Torah Under Wraps

by Yoav Sorek

translated by Daniel Tabak

Their publications are not allowed to get out. Their roiling Internet forums are blocked by filters. The articles they publish omit the names of professors considered verboten. A cohort of Haredi scholars [1] challenge the academy and their natural surroundings, unafraid to deal with subjects deemed taboo in the yeshiva world. Few Religious Zionists have penetrated this alternative ivory tower, but one of them—Eitam Henkin, may his blood be avenged—succeeded in breaking down barriers.

*

“One needs to strengthen oneself with faith; one should not entertain philosophical questions nor even glance at the books of philosophers,” said Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav already at the end of the eighteenth century. This motto is particularly popular today, in the post-modern era of “religious strengthening,” in which religiosity is perceived as synonymous with simplicity and unsophistication. Yet that very approach also runs counter to the Jewish mind, which is by its nature anything but naive. The legacy of Jewish erudition constitutes part of the DNA not only of the academy, but of even the most Haredi sectors of the yeshiva world, and it finds expression in the spirited Jewish Studies scholarship flourishing under the radar in circles that are presumed to recoil from it.

Israelis distant from the world of Jewish Studies were offered a glimpse of it in the amusing film “Footnote,” but it portrayed only the nerve center of the field’s academic milieu, when in reality a great deal more is out there. In the reading rooms of the National Library, and in many houses in Bnei Brak and Jerusalem, many scholars sit and study the same topics as academics but without academic degree, without traveling to conferences, without aspirations toward an academic appointment. The history of medieval and modern rabbinic authorities, the stories of their compositions, the manuscripts and their provenances, variant customs, disputes both ancient and alive—all of these preoccupy a non-negligible group of yeshiva graduates, Haredi in dress and behavior, who publish articles in “non-academic” journals of Torah scholarship and produce corrected editions of sacred texts, some of which can even be considered quasi-critical editions.

They number Hasidim and Mitnaggedim, the truly God-fearing and those trapped in the Haredi lifestyle who cut corners, those lacking any academic title and others who have earned one—sharp and knowledgeable one and all, still faithful to, and actively participating in, the intra-Haredi discourse. Some of them evidence a dual non-conformism in their lives: on the one hand, they have opted to put distance between themselves and the safe space of the yeshiva, pasturing in the treacherous fields of scholarship; on the other hand, they are Haredim who hail from circles thoroughly suspicious of academia and would not dream of lending credence to its guiding assumptions. Nearly every remarkable personality in the field originates in the circles of Ashkenazi religious zealots, yet the scholarly discussion—which takes place not only on journal pages but in the lively Internet forums of Be-Hadrei Haredim and Otzar HaHochma—is not private, and sometimes a handful of others participate. Rabbi Yoel Catane of Yeshivat Sha‘alvim, editor of the journal HaMa’yan, is one of those others, as his home is in the Religious Zionist world, and his publication represents the enlightened German Zionist Orthodoxy of bygone years. The late Eitam Henkin also was one of them—a Torah scholar and brilliantly wide-ranging scholar who took prominent part in the back and forth of these torani scholars.

In National-Religious society, there are, to be sure, many others involved in Jewish Studies scholarship, but one would be hard-pressed to find the same kind of polemical verve that exists amongst Haredi scholars. According to K., a young Haredi scholar, the passion attests to the fact that the scholarly endeavor is for them an existential need:

“The Haredi does his research in order to mask his own crisis of faith in a world that forbids thinking. Those who try to identify the composer of a liturgical poem or the copyist of an unknown manuscript, and those who uncover a forgotten rabbinical position held by R. Joel Sirkes, and those who wade through tomes to reconstruct a partially extant word in an Akkadian inscription, are all really fleeing forbidden thoughts. They release the tension between the silent extinguishment of faith in the Haredi world and the soul aflame with newly forged ideas by running for the hills of manuscripts and book archives.”

K.’s criticism begins with the Procrustean bed of Haredi yeshiva education:

“The Haredi kollel fellow is force-fed a diet of Torah study characteristic of the Lithuanian yeshivas of the previous century. Should he not be of a mind to rebel completely, the only somewhat legitimate pursuit open to him is Jewish Studies. In that way he can edit the novellae of the Rosh to tractate Nazir without raising too many eyebrows. For that reason Haredi scholars, at least initially, are more involved in editing and less with research or writing articles. And if they are open to producing scholarship, the closer the subject matter is to our time, the better: better on the modern rabbinic authorities than the medieval ones, better on the medievals than the Ge’onim, and God forbid not on the Talmud—don’t even mention the Bible. Preference is given to writing biographical pieces and endless discussions of historical chronology, such as clarifying the years of rabbi X’s rabbinic post in town Y, rather than anything deep about his method of study.”

Not everyone agrees with K.’s psychological diagnosis. “Some have ventured into the academic world not out of frustration with the kollel world, but because they were introduced to scholarship in minute doses and became enchanted by it,” says R. Yosef Mordechai Dubovick, a Boyaner Hasid who recently completed his doctorate on Rabbenu Hananel. He says that this field presents something the young prodigy would find difficult to resist.

“We have been taught and trained to question, explore, plumb the depths and not be satisfied with a superficial reading or understanding. When the intellectual yeshiva student is exposed to new tools and unfamiliar hermeneutical lenses and modes of understanding, his natural curiosity—nurtured so well—gobbles them up.”

“It’s ‘spontaneous academia,’” says Rabbi J., who would prefer to avoid equating it with academia. “It develops independently, without institutional bodies to dictate rules and regulations. It is anarchic, autodidactic, and exhilarating. It is a breathtaking demonstration of unfettered intellectual ability.”

A Scholar is Born

Rabbi Dr. Zvi Leshem, Director of the Gershom Scholem Library at the National Library of Israel, has occasionally bumped into scholars from the very heart of the Haredi world. “They are not the typical kollel fellow because the scholarly approach is not that of yeshiva students,” he says. He continues:

“Look, when I began working here I met a senior rosh yeshiva from a respected hesder yeshiva, and I told him about those who come from the yeshiva world to do research here. He was at a loss. “What sort of thing do they research?” he asked me, and I responded in turn with the example of Hemdat Yamim.[2] “Why would they research Hemdat Yamim,” the Torah scholar asked me, “when they can buy it in any seforim store?” That is the mainstream approach. Those who embark on scholarship are atypical.”

They may be exceptional and individualist, but one unmistakable quality binds them all together: they are autodidacts. This is evident in how they handle material in a foreign language. Some of these scholars have never studied English or German systematically yet refer to non-Hebrew sources in their articles. Each apparently bridged the gap in his own way.

Anyone interested in this phenomenon is invited to open, for example, a volume of Yerushaseinu, an annual tome published by the Institute for German Jewish Heritage (Machon Moreshet Ashkenaz). Some of the articles published therein would be perfectly suitable for any standard academic journal; among the numerous footnotes adorning the pages one finds references to scholarly literature in Hebrew and other languages. Other publications include Yeshurun, Moriah (published by Machon Yerushalayim, which for decades already has been involved in the professional editing of medieval and modern rabbinic literature), the Chabad journal Heikhal Ha-Besht, and others. Torani scholars fondly remember the journal Tzfunot, which met its demise over a decade ago, and in the meantime they publish in Torah supplements to Haredi newspapers, primarily in Kulmos of the newspaper Mishpacha. Likewise, the new scholarly journal Chitzei Gibborim – Pleitas Soferim, published in Lakewood, NJ, is at the moment taking its first steps.

Prominent names in the field include Mordechai Honig, a Hasid from Monsey who is extremely knowledgeable in medieval rabbinic literature; Yaakov Yisrael Stahl, a scholar of Franco-German Jewry forced to lower his profile in connection with academia; Moshe Dovid Chechik, a historian who until recently co-edited Yerushaseinu and currently co-edits Chitzei Gibborim; Yehudah Zeivald, a Boyaner Hasid who is quite busy with philosophy and Hasidism; Yitzchak Rosenblum, who had to move from Kiryat Sefer to Bet Shemesh on account of the library he opened, and currently teaches at the Haredi yeshiva high school Nehora; Yaakov Laufer, a scholar who focuses on linguistics and on the conceptual mode of Torah study; Betzalel Deblitsky, a prodigious zealot from Bnei Brak who runs the forum associated with Otzar HaHochma (the monumental digitization project of the Jewish library); Nachum Grunwald of Lakewood, NJ, a Chabadnik who grew up a Satmar-Pupa Hasid and serves as editor of Heikhal Ha-Besht; Aharon Gabbai, a rising star from Bnei Brak who graduated from a Lithuanian yeshiva, of course; Yechiel Goldhaber, slightly older than the rest, a historian and bibliographer whose scholarship is famous, and for whom the National Library is a second home; and Avraham Shmuel Taflinsky, who has toiled for the past few years in uncovering the sources of the aforementioned Hemdat Yamim.

Once we are mentioning the denizens of the National Library, mention must be made of the all-important tool in their scholarly work—the Internet. The global web of knowledge enables Haredi men from conservative yeshivas, whose library holdings are what you would expect, to come in contact with Jewish Studies scholarship and its historical-critical mindset. Most Haredi scholars have a home Internet connection, but not all. Zvi Leshem relates that some come to the library not to peruse ancient manuscripts or converse with the university’s scholars who use it as their place of study, but simply to work at a place that provides Internet access.

“In the digital age, Jewish Studies scholarship has successfully managed to wiggle its way, however constrainedly, into Haredi and yeshiva circles via databases such as Otzar HaHochma,” Mordechai Honig relates. “Until recently, it was the books. The birth of a Haredi scholar was generally triggered by incidental exposure to academic scholarship that invitingly charmed him. For me, it was Ephraim Urbach’s The Tosaphists, which I purchased at age fifteen.”

No one can deny the love story between digital media and the world of Haredi scholarship, with the latter exercising its acumen also in its use of technology. Along those lines, a weekly Internet journal popped up several years ago which, in the course of a couple years, became an especially favored forum for the group of torani scholars. It bore the name Datshe (ДАЧА), a Russian word that made its way into yeshivish slang, which evokes a leisurely space in which people enjoy life, a kind of rare legitimation of self-indulgence and letting loose a bit. The journal, founded and edited by Yitzchak Baruch Rosenblum, was, according to its subtitle, “where sages of Israel come to relax.” The publication insisted upon respectable discussion and high-caliber argumentation, but one also could find among the directives to its readers and writers the following note of caution, which furnishes an additional explanation to the choice of digital format: “Please preserve the low profile of this publication. One can print it for ease of reading but should not show it to just anyone. Wisdom belongs to the discreet.”[3]

Instead of Polemic, Shock

Along with Internet databases and online journals, forums also have an important place in the discourse of these scholars. After many long years in which the forum Soferim u-Sefarim on the site Be-Hadrei Haredim served as the water cooler for torani scholars, the baton was passed to the forums of Otzar HaHochma. A lengthy, fascinating thread recently began there, for example, whose purpose is to generate a list of “dissenting opinions [made by lone rabbinic scholars],” that is, halakhic positions taken by well-known decisors over the generations when their colleagues were of a different mind. The thread reveals the foundational analytic-halakhic erudition of the discussants, expert not only in bibliography and history but also in a wide range of positions expressed by medieval and modern rabbinic authorities on scores of issues.

The administrator of the Otzar HaHochma forums is, as was said above, Betzalel Deblitsky (under the username “Ish Sefer”). What had been permissible on Be-Hadrei Haredim the fearless zealot Deblitsky bans, censoring discussions and silencing voices he deems unworthy of being heard. But even those who miss the great openness that marked the forum of yore understand that the change is permanent—discussions of relevance within the scholarly community take place principally on the new forum.

Zeal, parenthetically, is a relative matter: the strict filter Netiv, which runs according to the guidance of a confidential rabbinic board, blocks the Otzar HaHochma forum on account of its content being deemed subversive and problematic. To take but one example, the forum has an intense, politically-charged discussion surrounding one of the veteran decisors of the Edah Haredit in Jerusalem—R. Yitzhak Isaac Kahana. A broadside that circulated in Jerusalem against R. Kahana’s book Orhot Tohorah and his lenient rulings on questions regarding menstruation inflamed not only the physical Haredi street but the virtual one as well, engendering scathing posts on the forum in support of each side. A symptom of one of the forum’s pathologies is partially manifest in this case: the deletion of threads by the moderator, who perceived them as deviating from the Haredi party line. Over three pages of posts inexplicably disappeared from the site, only to return the next day, redacted.

