Can A Segulah Free an Agunah? Jewish Beliefs and Practices for Locating a Drowned Body

Can a Segulah Free an Agunah? Jewish Beliefs and Practices for Locating a Drowned Body
By Bency Eichorn
Bency Eichorn learns in kollel and, on the side, has been researching about various segulos. For his wedding he authored a book, Simchas Zion, discussing the segulah of keeping the afikomom from year-to-year. The post below is a small part of a much larger project on this segulah and has been adapted for the blog.
In light of the recent drowning of Los Angeles’s Naftoli Smolyansky A”H, much discussion has ensued about the segulah performed to recover his body. This same segulah, which involves floating a loaf of bread and candle in the water to locate the missing corpse, last year when Toronto Rabbonim considered performing it in order to locate the missing body of Eli Horowitz A”H, who had drowned the previous year. There is much skeptism regarding this segulah, some consider it witchcraft and claim that it has no basis in Judaism, deriving instead from non-Jewish sources. In this article, I will outline the development of similar segulot used throughout the ages and discuss how these methods were practiced by Jews and non-Jews alike. As my research on this topic is ongoing, I do not attempt to draw conclusions, but rather I hope to draw attention to primary and little-noted sources for these segulot. In effect, this will indicate how wide-spread these segulot were, specifically among Jews. This will suggest that their origins extend further than the tale recounted in Twain’s Hucklebery Finn and can be traced to early Jewish sources.
The Floating Wooden Dish
Among the segulot noted in Jewish sources used to locate a missing drowned body, is a practice involving taking a wooden dish and floating it in the water above the general area where the body went missing. According to the tradition surrounding this segulah, the dish will float to the spot where the body lies and then stop. The first and earliest source for this segulah that I could presently locate is from the year 1618 in a well known sefer minhagim written by R’ Yosef Yuzpa Han Norlingen[1]. He writes, that “I have a tradition of a segulah to locate a body that drowned; and this is the correct way it should be performed: Take a wooden dish [ke’oh’rah],[2] place it on the water to float by itself, until it rests on the spot where the body is lying.” The work continues with an anecdote about a certain man named Meir, who drowned in Lake Pidikof and whose body was found using this particular segulah. Interestingly, the passages closes with the note “that if this segulah really works, it could have amazing implications, for it could help women who would otherwise have to be agunot for the rest of their lives.”
The procedure for this segulah is rather straightforward; all that must be done is to place a dish on the water and it will float to the drowned body. This segulah seems to have been quite popular as it is mentioned in many seforim, particularly sifrei segulah such as the Noheg Ketzon Yosef (grandson of R’ Yosef Yuzpa Han Norlingen),[3] the Taamai Haminhagim,[4] Refuah Vechaim,[5] Rafael Hamalach,[6] Hoach Nafshainu,[7] Mareh Hayeladim,[8] Yosef Shaul,[9] and the Segulas Yisroel.[10]
This amazing segulah is the earliest Jewish method noted as having been used to locate a drowned body and seems to be an exclusively Jewish practice. A search of a number of non-Jewish sources, works of history, superstition, and mythology, has not brought to light an instance of this particular practice of locating a drowned body. Thus to my knowledge, it does not seem to have ever been used by a non-Jew.[11]
The Floating Loaf of Bread
The second segulah attested to in the Jewish sources as being used to locate a drowned body is to float a loaf of bread instead of a bowl. Similar to the previous method it is believed that when the bread is left alone in the water it would float to the location of the body.
The earliest source for this segulah that I have found thus far can be traced to the year 1734 by Rabbi Dovid Tebal Ben Yaakov Ashkenazi.[12] He writes, “to locate one that drowned, throw a loaf of bread into the water [where he drowned] and the place where the bread stops [sholet] that is where the body is located.”
This segulah is later recorded in Over Orach, a sefer of segulot, teffilot and halachot regarding traveling. In his discussion of general segulot, the author writes “[i]f one drowned, a segulah to find the body is to take a loaf of bread and throw it in the area of water where the person drowned, and the bread will float to the location of the drowned body.” He finishes his description of the segulah by testifying that, “[t]his segulah has been performed in the past and it is known that it produced positive results”[13].
A similar practice of using bread to locate a drowned body is recorded in a Yizkor book for the community of Mlawa, a shtetl in pre-World War II Poland. In this book, under the subject of communal beliefs in segulot, the following is recorded, “if someone drowned while bathing, people would come there [to the place he or she drowned] with long iron poles, to search for the body. To aid in their search, they would throw a loaf of bread, on top of which was a burning candle, into the pool next to the brick factory.[14] ” I found this belief, of using bread to locate a drowned body, recorded in a number of sifrei segulot, including, the Hoach Nafshainu,[15] Mareh Hayeladim,[16] Rafael Hamalach,[17] Yosef Shaul,[18] and the Segulas Yisroel.[19]
Thus, in the Jewish sources this method of locating drowned bodies is evidenced in a few but reputable sources. In contrast, it is mentioned in many non-Jewish sources. As early as 1586 we find that Thomas Hill mentions this practice as he records “[t]o find a drowned person…take a white loaf, and cast the same into the water, neer ye suspected place, and it will forth-with go directly over the dead body, and there abide.[20] Not long after in the year 1664, Oliver Heywood records an instance in which this practice was actually used to help find a missing corpse.[21]
Alternative Versions of the Floating Bread
As time went on, the method used by non-Jews seems to have changed. As early as the year 1767, the belief developed that a loaf of bread was not enough, but that the loaf of bread should be filled with quicksilver and only then should it be set afloat on the water. Sylvanus Urban, in The Gentleman’s Magazine, describes this change in a testimony. He writes that in Newbury, Berkshire, “After diligent search had been made in the river …a two penny loaf, with a quantity of quicksilver put into it, was set floating from the place where the child, it was supposed, had fallen in, which steered its course down the river upwards of a half a mile… when the body happening to lay on the contrary side of the river, the loaf suddenly tacked about … and gradually sank near the child.”[22] This loaded loaf was called by many ‘a St. Nicholas’[23] and its occasional effectiveness was attributed by the cynical to eddies in the water.
This method was practiced and recorded many times over in the non-Jewish sources. Occasionally, it was even recorded that it worked. However, on most occasions, this practice yielded no positive results. Recorded testimonies of this method in the non-Jewish sources include the years 1849[24], 1878[25], 1879[26], 1884[27], 1885[28], 1891[29], 1921,[30] [31]and 1925.[32] There are many more recordings of this procedure, but the above sources should suffice to indicate the widespread belief in the efficacy of the practice.[33]. Indeed, according to scholars of Mark Twain, the belief that quicksilver, or mercury, would make bread float to a point over a submerged body was widely held in Britain.. This particular version of the method to locate drowned bodies was apparently based on an purported etymological connection concerning the biblical ”bread of life” and ”quick” or ”living” silver, so called because of the flowing form of mercury.[34]
The method of using bread with a candle on top of it, as recorded above as a practice of the Jews of Mlawa, is recorded in non-Jewish sources as well. However in the non-Jewish sources it is supplemented with the addition of quicksilver. The first record of this practice is in the year 1886, written by Henderson. He writes, “A loaf weighted with quicksilver, if allowed to float on the water, is said to swim towards and stand over, the body; when a boy, I have seen persons endeavoring to discover the corpse of the drowned in this manner in the River Wear…and ten years ago, the friends of Christopher Lumley sought for his body…by the aid of a loaf of bread with a lighted candle in it”[35]. Again, in the year 1891, in the Journal of Science,[36] it is written, “[i]n Brittany, when the body of a drowned man cannot be found, a lighted taper is fixed in a loaf of bread, which is then abandoned to the retreating current. When the loaf stops, there it is supposed to the body will be recovered.[37] The lit candle was referred by some, as just being a way to mark the course of the floating loaf at night.[38]
However, in Belgium, they would merely float a lit candle accompanied by the reading of a formula.[39] Indeed, already in 1578, Bornenisza recorded that a candle alone was used to locate the drowned. He writes, “[i]n Hungary if somebody drowns, a lighted wax candle is placed in a dish and where the flame goes out, there the drowned man lies.”[40] This may indicate that the method recorded above of a loaf of bread together with a candle on it, was a corruption of the method to use just a candle. It is interesting to note that the record in the Jewish sources of using the method of a candle is from the people of Mlawa, if so more research is needed to ascertain whether this method originated with Jews. In any event, the method of using a candle alone can be viewed as separate, third, method of locating a missing, drowned body.
The Use of an Amulet to Locate Missing Bodies
A fourth method used by Jews to locate a missing drowned body involves floating an amulet. R’ Yonathan Eibeshutz, remembered by Jews today as an eminent Talmudist, distributed many such amulets. He issued them in Metz, where he was Rabbi, and later in Hamburg, Altona, and Wandsbeck, where he later served as chief Rabbi.
During this time R’ Eibeshutz, together with a number of other Rabbis, was condemned by R’ Yaakov Emden as being a follower of Shabtai Tzvi and his Messianic cult. This led to the famous controversy between these two great Rabbis. One of the complaints of R’ Emden was R’Eibeshutz’s writing and distributing of amulets. Among the many amulets, one was shaped like a written parchment and was used to find the missing body of one who had drowned.[41]
In a treatise written by R’ Emden against R’ Eybeshutz’s amulets, which he named Sfas Emes,[42] he mentions the amulet that R’ Eybeshutz supposedly wrote to find a missing, drowned body.
Interestingly, a similar usage of amulets is found in the non-Jewish sources as well. In a correspondence of Notes and Queries, it is recorded how a corpse in Ireland was discovered by means of a wisp of straw around which was tied a strip of parchment, inscribed with certain kabalistic characters written by a parish priest.[43] [44]
Aside from the practices that bear a similarity to those evidenced in Jewish sources, many additional methods for locating drowned bodies are attested to in the non-Jewish records. Among such non-Jewish practices for locating a drowned body, one that is akin to the previously mentioned methods, includes placing a shirt of the person who drowned in the water so that it will float to the spot of the missing body.[45] It was also believed that straw or a bundle of straw should be floated on the water so that it would float to the spot of the body.[46] Some people have thrown in a lamb (or goat) in an attempt to locate a missing body.[47] A curious custom, practiced in Norway, is to row to and fro with a rooster in a boat, expecting that the bird will crow when the boat reaches the spot where the corpse lies in the water.[48] Certain Native American tribes would float chips of wood, while other groups would float wooden cricket bats or wooden bowls.[49] The effectiveness of the method of floating bread or any other item in the water to find a sunken corpse was attributed by many to natural and simple causes. In all running streams there are deep pools formed by eddies, in which drowned bodies would likely be caught. Any light substance thrown into the current would consequently be drawn to that part of the surface over the centre of the eddy hole.[50]
Another interesting method involves the use of drums. People searching for a drowned body would row down the river slowly beating on a big drum and according to the belief, if they came to the part of the river in which the dead body was immersed, a difference in the sound of the drum would be distinctly noticed.[51]
Another non-Jewish practice is related in one of the classics of American literature, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain, which was published in the year 1884. The novel relates the story of a of a young boy from St. Petersburg, Missouri (a thinly veiled cover for Hannibal, Missouri, where Twain spent most of his youth) who tries to run away from civilization with an escaped slave named Jim. The book paints a picture of the pre-Civil War South through the dialects and habits of the characters, through their adventures and misadventures, and through their attitudes and the way their attitudes change during the story. One of those attitudes is the inclination to superstition.
In one of the most humorous episodes, Huck has run away from being ‘civilized’ by Miss Watson, his foster aunt, and is hiding on an island. He has covered his tracks with the blood of a pig, so that it looks as if he has been murdered:
“Well, I was dozing off again, when I thinks I hear a deep sound of “boom!” away up the river. I rouses up and rests on my elbow and listens; pretty soon I hear it again,. I hopped up and went and looked out a hole in the leaves, and I see a bunch of smoke laying on the water a long ways up- about the area of the ferry, and there was the ferry boat, full of people, floating along down. I know what was the matter now. “Boom,” I see the white smoke squirt out of the ferry-boat’s side. You see, they was firing cannon over the water, trying to make my carcass come to the top.”
Shortly after the canon firing, “Huck happened to think how they always put quicksilver in loaves of bread and float them off because they always go right to the drowned carcass and stop there.”
I have discussed earlier the latter belief of using bread with quicksilver to locate a missing drowned body. As Twain writes in the preface to Tom Sawyer, “[t]he odd superstitions touched upon were all prevalent among children and slaves in the West at the period of this story.”[52] The first method mentioned by Twain of using a canon was actually not only a belief he heard about, but something he experienced firsthand. In the annotated Huckleberry Finn, Hearn observes that once when he was thought to have drowned, young Mark Twain witnessed a similar scene as the townspeople of Hannibal fired cannons over the water to raise him to the surface. He recalled in a later letter on February 6, 1870, “I jumped over board from the ferryboat in the middle of the river that stormy day to get my hat, and swam two or three miles after it [and got it] while all the town collected on the wharf and for an hour or so, looked out across toward where people said Sam Clemens (Mark Twain) was last seen before he went down.”[53]
The method of shooting a canon to locate a drowned body is also recorded in Notes and Queries. “A few years ago when two men were drowned in the Lune, I believe the same experiment was tried [bread with quicksilver]. Guns also were fired over, and gunpowder was so contrived as to explode in the bottles containing it beneath the surface, but one of the bodies has never been found.”[54] In a second citation in Notes and Queries, it is written, “Heavy gun firing was in progress yesterday in the marshes, and there is a strange but widespread belief among the riverside residents that a cannon tends to bring the drowned to the surface.” [55]The superstition is also mentioned in Edgar Allen’s Poe’s 1842 story, Mystery of Marie Roget.[56]
A reason for the purported effectiveness of this method is offered in Radford’s Encyclopedia of Superstition,[57] where he describes a widespread British superstition that, “a gun fired over a corpse thought to be lying at the bottom of the sea or a river, will by concussion break the gall bladder, and thus cause the body to float.”
It seems Radford took the above fact for granted, for, scientifically, firing a canon over water is not likely to cause a gall bladder to burst. Even if it does rupture, it is strictly internal and there is no effect on the buoyancy since the body’s overall density remains unchanged. However, if the skin is broken and the bowels come loose, then the body’s density may increase due to water entering the body and air and other gasses escaping. This actually allows for a greater chance of the body sinking.[58] Accordingly, firing the cannon over the water would cause the opposite affect than what the superstition alleges. The only factor that could aid in the retrieval of the body that the firing of the cannon could cause a concussive effect which might jar loose a body snagged in weeds on the bottom of the water. So firing a canon might raise a body, although not for the reasons that the superstition gives.[59]
To returning to the Jewish sources, there seems to have been four different segulot used to locate a drowned body, each one involves floating an object in the water, either a wooden bowl, bread, a candle or an amulet. Each individual method seems to have once been a separate practice of its own. However in a number of instances the separate segulot are recorded as being performed together. It can be assumed that in these instances the person performing the segulah was aware of methods and combined them in the hopes of a more effective result.
There is limited testimony as to the effectiveness of these segulot; this may be due to the fact that they have rarely been subjected to controlled experimentation in the past. Like many segulot, they remain shrouded in mystery. The questions that remain are: From where did these segulot develop? Are all of them of early origin? Are they all solely of Jewish origin?
I would like to conclude this article, by stating that the world of Segulot and Kemi’ot [amulets] is very large and unexplored. Many of the seforim on this topic are rare and unavailable, while others remain in manuscript form. These seforim may have the missing pieces to the entire puzzle of the methods and sources of segulot. As material is continuously printed and made more available, my hope is the history of segulot will be made much more clear.[60]
[1] Rabbi Yosef Yuzpa Han Norlingen, Yosef Ometz, Jerusalem 1975 ed., pg. 352. Born in Frankfort 1570. It is probably correct to assume, the fact that the sefer was finished in 1618 [even though it was only first printed in 1648 see intro. Ibid.], and he was born in 1570, that this belief in this segulah was current before 1618 and certainly in the late 1500’s.
[2] The word used in the Yosef Ometz is ke’oh’rah, which can be translated as a dish or bowl. The word ke’oh’rah comes from the root kar which means sunk, compared to keeka’ah which means to engrave (etch inside). See The Kunkurdantzyah Dictionary to The Tanach by Dr. Shlomo Madelkarn, Jerusalem 1972, pg. 1035, ke’oh’rah. See also Marcus Jastrow, Dictionary of The Talmud, Jerusalem, pg. 1397, ke’oh’rah, therefore it would be correct to assume that ke’oh’rah is a dish, that is a slightly sunken in, like a bowl or even a plate that’s center is lower then it’s border.
[3] R’ Yosef Yuzpa Dashman Segal, Noheg Ketzon Yosef, Tel Aviv, 1979,pg. 122, s.v. “segulas.”
[4] R’ Avraham Yitzchok Sperling, Sefer Taamai Minhagim, Jerusalem 1957 ed. [f.p. Lvov 1894], pg. 569.
[5] R’ Chaim Palagi, Refuah Vechaim, Jerusalem 1997 ed. [f.p. Izmir 1879], pg, 141.
[6] R’ Yehudah Yudal Rosenberg, Rafael Hamalach, Jerusalem 198? ed. [f.p. Piotrkow 1911], pg. 41, s.v. “yedeyot.”
[7] R’ Avaraham Chamuoy, Hoach Nafshainu, Jerusalem 1981 ed., [f.p. Izmir 1870], pg. 185 s.v. “water.”
[8] R’ Rafael Uchnah, Mareh Hayeladim, Jerusalem 1987ed. [f.p. Jerusalem 1900], pg, 48a, s.v. “drowned;” id. at 66b s.v. “water.”
[9] R’ Shaul Feldman, Yosef Shaul, Piatrikov 1911, pg. 83. It is interesting to note that he adds there “take hot bread.”
[10] R’ Shabtzi Lifshutz, Segulas Yisroel, Jerusalem 1991 ed. [f.p. Jerusalem 1946], pg. 132. s.v. “drowned.” He brings it in the name of the Refuah Vechaim.
