Kol Nidrei, Choirs, and Beethoven: The Eternity of the Jewish Musical Tradition

Kol Nidrei, Choirs, and Beethoven:  The Eternity of the Jewish Musical Tradition  

On April 23, 1902, the cornerstone to the Taharat Ha-Kodesh synagogue was laid, and on Rosh Ha-Shana the next year, September 7, 1903, the synagogue was officially opened.  The synagogue building was on one of Vilna’s largest boulevards and constructed in a neo-Moorish architectural style, capped with a blue cupola that was visible for blocks. There was a recessed entry with three large arches and two columns.  The interior housed an impressive ark, located in a semi-circular apse and covered in a domed canopy. But what really set the synagogue apart from the other 120 or so places to pray in Vilna was that above the ark, on the first floor, were arched openings that served the choir.  In fact, it was generally referred to by that feature and was known as the Choral Synagogue.  The congregants were orthodox, most could be transported to any modern Orthodox synagogue and they would indistinguishable, in look – dressing in contemporary styles, many were of the professional class, middle to upper middle class, and they considered themselves maskilim, or what we might call Modern Orthodox.[1]

The incorporation of the choir should be without controversy.  Indeed, the Chief Rabbi of Vilna, Yitzhak Rubenstein would alternate giving his sermon between the Great Synagogue, or the Stut Shul [City Synagogue], and the Choral Synagogue.[2]  Judaism can trace a long relationship to music and specifically the appreciation, and recognition of the unique contribution it brings to worship.  Some identify biblical antecedents, such as Yuval, although he was not specifically Jewish.  Of course, David and Solomon are the early Jews most associated with music.  David used music for religious and secular purposes – he used to have his lyre play to wake him at midnight, the first recorded instance of an alarm clock.  Singing and music was an integral part of the temple service, and the main one for the Levite class who sang collectively, in a choir.  With the destruction of the temple, choirs, and music, in general, was separated from Judaism.  After that cataclysmic event, we have little evidence of choirs and even music.  Indeed, some argued that there was an absolute ban on music extending so far as to prohibit singing. 

It would not be until the early modern period in the  16th century that choirs and music began to play a central role in Jewish ritual, and even then, it was limited – and was associated with modernity or those who practiced a more modern form of the religion. 
Rabbi Leon (Yehudah Aryeh) Modena (1571-1648) was one of the most colorful figures in the Jewish Renaissance. Born in Venice, he traveled extensively among the various cities in the region.[3] He authored over 15 books, and made his living teaching and preaching in synagogues, schools, and private homes; composing poems on commission for various noblemen; and as an assistant printer.  In 1605, he was living in Ferrara where an incident occurred in the synagogue that kickstarted the collective reengagement with music. Modena explained that “we have six or eight knowledgeable men, who know something about the science of song, i.e. “[polyphonic] music,” men of our congregation (may their Rock keep and save them), who on holidays and festivals raise their voices in the synagogue and joyfully sing songs, praises, hymns and melodies such as Ein Keloheinu, Aleinu Leshabeah, Yigdal, Adon Olam etc. to the glory of the Lord in an orderly relationship of the voices according to this science [polyphonic music]. … Now a man stood up to drive them out with the utterance of his lips, answering [those who enjoyed the music], saying that it is not proper to do this, for rejoicing is forbidden, and song is forbidden, and hymns set to artful music have been forbidden since the Temple was destroyed.[4]
Modena was not cowed by this challenge and wrote a lengthy resposum to defend the practice which he sent to the Venetian rabbinate and received their approbation.  But that did not put the matter to rest. 
In 1610, as he approached forty, Modena received his ordination from the Venetian rabbis and settled in Venice to serve not only as a rabbi but as a cantor, with his pleasant tenor voice.  In around 1628 in the Venetian ghetto, an academy of music was organized with Modena serving as the Maestro di Caeppella . Both in name and motto that academy embraced its subversive nature.  It was called the Academia degli Impediti, the Academy of the Hampered, named in derision of the traditional Jewish reluctance to perform music because of “the unhappy state of captivity which hampers every act of competence.” In this spirit, especially in light of Modena’s responsum on music in 1605, the Accademia took the Latin motto Cum Recordaremur Sion, and in Hebrew, Bezokhrenu et Tzion, when we remembered Zion, based paradoxically on Psalm 137, one of the texts invoked against Jewish music: “We hung up our harps…. How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?”
On Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah in October 1628, a spectacular musical performance was held in the Spanish synagogue, which had been decorated with silver and jewels. Two choirs from the academy sang artistic Hebrew renderings of the afternoon service, the evening service, and some Psalms. Their extensive repertoire lasted a few hours. A throng of Christian noblemen and ladies attended the Simchat Torah service. The applause was great, and police had to guard the gates to ensure order
Beyond his musical endeavors, Modena also served as an expert in Hebrew publishing. The two would create a confluence that enabled the first modern Jewish book of music. 
For Rabbi Leon Modena, his young friend, the musician Salamone Rossi, would herald the Jewish re-awakening. We know very little about Rossi’s life. He was born circa 1570 and died sometime after 1628, possibly in 1630. He is listed as a violinist and composer on the payroll of the Gonzaga dukes, rulers of Mantua, and was associated with a Jewish theater company, as composer or performer or both. In addition, Rossi was also writing motets – short pieces of sacred music typically polyphonic and unaccompanied – for the synagogue using contemporary Italian and church styles. He was specifically encouraged in this endeavor by Modena, who urged the composer to have this music published so that it could have an even greater impact.[5] In 1622 the publishing house of Bragadini in Venice issued thirty-three of Rossi’s synagogue motets in a collection, Shirim asher le-Shlomo, that Modena edited. This extraordinary publication represented a huge innovation. First, the use of musical notations that required a particularly thorny issue to be resolved right versus left. Rossi decided to keep the traditional musical notational scheme and provide those from left to right and write the Hebrew backward, because the latter would be more familiar to the reader.  Second, it was the first time the Hebrew synagogue liturgy had ever been set as polyphonic choral music. Polyphony in the Christian church had begun centuries earlier. Rossi’s compositions sound virtually indistinguishable from a church motet, except for one thing: the language is Hebrew – the lyrics are from the liturgy of the synagogue, where this music was performed.
There was bound to be a conflict between the modern Jews who had been influenced by the Italian Renaissance and who supported this innovation, and those with a more conservative theology and praxis. But the antagonism towards music, especially non-traditional music, remained strong. Anticipating objections over Rossi’s musical innovations, and perhaps reflecting discussions that were already going on in Venice or Mantua, Modena wrote a lengthy preface included the responsum he wrote in 1605 in Ferrara in support of music in which he refuted the arguments against polyphony in the synagogue. “Shall the prayers and praises of our musicians become objects of scorn among the nations? Shall they say that we are no longer masters of the art of music and that we cry out to the God of our fathers like dogs and ravens?”3 Modena acknowledged the degraded state of synagogue music in his own time but indicates that it was not always so. “For wise men in all fields of learning flourished in Israel in former times. All noble sciences sprang from them; therefore, the nations honored them and held them in high esteem so that they soared as if on eagles’ wings. Music was not lacking among these sciences; they possessed it in all its perfection and others learned it from them. … However, when it became their lot to dwell among strangers and to wander to distant lands where they were dispersed among alien peoples, these vicissitudes caused them to forget all their knowledge and to be devoid of all wisdom.”  
In the same essay, he quotes Emanuel of Rome, a Jewish poet from the early fourteenth century, who wrote, “What does the science of music say to the Christians? ‘Indeed, I was stolen out of the land of the Hebrews.’” Using the words of Joseph from the book of Genesis, Modena was hinting that the rituals and the music of the Catholic church had been derived from those of ancient Israel, an assertion that has been echoed by many scholars. Although it can be argued that Modena indulges in hyperbole, both ancient and modern with some attributing the earliest ritual music to Obadiah the convert who noted a Jewish prayer that was only then appropriated for use in Gregorian chants.[6] 
Directly addressing the naysayers, Modena wrote that “to remove all criticism from misguided hearts, should there be among our exiles some over-pious soul (of the kind who reject everything new and seek to forbid all knowledge which they cannot share) who may declare this [style of sacred music] forbidden because of things he has learned without understanding, … and to silence one who made confused statements about the same matter. He immediately cites the liturgical exception to the ban on music. Who does not know that all authorities agree that all forms of singing are completely permissible in connection with the observance of the ritual commandments? … I do not see how anyone with a brain in his skull could cast any doubt on the propriety of praising God in song in the synagogue on special Sabbaths and on festivals. … The cantor is urged to intone his prayers in a pleasant voice. If he were able to make his one voice sound like ten singers, would this not be desirable? … and if it happens that they harmonize well with him, should this be considered a sin? … Are these individuals on whom the Lord has bestowed the talent to master the technique of music to be condemned if they use it for His glory? For if they are, then cantors should bray like asses and refrain from singing sweetly lest we invoke the prohibition against vocal music.
No less of an authority than the Shulhan Arukh, explains that “when a cantor who stretches out the prayers to show off his pleasant voice, if his motivation is to praise God with a beautiful melody, then let him be blessed, and let him chant with dignity and awe.” And that was Rossi’s exact motivation to “composed these songs not for my own honor but for the honor of my Father in heaven who created this soul within me. For this, I will give thanks to Him evermore.” The main thrust of Modena’s preface was to silence the criticisms of the “self-proclaimed or pseudo pious ones” and “misguided hearts.”
Modena’s absurdist argument – should we permit the hazzan to bray like an ass – is exactly what a 19th-century rabbi, Rabbi Yosef Zechariah Stern, who was generally opposed to the Haskalah – and some of the very people who started the Choral Synagogue, espoused. Stern argues that synagogal singing is not merely prohibited but is a cardinal sin.  To Stern, such religious singing is only the practice of non-Jews who  “strive to glorify their worship in their meeting house [בית הכנסת שלהם] so that it be with awe, and without other intermediaries that lead to distraction and sometimes even to lightheadedness.  In the case of Jews, however, there is certainly be a desecration of G-d’s Name when we make the holy temple a place of partying and frivolity and a meeting house for men and women … in prayer. there is no place for melodies [נגונים], only the uttering of the liturgy with gravity [כובד ראש] … to do otherwise is the way of arrogance, as one who casts off the yoke, where the opposite is required: submission, awe and gravity, and added to this because of the public desecration of G-d’s Name – a hillul ha-Shem be-rabbim.” (For more on this responsum see here.)
 Similarly, even modern rabbis, for example, R. Eliezer Waldenberg, who died in 2006, also rejected Modena’s position, because of modernity.  Although in this instance, not because of the novelty or the substance of Modena’s decision but because of the author’s lifestyle.  Modena took a modern approach to Jewish life and was guilty of such sins as not wearing a yarmulke in public and permitting ball playing on Shabbos. 
Despite these opinions, for many Orthodox Jews, with some of the Yeshivish or Haredi communities as outliers, song is well entrenched in the services, no more so than on the Yomim Noraim. Nor is Modena an outlier rabbinic opinion of the value of music and divine service.  No less of an authority than the Vilna Gaon is quoted as highly praising music and that it plays a more fundamental role to Judaism that extends well beyond prayer.  Before we turn to the latter point it is worth noting that at times Jewish music was appropriated by non-Jews – among the most important composers, Beethoven.  One the holiest prayer of Yom Kippur, Kol Nedri, is most well-known not for the text (which itself poses many issues) but the near-universal tune.  That tune, although not as repetitive in the prayer can be heard in the sixth movement of Beethoven’s Quartet in C# minor, opus 131 (you can hear a version here).  One theory is in 1824, the Jews in Vienna were finally permitted to build their own synagogue and for the consecration asked Vienna’s most famous composer to write a piece of music.[7]  Although Beethoven did not take the commission, he may have done some research on Jewish music and learned of this tune.  We could ask now, is Beethoven playing a Jewish music?[8]
R. Yisrael M’Sklov, a student of the Gaon records that he urged the study of certain secular subjects as necessary for the proper Torah study, algebra and few other, but “music he praised more than the rest.  He said that most of the fundamentals and secrets of the torah … the Tikkunei Zohar are impossible to understand without music, it is so powerful it can resurrect the dead with its properties.  Many of these melodies and their corresponding secrets were among the items that Moshe brought when he ascended to Sinai.”[9] 
In this, the Gaon was aligned with many Hassidim who regularly incorporated music into their rituals, no matter where the origin.  Just one of many examples, Habad uses the tune to the French national anthem for the prayer Aderet ve-Emunah.  The power of music overrides any considerations of origin.  Indeed, they hold that not only can music affect us, but we can affect the music itself, we hold the power to transform what was impure, the source and make it pure.  That is not simply a cute excuse, but the essence of what Hassidim view the purpose of Judaism, making holy the world.  Music is no longer a method of attaining holiness, singing is itself holiness.[10]  
Today in Vilna, of the over 140 places of worship before the Holocaust five shul buildings remain and only one shul is still in operation.  That shul is the Choral Synagogue – the musical shul.  Nonetheless not all as it should be.  In the 1960s a rabbi from Israel was selected as the rabbi for the community and the shul.  When he arrived, he insisted that choirs have no place in Judaism and ordered the choir arches sealed up.  We, however, have the opportunity, as individuals and community to use the power of music to assist us on the High Holidays – that can be me-hayeh ma’tim.
[1] See Cohen-Mushlin, Synagogues in Lithuania N-Z, 253-61. For more on the founding of the congregation see Mordechai Zalkin, “Kavu le-Shalom ve-ain:  Perek be-Toldot ha-Kneset ha-Maskili ‘Taharat ha-Kodesh be-Vilna,” in Yashan mi-Pnei Hadash: Mehkarim be-Toldot Yehudei Mizrah Eiropah u-ve-Tarbutam: Shai le-Imanuel Etkes, eds. David Asaf and Ada Rapoport-Albert (Jerusalem:  Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 2009) 385-403. The images are taken from Cohen-Mushlin. 
[2] Hirsz Abramowicz, Profiles of a Lost World (Detroit:  Wayne State University Press, 1999), 293.
[3] Regarding Modena see his autobiography, translated into English, The Autobiography of a Seventeenth Century Rabbi, ed. Mark Cohen (Princeton:  Princeton University Press, 1988); and the collection of articles in The Lion Shall Roar: Leon Modena and his World, ed. David Malkiel, Italia, Conference Supplement Series, 1 (Jerusalem:  Hebrew University Press, 2003).
[4] His responsum was reprinted in Yehuda Areyeh Modena, She’a lot u-Teshuvot Ziknei Yehuda, ed. Shlomo Simonsin (Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 1956), 15-20.
[5] See generally Don Harrán, Salamone Rossi:  Jewish Musician in Late Renaissance Mantua (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Michelene Wandor, “Salamone Rossi, Judaism and the Musical Cannon,” European Judaism 35 (2002): 26-35; Peter Gradenwitz, The Music of Israel:  From the Biblical Era to Modern Times 2nd ed. (Portland: Amadeus Press, 1996), 145-58. 
The innovations of Rossi and Modena ended abruptly in the destruction of the Mantua Ghetto in 1630 and the dispersion of the Jewish community. The music was lost until the late 1800s when Chazzan Weintraub discovered it and began to distribute it once again.