Rabbi Eitam Henkin was among those disappointed by the limits set on the forum’s discourse as compared with past fora, but he nevertheless realized that this was the place to be. Under the username “Tokh Kedei Dibbur,” Henkin took part in discussions on the forum, and at the same time carried on extensive personal e-mail correspondence with scholars who were active on it. This became the gateway through which Israeli reality penetrated the Haredi ivory tower—users discovered that the man murdered together with his wife, in front of his children, in the middle of Sukkot, was none other than “their very own” Rabbi Eitam. The forum was filled with emotional threads of eulogy and anguish, memorial initiatives and activities to be done in his merit, and the revelation of the many connections that Henkin had weaved amongst his Internet friends.

It is difficult not to resort to superlatives when speaking about Eitam Henkin. Anyone who had followed his abundant Torah publications — which were marked by eloquent prose, intellectual honesty, and the self-confidence of someone on home turf — had trouble believing the subject of conversation was so young. Even the conversation about him on the forums sketches a fascinating profile. The user known as “Meholat Ha-Mahanayim” wrote:

“The distinguished victim, may God avenge his blood, was wondrously knowledgeable about the entire history of our people, and specifically the history of Lithuanian Torah scholars and their writings. I merited corresponding with him a bit here, and as much as he was honest, fair, and truth-seeking, he was also intensely and diligently exacting […] None of his responses contained any triviality; his prose was shot through with words of Torah and wisdom, brimming with old wine […] One could discern his constant drive for the truth from his responses. He was never too flustered for a retort, and he always based what he said on the most solid of foundations. Even when he argued for an alternative position, he was a fair and honest opponent, unafraid to admit he was wrong when necessary.”

None other than Deblitsky (“Ish Sofer”), who is so distant from Henkin’s worldview and rarely treats anything with a velvet glove, eulogized Henkin at length. The forum’s moderator wrote:

“His statements stood out in their richness, sharpness, and precision—they have no equal. The wide range of people who corresponded with him is astounding. Despite their working in various fields, his correspondents unanimously attested to the immense benefit they gained from him and to the rich sources with which he magnanimously and pleasantly inundated them. Many a time in answering some inconsequential question, he would—as soon as you could say Jack Robinson[4]— whip out one of his many lists, chock-full and cornucopian, while noting that he was collecting additional material on the matter and it would have to wait until a future opportunity […]

Many have mentioned honesty and artlessness among his noble qualities. I would like to emphasize one thing that no one like me realized until they fell prey to it: his sharp and resolute style tended to invite polemic, but anyone who responded harshly as a tit-for-tat comeback found himself embarrassed and pathetic upon discovering the affable and unpretentious man behind those words.”

Further on, Deblitsky touched on Henkin’s transcendence of the entire sectoral framework. According to him, Henkin noted in a personal communication “that his unique pedigree as a son and grandson of American rabbis who did not fit in with any of the specific groups of Torah-observant Jews enables him to view himself as free of the shackles of sometimes artificial classification and group affiliation. One could say that this feeling largely allowed him to cast a critical eye upon and evaluate phenomena from all sectors without bias.” Deblitsky claimed this to be evident in the independent stance Henkin took in a slew of polemics, in which his misgivings and speculations were spelled out numerous times in private messages, as he took pains to publish in the forum only those things that he could wholeheartedly stand behind.

“I, for one, find exaggeration on both sides,” wrote Henkin to Deblitsky regarding the polemic within the forum surrounding the figure of the late Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein. “Be it the disparaging vitriol about him […] or, on the other side, those feigning innocence, as if he was just another link in the chain of Torah sages throughout the ages, some of whom have always engaged to some degree in general culture.” Henkin conceded to Deblitsky that even within the National-Religious community opposition to Rabbi Lichtenstein had existed: “It was undoubtedly quite grating for a regular yeshiva student (excluding those from Har Etzion and to “the left”) to see citations from non-Jewish culture and the like in a Torah article. In this case (of criticism within the National-Religious community—Yoav Sorek), however, opposition to that approach was disjoined from ad hominem attacks.”

“We should be very sad that ‘sectoral’ boundaries make no exceptions for Torah giants,” wrote Henkin in another e-mail to Deblitsky.

“The definitive assignment of each person into specifically this community or that one is often artificial. It is absurd that the public considers many comedians, musicians, and low-brow entertainers (for purposes of this example) as “Haredi” because they attended heder and wear a hat in the synagogue, while thousands of families who give their all for Torah and are punctilious about every jot and tittle (not to mention that for them television, secular newspapers, and the like are not even up for discussion) are “not Haredi” because they wear a colored shirt and also rejoice on Yom Ha-‘Atzma’ut. Although people can only see externals, they can ascertain what they will have to account for in the Heavenly court, whether they will be asked about Torah study, honesty in business, and hoping for the redemption,[5] or whom they cast their vote for in national elections.”

Henkin wrote the following when describing Rabbi Dov Lior’s Torah greatness. “I can say unhesitatingly that we are talking about a serious heavyweight in Torah erudition and jurisprudence who has the entire Talmud and Shulhan Arukh in his head—incredible!” Still, he noted that the Haredim do not respect him simply because his stance on Zionist matters “meant he was to be associated with only one camp and perforce rendered off-limits for the other camp, even if for him the only thing in his world is Torah, pure and simple. (Elements of Western culture or academia, which are accepted in large segments of his camp, he derides at every turn.)”

In these citations of Henkin one can hear the Haredi lilt. As Deblitsky and others in the forum pointed out multiple times, Henkin had the ability to converse with various people in language they were comfortable with. In private communication with another user in the forum, Henkin disclosed that when he would write on Otzar HaHochma, he would adopt the appropriate style and cautiously promote topics close to his heart.

What motive could there be for entering this lion’s den? Henkin had faith that every place has its bright spots, and he was happy to become acquainted with people he would not have otherwise met. He described himself as “attempting to pursue peace, even in a place where they pursue the likes of me.” As he wrote another time under the username “Tekhelet Domah” in the somewhat-calmer forum of Be-Hadrei Haredim: “I try my utmost not to hate anyone and not to write off any community that believes itself to be doing God’s will, even those which, in accord with their own aforementioned belief, would write me off and disparage my Rebbe in an unacceptable way.”

Professor in All But Name

After Henkin’s murder, a debate arose between his acquaintances and family over the the respective value he assigned to the two antipodes of academic study and religious study. Not surprisingly, the tension between the two constantly taxes many torani scholars. In the Otzar HaHochma forum and others, it is not uncommon to find a venomous and disparaging treatment of classic academics, who are caricatured as wasting their time on the trivial or unnecessary because they do not know how to study Torah, plain and simple. In the acerbic language of one forum contributor: “they are incapable of studying a page of Talmud without Schottenstein and a dictionary.”

In this way, the methodology of the elderly professor David Halivni, for example, has been pilloried and subject to sharp ridicule, perhaps also on account of his past affiliation with the Conservative movement. Along the lines of the approach with which he is associated (which presumes that most Talmudic passages were edited by a generation of anonymous sages, termed stamma’im, during the Savoraic period), the user “Afarqasta De-‘Anya” writes that he read Halivni’s introductions to two tractates and concluded: “Halivni did not write them himself; rather, he composed specific passages in which even he did not fully understand what he was writing or what he intended. His editor and publisher added stammaitic passages, thereby integrating the scattered pieces into what appears to be a single, unified text.”

This derision may, of course, result from an inferiority complex afflicting those with no proper academic training, or from the ignorance of those whose intellectual horizons do not extend beyond the narrative in which they were raised. In any case, it is far from being the consensus of the community of torani scholars: some have integrated into academia in recent years, others recognize that the yeshiva world’s disdain toward Jewish Studies is outdated. As Dubovick notes, Jewish Studies of this past generation is not what it had been previously, when scholars had no connection to the traditional study hall, and their scholarship at times revealed their ignorance and at other times could not sort the wheat from the chaff. In this generation, the preeminent scholars in the field are also serious Torah scholars.

Yet, anyone who publishes in Haredi journals or seeks legitimacy from the Haredi street cannot write without inhibition. “They must be careful about how they write, whom they cite, and even what titles they bestow,” explains Zvi Leshem. “I recall someone here who wanted to cite Rabbi Saul Lieberman’s Tosefta Ki-Feshutah, but he could not figure out which was the worse option—writing Rabbi Lieberman or Professor Lieberman. In the end he simply omitted his name.”

Though many of them already bear the title Dr., generally the torani scholars are not in the academic race for positions and recognition, and that fact profoundly impacts their lives. “The disconnect from the academic world and all its rivalry makes it easy for a scholar to share his wisdom with his colleagues, without having to worry about material or future scholarship being stolen, as well as to partake of his colleagues’ wisdom,” says R. Yoel Catane. “At the same time, the pressure to publish quality articles in the academic world, and the need to subject one’s research to peer review, occasionally yields excellent results that cannot be achieved in torani scholarship.”

“The fact that we are not part of that competition,” explains G. to me, “grants us peace of mind, intellectual freedom, the freedom to choose our areas of research without the need for prerequisite courses that are not entirely necessary, and the freedom to develop our ideas as we see fit. I see Haredi scholars benefitting from the sort of freedom enjoyed by the first generation of scholars in the Wissenschaft des Judentums movement.”

Between Seclusion and Entrenchment

The heightened awareness of Jewish sages to the development of their tradition preceded by centuries the Wissenschaft des Judentums movement, which set the critical modern gaze upon the Jewish library. Across the generations there were Ge’onim, medievals, and moderns engaging in textual criticism, historicizing customs, unearthing deep-rooted errors, and looking askance at what the ignorant perceived as a “Judaism” that could not be questioned.

Even from the narrower, more modern perspective of relations between the academy and Haredim, the group that forms the subject of this article certainly cannot claim originality. The “Bibliography of the Hebrew Book,” a superb academic project that catalogs all titles printed in Hebrew and other Jewish languages through the ages, is currently led by Yitzchok Yudlov, an erudite Haredi with no academic schooling. Among the founders of the project Rabbi Shmuel Ashkenazy (Deutsch), raised in Batei Ungarin, stands out. Ashkenazi, one of the most famous Haredi scholars of the book, serves today as an honorary member of the Mekize Nirdamim Society, a venerable publisher identified with the Wissenschaft movement. Two Haredi scholars also stand out among the employees of the National Library: Yehoshua Mondshine, an independently-minded Habadnik known for his scholarship on Hasidism, who passed away this past Hanukkah[6] after a terrible illness; and Meir Wunder, may he live a long life, a bibliophile and historian who wrote, among other things, his monumental project Meorei Galitziya (Luminaries of Galicia). A similar undertaking for Hungarian sages was brought into being by the late Haredi scholar Yitzchak Yosef Cohen, who worked within the framework of Machon Yerushalayim, the most famous of the Haredi publishers with a scholarly inclination. Also worthy of note are Yitzchak Yeshaya Weiss and Moshe Alexander Zusha Kinstlicher, both prolific scholars in the field of rabbinic history, who edited the now-defunct Tzfunot.

What, then, distinguishes the members of this young group from all their predecessors? Perhaps it is the fact that the integration that had once seemed so organic has become more complicated as a result of two parallel processes: the seclusion of Haredi society, and the entrenchment of the academy’s formality. The world of the learned, from all walks of life, for whom knowledge and curiosity are essential, has been replaced by the reality of evaluative categories within the halls of the academy, and an inflexible, censorial “hashkafah” within the Haredi camp. Few are those who seek to restore the former glory of scholarship, back when its throne did not have to be an academic chair nor its crown a black hat.

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A DUAL DESTINY

The doctoral advisor of Eitam Henkin, may God avenge his blood, was convinced that his student had chosen academia over the halakhic discourse of the yeshiva. Others attest that Henkin viewed halakhic discourse, in fact, as paramount.

*

Although his world was built upon foundations quite different from those of his Haredi interlocutors, Eitam Henkin had no difficulty finding a shared language with torani scholars. An autodidact to the core, he also held fast to the truth, was intellectually curious, loved profound discussion, and was prepared to swim against the tide. And as can be expected from anyone who has an independent love for knowledge, it turns out that he also wrote for—or at least corrected and made changes to—the Hebrew Wikipedia. On his user page, under the username “Shim‘on Ha-Eitan” (which he used in other contexts, such as on the site Mida), he opted for a pithy self-description that speaks volumes: “a Jerusalemite with diasporic roots, whose world is Torah and whose occupation is writing and research.”