[11] The only similar (but note the same, for they are only similar in the fact that they consist of floating a piece of wood or pot similar to a bowl) methods found in non Jewish sources is in Notes And Queries, Oct. 4, 1851, pg. 251, The Journal of Science, NY, Dec. 4, 1891. Nicolas B. Dennys, The Folklore of China, Amsterdam 1968. “Sir James Alexander, in his account of Canada [L’ Acadie, 2 vol., 1849, Pg. 26] writes: “The Indians imagine that in the case of a drowned body, its place may be discovered by floating a chip of cedar wood, which will stop and turn round over the exact spot. An instance occurred within my own knowledge, in the case of Mr. Lavery of Kingston Mill, whose boat overset, and himself drowned near Cedar Island; nor could the body be discovered until this experiment was resorted to.” See also Linda J. Ivanits, Russian Folk Belief, 1989, pg. 73 (pg. 222 note 64) “A pot (or wooden cup) filled with hot coals and incense and with candles attached to the sides was placed on the surface of the water; the victim’s body was believed to lie under the spot where the pot stopped floating.”[Thanks to Professor Daniel Shvarber for pointing out this source to me.] Also the use of a wooden cricket bat in 1925 as recorded by Notes And Queries, Oct. 18. 1851, Pg. 297 [Also in Jan 30, 1886, Pg. 95] ” An Eton boy, named Dean, who had lately come to school, imprudently bathed in the river Thames where it flows with great rapidity under the ‘playing fields,’ and he was soon carried out of his depth, and disappeared. Efforts were made to save him or recover the body, but to no purpose; until Mr. Evans, who was then, as now, the accomplished drawing-master, threw a cricket bat into the stream, which floated to a spot where it turned round in an eddy, and from a deep hole underneath the body was quickly drawn.
[12] Beis Dovid, Rabbi Dovid Tebal Ben Yaakov Ashkenazi, Wilhermsdorf, Pg. 31.
[13] R’ Shimon Ben R’ Meir, Over Orach, Lemberg 1865, pg. 8. The Sefer Over Orach was really an adaptation and extension of a sefer printed about 1646 in Krakow, by R’ Yaakov Naftoli Ben Yehudah Leib of Lublin the Sefer was originally called Derech Hayoshor. [see Kiryat Sefer, 1933/34, 10, pg. 252]. It seems that segulah is one of the added segulas of R’ Shimon Ben Meir, as this segulah only first appears in Over Orach by R’ Shimon Ben R’ Meir in the Karlsaruah 1764 ed. pg. 172, which seems to be the first or at least the second printing of the sefer in the life time of the latter Auther . In addition to the fact that this segulah is not brought at all by R’ Yaakov Naftoli Ben Yehudah Leib in Derech Hayosher.
[14] David Shtokfish, Jewish Mlawa, Tel Aviv 1984, pg. 486.
[15] Ibid. pg. 55.
[16] Ibid. sub. Of water, pg. 66b.
[17] Ibid , the author brings this belief in the name of a earlier source however I had trouble locating his source.
[18] Ibid, pg. 83.
[19] Ibid. pg. 195 sub. Water. Also see his Kuntres Even Segulah pg. 406.
[20] Thomas Hill, Natural Conclusions, 1586, D3. Qouted by Iona Opie and Moira Tatem, A Dictionary of Superstitions, Oxford University Press 1989, pg. 34, subject, Body: locating in water.
[21] Oliver Heywood, Autobiography c.a. 1664, Turner ed., III 1883, pg. 89. ‘Mr. Rawsthorne of Lumb and Mr. Thomas Bradshaw walked out and after they had drunk a cup of ale returned home. Going in the night by a pit side Mr. R. fell in; Mr. B. leaped after him to take him out because he could swim, they were both drowned. Mr. R. swam at top, Mr. B. could not be found. A women made them cast in white loaf and they doing so it would it would not be removed from over the place where he was, so they took him up, and they were buried together. A sad family it was, my brother being eye witness there of.
[22] Gents. Mag, 1767, pg. 189. Quoted in A Dictionary of Superstitions ibid. See also Notes And Queries [Oct 4, 1851, Pg. 251, 1851-s1, iv, pg. 148, June 15, ’78 5th s. Ix. pg. 478] “In looking through the chronicle of the Annual Register for 1767, I came across the following entry, which clearly shows that the superstition referred to by…was at the time current in Berks: The following odd relation is attested as a fact. An inquisition was taken at New Bury, Berks, on the body of a child near two year old who fell onto the river Kennet and was drowned. The jury brought in their verdict, accidental death. The body was discovered by a very singular experiment, which was as follows. After diligent search had been made in the river for the child to no purpose, a two penny loaf with a quantity of quicksilver put into it was set floating from the place where the child it was supposed had fallen in, which steered its course down the river upwards a half a mile, before a great number of spectators, when the body happening to lay on the contrary side of the river, the loaf suddenly tacked about and swam across the river, and gradually sunk near the child, when both the child and loaf were immediately brought up with grabbers ready for that purpose.”
[23] Collin de Plancey, ‘Dictionnaire Critique des Reliques et des images miraculeuses.’ tom:ii, pg 212, Paris 1821. “In rural regions of France a perforated loaf called St. Nicholas is thrown in the river, which it would float down on, and stop as soon as it gains the spot with the corpse underneath, after turning three times around.” Quoted in the Notes And Queries July 26, 1924 pg. 61.
[24] Notes And Queries [5th s. IX June 15, ’78 pg. 478] ” In January 1849, when the pier at Morecambe was being constructed, the stone for which was procured near Halton, the boat conveying the workmen from the quarry across the river Lune to the village was upset, and eight of the men were drowned. The villagers were confident that quicksilver placed inside a loaf would enable them to find the bodies, but the last corpse was not discovered until nearly three months after the accident.” Also See June 29, 1878 pg. 516.
[25] Notes And Queries [ibid.] “A few years ago, when two young men were drowned in the Lune, I believe the same experiment [ a loaf with filled with quicksilver] was tried.” See also Notes And Queries [5th s. IX Jan 5, ’78 pg. 8] “A young women singularly disappeared at Swinton, near Sheffield. The canal has been unsuccessfully dragged, and the Swinton folk, are now going to test the merits of a local superstition, which affirms that a loaf of bread containing quicksilver, If cast upon the water, will drift to, keep afloat, an remain stationary over any dead body which may be immersed out of sight.”
[26] Notes And Queries [Feb 8, 1879 Pg. 119].
[27] This belief was echoed and written in the famous work of Mark Twain in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in 1884 see later in this article
[28] Notes And Queries, [Jan. 2, 1886 pg. 6], brings a extract from the Stamford Mercury Dec. 18, 1885. I quote: “at Ketton ….touching the death of Harry Baker..who was believed to have walked into the ford….however in obedience to the wish of Baker’s mother, a loaf charged with quicksilver was cast into the water , and it came into a standstill in the river at.. the corpse was brought up…”
[29] Science, New York December 4, 1891. Article: Drowning Superstitions, “There are many curious modes of discovering the dead body of a drowned person, a popular notion being that its whereabouts may be ascertained by floating a loaf weighted with quicksilver, which is said at once to swim towards, and stand over, the spot where the body lies. This is very widespread belief, and instances of its occurrence are, from time to time recorded. Some years ago, a boy fell into the stream at Shereborne, Dorsetire, and was drowned. The body not have been recovered for some days, the mode of procedure adopted was thus: A four pound loaf of best flour was procured, and a small piece cut out of the side of it, forming a cavity, into which a little quicksilver was poured. The piece was then replaced, and tied firmly in its original place. The loaf thus prepared was thrown into the river at the spot where the body fell, and was expected to float down the stream till it came to the place where the body had lodged, but no satisfactory results occurred.”
[30] Man, Myth & Magic vol. 3, Richard Lavendish, New York 1970, pg. 322. Sub. Bread, “A remarkable quality formerly ascribed to bread was its power, to react to the presence of a drowned body. It was believed that a loaf weighted with quicksilver and place it in the water would be irresistibly drawn towards the place where the body lay. As recently as 1921 a corpse was discovered after this method had been tried at Wheelock in Cheshire.”
[31] Notes And Queries [7th s. XL May 2,’91 pg. 345] ” I found the following strange story among some news paper cuttings, unfortunately but it must have not occurred many years ago, and was taken from the globe: Adelaide Amy Terry, servant to Dr. Williams, of Brentford, was sent to a neighbor with a message on Sunday morning, and she did not return, and was known to be very short sighted, it was feared she had fallen into the canal, which was dragged without success. On Tuesday an old barge women suggested that a loaf of bread in which some quicksilver had been placed should be floated in the water. This was done, and the loaf became stationary at a certain spot. The dragging was resumed there, and the body recovered.
I had imagined this means of discovering the whereabouts of a drowned body peculiar to the fisher folk of the south of Ireland, where on two separate occasions I knew it to be resorted to, and each time successfully. I heard nothing of the quicksilver, only of the loaf becoming attracted, as it were above the place where the drowned man lay.”
[32] Yorkshire Observer 5, May 14 1925, Amesbury, Wilts. Quoted in A Dictionary of Superstitions ibid. “The missing nursemaid was last seen on the bridge over Avon, and one of the theories, is that she may have got into the river, it was decided to carry out an experiment. The method, And old custom, had been used with success at Bristol some years ago, Mercury was placed in a loaf of bread, attached to a long line. The idea is that the bread, floating over, a body, would hover there, heavy rains apparently interfered with the experiment, for no result was obtained.” See in Notes And Queries, [5th s. Ix Jan 5, ’78 pg. 8] which records how a young women drowned in Yorkshire and the folk are going to test a local superstition see there further.
[33] Yorkshire Observer 5, May 14 1925, Amesbury, Wilts. Quoted in A Dictionary of Superstitions ibid. “The missing nursemaid was last seen on the bridge over Avon, and one of the theories, is that she may have got into the river, it was decided to carry out an experiment. The method, And old custom, had been used with success at Bristol some years ago, Mercury was placed in a loaf of bread, attached to a long line. The idea is that the bread, floating over, a body, would hover there, heavy rains apparently interfered with the experiment, for no result was obtained.” See in Notes And Queries, [5th s. Ix Jan 5, ’78 pg. 8] which records how a young women drowned in Yorkshire and the folk are going to test a local superstition see there further.
[34] Thomas A. Tenny, The Mark Twain Journal.
[35] Henderson, Northern Counties 43-4, 1886. Quoted by A Dictionary of Superstitions ibid.
[36] ibid.
[37] Then later I found very similar in Notes And Queries [Quoting All The Year Round vol. xvi pg. 3], “At Guingamp [Brittany] when the body of a drowned man cannot be found a lighted taper is fixed in a loaf of bread which is then abandoned to the retreating current. Where the loaf stops they expect to discover the body.” See also Tekla Domotor, Hungarian Folk Belief, Bloomington 1981, pg. 62. “If somebody drowns, a lighted wax candle is placed in a dish and where the flame goes out, there the drowned man lies.” See also Linda J. Ivanits, Russian Folk Belief, 1989, pg. 73 (pg. 222 note 64) “A pot (or wooden cup) filled with hot coals and incense and with candles attached to the sides was placed on the surface of the water; the victim’s body was believed to lie under the spot where the pot stopped floating.”
[38] See Notes And Queries, [Feb. 8, 1879 Pg. 119].
[39] Hazlitt ‘Faith and Folklore’ 1905, vol. I, Pg. 193. Quoted in Notes And Queries [July 26, 1924 Pg. 62].
[40] Hungarian Folk Beliefs, Teklu Domotoc, Indiana 1981, pg. 62. Quoting Peter Bornenisza , Temptation of the Devil, 1578.
[41] Jewish Encyclopedia, 1901-1906, vol. 1, pg 549. sub. Amulet.
[42] R’ Yaakov Emden, Sfas Emes, Jerusalem 1981[F.p. Altona 1875], pg. 19. See R’ Eybeshutz’s own defense in sefer Luchos Eidus, Lemberg 1887. See also The Jewish Encyclopedia, 1925, pg. 549.
[43] Notes And Queries [Oct. 18 1851, pg. 298]. “I heard the following anecdote from the son of an eminent Irish judge. In a remote district of Ireland a poor man, whose occupation at certain seasons of the year was to pluck feathers…..he sank….they dragged the river for his body, but in vain; and in apprehension of serious consciences to themselves should they be unable to produce the corpse, they applied to the parish priests, who undertook to relieve them, and to “improve the occasion” by the performance of a miracle. He called together the few neighbors, and having tied a strip of parchment, inscribed with cabalistic characters, round a wisp of straw; he dropped this packet where the man’s head was described to have sunk, and it glided into still water where the corpse was easily discovered [it is not clear if it made the corpse rise or it floated to the spot where the corpse was sunk]. Quoted in Journal of Science ibid. See also The Folklore of China ibid.
[44] See also JSTOR vol. 12, no 1,pg. 7, about a Chinese amulet. See also S. M. Swemer in article, A Chinese –Arabic amulet.
[45] See Journal of Science ibid. “Not many months ago a man was drowned at St. Louis. After search had been made for the body, but without success, the man’s shirt, which he had laid aside when he went in to bathe, was spread out on the water and allowed to float away. For a while it floated and then sank, near the spot, which was reported, the man’s body was found. See also JSTOR vol. 2, no. 7, pg. 307, “A Story from Pennsylvania – August Melching was drowned, on a recent afternoon in the Codorus Creek, near York, while swimming. The body could not be found for some time, when one of the searchers suggested that his shirt be thrown into the water, claiming that it would float to where the body was. The suggestion was acted on and the garment was thrown into the water where it was thought that he had disappeared. The shirt instantly shot out then stopped then circled about a short time and in another moment disappeared under the water. A young man present on the creeks bank then dove to where the shirt was seen to sink, and found the body of the young man where the shirt disappeared. The singularity of the incident, in the fact that the shirt was found clinging to the dead man’s body. Two gentlemen who were on the opposite sides of the creek at the time this occurred corroborant the truthfulness of the incident. This gives credence to the ancient belief that the clothing of a drowned man thrown into the water will float to the body. Philadelphia Inquirer.” See also Hazlitt, ‘Faith and Folklore,’ 1905 vol. i, pg. 193. , Quoted in Notes And Queries, [July 26 1994, Pg. 62], usage of the button of a waist coat belonging to the drowned.
[46] JSTOR vol. 4, no. 3, pg. 357, in a batch of Irish Folk-lore, no 11, “A drowned body is searched for by floating a bundle of straw on the surface of the water; it is supposed to stop and quiver over the body.” See also A Dictionary of Superstitions ibid. which brings from Folklore, 1893, pg 357. [Co. Cork] “A drowned body is searched for by floating a bundle of straw on the surface of the water, it is supposed to stop and quiver over the body.” On more about floating wheat and the sort to recover drowned bodies see ‘Ta-tshing-Yih-tung ch,’ 1743, tom lii, where Yen Pin [A.D. 1355] floated a puppet made of sheaf to recover his mother’s remains. Quoted in Notes And Queries, [July 26, 1924 pg 61].
[47] See Journal of Science ibid, “In Java (and in some parts of China) a live sheep is thrown into the water, and supposed to indicate the position of the body by sinking near it [but the objects used for this purpose vary largely in different countries].” See also The Folklore of China ibid.
[48] Notes And Queries [June 11, 1898 Pg. 466], see also the Journal of Science ibid., and E. Lloyd in Peasant Life in Sweden, 1870, Pg. 135. Exactly the same method is pursued for the same purpose since time unknown in China and Japan as recorded in Ueda, southern Chinese usages in connection with calendar, Minzoku to Rekishi, vol. iv, pg. 278 Tokyo 1920. Thus in Japan, the famous drama, ‘Sugawara Denjuukagaini’ composed A.D. 1746, exhibits a character who floats a board a cock in a pond where his wife is drowned. Also Akishima’s ‘Kisoji Meisho Dzue’ 1807. The Chinese and Japanese sources are all brought in Notes And Queries [July 2, 1924 pg. 61].
[49] See note 14.
[50] Notes And Queries,[Oct. 18, 1851 Pg. 298, also in Jan. 30. 1886 Pg. 95.] See above about the boy from Eton .
[51] Notes And Queries [June 17, 1893 Pg. 466]. Quoting the Suffolk Times and Mercury of Friday Nov. 4, 1892.
[52] See Daniel G. Hoffman, Form and Fable in American Fiction [New York: Oxford University Press 1961. See also JSTOR vol. 32, no 1, pg. 49 in an article Jims magic: Black or White?. See The Annotated Huckleberry Finn by Michael Patrick Hear; published by Clarkson N. Potte, Inc, New York, 1981. See also Mark Twain, An Illustrated Biography by Geoffry C. Ward, Daycon Duncan, and Ken Burns, Published by Alfred A. Knopf, NewYork, 2001.
[53] Mark Twain’s letters to Will Bowen 1941 pg.19.
[54] Notes And Queries, [5th s. 1x, June 15, ’78. pg. 478. Also in Feb. 8, 1879 Pg. 119] ” A few weeks ago while an English merchantman was unloading off one of the Black Sea ports- near Batoum, I think it was- a man swept overboard by a heavy sea and drowned. The body disappeared; but two days afterwards certain Russian guns on shore happened to fire a salute. “That will bring him up!” said a seaman on board. “Not yet” said another; “wait until the fourth day.” On the fourth day the Russians guns fired again; and during the firing, the drowned man’s corpse rose to the surface, not far from the ship…… “you see sir” he added, “it’s the gun firing bursts the gall inside the corpse, and then it rise; but it must be on the fourth day.”
[55] [Oct. 5th 1878. Also in June 29, 1878 pg. 516], “Many years when I was a school boy, an old man was accidentally drowned in a northern river, and I recollect that several men fired guns on both sides of the river, in the belief, that by doing so the body would rise to the surface- by concussion, it is to be presumed.”
[56] In Edgar Allen’s Poe’s 1842 story Mystery of Marie Roget [in Poe’s ‘Tales of Mystery and Imagination’ edit. Routledge, Pg. 72, col 2, and p. 77, col. 2] “All experiences has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by violence, require from six to ten days for sufficient deposition to take place, to bring them to the top of the water. Even where a cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at least five or six day’s immersion, it sinks again if let alone.’ See Notes And Queries [Aug. 12, 1993. Pg. 138] where Nauta argues on the whole “experience”.
[57] Ibid. Also this belief was echoed in Notes and Queries [Feb. 8, 1879, pg. 119] quoting the belief of a sailor, “That it’s the gun firing bursts the gall bladder inside the corpse and then it rises.” Also in N&Q [June 29, 1878 pg. 516] “The body would rise to the surface –by concussion, it is to presumed.” See also Denham Tracts, 1895:ii 72. A variation of the on this principle was to fill bottles with gun powder and contrive to explode them under water [Notes and Queries 5s:9, 1878, 478].
[58] A cadaver sinks as soon as the air in its lungs is replaced with water. Once submerged, the body stays underwater until the bacteria in the gut and chest cavity produce enough gas–methane, hydrogen sulfide, and carbon dioxide–to float it to the surface like a balloon. (The buildup of methane, hydrogen sulfide, and other gases can take days or weeks, depending on a number of factors.) If you wait long enough, the body will almost always surface.
[59] Regarding some of the last points mentioned, some of the information was taken from an article printed on Straight Dope [www. Straightdope.com] and from a letter I received from Professor Mary Barile of Boonville, Mo.
[60] This article is only a small piece of a much more in depth research project almost ready to be printed. My manuscript consists of over a hundred pages; it includes a study of the origins, early development and the reasons for this segulah in Jewish as well as non-Jewish communities. Due to the lack of funding printing of this research has been held off. Any one interested in helping out financially and dedicating the work to Eli Howoritz and Naftoli Smolyansky is invited to contact me. Furthermore, any comments or questions can be directed to me at Bneic@hotmail.com.