[6] See Golb who questions this attribution and argues the reverse and also describes the earlier scholarship on Obadiah.  Golb, “The Music of Obadiah the Proselyte and his Conversion,” Journal of Jewish Studies 18: 43-46.
[7] Such ceremonies were not confined to Austria.  In Italy since the middle of the seventeenth century, special ceremonies for the dedication of synagogues had become commonplace.  See Gradenwitz, Music of Israel, 159-60.
[8] Jack Gotlieb, Funny, It Doesn’t Sound Jewish, (New York:  State University Press of New York, 2004), 17-18; see also Theodore Albrecht, “Beethoven’s Quotation of Kol Nerei in His String Quartet, op. 131:  A Circumstantial Case for Sherlock Holmes,” in I Will Sing and Make Music:  Jewish Music and Musicians Through the Ages, ed. Leonard Greenspoon (Nebraska:  Creighton University Press, 2008), 149-165. For more on the history of the synagogue see Max Grunwald, Vienna (Philadephia:  Jewish Publication Society of America, 1936), 205-21.
[9] R. Yisrael M’Sklov, Pat ha-Shulhan  (Sefat, 1836).
[10] See Mordechai Avraham Katz, “Be-Inyan Shirat Negunim ha-Moshrim etsel ha-Goyim,” Minhat ha-Kayits, 73-74.  However, some have refused to believe that any “tzadik” ever used such tunes.  Idem. 73. See also our earlier article discussing the use of non-Jewish tunes “Hatikvah, Shir HaMa’a lot, & Censorship.” 


Kol Nidrei, Choirs, and Beethoven: The Eternity of the Jewish Musical Tradition

Kol Nidrei, Choirs, and Beethoven: The Eternity of the Jewish Musical Tradition
The Seforim Blog is reposting Dan Rabinowitz’s post from 2018.
On April 23, 1902, the cornerstone to the Taharat Ha-Kodesh synagogue was laid, and on Rosh Ha-Shana the next year, September 7, 1903, the synagogue was officially opened. The synagogue building was on one of Vilna’s largest boulevards and constructed in a neo-Moorish architectural style, capped with a blue cupola that was visible for blocks. There was a recessed entry with three large arches and two columns. The interior housed an impressive ark, located in a semi-circular apse and covered in a domed canopy. But what really set the synagogue apart from the other 120 or so places to pray in Vilna was that above the ark, on the first floor, were arched openings that served the choir. In fact, it was generally referred to by that feature and was known as the Choral Synagogue. The congregants were orthodox, most could be transported to any modern Orthodox synagogue and they would indistinguishable, in look – dressing in contemporary styles, many were of the professional class, middle to upper middle class, and they considered themselves maskilim, or what we might call Modern Orthodox.[1]

The incorporation of the choir should be without controversy. Indeed, the Chief Rabbi of Vilna, Yitzhak Rubenstein would alternate giving his sermon between the Great Synagogue, or the Stut Shul [City Synagogue], and the Choral Synagogue.[2] Judaism can trace a long relationship to music and specifically the appreciation, and recognition of the unique contribution it brings to worship. Some identify biblical antecedents, such as Yuval, although he was not specifically Jewish. Of course, David and Solomon are the early Jews most associated with music. David used music for religious and secular purposes – he used to have his lyre play to wake him at midnight, the first recorded instance of an alarm clock. Singing and music was an integral part of the temple service, and the main one for the Levite class who sang collectively, in a choir. With the destruction of the temple, choirs, and music, in general, was separated from Judaism. After that cataclysmic event, we have little evidence of choirs and even music. Indeed, some argued that there was an absolute ban on music extending so far as to prohibit singing.

It would not be until the early modern period in the 16th century that choirs and music began to play a central role in Jewish ritual, and even then, it was limited – and was associated with modernity or those who practiced a more modern form of the religion.
Rabbi Leon (Yehudah Aryeh) Modena (1571-1648) was one of the most colorful figures in the Jewish Renaissance. Born in Venice, he traveled extensively among the various cities in the region.[3] He authored over 15 books, and made his living teaching and preaching in synagogues, schools, and private homes; composing poems on commission for various noblemen; and as an assistant printer. In 1605, he was living in Ferrara where an incident occurred in the synagogue that kickstarted the collective reengagement with music. Modena explained that “we have six or eight knowledgeable men, who know something about the science of song, i.e. “[polyphonic] music,” men of our congregation (may their Rock keep and save them), who on holidays and festivals raise their voices in the synagogue and joyfully sing songs, praises, hymns and melodies such as Ein Keloheinu, Aleinu Leshabeah, Yigdal, Adon Olam etc. to the glory of the Lord in an orderly relationship of the voices according to this science [polyphonic music]. … Now a man stood up to drive them out with the utterance of his lips, answering [those who enjoyed the music], saying that it is not proper to do this, for rejoicing is forbidden, and song is forbidden, and hymns set to artful music have been forbidden since the Temple was destroyed.[4]
Modena was not cowed by this challenge and wrote a lengthy resposum to defend the practice which he sent to the Venetian rabbinate and received their approbation. But that did not put the matter to rest.
In 1610, as he approached forty, Modena received his ordination from the Venetian rabbis and settled in Venice to serve not only as a rabbi but as a cantor, with his pleasant tenor voice. In around 1628 in the Venetian ghetto, an academy of music was organized with Modena serving as the Maestro di Caeppella . Both in name and motto that academy embraced its subversive nature. It was called the Academia degli Impediti, the Academy of the Hampered, named in derision of the traditional Jewish reluctance to perform music because of “the unhappy state of captivity which hampers every act of competence.” In this spirit, especially in light of Modena’s responsum on music in 1605, the Accademia took the Latin motto Cum Recordaremur Sion, and in Hebrew, Bezokhrenu et Tzion, when we remembered Zion, based paradoxically on Psalm 137, one of the texts invoked against Jewish music: “We hung up our harps…. How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?”
On Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah in October 1628, a spectacular musical performance was held in the Spanish synagogue, which had been decorated with silver and jewels. Two choirs from the academy sang artistic Hebrew renderings of the afternoon service, the evening service, and some Psalms. Their extensive repertoire lasted a few hours. A throng of Christian noblemen and ladies attended the Simchat Torah service. The applause was great, and police had to guard the gates to ensure order
Beyond his musical endeavors, Modena also served as an expert in Hebrew publishing. The two would create a confluence that enabled the first modern Jewish book of music.
For Rabbi Leon Modena, his young friend, the musician Salamone Rossi, would herald the Jewish re-awakening. We know very little about Rossi’s life. He was born circa 1570 and died sometime after 1628, possibly in 1630. He is listed as a violinist and composer on the payroll of the Gonzaga dukes, rulers of Mantua, and was associated with a Jewish theater company, as composer or performer or both. In addition, Rossi was also writing motets – short pieces of sacred music typically polyphonic and unaccompanied – for the synagogue using contemporary Italian and church styles. He was specifically encouraged in this endeavor by Modena, who urged the composer to have this music published so that it could have an even greater impact.[5] In 1622 the publishing house of Bragadini in Venice issued thirty-three of Rossi’s synagogue motets in a collection, Shirim asher le-Shlomo, that Modena edited. This extraordinary publication represented a huge innovation. First, the use of musical notations that required a particularly thorny issue to be resolved right versus left. Rossi decided to keep the traditional musical notational scheme and provide those from left to right and write the Hebrew backward, because the latter would be more familiar to the reader. Second, it was the first time the Hebrew synagogue liturgy had ever been set as polyphonic choral music. Polyphony in the Christian church had begun centuries earlier. Rossi’s compositions sound virtually indistinguishable from a church motet, except for one thing: the language is Hebrew – the lyrics are from the liturgy of the synagogue, where this music was performed.
There was bound to be a conflict between the modern Jews who had been influenced by the Italian Renaissance and who supported this innovation, and those with a more conservative theology and praxis. But the antagonism towards music, especially non-traditional music, remained strong. Anticipating objections over Rossi’s musical innovations, and perhaps reflecting discussions that were already going on in Venice or Mantua, Modena wrote a lengthy preface included the responsum he wrote in 1605 in Ferrara in support of music in which he refuted the arguments against polyphony in the synagogue. “Shall the prayers and praises of our musicians become objects of scorn among the nations? Shall they say that we are no longer masters of the art of music and that we cry out to the God of our fathers like dogs and ravens?”3 Modena acknowledged the degraded state of synagogue music in his own time but indicates that it was not always so. “For wise men in all fields of learning flourished in Israel in former times. All noble sciences sprang from them; therefore, the nations honored them and held them in high esteem so that they soared as if on eagles’ wings. Music was not lacking among these sciences; they possessed it in all its perfection and others learned it from them. … However, when it became their lot to dwell among strangers and to wander to distant lands where they were dispersed among alien peoples, these vicissitudes caused them to forget all their knowledge and to be devoid of all wisdom.”
In the same essay, he quotes Emanuel of Rome, a Jewish poet from the early fourteenth century, who wrote, “What does the science of music say to the Christians? ‘Indeed, I was stolen out of the land of the Hebrews.’” Using the words of Joseph from the book of Genesis, Modena was hinting that the rituals and the music of the Catholic church had been derived from those of ancient Israel, an assertion that has been echoed by many scholars. Although it can be argued that Modena indulges in hyperbole, both ancient and modern with some attributing the earliest ritual music to Obadiah the convert who noted a Jewish prayer that was only then appropriated for use in Gregorian chants.[6]
Directly addressing the naysayers, Modena wrote that “to remove all criticism from misguided hearts, should there be among our exiles some over-pious soul (of the kind who reject everything new and seek to forbid all knowledge which they cannot share) who may declare this [style of sacred music] forbidden because of things he has learned without understanding, … and to silence one who made confused statements about the same matter. He immediately cites the liturgical exception to the ban on music. Who does not know that all authorities agree that all forms of singing are completely permissible in connection with the observance of the ritual commandments? … I do not see how anyone with a brain in his skull could cast any doubt on the propriety of praising God in song in the synagogue on special Sabbaths and on festivals. … The cantor is urged to intone his prayers in a pleasant voice. If he were able to make his one voice sound like ten singers, would this not be desirable? … and if it happens that they harmonize well with him, should this be considered a sin? … Are these individuals on whom the Lord has bestowed the talent to master the technique of music to be condemned if they use it for His glory? For if they are, then cantors should bray like asses and refrain from singing sweetly lest we invoke the prohibition against vocal music.
No less of an authority than the Shulhan Arukh, explains that “when a cantor who stretches out the prayers to show off his pleasant voice, if his motivation is to praise God with a beautiful melody, then let him be blessed, and let him chant with dignity and awe.” And that was Rossi’s exact motivation to “composed these songs not for my own honor but for the honor of my Father in heaven who created this soul within me. For this, I will give thanks to Him evermore.” The main thrust of Modena’s preface was to silence the criticisms of the “self-proclaimed or pseudo pious ones” and “misguided hearts.”
Modena’s absurdist argument – should we permit the hazzan to bray like an ass – is exactly what a 19th-century rabbi, Rabbi Yosef Zechariah Stern, who was generally opposed to the Haskalah – and some of the very people who started the Choral Synagogue, espoused. Stern argues that synagogal singing is not merely prohibited but is a cardinal sin. To Stern, such religious singing is only the practice of non-Jews who “strive to glorify their worship in their meeting house [בית הכנסת שלהם] so that it be with awe, and without other intermediaries that lead to distraction and sometimes even to lightheadedness. In the case of Jews, however, there is certainly be a desecration of G-d’s Name when we make the holy temple a place of partying and frivolity and a meeting house for men and women … in prayer. there is no place for melodies [נגונים], only the uttering of the liturgy with gravity [כובד ראש] … to do otherwise is the way of arrogance, as one who casts off the yoke, where the opposite is required: submission, awe and gravity, and added to this because of the public desecration of G-d’s Name – a hillul ha-Shem be-rabbim.” (For more on this responsum see here.)
Similarly, even modern rabbis, for example, R. Eliezer Waldenberg, who died in 2006, also rejected Modena’s position, because of modernity. Although in this instance, not because of the novelty or the substance of Modena’s decision but because of the author’s lifestyle. Modena took a modern approach to Jewish life and was guilty of such sins as not wearing a yarmulke in public and permitting ball playing on Shabbos.
Despite these opinions, for many Orthodox Jews, with some of the Yeshivish or Haredi communities as outliers, song is well entrenched in the services, no more so than on the Yomim Noraim. Nor is Modena an outlier rabbinic opinion of the value of music and divine service. No less of an authority than the Vilna Gaon is quoted as highly praising music and that it plays a more fundamental role to Judaism that extends well beyond prayer. Before we turn to the latter point it is worth noting that at times Jewish music was appropriated by non-Jews – among the most important composers, Beethoven. One the holiest prayer of Yom Kippur, Kol Nedri, is most well-known not for the text (which itself poses many issues) but the near-universal tune. That tune, although not as repetitive in the prayer can be heard in the sixth movement of Beethoven’s Quartet in C# minor, opus 131 (you can hear a version here). One theory is in 1824, the Jews in Vienna were finally permitted to build their own synagogue and for the consecration asked Vienna’s most famous composer to write a piece of music.[7] Although Beethoven did not take the commission, he may have done some research on Jewish music and learned of this tune. We could ask now, is Beethoven playing a Jewish music?[8]
R. Yisrael M’Sklov, a student of the Gaon records that he urged the study of certain secular subjects as necessary for the proper Torah study, algebra and few other, but “music he praised more than the rest. He said that most of the fundamentals and secrets of the torah … the Tikkunei Zohar are impossible to understand without music, it is so powerful it can resurrect the dead with its properties. Many of these melodies and their corresponding secrets were among the items that Moshe brought when he ascended to Sinai.”[9]
In this, the Gaon was aligned with many Hassidim who regularly incorporated music into their rituals, no matter where the origin. Just one of many examples, Habad uses the tune to the French national anthem for the prayer Aderet ve-Emunah. The power of music overrides any considerations of origin. Indeed, they hold that not only can music affect us, but we can affect the music itself, we hold the power to transform what was impure, the source and make it pure. That is not simply a cute excuse, but the essence of what Hassidim view the purpose of Judaism, making holy the world. Music is no longer a method of attaining holiness, singing is itself holiness.[10]
Today in Vilna, of the over 140 places of worship before the Holocaust five shul buildings remain and only one shul is still in operation. That shul is the Choral Synagogue – the musical shul. Nonetheless not all as it should be. In the 1960s a rabbi from Israel was selected as the rabbi for the community and the shul. When he arrived, he insisted that choirs have no place in Judaism and ordered the choir arches sealed up. We, however, have the opportunity, as individuals and community to use the power of music to assist us on the High Holidays – that can be me-hayeh ma’tim.
[1] See Cohen-Mushlin, Synagogues in Lithuania N-Z, 253-61. For more on the founding of the congregation see Mordechai Zalkin, “Kavu le-Shalom ve-ain: Perek be-Toldot ha-Kneset ha-Maskili ‘Taharat ha-Kodesh be-Vilna,” in Yashan mi-Pnei Hadash: Mehkarim be-Toldot Yehudei Mizrah Eiropah u-ve-Tarbutam: Shai le-Imanuel Etkes, eds. David Asaf and Ada Rapoport-Albert (Jerusalem: Merkaz Zalman Shazar, 2009) 385-403. The images are taken from Cohen-Mushlin.
[2] Hirsz Abramowicz, Profiles of a Lost World (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1999), 293.
[3] Regarding Modena see his autobiography, translated into English, The Autobiography of a Seventeenth Century Rabbi, ed. Mark Cohen (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988); and the collection of articles in The Lion Shall Roar: Leon Modena and his World, ed. David Malkiel, Italia, Conference Supplement Series, 1 (Jerusalem: Hebrew University Press, 2003).
[4] His responsum was reprinted in Yehuda Areyeh Modena, She’a lot u-Teshuvot Ziknei Yehuda, ed. Shlomo Simonsin (Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 1956), 15-20.
[5] See generally Don Harrán, Salamone Rossi: Jewish Musician in Late Renaissance Mantua (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Michelene Wandor, “Salamone Rossi, Judaism and the Musical Cannon,” European Judaism 35 (2002): 26-35; Peter Gradenwitz, The Music of Israel: From the Biblical Era to Modern Times 2nd ed. (Portland: Amadeus Press, 1996), 145-58.
The innovations of Rossi and Modena ended abruptly in the destruction of the Mantua Ghetto in 1630 and the dispersion of the Jewish community. The music was lost until the late 1800s when Chazzan Weintraub discovered it and began to distribute it once again.
[6] See Golb who questions this attribution and argues the reverse and also describes the earlier scholarship on Obadiah. Golb, “The Music of Obadiah the Proselyte and his Conversion,” Journal of Jewish Studies 18: 43-46.
[7] Such ceremonies were not confined to Austria. In Italy since the middle of the seventeenth century, special ceremonies for the dedication of synagogues had become commonplace. See Gradenwitz, Music of Israel, 159-60.
[8] Jack Gotlieb, Funny, It Doesn’t Sound Jewish, (New York: State University Press of New York, 2004), 17-18; see also Theodore Albrecht, “Beethoven’s Quotation of Kol Nerei in His String Quartet, op. 131: A Circumstantial Case for Sherlock Holmes,” in I Will Sing and Make Music: Jewish Music and Musicians Through the Ages, ed. Leonard Greenspoon (Nebraska: Creighton University Press, 2008), 149-165. For more on the history of the synagogue see Max Grunwald, Vienna (Philadephia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1936), 205-21.
[9] R. Yisrael M’Sklov, Pat ha-Shulhan (Sefat, 1836).
[10] See Mordechai Avraham Katz, “Be-Inyan Shirat Negunim ha-Moshrim etsel ha-Goyim,” Minhat ha-Kayits, 73-74. However, some have refused to believe that any “tzadik” ever used such tunes. Idem. 73. See also our earlier article discussing the use of non-Jewish tunes “Hatikvah, Shir HaMa’a lot, & Censorship.”


