A Desperate Plea for Help on Behalf of Vilna’s Old Jewish Cemetery

A Desperate Plea for Help on Behalf of Vilna’s Old Jewish Cemetery in 1919

By Shnayer Leiman

Recently, a brief study was posted online on Meir Zelmanovich, the custodian of Vilna’s old Jewish cemetery, who died a martyr’s death in 1920.[1] Here, we wish to add Zelmanovich’s only published writing, a Yiddish letter that appeared in Vilna’s יידישע צייטונג [Yidishe Tsaytung], on Monday, December 15, 1919.[2] The letter will appear below both in the original Yiddish and in an annotated English translation. It is a significant, and tragic, historical document. Also, mostly due to the recent discovery of a treasure trove of photographs relating to World War I, we will present several newly discovered photographs of Zelmanovich.[3]

For those unfamiliar with Vilna’s old Jewish cemetery, we note that according to a Jewish tradition in Vilna it was founded in 1487. Modern scholars, based upon extant documentary evidence, date the founding of the cemetery to 1593, but admit that an earlier date cannot be ruled out. The cemetery, still standing today (but denuded of its tombstones), lies just north of the center of the city of Vilna, across the Neris River, in the section of Vilna called Shnipishkes (Yiddish: Shnipishok). It is across from, and just opposite, one of Vilna’s most significant landmarks, Castle Hill with its Gedeminas Tower. The cemetery was in use from the year it was founded until 1830, when it was officially closed by the municipal authorities. Although burials no longer were possible in the old Jewish cemetery, it became a pilgrimage site, and thousands of Jews visited annually the graves of the righteous rabbis and heros buried there, especially the graves  of the Ger Zedek (Avraham ben Avraham, also known as the son of Graf Potocki, d. 1749), the Gaon of Vilna (R. Eliyahu ben R. Shlomo Zalman, d. 1797), and the Hayye Adam (R. Avraham Danzig, d. 1820). Such visits took place even after World War II.

Briefly, the historical context of the letter was the battle for control of Vilna in the aftermath of World War I. During the years 1914 to1922, nine different governments ruled in Vilna, making life miserable for its residents. Almost certainly, the greatest concentration of Jewish suffering in this period took place in 1919, when the Polish legionnaires unleashed a pogrom against Vilna’s Jews. Zelmanovich’s Letter to the Editor appeared in print in December 1919 and records in detail the damage to the dead; he left it for others to record the damage to the living.[4] This stage of Polish rule came to an end when the Russians recaptured Vilna in July of 1920. Russian rule lasted for some six weeks, and was followed by Lithuanian rule. On October 8, 1920 the Poles once again recaptured Vilna. Sadly, on October 10, 1920 Meir Zelmanovich was one of a handful of Jews murdered by the returning Polish legionnaires.

1. The Original Yiddish Version of Zelmanovich’s Letter.

2. An Annotated English Translation of Zelmanovich’s Letter.

The Hostile Incidents at Vilna’s Old Jewish Cemetery: (A Letter to the Editor)

Please provide me with a platform to describe the hostile incidents that have taken place – from Passover[5] until today – at the old Jewish cemetery.

Immediately after Passover, the fence (surrounding the cemetery) was breached, and horses were allowed to enter the cemetery. The officers in charge of the horses chose to move into my house, and helped themselves to whatever they could find. It was only when my daughter came down with typhus, that they left the house and encamped on the cemetery grounds. They burned the wooden tombstones, and broke stone tombstones as well. They smashed the tombstones of R. Yisrael Kreines’ father,[6] R. Yaakov Landau,[7] Rekhl the mother of R. Shimon Strashun,[8] R. Mordechai Meltzer’s wife,[9] and a few others. They were about to destroy the wooden tombstone of the Chief Rabbi, R. Hillel,[10]ho died in 1706,[11] but I managed to hide it while it was still whole.

The official rabbi,[12] Rabbi Rubinstein[13] was heavily involved in rectifying matters. We were able to arrange for the horses to be removed from the cemetery. The officers of the Zedakah Gedolah Society[14] arranged for the fence to be repaired at a cost of 7000 rubles. Now, however, the soldiers have returned with saws and axes and have pulled back and rearranged the fence so that anyone could enter the cemetery from the nearby public passage way. Thus, they once again are tearing down the rooftops of the mausoleums.

Regarding the Gaon’s[15] mausoleum, they have now, for a second time, torn down its roof, and also smashed its windows. They have also begun to break down its walls.

They tore off the rooftops of the mausoleums of R. Noah Petletzis[16] and R. Shmuel Landau.[17] Just last night, they placed the carcasses of 5 horses next to the mausoleums.

All our communal Jewish activists are obligated to come and view for themselves the devastation that is taking place in the old Jewish cemetery. And, at the same time, they are obligated to rescue whatever can still be rescued.

Meir Yisrael Zelmanovich,
Custodian of the Old Jewish Cemetery

———-

3. Newly Discovered Photographs of Meir Zelmanovich.

a) Meir Zelmanovich at the Mausoleum of R. Menahem Manes Chajes.

 

b) Photograph of Meir Zelmanovich at Vilna’s Old Jewish Cemetery.

The top photograph (left) is clearly the original that ultimately appeared in the postcard that was produced in 1916 (right) and discussed in our earlier study.[18] The photograph’s clarity and detail are far superior to that of the postcard, a clear reminder that some postcard reproductions need to be taken with a grain of salt.[19]

The bottom photograph, it seems to me, is a magnificent likeness of Meir Zelmanovich. Someone scribbled in the date 1916, which almost certainly is when it was taken.[20]

 

Notes

[1] S. Leiman, “In Praise of Ephemera: A Picture Postcard from Vilna Reveals its Secrets more than One Hundred Years after its Original Publication,” The Seforim Blog, July 27, 2020 (here). Cf. The Leiman Library (www.leimanlibrary.com), texts, item 143.

[2] Issue 181, p. 2, columns 1-4. The newspaper lists the Jewish calendrical date as well, 23 Kislev. For a brief history of Vilna’s short-lived יידישע צייטונג (it ceased publication in 1920), see D. Flinker, et al, eds., עיתונות יהודית שהיתה (Igud ha-Olami shel ha-Itonaim ha-Yehudim: Tel-Aviv, 1973), p. 246.