Will The Real First American Jews Please Stand Up?: A Review of Machon Yerushalayim’s New Book About the Jews of Recife

In the history of Jews on the American continent, many are unaware that the first Jewish settlement in the Americas was not in North America, but instead South America. Specifically, the Brazilian city of Recife was the first formal Jewish community in the Americas. Recife, for a brief period of time, came under the control of the Dutch government. In 1630 they took Recife from the Portuguese, this event was key in establishing a Jewish community, as the Portuguese enforced the inquisition. The Dutch, however, did not, Amsterdam being a city where Marrano could return to Judaism.

When the Dutch took Recife, a Jewish community was established soon after, and eventual for the next 14 years, a the community flourished. There were two synagogues as well as all the trappings of a budding Jewish community – Rabbis, schools etc. The Rabbi of Recife was R. Isaac Aboab da Fonseca (his original surname is Aboab, but later in life he took his mother’s name Da Fonseca as well) – and Machon Yerushalayim has published some of his writings as well as historic documents relating to the Recife community – Kitvei Rabbenu Yitzhak Aboab (De Fonseca) – Hakhmei Recife v’Amsterdam (Machon Yerushalayim, 2007).

The earliest responsum relating to the Americas concerns the community of Recife. As Recife is in the southern hemisphere and their season are the opposite of those in the northern hemisphere, they asked if they should still say ve’ten tal u’mattar at the time it is normally said as it is not the correct season for them.

R. Aboab, a student of R. Isaac Uzziel, was then appointed to the position of hakham and became the assistant of R. Saul Morteira and eventually took his position as Chief Judge of the Amsterdam court. R. Aboab was successed by R. Yakkov Sassportas.

In 1641 R. Aboab was sent to Recife to become the rabbi and head of the Dutch community there. Although the community was doing well, other forces spelled the demise of the community. In 1646, the Portuguese attacked Recife and although initially they were held off, they eventually were successful in reconquering the city and the rest of Brazil. The Jews were given three months to evacuate or come under the inquisition. R. Aboab, and many others returned to Amsterdam. Other refugees went and established communities in the Caribbean while one group, went to then New Amsterdam (eventually New York) and became the first Jews in New York.

In this new book, there is an extensive introduction, by R. Yosef Veitman, the Chabad shaliach in São Paulo, which gives all the above history and more. R. Veitman has done extensive research and this shows throughout the work. The history is very detailed and the sources consulted — both traditional and academic — are quite extensive. The one minor criticism is his use of statements of the prior Lubavitch Rebbi to prove a point of history (see, e.g., p. 39 n. 19 – also see p. 73 n. 123 which, as R. Veitman recognizes is highly suspect), otherwise the research is very good.

Aside from providing a history of R. Aboab and Recife, this work contains Torah from R. Aboab. The most important is the Machberet Nishmat Hayyim. This work was originally in Porteguse, and has now been translated into Hebrew. It has previously been translated into English by Alexander Altmann, “Eternality of Punishment: A Theological Controversy Within the Amsterdam Rabbinate in the Thirties of the Seventeenth Century,’ in Publications of the American Academy of Jewish Research 40 (1972): 1-88, which R. Veitman used with permission. [1] This work dealt with what was a “hot” topic in Amsterdam at the time – whether there is such a thing as eternal damnation. This was very important as many Jews in Amsterdam had relatives in countries under the control of the inquisition and were “practicing” Christians. What would be their status – could their souls ever be redeemed?

R. Saul Morteira essentially said that there is such a thing as eternal damnation. R. Aboab disagreed and penned this work to explain his disagreement. This work has much broader implications for just the inquisition, but to any Jew who for whatever reason did not practice.