Assorted Comments

Assorted Comments
Marc B. Shapiro
1. In this post I mentioned the strange comment of R. Shabbetai Bass in his Siftei Hakhamim, Exodus 33:13, Moses thought that God was joking with him.[1] A few readers emailed me that in the new Mikraot Gedolot Ha-Maor this passage has been deleted, i.e., censored. Here is how the passage looks in the first edition of Siftei Hakhamim, published in R. Bass’ lifetime..
Here is the passage as it appears in the censored Mikraot Gedolot Ha-Maor.

Fortunately, the new English translation of Siftei Hakhamim published by Metsudah includes the passage in its entirety.

2. In a recent post I referred to the Yemenite Rabbi Shlomo Korah and his experience in Lakewood. R. Korah has also published a commentary on Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah entitled Sefat Melekh. Although R. Korah presumably knows Arabic, for some reason he didn’t know what to make of the word שָם found throughout the Mishneh Torah, including right at the beginning:

יסוד היסודות ועמוד החכמות לידע שים שם מצוי ראשון
Numerous commentaries struggle with the word, and R. Korah offers his own interpretation, stating that it should be vocalized with a tzereh under the shin, not a kamatz.[2] Yet R. Samuel Ibn Tibbon, in the introduction to his translation of the Guide, already explained what the word means.
שבערבי כשירצו החכמים לומר שיש בעולם דבר או בנמצא דבר אחד, יאמרו שיש שם דבר אחד, רומזים במלת “שם” אל המציאות.

See also R. Joseph Kafih’s commentary to Hilkhot Yesodei ha-Torah 1:1. Confusion about the word שם goes back to medieval times, and in a recently published text of the Provencal sage R. Meir ha-Meili we see that he too did not know its meaning.[3]
R. Shlomo Korah should not be confused with R. Ezra Korah who is the translator of a new edition of Maimonides’ Commentary on the Mishnah that was published in 2009. The new translation is not very different than R. Kafih’s translation and is obviously based on the latter. It is also not an improvement on what R. Kafih provided us with. What makes this edition valuable is that each page is full of helpful notes compiled by a team of scholars. In fact, I don’t think anyone can seriously study Maimonides’ Commentary on the Mishnah without making use of this new edition.
Yet there is something deeply problematic about this edition. As is well known, R. Kafih’s translation of Maimonides’ Commentary sparked a new interest in study of this work, and for decades was the text that everyone used.[4] R. Korah’s new edition, which as already indicated is based on that of R. Kafih, only mentions R. Kafih once in the lengthy introduction.[5] Throughout the notes to the Commentary, R. Kafih is not mentioned, but is referred to as יש מי שכתב or יש מי שתרגם.

When will these people ever grow up and realize that just because you don’t agree with someone’s outlook doesn’t mean you can’t be a mensch and give him the scholarly credit he deserves? To give an idea of who R. Kafih was, R. Mordechai Eliyahu went so far as to state that was greater than R. Abraham Maimonides![6]

אנו, שאנו מכירים את הרב יוסף קאפח, הוא יותר טוב מבנו של הרמב”ם, איזה בקיאות יש לו בדברי הרמב”ם, הבן שלו לא ידע והוא ידע.

Here is the English dedication page of the new translation and the Hebrew title page.

Look at what it says in the dedication page. Is it possible that they told the donor that the translation that he was funding would be the first time that the Commentary on the Mishnah would be translated into Hebrew?

3. I have many unpublished rabbinic letters that readers will find interesting. Some of them need to be published in a journal, complete with an introduction and footnotes, as I have done in Milin Havivin, Or Yisrael, and elsewhere. (Discerning readers will note the incongruity of the two journals just mentioned.) For others, I don’t need to do anything but post them, as they are easy to read and self-explanatory.

Here is one such example. It is a 1950 letter from Chief Rabbi Isaac Herzog to R. Isser Yehudah Unterman, chief rabbi of Tel Aviv. I found it in the R. Herzog archive in Jerusalem and I thank the archive for allowing me to reproduce the letter. It is significant in that we see how impressed R. Herzog was with R. Elyashiv, and he hopes that R. Elyashiv will agree to move to Tel Aviv to serve as a dayan.[7]

Recently there was talk that if the Israeli draft bill was passed that the Belzer Rebbe would leave the State of Israel. Here is a February 14, 1948 letter from R. Herzog to a previous Belzer Rebbe. As you can see, R. Herzog was very upset when he heard that the Rebbe was thinking of leaving Eretz Yisrael due to the deteriorating security situation. He thought that this would create a hillul ha-shem and break the spirits of some of the Rebbe’s followers.

According to the Steipler, R. Isaac Zev Soloveitchik (the Brisker Rav) also wanted to leave Israel during the 1948 war, and even traveled to Haifa to receive his exit permit. In the end, he was prevented from leaving for reasons beyond his control, and didn’t continue his efforts in this regard. The Steipler explained that his desire to leave Israel was not because he was afraid but because he thought that the halakhah requires one to leave a place of danger to life.[8] I have difficulty understanding this view, as it would mean that all the Jews in Israel would have been required to leave. Presumably, R. Velvel’s point was that one who has no civilian or military role has to leave, since there is no justification for such a person to put his life in danger as he is not in any way contributing to the military cause.

4. In his latest article criticizing the haredi mentality, R. Berel Wein writes:

The great struggle of most of Orthodoxy in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries against Zionism influenced all Orthodox thought and behavior. As late as 1937, with German Jewry already prostrate before Hitler’s madness and Germany already threatening Poland, the mainstream Orthodox rabbinate in Poland publicly objected to the formation of a Jewish state in the Land of Israel on the grounds that the heads of that state would undoubtedly be secular if not even anti-religious.

A number of people wanted details about this rejection of a Jewish state by the Polish rabbinate in 1937. Let me begin by saying that there is no truth to what Wein reports. The mainstream Polish rabbinate, represented by the Agudat ha-Rabbanim of Poland, never publicly objected to the creation of a Jewish state. The Agudat ha-Rabbanim included many rabbis who were Zionist and thus would never act in the way Wein describes. In fact, R. Yehezkel Lifshitz, author of the respected work Ha-Midrash ve-ha-Ma’aseh, was the head of the Agudat Rabbanim until his death in 1932. He was also a great lover of Zion who supported the creation of a Jewish state.[9]

In 1937, not only did Agudat ha-Rabbanim of Poland not reject the idea of a Jewish state, but it issued a public letter affirming the Jewish right to the Land of Israel. This letter also stated that under no circumstances could Agudat ha-Rabbanim agree with the removal of any part of the Land of Israel from future Jewish sovereignty.[10] Here is part of this letter, containing the Agudat ha-Rabbanim’s strong endorsement of a Jewish state.

ישמעו העמים הנאורים שהצהירו בסן-רימו על זכותנו הישנה והמוחלטת על נחלתנו הקדושה בגבולותיה שהציב בורא עולם ית’ את העוולה הנוראה שרוצים לעשות לנו. מחאתנו הכבירה צריכה להגיע לועדת המנדטים, למלך אנגליא, לנשיא ארצות הברית של אמריקה ולבישוף מקנטרבורי

Even Agudat Yisrael at its 1937 international convention in Marienbad (the third Kenesiyah Gedolah) did not reject a Jewish state, even though it was urged to do so by R. Elchanan Wasserman and R. Aaron Kotler. Neither R. Wasserman nor R. Kotler reflected the outlook of the mainstream Lithuanian or Polish rabbinate in this matter. In fact, according to the report of R. Samuel Aaron Pardes who attended the convention, R. Kotler agreed with R. Wasserman that acceptance of a Jewish state before the coming of the Messiah, even a State that would be completely Torah observant, is a denial of the messianic belief.[11] In other words, they both shared what would later be identified as the Satmar philosophy.