[3] In July of 2020, a huge collection of rare photos of Vilna was sold at auction on Ebay. The photos were made by a professional photographer who served as a photo correspondent working with the German 10th army, which occupied Vilna during World War I. Fortunately, about half of the photos were acquired by a coalition of scholars and patrons of scholarship in Lithuania who realized how significant these photos were. I am indebted to my Lithuanian colleague, Dr. Andrius Kulikauskas, for sharing the above information with me, after the fact. What Andrius could not know is that I too was a bidder in that auction (without knowing all the fine details about who took the photographs), and managed to acquire four photos taken at the Old Jewish cemetery in Vilna, including the two photos of Meir Zelmanovich reproduced below.

[4] For a fuller account of the pogrom itself, see the study cited above in note 1.

[5] Vilna’s Jewish community celebrated Passover in 1919 from the evening of April 14 through April 22. The Russian Red Army ruled in Vilna through April 18, 1919. On April 19, the Polish legionnaires replaced the Russian Red Army. Almost immediately, a pogrom ensued against the Jews, leading to much death and destruction. Vilna remained under Polish control during the period that Zelmanovich published his “Letter To The Editor.”

[6] R. Yisrael Gordon Kreines (1778-1856) was a learned Torah scholar adept in Russian. In 1837 he was appointed Rabbi of Vilna, largely for the purpose of fulfilling the Czarist regime’s requirement that a rabbi be appointed who could record in Russian all births, marriages, and deaths in the Jewish community. See H.N. Steinschneider, עיר ווילנא (Vilna, 1900), pp. 192-195. Kreines’s father, R. Avraham Gordon was a major lay leader (פרנס ) of Vilna who died in 1780. See S. Y. Fuenn, קריה נאמנה (second edition, Vilna, 1915), p. 187-188.

[7] R. Yaakov Landau (circa 1793-1828), a learned rabbinic scholar, was the oldest son of R. Shmuel Landau, also a rabbinic scholar of note (see below, note 17). R. Yaakov was the older brother of R. Yitzhak Eliyahu Landau (1801-1876), who served as rabbi and official preacher (מורה צדק ומגיד מישרים) of Vilna from 1868 until his death in 1876. R. Yaakov’s Landau’s full given name was Avraham Yaakov. Unfortunately, he died at an early age. His epitaph is preserved in Fuenn, pp. 253-254. Y. Klausner, קורות ביתהעלמין הישן בוילנה (Vilna, 1935), p. 63, note 2, reports that R. Yaakov Landau’s tombstone was no longer standing in 1935.

[8] R. Shimon Strashun (circa 1823-1905) was a distinguished rabbinic scholar who resided in Vilna, and was the son of a distinguished rabbinic scholar who also resided in Vilna, R. Avraham David Strashun (19th century). Avraham David’s first wife, חנה (d. 1824), was the mother of R. Shimon Strashun. See Steinschneider, p. 191. Assuming there is no error here on the part of either Steinschneider or Zelmanovich, it is possible that her full name was חנה רחל. The Yiddish name Rekhl is a common variant of the name Rokhl. See, e.g., A. Beider, A Dictionary of Ashkenazic Given Names (Bergenfield, 2001), pp. 560- 562, especially p. 561, column 2.

[9] R. Mordechai Meltzer (1797-1883) served as an official rabbi in Vilna with the title מורה צדק . He was the head of Vilna’s Ramajles (ראמיילעס) Yeshiva during the first half of the 19th century, where he trained many of Vilna’s most distinguished rabbis. In 1864, he was appointed Chief Rabbi of Lida (today in Belarus), where he served with distinction until his death in 1883. His wife, Sarah Devorah, died in 1830, and was buried in Vilna’s old Jewish cemetery. See Steinschneider, pp. 122-126.

[10] For a brief account of R. Hillel b. R. Jonah ha-Levi, and for the text of his epitaph, see Fuenn, p. 104. Wooden tombstones were commonplace in the old Jewish cemetery; not everyone could afford a stone tombstone. The wooden tombstone of R. Hillel b. R. Jonah ha-Levi, rescued by Zelmanovich, almost certainly no longer exists. A photograph of the tombstone, however, was preserved in the An-Ski Museum in Vilna, and published in Klausner, p. 42.

[11] The Yiddish original gives the Jewish year: [5]466.

[12] Under Czarist rule, the Russian government required Jewish communities to appoint a kazyonny ravvin “an official rabbi,” fluent in Russian, who – among his various responsibilities — would be responsible for recording (in Russian) births, marriages, and deaths. Rabbi Rubinstein’s initial appointment in Vilna was as kazyonny ravvin. Zelmanovich uses the Yiddish (and German) title ראבינער here to indicate Rabbi Rubinstein’s status at the time.

[13] Rabbi Isaac Rubinstein (1880-1945) was appointed “official rabbi” (see previous note) of Vilna in 1910. With the outbreak of World War I, the more traditional rabbis were forced to flee Vilna, and Rubinstein – for all intents and purposes – was the only functioning rabbi in Vilna. In this difficult period, and later under Polish rule, Rubinstein repeatedly interceded on behalf of the Jewish community, with great success. He served as a member of the Polish senate from 1922-1939. In 1928, he was appointed Chief Rabbi of Vilna. A leading religious Zionist, and a superb speaker, he managed to flee Vilna in 1940 (then under Soviet domination), and made his way to the United States in order to enlist aid on behalf of East European Jewry.

[14] The Zedakah Gedolah Society was Jewish Vilna’s official communal institution in charge of public welfare. Given the rampant poverty that prevailed throughout much of Vilna’s Jewish history, this was one of the most important institutions in Vilna. It assumed even greater significance when the Czarist regime abolished Vilna’s “Kahal” structure in 1844. One of the Zedakah Gedolah’s many tasks was to provide the lion’s share of the funding necessary for the upkeep of Vilna’s Jewish cemeteries. With the advent of World War I, it fell into a period of steady decline and would ultimately be liquidated under Polish rule in 1931. See Israel Cohen, Vilna (Philadelphia, 1943), pp. 121-122 and pp. 394-397. Cf. Andrew N. Koss, “Two Rabbis and a Rebbetzin: The Vilna Rabbinate During the First World War,” European Judaism 48:1 (2015), pp. 120-122.