Both Nishmat Hayyim as well as R. Morteira’s comments are found in this new volume as well as extensive notes. (Also, R. Meneshe Klein, in his approbation has his own take on this issue.)

Aside from this work, the communal laws of Recife are included, as well as a poem R. Aboab wrote on the Portuguese siege of Recife. It is worth mentioning that R. Aboab did not abandon the Recife community when faced with the Portuguese attack, rather he stayed and ministered to the community during this time of need. There are other smaller Torah pieces (including on the Amsterdam eruv) as well as the teshuva discussing ve’ten tal mentioned above.

The work contains excellent footnotes throughout and all in all this is an excellent work, especially for one interested in either the philosophy of reward/punishment or American Jewish history.

I purchased the book from Biegeleisen in Boro Park (718-436-1165), and I assume in Israel, Machon Yerushalayim should have copies.

Note:
[1] Although Altmann published this already in 1974 the “new” Encyclopeadia doesn’t update the Cecil Roth entry on R. Aboab and still has that R. Aboab’s “work on reward and punishment entitled Nishmat Hayyim [has] not been published.” vol. 1 p. 269.




The Recently Published Photographs of Rav Yisrael Salanter: Real or Imaginary?

The Recently Published Photographs of Rav Yisrael Salanter: Real or Imaginary?

By Shnayer Leiman

As early as 2006, and continuing through 2022, a flurry of photographs, purporting to bear the likeness of Rav Yisrael Salanter, have either appeared in print or have been posted on the Internet (see below, section II). While the publication of these photos certainly attests to his abiding influence well into the 21st century, their authenticity seems less than certain, and demands investigation. At the very least, one wonders why the likeness of a world renowned rabbi, who died in 1883, did not come to light until almost 125 years after his death![1]

I. The Early Evidence for What R. Yisrael Salanter Looked Like.

A proper discussion of what R. Yisrael actually looked like must begin with an examination of the testimony of his contemporaries who interacted with him and knew him best. The Torah teaches us (at Dt.19:15) that a matter can be established by two or three witnesses, so we shall present below the testimony of three witnesses who knew R. Yisrael personally.[2]

1. In 1899, Emil Benjamin, published the first biography of Rav Yisrael Salanter.[3] At the time, Benjamin served as a teacher of Jewish religion in Memel, Prussia, a port city on the Baltic Sea with some 1000 Jews (today: Kleipeda in Lithuania). Benjamin, a native of Memel, was a disciple of R. Zvi Hirsh Plato (1822-1910) who was a son-in law of R. Samson Raphael Hirsch. R. Plato served as Rav of the separatist Orthodox community of Cologne, and head of its Teacher’s Seminary, where Benjamin was trained as a teacher. Benjamin was a young man between 1857 and 1878, the very years that R. Yisrael Salanter spent many a year in Memel, which served as a base of operations for his various educational activities in Lithuania, Prussia, Germany, and France. R. Yisrael invited Benjamin to serve as his aid during a significant portion of those years, and Benjamin wisely accepted the invitation. Intimately involved in R. Yisrael’s daily affairs, Benjamin was in a unique position to record for posterity what it was like to be in his presence. Benjamin wrote:[4]

Rabbi Lipkin was of medium height, seemingly strong but lean in stature, and of ordinary build. His outward appearance immediately revealed a man of unusual significance. The broad forehead, the interesting character reflected by the shape of his head, the sharp look, all reflected the great thinker that he was. His countenance was almost always flush red, probably due to the struggle between body and spirit within him. Often he was lost in thought, and he seemed to forget everything around him, and appeared to be talking to himself. In spite of his deep seriousness, his conversation was often spiced with a pleasant sense of humor and whimsical thoughts…Curiously, this humble and unselfish man never consented to allow the features of his face to be painted by the artist’s brush and, thus, to be preserved for posterity. [Italics mine, sl]

2. Yaakov Mark (1856-1929) was a graduate of the Telz Yeshiva (in Telshe, Lithuania) who devoted a good portion of his life to training Jews (in a variety of languages) to master bookkeeping, so that they could gain and hold jobs in the various countries where they would ultimately find themselves.[5] He also devoted his later years to making literary contributions to Hebrew and Yiddish periodical literature. His only book, entitledגדולים פון אונזער צייט (New York, 1927),[6] is devoted to biographies of the key persons that he knew personally, such as R. Hayyim Soloveichik, the Malbim, and R. Yisrael Salanter. His opening line regarding R. Yisrael Salanter reads: “In my younger years, I often had the privilege of meeting with R. Yisrael. I heard his public lectures, his private lectures, and had the opportunity to observe him at close range.” In his book, he writes:[7]

All who encountered him when walking in the streets, whether Jew or Gentile, greeted him courteously. Even in the most crowded street of Berlin it was rare that a passerby would not stop to behold the great thinker, who used to wander about while engrossed in deep thought. All were impressed by his stately figure, his especially handsome beard, and his particularly character-full head with its unusually wide forehead, his red-white face, his blue eyes, with his sharp, yet good-natured look. This, despite the fact that he never wore official rabbinic garb but, rather, simple lay dress, with an ordinary hat on his head – not particularly elegant – but always clean and tidy. How sad that no photograph of him exists! It was simply impossible to get him to agree to sit for a painting or a photograph. [Italics mine, sl]

3. David Sidersky (circa 1858-1943), a grandson of R. Yisrael Salanter who edited אמרי בינה (Warsaw, 1878), the first ספר by R. Yisrael that was printed during his lifetime and that listed his name as the author, also published a biography of his grandfather in 1936-7.[8] Sidersky wrote as follows:[9]

R. Yisrael, under no circumstances, allowed himself to be photographed. Indeed, not a trace of his image exists. [Italics mine, sl] This, however, is what he looked like: he was of medium height, handsome, with glowing face. He had a full beard, with curls surrounding its edges. He spoke pleasantly, and always greeted everyone warmly.

If one reads the full biographical accounts of R. Yisrael Salanter by the three witnesses listed above, it becomes quite obvious that these are three independent accounts. Each records significant material about R. Yisrael Salanter that does not appear in the other accounts.[10] But there can be no question that Mark was influenced by Benjamin’s account, and that Sidersky was influenced by both Benjamin and Mark. The literary influence of the earlier accounts on the later accounts is obvious, even in the snippets translated above. Nonetheless, notice that only Benjamin mentions R. Yisrael’s sense of humor; only Mark refers to R. Yisrael’s blue eyes; and only Sidersky notes the curls that surrounded the edge of R. Yisrael’s full beard.

II. What Might R. Yisrael Salanter Not Have Looked Like?[11]

1. In 2006-2008, R. Shlomo Lorincz – a political leader of Agudat Yisrael during 1951-1984 and a חבר כנסת – published his classic work במחיצתם של גדולי התורה. In vol. 2, p. 14,[12] there appeared a striking photograph, with the name רבי ישראל סלנטר under it.

The photo appears to be that of a young R. Yisrael Salanter, perhaps 35- 45 years old. If so, the photo would have been taken between 1845 and 1855, at a time when the camera was mostly unknown and unavailable to the general public in Eastern Europe. One need not guess about the true identity of the person photographed. It is R. Yitzchak Lipkin (d. 1903), a son of R. Yisrael Salanter. Rav and Darshan, he was a distinguished תלמיד חכם who held several rabbinic posts in Lithuania before settling in Eretz Yisrael, where he died in his early 60’s.[13] Three photographs of him have been preserved by the Lipkin family. Aside from the early photo published by Lorincz, see below for two photos from a later period in his life:[14]

All that needs to concern us here is that R. Yitzchak Lipkin was R. Yisrael Salanter’s son, and not R. Yisrael Salanter himself. The photograph is a real picture of R. Yitzchak Lipkin, and an imaginary one of R. Yisrael Salanter. Not surprisingly, in later editions of במחיצתם של גדולי התורה , the misidentified photo was pulled. Thus, vol. 2, p. 14 now looks like this:[15]

2. On February 2, 2011, Jewish Currents magazine published the following tribute to R. Israel Salanter on his yahrzeit:

Not an ardent reader of Jewish Currents magazine (described by Wikipedia as a “a progressive, secular Jewish quarterly magazine and news site whose content reflects the politics of the Jewish left), I did not see this when it first appeared in print. It was brought to my attention later in 2011 by an East European Jewish historian about to publish an essay on R. Yisrael Salanter. She saw the tribute – and its photograph — on the Internet and was considering adding the photograph to her essay. She expressed surprise, since she had never seen a photograph of R. Yisrael Salanter. I immediately sent the following brief note to Jewish Currents magazine:

Thanks for remembering R. Israel Salanter on the day he died in 1883. Lest anyone be misled by the appended photograph, it clearly is a twentieth century photograph of someone other than R. Israel Salanter. In fact, it is a photograph of a Rumanian born rabbi (not a Litvak), Jacob Shachter, who was born after Salanter died. Shachter served with distinction as a rabbi in Manchester, England, then as rabbi in Belfast, Ireland. He died in Jerusalem in 1971.

Of course, I informed the East European scholar to cease and desist. Here I’ll add a bit more about Rabbi Shachter. He was a prolific author, whose publications included two very important works: a) A kind of Torah Shelemah on the Book of Proverbs, which gathers together all of Talmudic Commentary (Bavli and Yerushalmi) on the verses of Proverbs. It is entitled: ספר משלי בדברי חזל עם ביאור דברי יעקב (Jerusalem, 1963 and later editions), and b) The Student’s Guide Through the Talmud by Z. H. Chajes, translated, edited, and critically annotated by Jacob Shachter (London, 1952 and later editions). For our purposes, we need only to look at the title pages and frontispieces of two of his other publications, one in Hebrew and one on English: דברים לדוד (Jerusalem, 1966) and Ingathering: Collected Papers, Essays and Addresses (Jerusalem, 1966):

Clearly, the Shachter photo cannot pass for what R. Yisrael Salanter looked like. Even if we couldn’t identify the Shachter photo, a simple comparison of the beard in the photo with R. Yisrael Salanter’s beard as described by the testimony of eyewitnesses who knew him (“full beard, with curls surrounding its edges”) would have sufficed to disqualify the photo as a candidate for the actual likeness of R. Yisrael Salanter. In sum, the photograph is a real picture of R. Jacob Shachter, and an imaginary one of R. Yisrael Salanter.

3. On January 22, 2022, a YWN [Yeshiva World News] posting opened with a large imaginary photograph of R. Yisrael Salanter. It was, in fact, once again a photo of R. Jacob Shachter. To the credit of YWN, as soon as they were informed of the error the photograph was removed and replaced with a scan of the title page of R. Yitzchak Blaser’s classic anthology of R. Yisrael Salanter’s teaching, אור ישראל (Vilna, 1900).

4. In March of 2022, Rabbi Berel Wein’s Struggles, Challenges, and Tradition (Shaar Press) appeared in print. It is a magnificently produced volume, filled with vintage Rabbi Berel Wein wisdom. Alas, on p. 129 R. Jacob Shachter appears once again as R. Yisrael Salanter. One suspects that the culprit was an editorial assistant in charge of locating photos for the volume. Hopefully, the error will be corrected in the Second Impression.

We have listed 4 samples of misrepresentation of R. Yisrael Salanter. There are many more.[16] All one has to do is Google “Rabbi Israel Salanter.” One will see immediately many of the fake news photographs of R. Yisrael Salanter. And if you click on each one of the fakes, names like JewishHistory.org and Torah-Box.net will turn up. But it is neither history nor Torah, it is fake news. Sadly, once fake news is posted on the Internet, it multiplies even more rapidly than the Jews did in ancient Egypt. The Internet can be likened to the kind of sinner the Rabbis spoke about in b. Yoma 86b: כיון שעבר אדם עבירה ושנה בהנעשו לו כהיתר “Once a person sins, and repeats the sin, he considers it permissible.” Indeed, once fake news is posted on the Internet, it is not merely considered possible news, it almost immediately becomes authoritative news. The only remedy, if there is one, is to never post in haste, and to post only after much review, including review by others. Moreover, any and all errors need to be corrected as quickly as possible on the very site where the posting first appeared.

Notes:

[1] None of the authors (listed below in section II) who posted photographs of R. Yisrael Salanter took the trouble to source, or verify the authenticity of, the photographs they posted. Methodologically, it is essential that any materials, whether manuscripts or photographs, published some 100 or more years after the death of the person they are ascribed to, or identified with, be verified. This is especially the case when a plethora of historical biographies and scholarly studies already exist on the key person involved – as is the case regarding R. Yisrael Salanter – and the existence of the posted photographs has eluded all of them. For the basic bibliography on R. Yisrael Salanter (through 1993), see Immanuel Etkes, Rabbi Israel Salanter and the Mussar Movement (Philadelphia, 1993), pp. 373-379; and Hillel Goldberg, Israel Salanter: Text, Structure, Idea (New York, 1982), pp. 309-329. Much more of significance has been published since then (e.g., ספר הזכרון קדוש ישראל (Bnei Brak. 2003); Hayyim Yitzchak Lipkin, ed., תורת רבי ישראל מסלנט (Jerusalem, 2003); and קדוש ישראל (Bnei Brak, 2014).

[2] Many other witnesses could have been adduced. See, for example, R. Baruch Epstein, מקור ברוך (Vilna, 1928), vol. 4, pp. 1800-1804, for a vivid account of a chance encounter with R. Yisrael Salanter in Vilna, 1879. Our purpose here is not to overwhelm the reader with sources. Rather, it is to gather the most persuasive sources, and not more than necessary.

[3] Rabbi Jsrael Lipkin Salant: Sein Leben und Wirken (Berlin, 1899).

