the images aligns with Jewish tradition, specifically referencing Dor Haflagah. Secondly, Bruegel’s comprehensive visual representation notably omits any mention of violence. The interpretation that linguistic confusion led to violence is exclusive to Jewish sources, appearing in Genesis Rabba and various other texts, but not in Christian writings.[7] Given that the mosaic dates to the third century, this seems to potentially point to an earlier codification of Genesis Rabba than is currently assumed or that this approach was already was an oral legend.[8] The only known medieval Christian manuscript featuring a descent into violence, The Bedford Book of Hours, has prompted one scholar to assert that it “is undoubtedly based on a Jewish legend.”[9]

While Jewish manuscript culture preserves the uniquely Jewish interpretation of the iconography of the Tower of Babel, Jewish print culture would transform Bruegel’s symbol of pride and sin into a fortress of divine protection.

The Soncino family was the first great dynasty of Hebrew printers, active in northern Italy from the late 15th to the early 16th century.[10] Originating from the town of Soncino in Lombardy and operating intermittently between roughly 1483 and 1527, they established presses in a succession of Italian cities, including Soncino, Brescia, Fano, Pesaro, and Rimini, as well as in Turkey. The founder, Joshua Solomon Soncino, and his nephew, Gershom ben Moses Soncino, expanded the enterprise into one of the most respected printing houses of Renaissance Italy. Gershom issued one of the earliest dated Hebrew books, a Talmudic tractate printed at Soncino in 1484. This work, with its unique layout, is the first of its kind to become canonized, combining the source text with two surrounding commentaries, and is itself a work of art. Their editions combined typographic precision with decorative sophistication equal to the best contemporary Latin and vernacular presses, and their name became synonymous with the art of Hebrew printing itself. They did not just print for a Jewish audience, but also printed over 100 non-Jewish titles, outdoing their Jewish output of 64 titles.

SEFER IKKARIM (BOOK OF PRINCIPLES), RABBI JOSEPH ALBO, RIMINI: GERSHOM SONCINO, 1522 | Sacred Splendor: Judaica from the Arthur and Gitel Marx Collection | 2019 | Sotheby's

Figure 7: Joseph Albo, Sefer Ikkarim, Rimini, 1522

The Soncino family was active from 1483, but in books printed from 1522, first in Rimini and subsequently in Salonika and Constantinople, Gershom incorporated a new printer’s mark – essentially a printer’s coat of arms.[11] This first appeared in R. Joseph Albo’s Sefer Ikkarim and depicts a traditional Renaissance-style solid stone tower rising above a crenellated wall, accompanied by the verse ‘מִגְדַּל עֹז שֵׁם יְהוָה, בּוֹ יָרוּץ צַדִּיק וְנִשְׂגָּב” “the name of the Lord is a mighty tower; the righteous runneth into it, and is set up on high,’ (Proverbs 18:10) on the left and right sides of the image. Gershom chooses to highlight the tower, unlike other possible symbols such as the rainbow, clouds of glory, or King David, which could have served a similar purpose.

Figure 8: Kol Bo, Rimini, 1525, Gross Family Collection

In the Sefer Kol Bo, published in Rimini circa 1525 and considered Gershom’s most distinguished work from that period, a prominent introductory statement appears above the tower: “In You I place my heart and you will help me, and I will raise my heart and with song I will praise you: ‘the name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous runs into it, and is safe.’” This clearly presents the tower as an icon of divine protection and intervention. Notably, Gershom’s tower does not correspond with any physical structure in Soncino or Rimini; instead, the tower symbolizes a spiritual rather than an earthly construct.[12] There is one small, but somewhat strange, detail about Gershom’s tower: the doors are latched on the outside, making the locks useless. This oddity reinforces that the tower is divine, as it does not need a locked door. We reenact this belief annually during the Pesach seder. Gershom’s tower, rooted in Mishlei rather than Bereishit, represents divine protection in contrast to retribution. For a Jewish printer deeply engaged with Renaissance book art, this choice offered a thoughtful reinterpretation, reclaiming the tower as a symbol of resilience and trust in God’s safeguarding of the Jewish community people.[13]

The story of the “tower,” whether Bruegel’s collapsing monument or Soncino’s enduring emblem, reminds us how difficult it is to define what makes art “Jewish.” The same image can signify pride or faith, sin or sanctity, depending on the hands and the heart that shape it. Jewish art, then, is not confined to subject or style, but often lives in subtler places — in the design of a page, the mark of a printer, or the choice of a verse. Ultimately, even art speaks in different languages.

Notes: 

  1. For background on the creation of the painting see Margaret A. Sullivan, Bruegel and the Creative Process, 1559-1563 (Ashgate: England, 2010), 191-204. For a direct comparison of the painting with the biblical narrative see Ruth Dorot and Edna Langenthal, “Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s The Tower of Babel (1563). From Art to Architecture,” Journal Education Culture and Society, 2, (2023), 380-400.

  2. See Diána Kulisz, “The Tower of Babel Motif in the Art of the Low Countries,” in Mesopotamia Kingdom of Gods and Demons, ed. Zoltán Niederreiter, (Budapest: Museum of Fine Arts, 2024), 424-439.
  3. See Umberto Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Genesis, Part II, trans. Israel Abrams, (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 1974), 225-226. Abarbenal, however, interprets the section much more in line with Bruegel’s themes. See Nehama Leibowitz, Studies in Bereshit, trans. Aryeh Newman, (Jerusalem: World Zionist Organization), 95-97.
  4. See Cassuto, id. at 203.
  5. See Karen Britt and Ra’anan Boustan, “Artistic Influences in Synagogue Mosaics: Putting the Huqoq Synagogue in Context,” BAR, May/June 2019, 40-41. They note that these are the only two known examples of synagogue mosaics to depict the Tower of Babel.
  6. The Golden Haggadah, Bezalel Narkiss ed. (England, 1996) 24-25; Marc Michael Epstein, The Medieval Haggadah: Art, Narrative & Religious Imagination (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2011), 157-158.
  7. For a collection of the various sources see M.M. Kasher, Torah Shelemah, vol. 1, 515, no. 60 and 517 no. 73.
  8. See Anat Reizel, Introduction to Midrashic Literature, (Tevunot: Alon Shevut, 2011), pp. 105–106.
  9. See Mira Friedman, “The Tower of Babel in the Bedford Book of Hours,” in The Old Testament as Inspiration in Culture, Jan Heller, ed. (Trebenice: 2001), 113-114.
  10. See generally, A.M. Haberman, Perakim be-Toldoth Hamdpissim ha-Ivrim (Jerusalem: Rubin Mass, 1978),15-101; Moses Marx, “Gershom Soncino’s Wander Years in Italy, 1498-1527” in HUCA XI (1936), reprinted as a stand alone work with many examples of Soncino illustrations, in 1969, by the Society of Jewish Bibliophiles.
  11. Abraham Yaari, Hebrew Printers’ Marks: From the Beginning of Hebrew Printing to the End of 19th Century (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press, 1943), 4-5, 123-124. Gershom once used a different mark with a tower in the 1505 Fano edition Mashal ha-Kadmoni. Id. 124.
  12. Yaari, Printers Marks, 124.
  13. Gershom’s prayer may have been tied to a conflict with a Jew who had converted to Christianity. In the end, perhaps because of this conflict, although it remains unclear, Gershom was forced to flee Italy soon after. See Marx, “Wandering Years,” 55-59.