[15] The reference is to the mausoleum of R. Elijah b. Solomon (1720-1797), the Vilna Gaon, which never fully recovered from the damage inflicted upon it by the Polish legionnaires.

[16] Noah Bloch Petletzis (d. 1809) was an exceedingly wealthy Jew who donated generous sums of money to Vilna’s various educational and charitable institutions. He singlehandedly provided the entire funding for the construction of the women’s section (עזרת נשים) in Vilna’s Great Synagogue. See Fuenn, p. 223-224; cf. Klausner, p. 66. He should not be confused with the Maskil Noah Bloch (d. 1846) who, after much controversy about exactly where in the Zaretcha cemetery he should be buried, was finally laid to rest. See H.N. Steinschneider, עיר ווילנא (Jerusalem, 2003), vol. 2, pp.48-49 (edited by M. Zalkin).

[17] R. Shmuel Landau (d. 1818) was a son-in-law of R. Hayyim Landau (d. 1797) of Brody, a founder and key supporter of the קלויז of Brody. On the “kloyz” of Brody, see N.M. Gelber, תולדות יהודי ברודי (Jerusalem, 1955), pp. 62-73. Not surprisingly, R. Shmuel adopted his father-in-law’s surname and brought it to Vilna. He was an exceedingly modest rabbinic scholar, whose 3 sons, all named Landau, would become well-known rabbinic scholars. R. Shmuel Landau’s epitaph (or, at least, a portion of it) was preserved by Fuenn, p. 230; cf. Klausner, p. 63.

[18] See above, note 1.

[19] Notice, e.g., the different facial expressions in the two photographs. When the two photographs are enlarged, it becomes obvious that the original photograph preserves much detail no longer visible in the postcard, including the fine detail of the vast terrain to the left of the mausoleum (alas, only partially captured by the scans presented her, but quite visible to the naked eye.)

[20] That all the photographs gathered here are, in fact, genuine likenesses of Meir Zelmanovich seems likely. Certainly the family photo published in the earlier study (see above, note 1) identifies him by name. His German passport of 1916 offers additional proof. During the German occupation, all residents of Vilna were required to have — and to carry at all times – a German passport (we would call it: an identity card). Zelmanovich’s German passport lists his correct name, age, and address (at the Old Jewish cemetery), and includes his passport photo! I am indebted to Regina Kopilevich, researcher and tour guide extraordinaire, for retrieving Zelmanovich’s passport from the many preserved in the Lithuanian State Historical Archives (Lietuvos Valstybes Istorijos Archyvas). Here is Zelmanovich’s passport photo:

Yet another unmistakable likeness of Meir Zelmanovich can be seen in two photographs preserved in the archives of the Ghetto Fighter’s House Museum at Kibbutz Lohamei Hagetaot. Both photos were taken in 1916 at the old Jewish cemetery. One photo (catalog number 31468) depicts Meir Zelmanovich and a teenager (almost certainly his son Sholom) standing next to the legendary tree that hovered over the ashes of the martyred Ger Zedek of Vilna, in the old Jewish cemetery’s south eastern corner. Another photo (catalog number 31467) depicts the father and son (now wearing an overcoat) standing at a pathway in the center of the old Jewish cemetery. The photos are available online, so there is no need to post them here. I am deeply grateful to art historian Dr. Vilma Gradinskaite of Vilnius for bringing my attention to the photos preserved in the archives of the Ghetto Fighter’s House Museum.




A Tale of Two Zionist Siddurim in Exile

A Tale of Two Zionist Siddurim in Exile
Seth (Avi) Kadish

 

Zionist Siddurim and Modern Orthodoxy

Modern Orthodoxy today, in America and throughout the diaspora, is largely a Zionist world. It is, in a sense, the English-speaking wing of Religious Zionism outside of Israel.[1] It is a world of synagogue communities with very close ties to Israel. Most people in Modern Orthodox synagogues have visited Israel, have family and friends who live in Israel, and support Israel. They see Israel as a blessing from God. They say prayers for the State of Israel and the IDF in their synagogues, and many of them celebrate Israel’s Independence Day with public prayers of thanks, including Hallel. At least some of these prayers are included in those siddurim which are designed for Modern Orthodox communities.

In this sense, a Modern Orthodox siddur is a Zionist siddur. But it is also invariably a bilingual siddur. Despite their love of Hebrew-speaking Israel, Modern Orthodox Jews are often uncomfortable with a siddur in Hebrew alone. Therefore, Modern Orthodox siddurim are typically published with introductions, translations, instructions and commentaries which are all in the vernacular. This format is so typical of the Modern Orthodox world that there is a small but competitive industry that produces and markets bilingual Modern Orthodox siddurim, and even a minor literature devoted to reviewing, evaluating and comparing them.

Even a Modern Orthodox Jew who makes ‘aliyah to Israel is likely to continue using a bilingual siddur. In Israel and abroad there is a much larger market for all-Hebrew siddurim, but most of those who prefer an all-Hebrew siddur are not Modern Orthodox Jews. Rather, they are native Israelis or haredim. That is why all-Hebrew, Zionist siddurim are usually published with native Israelis in mind, and sold mainly in Israel.

However, there have been exceptions to this rule. I am aware of two all-Hebrew, Zionist siddurim whose editors were Torah-observant scholars outside of Israel. These two siddurim were published, marketed and sold in pre-Holocaust Europe or in America, even though they contain no translation and their introductions, instructions and commentaries are all in modern Hebrew. The stories of these two siddurim and their editors reveal some important and moving aspects about Zionism since the dawn of the 20th century, including cultural movements and historical events that have largely been forgotten.