[4] Op. cit., pp. 34-35. The German original reads: “Rabbi Lipkin war von mittelhoher, ziemlich kräftiger aber hagerer Natur und von regelmässigem Körperbau. Schon seine äussere Erscheinung liess sogleich einen Mann von ungewöhnlicher Bedeutung erkennen. Die mächtige Stirn, der interessante Charakter- kopf, der scharfe Blick verrieten den grossen Denker. Sein Antlitz war fast beständig gerötet, wohl infolge des aufgehobenen Gleichgewichts zwischen Körper und Geist. Oft war er derart in Gedanken versunken, dass er alles um sich herum zu vergessen schien und im Alleingespräch mit sich selber beschäftig war… Merkwürdiger Weise hat dieser bescheidene und selbstlose Mann niemals seine Einwilligung dazu gegeben, dass die Züge seines Antlitzes durch den Pinsel eines Malers nachgeahmt und der Nachwelt erhalten würden.”

[5] See Yaakov Mark’s entry in לעקסיקאן פון דער נייער יידישער ליטעראטור (New York, 1963), vol. 5, column 514.

[6] A much abridged, and freely translated, Hebrew version of Mark’s גדולים פון אונזער צייט appeared under the title במחיצתם של גדולי הדור (Jerusalem, 1958). An accurate English translation of the original Yiddish volume would make a significant contribution to Jewish scholarship and culture.

[7] גדולים פון אונזער צייט, pp. 88-89. The Yiddish original reads:

אלע וועלכע פלעגען איהם באגעגענען אויפן גאס, סיי אידען סיי גוים, האבען איהם
העפליכסט באגריסט. זאגאר אין די לעבהאפטסטע גאסן פון בערלין פלעגט זעלטען
ווער איהם גלייכגילטיג פארבייגעהן און זיך ניט אפשטעלען באוואונדערן דעם
גרויסען דענקער, וואס פלעגט שטענדיג ארומגעהן פארזונקען אין געדאנקען
אימפאנירט האט אלעמען זיין שטאטליכע פיגור, זיין וואנדערבארשעהנעם הדרת
פנים, זיין אינטערעסאנטער כאראקטערקאפ מיטן גוואלדיגען ברייטען שטערן און
.וויסרויטליכען פנים, זיינע בלויע אויגען מיטן שארפען גוטמוטהיגען בליק
,טראצדעם וואס ער איז קיינמאל ניט געגאנגען אין אויפפאלענדע רבנישע קליידער
נאר אין פשוטע בעלהביתישע, מיט א געוועהנליכער היטעל אויפן קאפ און אויך
,ניט באזונדערס עלעגאנט, נאר שטענדיג געווען ריין און זויבער. א גרויסער שאדען
וואס פון איהם איז קיין שום בילד ניט נאכגעבליבען. מען האט בשוםאופן ביי איהם
.ניט געקענט פועלן זיך צו לאזען מאלען אדער פאטאגראפירען

[8] David Sidersky, רישראל סאלאנטר זל: תולדות חייו ופעולותיו“, היהודי (1936-7) 2:4, pp. 57-60; 2:5, pp. 81-84; 2:6, pp. 112-114; 2:8, pp. 153-155.

[9] היהודי (1937) 2:8, p. 155. The Hebrew original reads:

ישראל לא רצה בשום אופן להצטלם ולא נשאר שום זכרון מדמות דיוקנו
וזה תבניתו: קומה בינונית, יפה תואר עם פנים מאירים, זקנו מגודל וקוצותיו
.תלתלים, שיחתו היתה בנעימות והיה מקבל תמיד את כל אדם בסבר פנים יפות

[10] Most notably, Sidersky’s account is the only one (of the three accounts) that lists the names of R. Yisrael’s (and his wife Esther’s) six children (four sons and two daughters): Malkah Hindah, Shmuel, Aryeh Leib, Hodah Libah, Yitzchak, and Yom Tov Lipman.

[11] The formulation of the question is a playful echo of the title of the essay by Shimon Steinmetz entitled “What Might R. Yisrael Salanter Have Looked Like?,” On the Main Line, March 2, 2010. That essay was part II of his previous essay entitled “What Did R. Yisrael Salanter Look Like?,” On the Main Line, March 23, 2006. Both essays are must reading for this topic.

[12] במחיצתם של גדולי התורה (Jerusalem, 2006-8), 2 vols.

[13] For important writings by, and about, R. Yitzchak Lipkin, see R. Hayyim Yehoshua Kosovsky, ed., חוט המשולש (Jerusalem, 1904); R. Yitzchak Lipkin, לוחות אבנים (Jerusalem, 1978); and “רשימות רבי יצחק ליפקין בן רבינו” in ספר הזכרון קדוש ישראל (Bnei Brak, 2003), pp. 97-100.

[14] Cf. the Steinmetz essays cited above, n. 11.

[15] במחיצתם של גדולי התורה (Jerusalem, 2010), fifth edition, vol . 2, p. 14.

[16] On September 24, 2020, an essay was posted on the Internet entitled “Eating by Example on Yom Kippur, an Epidemic Story.” It revisited the story of R. Yisrael Salanter’s response to the cholera epidemic in Vilna in 1848. Once again, a photo of Rabbi Jacob Shachter was prominently displayed as the likeness of R. Yisrael Salanter.




Lawrence Kaplan’s review of Eliyahu Stern, The Genius

Eliyahu Stern’s recent book on the Vilna Gaon has generated a lot of discussion. The Seforim Blog is happy to present Lawrence Kaplan’s review of the work which will be followed up by a three-part post by Marc Shapiro