5. The internet is an amazing thing. Yechezkel Moskowitz, who listened to my Torah in Motion classes on R. Hayyim Hirschensohn, asked me where he was buried. I didn’t know but after only a couple of minutes online I found the answer: Riverside Cemetery in Saddlebook, N.J. The cemetery was very helpful and sent both me and Yechezkel a picture of the grave. Seeing that it needed to be cleaned up, Yechezkel took the opportunity to do this mitzvah, and here is how the grave currently looks.

Yechezkel also sent the picture to Kevarim.com and it can be found here here.

Here is a picture of R. Hirschensohn.

There is so much to be said about R. Hirschensohn and his enormous literary output and fascinating ideas in all areas of Torah. (I also have a number of unpublished responsa of his.) I have never seen anyone refer to the many short musings of R. Hirschensohn that appear in the Budapest journal Apiryon. I could have a lengthy post discussing any number of his short comments, that remind me both of R. Kook’s Shemonah Kevatzim and also of Nietzsche. Here is musing no. 46, which appears in Apiryon 3 (1926) p. 183:

יש עיקרי אמונה לישראל אשר אינם בספר רק בדם ובמורשה, ואם הספר מתנגד להם ישבקו לקראי דאינהו דחוקים ואוקמי אנפשייהו

The final words of the sentence are derived from Pesahim 59b, and the translation is (based on Artscroll) “Leave the verses alone, for they force themselves to be interpreted this way.”

What R. Hirschensohn is saying in the first part of the sentence is that there are Jewish principles of faith that are not to be found in a book, but are intuitive, i.e., part of our heritage and our blood. We can each come up with our own examples. One which comes to my mind is that it is a principle of faith not to try to settle Jewish problems by involving the non-Jewish authorities. Over thousands of years we have learnt that such an approach leads to all sorts of negative consequences, both foreseeable and unintended.

The second half of the sentence tells us that when a “book truth” contradicts the principle of faith we know intuitively, then the “book truth” is to be understood (reinterpreted if necessary) to conform to our intuitive faith. One can find similarities to this idea in the writings of R. Kook (see here and here where I discussed the observant Jewish masses’ innate natural morality and how according to R. Kook it is superior to the book-learning-based morality of the scholars).

The significance of R. Hirschensohn’s words is in 1) the denial that basic principles of faith are all found in books, and 2) the assertion that intuitive truths can effectively trump what appears in the canonical books. It is obvious that what when R. Hirschensohn writes of דם ומורשה he is speaking about the experience of the Jewish people as a whole, not about the Torah scholars. The Torah scholars are to be viewed as part of this experience of דם ומורשה , not something apart.[12]

In previous posts I have commented that one of the novelties of haredi ideology is the notion that the “Gedolim” are the carriers of all truth. See here where I quote R. Itzele of Ponovezh’s assertion that it is the people, עמך, not the Gedolim, who represent what today is referred to as Daas Torah.[13] This idea can be found in the Talmud and later rabbinic literature as well. When the Talmud and post-Talmudic authorities state
אם אינם נביאים בני נביאים הם  or
פוק חזי מאי עמא דבר  or
 קול המון כקול ש-די  or
מנהג ישראל תורה  they are not referring to the Gedolim but to the masses of pious Jews, the ones who make up the kehillah kedoshah.

Earlier in this post I referred to R. Kook and Nietzsche. Some readers might be thinking that I should write “R. Kook and Nietzsche lehavdil.” Yet R. Hirschensohn rejects the notion that this word should be used to distinguish Jews from non-Jews. See his commentary to Horayot (Jerusalem, 1926), part 3, p.6a.

וזה אין לנו לומר כי הלא אב אחד לכלנו א-ל אחד בראנו

For those who do want to use the word, R. Hirschensohn says that it is wrong to say הגוי להבדיל since it is precisely the Jews whom God chose to separate as his special people. Therefore, one should say (if he want to use the word),  “Nietzsche and R. Kook lehavdil.” Yet as mentioned already, R. Hirschensohn rejects the usage of this word when it comes to Jews and non-Jews. In addition to what I already quoted, he writes:

כונת האומר “להבדיל” הוא כמו להבדיל בין הקדש ובין החול, ואין הבדלה כזאת בין ישראל לעמים, כי כל בני תמותה נבראו בצלם אלקים וחייבים בשבע מצות רק אותנו הבדיל אלקים לו לחייבנו בתרי”ג מצות

R. Hirschensohn is assumed by everyone to be very liberal, in both his outlook as well as in his halakhic decisions. Yet this is not the entire truth, as we can see from his comment in Apiryon 3 (1926), p. 101, where he describes the “New Orthodoxy”, also known as “Conservative”, as akin to Christianity!

היהדות היא פעולת המוח על הלב הנצרות היא פעולת הלב על המוח, אך רבים מחליפים המושגים, לזאת נמצאים יהודים כשרים רבים אשר הם באמת לדאבון לבבינו נוצרים במסוה יהודית אשר קוראים בשם אורטודוקסיה חדשה או קאנסירוואטיף.

He states that in traditional Judaism  the mind is the center, and the heart is influenced by it, while in Christianity it is the reverse, with the heart influencing the mind. The problem with the “New Orthodox” is that they too put the stress on the heart over the mind. As we all know, when the heart is the determining factor, then Jewish law must be constantly updated in accord with people’s changing feelings.

His very next musing (ibid.) is undoubtedly directed against Hasidism, which he sees as mixing up the heart and mind.

עוד כת אחת יש בישראל אשר אם שהם שומרי תורה, אבל יש בהם עירבוב המושגים והתנגשות הלב והמוח

And finally, what is one to make of the following statement (ibid.) that removes Christian belief (as opposed to worship) from the status of avodah zarah?

אין בהנצרות ע”ז רק אולת ושגעון, אבל ההשתחויה מול התמונות הקדושות להם היא עבודה זרה גמורה ע”כ אמרו יום נצרי לעולם אסור.

Does this mean that a belief alone can never rise to the level of avodah zarah?

There is a lot more I want to say about R. Hirschensohn. In the Limits of Orthodox Theology I mentioned his view that even in Messianic days animal sacrifices would not be reinstated. He also has some significant comments about sacrifices in the introduction to his Nimukei Rashi, vol. 3. (This four volume commentary on Rashi is an outstanding work of scholarship.) 

In discussing the origins of sacrifices, R. Hirschensohn sees no reason to assume that Cain and Abel actually brought sacrifices in the sense we think of. While for us, a sacrifice means placing something on an altar and burning it, R. Hirschensohn states that there is no evidence that this is what Cain and Abel did. It is possible that all Cain did was bring his vegetable offering to the top of a mountain where he would commune with God, and left it there. With Cain’s “meager religious philosophical knowledge” he perhaps thought that after he left it there, God would take it. This is how R. Hirschensohn explains that Cain concluded that his sacrifice was not accepted. He reascended the mountain after a few days and lo and behold, the sacrifice had not been taken by God. For Cain, this meant that God didn’t accept it. And what about Abel’s sacrifice? Here, too, R. Hirschensohn says that there is no reason to think that it was burnt on an altar. Rather, it was a gift to God, and what Abel did was send his offering away, so that it would wander freely. This was the gift to God, not that he killed an animal. If you look at Genesis ch. 4, all it mentions is that Cain and Abel brought their offerings to God, not that they were ever burnt as a sacrifice.

How then did the idea of offering animal sacrifices come to be? The first example we have in the Bible is that of Noah when he leaves the ark. At this time he was not yet permitted to eat meat and yet he concluded that it would be proper to kill animals and birds for God. Where did he get this notion? The question is especially sharp as one would have assumed that Noah would be more interested in ensuring that the species multiply, rather than killing members of them. After Noah offers his sacrifices, we are told (Gen. 8:21), “And the Lord smelled the sweet savour; and the Lord said in His heart: ‘I will not again curse the ground any more for man’s sake; for the imagination of man’s heart is evil from his youth; neither will I again smite any more every thing living, as I have done.” This would seem to imply God’s approval of Noah’s sacrifices. R. Hirschensohn’s suggested understanding of this episode is, I think, shocking in its boldness:

ואם שלא רחוק לפרש פסוק זה כמו שהקב”ה צחק בלבו ורחם על קטון דעת האדם החושב להודות לו על ידי עולה וזבח עולת הבהמה ועולת העוף לשורפם ולכלותם בעת אשר הם כל כך מעט בעולם וחושב זה לטובתו, שזה בכלל יצר לב האדם רע מנעוריו שגם מנחה לאל עושה בדרך אכזריות, אמנם צריכים לעמוד על מחשבת האדם ודעתו בהתפלספותו בפליסופיא [!] אלקות איך יוכל לחשוב שבזה יתרצה אל אדוניו?
R. Hirschensohn’s suggested explanation assumes that part of man’s heart being “evil” from his youth was the thought that he should serve God is such a cruel fashion as killing an animal, and God accepting this sacrifice was an example of God being kind to the simpleton Noah who didn’t know any better.

R. Hirschensohn continues by saying that he in no way rejects the sacrificial system. His explanation is only applicable to an era when eating meat was not allowed. However, once the Torah makes clear that killing an animal to eat it is not cruel, we cannot say otherwise. Furthermore, he says, it makes no sense for people who eat meat to object to sacrifices on philosophical grounds.

R. Hirschensohn still has to explain the origin of sacrifices, and his position is quite original. He states that in ancient days people showed their loyalty to one another by a ceremony in which blood was drawn from each of them and mixed together. Later it developed that instead of using human blood to seal covenants, animal blood was used. The next natural development was the notion that sacrifices to the deity should also involve blood, and this is why the nations began to offer sacrifices to their gods, including sacrifices for all the good the god did.

R. Hirschensohn adds that sacrifices represent instinctual religious feelings, and no one who believes in God can degrade such a sign of faith.[14]

Let me now return to what I wrote here concerning R. Hirschensohn’s discussion of the comment of Rashi to Genesis 26:8. The verse states that Abimelech looked out his window and saw that Isaac “was amusing himself with Rebekah.” Upon this verse, Rashi, based on a Midrash, states that Abimelech saw them having marital relations. In the earlier post I expressed surprise that some commentators thought it was appropriate for them to discuss the Patriarch’s sexual life. One reader called my attention to R. Levi ben Hayyim, Livyat Hen: Eikhut ha-Nevuah ve-Sodot ha-Torah, ed. Kreisel (Beer Sheva, 2007), p. 672, which is another example of what occasioned my surprise.

R. Levi contrasts Isaac negatively to both Abraham and Jacob. He regards the latter two as on a higher spiritual level, and thus closer to God, than Isaac, and brings a number of biblical proofs to support this contention. In a really outrageous comment, much more objectionable than R. Levi’s allegorical passages that R. Solomon ben Adret was so upset with (and which don’t appear at all problematic when seen in context), R. Levi suggests that Isaac’s blindness was brought on by the fact that he was so attracted to Rebekah’s beauty[15] that it led to him having too much sex! (Although R. Levi reflects an old superstition, there is actually a medically documented phenomenon of temporary blindness following sex.)
גם תראה היותו נמשך לתענוגים, עד שאהב עשו בעבורם ואמר (בר’ כז, ג): “ועשה לי מטעמים כאשר אהבתי”. ואפשר שזה סבב לו להרבות המשגל עד שכהו עיניו מראות, כי נמשך אחרי יפי רבקה, שהעיד עליה הכתוב שהיתה יפת תואר מאד, הלא אבימלך ראהו מן החלון מצחק עם רבקה אשתו

Finally, let me make one more point about sexual matters in the Torah. Genesis 35:22 states that “Reuben lay with Bilhah.” The Artscroll multi-volume commentary on Bereshit (i.e., not the Stone Chumash), p. 1522, states that in Shabbat 55b “the Sages emphatically declare that Reuben did not commit the sin of adultery. They proclaim that מי שאמר ראובן חטא אינו אלא טועה.”

I believe this to be a conscious distortion of what appears in the Talmud, in the name of “frumkeit”, of course. If you open up the Talmud to Shabbat 55b you find that, first of all, it is not the “Sages” who proclaim מי שאמר ראובן וכו’ but one of the Sages, R. Samuel Bar Nahmani in the name of R. Jonathan. This is a very minor point, since following this statement in the Talmud we find other Sages who agree with this statement, i.e., they also assume that Reuben never actually had sexual relations with Bilhah (and they are quoted in the Artscroll commentary to Bereshit). However, from the Talmud we also learn that there were Sages who disagreed with R. Jonathan and took the biblical text literally. It is none other than the Artscroll Talmud that, quoting Maharsha, explains that according to R. Eliezer, Reuben did have sexual relations with Bilhah.

The Artscroll commentary on Bereshit is a very long work (2232 pages), providing numerous perspectives on every verse. Yet in this case they chose not to include the view of R. Eliezer and R. Joshua that Genesis 35:22 is to be taken literally, and Reuben indeed had sexual relations with Bilhah. A conscious choice had to be made to exclude this view, and I think we all understand why. But doesn’t Artscroll’s choice in this regard show a real lack of respect for R. Eliezer and R. Joshua? Maybe others see things differently, but it appears to me that Artscroll stood in judgment, as it were, over R. Eliezer and R. Joshua, and decided that their view was not worthy of being included since Artscroll did not like what they said. This is hardly the sort of kevod ha-Torah that Artscroll is supposed to represent.