Henkin began his doctoral research under Prof. David Assaf of Tel-Aviv University. He dedicated it to the biography of R. Israel Meir Ha-Kohen of Radun, the Hafetz Hayyim (1839-1933), one of the mythic personalities who have exercised incredible influence on contemporary Orthodoxy. Assaf, who deeply admired Henkin, published a eulogy on his blog Oneg Shabbat that aroused immediate contention. He wrote:

“Eitam was a wunderkind. I first met him in 2007. At the time he was an avrekh meshi (by his own definition), a fine young yeshiva fellow, all of twenty-three years old. He was a student at Yeshivat Nir in Kiryat Arba, with a long list of publications in Torah journals already trailing him. He contacted me via e-mail, and after a few exchanges I invited him to meet. […] We spoke at length, and I have cared about him ever since. From his articles and our many conversations I discerned right away that he had that certain je ne sais quoi. He had those qualities, the personality, and the capability—elusive, unquantifiable, and indefinable—of someone meant to be a historian, and a good historian at that.

I did not have to press especially hard to convince him that his place—his destiny—did not lie between the walls of the yeshiva, and that he should not squander his talents on the niceties of halakha. He needed to enroll in university and train himself professionally for what truly interested him, for what he truly loved: critical historical scholarship. […]

Eitam, hailing from a world of traditional yeshiva study that is poles apart from the academic world, slid into his university studies effortlessly. He rapidly internalized academic discourse, with its patterns of thinking and writing, and began to taste the distinct savors of that world.”

In the continuation, Assaf heaps praise upon his young student. The sharp opposition that he posed between “the niceties of halakha” and critical scholarship, however, engendered grievances on the part of several Oneg Shabbat readers, particularly those familiar with Henkin’s other side. His brother Dr. Yagil Henkin criticized Assaf’s piece relatively delicately. “He believes Eitam saw himself primarily as a scholar, not a rabbi with plans to fill a rabbinic post,” he told Yosef Ehrenfeld in the newspaper Shevi‘i. “I have a different take on the matter […] His first and foremost desire was to be a Torah scholar, but he also wanted to be an academic scholar. In everything that interested him and everything he engaged in, he strove to do his best, to go the extra mile.”

Rabbi Dr. Michael Avraham protested Assaf’s denigration of Torah discourse, leading with the following cynical preface:

“I am unable to restrain myself from making the objective academic comparison (apparently the product of systematic methodology and critical-historical scholarship) between “squandering one’s time on the niceties of halakha” and “entering the precincts (heikhalot) of the academy.” I won’t lie: a quiver of holiness washed over me upon reading those words, but I nevertheless summon my courage and dare to murmur something in the heart of the sanctuary (heikhal). May its priests, Levites, and prophets forgive me after kissing their sacred, perfumed feet.”

Offended, Assaf responded with a stinging riposte of his own, explaining that he was not deriding the yeshiva’s methods of study; rather, he was convinced that Eitam, as a young man who had needed to choose his intellectual path, was inclined more towards academic methods of study and writing. This assertion would seem to fit the activity of Eitam’s final years, but it somewhat contradicts the testimony of Deblitsky, according to which Henkin viewed his thoroughly halakhic composition about Sabbath law—a book that has yet to be published[7]—as his most important work.

Translator’s Notes:

This article was first published in Hebrew in Mekor Rishon (30 October 2015), and is translated here with permission of Mekor Rishon and the author. The translator would like to thank Shaul Seidler-Feller for his invaluable assistance. A groysn shkoyekh!

[1] A preliminary terminological distinction in order to forestall confusion:

• A hoker is someone with the skills to conduct sustained research on a topic of interest and produce noteworthy scholarship. Such a person may have academic training and credentials, but the subjects of this article, for the most part, do not. I translate ‘hoker’ as ‘scholar.’

• A hoker torani is such a scholar who happens to be firmly ensconced in the world of Torah, and whose research interests center around topics related to that world. Owing to the lack of suitable English adjective, I will leave the adjective in the Hebrew, yielding “torani scholar.”

• A talmid hakham is someone with measurably significant Torah erudition, but that knowledge does not necessarily have any bearing on his ability to produce scholarship. I will retain the standard translation of ‘Torah scholar.’

[2] A compilation of customs, prayers, and kabbalistic practices printed about 300 years ago that has had tremendous influence ever since. It nevertheless generated controversy regarding its author’s identity and its content due to suspicions of Sabbateanism.

[3] Cf. Prov 11:2.

[4] The closest idiomatic equivalent of tokh kedei dibbur, Henkin’s username.

[5] cf. Shabbat 31a.

[6] Hanukkah 5775 (24 December 2014). A tribute has been published on these pages by Eli Rubin, “Toil of the Mind and Heart: A Meditation in Memory of Rabbi Yehoshua Mondshine,” the Seforim blog (13 December 2015), available here (http://seforim.blogspot.com/2015/12/toil-of-mind-and-heart-meditation-in.html).

[7] The book, Zeh Sefer Esh Tamid, has since been published by Mossad HaRav Kook in April 2016.

Haftaros of Vayetze and Vayishlach – A Mistake Rectified[1]

By Eli Duker

There had been one practice throughout the Jewish world concerning the Haftara of Vayishlach until the print revolution. The book of Ovadia is the Haftara listed in every Haftara list, including the one in the Rambam’s Seder HaTefillos in the Mishneh Torah, MS Ginsburg Moscow of the Machzor Vitry,[2] Etz Chaim (written in London on the eve of the Edict of Expulsion),[3] Abudarham,[4] and the list of Rabbi Shmuel Hanagid, cited in the Sefer HaEshkol.[5] It is also the Haftara in the “Emes” piyyut written by Rabbi Shmuel Hashelishi[6] and the “Zulas” piyyut written by Rabbi Yehuda B’Rabi Binyamin.[7] This is also the Haftara listed in all chumashim in manuscript[8] and in all Cairo Geniza fragments⁹ that I have seen.

This was also the practice of those who followed the triennial cycle in Eretz Yisrael,[10] the Haftara for the sidra of Vayishlach Yaakov was from the book of Ovadia. The reason for the Haftara is clearly due to it being a prophecy about Edom, and Edom is discussed in depth in the parasha.

The universal practice in all communities was to read from the book of Hoshea for the Haftara of Vayetze, but not everyone read the same verses. In all Geniza fragments[11] the Haftara begins at 11:7, “Ve’ami seluim.” In the fragments with a clear end to the Haftara I have found 3 that end at 12:14,[12] which is similar to what appears in the list of in the Rambam’s Seder HaTefillos, making it a classic Haftara of exactly twenty-one pesukim. One source has it end at 13:4,[13] which is the “Zulas” piyyut written by Rabbi Yehuda B’Rabi Binyamin for this parasha,[14] as well as in the Sefer HaShulchan, written by a student of the Rashba. The reason for the Haftara is due to the verse “Vayivrach Yaakov ,” which is clearly related to the events of the parsha, as well as, possibly, the mention of “Bes El” in 12:5

There were two different Ashkenazi practices in the pre-printing era. One was to begin at 12:13, “Vayivrach Yaakov ,” and to read until the end of the book. This is the Haftara found in MS Ginsburg Moscow of the Machzor Vitry,[15] Etz Chaim,[16] and in 12 of the 16 Ashkenazi chumashim in manuscripts I checked. Outside of Ashkenaz this was the practice among the Romaniots. It is also found in the “Zulas” piyyut of Rabbi Shmuel Hashlishi,[17] who lived in Eretz Yisrael in the 10-11 centuries and belonged to a community that read the Torah according to the annual cycle (although the Haftara ends there at 13:4, making it a Haftara of just seven verses!). It was also the Haftara for the sedra of “Vayetze Yaakov” in the triennial cycle of Eretz Yisrael.[18]

The secondary practice in Ashkenaz, which I found in three chumashim in manuscript, was to read starting from 11:7. One manuscript has the Haftara ending at 12:14,[19] and the other two end at 13:5.[20] The latter is the practice of the Ashkenazi community of Amsterdam.[21]

The first printed chumash with Ashkenazi Haftaros was the Soncino, printed in Brescia in 1492. It had the Haftara beginning at 12:13, following most other Ashkenazi sources. The 1517 Bomberg chumash, printed in Venice, has printed Haftaros according to both the Ashkenazi and Sephardi practices, and has the Haftara for Vayetze beginning at 11:7. After 13:5, the word “כאן” in written, followed by something that was erased (in the microfilmed copy of the Israel National Library) followed by “ההפטרה לספרדים,” that this is where the Haftara ends according to the Sefardi practice, which is quite normative. But before 12:13, at the front of the page, the words “הפטרת וישלח לאשכנזים” appear. The Haftara of Vayishlach in that chumash is from Ovadia, without any instructions, indicating a discrepancy between the two practices. It is clear that a mistake was made here, as Hoshea 12:13 is an Ashkenazi Haftara for Vayetze, not Vayishlach.

The 1517 chumash did not sell well among Jews, likely because its editor, Felix Pratensis, was a Jewish convert to Christianity.[22] In 1524 Daniel Bomberg published another chumash, this time with Yaakov ben Chayim ibn Adoniya as his editor, and this edition was much more popular among Jews. It is essential an entirely different book, as this editor did not rely on the first edition, yet, the Haftaros were, by and large, copied from the first edition, with only minor changes. Concerning our topic, the Haftara for Vayetze is 11:7, without any indication that there are other practices. Right before 12:13 it is written “כאן מתחילין הפטרת וישלח האשכנזים” with no indication where Sephardim finish the Haftara. Here too, Ovadia is listed as the Haftara for Vayishlach, without any instructions indicating that there is a discrepancy between communities.

The popularity of the chumash (already called “Mikraos Gedolos”) created a situation where a new reality was created. The Ichenhausen chumash, published in 1544, merely copied the Haftaros and their instructions from the second Bomberg chumash.

By contrast, another Venetian publisher, Marco Antonio Giustiani, also in 1544, went even further, and wrote in his chumash concerning the Haftara from Ovadia as “הפטרת וישלח כמנהג בני ספרד”. The instructions in this chumash created three changes:

• It shortened the Sephardi Haftara for Vayetze and ended it at 12:12, a verse that that discusses the Israelites performing pagan sacrifices and the ramifications of this, an extremely inappropriate way to complete a Haftara.
• It ignored the widespread Ashkenazi practice to begin the Haftara of Vayetze from 12:13. Instead, it has them all starting at 11:7 (as well as completing the Haftara at 12:12, which was unheard of).
• It created a new Ashknenazi Haftara for Vayishlach, from Hoshea, which has nothing to do with the parsha at all, and did away with the reading from Ovadia, which had been a universal practice until that time.

Not all chumashim “ruled” in such a manner. In the Lublin chumash of 1517, the original Ashkenazi Haftaros of Hoshea 12:13 for Vayetze and Ovadia for Vayishlach were listed. Likewise, the Levush, published in 1590, listed these Haftaros as well.

Soon after, we begin to see many chumashim following the new practice. For example: Manitoba – 1589, Frankfurt am Main – 1662, Venice – 1684, as well Haftara books published in Frankfurt Oder in 1685 and in 1708. Yet, I found chumashim from this period with the original Ashkenazi Haftaros, but they were both printed in Prague, which is known to have kept the original practice, as will be discussed below.

The first to point out the error of the new chumashim was Rabbi Avraham Gombiner, in his commentary, Magen Avraham, on Orach Chayim of Shulchan Aruch in siman 428:[23]

מה שכתב בחומשי’ ויברח יעקב לפ’ וישלח ט”ס הוא ושייכ’ לפ’ ויצא (לבוש)

Magen Avraham was first published in 1692, after the author’s passing. He does not explicitly mention what the Haftara for Vayishlach is, but as he cites the Levush, it is clear that he meant it is from Ovadia, as with the exception of the new practice of reading Hoshea 12:13 for Vayishlach, which the Magen Avraham clearly rejects, Ovadia was the only known Haftara for Vayishlach. Nevertheless, chumashim printed after the publication of the Magen Avraham continued to list Hoshea 12:13 as the Ashkenazi Haftara for Vayishlach.[24] Even the chumash published by R’ Shabs ai Bass, author of the Sifsei Chachamim and publisher of Magen Avraham, had this as well.