Eliyahu Stern, The Genius: Elijah of Vilna and the Making of Modern Judaism. New Haven: Yale University Press 2013, pp. xiv+322.*
My father, of blessed memory, was an Orthodox Jew of Lithuanian descent, a “Litvak.” Though he was a businessman all his life, he, like many traditional Litvaks, always kept up his study of classical Jewish texts, both biblical and rabbinic. I remember how often on a Sabbath, whether during a lull in the services or at one of the Sabbath meals, he would introduce an observation on the Scriptural portion of week with “The Gaon says,” literally, “the Genius says.” What followed was always a very acute and original textual insight. Of course, we all knew, without his having to tell us, to whom he was referring. Given my father’s Lithuanian background, he could have had in mind only one Gaon, one Genius: Rabbi Elijah of Vilna (1720-1797), better known as the Vilna Gaon.
            In this regard my father was not unique. As Eliyahu Stern states at the beginning of his important and ambitious study, The Genius: Elijah of Vilna and the Making of Modern Judaism:
For two centuries Elijah has been known simply by the name “Genius,” or “Gaon.” His biographers claim that “one like him appears
every thousand years.”… By the time of his death… he had written commentaries on a wider range of Jewish literature than any writer in history…. His originality, command of sources, and clarity of thought… establish him as the equal of… religious and intellectual giants such as Aquinas and Averroes. (1)
Not surprisingly, not very long after the Gaon’s death traditionalist scholars began writing biographies extolling his piety and, even more so, his brilliance, an enterprise that continues until today.  Despite their hagiographic nature and often strongly ideological bent, these biographies are often serious attempts, granted from within a traditional perspective, to document the Gaon’s life and works and paint his personality, and, if used selectively and critically, they can be of great value to academic historians. Thus, to take a very recent example, R. Dov Eliakh’s 1300 (!) page, three volume biography from 2002, Ha-Gaon[1]  clearly has a Haredi ideological agenda, doing its best to distance the Gaon from, heaven forbid, any “enlightenment” tendencies, and further waging a fierce campaign against all the ”distortions”
that the dastardly “enlighteners” perpetrated on the Gaon and his disciples.[2] Yet this biography, ironically enough, has been condemned in certain extremist Haredi  circles for displaying its own enlightenment tendencies, perhaps alluding to its very full (and useful) documentation and its ”sin” of every now and then referencing academic articles and even worse identifying their authors![3]
            Primarily, however, traditionalist scholars undertook to preserve and disseminate the Gaon’s vast intellectual legacy by transcribing, editing, publishing, and commenting on his works.  Here one must state that while no one will deny the Gaon’s “originality [and] command of sources,” for Stern to speak of his “clarity of thought” is misleading.  While a few of his works, like his Commentary on Proverbs, are full and clear, most of his  writings, as scholars have noted and Stern himself concedes, are exceptionally concise and concentrated, often consisting entirely of learned but obscure allusions and references, the relevance of which can be  deciphered  only by exceptionally knowledgeable readers.[4] Indeed, many of his “commentaries” are, in truth, nothing of the sort, but simply glosses and annotations entered by the Gaon into the margins of the texts in his rabbinic library. Most of his works were not prepared for publication; many were dictated in oral form to his students and exist in varying recensions. At times the Gaon’s original manuscripts are missing, and the accuracy of the printed texts prepared from them is not certain.  The magnitude of this on-going effort cannot be overstated, and even today the job is far from completed.[5]
            In contrast to traditionalist scholars, academic scholars until fairly recently focused, by and large, only on selected aspects of the Gaon’s personality and legacy. They examined the famous and exceptionally fierce  campaign which he, together with the Vilna community leaders, waged against the new spiritual pietistic Hasidic movement; took note of his interest in a broad range of secular disciplines, to be sure, only as ancillaries to the study of the Torah, and asked to what extent he could be seen as a forerunner of the East European Haskalah (Jewish enlightenment); and finally posed the question as to what extent his views regarding the interplay between piety (yirah) and study of the Torah anticipated those of the mid-nineteenth century ethical-pietistic “mussar” movement. In all these instances the scholarly interest was not so much in the Gaon per se, but in his relationship to either contemporaneous or subsequent religious movements.[6]
            Over the past two decades, however, scholars have sought to extend these rather limited horizons and take stock of the broader contours of the Gaon’s intellectual legacy. Important attempts have been made to probe the Gaon’s original Kabbalistic thought; show how, despite his presumed anti-philosophical stance,  he drew upon the medieval Jewish philosophy in forming his world view; examine his hermeneutics and the connected issue of how he conceived of the relationship between the plain-sense meaning of the biblical text and its rabbinic interpretation; and finally assess his immense more strictly Talmudic legacy, looking at his many innovative and unconventional legal rulings and interpretations of rabbinic texts.[7]
            Stern’s The Genius both synthesizes and builds upon this recent scholarship, and is the first attempt to undertake an intellectual biography and cultural profile of the Gaon, placing him firmly within the concrete social and political reality of the Vilna of his day and taking into full account his dizzyingly wide ranging and varied intellectual and literary activity. Of particular interest is the colourful, warts and all, personal portrait that Stern paints of the Gaon, examining the connections between the Gaon’s eccentric, highly reclusive and ascetic lifestyle—for example, he limited his sleep to two hours a day and almost ruthlessly cut all emotional ties with his immediate family—and his genius, or to be more precise the connections drawn between these two facets of his personality by his disciples. As Edmund Morris notes[8] when speaking of the slightly later Beethoven, a genius’ admirers expect him to be unlike ordinary men and wholly devoted his calling—music for Beethoven, rabbinic learning for the Gaon. If Beethoven’s admiring patrons viewed him, to cite Morris, as an ”undisciplined freak”—and all the greater for that—the Gaon’s admiring students appeared to have viewed him as a highly disciplined, indeed, over-disciplined, one—and,
again, all the greater for that.
            Yet, as the book’s subtitle, Elijah of Vilna and the Making of Modern Judaism, indicates, Stern has an even bolder agenda. For in addition to limning the Gaon’s life, thought, and personality, Stern in his book’s Introduction and Conclusion advances a novel thesis regarding the nature of modern Judaism and the role of the Gaon in its making, seeking to unsettle the binary opposition generally drawn between tradition and modernity.
            For Stern, modernity is not “just a movement based on… liberal philosophical principles,” but “a condition characterized [among other
things] by democratization of knowledge and privatization of religion… that restructured all aspects of European thought and life in diverse and often contradictory ways,” (8) and that in the case of Judaism “gave rise to [both] the Haskalah and institutions such as the Yeshiva” (8).  It is in this light Stern maintains that we should understand the historical significance of Gaon’s great work on Jewish law, his Bi’ur
or commentary on Joseph Karo’s sixteenth century code of law, the Shulhan Arukh. Here, to sharpen Stern’s analysis, we may point to an instructive paradox. From the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, thanks to the primacy of the Shulhan Arukh, the study of the Talmud was neglected and scholars focused their attention on codes of law. The Bi’ur might seem to fit into that pattern, but in actuality it served to subvert the Shulhan Arukh’s authority. For by tracing in great and unprecedented detail the source of the Shulhan Arukh’s rulings back the Talmud and its classic commentaries and then by often challenging those rulings in light of those sources the Bi’ur spurred a return to Talmudic study.
            Stern suggestively, if perhaps a bit mechanically, links the move, sparked by the Gaon, from study of Codes to study of the Talmud to the decline of the kehilah, the Jewish community, and the rise of more privatized forms of traditional Judaism. As long as a kehilah possessed the power, granted to it by the local non-Jewish authorities, to govern itself by Jewish law, study of the codes, which served as guides to practical communal legal decision making, occupied center stage. With the kehilah’s decline, study of the Talmud for its own sake emerged as the highest form of religious worship and pushed the study of the codes to the margins.  Thus, Stern notes, the Yeshiva of Volozhin, founded in 1803 by the Gaon’s leading disciple, R. Hayyim of Volozhin, which served as the primary center of Talmud study in Eastern Europe through the nineteenth century, was a new type of Yeshiva that “functioned independently of any communal governing structure, and …recruited students and funds from across European Jewry” (138). Moreover, this detaching of Talmudic study “from practical code-oriented learning” encouraged “an ethos of innovation, originality, and brilliance” (139) where intellectual battles were won by “pedagogic persuasion and not coercion” (140).
            This perception of the Volozhin Yeshiva as exemplifying the rise of a more privatized and democratic form of religion thus connects directly with Stern’s broader thesis that the modern condition manifested itself in both “enlightened” and “traditional” forms of nineteenth century Judaism, despite their apparent opposition. This analysis is very suggestive, but open to two objections.
            First, while the Gaon certainly played an important role in the move from the study of Codes to study of the Talmud, Stern exaggerates the extent of that role.  It would appear that Stern rather uncritically relies on the understandably hyperbolic claims made by the Gaon’s students, who credited him with almost singlehandedly reviving the study of Talmud in traditional circles. In truth, however, the Gaon’s approach appears to be a part of a broader return to Talmudic study in the eighteenth century, which occurred for reasons we cannot enter into here, as exemplified by, among others, his slightly older central European rabbinic contemporary Rabbi Jacob Joshua Falk (1680-1755) and, in particular, by his Lithuanian contemporary R. Aryeh Leib Ginzburg (1695-1785), both of whom, unlike the Gaon, actually wrote full scale commentaries on the Babylonian Talmud. Indeed, as Yisrael Ta-Shma has noted, Falk’s commentary, the famed Pnei Yehoshua, with its penetrating questions but often not entirely satisfactory answers, spurred a whole spate of commentaries on the Talmud, seeking to provide their own answers to Falk’s questions.[9] And, as Ta-Shma has further noted, Ginzburg’s equally famed writings, the Turei Even, Gevurot ha-Ari, and, in particular, the Sha‘agat Aryeh, with their rejection of pilpul, independent approach, amazing control of the far-flung reaches of classic halakhic literature, and very close attention to the peshat of the Talmudic text, resemble in many ways the Gaon’s approach to the Talmud.[10]
            Indeed, Stern admits that “it is puzzling that Elijah composed a commentary on the Shulhan ‘Arukh but not on the Talmud itself” (131). His suggestion “that in the eighteenth century it was much easier to purchase a set of Karo’s code than to acquire a full set of Talmud” (131) is painfully weak, as Stern himself appears to realize. After all, if such a consideration did not deter Rabbis Falk and Ginzberg from writing their commentaries, it is hard to imagine it deterring the even more independent minded Gaon. Moreover, the Gaon wrote full scale commentaries on recondite sections of the relatively neglected Palestinian Talmud and on other obscure works of rabbinic literature despite
their relative inaccessibility.
              Perhaps the key here is the Gaon’s daring and its limits. Rabbi Falk in his commentary deferred to and simply expounded the interpretations of the Rishonim, the classical medieval Talmudic commentators. Even the more independent minded Rabbi Ginzberg, who often rejected views of the Aharonim, even those of the classical commentators on the Shulhan Arukh, never directly rejected those of the Rishonim. The Gaon, by contrast, felt free to reject the Rishonim’s views, despite their great standing.  Still, it was one thing for him to offer original and unconventional explanations of the Palestinian Talmud, where there was not an authoritative tradition of commentary, or even to reject the Rishonim’s explanations of the Babylonian Talmud and offer explanations of his own in the course of his Commentary on the Shulhan ‘Arukh, where his dissent might not be that visible. But a full scale commentary on the Babylonian Talmud would have required that the Gaon, who was unwilling to compromise “his own understanding,”[11] take issue much more openly with the explanations of the Rishonim and present his own exceptionally bold and innovative interpretations.  That might have been too bold a move even for the Gaon, given the conservatism of the Jewish community of his day. This would also explain why the Gaon, despite his son’s, R. Abraham’s urgings, never wrote his own Code of Law.  Again, it was one thing to undermine the Shulhan ‘Arukh’s rulings in course of a commentary, another to simply set the Shulhan ‘Arukh’s rulings aside and directly offer competing rulings in a new code of law.[12]
            Second, even if we grant Stern’s point that the Volozhin Yeshiva exemplifies the rise of a more privatized and democratic form of religion that manifested itself in both “enlightened” and “traditional” forms of nineteenth century Judaism, he underplays the difference
it makes whether that privatization and democratization are harnessed in the service of greater acculturation and individual autonomy, as in the case of the Haskalah, or greater insularity and ideological intolerance, as in the case of many Lithuanian Yeshivas. It is striking that while in the book’s text Stern lauds “the freedom and individuation” of Talmudic study in the Yeshivas, in a lengthy endnote he concedes that
“for all the lively debate … bouncing off the [Yeshiva] walls, these walls were soundproof, blocking out those with radically different and conflicting opinions” (264, n. 80).[13]
            More problematic, Stern’s thesis that the Gaon’s activity and image contributed  to the privatization of Judaism and the democratization of rabbinic knowledge leads him to skew his portrait  of the Gaon, exaggerating both his radicalism and modernity. Thus, for
example, the reader never gets a full sense from Stern of the depth of the Gaon’s involvement in Kabbalah nor learns, except in passing, of the sheer number of major commentaries he authored on Kabbalistic literature. Perhaps Stern deemed such a discussion too technical for the general reader,[14] but one inevitably gets the feeling that this minimizing of the Gaon’s Kabbalistic side fits into the modern picture Stern is drawing.
            A fairly mild example of Stern’s modernizing portrait of the Gaon may be found in Chapter 2, ”Elijah’s Worldview,” the book’s most technical chapter. Here Stern, building on the scholarship of Alan Brill,[15]  seeks to show how the Gaon drew upon Greek and medieval Jewish philosophic sources, Kabbalistic texts, and even, indirectly, the eighteenth century German idealistic tradition in constructing his view of God, creation, and nature. The chapter’s centrepiece is an extended comparison of the worldviews of the Gaon and Leibniz. To be sure, Stern concedes, the Gaon never read any of Leibniz’s works; indeed he most probably did not know any language other than Hebrew. Still, he notes, the Gaon was influenced by the work Tekhunot Ha-Shamayyim, written by Raphael Halevi of Hannover, a leading student of Leibniz, as well as by the writings of Rabbi Moses Hayyim Luzzatto “who read and appropriated Leibniz’s ideas on theodicy” (38).  More significant, “Elijah, Luzzatto, and Leibniz were working with an overlapping set of Kabbalistic and philosophical texts, ideas, and questions that pervaded eighteenth century European intellectual life” (38). Stern’s comparison, while suggestive and forcefully argued, is not entirely
convincing. He argues that both “Leibniz’s and Elijah’s views converge around the … idea that knowledge can be represented in mathematical terms.”[16]  This contention that the Gaon, like Leibniz, believed “that knowledge can be represented in mathematical terms” rests primarily, however, on Stern’s vocalization of a key word from the Gaon’s commentary on the Sifra de-Tzeniuta (196-198, note 19), a vocalization Stern puts forward in opposition to that of Elliot Wolfson, the leading scholar of Kabbalah in North America. However, R. Bezalel Naor, the noted rabbinic scholar of Kabbalah and editor of the Gaon’s commentary on the Sifra de-Tzeniuta, in a review of The Genius supports Wolfson’s vocalization of the text.[17] This is a highly technical matter, and I do not deem myself qualified to adjudicate this dispute, but at the very least it must be said that Stern is building a very imposing edifice on a very slender base.
            Even if we grant Stern his vocalization, nevertheless, as he himself admits, at the heart of Leibniz’s metaphysics are not so much abstract mathematical points, but monads, which are living, self-contained substances. Here Leibniz, as has often been noted, seems to be in large measure inspired, if only negatively, by Spinoza, and his theory of monads appears to be an attempt to adopt Spinozistic premises while avoiding Spinozistic conclusions. Of course, there is no evidence that the Gaon was aware of Spinoza, whose name, indeed, does not appear in Stern’s book. Thus, while it is true that “Elijah … and Leibniz were working with an overlapping set of Kabbalistic and philosophical texts, ideas, and questions that pervaded eighteenth century European intellectual life,” they were also working with non-overlapping sets of “texts, ideas, and questions.” By focusing on the overlapping issues and scanting the broader and differing contexts within which the Gaon and Leibniz worked, Stern, even granting his mathematical comparison, ends up giving a somewhat unbalanced picture of the metaphysical systems of both these thinkers.  Stern concludes his chapter with a bold, if rather speculative, suggestion that one may draw a link between the Gaon’s highly abstract theological ideas and his daring emendations of rabbinic texts, which, in Stern’s view, should be seen as part of “his broader philosophic project of restoring the rational pre-established harmony of a world confused by unnecessary human error and evil” (56-57). Perhaps.
            Chapter 3, “Elijah and the Enlightenment,” advances the book’s most startling and revisionist claim. Generally, Stern notes, the Gaon’s contemporary, Moses Mendelssohn is portrayed as the founder of modern Judaism, while the Gaon is depicted as the defender of rabbinic or traditional Judaism. Stern, however, as part of his effort to unsettle the binary opposition between tradition and modernity, argues that in certain respects the Gaon was a more radical figure than Mendelssohn. Thus, while Mendelssohn maintained that rabbinic interpretations of the legal passages in Scripture were to be identified with the plain-sense meaning of the text, the Gaon interpreted the plain-sense meaning of the text independently of rabbinic interpretations, which were seen as belonging to another level of Scripture. Stern argues that this difference reflects a greater level of self-confidence on the Gaon’s part, as “the intellectual leader of a majority Jewish culture” (71) than on Mendelssohn’s, living as he did in “Berlin, a cosmopolitan city with a tiny Jewish minority” (64), where rabbinic Judaism and particularly rabbinic law were under attack in Christian academic quarters. Stern, I believe, accords too much weight here to matters to matters of demography. Rather, contra Stern, I support the regnant view that this hermeneutical difference reflects, in large measure, the Gaon’s insularity from as opposed to Mendelssohn’s greater openness and sensitivity to their respective surrounding cultures, deriving, in turn, from the presence of a “beckoning bourgeoisie,” to use Gershon Hundert’s phrase,[18] in Berlin and the absence of one in Vilna.