[1] In a comment to my post, Cyril Fotheringay-Phipps noted that Siftei Hakhamim’s interpretation is actually based on a misreading of what appears in R. Elijah Mizrachi’s commentary on Rashi.
[2] See similarly R. Menahem Krakowski, Avodat ha-Melekh, ad loc. R. Hayyim Kanievsky, Kiryat Melekh, ad loc., also apparently has this view, as both he and R. Krakowski refer to Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer, ch. 3:
עד שלא נברא העולם היה הקב”ה ושמו הגדול לבד
See Va-Ya’an Shmuel 1, pp. 63-64, where R. Meir Mazuz writes to R. Korah to correct his error.
[3] See Yehudah Hershkovitz, “Ma’amar Meshiv Nefesh le-R. Meir ben R. Shimon ha-Meili,” Yeshurun 27 (2012), p. 78.
[4] I should say “almost everyone”. See Mesorat Moshe, p. 612, that R. Moshe Feinstein only used the old translation because he (mistakenly) assumed that the translators were “geonim” and thus superior to any modern translator. In Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh Deah, vol. 1, no. 63, R. Moshe assumes that the word “wine” in Maimonides’ Commentary on the Mishnah is a later insertion. Yet examination of R. Kafih’s edition shows that Maimonides indeed wrote this word. According to R. Yisrael Genos, R. Velvel Soloveitchik used to consult with R. Kafih as to the correct translation of Maimonides’ Commentary. See his haskamah to R. Kafih’s She’elot u-Teshuvot ha-Rivad (Jerusalem, 2009). See also R. Joseph Karo, Beit Yosef, Orah Hayyim 26, who assumes that a passage in the Commentary on the Mishnah was put in by an “erring student”. Yet this is incorrect. See R. Kafih’s note to Commentary on the Mishnah, Menahot 4:1.
[5] See p. 32 n. 162.
[6] “Ma’alat Beuro shel Mahar”i Kafih al ha-Rambam,” Masorah le-Yosef 8 (2014), p. 16.
[7] See the similar letter R. Herzog sent to R. Judah Leib Maimon in Ha-Shakdan, vol. 3, pp. 20-22.  
[8] A. Horowitz, Orhot Rabbenu, vol. 5, p. 74.
[9] See Moshe Tzinovitz, Ishim u-Kehilot (Tel Aviv, 1990), p. 209. See also Geula Bat Yehudah, Ish ha-Hegyonot (Jerusalem, 2001), p. 19.
[10] Ha-Hed, Elul 5697 (1937), p. 13.
[11] See Ha-Pardes, October 1937, p. 8. The October and November 1937 issues of Ha-Pardes contain a detailed report from the convention. See also Zvi Weinman, Mi-Katowitz ad Heh be-Iyar (Jerusalem, 1995), ch. 21
[12] R. Kook offers a different perspective (which does not seem to be in line with the passages I earlier referred to that focus on the masses’ natural morality). See Ma’amrei  ha-Re’iyah, p. 91:
שמא תאמר ליישב ע”פ הנוסח הרגיל מיסודו של מר אחד-העם: הספר הוא ספר, והלב עושה את החיים, וכיון שהלב נלחם בספר – הראשון הוא המנצח. במטותא מנך חביבי, אל נא תרפא שבר גדול על נקלה. הספר וכל אגפיו – גילוייו של הלב הם, ואיזה לב – לב האומה, הלב של נשמתה, הלב של תמצית כל הוייתה, של מעמק חייה, זה הלב דוקא בספר הוא מונח וגנוז, ותוך כל גרגיר המתגלה מאוצר הספר המון רב של לב ושל חיים מונחים.

[13] Those who are interested in R. Itzele should read R. M. S. Shapiro’s article on him in Ha-Mesilah 2 (Shevat, 5697), pp. 2ff. Among other things, Shapiro discusses how R. Itzele went from a supporter of Zionism to a strong opponent. One of the reasons he offers was the influence of Jacob Lifshitz, the askan par excellence. As Shapiro notes, the great rabbis were afraid of Lifshitz, for anyone who didn’t follow his orders was in danger of having Lifshitz destroy his reputation. The other reason Shapiro gives for R. Itzele’s rejection of Zionism was the fact that R. Chaim Soloveitchik was such a strong opponent of it
[14] For another comment of R. Hirschensohn on sacrifices, see Malki ba-Kodesh, vol. 1, p. 37:
זה פשוט שבימי דעה אלו [ימות המשיח] לא יהיה בהם המושג לרצות פני א-ל ברבבות נחלי שמן
See also Nimukei Rashi, vol. 3, parashat Va-Yikra, nos. 10-12. I think many will be surprised to see Rashi’s somewhat negative view of sacrifices. See his commentary to Psalms 40:7 (called to my attention by R. Moshe Shamah) and Amos 5:25. R. Isaac Sassoon refers to this latter passage in his Destination Torah (Hoboken, 2001), p. 202. Sassoon regards it as unlikely that the sacrificial system will ever again be reinstituted.
For Ibn Caspi’s negative view of sacrifices, see his Mishneh Kesef, vol. 2, p. 229, translated here.
[15] Speaking of physical beauty, in R. Yaakov Fink’s recently published Tiferet Yaakov, Introduction, p. 20, we are told that when his future wife was described to him by the shadchan as not being too good-looking, he replied: נו – אתרוג צריך להיות יפה. As a result of this, R. Fink’s wife made sure every year to find a beautiful etrog for him! (R. Fink was a student of R. Jehiel Jacob Weinberg.) 

See also Hokhmat Manoah to Ketubot 16b (found in the back of the Vilna Shas) who discusses Ketubot 17a, which states that according to Beit Hillel (and this is the halakhah) even regarding a bride who is not attractive one says that she is “beautiful and graceful,” נאה וחסודה. Hokhmat Manoah suggests that the two words, נאה and חסודה, mean two separate things. He explains that one says to the groom כלה נאה. However, to everyone else one says חסודה, which means חרפה, just like we find with the word חיסודא in Aramaic (see Onkelos, Genesis 30:23, 34:14, and Jastrow. This is also one of the meanings ofחסד  in Hebrew). In other words, while one tells the groom that his bride is beautiful, to everyone else at the wedding one says that she is repulsive! This is done, Hokhmat Manoah tells us, so that the men at the wedding don’t desire her:

שלא יתאוו ולא יחמדו לה שלא יעברו על לא תחמוד אשת רעך
Even in our age of increasing humrot, I can’t imagine Hokhmat Manoah’s suggestion being adopted anytime soon.
Regarding the matter of desiring other men’s wives, the following is also relevant. When someone gets married, Ketubot 7b tells us that the following words appear in one of the blessings recited:
                       
והתיר לנו את הנשואות על ידי חופה וקידושין  [נ”א בקידושין]
These are the words recorded by Maimonides, Hilkhot Ishut 3:24, and are found in almost all early sources from the Sephardic world, as well as in many from the Ashkenazic world. However, at Ashkenazic weddings (and I believe at all Sephardic weddings as well, see R. Ovadiah Yosef, Yabia Omer, vol. 5, Even ha-Ezer no. 6) the following is recited:
והתיר לנו את הנשואות לנו על ידי חופה וקדושין
Why do we repeat the word לנו as it is not part of the original blessing? R. Nissim, in his commentary on the Rif to Ketubot (p. 2b in the Alfasi pages), writes:

ורבינו תם ז”ל הגיה והתיר לנו את הנשואות לנו
What this means is that R. Tam altered the text of a blessing that had been in use for probably a thousand years. This is obviously a very radical step, so what led him to do it? As R. Meir Mazuz, Or Torah, Av 5772, p. 1012, points out, the original formulation is somewhat ambiguous. It states והתיר לנו את הנשואות, which could be understood to mean that through this blessing one can now have sexual relations with all married women. (This reason for R. Tam’s emendation is also noted by the Taz, Even ha-Ezer 34:3, R. Samuel ha-Levi, Nahalat Shiv’ah [Bnei Brak, 2006], 12:6, and many others.) Ritva, Ketubot 7b, wonders why the blessing is so ambiguous:
ותימה גדולה למה תקנו לשון סתום בזה הברכה הנאמרת ברבים
Not noted by R. Mazuz is that Rashi is cognizant of the problem and on the words והתיר לנו explains:
את נשותינו הנשואות לנו על ידי חופה וקידושין
What R. Tam did was take the explanation of Rashi and insert it into the blessing by his addition of the word לנו. It is, of course, difficult to imagine that anyone would have really assumed that the blessing allowed him to sleep with other married women. Yet according to R. Tam, the fact that the words could be understood in an improper way was reason enough to alter them. R. Abraham ben Nathan notes that R. Tam’s emendation was directed towards the stupid people. See his commentary to Kallah Rabbati (Tiberias, 1906), p. 7:
ומנהג צרפת בברכה לומר והתיר לנו את הנשואות לנו, לרווחא דמילתא שלא להטעות הפתיים
Although by now R. Tam’s emendation is the standard version recited by Ashkenazim and Sephardim, neither R. Joseph Karo nor R. Moses Isserles, Shulhan Arukh, Even ha-Ezer 34:1, refer to it.



R. Nathan Nata ben Reuben David Tebele Spira and his Works: Among them Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, on the Prohibition against Drinking Stam Yeinam (gentile wine), and Contemporary Books on that Subject

R. Nathan Nata ben Reuben David Tebele Spira and his Works:
Among them Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, on the Prohibition against Drinking Stam Yeinam (gentile wine), and Contemporary Books on that Subject[1]

By Marvin J. Heller

Wine gladdens the hearts of men,
to make the face shine from oil,
and bread that sustains man’s life (Psalms 104:15).

The life and works of the seventeenth century rabbinic figure, R. Nathan Nata ben Reuben David Tebele Spira (Shapira), his books, among them Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, on the prohibition of stam (setam) yeinam (gentile wine), and other contemporary works by rabbis on that controversy are the subject of this multi-part article. Concerning the dispute over stam yeinam it should be noted, emphasized, that this article is not a halakhic study nor does it, in any way, intend to provide decisions in Jewish law. It is an overview, from the perspective of Hebrew bibliography, Jewish literature, and history, of an issue that does involve those subjects, but, again, from a literary and historical perspective, and that only.

I

R. Nathan Nata ben Reuben David Tebele Spira (d. 1666) was born in Cracow, where his father served as a dayyan. His grandfather, R. Nathan Nata ben Solomon Spira (Shapira, c. 1585-1633) after whom he is named, was the renowned kabbalist and author of Megalleh Amukkot (Cracow, 1637), two hundred fifty-two explanations of Moses’ prayer, at the beginning of parashat Va-Ethannan, to cross the Jordan and see Eretz Israel (Deuteronomy 3:23 ff.). Our Nathan Nata Spira served as rabbi in several cities in Poland, subsequently going up to Eretz Israel when already elderly. He became, in Jerusalem, the rabbi of the Ashkenaz community.

The Chmielnicki massacres of 1648-49 (tah-ve-tat) in Europe and the ensuing devastation resulted in a severe reduction in the financial aid provided by the Jews of Eastern Europe to the Jewish community of Jerusalem.[2] This necessitated Spira traveling to Europe as a communal representative to seek increased support for the needy Jews of Jerusalem.[3] His journey, begun in 1655, took him to Italy, Holland, and Germany. Among the communities Spira visited was Amsterdam, where his influence caused Menasseh Ben Israel to bring the plight of Polish Jewry to the attention of Oliver Cromwell. Although Spira returned to Jerusalem, the needs of his community necessitated his returning to Europe, where he passed away in Reggio, Italy in 1666. Parenthetically, two of his son-in-laws subsequently served in that city’s rabbinate.[4]

It was in Italy that Spira published his books, all at the Vendramin press.[5] That press, established by Giovanni Vendramin in 1630, broke the monopoly enjoyed until then by Alvise Bragadin. For the first ten years the press operated under the name of its founder, but after his death it became known by the names Commissaria Vendramina and Stamparia Vendramina. The press eventually joined with that of Bragadin, and the combined presses continued to operate well into the eighteenth century.[6] Spira had formed a close relationship with R. Moses Zacuto (c. 1620–1697), among the foremost contemporary exponents of Lurianic kabbalah in Italy, who encouraged and was instrumental in assisting Spira in both his agency and in printing his books. Spira also edited the writings of such kabbalists as R. Chaim Vital (1542-1620), the foremost disciple of R. Isaac Luria (ha-Ari ha-Kadosh, 1534-72), R. Moses Cordevero (Ramak, 1522-70), and R. Abraham Azulai, 1570-1643).

II

The first of Spira’s titles is Tuv ha-Aretz (Venice, 1655), a relatively small kabbalistic work (80: [4] 76 ff.), on the holiness of the land of Israel. The title page of Tuv ha-Aretz has an architectural frame and is dated “the holy הקדושה (415 = 1655) land” It describes the contents which include praise of Eretz Israel, segulot (formulaic remedies), Tikkun Hazot (midnight prayers recited in memory of the destruction of the Temple), tikkun for the night of Shavu’ot, and tikkun for Hoshana Rabbah. These tikkunim are according to the rite of the kabbalists in Eretz Israel. There is also a kinah (dirge) on the exile of the Shekhinah (Devine presence).

Zacuto, who encouraged Spira to print this work, wrote a versified preface, the initial letters of lines forming an acrostic of his name. This is followed by introductions from the author and from Zacuto, who was the editor, and who also added prefatory remarks to some of the tikkunim. Spira, in his introduction, writes that Tuv ha-Aretz is based on the writings of R. Isaac Luria (ha-Ari), R. Hayyim Vital (including the tikkun from his Etz Hayyim, with glosses from the author), R. Moses Cordovero (Remak), and R. Abraham Azulai, concerning the holiness of the land, the need to sustain its inhabitants, and rebuking those whose criticism results in reduced support. He concludes that those who hearken, “shall eat the good of the land (tuv ha-Aretz)” (Isaiah 1:19).