In 1718 the book “Noheg Katzon Yosef” by Rabbi Yosef Yozefa Segal was published, a work on the practices of German communities in general and Frankfurt am Main in particular. He wrote the following concerning parashas Vayetze:[25]

כתב בלבוש החור ס’ תרס”ט שהפטרה של סדר זו הוא ויברח יעקב, והפטרת וישלח הוא ועמי תלואים, עיין שם. והנה באמת במקומות שמחלקים שתי פרשיות אלו מהושע לאמרם לשתי הפטרות משתי שבתות אלו היה הדין עם הלבוש להקדים המאוחר ולאחר המוקדם. דכד נעיין ביה שפיר נראה שכתיב ויברח יעקב “ובאשה שמר” שהוא מלשון ואביו שמר את הדבר, כלומר המתין עד שתנא ראויה לביאה, או ששמר את הצאן בעד האשה, שהוא מעין פרשת ויצא. ובעמי תלואים כתיב וישר אל המלאך ויוכל , שהוא על שם הכתוב כי שרית עם אלקים ועם אנשים ותוכל הכתוב בוישלח. א”כ למה לנו ליתן את של זה בזה ושל זה בזה? ואפשר שיצא משבשתא זו מפני ששתי הפטרות אלו הם סמוכים בקרא, ועמי תלואים מוקדם במקרא, לפיכך שמו המוקדם במקרא לפרשת ויצא המוקדמת, והמאוחר לפרשת וישלח המאוחרת. והמנהג בק”ק פ”פ שמפטירין בויצא מן ועמי תלואים עד סוף הנביא, דהיינו שתי הפטרות אלו ביחד, שמספר מה אירע ליעקב. ועיין מה שכתבתי בפרשת וישלח

It is written in the Levush Hachur siman 769 that the Haftara for this seder is “Vayivrach Yaakov ,” and the Haftara for Vayishlach is “Ve’ami seluim.” In reality, places that divide the Haftara from Hoshea in order to read it as two Haftaros over two Sabbaths should follow this Levush and read the latter part first and the earlier later, as when one looks examines the matter one see it says in “Vayivrach Yaakov ” (the words) “he guarded his wife,”[26] which is similar to, “and his father kept the matter in mind,”[27] meaning [Yaakov] waited until she was fit for marriage, or it means he guarded the sheep in order to marry the woman, which is similar to parshas Vayetze. And in “Ve’ami seluim” it is written “he strove with an angel and prevailed,” which is based on the verse “for you have striven with beings divine and human and prevailed,” which is written in Vayishlach. Therefore, why should we read them in the opposite order? It is possible that this mistake occurred because these Haftaros are adjacent to each other, and “Ve’ami seluim” appears first. Therefore, they put the first Haftara for Vayetze, which is the earlier parsha, and the latter one for the later Vayishlach. But the practice in Frankfurt is to read “Ve’ami seluim” until the end of the book, meaning to read both Haftaros together.

This piece is rather difficult to comprehend.

• First, the Levush says nothing of the sort. The author proceeds to try to explain the mistake that developed due to the Levush, who did not write what is ascribed to him.
• He recommends reversing the orders of the Hoshea Haftaras, rather than recommending that Ovadia be read, which he cites later as the practice in Frankfurt.[28]
• He claims that the Frankfurt practice is to read from 11:7 until the end of Hoshea for Vayetze. All other sources claim that the practice there was to read from 12:13 for Vayetze and to read Ovadia for Vayishlach, and there is no other source for this “double Haftara” anywhere.

The Rav of Frankfurt, Rabbi Yaakov, author of the Shav Yaakov, wrote an approbation for the book “Noheg Katzon Yosef,” but after he found many errors he asked Rabbi Yehuda Miller, the author’s father-in-law, to fix the errors.[29] Some later printings of the book included these corrections in a booklet called “Tzon Nachalos,” where he wrote that the author was indeed mistaken with regard to the practice in Frankfurt.[30]

In 1729, eleven years after the publication of Noheg Katzon Yosef, Rabbi Yitzchak Aizik Mis wrote a commentary on the Haftaros known as Be’er Yitzchak, which was published in Offenbach, a town quite close to Frankfurt. He listed there various halachos and practices connected to Haftaros. He wrote there:[31]

בכל החומשים נפל טעות שציינו להפטורת ויצא ועמי תלואים ולפ’ וישלח ויברח יעקב וצריך להיות לפ’ ויצא ויברח יעקב לפי שבו כתיב ובאשה שמר שהוא מעניינא דפרשה ששמר את הצאן בעד האשה ולפ’ ושילח ועמי תלאים לפי שבו כתיב וישר אל מלאך ויוכל וגו’ שהוא מעניינא דפ’ כי שרית עם א-הים ועם אנשים ותוכל ובק”ק פרנקפורט דמיין אומרים לפ’ ויצא ועמי תלואים וגם ויברח יעקב ולפ’ וישלח חזון עובדיה

All of the chumashim have a mistake, as they cite the Haftara of Veyetze as “Ve’ami seluim” and that of Vayishlach as “Vayivrach Yaakov ,” while the Haftara for Vayetze should be “ Vayivrach Yaakov ,” as is written there “he guarded a wife” which is the matter of the parsha where (Yaakov) guarded the sheep for the wife’s sake, and that of Vayishlach should be “Ve’ami seluim,” as it is written there he strove with an angel and prevailed, which is the matter of “for you have striven with beings divine and human and prevailed.” In Frankfurt am Main they say “Ve’ami seluim” and “Vayivrach Yaakov ” for Vayetze, and “Chazon Ovadia” for Vayishlach.

It is clear that he did not just copy this out of the Noheg Katzon Yosef, as he views what is printed in chumashim as a mistake, while the Noheg Katzon Yosef mistakenly attributed it to the Levush. But it seems likely that his (erroneous) statement concerning the Frankfurtian practice does come from there.[32]

The famous printing press in Amsterdam, Proops, published a chumash in 1712 with similar Haftaros for these parshiyos to the Venice chumashim, but in another chumash, the 1734 edition, in the Haftara for Vayetze before 12:14 it is written כאן מתחילין האשכנזים פרשת ויצא while for Vayishlach, Ovadia is listed as the Haftara for Sephardim, with no mention of the Ashkenazi practice at all. It is likely that the publisher, who published a Shulchan Aruch with Magen Avraham,[33] was aware of the comment there concerning the mistake in the chumashim about the Haftara of Vayetze, but someone along the line did not realize the ramifications of this and just left Ovadia as the Haftara for Sephardim alone.

The 1754 Proops chumash cited the Venteian Haftaros, possibly as the best method to correct the error of the earlier chumash omitting an Ashekenzi Haftara for Vayishlach. But in the chumash they published in 1762, the following appears before the Haftara for Vayetze, Hoshea 11:7:

והמנהג הנכון לאשכנזים להפטרת ויצא ויברח יעקב וכן כתוב באחרונים

Before Hoshea 12:14 the following appears:

כאן מתחילים האשכנזים הפטרת וישלח, והמנהג הנכון לאשכנזי’ זהו הפטר’ ויצא ועמי תלואים שייך להפטר’ וישלח

It seems that the so-called “achraronim” mentioned here are the Be’er Yitzchak and the Noheg Katzon Yosef.

These Haftaros appear in later Proops chumashim in 1767 and 1797, as well as in another Amsterdam chumash, published in 1817 by a doctor named Yochanan Levi.

Other chumashim of the period continue to cite the Haftaros as they were listed in the Venice chumashim.[34]

Rabbi Shlomo Ashkenazi Rappaport of Chelm, in his Shulchan Atzei Shitim, wrote that the Haftara for Vayetze is Hoshea 12:14, and the Haftara for Vayishlach is from Ovadia, and in his Zer Zahav commentary he wrote:[35]

ויברח יעקב – ודלא כמו שנרשם בחומשים בטעות ויברח יעקב לפרשת וישלח דשייך לפ’ ויצא (ס’ תכ”ח)

This is clearly based on Magen Avraham.[36] It seems that his opinion concerning the Hafatros was not accepted in his day.[37]

Eighteenth-century Amsterdam was major center of Hebrew printing, and Proops was quite famous in terms of print quality, and in particular for using new methods for marketing their books.[38] Books from there were shipped to Danzig, from where they made their way into Eastern Europe. [39] Proops’ books were very popular there, which enabled them to raise the necessary funds to print a new edition of the Talmud Bavli[40] Rabbi Avraham Danziger, having grown up in the city, would have likely been exposed to the many sefarim published by Proops, and it is likely that he had their chumashim. The first edition of his Chayei Adam was published anonymously in 1810, and the matter of these Haftaros is not raised there, but in the second edition, published in the author’s lifetime in 1819, is it written:

מה שכ’ בחמשים הפטרת וישלח ויברח יעקב הוא טעות אלא בויצא מפטירין מן ויברח עד ויכשלו בם ובוישלח מפטירין מן ועמי תלואים וגם מקצת ויברח יעקב עד ומושיע אין בלתי (תכ”ח):

What was the source for this statement of the Chayei Adam? It does not seem likely that it is Noheg Katson Yosef, as that book had been published only once, a century earlier.[41] It is also not likely to be the Be’er Yitzchok, which was published in faraway Offenbach. It seems reasonable that he was exposed both to the Proops chumashim (or others with those Haftaros), as well as other chumashim with the Venetian Haftaros, which he saw as mistaken, and when he referred to “what is written in the chumashim,” he did not mean all of them.

The publishers of this of this edition, Menachem Mann and Zimmel, published a chumash for Ashkenazim in 1820 with Hoshea 14:12 as the Haftara for Vayetze and 11:7 for Vayishlach, likely following what was the ruling of the Chayei Adam at the time.

The next edition of the Chayei Adam was published in 1825, several years after the author’s death. As it had the same publisher, it seems unlikely that any changes were made by anyone but him. It is written there:

מה שכ’ בחומשים הפטרת וישלח ויברח יעקב הוא טעות אלא בויצא מפטירין מן ויברח עד סוף הושע (ואח”כ פסוקים מיואל ואכלתם אכול וכו’ וידעתם וכו’ ג”כ מטעם לסיים בטוב( ובוישלח מפטירין מן ועמי תלואים וגם מקצת ויברח יעקב עד ומושיע אין בלתי ועפ”י הגר”א נוהגין להפטיר בפ’ וישלח וישלח חזון עובדי’ (תכ”ח)

We see two changes here.

• That two verses from Yoel should be added in to the Haftara for Vayetze (which he already pointed out in the previous edition is Hoshea 12:14) which otherwise ends with the mention of sinners stumbling.[42] Evidently, earlier authorities did not think it necessary to avoid such an ending. This is cited by the Mishna Berura,[43] but is not written in any chumashim published before the Holocaust.

• He mentions that the Vilna Gaon ruled that we read Ovadia as the Haftara for Vayishlach, and those who follow him do so. The author of the Chayei Adam was related to the Vilna Gaon by marriage, and prayed with him in the Vilna Gaon’s Kloyz.

These additions were printed in later editions of the book.[44]

During the same year, 1819, Rabbi Efraim Margolies published the Sha’arei Efraim,⁴⁵ which sounded similar to what was written in the Chayei Adam published in that same year:[46]

מה שנרשם במקצת חומשים הפטורת ויברח יעקב לפ’ וישלח הוא ט”ס, כי הוא שייך לפ’ ויצא, והפטורת וישלח בהושע ועמי תלואים למשובתי

It is unlikely that he saw the edition of the Chayei Adam that had been published just a few months beforehand. The fact that he writes that reading Hoshea 12:14 as the Haftara for Vayishlach is a mistake that appears in some chumashim indicates that he saw other chumashim with the Haftaros in what he considered the correct order, and is likely agreeing with them.

In the first edition of Shulchan Hakriah and Misgeres Hachulchan by R’ Dov Reifman, published in 1864, the opinion of the Sha’arei Efraim is cited,[47]  but in the second edition[48] it is not.