The publication of a siddur can reveal the soul of its publisher or point out the condition of communities, because a siddur is not just a prayerbook. Its core blessings and prayers have been the most basic component of oral Hebrew culture for thousands of years, and the same has been true for the siddur as a mass-produced physical book since the invention of printing. In many times and places the siddur was the Hebrew text most familiar to the majority of Jews, sometimes better known than the Bible itself. The two siddurim that we will discuss bear witness to the life of the Hebrew language over the past two centuries. They can help us understand the circumstances under which the Hebrew language has struggled or failed or been snuffed out, or to the contrary, where and when it lived and grew and flourished.

The two siddurim and their respective editors also highlight something fundamental and deeply traditional about Jewish prayer, which goes straight to the roots of the Torah. Namely that, in prayer, the nation of Israel stands before the God of Israel. Yet in order for Israel to stand before its God, it must first be a nation, an ‘am in Hebrew, which shares a language, a homeland and a common fate.[2]

1. Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah, edited by Ḥayyim David Rosenstein (Vilna, 1909)[3]

Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah was first published in Vilna, 1909. It was issued in the two versions that were most important to eastern European Jews, namely Ashkenaz and the hasidic Sefard. It was reprinted a great many times since then, and is still on the market to this very day. 

The text of Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah is laid out with great care, and marked with modern punctuation. It is accompanied by concise instructions in vowelized Hebrew as well as a short commentary on the bottom of the page, also in vowelized Hebrew, which explains difficult words and phrases in the Hebrew prayers. Prayers in Aramaic (such as Berikh Shemeih and Yequm Purkan) are accompanied by translation into Hebrew. Shirah Ḥadashah is an appealing edition of the siddur and a pleasure to browse.

Who published a siddur like this in eastern Europe at the beginning of the 20th century, and why? Its editor, Ḥayyim David Rosenstein (1871-1934) lived his entire life in Minsk (Russia and then USSR, now the capital of Belarus), which had a Jewish majority at the turn of the 20th century. Rosenstein was a Torah scholar, a Hebraist, a Zionist activist and above all an educator. In Minsk he was known in Yiddish as Der Hoikhe Melamed (“the tall teacher”), which referred not just to his physical stature but also to the great esteem in which he was held by the people of the city. He was also known in literary circles by his Hebrew initials חד״ר (like cheder in Yiddish) or as חד”ר מד”ן (taking the first and last letters of his name). 

Rosenstein was the founder and principal of a cheder in Minsk, but it was no ordinary cheder. It was rather called a ḥeder metukan in Hebrew, i.e. an “improved” cheder in that it included secular studies along with Torah study, and employed modern pedagogical techniques in all disciplines. It prepared its students as Jews and for success in the modern world. But above all, it taught the Hebrew language and other subjects not in Yiddish nor in Russian but rather in Hebrew (‘Ivrit be-‘Ivrit). Rosenstein’s Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah was designed for students in schools like his own. By 1903, there were 934 ḥadarim metukanim in Tzarist Russia. Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah became a bestseller not just among their students, but also among Hebrew-oriented Jews throughout Europe, and it was even exported to North America and to the Hebrew-speaking settlements in Ereẓ Yisra’el.

The ḥeder metukan was vociferously opposed by the traditionalists of the time, who sarcastically called it a cheder mesukan in the Ashkenazic pronunciation (i.e. “a dangerous cheder”).[4] The ḥeder metukan also raised the ire of assimilationists, who wanted Jews to learn Russian, drop their separate national identity and fully join Russian society. But the ḥeder metukan was most fiercely opposed by Jewish socialists and communists, who despised its traditional nature, its nationalist pretensions, and its promotion of Hebrew. In their view every nationality, including Jewish nationality, took a back seat to the international revolution of the proletariat. And if an ethnic Jewish culture was to be promoted, they argued, then that culture must be Yiddish culture. They saw Hebrew as the language of a repressive religious tradition, of privileged rabbis and scholars. It was not the mother tongue of the Jewish masses in Europe, and it must therefore not be part of a tolerated culture in a future communist country.

Despite all of this harsh opposition, Rosenstein’s ḥeder metukan in Minsk was highly successful following its founding in 1903. During its golden years, it educated many students who eventually made ‘aliyah and contributed to the rise of the State of Israel. Rosenstein’s son, Avraham, told the following story which illustrates something of the educational spirit of the school at its very best:

Years passed, and I was in the upper class of the cheder—in my father’s cheder. Some eighteen 10-year-olds were attending lessons on Torah and Nevi’im and Ketuvim, on Hebrew grammar, Mishnayot, on the early history of Israel. And all of it was, of course, in Hebrew: Hebrew in the lessons, Hebrew during recess, in conversations and in games. All of us were all proud of the fact that we were in Rosenstein’s cheder, myself among them. I felt no embarrassment, or, to the contrary, “privilege” or “advantage” over my fellow students because the teacher was my father … In his keen pedagogic instinct, my father gave me no cause to feel “privileged” or “near to the throne”—neither in my eyes nor in the eyes of my fellow students. [I was] one student among all the others, and there was an equal and fatherly attitude towards each and every one, in accordance with his attitude toward his studies.

Of all the classes, the ones in Tanakh are carved most deeply into my heart. My father immersed his entire soul and all of his enthusiasm in them, infecting all of us [students] as well. We would learn complete chapters by heart but felt no onus or burden in it.

I remember one episode extremely well from those school days.

One day we began to study the book of Proverbs, after we had learned a selection of Psalms. The “modern” commentaries we had sometimes resorted to, apart from Rashi and the “Meẓudot”, were the “Miqra Meforash” (“Explanatory Tanakh”) of Treves, Notik and Levin. For the Book of Proverbs, father told us, no Miqra Meforash had yet been published, so we would have to make due with the traditional commentaries and supplement them with father’s explanations, which we would jot down for ourselves.

Or if you want, added father with a smile, you may compose your own Miqra Meforash

I do not recall how my classmates reacted to that “invitation,” but I certainly do recall that the words entered my heart and together with my friend David Lifshitz, an outstanding student in the class, we decided to take up the task—to compose an edition of the Book of Proverbs with a new commentary in the format of Miqra Meforash, based on the commentaries of my father and other commentaries that we had at our disposal…

When our plan was revealed to father, he smiled and asked, “So what shall you call your commentary?” Upon seeing the confusion in our eyes, he added, “Look carefully at Psalm 110, which we studied not long ago, perhaps you will find a suitable name there…”

Indeed, after we read and reread the psalm with care, David extracted from it the phrase טַל יַלְדוּת (“the dew of youth”), and we decided that this was surely what father had meant, for it was quite fitting to our work and the age of its “authors.”