1655, Tuv ha-Aretz
Courtesy of the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak

Tuv ha-Aretz is recorded in Shabbetai Bass’ (1641-1718) Siftei Yeshenim (Amsterdam, 1680), the first bibliography of Hebrew books by a Jewish author. His description of Tuv ha-Aretz states that it is “in praise of Eretz Israel and explains its ten levels of holiness. It also includes tikkun hatzot and tikkun for the night of Shavu’ot according to Kabbalah.”[7]

Tuv ha-Aretz has been republished several times. The first reported reprint is Constantinople (1706).[8]

In 1660, two additional works by Spira, Mazzat Shemurim and Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar. were published. Mazzat Shemurim was published by Antonio Rezzin, Vendramin in quarto format (40: 8, [4], 9-12, 21-84 ff.). Its name notwithstanding, Mazzat Shemurim מצת שמורים, despite the allusion to Pesah (Passover) and mazzah in its’ title, the word mazzat מצת does not, as its name implies, have anything to do with the festival, but rather is a kabbalistic work on the laws of mezuzah מ, zizit צ, and tefillin ת, the initial letters spelling Mazzat מצת.


1660, Mazzat Shemurim
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

The text of the title page, which has an outer frame of florets and an inner border; comprised of verses on all four sides, primarily related to the subject matter, the bottom verse including the publication date, “You shall be blessed above all other peoples ברוך תהיה מכל העמים” ([5]420 = 1660)” (Deuteronomy 7:14). The text of the title-page states that it is:

Mazzah, “a commandment of men learned by rote” (Isaiah 29:13), kept with all honor, according to the arcanum of mezuzah, zizit, and tefillin. Also, the morning benedictions according to the order of service, most precious to all “men of stature” (Isaiah 45:14) and to “all delightful craftsmanship” (Isaiah 2:16). . . .

Be-mizvat ha-Sar ha-Gadol Morisini

in the year, “And this is the Torah of the sacrifice of peace offerings השלמים ([5]420 = 1660)” (Leviticus 7:11) from the creation.

There is a brief introduction, and below it prefatory remarks, of which each line begins with an acrostic from Vintorin ben David. The text follows, in two columns in rabbinic type, excepting headers and initial words, which are in square letters. It begins with Sha’ar ha-Berakhot, set in a decorative frame, the initial words being minhagei ha-Ari. Hilkhot Tefillin has illustrations as to the proper order of placing tefillin according to Spira. Mazzat Shemurim is also recorded by Bass, who writes “on the deep meanings of of mezuzah, zizit, and tefillin and the order of their writing, letter by letter, and all their rules, according to Kabbalah.[9]

Mazzat Shemurim was reprinted in Amsterdam (1776) and Zolkiew (1865).[10]

III

Our next Spira title is Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, on the prohibition against drinking Stam Yeinam (gentile wine). Before discussing Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar an introduction to the issue of prohibitedwine and the dispute that occurred concerning that wine is necessary. Stam Yanim is defined by OU Kosher as:

Stam yainum refers to wine which might have been poured for an idolatrous service, but we did not see it happen. In the days of the Mishnah, there was a pagan ritual to pour off some wine from every bottle in honor of an idol. Because of the uncertainty, the rabbis decreed that wine that was produced by a nachri [non-Jew], or even kosher wine which was left unattended with a nachri, is forbidden for drinking and benefit because it may have been poured for idolatry. After the rabbinic decree was enacted we treat stam yainum as if we saw it being poured (Tur Y.D. 123).

Even if the nachri who touched the wine was a monotheist, and he would therefore certainly not serve an idol, the rabbis still forbade the wine, for another reason—because sharing wine can lead to intermarriage. However, in this case, it is only forbidden to drink the wine, but one may benefit from this wine in other ways (e.g., it may be bought and sold). (See Shulchan Aruch Y.D. 123:26 and Shach 123:51.)[11]

The Talmud and Shulhan Arukh address stam yeinam as follows:

R. Asi says in the name of R. Yoḥanan who says in the name of R. Yehuda ben Beseira: There are three kinds of prohibited wines: yein nesekh (libation wine) from which it is prohibited to derive any benefit from the wine and which imparts severe ritual impurity when it has the volume of an olive-bulk.

stam yeinam, the ordinary wine of a gentile which is prohibited for benefit which imparts the ritual impurity of liquids when it has the volume of one-quarter of a log.

With regard to the wine of one who deposits his wine with a gentile, one is prohibited from drinking it, but one is permitted to derive benefit from it.

And thirdly, if one deposits his wine with an idolater, for safekeeping it is prohibited from drinking, but permitted for benefit. (Avodah Zarah 30b-31a)

stam yeinam of gentiles, idol worshippers, is prohibited from benefit and similarly, our wine which is touched by them is prohibited. Hagah (Notations of Rema) Because of the decree of wine poured out as a libation for idols. In contemporary times we do not find that wine is poured out for a libation. There are those who say that wine touched by a gentile is not prohibited from benefit and therefore it is permissible to take gentile wine to fulfil an obligation (repayment of a debt) as it is saving (from a loss). That is also the case for other instances in which there would be a loss, for example, if one transgresses and purchases or sells. However, initially it is prohibited to acquire or to sell in order to profit (Shulhan Orah Y. D. 123:1)

Given the above, an unlikely dispute arose roiling Jewish communities in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. It involved rabbinic participants from Eretz Israel through Italy to Poland, and concerned stam yeinam, wine prohibited for consumption from Talmudic times. Among those who were lenient on the prohibition of stam yeinam was R. Samuel Judah Katzenellenbogen (1521-97). The son of R. Meïr of Padua (Maharam of Padua, 1482-1565), Samuel Katzenellenbogen served as rabbi in Venice and was highly regarded. His responsa are included in the responsa of several rabbis. According to Avraham Yaari, it was well known that Katzenellenbogen was lenient on the prohibition, as it concerned drinking with non-Jews which could lead to intermarriage. However, to acquire wine and drink it where weddings are not a concern, what does it matter?[12]

Also, as noted above, no less an authority than R. Moses Isserles (Rema, c. 1530-1572) the halakhic decisor for Ashkenazim, was apparently lenient on the prohibition of stam yeinam. He expressed a somewhat lenient view in his responsa, (no. 124) (Cracow, 1640), permitting Jews to do business with non-Jewish wine, vital to them to make a living. Rema noted that there was not a concern that it had been used for idolatrous purposes. Nevertheless, “what he has proposed is not in accord with settled halakhah and should not be relied upon.”

In that responsa, Rema permitted non-Jewish wine to be consumed by someone who was ill, not dangerously so, “and even those who while in perfect health drink such wine—as many did in the sixteenth century in France and as is now commonly done in nearly all countries—are not to be considered as neglecting any ritual requirement, and consequently are not to be suspected in regard to other commandments or are not to be considered as neglecting any ritual requirement, and consequently are not to be suspected in regard to other commandments or invalidated as witnesses.”[13]

Marc B. Shapiro informs that this was “quite shocking to later halakhists” who feared that this would weaken to consumption of such wine. Shapiro writes that as a result “it was too dangerous for publication. It was then censored out of the Amsterdam 1711 edition of Isserles’ responsa . . .” Shapiro relates that in contrast, R. Judah Loew of Prague (Maharal, 1525-1609) writes that in Moravia the masses and even rabbis did drink such wine. Maharal adopted a different and more severe approach, instituting “a special prayer (mi sheberakh) for those who abstained from such wine.” Lastly, Shapiro reports that more recently, R Sheftel Weiss of Nagysimonyi, Hungary (1866-1944) held that given a choice of eating pork or drinking non-Jewish wine, the former would be preferable.[14]

IV

We turn now to Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, Spiras’s work on the prohibition against drinking gentile wine (stam yeinam) as well as addressing the issue of shaving one’s beard. It too was published by the Vendramin press, this in quarto format (40: [8], 38 ff.). Spira’s approach is kabbalistic, as is that of many of the other contributors to Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar.


1660, Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, Venice
Courtesy of the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak

The title page has an attractive frame comprised of an outer border of florets belonging to the Vendramin press, although that printer’s name does not appear in the book. The inner frame is comprised of four lines of biblical verses between them on all four sides – all associated with wine, all from song of Songs:

“He brought me to the banquet room (lit. house of wine) and his banner of love was over me (Song of Songs 1:4)
“Oh, give me of the kisses of your mouth, for your love is more delightful than wine” (1:2)
“How much more delightful your love than wine, Your ointments more fragrant than any spice!” (Song of Songs 4:10).
“The king has brought me to his chambers . . . Savoring it more than wine” (Song of Songs 1:4).

The text of the title-pages states that it is a comprehensive work on the grave prohibition of drinking stam yeinam (gentile wine) or destroying “the corner of their beard” (Leviticus 21:5), and that it was printed be-seder ve-zot Hukat ha-Torah in the year “the holy הקדושה (420 = 1660) land.”

R. Spira’s lengthy introduction follows, in which he recounts how “Fear of God” (Genesis 20:11, Nehemiah 5:15) has caused him to leave his place and go out as an emissary, traveling through many places, where they have changed their ways and drink in a manner not in accordance with halakhah, a situation he bemoans in strong language. He includes the “reproofs of instruction” (Proverbs 6:23) of other rabbis, some deceased נוחי עדן, who over a period of time have inveighed against these serious iniquities, some previously printed, others not, and included here.

The text is set in two columns in rabbinic type, excepting headers, introductory text, and initial words. Eminent rabbis whose works on these subjects are printed here for the first time from Salonika are R. Samuel de Medina (Maharashdam, 1506–1589), R. Jacob Taitazak, R. Solomon le-Bet ha-Levi (1532-1600), R. Solomon ha-Kohen, R. David ben Nahmias, R. Moses Garshon, R. David ibn Sasson, R. Hiyya de Boton; from Constantinople are R. Meir ben Shango, R. Hananiah ben Yakar, R. Shem Tov Atiah, R. Hayyim Bassan, R. Eliezer Nahmias, R. Samuel Jaffe, and R. Isaac Ashkenazi. A comparable number of rabbis whose writings were published previously are also included in Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar.

Two brief examples of Spira’s approach, exemplified by his multi-faceted concern with wine, is the attribution (f. 5a) of the sin of Adam ha-Rishon and Eve (Genesis 3:6), where Spira writes that “the sin was that Eve squeezed grapes and gave it to him [Adam].” He continues attributing Leah taking the crown of Rachel with wine, relating that the numerical value of grapes ענבים (172) is equal to effect עקב (172), concluding that “The effect of humility is fear of the LORD” (Psalms 22:4), and that wine in grapes is the judgement resulting from this.

Further on (6b), he continues with the attribution of the prohibition on wine touched by a non-Jew to Adam and Eve, writing that Eve ate from the tree of knowledge for she added to the original command “thou shalt not touch it’ (Genesis 3:3) causing [the demonic angel) Samael to come and touch the tree and make it yayin nesekh (libation wine). Therefore, the sages enacted that the touch of a gentile makes it nesekh and prohibit benefit from it.

Contemporary Italian Jewry was considered lax in their observance of these mitzvot, stam yeinam, a rabbinic decree based on the Talmud, noted in detail above, the latter, a biblical decree, also codified in the Shulhan Arukh. Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar has been reprinted several times.[15]

In addition to the above works, Spira also wrote Torat Natan, published posthumously (Lemberg, 1884). Torat Natan is an elucidation of passages in the Zohar, and Me’orot Natan, a large work in three parts on kavvanot in prayer and the order of festivals with glosses by Zacuto, R. Samuel David Ottelenghi, and others, still in manuscript.[16]

V

The prohibition of stam yeinam has been addressed in numerous rabbinic works in addition to Spira’s Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar. It was not only Spira and those rabbis included in Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar who expressed concern and disapproval over the slackness in observance of these mitzvot. Most of the sixteenth and seventeenth century volumes concerned with the subject of gentile wine did so as part of a considerably larger subject matter, including it as one of numerous topics in responsa. Ten works from that period addressing the proscription have been identified.[17] The majority are not primarily concerned with stam yeinam.

Several examples of those works, one primarily concerned with our subject, others noting stam yeinam as just one of numerous issues, are described below in a relatively concise manner. The subject of gentile wine, as noted above, is included in works comprised of a very wide and varied subject matter, as evident from the following works. The sole book described here that directly address the issue of stam yeinam is our first work, that is, Dimyon Aryeh.

Dimyon Aryeh – R. Judah Leib ben David Pisk (Pisek) of Nikolsburg’s (d. c. 1644) Dimyon Aryeh (1616, Prague) is a collection of responsa on the issue of leniency on setam yeinam (gentile wine). A small work, it was printed at the press of Moses ben Joseph Bezalel Katz in quarto format (40: [18] ff.).

Pisk’s censure of stam yeinam, the drinking of gentile wine, is such that he compares it to a Torah prohibition on yein nesekh (libation), even criticizing early prominent sages for not being sufficiently emphatic on the prohibition.


1616, Dimyon Aryeh, Judah Leib ben David Pisk, Prague
Courtesy of the Valmadonna Trust Library

At the end of the book is an approbation from R. Moses ben David Levi and then the editor’s introduction, who writes that this book, small in size but of great value, came to hand. When he saw Pisk’s great erudition and sharpness in Talmud and poskim, he entitled it

Dimyon Aryeh, from the verse, “He is like a lion (dimyon aryeh) that is greedy [for its prey]” (Psalms 17:12), for as his name so he too is like a lion in the Torah, for his heart is as the heart of a lion. His intent is not to instruct in practical halakhah but rather his intent, which is pure, is to compare one case to another מילתא למילתא, one side to another, until at the end “selecting the food from the waste” (cf. Shabbat 74a) bringing to light the correct way, as the one who sees can see. . . .

Below the introduction is verse in praise of the author, in two columns, the initial letters in both columns forming an acrostic of Joseph Prague. The verso of that page lists the contents, consisting of eleven responsa, all erudite, none immediately evident that they are on the book’s subject matter. The responsa are from leading contemporary rabbis, among them R. Ephraim Luntshits, R. Isaiah Horowitz, and R. Yom Tov Lipmann Heller. Dimyon Aryeh concludes with three brief responsa on the subject from R. Mordecai Lipshitz, R. Phineas Horowitz, and R. Lippman Segal.