Later, the above-mentioned publisher of the Chayei Adam, Menachem Mann, changed his name to Romm and began publishing many books in Vilna, including the famous Shas Bavli. The chumashim published there had Hoshea 14:12 as the Haftara for Vayetze, and soon other publishing houses followed suit. Romm themselves continued to follow this approach,[49] even though luchos for Vilna printed in 1826[50] and 1839[51] had Ovadia as the Haftara for Vayishlach. It seems likely that in Vilna itself the publication of the Vilna Gaon’s practice in the Chayei Adam had an immediate effect.[52] Romm published the Toras Elokim chumash in 1874,[53] continuing to list Hoshea 11:7 as the Ashkenazi Haftara for Vayishlach, yet the following note was inserted before the Haftara:

הפטרה זו וגם הפטרת ויברח יעקב היא הפטרת ויצא לספרדים מפני שהם בנביא אחד אבל האשכנזים מפטירין בויצא רק ויברח יעקב ובוישלח חזון עובדיה כמבואר ברמב”ם ובלבוש

It is not clear what it means that both Haftaros are read by Sephardim for Vayetze, and it is rather strange that Hoshea 11:7 is listed for the Ashkenazi Haftara for Vayishlach with instructions that Ashkenazim actually read from Ovadia. Before the Haftara from Ovadia the following appears:

הגם שנמצא בחומשים כתוב שהיא הפטרה רק לספרדים אך מבואר ברמב”ם ובלבוש שהיא הפטרת וישלח בין לספרדים בין לאשכנזים

These instructions appeared in the Mikraos Gedolos chumash they published in 1880, and others used these rather strange instructions as well.[54]

The Mikraos Gedolos chumash published by Kadishson in Piotrkow had the Haftara from Hoshea 11:7 without any instructions, but wrote the following before the Haftara from Ovadia:

“כ”ה דעת הלבוש וראה עוד לזה ג”כ בסי’ תרפ”ד… הפטרת שבת א’ של חנוכה …

The Levush here explains that the reason why Zecharia is the Haftara on the first Sabbath of Chanuka while the fashioning of the menoras in Melachim in read on Chanuka only in the event that there is a second Sabbath is that that a Haftara discussing the future redemption is preferred, and the editor here felt the same applies to preferring Ovadia over Hoshea for parashas Vayishlach. The same instructions appear in the Romm Mikraos Gedolos printed in 1904.

Another Romm Chumash from 1898 had Ovadia as the Haftara for Sephardim only and Hoshea 11:7 for Ashkenazim. This chumash was reprinted in 1938, but that chumash was just a copy of one that was printed in Zhitomer in 1867, which is to this day viewed as the standard “shul chumash.”

The Chayei Adam as printed in 1825 edition onward is cited by the Mishna Berura.[55] It seems that by then many communities were reading Ovadia for Vayishlach.

The practice of returning to the original Ashkenazi Haftara was not limited to Vilna and its environs. Shortly after the publication of Sha’arei Efraim, we find many communities in what became the Austro-Hungarian empire (where Rabbi Efraim was from) who read Ovadia for Vayishlach. This includes Vienna,[56] Tarnow,[57] Pressburg[58] Erlau,[59] and Eperjes.[60] But the practice in Gálszécs[61] was to read Hoshea 11:7 for Vayishlach. This was the practice in Warsaw in Russian Poland as well, according to the luach from there in 1889. By contrast, in Przeworsk[62] they still maintained the Haftaros, based on the Venice chumashim, Hoshea 11:7 for Vayetze and 12:13 for Vayishlach.

Cities that retained the original Ashkenazi practice throughout

It is impossible to know the effect of printed chumashim in various eras on every local practice, but it is clear that there were communities that simply ignored them and continued the old practice from before the era of printing. We have already seen that that was the case in Frankfurt. This was the practice in Worms as well, as seen in “Minhagei K”K Vermeiza” by Rabbi Yosefa Shamash, circa 1648.[63]

Concerning Mainz, in “Minhagei K”K BeSeder HaTefilla Unuschoseha” in the Sefas Emes siddur printed in 1862,[64] Hoshea 12:14 is the Haftara for Vayetze. Although this is a late source, it seems to reflect a very early practice and only Haftaros that are not universal in Ashkenaz[65] are written there, which is why it does not mention the Haftara for Vayishlach, which by then was standard in Ashkenaz.

Concerning Prague (Bohemia), as mentioned earlier, chumashim there retained the original Haftaros of Hosea 13:12 for Vayetze and Ovadia for Vayishlach after they ceased to be printed as the Haftaros elsewhere. One chumash printed there 1697 does not, but it states explicitly that the Hafatros are as they are printed in Amsterdam. In Mendelsohn’s Biur, printed in 1836, the following is written:

‘מנהג פראג ויברח יעקב – והיא הפטרת וישלח כמנהג האשכנזים, ויש מתחילים אותה בהושע י”א פסוק ז

The verses between Hoshea 11:7-12:13 are printed in small letters, indicating they are generally not meant to be read by the intended audience. In a chumash printed in 1893, Ovadia and Hoshea 11:7 appear as Haftaros for Vayishlach, with these instructions before the former:

כמנהג האשכנזים רק בפראג ובמדינת בעהמען מפטירין חזון עובדיה

Before the Haftara from Ovadia the following appears:

כמנהג הספרדים פראג ומדינת בעהמען

In a chumash printed in Budapest in 1898 it is mentioned as a practice of Prague; not as one of all of Bohemia.

Just like there are different sources whether the original Haftaros were maintained in Prague alone or in all of Bohemia, there is a similar matter with regard to Frankfurt. In the chumash printed in Roedelheim in 1818 the Haftara for Vayetze is Hoshea 11:7. The note there states:

בק”ק פפד”מ ורוב אשכנז מפטירין בפ’ ויצא ויברח יעקב ואינם אומרים כלל ועמי תלואים

And for Vayishlach, where the Ashkenazi Haftara is listed as Hoshea 12:14, it is written:

כאן מתחילין האשכנזים הפטרת וישלח אבל בק”ק פפד”ם ורוב אשכנז מפטירין בפ’ וישלח חזון עובדיה דלקמן

The same appears in the 1854 chumash published there, as well as all subsequent printings, including the edition this chumash published in Basel in 1964.[66] The same notes appear in a chumash printed in Konigsberg[67] in 1851 and Vienna in 1864. A chumash printed in Furth in 1901 had Hoshea 11:7 as the Ashkenazi Haftara for Vayishlach, but mentioned that the practice in Frankfurt was to read from Ovadia.

Here there is evidence that the retaining of the original Haftaros spread beyond Frankfurt, as it was the practice in the old communities of Mainz and Worms.

Another community that appeared to have retained the old practice throughout is Posen, from which there is a Pinkas[68] with unique practices and carefully retained customs.

The original practice returned, as it was mentioned in sources and chumashim in the 19th century. It was in the luchos in the Austrio-Hungarian empire mentioned before and it was the practice in Chernowitz as of 1868. Later it was mentioned in the all of the luchos in Eretz Yisrael69] and in that of Ezras Torah in the United States, causing (or reflecting) that the old/new Haftaros became the standard practice for Ashkenazim.

The reacceptance of the two original Haftaros was and is not universal. The Beis Medrash Hayashan in Berlin read Hoshea 11:7 for Vayishlach until its bitter end,[70] while the practice of Kehal Adas Yisrael there was to read Ovadia.[71] The United Synagogue communities in the United Kingdom[72] (and some synagogues in some other Commonwealth countries) still read Hoshea, as it is listed as the Ashkenazi Haftara in the Hertz Chumash.[73] The Chabad[74] practice is similar to the Sephardi practice, and Amsterdam Ashkenazim read Hoshea 11:7 for Vayetze.

Adding verses from Yoel

The Chayei Adam cited this idea, which is then cited by the Mishna Berura. Two other options are mentioned in order to finish with a positive matter. One is to finish the Haftara earlier, at 14:7, and another is to add from Micha 7:18-20.[75]

Luach Eretz Yisrael of Rav Yechiel Michel Tucazinsky cites the practice of adding the two verses from Yoel. Lately, this practice has been cited by the Ezras Torah Luach in the United States.[76] Nonetheless, out of all of the chumashim that list the Haftara from Hoshea 12:13 for either Vayetze or Vayishlach, none mentioned this practice until the Koren Chumash of 1963, which cited that there are those who add the verses, and so is written in subsequent editions until today. By contrast, there are other Israeli chumashim that do not cite this practice.

The first edition of the popular English Stone Chumash, published by ArtScroll in 1993, did not cite this practice, but from the second edition onward the verses from Yoel are there, along with instructions in English that there are those who add them.

Summary

In the pre-printing era most Ashkenazi communities read Hoshea 12:14 for Vayetze and everyone read Ovadia for Vayishlach. This changed due to a mistake in the Venice chumash of 1517, after which most chumashim listed Hoshea 12:14 as the Ashkenazi Haftara for Vayishlach and Hoshea 11:7 for Vayetze. Magen Avraham noted this error, but mentioned only the correct Haftara for Vayetze, leading Noheg Katzon Yosef, Amsterdam chumashim, and after them the Chayei Adam and Sha’arei Efraim, to claim that Hoshea 11:7 is the Ashkenazi Haftara for Vayishlach. As time passed, and possibly due to the influence of the Vilna Gaon, the practice reverted to what it originally had been, to read Ovadia for the Haftara of Vayishlach.