For many weeks we worked in the evenings at the “sacred labor” of the commentary, writing and erasing and rewriting. David, who had a very fine hand, would copy inside a thick notebook, in large and handsome letters, the biblical text up to the middle of the page, and then I would copy, in small letters in the lower half, the exegesis we had worked out together, and all of it of course with full vowelization!

And so it was day after day and week after week, page after page and chapter after chapter.

What became of our “creation” inspired by father, whether it was completed or left unfinished—I cannot recall.[5]

In a footnote to the above story, Rosenstein’s son added the following: “I hope that this same dear friend, who is today Rabbi David Lifshitz, one of the heads of Yeshiva University in the United States, will not resent the exposure of these ‘youthful indiscretions’…”.[6]

Rosenstein’s three sons succeeded in making ‘aliyah to Ereẓ Yisra’el by 1925. For years they made strenuous efforts to bring their parents and sister. Finally, in 1934, they were able to secure official permission for them to leave the USSR, along with entry permits from British Mandate officials. Yet Rosenstein never saw Ereẓ Yisra’el.

After the Bolshevik revolution he continued to secretly teach Hebrew and engage in Zionist activities. His house was searched repeatedly for forbidden works in Hebrew. More than 60 unpublished manuscripts by Rosenstein—including a complete modern edition of ‘Ein Ya‘akov for Hebrew-speaking students—were confiscated by the Yevsektsiya or the Cheka and lost to posterity. The Soviet authorities arrested and tortured Rosenstein several times, but he always returned to teaching and writing in Hebrew. Weak and ill, he died in exile in Minsk in 1934, just before one of his sons was due to arrive from Ereẓ Yisra’el and bring home the rest of his family. His wife and daughter buried him in the Jewish cemetery of Minsk, shortly before they left for Ereẓ Yisra’el. No stone marks his grave. His wife is buried on the Mount of Olives.

Rosenstein’s writing following the revolution describes the plight of Jewish decency in an age of totalitarian terror. Today, when we hear the term anusim we mostly think of medieval Spain (conversos or Marranos), and when we mention “Prisoners of Zion” it usually refers to heroes from the 1970s and 80s. Yet there were Prisoners of Zion in the USSR ever since 1917, and Rosenstein was one. A posthumous collection of his surviving writings, based on notebooks brought home to Ereẓ Yisra’el by his wife and daughter following his death, contains short stories in Hebrew on subjects such as “Pesaḥ Anusim”—one Jew’s doomed attempt to hold a Passover seder with his wife behind closed doors instead of attending a mandatory Passover pork festival, complete with four cups of vodka, at the Yiddish cultural center (a former synagogue). Another story is about the daughter of a former dayyan (rabbinical judge) in Minsk who disobeyed her parents by attending a forbidden gathering of Zionist youth. This indiscretion empowered a Jewish officer in the Cheka to force her to be his consort and bear his child; the story ends with a clandestine circumcision. At the very same time, along with these terrifying themes, Rosenstein continued to write children’s stories and poems in Hebrew, as well as modern Hebrew editions of Torah texts and articles about pedagogy or wider issues in the Jewish world, until his dying day.

In 1949, Eshkol publishers of Jerusalem reissued Rosenstein’s Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah in an edition that was newly typeset, revised and expanded for use in the brand new State of Israel. The 1949 edition contains the Prayer for the State of Israel at the very end of the volume, and was one of the very first siddurim in the world to include it.

Shirah Ḥadashah has been reprinted in Israel many times. One later, undated edition includes not just the prayer for the state, but also prayers for Israel’s 3rd president Zalman Shazar (who was in office 1963-1973), for peace in the world, for remembering Holocaust victims on ‘Asarah be-Tevet, for fallen Israeli soldiers, for Israel’s Memorial Day and Independence Day, and the prayer for the well-being of IDF soldiers. Shirah Ḥadashah’s popularity began to diminish after Siddur Rinat Yisra’el was published 1970, as the latter quickly became the standard siddur in many of Israel’s Zionist synagogues, but it still continued to be used.[7]

When the founder of Eshkol publishers, Rabbi Yaakov Shaul Weinfeld, died in 1989, his sons divided the rights to its publications into two separate ḥaredi publishing houses. One of them is called Shai la-Mora, which continues to publish Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah to this day. However, its title page no longer credits Ḥayyim David Rosenstein, and all prayers related to the State of Israel have been removed.[8]

In a brief introduction to the 1949 edition, Eshkol publishers thanked the author’s son Avraham for editing the Israeli version of his father’s siddur, and for writing a Hebrew commentary to the newly added sections in the spirit of his late father’s work. The publisher’s acknowledgment is credited not to Avraham Rosenstein, but rather to “the teacher A. Even-Shoshan of Jerusalem.” The Hebraified version of “Rosenstein” was “Even-Shoshan,” the name which the family adopted in Ereẓ Yisra’el with the blessing of their father, who himself had used Even-Shoshan as a Hebrew pen name in his youth.[9] Avraham Even-Shoshan (1906-1984) was one of the great Hebrew lexicographers of the 20th century and author of the multivolume Even-Shoshan Dictionary. During his lifetime, Ḥayyim David Rosenstein expressed two unfulfilled literary desires to his children: He wanted Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah to be republished in a new edition, and he thought there was a great need for a new, accessible Hebrew-language dictionary. Both of these wishes were fulfilled by his son Avraham in Israel. 

2. Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el, edited by Paltiel Birnbaum (New York, 1978)

Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el was published in New York, 1978 by Dr. Paltiel (Philip) Birnbaum (1901-1988).[10] It is an all-Hebrew version of Birnbaum’s best-selling Daily Prayer Book (Ha-Siddur Ha-Shalem), which was first published in 1949 and used widely by generations of American Jews. Most of the text consists of images that were reproduced mechanically from the Hebrew part of his earlier bilingual siddur, but in some places it was altered to conform with the Ashkenazic custom prevalent in Israeli synagogues.[11] The editor’s introduction is in Hebrew, as is sporadic commentary in the form of explanatory notes at the bottom of some of the pages.[12] The Prayer for the State of Israel—which appeared at the very end of Birnbaum’s original 1949 bilingual siddur, making it, too, one of the very first in the world to include it along with Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah that very same year—appears here within the Shabbat morning prayers right after the prayer for the government (outside of Israel),[13] and is immediately followed by the prayer for the IDF. 

The end of the volume contains significant material that did not appear in the original siddur: prayers for Israel’s Independence Day (pp. 420-427); Torah readings for Shabbat afternoon, Monday and Thursday (pp. 428-459); two lists of holiday Torah readings, one for Israel and one for the diaspora (pp. 460-461); and “Months of the Year,” a summary of laws and customs in Hebrew (pp. 462-466).

The volume’s cover is dominated by the color blue, which reminds one of the Israeli flag. All writing on the cover (such as the volume’s title) is in black letters, which continue as black stripes surrounding an area of grey that wraps around to the back cover. The title of the volume on the front cover, namely Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el, connects via that orange area to further text on the back cover which reads: Ki attah shomea‘ tefillat ‘amekha Yisra’el be-raḥamim (“for You hear in mercy the prayer of Your nation Israel”). Birnbaum chose a title for his all-Hebrew siddur which emphasizes that Israel stands united before God in prayer.[14]

The most important fact about this volume, in terms of its public impact, is that it was never reissued. Unlike Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah, for which there was public appreciation expressed as market demand over several generations in Europe and Israel, Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el seems to have left no mark.[15] It is notable that in Rosenstein’s introduction to the original 1909 edition of Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah, he described the practical need which led him to produce a new siddur designed for use in schools. Birnbaum too, in the introductions to his successful bilingual editions of the siddur and the maḥzor, took pains to describe the widespread need for a new edition with clear instructions and a modern translation, accompanied by a clear and accurate Hebrew text with modern punctuation. But he mentions no such need in his introduction to Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el. This leads one to suspect that Birnbaum published his all-Hebrew siddur not in response to public demand, but rather out of a personal desire to see his siddur published in a purely Hebrew form, without material in a foreign tongue. The story of his life supports this suspicion.

Paltiel Birnbaum immigrated to the United States in 1920, at age nineteen, alone without his family. The village of Żarnowiec (Chernowitz), Poland, where he was born in 1901, was about half-Jewish at the time and highly traditional. Little is known about his childhood or education, except for an anecdote told by relatives which “remembers him sitting at night under the table with books and candles, always studying.” Birnbaum grew up in Rosenstein’s world, namely the centuries-old communities in eastern Europe whose many millions of Jews provided a thick, thriving Jewish environment that enabled Jewish and Hebraic culture to flourish. The young Birnbaum appears to have been an autodidact with a deep love for both the traditional and modern scholarship of his people. As a young man in America, he financed his undergraduate degree by tutoring Hebrew and Greek. His Ph.D. dissertation analyzed a Karaite commentary on Hosea in Judeo-Arabic.[16] His entire career indicates a love for his people’s literature and especially for the Hebrew language. 

Throughout much of his life in America, Birnbaum administered and taught in local community Hebrew Schools. He became famous as the editor and translator of bilingual prayer books, as well as the author of popular volumes in English that were designed to enlighten and inform the American Jewish masses. He was heartbroken that so many American Jews were bereft of their heritage: “We are losing our people because of ignorance,” he said. “People are ignorant of their ignorance.”[17]

Hebrew language and literature survived in 20th century America, but mostly within a small circle of intellectuals, along with some schools they established in which a small minority of American Jewish youth studied in Hebrew. Birnbaum was active in this somewhat lonely environment. He served on the board of the Histadrut Ivrit of America and contributed regularly to its journal Hadoar and other Hebrew literary forums that existed at the time. He also founded a Ḥug ‘Ivri (a social club for people to study Hebrew and speak it to each other) in his Wilmington, Delaware community, where he lived for 20 years.

Birnbaum’s first book aimed at a popular audience was an abridged version of Maimonides’ Mishneh Torah in vowelized and punctuated Hebrew, along with explanations of various Hebrew words, phrases and concepts in English at the bottom of the page (New York, 1944). A short, educational biography of Maimonides in vowelized Hebrew comes just before the text. Birnbaum hoped that this volume would enable its readers to access the original Hebrew text by Maimonides, so that it might be a window for them into the language and literature of Israel and serve them as a concise encyclopedia of Judaism. But years later, in 1967, he republished the very same Hebrew text with a full, facing English translation instead of brief explanations. Although Hebrew illiteracy was painful to him, Birnbaum was never stingy with his American Jewish audience. He provided them with any tool he could in his literary efforts to tackle their ignorance. Indeed, in a passionate Hebrew-language review of a book written in Hebrew on the story of the Hebrew language, Birnbaum remarked that “the main purpose of having precise translations is that they make it easier to understand the Hebrew original.” Even though his review made it clear, through lengthy citations, that there can be no Jewish future without Hebrew, Birnbaum nevertheless suggests that the book itself “should be published in English translation, so that people may know…”[18]

A full volume of Birnbaum’s collected writings in Hebrew entitled Peleitat Soferim was published by Mossad Harav Kook (Jerusalem, 1971). It contains numerous book reviews, biographical portraits of traditional and modern Jewish scholars of Judaica, and articles on other classic Judaica topics. But the final essay stands out. In it, Birnbaum passionately described his five-week visit to Israel following the Six Day War in 1967. It was his fifth trip, at a time long before Birthright, when the vast majority of American Jews never visited Israel even once in their lives. “This visit, my fifth to the Land of Israel, was an experience that I will never forget. This time I felt in every fiber of my being that I was treading the soil of the land of our fathers, the land of our longing, the goodly heritage, the source of our millennial culture…” Birnbaum wrote of the desperate need for olim[19] to fill the vast space he encountered from the Sinai desert to the Golan Heights.[20] He wondered whether Israel should deal with these precious places in terms of their history, the national longing of countless generations, or in terms of the practical need for defensible borders.[21] He further recounted the strange experience of being a Hebrew-speaking tourist in Israel: “A tourist who speaks fluent Hebrew is assumed to be a yored.[22] People immediately want to know where he learned such Hebrew. If an American citizen, for instance, speaks fluent Hebrew, residents of the State see that as a sign that he once resided in Israel and then left…”[23] He described his visit to Masada[24] and wrote at great length about his encounter with Samaritans, their history and their version of the Torah.[25] It is with this essay about his visit to Israel that Birnbaum chose to close the volume of his collected writings in Hebrew.

Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el was published a decade after that visit to Israel. To publish his siddur in an all-Hebrew version, with changes needed to make it suitable for use in Israel as well as America, seems to have been the realization of a dream for Birnbaum. Perhaps he felt that in 1978 there were already enough literate, observant, Zionist American Jews who might want to use such a siddur. Perhaps he hoped that his siddur would also be marketed in Israel. Yet given his outlook, it makes the most sense to view Birnbaum’s publication of Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el as an expression of Birnbaum’s ideal and of his dream, namely for the nation of Israel to know and love its own language and foundational texts with no need for crutches in a foreign tongue.

When Birnbaum died in 1988 he left no family, as he never married. But he did belong to an active Jewish community (the Jewish Center in Manhattan) and received a proper Jewish burial. The tombstone provided by his community contained very little Hebrew (not even his Hebrew name), and its English text was marred by three errors. In 2022, Yosef Lindell spearheaded an effort in cooperation with the Jewish Center to replace Birnbaum’s tombstone with a new one that would not only be more accurate, but also contain a small amount of elegant text in Hebrew and English to give tribute to his life’s work. The Hebrew sentence on the new tombstone reads, in translation, “He instructed the mouths of his nation so that they err not in their language nor falter in their speech.”[26] This beautiful rephrasing of an ancient prayer may be taken to refer not just to Birnbaum’s great care for language, Hebrew and English alike, but also to his love of Israel as a nation. “He instructed the mouths of his nation,” ‘ammo in Hebrew, referring to a man who devoted his life and his wisdom to his nation and its language, while simultaneously yearning for its land. 

Prayer, Torah and Hebrew Nationhood

Throughout our history, when the communities of Israel in exile were either unemancipated or multitudinous, the Hebrew language had a chance to flourish. Before emancipation, Jews in most times and places were typically able to communicate in Hebrew as a matter of course, and did most of their writing in Hebrew. They spoke Hebrew when they encountered Jews who knew a different mother tongue, and sometimes even when there was no practical need. Hebrew was not their mother tongue, yet they became intimately familiar with it “at an extremely early and impressionable age.”[27] It was precisely this familiarity which enabled the revival of Hebrew as a mother tongue in modern times. As Cecil Roth is famously said to have put it, “Before Ben-Yehuda… Jews could speak Hebrew; after him, they did.”[28] The living reality of Hebrew in both of these stages was a remarkable achievement, and may well be considered miraculous, the former no less than the latter.

But in places and times where Jews were both emancipated and constituted a small minority, Hebrew was ultimately doomed. This was true for Jewish enlightenment in the 19th century, which took place in two different tongues. In Western Europe, where emancipated Jews were a small minority, the language of Jewish enlightenment was mostly German and its spirit strove “to wipe out any national memory of ‘Am Yisra’el.”[29] But in eastern Europe, where Jews largely remained unemancipated (or at least unintegrated), and where they often constituted a large minority and sometimes even a local majority, the Hebrew language was able to flourish. Hebrew continued to thrive in eastern Europe (outside of the USSR) right up until the Holocaust as the language of schools, youth movements, newspapers, journals, and books. It was evident to those who took part in this culture that they had no future in Europe, but only a minority escaped.[30]

In the modern, emancipated countries of the 19th century, even Orthodox rabbinic scholars quickly abandoned Hebrew as their natural language for discussing the Torah. Birnbaum cites an example of this from the book he reviewed on the history of Hebrew. Upon receiving a letter from Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, written in German, the Italian-Jewish scholar Samuel David Luzzatto (Shadal) replied in haste on the very same day: “What has happened to the author of The Nineteen Letters? Has he turned into Geiger or Holdheim, that he writes to Shadal in the tongue of the North [=Germany], rather than the language of Judah and Jerusalem?”[31]

Hebrew ceased to be the language of Torah in the West, but not in the East. The difference was rooted in the continued sense of Israel as a nation, or lack thereof. One critical issue that was often debated—it is arguably the most important dilemma for Torah life in modern times—was what attitude the Torah demands towards Jews and Jewish movements when they openly rebel against tradition. Must Jews who are loyal to God and the Torah formally disengage from them? Or would that be an attack on the cohesion of Israel as a nation? In Germany, the practical question was whether a religious denomination now called “Orthodox Judaism,” once it received recognition from the government, must formally break off from the general Jewish community. Rabbinic debate on that issue took place in the form of open letters published in 1877 by Rabbi Seligman Baer Bamberger (against separation) and Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (in favor).[32] Those open letters in literary German, on a critical topic with immense halakhic, hashkafic and practical repercussions, are closed books for nearly all Torah scholars today. In the end, Hirsch’s view was later embraced by most of the yeshivah world.

The same issue rose in eastern Europe, but in Hebrew. An editorial entitled “Right and Left” was published in the Hebrew-language newspaper Maḥziqei ha-Dat, which argued that in an age of anti-religious ideologies and rebellion against tradition, the only way for God-fearing Jews to uphold the Torah was to join together as a separate group and keep themselves far from evildoers.[33] But Rabbi Naftali Ẓvi Yehudah Berlin (the “Neẓiv”), head of the Volozhin Yeshivah and a supporter of Ḥovevei Ẓiyyon, responded that such a move would be “as destructive as swords to the body of the nation and its existence.” In the end it would also fail to uphold the Torah, because every real or seeming deviation would provide cause for endless internal warfare. In order for Israel to return to God, it must remain one nation. According to Neẓiv the correct thing to do, as in the past, was to live together with others and cooperate with them while working hard to spread Torah study and observance in every possible way (“On Right and Left” in Responsa Meishiv Davar I:44). His approach influenced not only his student, Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook,[34] but has been typical of mainstream religious Zionist leaders for the past century.