For example: 5) on the obligation to spend money in order to not transgress a negative or positive precept from the Torah and what that entails: 7) explaining for which transgressions one should die rather than violate [a commandment] and on which transgressions one should violate and not transgress. This last responsum deals with the sotah (errant wife), and, with great erudition, quoting several Talmudic tractates, it is connected to the prohibition on stam yeinam. Below the approbation of R. Moses ben David Levi ([17b]) is a crowned, two-tailed lion, passant, the symbol of Bohemia.[18]

Dimyon Aryeh has been reprinted once only (Monsey, NY, 2006).

Gevurot ha-Shem – An example of the former is the Maharal’s Gevurot ha-Shem (1581-82, Cracow); Maharal was among the preeminent rabbinic sages of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries; his position on stam yeinam was noted above. Gevurot ha-Shem is on the Exodus, the Haggadah, Divine providence, exile and redemption, and consists of seventy-two chapters, fifty-one to sixty-five a commentary on the Haggadah. The volume concludes, with kizzur hilkhot Pesah and hilkhot yein nesekh ve-issuro, that is, the prohibition on gentile wine. At the beginning of that section Maharal refers to the prohibition due to socializing, noting that by drinking four cups of wine from yayin nesekh at the Passover seder sin one is adding to sin and is performing a mitzvah through a transgression. They are “The people who provoke My anger, continually, to My very face” (Isaiah 65:3).

Sefer ha-Zikhronot – Another example is R. Samuel ben Abraham Aboab’s (1610–94) Sefer ha-Zikhronot (1631-51, Prague). Born in Hamburg, Aboab was sent by his father at the age of thirteen to study with R. David Franco, whose daughter he married after the latter’s death. He initially served as rabbi in Verona, but in 1650 became rabbi in Venice, where he headed a yeshivah and rabbinic court. Aboab, who was known for his erudition, piety, and humility, fasted frequently.


c. 1631-51, Sefer ha-Zikhronot
Courtesy of Virtual Judaica

Despite his reputation for halakhic stringencies, Aboab was widely turned to, receiving numerous inquiries on matters of Jewish law. Published as an anonymous work, the title page not giving the author’s name, date or place of publication, it is attributed to Aboab and placed by bibliographic sources between 1631-51 in Prague.

Sefer ha-Zikhronot is a halakhic work explicating enactments, customs, and laws on contemporary issues. Sefer ha-Zikhronot is divided into ten zikhronot which are further sub-divided into chapters. The zikhronot are ethical principles arranged according to positive and negative precepts, dealing with those commandments, the observance of which individuals are lax in or fail to observe properly. The third of the zikhronot, comprised of three chapters, is on the prohibition of stam yeinam.

She’elot u’Teshuvot – Again, stam yeinam is addressed but is not the subject of R. Moses ben Joseph di Trani’s (Mabit, 1500-1580) She’elot u’Teshuvot (1629, (Venice). This collection of responsa consists of eight hundred and six entries. There is an index; Examples of the headings include laws of festivals (10 entries), laws pertaining to women (7) with such subheadings as betrothal (19), divorce (21), yibbum (levirate marriage) and halizah (4) ketubbot (21), dowries (7), stipulations in the ketubbot (3), support (3), and rebellious wives (3). The heading issur ve-heter has ten subheadings, among them food that is not kosher and prohibited wine, usury, Sefer Torah and parapet (ma’akeh), excommunication, vows and nazirite oaths, dedicated things, sabbatical year, prozbul, and mourning.

Masat Binyamin – The subject of stam yeinam is also addressed in R. Benjamin Aaron ben Abraham Slonik’s Masat Binyamin (1632-33, Cracow). The author was rabbi in Silesia and Podhajce. Masat Binyamin, authoritative responsa and brief halakhic novellae was published by Slonik’s grandson, R. Israel Isaac ben Hayyim Menahem Man. The title is from “Benjamin’s portion” (masat Binyamin, Genesis 43:34).

The title page is followed by Israel Isaac’s introduction, comprised of six paragraphs, each beginning Benjamin. He remarks that he has so carefully edited the work that errata are unnecessary. Next is a summary index by subject of the 112 responsa, on such subjects as gittin and halizah (12 responsa); ketubbah and dowry (7); kiddushin (5); agunah (10); business issues (8); mourning (11); other (2); zizit, prayer, and synagogue (6); Sefer Torah and its reading (6); Shabbat and eruvin (3); hamez (5); shofar, lulav, Purim, and fast days (6); forbidden foods (19); yein nesekh and usury (4); hallah, firstling of animals, and charity (3); and niddah and ritual immersion (2).


1632-33, Masat Binyamin, Benjamin Aaron ben Abraham Slonik, Cracow
Courtesy of Virtual Judaica

One responsa suggests a close relationship between Jews and their Christian neighbors. May a Jew loan clothing and jewelry to a non-Jew to wear to church on their holidays (86)? Slonik permits it as the clothes are worn for pleasure and prestige, not for religious purposes. On the sanctity of a printed Bible as opposed to a codex Bible, he rules that they have equal sanctity (99). May the margin of a Bible, trimmed when the printer binds the volume, be discarded (100)? Slonik writes that since all books are so bound it is as if the original intent was to do so and no sanctity adheres to the trimmings.

In an extensive responsa (29) Slonik deals with yein nesekh (gentile wine) where a Jew, Moses, entrusted sealed barrels of new wine to be delivered by non-Jewish waggoners under the supervision of Jews traveling on the wagon. The latter left the wagon, leaving the wine unsupervised. Moses found the wagon with the seals unbroken. Slonik writes that normally two seals are required as the seller will not see his wine again, not the case here. He permits the wine where great loss will occur with the caveat that if the wine bubbles through the tar sealing the barrel, as often happens with new wine, it is forbidden.

Davar she-bi-Kedushah – A popular kabbalistic work to arouse repentance is R. Abraham Reuben ben Hoeshke Katz (d. 1673) Davar she-bi-Kedushah. Katz is best known as the author of Yalkut Re’uveni and Oneg Shabbat. Davar she-bi-Kedushah was printed in Sulzbach (1684), at the press of Moses ben Uri Shraga Bloch. A small work, Davar she-bi-Kedushah was printed in octavo format (40: 12 ff.).


1684, Davar she-bi-Kedushah
Courtesy of the Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak

There is an introduction by Abraham Reuben, in which he informs that the work is entitled Davar she-bi-Kedushah because there are ten ma’amorot for each het (sin), which is a davar shel kedushah; the initial and final letters of the title spell derasha; and for “those who seek (dorshei) the Lord shall not lack any good thing” (Psalms 34:11). It concludes with a list of twenty-two categories of sins in alphabetic order expressed as the viddui (confession of sins) on Yom Kippur, that is, the al het (for the sins that we have sinned before you). These are sins people customarily transgress and should be confessed daily.

Each sin begins with a heading of the sin, repeated as the viddui, for example, א eating and drinking, “for the sin that we have sinned before you through eating and drinking,” and then ten paragraphs from a wide selection of kabbalistic, Midrashic, and aggadic sources on that entry, the subject matter including: ב birkat ha-mazon; ג pride; ד vows and oaths: ה thoughts; י wine and yein nesekh; כ honor of sages; לevil talk and slander; מ tithes and charity; נ netilat yadayim (hand washing); צ zizit, tefillin, and mezuzot; and ת Torat Moshe. Examples from wine (3, 7) are:

3. Also these erred with wine for in that they drank wine they “fashioned a calf” (Exodus 32:4) and said “These are your gods” (Exodus 32:4, 8) and these also erred with wine. (Tanhuma)

7. The wine that Isaac gave to Jacob to drink Michael brought from Gan Eden and one does not find such wine as this for blessing except by Abraham and Melchizedek. (Midrash)

VI

R. Nathan Nata ben Reuben David Tebele Spira was, in his time, a rabbi of repute, but like many other prominent individuals is not well remembered today. His works, albeit highly regarded, are not well recalled today. While that is the case for many early rabbis of import, in Spira’s case that might be attributed to the specialized and esoteric nature of his works, as well as their kabbalistic content. Moreover, what might be considered his most important work, Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, on the prohibition against drinking Stam Yeinam (gentile wine), is on a subject that is not as prominent, or sensitive today.

The subject of stam yeinam (gentile wine) was, as noted above, a topic of some discussion in Spira’s time. There were rabbis who permitted the consumption of gentile wine that was not designated for ritual use (libations), while others were adamant that there were no leniencies where stam yeinam was concerned. Spira was clearly on the stricter side of that dispute, as expressed in Yayin ha-Meshummar. That the dispute over the admissibility of such wine was widespread and of concern is clearly demonstrated by the number of works that address the issue.

Today, stam yeinam is no longer an issue, being clearly forbidden in strictly religious circles, and no longer a matter of concern among more liberal Jews. R. Nathan Nata Spira clearly expressed the strict negative opinion on the subject.

Again, his other works, which are not controversial, are most certainly of value. R. Nathan Nata ben Reuben David Tebele Spira was, in his time, a prominent rabbi who wrote significant kabbalistic works. In addition to Ma’amar Yayin ha-Meshummar, Tuv ha-Aretz on the holiness of the land of Israel and Mazzat Shemurim on the laws of mezuzah and tefillin are valuable works that deserve to be better remembered today.

[1] I would like to express my appreciation to Eli Genauer for his several comments and emendations.
[2] The most well-known chronicle of the tribulations of tah-ve-tat is R. Nathan Nata ben Moses Hannover’s Yeven Metsulah. Concerning that work and Hannover’s other titles see Marvin J. Heller, “R. Nathan Nata ben Moses Hannover: The Life and Works of an Illustrious and Tragic Figure,” Seforim.blogspot.com, December 28, 2018, reprinted in Essays on the Making of the Early Hebrew Book (Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2021), pp. 256-72.
[3] Aryeh Leib Frumkin (Toldot Hakhme Yerushalayim II (Jerusalem, 1927-30, reprint Jerusalem, 2002), p. 40 [Hebrew]) quotes Divrei Yimei Shemu’el informing that of seven hundred widows and indigent who dwelled in Jerusalem four hundred died of famine.
[4] Hersh Goldwurm, ed. The Early Acharonim (Brooklyn, 1989), pp. 173-74; Frumkin, pp. 38-40; Mordechai Margalioth, ed., Encyclopedia of Great Men in Israel IV (Tel Aviv, 1986), cols. 1184-85 [Hebrew]; Avraham Yaari, Sheluhei Eretz Yisrael (Jerusalem, 1951, reprint Jerusalem, 1997), I p. 153 [Hebrew].
[5] The narrative of the following books is from Marvin J. Heller, The Seventeenth Century Hebrew Book: An Abridged Thesaurus, ( Leiden/Boston, 2011), var. cit.
[6] David Amram, The Makers of Hebrew Books in Italy (Philadelphia, 1909, reprint London, 1963), p. 372; Joshua Bloch, “Venetian Printers of Hebrew Books,” in Hebrew Printing and Bibliography (New York, 1976), p. 86).
[7] Shabbetai Bass, Siftei Yeshenim, (Amsterdam, 1680), p.26, tet 2. Concerning Shabbetai Bass see Marvin J. ller, “Bass, Shabbetai ben Joseph Meshorer,” The YIVO Encyclopedia of Jews in Eastern Europe, Gershon David Hundert, ed. I (New Haven & London, 2008), pp. 129-30.
[8] Yeshayahu Vinograd, Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book. Part II Places of print sorted by Hebrew names of places where printed including author, subject, place, and year printed, name of printer, number of pages and format, with annotations and bibliographical references (Jerusalem, 1993), pp. 611 no.366.
[9] Bass, p, 48, mem 293.
[10] Menahem Mendel Slatkine, Shemot ha-Sefarim ha-Ivri’im: Lefi Sugeihem ha-Shonim, Tikhunatam u-Te’udatam (Neuchâtel-Tel Aviv, 1950-54), p. 143 [Hebrew].
[11] https://oukosher.org/halacha-yomis/yayin-nesech-stam-yainum-difference/
[12] Avraham Yaari, “An unknown document pertaining to the dispute in Rovigo,” in Studies in Hebrew Booklore (Jerusalem, 1958), p. 424 [Hebrew].
[13]  Wilhelm Bacher  Jacob Zallel Lauterbach, “Nesek,” Jewish Encyclopedia, IX (1901-06), pp. 227.
[14] Marc B. Shapiro, Changing the Immutable: How Orthodox Judaism Rewrites Its History (Oxford: Portland, Oregon, 2015), pp.81-2, 95-98. For a more detailed discussion of the controversy over setam yeinam see Gershon Kohen, “On the History of the Controversy over Stam Yayin in Italy and its Sources,” Sinai 77 (Jerusalem, 1975), pp. 64-88.
[15] Ch. B. Friedberg, Bet Eked Sepharim, (Israel, n.d), yod 542 records three additional editions after the above printing, Levon 1867, and Munkatch 1887 and 1902 records [Hebrew].
[16] Mordecai Samuel Ghirondi and Hananel Neppi, Toledot Gedolei Yisrael u-Ge’onei Italyah ve-Hagahot al Sefer Zekher Tzadikim li-Berakhah (Trieste, 1853, reprint Brooklyn, 1993), p. 276 [Hebrew].
[17] Among the works noted for this period and the list is not necessarily comprehensive, are, in chronolofical order, R. Judah ben Bezalel Loew (Maharal), Gevurot ha-Shem (1581-82, Cracow); R. Mordecai ben Gershom ha-Kohen, She’ilot u-Teshuvot ha-Geonim (1590, Prague); R. Solomon ben Abraham ibn Adret (Rashba), Avodat ha-Kodesh (1601-02, Venice); R. Judah ben Moses Saltero of Fano: Mikveh Yisrael // Palgei Mayim Moses ben Jehiel ha-Kohen Porto-Rafa (Rapaport) Judah ben Moses Saltero of Fano: (1607-08, Venice); R. Judah Leib ben David Pisk, Dimyon Aryeh (1616, Prague); R. Moses ben Joseph di Trani (Mabit), She’elot u’Teshuvot (1629, Venice); R. Samuel ben Abraham Aboab, Sefer ha-Zikhronot (1631-51, Prague); R. Benjamin Aaron ben Abraham Slonik, Masat Binyamin (1632-33, Cracow); R. Abraham Reuben ben Hoeshke Katz Davar she-bi-Kedushah (1684, Sulzbach); and R. Yom Tov ben Moses Zahalon, She’elot u’Teshuvot Yom Tov Zahalon (1694, Venice). Concerning these titles see Marvin J. Heller Marvin J. Heller, The Sixteenth Century Hebrew Book: An Abridged Thesaurus (Leiden, 2004; and ibid. The Sixteenth Century Hebrew Book: An Abridged Thesaurus. Brill, Leiden, 2004, The Seventeenth Century Hebrew Book. op. cit. var. cit.
[18] Concerning the widespread use of the lion image as a pressmark with Hebrew books see Marvin J. Heller “The Lion Motif on Early Hebrew Title-Pages and Pressmarks” Printing History, NS 22 (Syracuse, 2017), pp. 53-71, reprinted in Essays on the Making of the Early Hebrew Book. Brill, Leiden/Boston, 2021, pp. 30-61.