[1] The topic of this article is the development of the Ashkenazic practices regarding these Haftaros. Any mention of other practices is just an aside. I would like to thank R’ Avraham Grossman for editing the original Hebrew and my brother R’ Yehoshua Duker for editing the English translation. I would also like to thank Dr. Gabriel Wasserman, R’ Dr. Eliezer Brodt, R’ Elli Fischer, R’ Mordechai Weintraub, my uncle Dr. Joel Fishman, and the staff of the National Library of Israel for their assistance and input.
[2] Goldshmidt Ed. Vo. 2. Krios Vahaftaros, p. 589
[3] Hilchos Krias Hatorah Ch. 4. P. 53.
[4] Keren Re’em edition, Vol. 3 29:23 (p. 29).
[5] Albeck edition, Hilchos Krias Hatorah p. 181.
[6] The Yotserot of R. Samuel the Third, Vo. 1 227-229
[7] Piyutei R Yehuda BiRabbi Binyamin (Elitzur ed.) pp. 113-114.
[8] See Fried, “Haftarot Alternativiot Befiyuttei Yanai Ush’ar Paytanim Kedumim” Sinai 2. He states one of my main claims there; i.e., that the change of the Haftara began at the onset of the printing era, but he does not mention specifics.
[9] Cambridge T-S A-S10241, B14.22, B14.88, B14.95, B15.5, B16.21, B20.2 B20.4 20.14 Cambridge Lewis-Gibson MISC 25.53.16.
[10] See list by Y. Ofer https://faculty.biu.ac.il/~ofery/papers/haftarot3.pdf
[11] T-S AS19.241, B20.2, 4,14, B14.62c, 125, B15.5
[12]  T-S B15.2, B20.2, 4.
[13] T-S B16.21
[14] Pp. 107-108
[15]  ibid.
[16] ibid.
[17] pp.214-215
[18] See Ofer
[19] Ms. Par. 2168.
[20] Ms. Lon Bl Add. 9408, Kennecott 3 (the last 3 verses are not vowelized),
[21] Hahogas Beis Haknesses DK”K Amsterdam, Proops ed. p. 519 , and Machon Yerushalayim ed. p. 221. It is not clear whether or not the Ashkenazim, who established their community there in 1632, adopted the practice of the Sephardim who had arrived in the city a half century earlier, or whether they had another Ashkenazi source. Concerning Ashkenazi Amsterdam practices in general, see the introduction to the Machon Yerushalayim edition pp 41-42.
[22] Concerning Pratensis and the publication of the chumash in general, see, Penkower, J.  “Mahadurat HaTanach Harishona Bomberg Laor V’Reishit Beit Defuso,” Kiryat Sefer, 1983 pp. 586-604.
[23] Meginei Eretz edition, Dyhernfurth (today Brzeg Dolny), Shabtai Meshorer pub.
[24]  This is the case in the chumashim published by Levy, H. in 1735, Atias J. in 1700, and Antonis A. in 1719, all in Amsterdam, as well as the di Foc. Florence, 1755.
[25] 179:2 pp. 239-240 Machon Shlomo Auman ed.,
[26] שמר in the original.
[27] שמר in the original.
[28]  p. 240
[29] Concerning the errors in the book see the introduction to this edition pp. 17-19, as well as Shorshei Minhag Ashknenaz, Hamburger R.B. vol. 2, pp. 250-251.
[30] Printed in same edition of Noheg Katzon Yosef, p. 441. Besides the chumashim (discussed later on) that discuss the Frankfurt practices, similar to what is cited in the Tzon Nachalos, this practice is also mentioned in Frankfurt by Divrei Kehillos, Geiger, R SZ, p. 369, but this source is later, as it is from 1864.
[31] Halacha 16.
[32] The book has Hoshea 12:13 as its Haftara for Vayetze. He lists Hoshea 11:7 as the Haftara for Vayishlach, followed by Ovadia under the headline “יש מפטרין הפטרה זו”. In a Haftara book with Mendelssohn’s bi’ur published by Shmidt A., in Vienna in 1818, all of the halachos mentioned in the Be’er Yitzhak were quoted, with the exception of the one with regard to Vayetze-Vayishlach. It is possible that the publisher was aware of the error here and did not want to insert it. Moreover, in the luach published by Shmidt for Vienna in 1805, he listed Hoshea 12:13 as the Haftara for Vayetze and Ovadia for the Haftara of Vayishlach, and it could be that he did not want to give the impression that the dominant practice is different from what he wrote there. The guidelines from Be’er Yitzchok, with the omission of this one, were also printed in chumashim published in Feurth by Tzendarf, D. in 1801, and another in Livorno by Prizek, A. in 1809.
[33] Published in 1720.
[34] Salzbach (1802, 1820), Livorno, 1795. Paris 1809.
[35] Siman 6:6:1.
[36] Magen Avraham was added as the source in the Krauss edition of 2013.
[37] See introduction to Krauss edit. p. 6.
[38] See “Hebrew Printing” by Fuks, L. Translated from Dutch in “European Judaism” 5:2 (summer 1971).
[39] See “Hebrew Book Trade in Amsterdam” Fuks-Mansfeld R. G. in Le Magasin de l’univers: the Dutch Republic as the centre of the European book trade: papers presented at the international colloquium, held at Wassenaar, 5-7 July 1990 / edited by C. Berkvens-Stevelinck [et al.].
[40] See Fuchs ibid.
[41] See Auman edition. Intro. p. 16.
[42] This matter is discussed at length in Zera Yaakov, Zaleznik, R.S.Z. S. 138
[43] 28:22
[44] Menachem Mann and Ziml ed. Vilna, 1829, and 1839. Huffer ed. Zhovkva 1837, Wachs Jósefów, 1839. Menachem Mann and Ziml ed. Vilna, 1839. Shklover ed. Warsaw, 1840.
[45] Published in Dubno.
[46] 9:18.
[47] S. 25 at the end
[48] Berlin, 1882.
[49] This is the case in the Mendelssohn Biur they published between 1848-1853, Tikkun Soferim in 1860, and again in 1864.
[50] Publisher unknown.
[51] Published by Menachem and Simcha Zisl, sons of R’ Boruch.
[52] Later luchos from Vilna listed Ovadia as the Haftara for Vayishlach. I was unable to read what it said for Vayetze on the 1880 copy I saw. No Haftara was listed in the 1890 edition, as only Haftaros that had alternative practices were mentioned, and Hoshea 12:13 for Vayetze had become quite widespread among Ashkenazim by them, leaving no need to mention it.
[53] There was an earlier version in 1872 but I have not been able to locate it.
[54] This includes chumashim published in Vilna by Rosenkrantz in 1893 and Metz in 1913, and a chumash published in New York by the Jewish Morning Journal (דער מארגען זשורנאל) in 1914.
[55] Ibid.
[56]  Luach in 1879
[57]  Found in luchos printed there annually through 1887-1890, as well as in 1894 in Vienna by Sturm, D. Luchos are the source for the other practices listed here as well.
[58] Now Bratislava from 1870, 1892, 1893, and 1894. Printed in Vienna by Elinger, M.
[59] Eger in Hungarian  1889.  Printed in Vienna by Engalder.
[60] Today Presov  1887. Printed in Vienna by Ster, D.
[61] Pronounced “Gossach”, the ancestral home of my wife’s family. Today it is called Sečovce. 1888. Printed in Vienna.
[62]  1888. This appears to be the last time there is a record of the Haftaros being read that resulted from the misprinting in the Venice chumashim.
[63]  Machon Yerushayaim ed. Vol II. p. 195.
[64] p. 12
[65] Ashkenaz here refers to western Germany.
[66]  These instructions are found in Haphtoroth / translated & explained by Mendel Hirsch, rendered into English by Isaac Levy. London, 1966. I believe this is the last time they were given.
[67] Now Kaliningrad
[68] See Pinkas Beis Hakneses DK”K Posna, Mirsky S.K. in Brocho l’Menachem: essays contributed in honor of Menachem H. Eichenstein, rabbi of the Vaad Hoeir, United Orthodox Jewish community, St. Louis, Missouri  published by the Vaad Hoeir, United Orthodox Jewish community, 1956. What is written there, that the Haftara for Vayetze is “VVayivrach Yaakov” from S. 11 is clearly a mistake in the numbering.
[69] 1947 onward.
[70] Minhagei Beis Medrash Hayashan DK”k Berlin, 1937.
[71] Minhagei Beis Hakanesses D’Khal Adas Yisrael, Berlin 1938.
[72] Heard orally from Henry Ehreich of London, as well as on the website of the Muswill Hill Synagogue. https://u.pcloud.link/publink/show?code=kZzoTE7ZiRKq7OeCnFVtgCP2qaUuqJtpwP27

A chumash was published by Valentine in the U.K. in 1868 with an English translation that had Ovadia as the main Haftara for Vayishlach, qualifying that some communities read Hoshea 11:7.
[73] First Edition, published in 1929 in both London and New York.
[74] p. XIII, Sefer Haftaros Lifi Minhag Chabad, Kehot, New York.
[75] In “Luach Halalachos Vihamingim LChu”L Lishnas 5779 (Weingarten edition) these practices were cited from Luach Vilna. In R. Tucazinsky’s luach he recommends that those communities that read the Haftara from a scroll that has the entire text of “Trei Asar” refrain from reading from Micha, as it is a violation of the principle not to skip to somewhere when it takes more to time to roll the scroll then for a translator to complete translating the previous verse.
[76] Nothing about this appears in the luach for 1995 and this does appears in 2000 onward.  I was unable to obtain the luchos in the interim. In 2005 it is written “כתוב בחיי אדם” and nothing else, most likely a printer’s error.

Jews, Medicine and the University of Padua: A Behind the Scenes Tour of a New Exhibit at the Jewish Museum of Padua
November 2, 2022- December 31, 2022
By Rabbi Edward Reichman, MD

The city of Padua (or Padova), just twenty-five miles southwest of Venice, has a rich and expansive Jewish history, though it is not typically on the itinerary of the Jewish traveler to Italy. One might perhaps recognize the city name as the penultimate stop on the train from Florence to Venice. The likes of Rabbi Yehuda Minz (Mahari Minz- 15^th century), Rabbi Meir Katzenellenbogen (Maharam Padua- 16^th century), and Rabbi Moshe Ḥayyim Luzzatto (Ramḥal- 18^th century) all lived and taught there, as did many other great personalities in Jewish history.

One of the centerpieces of the city is the University of Padua, one of the oldest universities in the world, which is celebrating its 800^th anniversary this year. To this day, it remains one of the premier universities in Europe. The Jewish history of this city is very much intertwined with the university. One remarkable connection between the two is geographical. As divine providence would have it, the Ghetto of Padua was established literally meters away from the university campus. A casual stroll from Palazza Bo, the iconic architectural center of the University of Padua, to the Ashkenazi Synagogue in the Ghetto, now home to the Jewish Museum in Padua, takes less than five minutes.

A new exhibit at the Jewish Museum of Padua, in collaboration with the University of Padua, explores the unique relationship between the university and the Jewish community in the pre-modern era, with particular focus on the medical training of Jewish students. The exhibit commemorates a key role the university played in Jewish medical history, beginning in the fifteenth century, as the first university to officially allow Jews to gain formal training in the field of medicine. Since the formation of the earliest universities,[1] Jews were officially barred by papal decree from attending, as the universities were by and large under the auspices of the Catholic Church. In the pages of this blog, we have drawn attention to the role the University of Padua played in Jewish medical education.[2] Most recently we focused on a rare genre of poems written in honor of Jewish medical graduates of this institution from the 16^th-18^th centuries.[3]

I am now delighted to inform you of a new exhibit at the Jewish Museum of Padua- Jews, Medicine and the University of Padua– which will run through December 31, 2022. The exhibit was inaugurated with an event on November 2, 2022. Introductions by representatives of the museum, the Jewish community of Padua and the University of Padua were followed by a recorded video address by Chief Rabbi Dr. Riccardo Di Segni of Rome, himself a prominent physician, on Judaism and medicine. The program concluded with my presentation about the training of Jewish medical students in Padua.[4]

The archival material occupies a large display case[5] and reflects three centuries of history through rare documents, including community and city archives, which have never been on public display. With the exception of the work of Vesalius, all the items are unica.

In addition, displayed throughout the exhibit hall are portraits of Jewish physicians from Padua from the Benvenesti Collection of the Museo d’Arte of Padua, and a slideshow of diplomas and congratulatory poems appears on the big screen.

Please join me for a behind the scenes virtual tour of some of the highlights of the exhibit.

I. Anatomy, Vesalius, and the Jewish Medical Students of Padua

Andreas Vesalius
De Humani Corporis Fabrica (1543)

Library of the University of Padua

On the lower left shelf of the case, we find an early edition of Andreas Vesalius’ De Humani Corporis Fabrica, open to the frontispiece. It is no exaggeration that the field of modern anatomy was born at the University of Padua under the vision of the famed professor of anatomy, Andreas Vesalius (1514–1564).[6] You may wonder why a copy of this volume, one of the most famous works in the history of medicine and anatomy, is part of an exhibit on Jewish medical history.

This monumental development in the history of medicine interfaced with the Jewish community of Padua in a number of ways. Much like this one anatomy book reveals the structures of the entire body, so too, this one book provides a window into a complex chapter of the experience of the Jewish medical student in Padua with respect to anatomy.

Hebrew Anatomical Terms

The anatomical terms detailed in the works of Vesalius – the Tabulae Anatomicae and De Humani Corporis Fabrica – are presented in multiple languages. One of those languages is Hebrew.[7] The reason for this is not specifically related to the Jewish medical students of Padua per se, but rather to the role the Jews played in the translation of medical works and the transmission of classical medical teaching from antiquity to the Middle Ages and Renaissance.[8]

Exactly who is responsible for the Hebrew translations in the Tabulae Anatomicae is unknown. Vesalius may have attended lectures on the Hebrew language by Joannes van Campen at the Pedagogium Trilingue in Louvain.[9] With the Hebrew terminology for the Fabrica, however, Vesalius duly acknowledges some assistance:

I have decided to give in the index principally a simple list of the names of the bones, first presenting those I use in the text; then the Greek; then, any others in Latin taken from authoritative writers, and all that in such way that it may have value. After these will follow the Hebrew, but also some Arabic, almost all taken from the Hebrew translation of Avicenna[10] through the efforts of Lazarus de Frigeis, a distinguished Jewish physician and close friend with whom I have been accustomed to translate Avicenna.[11]

The reference to Avicenna, the eleventh century Persian physician and polymath, refers to the Canon of Avicenna, one of the more influential medical works of that time. A magnificent, illustrated Hebrew manuscript translation of the Canon, which dates from the mid fifteenth century, is found in the University of Bologna,12] and the work was printed later in the fifteenth century. The Hebrew terminology in Vesalius, and its relationship to the Hebrew medical terminology of the Canon, has been studied by both historian and linguist alike.[13] Some have been less than complimentary.[14]

Vesalius credits Lazarus de Frigeis, “a distinguished Jewish physician and close friend,” with assisting him with the Hebrew translation in the Fabrica.[15] While some evidence has come to light about this friend, his exact identity still eludes scholars.[16] De Frigeis is believed to be depicted in the classic illustration on the frontispiece of the Fabrica, visible in the exhibit showcase, wearing characteristically Jewish garb.[17]

Vesalius and the Jewish Medical Students of Padua

Another relationship between Vesalius and the Jews[18] is inferred from his tenure as a lecturer at the University of Padua.[19] As Padua[20] was one of the only institutions of higher learning in the medieval and Renaissance periods to admit Jews,[21] Jews from across Europe flocked to attend.[22] These students however were not versed in either Italian or Latin, the academic language of discourse. They sometimes required translation for their studies. This is evidenced by the existence of a rare manuscript of the Fabrica in Yiddish dating from the late 1500s.[23]

One could imagine a group of German Jewish medical students sitting in the back of Vesalius’s lecture hall hunched over this very manuscript trying to keep pace with the day’s lesson.