            Even more problematic, Stern’s contrasting portraits of the Gaon and Mendelssohn serve to exaggerate the Gaon’s modernity, while minimizing Mendelssohn’s. Stern begins his chapter, “Elijah and the Enlightenment” with the arresting claim that while ”Elijah believed that Judaism and Jewish texts expressed universal values, Mendelsohn, Leibnitz’s best known Jewish follower … highlighted the social and political limitations of idealism” (63). Really? What of the Gaon’s view (to cite Stern himself) that ”Jew and Gentile do not share the same deity” (109)? And what of his view (something Stern omits to point out) that Jewish souls, as the Kabbalah maintains, differ essentially from non-Jewish souls?[19] Regarding Mendelsohn, Stern himself acknowledges that he believed that philosophy (and we would add Jewish belief) “[are] something universal and cannot contradict natural reason” (79). Furthermore (again something Stern neglects to tell us), Mendelssohn’s criticisms of German idealism flowed from its being in his view not universal enough, still retaining the traces, as in Leibnitz’ affirmation of eternal damnation, of its Christian theological origins. All this is apart from the Gaon’s ready use of the ban to suppress the nascent Hasidic movement, as contrasted with Mendelssohn’s call upon both Church (including Synagogue) and State to renounce any coercion in matters of religious belief.
            A final example of Stern’s skewed perspective is his depiction of the Gaon’s view about the nature and authority of the rabbinic tradition. Stern on the same page (64) first asserts that the “the Gaon called into question the canons of rabbinic authority” and then that
he “challenged the rabbinic tradition.” Both assertions lack any foundation. True, for the Gaon the rabbinic interpretations of the legal passages of biblical text are to be distinguished from their plain-sense meaning, but, as he clearly states on many occasions—and here, incidentally, he is following in Maimonides’ footsteps—their authority is based on their being divinely revealed “laws given to Moses on Mount Sinai,” and after the fact they can all be derived, via the principle of Scriptural omnisignificance, from seemingly minor and trivial superfluities or gaps in the biblical text.  Given this clearly stated view, Stern’s contention that for the Gaon “rabbinic authority is not derived from the rabbis’ connection to the biblical text itself, but rather is based on the fact that the Torah was given to human beings to interpret” (76) cannot be sustained.[20]
            Stern seeks support for his view by referring to a justifiably famous comment of the Gaon to Lev. 6:2. He writes:
The Gaon explains how the [literal sense] of the biblical text allows a [high] priest to enter the [Holy of Holies] whenever he pleases. (According to the rabbis of the Talmud the high priest could only enter once a year.) The Gaon makes a simple but critical historical distinction: during the time of Scripture, biblical law permitted Aaron to go in when he pleased; his access to the [holy of holies] was restricted only later in history when the law changed.  (81)
This is seriously confused. The distinction the Gaon draws in his comment is not between the literal sense of the biblical text and a differing rabbinic view, but between two units of the biblical text itself. Leviticus 16:1-28, the Gaon maintains basing himself on a rabbinic observation in Leviticus Rabbah 21:7,[21] refers just to Aaron, who is allowed to enter the Holy of Holies any time he wishes as long as he performs the ritual outlined in that section. Lev. 16:29-34, on the other hand, refers to all high priests subsequent to Aaron, who are allowed to enter the Holy of Holies only if they perform the requisite ritual and only once a year on Yom Kippur. This accounts for the fact that Yom Kippur is not mentioned in verses 1-28 as well as for the emphasis in verses 16:29 and 34 that this law is “for all time” and the otherwise inexplicable emphasis in 16:34 that this ritual is to be performed only “once a year.” Aside from brilliantly illuminating the biblical text, the Gaon’s analysis also allows him to deftly and convincingly resolve some long standing rabbinic conundrums, such as the rabbinic debate over the
function of the “ram for a burn offering” and the puzzling rabbinic assertion that Lev.16:23 is out of place.[22]
            That Stern misconstrues the Gaon’s observation is particularly unfortunate, since its proper explication would have offered readers a wonderful example of the Gaon’s exegetical genius. This leads to another weakness of Stern’s book. Stern repeatedly and rightly stresses the Gaon’s exegetical originality and incisiveness, but the all too few examples he brings do not, at least in my view, substantiate his claim. There is never any “aha” moment where readers of the book will exclaim ”Wow! This is brilliant; this true genius.” Stern points to the Gaon’s deletion of a passage from a classic rabbinic text on the grounds of its superfluity (55). But while it may take daring to deem a passage inauthentic because it is redundant, it does not require any particular genius to do so. There are many not overly technical examples that Stern could and should have brought where the Gaon’s textual emendations bring light and clarity to what had previously appeared to be a textual and conceptual muddle—say his brilliant transposition in Tosefta Terumot, 7:20 of ”outside” (“mi-be-hutz”) and “inside” (mi-bifnim”)[23] Similarly, there are not overly technical examples of the Gaon’s brilliantly original  interpretations of halakhic texts that Stern could and should have brought—say the Gaon’s famous and oft-cited interpretation of Mishnah Berakhot 4:1 regarding the meaning of the word “keva” in the Mishnaic statement that the evening service has no “keva”.[24]
            In a related, if somewhat different vein, Stern’s scanting the Gaon’s Kabbalistic side deprives him of the opportunity to show the reader how the Gaon often uses Kabbalah to brilliantly explain and illuminate a rabbinic Aggadah. From a critical-historical perspective, of course, such explanations cannot be accepted, since the Kabbalistic concepts the Gaon uses are, as established by historical scholarship, much later than the rabbinic material he is explaining; nevertheless, at times his comments (say his famous explanation of the debate in Bava Batra 15a and Menachot 30a regarding who wrote the last eight verses of the Torah[25]) are so ingenious and so elegantly and powerfully resolve multiple problems in the rabbinic text being explicated that even the critical reader, almost against his or her own better judgment, begins to wonder “Perhaps this is the meaning of the rabbinic text after all!”
            Finally the book is missing a bibliographical chapter, briefly describing the Gaon’s major works, their publishing history, and the problems involved in their editing. Some of this can be found scattered throughout the book, but that is no substitute for a systematic presentation. Such a chapter by detailing the multiple editions of many of the Gaon’s writing and the differences between them would have sensitized the readers to the difficulties in reconstructing his worldview.[26] It would also have driven home the amazing range of the Gaon‘s literary activity. Above all, it might have provided the reader with a deeper understanding of the nature and sheer reach of the Gaon’s literary project. Aside from his commentary on the Shulhan Arukh that, in many ways, is the odd-man out, the Gaon in his writings sought to explicate the totality of biblical and rabbinic literature. But, for him, rabbinic literature includes the liturgy, all of classical rabbinic literature, including the Mishnah, Tosefta, Halakhic and Aggadic midrashim (including Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer), the Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds, and even such historical rabbinic works as Seder Olam Rabbah, all of which for him constitute the exoteric branch of rabbinic literature, as well as such classic Kabbalistic works as the Zohar, Tikkunei Zohar, Raya MehemnaMidrash ha-Ne‘elam, Sefer Yetzira, Sifra
de-Tznuiuta
, and Sefer ha-Bahir, all of which for him constitute the esoteric branch of rabbinic literature. In this respect Stern’s speaking of the Gaon’s “mastery of the entire canon of rabbinic and Kabbalistic literature” (20) is, without further explanation, somewhat misleading, for in the Gaon’s view these were two branches of rabbinic literature, and his goal was to show that, if properly explicated, both branches not only were they not contradictory, but, more, formed a unified whole, rooted in and deriving from biblical literature. This explains why the Gaon, as seen above, never hesitated to use Kabbalistic concepts to explicate aggadic texts and, perhaps even more important, why, he maintained that, if understood properly, there was no contradiction between the halakhic rulings found in the Zohar and those found in the Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds. Again, the ambition and boldness of this project are breath taking, and, if anywhere, it is here that we find “his broader philosophic project of restoring the rational pre-established harmony of a world confused by unnecessary human error and evil.”
            In sum: Stern’s The Gaon is a pioneering work about an intellectual titan that opens up many important avenues for further research, but I remain unconvinced by its modernizing portrait of the Gaon. Above all, while I am certain that anyone who finishes reading The Gaon with, say, the Appassionata Sonata or Eroica Symphony playing in the background will understand and appreciate Beethoven’s genius, I am not at all certain that, for all Stern’s learning and insight, she will understand and appreciate in what way the Gaon was a genius.
*A considerably briefer and more popular version of this review, “Was the Gaon a Genius?” appeared in Tablet Magazine,
April 3, 2013.
[1] Dov Eliakh, Ha-Gaon, 3 Volumes. Jerusalem: Moreshet ha-Yeshivot, 2002.
[2] Eliakh, Ha-Gaon, pp. 594-639, 1293-1308.
[3]  See ”The Ban on the Book ‘Ha-Gaon,’” Tradition-Seforim Blog, March 27, 2006, and the references there.
[4] Perhaps, however, one mght distinguish between clarity of thought and clarity of presentation.
[5] See Otzar Sifrei ha-Gra (Thesaurus of the Books of the Vilna Gaon), Yeshayahu Vinograd, Jerusalem: Kerem Eliyahu, 2003. This massive work of over 400 pages, a “detailed and annotated bibliography of books by and about the Gaon and Hasid R. Elijah…of Vilna,” should give the reader some idea of the immensity of the task. For a small but important and illustrative example of what remains  to be done, see Yedidya Ha-Levy Frankel, “The Original Manuscript of the Gaon’s Commentary  to the Palestinian Talmud Zera‘im” (in Hebrew), Ha-Gra u-Veit Midrasho, eds. M. Hallamish, Y. Rivlin, and R. Schuchat (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan, 2003), pp. 29-61.
[7] The most recent and finest example of this approach is Immanuel Etkes, The Gaon of Vilna: The Man and his Image, translated from the Hebrew by Jeffery Green, Berkeley: University of California, 2002. (The Hebrew original was published in 1998.)
[7] Representative studies illustrating this new approach may be found in the volume, Ha-Gra u-Veit Midrasho, above, n. 5.
[8]  Edmund Morris, Beethoven: The Universal Composer (New York: Harper Collins, 2005), pp. 130-133.
[9] See Yisrael Ta-Shma, “Some Observations on the Work ‘Pnei Yehoshua’ and its Author” (in Hebrew), Studies on the History of the Jews of Ashkenaz Presented to Eric Zimmer, eds. G. Bacon, D. Sperber, and A. Grossman (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 2008), pp. 277-285.
[10] See Ta-Shma, “The Vilna Gaon and the author of ‘Sha’agat Aryeh,’ the ‘Pnei Yehoshua,’ and the book ‘Tziyon le-Nefesh Chayah’: On the History of New Currents in Rabbinic Literature on the Eve of the Enlightenment” (in Hebrew), Sidra 15 (1999), pp. 181-191. Stern includes this article in his bibliography, but, surprisingly, never refers to Rabbis Falk and Ginzburg.
[11] See R. Abraham b. Elijah’s “Preface” to the Biur ha-Gra on the Shulhan ‘Arukh: Orah Hayyim, cited in Stern, p. 131,
[12] Eliakh, Ha-Gaon, pp. 702-704, cites R. Zvi Hirsch Farber’s suggestion that, to the contrary, the Gaon was convinced that if he wrote a new Shulhan Arukh it would succeed in displacing the old one.  He therefore desisted from writing one “out of his great respect” for Rabbis Karo and Isserles. This suggestion, in my view, is more of a tribute to R. Farber’s piety than to his historical judgment.
[13] In the same note Stern further states “In the early modern period Eastern European rabbinic Jews had been forced to work within the confines of a Jewish  corporate structure, their internal differences notwithstanding…. While pre-modern Eastern European Jewish life was far from ’tolerant,’ it forced extreme elements of the Jewish community to work with one another…. Though a plethora of different ideological voices could be heard within the yeshiva, the new learning institution severely curtailed the range of acceptable positions and practices tolerated by the lay-led early modern corporate structure.” This is very well said, though undercutting the rather rosy picture of the Yeshiva Stern paints in the body of his book. It must be noted, however, that Stern’s basic point here  was often made by the eminent historian of modern Judaism, Jacob Katz, contrasting the early modern corporate Jewish community not so much to the Yeshiva but to the more homogeneously Orthodox Jewish communities of the modern period.  It is unfortunate that Stern all too often uses Katz as a foil for his own revisionist views and does not sufficiently acknowledge the debt he owes to Katz’s pioneering and incisive—if, of course, debatable—theories.
[14] See “Interview with Eliyahu Stern,” Alan Brill: The Book of Doctrines and Opinions, Dec. 20, 2012.
[15] Alan Brill, “Auxiliary to Hokhmah: The Writings of the Vilna Gaon and Philosophical Terminology, Ha-Gra u-Veit Midrasho (above, note 5), pp. 9-37.
[16] In a famous passage from Halakhic Man, Rabbi Soloveitchik writes: “Not for naught did the Gaon of Vilna tell the translator of Euclid’s geometry into Hebrew [R. Barukh of Shklov] that ‘to the degree that a man is lacking in the wisdom of mathematics [hokhmat ha-matematikah], he will lack a hundred fold in the wisdom of the Torah.’ This statement is not just a pretty rhetorical conceit testifying to the Gaon’s broadmindedness, but a firmly established truth of halakhic epistemology.” See R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man, trans. Lawrence Kaplan (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1983), p. 57.   In truth, however, R. Soloveitchik’s quote is not exact.  What the Gaon actually said was “to the degree that a man is lacking in the other branches of wisdom [shearei he-hokhmot], he will lack a hundred fold in the wisdom of the Torah,” and consequently his statement, contra R. Soloveitchik, should be seen precisely as “a pretty rhetorical conceit testifying to the Gaon’s broadmindedness.” At the same time, in light of Stern’s demonstration regarding the centrality of mathematics in
the Gaon’s conception of the universe, R. Soloveitchik’s claim regarding the Gaon’s overall world–view, if not regarding this particular statement, may not be that far off from the truth!
[17 Bezalel Naor, “Book Review: The Genius,” Orot Blog, March 4, 2013. The review actually just consists of Naor’s posting a letter he wrote to Wolfson the day before, agreeing with and defending the latter’s view on this issue.
[18] Gershon Hundert, “(Re)defining Modernity in Jewish History,” eds. Jeremy Cohen and Moshe Rosman, Rethinking European Jewish History (Oxford: Littman Library, 2009), pp. 139-140; cited in Stern, p. 69.
[19] See the Gaon’s commentary on Isaiah 8:4. “The root of the souls of the nations of the world differs from root of the souls of the Jewish people, for their [nations of the world’s] souls derive from the [demonic] other side.” See Eliakh,   The Gaon, p.1178, which reproduces two copies of the Horodna-Vilna 1820 edition of the Gaon’s Commentary on Nakh: one with the passage intact; the other where the passage is—understandably!—inked out by the censor.
[20] Stern appears to attribute to the Gaon a view approaching that of Nahmanides, though, as noted in my text, his position is much closer to that of Maimonides. But to discuss this with the fullness it deserves would take us beyond the confines of this review essay.
[21] “Whenever he wishes to enter, he can enter, but only if he performs this ritual.” For further analysis, see Leviticus Rabbah, edited by Mordecai Margulies, Vol.2 (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1993), p. 484, note 2.
[22]  See Sefer Aderet Eliyahu: Kitzur Torat Kohanim (Tel-Aviv, 1954), p. 38; and Zikhron Eliyahu (Benei Brak, 1991), pp. 12-15 (part two). For a full discussion, see R. Mordecai Breuer, “Seder Avodat Yom ha-Kippurim,” Pirkei Mo‘adot, Vol.2 (Jerusalem: Horev, 1986), pp. 512-516.
[23] For some representative modern discussions of Tosefta Terumot, 7:20 and the conundrums it poses, see R. Prof. Saul Lieberman, Tosefta ki-Feshutah, Zer‘aim, Vol.1 (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1992), pp.420-423; the exchange between Prof. Samuel Atlas and R. Yehiel Yaakov Weinberg in the latter’s Seridei Esh, Vol. 3 (Jerusalem, 1977), #78 (pp. 197-201); David Daube, Collaboration with Tyranny in Rabbinic Law, Oxford University Press, 1965; Elijah J. Schochet, A Responsum on Surrender: Translation and Analysis, published as an Appendix to The Bach: Rabbi Joel Sirkes, His Life, Works, and Teachings (New York, 2006), pp. 325-413; and Aharon Enker, “Tzorech: Dehiyyat Nefesh Mipnei Nefashot,” in ‘Ikkarim Be-Mishpat ha-Pelili ha-‘Ivri (Ramat Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 2007), pp. 389-448. I hope to show on another occasion that the Gaon’s brilliant emendation of the Tosefta is thoroughly convincing and justified, despite its rejection by both Professors Lieberman and Atlas.
This example also sheds light on the issue as to whether the Gaon in emending a text believed that he was restoring it to its original historical form which had been effaced as a result of the vagaries and errors of copyists, or to cite Stern, whether he believed that he was “refining the text according to what … the text ideally ought to look like” (55). From Stern’s comment it appears he believes the latter to be the case. But it is one thing to say that the Gaon believed that a superfluous passage, even if it was historically part of the original text, ought to be deleted in the name of an ideal principle of maximum conciseness—a principle dear to the Gaon’s heart, quite another to say that the Gaon believed that a passage that, in his view, made no sense was historically part of the original text.
[24] For a full discussion of the Gaon’s explanation and the reactions it aroused, see Hannan Gafni, Peshutah shel Mishnah: ‘Iyyunim be-Heker Sifrut Hazal be-‘Et ha-Hadashah (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 2012), pp. 70-72. Another well-known and not overly technical example Stern might have brought is the Gaon’s explanation of Mishnah Bava Metsi‘a 1:1, cited and made famous by R. Israel Lipschutz in his Mishnah commentary, Tiferet Yisrael. See Gafni, p. 59, note 2, and the sources he cites there. In truth, if anywhere, it is here that the Gaon, though I tend to doubt it, “called into question the canons of rabbinic authority” and “challenged the rabbinic tradition.”
[25] See Zikhron Eliyahu (above, n. 22), pp. 20-22 (part two). But see Yaakov S. Spiegel, ‘Amudim be-Toldot  ha-Sefer ha-Ivri: Hagahot u-Magihim (Ramat-Gan: Bar-Ilan University, 1996), p. 390, n.26.  Stern, p. 223, n.100, appears to allude to this comment of the Gaon, but from his very brief, almost cryptic, remarks it is impossible to discern the point the Gaon is making.
[26 Alan Brill, “Auxiliary to Hokhmah” (above, n. 15).