Leket Yosher – A Closer Appraisal in Light of a Recent Controversy

In a recent discussion in the journal Or Yisrael concerning the permissibility of using ArtScroll gemaras — for PDFs of the articles, see here — one source deserves closer scrutiny. In particular, some authorities who are against the use of ArtScroll gemaras cite to a passage in the Leket Yosher in support of their opinion. Thus, an examination of the Leket Yosher is appropriate.

The Leket Yosher was compiled by R. Yosef ben Moshe (1423-c.1490), a student of R. Israel Isserlein (1390-1460), the author of the Terumat HaDeshen. The Leket Yosher records R. Isserlein’s customs and rulings. The Leket Yosher was the first work to base itself on the four part division of the Turim, however, only the sections on Orach Hayyim and Yoreh Deah are extant. While it appears that there was a third part on Even haEzer which is no longer extant, it is unclear whether there ever was a part on Hoshen Mishpat. [1] Leket Yosher [2] was not published until 1903 (Orach Hayyim; and in 1904 Yoreh Deah was published) by R. Ya’akov Freimann from Munich manuscript in R. Yosef’s own hand.[3] It has been published at least three times and today is typically available as part of a set of three minhagim works, Leket Yosher, Yosef Ometz and Noheg KaTzon Yosef.

The passage used by some in the discussion in Or Yisrael regarding ArtScroll, records the disapproval of R. Isserlein of the practice of “spoiled, rich kids” who used a revolving table to avoid having to get up and get a book. (vol. 2, p. 39). The passage reads in full:

“אותם הבחורים העשירים המפונקים שעשו להם שולחנות כשיושבין במקומן הופכין השולחן לאי זה צד שירצו ועליו הרבה ספרים לא טוב הם עושים, אדרבה כשמבקש אחר הספר ובא לו בטורח גודל זכור באותו מעשה מה שרוצה ללמוד, כמדומה לי שמצאתי לו סמך ב[יורה דעה] בסימן ג’ (שפח) ‘ולא כאלו שלומדין מתוך עידון’ וכו”

“Those rich, spoiled students that had made a revolving table which allowed for them to turn the table to get which ever book they wanted [without having to get up] such behavior is inappropriate. Instead, one who gets up to get a book and exerts themselves will remember that they had to look for the book [and will remember what the book said]. It seems to me [R. Yosef] that support for this position [that frowns upon the turntable] can be found in Yoreh Deah where it says “one should not study in luxury.'”

Thus, argue those you compare the turntable to ArtScroll Talmuds, Torah study should not be easy, and one should struggle in preforming that commandment. In other words, because studying with Talmud with an ArtScroll is easy, it is inappropriate for Torah study. As an initial matter, the comparison is somewhat strained in that the Leket Yosher is referring to those who are lazy and does not necessarily speak to someone who uses ArtScroll because they cannot otherwise study gemara (or the additional commentaries that ArtScroll provides) at all. But setting aside this difficulty, it does not appear that the Leket Yosher’s opinion in this regard is agreed upon by all. For example, R. Yitzchak Hutner, in his approbation to the Otzar Mifarshei HaTalmud, explains why the Otzar is a good thing. As many are aware, the Otzar collects all (or almost all) the literature on a particular passage of the gemara (or mishna as is the case with the volume on Hallah). This avoids the need to look through many books to see what, if anything, they have to say on a particular passage. R. Hutner cites to a statement from the Hazon Ish, that “people confuse looking (hipush) with study” and, according to R. Hutner, the Otzar eliminates that problem. Thus, it can be argued that both according to R. Hutner and the Hazon Ish, there is no benefit or merit per se in the act of getting a book or looking to see if that book has anything relevant. This appears in conflict with the Leket Yosher.

Similarly, when the Vilna Shas was printed many years ago, the story goes that the printers said that whoever finds a mistake in this heavily invested shas will get rewarded. In the excellent book, Derech Etz Chaim (p. 568) about R’ Isser Zalman Meltzer, they record a story that a printer of a current Yerushalmi visited the Steipler with the idea to print a Yerushalmi in a similar format to the Talmud Bavli and to have, amongst other things, many commentaries in the back. When the Steipler heard this, he said that R. Meltzer used to complain that there’s a very big printing mistake in the Vilna Shas. Specifically, that in the Vilna Shas many commentaries in the back, but each commentary is 3 pages so you have to look 50 times for the same thing. R Isser Zalman wanted that they should put it in order of the Blatt, so he recommended that they not make the same mistake and do the same for the Talmud Yerushalmi.[4]

Setting aside R. Hutner and Hazon Ish, what is worthwhile to point out is the passage immediately preceding the above quoted passage in the Leket Yosher. The Leket Yosher records the following question and answer:
“ושאלתי לו קטן שהולך בדרך לא טובה כגון משכב זכר ועובר על לאו לא תגנוב אם מותר ללמדו תורה ואמר הן”

“And I asked [R. Isserlein] a student who sin, with sins such as homosexuality or stealing should they be taught Torah? Answer, Yes.”
To be clear, the the Leket Yosher allows for the teaching of homosexual students. Now, obviously this passage, although immediately preceding the discussion about the revolving table, is not germane to the later topic, but I have never seen this passage quoted anywhere else, even though it appears to be espousing a fairly unique position both in the realm of Jewish education and attitudes towards homosexuality. [I have been informed that it is mentioned in R. M. Ashkenazi, Hilkhot Talmud Torah, however, even so it is not well-known by any definition.]
Since we are on the topic of the Leket Yosher it is also worthwhile to point out some of the other interesting observations related to the Leket Yosher. Perhaps the most important fact to come from the Leket Yosher is that the assumption, first espoused by the Taz and expanded upon by others, that the Terumat HaDeshen was not the product of actual questions and answers and instead R. Isserlein made up the questions himself and therefore, according to some, the Terumat HaDeshen is not authoritative. As R. Freimann demonstrates, however, this is incorrect. Instead, actual events as recorded in the Leket Yosher can be matched with teshuvot in the Terumat HaDeshen thus demonstrating that the questions in Terumat HaDeshen were based upon actual events and were not fabricated.[5]

Perversely, the criticism of the Terumat HaDeshen was turned on its head and applied to the Leket Yosher. Specifically, the Sanzer Rebbi in his Divrei Yatziv (E.A. 39), claims that one cannot rely upon the Leket Yosher as it records actual events and one cannot decide halakha from events. This is inapposite of those who complain that the Terumat HaDeshen is not reliable because the questions do not relate to real events. It appears that the position of the Sanzer Rebbi has not been accepted as R. Moshe Feinstein (which is especially noteworthy in light of his general disapproval of newly discovered works), R. Ovadiah Yosef, Daayan Weiss, R. Shlomo Zalman Auerbach and many others all cite with approval the Leket Yosher. Moreover, the Sanzer Rebbi himself is at least five other places[6] in Divrei Yatziv cites with approval the Leket Yosher. In only one other instance does he couch his citation of the Leket Yosher (E.A. 78) with a disclaimer “that is is unclear whether the Leket Yosher is reliable.”

Other interesting comments in the Leket Yosher include: R. Yosef, in 1456, records that he saw Halley’s Comet [7] (vol. 2, pp. 17-8), R. Isserlein used to tell Torah riddles on the first days of Pesach and Shavous and Purim (vol. 1, pp. 103-4), R. Isserlein’s daughter-in-law, Redel, studied Torah (vol. 2, p. 37), and the restriction against walking behind a woman is no longer applicable (id.).

Notes:

[1] See Freimann’s introduction XIII. Friemann’s introduction appears at the beginning of volume two on Yoreh Deah. The first volume, on Orach Hayyim has no introduction.

[2] Aside from being unique in it use of the Turim’s division, the Leket Yosher, has another unique attribute. As Professor Y.S. Spiegel has pointed out the title employed, Leket Yosher, hints not only to the authors own name (as is a a somewhat common practice – see Spiegel for more on this practice) but also to R. Yosef’s teacher, R. Isserlein as well. Specifically, the numerical value of Leket Yosher and is ישראל יוזלין Yisrael is for R. Isserlein Yozlin is for Yosef. See, Y.S. Spiegel, Toldot Sefer haIvrei, vol. 2 p. 411.

[3] For additional biographical and bibliographical information see generally Freimann’s introduction. For some reason neither R. M.M. Kasher in Sa’arei HaElef or Glick in Kuntres HaTeshuvot HaHadash or in the earlier version by Boaz Cohen has an entry for Leket Yosher.

[4] It is, however, worth pointing out that R. Isser Zalman Meltzer held that part of ameilus batorah is getting up a taking a sefer out of the bookshelf. Thus he would never allow anyone to get him a sefer. He would get it himself. According to R’ Shach explained that there were 2 reasons for this. One is because he didn’t want anyone to help him, and two because of his ameilus batorah.

Likewise, in the same book (p. 181) they record that R. Aharon Kotler uses the Gemara in Menochot where Avumy forgot something that he said. He turned to his talmid R. Chisda to remind him how he explained a certain topic. The gemara asks why he didn’t send his talmid to come to him. Rashi says that it’s because of yegata u’motzasa (he worked and he found). R’ Aharon deduces that going yourself is part of the learning.

In an effort to avoid having to get up to get books R. Teichtel writes to his father R. Yissachar Teichtel, author of Am habonim Semacha, that when R. Yissachar visited R. Menachem Zemba, he had sitting on the table in front of him, a gemara with Rambam and all of chazal so that way he wouldn’t have to waste time and get up every time he needed to look up something. (letters in Tal Talpios, mentioned here, on page 44).

R. Meir Bar-Ilan, in a beautiful chapter of his classic MiVolozhin l’Yerushalayim (p. 269), in describing how his uncle, the R. Yechiel Michel Epstein, author of the Arukh HaShulhan, wrote his work said that R. Epstein also had a Rambam, shas and Shulchan Orach on the table and reference everything without having to move.

[5] See id. at XIV and id. note 40 discussing those who make the claim that the Terumat HaDeshen was not addressing actual cases and thus cannot be relied upon and specific statements in Leket Yosher that connect to the Terumat HaDeshen. R. Freimann discussed most of the literature on this topic only a few further cites should be added. To wit, Y.A. Dinari, Hakhme Ashkenaz be-Shelei Yemi HaBenayim, Jerusalem, 1984, pp. 303-5; Zevin, Soferim veSeforim, vol. Teshuvos, p. 14; R. P. Horowitz, Sefer HaBrit, p. 162, discussing the phenomenon of fictional responsa.

See also the comments of R. Munk in Pa’as Sadecha, who specifically rejects the notion that the Leket Yosher is not a reliable work. Instead, R. Munk states that the Leket Yosher was written with extreme care and can be relied upon.

In the newest edition of the Terumat HaDeshen, edited by Shmuel Avitan (Jerusalem, 1991), the editor is completely dismissive of R. Freimann. Although Avitan neither mentions Freimann by name nor explains why Freimann is wrong. This attitude is particularly striking in that R. Freimann devotes some 50 pages to an extensive and well documented introduction of the Leket Yosher as well as related topics. Avitan, on the other hand, is satisfied with a two page introduction that adds almost nothing to either the Terumat HaDeshen the work or R. Isserlein the person and in fact borrows heavily, many times without citation, from R. Freimann’s introduction. [It appears Avitan was not even aware of Dinari’s work.] For example, Avitan deals with when R. Isserlein refers to “one of the great ones – אחד מהגדולים” if R. Isserlein is referring exclusively to the Maharil. Freimann was the first to demonstrate that this reference is not exclusive to the Maharil. Avitan, also comes to the very same conclusion, without mentioning Freimann or even as Avitan is wont, “the introduction to the Leket Yosher.”

Aside from claiming that the responsa are fictional, others have made a distinction between the “teshuvot” and the “pesakim” of R. Isserlein. See Dinari, Hakhme Ashkenaz, p. 303-4 n. 223.

[6] Divrei Yatziv Orach Hayyim nos. 179, 236, 295, 297; Yoreh Deah 31.

[7] For a later mention of seeing a comet see Glikel Zikhronot, ed. C. Turnyanski, Jerusalem, 2006, p. 605 n. 314.



The Root of the Word מבול: A Flood of Possibilities

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

 

 

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