Vesalius’s work also formalized and expanded the teaching of human anatomy at the University of Padua, as well as at medical schools throughout the world. The supply of cadavers was a perennial challenge for the medical school and each community which sent medical students for training at the university was required to provide bodies for the dissection table. This presented a unique problem for the Jewish students, as Jewish law forbids the dissection of the body after death. The Jewish medical students and Jewish community went to great lengths to gain exemption from this requirement. This is reflected in the Jewish community archives of this period.[24] There was also fear of grave robbing from the Jewish cemeteries.[25] Indeed, one scholar has suggested that one of the illustrated letters in the Fabrica depicts a scene of the grave robbing of a body from a Jewish cemetery.[26]

The “o” on the flag held by the putti was the symbol Jews were required to wear on their clothing.

In one case in 1676, a Jewish body was stolen before burial by medical students and brought to the anatomy table for dissection. Riots ensued and a compromise was ultimately reached. Isaac Cantarini wrote about this in his Paḥad Yitzḥak (1684). Roth recounts a case where disgruntled students kidnapped an etrog that was being transferred between communities on Sukkot and held it ransom in exchange for providing Jewish bodies for dissection.[27]

II. History of Degree Granting for Jewish Medical Students before 1615- Counts Palatine

Padua City Archives (1469-1470)
ASPd, Notarile, vol. 1946
Archivio di Stato di Padova

The oldest and rarest item of the exhibit (bottom left section- front) is a volume of the Padua city archives from the late 15^th century. The pages on display document the medical degree-granting process for Jewish students during this period.

In the early centuries of the University of Padua Medical School, doctoral degrees were granted by the Sacred College of Philosophers and Physicians in a Catholic religious ceremony. As such, this pathway to a medical degree was not a viable option for a religious Jew. However, non-Catholics, including Jews, could obtain medical degrees through a different pathway outside of the university walls, granted by specific individuals known as Counts Palatine, who received their authority from the Holy Roman Emperor. These ceremonies were held privately before a notary and witnesses.[28]

On display is a remarkable archival record from February 21, 1469, reflecting this degree-granting process. The passage recounts that the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick III, while visiting Italy, bestowed upon Judah Messer Leon[29] a double doctorate in medicine and liberal arts, in addition to the title of Counts Palatine, granting him the right to confer doctorates upon other Jews of proven worthiness.

Judah Messer Leon was an accomplished physician, professor, and Torah scholar who later taught at the University of Padua Medical School. His work Nofet Tzufim (Abraham Conat: Mantua, 1475), known to this blog audience as the first Hebrew book to be printed in the lifetime of its author,[31]is a treatise on rhetoric, utilizing the classical literary devices of the ancient discipline of rhetoric applied to the Torah. One of the uses for this work was to prepare the Jewish students who matriculated from foreign countries to the medical schools in Italy. Indeed, Messer Leon is purported to have organized a yeshiva where students could receive a comprehensive Jewish education while training in the secular disciplines necessary for higher studies in the humanities, philosophy, and medicine.[31]

In the same archival record, we learn that it would be just one year later that Messer Leon would exercise his privilege as a Counts Palatine. In Padua, on 27 February 1470, Rabbi Dr. Judah Messer Leon bestowed a medical degree upon the Jew Yoḥanan Alemanno in a private ceremony at his home. Alemanno was a prominent Italian rabbi, philosopher and Kabbalist who also apparently taught Hebrew to the likes of Pico Mirandola. The nature of the ceremony was similar to the conventional Padua University procedure and included presenting the new doctor with a signed book, placing a gold ring on his finger, a wreath on his head, tying a red silk thread around his waist, and kissing him on the cheek.[32] However, while the invocation to the ceremony for the typical Christian student was “In Christi Nomini,” Messer Leon’s invocation for Alemanno was “In Dei omnipotentis nomine amen” (in the name of the Omnipotent God, Amen).[33]

This was the precursor to the invocation which would be used for the formal diplomas of Jewish students in the following centuries, “In Dei Aeterni Nomine Amen.” Messer Leon exercised this extraordinary privilege a number of times during his lifetime.

Messer Leon was involved in a Jewish legal dispute regarding the permissibility of wearing academic robes. Issues relating to these robes included the obligation to wear tzitzit, as well as the concern that they might contain sha’atnez.[34]

In 1615, the Collegio Veneto was established to serve the purpose of granting degrees to non-Catholic students and essentially replaced the Counts Palatine. The diplomas on display in this exhibit are from the period of the Collegio Veneto.

III. Diplomas of Jewish Medical Graduates of the University of Padua

Diplomas of Padua Jewish medical graduates are exceedingly scarce. While there have been a few sold at auction over the last few decades,[35] such diplomas are rarely displayed in public. I have thus far identified a total of nineteen extant diplomas of Jewish Padua medical graduates. Only three examples are found in Italy, and all of them are on display at this exhibit. An additional diploma was reproduced for display,[36] and images of others appear on the screen in the exhibit hall. Below I describe the diplomas on display, accompanied by a brief bio of their (original) bearers.

1) Medical Diploma of Moise di Pellegrino (Moshe ben Gershon) Tilche[37]
University of Padua- 1687
Gross Family Collection (Tel Aviv, Israel)

The invocation for the diploma for the typical Padua graduate was “In Christi Nomini.” For Jewish students, such as Tilche, the invocation was typically amended to “In Dei Aeterni Nomini.” Tilche is identified as “Hebreus” in the diploma, which was common for most Jewish students.

This is one of only a few Jewish medical diplomas from Padua that bear the graduate’s portrait, and the only such example displayed in this exhibit. Below the portrait are putti holding a laurel wreath, a book, a ring, and a hat.

This is a remarkable and unique depiction of the features of the Padua graduation ceremony. In addition to placing the wreath and hat on the graduate, a ring was placed on his finger, and books were symbolically opened and closed to represent the transmission of knowledge. This is similar to the ceremony described above performed by Messer Leon. This is the only known such illustration found on any Padua diploma.

The year is listed as “currente anno” instead of the typical term with Christian reference, such as Anno Domini, Anno a Christi Nativitate, or Anno Christiano.

Witnesses: The two witnesses for Tilche’s diploma were the Jewish physician, and graduate of Padua, Isaac Vita Cantarini (AKA Yitsḥak Ḥayyim Cantarini) and the Jew Samuele Pace. A branch of the Pace family was established in Padua by the 17^th century. A member of the family, Solomon, received his medical degree from Padua in 1647.[38] Cantarini was a rabbi as well as a physician and was a prominent figure in the Padua Jewish community.[39] Cantarini was both the author and recipient of poems dedicated in honor of Padua medical graduates.

Moshe ben Gershon Tilche signed a letter published in the Jewish legal responsa of Sanson Morpurgo, another medical Padua graduate (1700),[41] about the custom of donning tefillin on ḥol ha-mo‘ed (intermediate days of the holiday).[41]

2) Medical Diploma of Samuele Coen[42]
University of Padua- 1702
University of Padua Archives Raccolta Diplomi, 33 (n. 3841)

There were sixteen medical graduates from the University of Padua from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries with the last name of Coen, though they were not all related. Samuele was part of the sphere of Rabbi Moshe Ḥayyim Luzzatto (Ramḥal). It was a common custom for students’ mentors, fellow Padua students or alumni, or family members to compose congratulatory poems, mostly in Hebrew, to celebrate the student’s graduation. There are three students I have identified for whom we possess an extant copy of both a diploma and a congratulatory poem. Coen is one. Coen’s brother Moise, also a Padua medical alumnus (1675), composed a broadside poem in honor of Samuele’s graduation.[43]

Moise served as a witness for the graduation diploma of another Jewish student, Emanuel Colli, whose diploma is housed in the Magnes Collection in California.

In 1741, Coen’s daughter married another graduate of Padua’s medical school, Jacob ben Moses Alpron.[44] Rabbi Moshe Ḥayyim Luzzatto (Ramḥal) wrote a poem in honor of Alpron’s graduation.

It was not uncommon for the typical Padua medical diploma to include an illustration of the family coat of arms for the graduate. Coen’s diploma is one of a few examples of coats of arms found in diplomas of Jewish students, and the only example in our exhibit. The coat of arms includes the symbol of the Kohen tribe, two hands in the formation used for the priestly blessing. Above the hands appears a crown, and below it appears a raven.

Samuel Coen was clearly a member of the kohen tribe, as were a number of Padua medical graduates including Tuviyah haKohen Rofeh and Isaac Cantarini, for example. Given the introduction of systematic anatomical dissection into the medical school curriculum in the 16^th century, I have long wondered why there is no reference in the halakhic literature of this time to the issue of dissection for a Kohen, let alone for a Yisrael. The first references to dissection are in the late 1700s with the famous responsa of the Nodah biYehuda and Rav Yaakov Emden, though they contain no discussion about Kohanim. This is perhaps because the format of anatomy teaching involved the professor alone performing the dissection and teaching over the body. This is reflected in the design of anatomical theater of Padua. Students did not perform hands-on dissection; thus, the only potential issue would be tumat ohel, which at least according to some authorities is not generated by a non-Jewish corpse. However, as the original theater had a retractable roof to eliminate the foul odors during dissection, perhaps even tumat ohel may have been a non-issue.

Returning to the diploma, there are two sets of books on a table under the medallion, all of them labeled with the names of secular authors who were part of the standard curriculum at that time, including Plato, Aristotle, Hippocrates, Galen, and Avicenna.

I had hoped the name Maimonides might have appeared on the spine of one of the books.

Coen is identified as “Hebreus” in the diploma, which was the norm for Jewish students.

The year is listed as “currente anno” instead of the typical term with Christian reference, such as Anno Domini, Anno a Christi Nativitate, or Anno Christiano.

3) Medical Diploma of Moise Valle[45]
University of Padua – 1713
Biblioteca Statale del Monumento Nazionale di Praglia, Fondo Ebraico, 156

Moshe David Valle (1697-1777), one of the more well-known graduates of Padua, was an Italian Rabbi, physician, and kabbalist. He lectured for the Padua confraternity Mevakshei HaShem (seekers of God). He was a prolific author and teacher, as well as student, of Rabbi Moshe Ḥayyim Luzzatto (known as Ramḥal). He authored commentaries on the Torah and Prophets as well as works on Kabbalah.[46]  He is responsible for disseminating the teachings of Ramḥal. Ephraim Luzzatto, physician, poet and fellow graduate of the University of Padua, authored a poem praising Valle’s lectures.[47]

Ramḥal and the University of Padua

As we are discussing Valle, we would be remiss if we did not at least briefly mention the relationship of Ramḥal to the university and its students. Though not part of this exhibit, the relationship of Ramḥal with the students of the university has been explored.[48] It had long been debated as to whether Ramḥal actually attended the university, as evidence was elusive. Debra Glassberg Gail has recently discovered records of his matriculation,[49] though not graduation. I obtained copies of these records confirming the matriculation of Moise Vita Luzzatto at the universitas artistarum,[50] amongst the students of philosophy and medicine.

Matriculation Records of 1723

Moise Vita Luzzato di Giacob ebreo

Matriculation Records of 1725

Moise Vita Luzato di Giacob ebreo

Matriculation Records of 1726

Moise Vita Luzato di Giac ebreo

The Luzzatto family had a long and productive relationship with the university as described below regarding the diploma of Raffaele, which is on display. Some of Ramḥal’s most cherished students, including Yekutiel Gordon and Moshe David Valle, studied medicine in Padua, and I have identified at least eight medical students for whom Ramḥal wrote congratulatory poems upon their graduation.[51]

Returning to the diploma, Valle, as well as the other students represented in this exhibit, had the invocation amended to “In Dei Aeterni Nomini.” Valle is identified as “Hebreus” as well. The year is listed as “currente anno,” devoid of any Christian reference.

Valle was promoted by Bernardino Ramazzini, who was in contact with some of the Christian Hebraists of that time.[52]Ramazzini is also considered the founder of occupational medicine, and in his classic work on diseases of the tradesman he discusses the increased prevalence of scabies among the Jewish population.[53]

Valle is buried in the Jewish cemetery of Padua.