 

 

 




The Custom of Playing Cards on Channukah

One of the more interesting customs relating to Chanukah is that of a relaxation of the restriction against gambling. As Menachem Mendel has pointed out, this relaxation was not limited, as some think, to those of Hassidic decent. Rather, some of the earliest mentions come long before the creation of the Hassidic movement, in places such as Worms and Frankfort. Further, this custom has continued to be almost universal (amongst Ashkenazim) irrespective of origin.

To demonstrate this point, it is worth mentioning a lesser known book, which although lesser known is rich in the history of customs of Lithuanian Jews during the 19th century. This book, Rememberings: The World of a Russian-Jewish Woman in the Nineteenth Century, (which I have previously mentioned at the Seforim blog) is the memoir of Pauline Wengeroff. She grew up in Lithuania and eventually moved to St. Petersburg Russia (along with many detours). Her book, originally written in Yiddish, was translated into English (and abridged, you can download the full translation here).

In the course of discussing how she celebrated the Jewish holidays as a child she discusses card playing.

“On the fifth night [of Chanukah] my mother invited all our friends and relatives. That was the night she gave us Chanukah gelt . . . You stayed up later than usual that evening, and played cards longer. . . . It was a day of rejoicing for us children. Even we little ones were allowed to play cards that night. . . . On such evenings my father skipped even learning Talmud and sat down to cards although, like my mother, he had no idea of the rules of any game.”

She is not the only Lithuanian to record such a practice. R. Yosef Hayyim Sonnenfeld, the Rabbi of Jerusalem and the leader (of his time) of the Yishuv haYashan was asked why do so many people, some of which spend their days learning Torah, neglect Torah study and play cards on Chanukah? R. Sonnenfeld responded that not everyone can learn all the time and people need a break and playing cards is better than doing nothing. The questioner, however, was unsatisfied with this response, and questioned the notion that card playing could be considered a legitimate necessary break. The questioner allowed that exercise would be allowed but couldn’t understand how card playing could be considered an allowed break from Torah study. R. Sonnenfeld refused to back down regarding his original pronouncement and said, while some at some times may value exercise at other times people have other needs which apparently cards fulfill.

Sources: Rememberings: The World of a Russian-Jewish Woman in the Nineteenth Century, pp. 65-66; R. Yosef Hayyim Sonnenfeld, Simlat Hayyim, nos. 48-49; for more on the custom of dreidel see my post from last year here.




Dr. Leiman’s Post – Two Cases of Non-Jews with Rabbinic Ordination

What follows is an article by Dr. Shnayer Leiman, who I trust is well-known to the readers of this blog. But for the benefit of those who are unfamiliar, Shnayer Leiman is a noted talmid hakham, a professor of Bible and Jewish History and a renowned bibliophile. He has been kind enough to provide the first of (hopefully) many short articles on bibliographical topics of interest. As I am the one who posted this, any typographical errors are my fault alone.

–Dan Rabinowitz
Two Cases of Non-Jews with Rabbinic Ordination:
One Real and One Imaginary
Shnayer Leiman

1. Oluf Gerhard Tychsen (1734-1815) was a distinguished Christian Hebraist.[1] A confirmed Lutheran, he devoted his life to Oriental studies, where aside from seminal contributions to Hebrew, Arabic, and Syriac studies, he also made a significant contribution to the decipherment of cuneiform. In 1752, while a student at the Christian Academy in Altona, he also attended the lectures of R. Jonathan Eibeschuetz. From 1755 on, he perused Oriental studies at the University of Jena and then at the University of Halle. In 1759-1760, he served as a missionary to the Jews — with little success — travelling through much of Denmark and Germany. He was thrown out of Altona when he attempted to deliver a conversionary sermon in its main Synagogue. Toward the end of 1760 he was appointed Professor of Oriental Languages at the newly established University of Bützov in Mecklenburg. He later served as Chief Librarian and Museum Director at Rostock. He was a prolific author who published some 40 volumes of scholarly studies during his academic career.

While little honor came his way from the Jewish community in Altona, a rabbi in Kirchheim in Hesse would award Tychsen with rabbinic ordination! Before we present the text of the rabbinic ordination, a word needs to be said about the rabbi and about rabbinic ordination. The rabbi’s name was R. Moshe b. R. Zvi Hirsch Lifshuetz and he served as Dayyan of the Jewish community of Kirchheim in Hesse. Alas, nothing else seems to be known about him.[2] In eighteenth century Germany, two types of rabbinic ordination were prevalent.[3] The higher level of rabbinic ordination bestowed the title of “Morenu” on the recipient. It was usually awarded to a rabbinic candidate who devoted full time to his Torah studies even after marriage, and was intent on serving professionally as a rabbi and rosh yeshivah. The lower level of rabbinic ordination bestowed the title “Haver” on the recipient. It was usually awarded to an accomplished talmudic student when he was about to marry and begin his professional career outside the rabbinate. The rabbinic ordination awarded to Tychsen resembles the lower level of rabbinic ordination. As the text itself makes clear, it was an honorary rabbinic ordination. The text reads as follows:[4]

ויעבור טיכזן מארץ מרחק נדוד מביתו וילך מחיל אל חיל ומישיבה לישיבה למד ויצק מים על ידי גאוני עמו רבים עוסק במלאכת שמים בפלפול ובסברה ה”ה הבחור נחמד המופלא כמ’ אלוף גירהרט טיכזן מהאלזטיין וגם פה עבר עלי הבחור הלז כאשר ראיתיהו שמחתי ואע”ג שאינו בעו”ה נמול רק היה כשותה מים מבארות עמוקות חכמת חז”ל וכמצות ה’ ואהבת לרעך כמוך שמתי על לב לעטרהו ולכבדהו ולסמכהו בסמיכת חכמים שזו תורה וזו שכרה מן השמים להיות קרוא בשם

החבר ר’ טיכזן

לכל דבר שבקדושה ונוצר תאנה יאכל פריו פרי קודש הילולים’ להיות בידו לתפארת ולכבוד התורה ולומדים ולמען שלא תהא האמת נעדרת חקקתי רשמתי וכתבתי דברי בעופרת לכבוד ולתפארת להיות חקוק על לבו ובידו לאות ולמשמרת.

כ”ד המדבר על כבוד התלמידים היום א’ כ”ו למב”י תקי”ט לפ”ק לסדר אלה הדברים אשר דבר.

משה ב”הרב מהור”ר מצבי הירש ליפשיץ יצ”ו מצפה בקרתא קדישא קורך-היים במדינת העסן יע”א

Tychsen traveled a great distance from his home, going from strength to strength, studying at one yeshivah then another, serving the great Gaonim of his people, engaged in the work of the Lord, in pilpul and logical discourse. He is the delightful young lad, the excellent Oluf Gerhard Tychsen of Holstein. He passed through my community as well. When I saw him I rejoiced. Despite the fact that due to our sins he is uncircumcised, he drank from the waters of the deep wells the wisdom of our Sages of blessed memory. And as required by G-d’s commandment: Love your neighbor as yourself, I resolved to crown him and honor him and bestow upon him rabbinic ordination, for such is the Torah and such is its reward from heaven that he be called by the title

The “Haver” R. Tychsen

for all sacred purposes. He who tends the fig tree will enjoy its fruit, an offering of praise, all to his glory and honor, and for the honor of the Torah and those who study it. So that the truth not be withheld, I have recorded this in ink, for honor and glory, to be engraved on the tablet of his heart, and to hold in his hand as a permanent sign.

These are the words of the one who speaks in honor of the students, today, the first day of the week, 26 days in the counting of the Omer, in the year 519 not counting thousands, the parashah of “These are the words that [Moses] spoke,”[5]

Moses the son of Rabbi Zvi Hirsch Lifshuetz, may his Rock and Redeemer watch over him, the rabbinic judge[6] in the holy community of Kirchheim”[7] in Hesse, may He protect it.

2. Elias Hutter (circa 1553-1609), a pious Christian, studied Oriental languages at the University of Jena and was appointed Professor of Hebrew at the University of Leipzig.[8] His fame rests not so much on his scholarly research as it does on his career as an editor and publisher. He published a series of polyglot editions of the Bible, as well as editions of the Hebrew Bible alone. He is perhaps most famous for his Hamburg, 1587 edition of the Hebrew Bible.[9] Usually bound in one thick folio volume, it is distinguished by the large font he used for the Hebrew letters. Moreover, he printed the root letters of every Hebrew word in the Bible in thick, heavily inked font. In contrast, he printed the non-root letters (such as “vav” copula “and”; or “vav” consecutive, which changes the tense of the verb) in a hollowed-out outline form. Thus, he introduced a major educational tool where a simple glance at the printed biblical text enabled the reader to recognize the root letters of any Hebrew word.

One of the many great Gaonim who lived in the eighteenth century was R. Joseph Teomim (1727-1792) Chief Rabbi of Frankfort on the Oder.[10] His classic commentary on Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim and Yoreh De’ah, the פרי מגדים, is frequently reprinted. In the first edition of the פרי מגדים on Orah Hayyim (Frankfort on the Oder, 1787), R. Joseph Teomim prefaced his commentary with six “letters.” The “letters” were actually an encyclopedic introduction to Jewish law, thought, and practice. Some of the “letters” address such matters as the ideal curriculum for a young Jewish student, and even present lists of which books need to be read and mastered. The “letters” were not always included in the later editions of the פרי מגדים. When Makhon Yerushalayim — a distinguished publishing house for rabbinic literature — undertook to reissue the Shulhan Arukh in a massive, comprehensive, and majestic new edition, it made sure to include the six “letters.”[11] Moreover, as the editors put it: “We have re-edited the letters in clear print, with proper paragraphing and punctuation. We also added notes and references in order to render it easier for the reader to wade his way through these sometimes complex materials.”[12]

In the sixth “letter” (on p. 339 of the Makhon Yerushalayim edition), R. Joseph Teomim notes that the first book that needs to be studied by a Jewish child is the Hebrew Bible in its entirety. He then lists a series of biblical commentaries and tools that are essential for the proper study of תנ”ך. He adds:

גם תנ”ך עם אותיות חלולים, השורש בדיו, והשימושים והחסרים לבינים, טובים מאוד לנער בבחורתו ללמוד מהם

“A young student will gain much by studying from the Tanakh with the hollowed-out letters, i.e., with the root letters inked-in and with the prefixes and suffixes and the vowel letters hollowed-out.”

Since most readers would have no idea which edition of the Hebrew Bible was intended by R. Joseph Teomim, or where to look for it, the editors of Makhon Yerushalayim wisely and correctly indicate in a footnote that the reference is to the Hutter Bible. Alas, they also bestowed a posthumous rabbinic ordination on Elias Hutter, calling him:

הר”ר ע. הוטר

“The Rabbi, Rabbeinu [or: Reb] E. Hutter”

This, of course, is the imaginary case of bestowal of rabbinic ordination on a non-Jew.[13]

Footnotes:

1] See, e.g., Biographisch-Bibliographisches Kirchenlexicon, Hamm, 1997, vol. 12, columns 761-766.

2] It is tempting to identify him with R. Moshe b. R. Zvi Hirsch Lifschuetz of Mannheim (Germany) and Modena (Italy), a supporter of R. Jonathan Eibeschuetz. See לוחת עדות, Altona, 1755, pp. 20b-21b. But R. Jacob Emden assures us that the latter Rabbi Lifschuetz was no longer among the living in 1759. See his ויקם עדות ביעקב, Altona, 1755-1756, p. 85a.

3] In general, see M. Breuer, “הסמיכה האשכנזית” in ציון 33) 1968), pp. 15-46.

4] The text is drawn from L. Donath, Geschichte der Juden in Mecklenburg, Leipzig, 1874, pp. 326-327.

5] The date is problematic. In 1759, the 26th day of the Omer (= 11 Iyyar) fell on a Tuesday (May 8), not on a Sunday. Also, the parashah was פרשת אמור, not פרשת דברים. The latter objection is easily met. The author of the rabbinic ordination was simply introducing his signature with an appropriate biblical flourish: These are the words that Moses [the son of Rabbi Zvi Hirsch Lifschuetz] spoke. Regarding the former objection, one suspects that the typesetter of the Donath volume misread a “ג” for an א.

6] Almost certainly the printed Hebrew text needs to be emended and read: מ”צ פה = מורה צדק פה, and we have translated accordingly.

7] Kirchheim here is perhaps to be identified with the town of Kirchhain in Hesse. On the history of the Jewish community in Kirchhain, see K. Schubert, Juden in Kirchhain, Wiesbaden, 1987.

8] See, e.g., Biographisch-Bibliographisches Kirchenlexicon, Hamm, 1990, vol. 2, columns 1226-1227.

9] See H.C. Zafren, “Elias Hutter’s Hebrew Bibles” in The Joshua Bloch Memorial Volume, New York, 1960, pp. 29-39.

10] See the entry in Encyclopaedia Judaica, Jerusalem, 1971, vol. 15, columns 1011-1012.

11] Shulhan Arukh Ha-Shalem: Orah Hayyim, Jerusalem, 1994, vol. 1, pp. 319-343.

12] Op. cit., p. 320.

13] Turning non-Jews into rabbis (without prior conversion) is not unprecedented in Jewish literature. Apparently, J. D. Eisenstein, in his אוצר ישראל, included a non-Jew on a list of talmudic rabbis who worked for a living. See R. Abraham Isaac Ha-Kohen Kook’s critique of Eisenstein in אגרות הראיה, Jerusalem, 1962, vol. 1, pp. 161-162.

Appendix:
Title Page of 1587 Hutter Bible