The Diploma Medallion

The Padua diploma typically contains a medallion on the front page, which was designed and intended for the inclusion of a portrait. However, as this option required an additional fee, it was not exercised by all students. As the basic structure of the diploma was templated, for those who refused the portrait option, the medallion nonetheless remained. In these cases, one thus finds the medallion left bare, or filled with text. The three aforementioned diplomas in our exhibit reflect the three possible options. While Tilche chose the premium package, his fellow graduates did not.

4) Medical Diploma of Raffaele Luzzatto[54]
University of Padua 1797
Centro per la Storia dell’Università di Padova

The latest diploma in our exhibit is likewise noteworthy, though not because of its artistic value. Raffaele was a member of the famous Luzzatto family, many of whom graduated the University of Padua Medical School.[55]Raffaele was from the town of San Daniele in the northeastern region of Italy, Friuli.[56] From the end of the 17th to the early 19th century, numerous members of the San Daniele Luzzatto family graduated from the Padua medical school.[57]In fact, Raffaele was in a direct, unbroken line of what would ultimately be six generations of Luzzatto physicians, many of them named Raffaele.[58]

Samuel David Luzzatto (1800–1865), the great scholar and bibliophile, known as Shadal, reports that on a visit to his uncle Isaac in San Daniele, he was shown the medical diploma of Isaac’s father, Raphael.[59] Shadal then commented, “We learn that the poet Isaac was preceded by a Raphael and an Isaac, and was followed by a Raphael and an Isaac, all of them doctors.” This diploma on display may be the very diploma Shadal saw on his visit.

This is a simple unilluminated diploma comprised solely of calligraphic text. The invocation reads “In Dei Nomine,” similar but not identical to the invocations of the other diplomas in this exhibit.

Close inspection reveals that the word “Dei” is written over erased text of a longer word. There are a few additional erasures, including the words under the granting authority of the degree, which reflect the possibility that this diploma was templated for a Christian student, and originally read, “In Christi Nomine.”

Further proof for this theory is that the invocation for the Jewish student usually read, “In Dei Aeterni Nomine,” with the word “Aeterni” added. This is not the case here, as given the limited space of the templated invocation, it would not have been possible to add the additional word. Of note, Luzzatto’s graduation record in the Padua University Archives actually bears the invocation, “in Christi Nomine.”

There are a number of cases where the archival record for Jewish students bears the standard Christian invocation, while the student diploma does not. The archival scribe may have simply followed the usual formula without much thought, and the student would likely never have known otherwise. The diploma, however, was given to the student to possess in perpetuity and therefore the emendation to “in Dei Aeterni Nomine” would have been preferred for a Jewish student.

Luzzatto is also not identified as a hebreus in either the archives or in the diploma. Furthermore, while the diplomas of Tilche, Coen and Valle amended the format for the date to remove any Christian reference, this diploma retains the conventional Christian dating, “Anno a xti Nativ” (shorthand for Anno a Christi Nativitate).” All the aforementioned observations support the suggestion that this diploma was originally templated for a Christian student.

IV. Benvenisti Collection of Portraits of Physicians

Padua’s Museo d’Arte contains the Benvenisti collection of portraits of physicians. Displayed are reproductions of portraits of some Jewish physicians,[60] some of whom graduated from the University of Padua. I highlight two examples below.

1) Sabbato Vita Marini (1662-1748)

Marini’s famous portrait is used for the museum exhibit advertising.

Shabtai Ḥayyim Marini graduated from Padua in 1685[62] and was a close friend and possible teacher of Rabbi Moshe Ḥayyim Luzzatto (Ramḥal).[62] In addition, he translated into Hebrew the first three books of Ovid’s Metamorphoses from the Italian translation of Giovanni Andrea dell’Anguillara.[63] Joseph Almanzi composed an ode to Marini in his Nezem Zahav:

2) Samuele Medoro (1788-1854)

Samuel Medoro (1788-1854), received his training in the University of Padua, served as surgeon in the La Confraternità Israelitica “Sovvegno” di Padova, which endowed medical assistance to Jews throughout Italy, and published many medical articles. He was an active participant in the debate about the requirement for oral suction as part of the circumcision procedure. His handwritten lectures on cicumcision were sold at auction in 2013 by Kedem Auction House in Jerusalem.[64]

Conclusion

If you happen to be in Italy before the end of the year it may just be worth the detour from Venice to catch a rare glimpse of a little-known chapter at the crossroads of Jewish, Italian, medical and academic history. While there, make sure to book a tour with the museum, which includes the synagogue and cemeteries. In the old cemetery are buried Rabbi Meir Katzenellenbogen, who was a teacher and mentor to the Jewish medical students of Padua;[65] Abraham Catalano, physician and author of the work Olam Hafukh[66] on the 1631 plague (a reproduction of which is on display at the exhibit); and Moshe David Valle, who was a staunch supporter of Ramḥal and whose diploma is on display. If you have even the remotest interest in the history of medicine or anatomy, the University of Padua is home to the first and longest standing permanent anatomical theater in the world, completed in 1595, just steps away from the exhibit. In fact, the theater benches were not only occupied by many Jewish medical students over the centuries, there is also a record of Jews from the community (non-students) attending dissections when the theater was first built.[67] It is thus evident that you do not need to be a doctor (or health care provider) to appreciate this medically related exhibit.

I conclude with the following serious offer (though my wife Sara might describe it otherwise). If you make it to the exhibit in person, feel free to contact me, and I would be delighted to give you a tour while you are there- time and time zone permitting. (I have already done it once.)

Appendix- Jews, Medicine and the University of Padua: The Uncut Version

Below are a number of sections I had hoped to include in the exhibit, but for a variety of reasons did not make the cut.

Seforim/Books related to the Graduates

The original exhibit proposal included a section of first or early edition books/seforim related to or composed by Padua medical graduates. Included in this selective list are:

• Paḥad Yitzḥak by Isaac Ḥayyim Cantarini (Padua- 1664), which includes an account of a Jewish body kidnapped for the purpose of dissection by the non-Jewish medical students of Padua.

• The ubiquitous Ma’aseh Tuviyah by Tuviyah HaRofeh (Padua-1683), one of the most famous graduates from Padua.[68]

• Mateh Dan by David Nieto (Padua- 1687), patterned after the Kuzari.

• Paḥad Yitzḥak, the first halakhic encyclopedia, by Isaac Lampronti (Padua- 1696).

• Shemesh Tzedakah, responsa by Shimshon Morpurgo (Padua- 1700).

I also happened upon an article by Professor Joanna Weinberg about the collection of Hebrew printed works in the Antoniana Library of Padua.[69] A number of the items in this collection, all of which were printed before 1663, would be perfect for an exhibit on Jews and Medicine in Padua:

• Cannon of Avicenna:[70] One of two Hebrew incunabula in this library, it is the only known Hebrew medical incunabula. Could Lazarus de Frigeis have used this copy when assisting Vesalius with the Hebrew terms of the Fabrica? Speculative to be sure, but certainly not out of the realm of possibility. Perhaps marginalia are present in the copy to shed light.

• Shiltei ha Gibborim by Abraham Portelone:[71] Though neither medical in content nor written by a Padua graduate, it is nonetheless authored by one of the most famous Jewish medical personilites of that time and would certainly have been known to and possibly owned by the Jewish medical students in Padua. In addition, his son was a medical graduate of Padua and was promoted by none other than Galileo.

• Pesakim from R. Yehuda Mintz and R. Meir Katzenellenbogen:[72] These two Torah giants were leaders of the Padua Jewish community in their day and certainly interacted and taught the Jewish medical students.[73]

• Sefer Elim by Yosef Shlomo Delmedigo:[74] Delmedigo is one of the greatest alumni of Padua and amongst other things was known for his relationship with Galileo.[75]

In addition to the content of these books, their provenance was also relevant to our exhibit. Many of the Hebrew books held in the Antoniana Library originally belonged to Paduan Jews, evidenced by the family names inscribed on the title pages. I do not think it unreasonable to imagine that some of these works were actually used by Jewish medical students in Padua. Furthermore, I discovered that Pontificia Biblioteca Antoniana was a mere 750 meters from the Jewish Museum and Ghetto. It seemed too good to be true… and it was. The library requested exorbitant restoration fees for the items prior to transfer and regretfully financial constraints precluded this option. Alas, it was not meant be. I had also hoped to obtain Messer Leon’s Nofet Tzufim from the Vatican Library, but not unsurprisingly, was met with the same response and result.

Congratulatory Poems for the Jewish Medical Graduates of Padua

After having researched and written extensively about the congratulatory poems for the Jewish medical graduates of Padua, you might expect to find at least one hard copy of such a poem as part of the exhibit. However, for financial, legal and insurance reasons, the exhibit was limited to items found in Italy, primarily in the environs of Padua. Remarkably, of the over one hundred Hebrew congratulatory poems I have identified, not one is found in Italy. They are primarily found in Israel, America, England and Hungary. There is one single poem in the university archives written in Italian in honor of Samuele Coen,[76] whose diploma appears in the exhibit. The author is one of the University of Padua staff diploma illustrators, and I have yet to determine the story behind its composition. It does not in any way represent the genre of this poetry. In lieu of the physical poems, a slideshow of examples of congratulatory poems, along with examples of additional diplomas, is projected on the screen of the exhibition hall.

Padua Medical Graduates as Mohelim, Performing Circumcision on the Children of Their Fellow Graduates and Mentors

Identifying physicians of Jewish lineage is of great interest to some historians, but my interest lies at the intersection of medical practice and religious observance. The practice of circumcision by physicians is one such interface, and the physician-Mohel combination is not that common even today (with the exclusion of urologists). While this topic merits its own broader study, I have identified a number of Padua medical graduates who were also mohelim. Remarkably, in two cases, the pinkas mohel, or circumcision registry, is still extant, revealing another “medical” connection.

1) David Loria

Loria graduated Padua in 1623. Upon his graduation, Rabbi Yehuda Aryeh Modena composed a poem in his honor which now resides in the Oxford Bodleian Library.[77]

This poem is unique amongst the medical student poems, as it is one of only two medical student poems written in Aramaic.[78]

Loria and Modena maintained connection long after Loria’s graduation from medical school.[79] Indeed, Modena offered to bestow rabbinic ordination upon David Loria, though the latter declined for unknown reasons.[80] Loria was also a mohel and performed the rite for Modena’s grandson, Avtalion, in March 1636.[81] Though a physician in the Ghetto of Padua, Loria Fled Padua during the plague of 1631. However, he made extensive arrangements to provide for the needy.[82]

2) Salomon Lampronti[83]

Salomon was the son of the famous Isaac Lampronti, physician, rabbi, and author of Paḥad Yitzḥak. Isaac (Padua, 1696) and his son Salomon (Padua, 1734) were alumni of Padua’s medical school. Salomon was a mohel and his pinkas survived the ravages of time. Though I was unable to access the entire work, the passage shown in the Kedem auction catalogue[84] happened to include the record of Lampronti’s circumcision of the son of the physician Solomon Zamorani,[85] a Padua graduate of 1753.[86] Zamorani was also a student of the younger Lampronti. I suspect there are children of other Padua medical graduates included in this ledger.

3) Menahem Navarra[87]

Navarra completed his medical studies in 1740, and the poem below was written in honor of his graduation by Isaiah Romanin.[88]

Navarra was a mohel and, like Lampronti, his pinkas mohel has survived. Among those for whom he performed the rite were the children of Jacob Grassin Basilea and Raffael Ferrarese, both Padua medical graduates.[89] Below are examples of some of the entries:

March 27, 1757, son of Yaakov Gershon Basilea (Padua, 1735)[90] 

On December 2, 1769 Navarra circumcised the second son of Raffael Ferrarese (Padua, 1762), one of twins. The milah was performed one month after birth. Note he is called an “uman” (i.e., rofeh uman), which may possibly refer specifically to a university-trained physician.

There is a pinkas Milah housed in the University of Pennsylvania Library[91] which belonged to a member of the Fermi (or possibly Fermo/Firmo) family,[92] though the specific family member remains unknown. The entries run from 1705 to 1736. Therein are multiple references to Shimshon Morpurgo, a rabbi/physician graduate of Padua (1700).[93]

While the dates of the pinkas would align perfectly with the Padua medical graduate Moshe Yaakov son of David Fermo (Padua, 1701), I have no evidence to support his identification as the work’s author.[94] Furthermore, the spine of the work is stamped in gold with the words, Pinḳas mohel leha-R. Firmo. While the “R” typically refers to Rav, perhaps in this case the “R” stands for rofeh, though I admit this is unlikely.