The Jewish Hebraists in America have been described as follows: “Immigrants from Eastern Europe, they tended to be heder- and yeshiva-educated Jews who had embraced the achievements of modern Western culture while at the same time preserving an ardent commitment to Jewish tradition, the Hebrew language, and the national renaissance that was based in Zionism.”[35] That description fits Birnbaum like a glove to a hand. It was equally true for Hebraists who remained in Europe, like Rosenstein. Men such as these were quite comfortable among Orthodox rabbis, so long as they were not authoritarian in their attitudes and did not demand extreme rejection of modernity. They were similarly comfortable among secular Zionists, so long as the Jewish tradition and the Hebrew language could be promoted with pride within the Zionist movement. They respected serious Jewish scholarship, regardless of the scholar’s affiliations or his lifestyle.[36] Yet they were deeply opposed to modern Jewish ideologies which rejected the totality of Israel as a nation in time and in space. Such rejectionists included Bundists, radical Yiddishists, assimilationists, Reformists, and many of the Orthodox traditionalists.

Rosenstein expressed attitudes like these in journalistic essays, where he described the traditionalists, Zionists, and Reformists of Minsk in the early 20th century. In an essay entitled “On Those Who Slander the Zionists,”[37] he sarcastically described self-righteous Jews in Minsk who publicly derided all Zionists as violators of the Torah, while others demanded that Zionist rabbis and God-fearing Jews break away from Herzl’s Zionist Organisation. Rosenstein responded that those who selflessly come to the aid of beleaguered Jews in Minsk are invariably the Zionists—but never the traditionalists who berate them—and suggested that the beauty of the Zionist Organization lies precisely in the fact that its rabbis and freethinkers work together for the common good of the nation.[38] In another essay he described an effort to establish a liberal synagogue in Minsk (“like the Temples of the enlightened [Jews] in the Lands of the West”). Rosenstein mocked its builders for their cosmopolitan outlook, crude materialism, and utter lack of regard for the needs of Jews in Minsk who lived in dire poverty. At the very same time he wryly noted that such an effort would never have gotten off the ground if not for the unappealing and chaotic nature of the rest of the synagogues in Minsk.[39]

In 1927 there was an American Jewish Hebraist who found it was still possible to send issues of the Hebrew periodical Hadoar from the USA to the USSR. He mailed them to his brother in Minsk, who in turn shared them with Ḥayyim David Rosenstein. In a written response, Rosenstein expressed not just his gratitude for this kindness but also his admiration for Hebrew culture in America:

I’ll tell you the truth, that to me the young American [Hebrew] authors seem much better than the young authors of Ereẓ Yisra’el. But alas, alas for us, the inhabitants of the Soviet ghetto, who are withering away, wasting away for lack of inspiration or a new Hebrew word. Have mercy, dear man, and grant us at least some passages, to quench our terrible thirst for the word of the Lord. There are no longer any seekers of a teacher of Hebrew among us. The conditions of the place are the cause of this. There is no national content to fill the emptiness of our lives.[40]

Rosenstein’s impression of Hebrew culture in America, which he gleaned from afar in the pages of a journal, was poignant and hopeful at the time. But in the end, Hebrew “national content” was ultimately doomed by the warm embrace of America no less than by the cold fist of Soviet totalitarianism. The only place in today’s world where ‘Am Yisra’el can live its national life in its own language is the State of Israel.

In hindsight, the intense and generally positive struggle for the Hebrew language was a highly worthwhile cause and an enormous success. It would have been impossible to unify the Jews of Ereẓ Yisra’el, before and after 1948, and give them a sense of common nationhood, without the Hebrew language as a shared inheritance and subsequently as their spoken tongue. For Jewish immigration flowed into the country from every part of Europe, every corner of the Arab-Muslim world, and beyond. Each tide of immigration brought its own language, and Israel sounded like a Tower of Babel. The synthesizing factor was Hebrew, and its role in deepening the Jewish national spirit cannot be overestimated.[41]

Rosenstein and Birnbaum supported that struggle, and felt that the siddur had a central part to play in it. Yet it is striking that despite being the editors of prayer books, they both mentioned God infrequently in their writing.[42] Perhaps this reflects a kind of modesty, which made it hard for them to write about the sublime, or from a shared aversion to public displays or declarations of piety. Perhaps their very idea of God was somewhat Maimonidean or impersonal and therefore led to fewer words. But it surely had to do with what they saw as the desperate need of the hour: For Rosenstein and Birnbaum, there was a desperate need to strengthen the Jewish national spirit. They saw the siddur as the most basic expression of that spirit, since it expresses the age-old collective yearnings of Israel as a nation in exile, in its own language. Rosenstein and Birnbaum understood that no Jewish religious denomination—no matter how pious, scholarly, enlightened or virtuous it may be—can ever be called Israel. Nor can any Jewish ethnic flavor be thought of as a partner to the ancient covenant. In the siddur, it is the nation of Israel as a collective whole which stands before God in prayer. Rosenstein and Birnbaum appreciated that in order for there to be prayer to the God of Israel, one must first be able to speak of Israel itself. That is why the siddur was critical to them, as the most basic expression of national feeling in Hebrew.

The national life of Israel today is alive and vibrant. It is rich, resilient and strong even as it continues to face extraordinary threats coupled with immense animosity, like no other nation on earth. In order for the siddur to make sense in this reality, those who use it must turn back to the living, personal God of the Bible and Ḥazal who chose that living nation as His own. Rosenstein and Birnbaum correctly understood that the siddur expresses a common language, land, history and fate—critical elements which define many nations. But it is also much more: Quite unlike the harsh dichotomy between nationality and religion typical of the western world, the covenant between God and Israel lies at the heart of the historic national culture of ‘Am Yisra’el.[43] That covenant binds God no less than it obligates Israel. Now that Israel is a living reality, the prayers in the siddur have the potential to live again too, as they did in premodern times before emancipation. The prayers of a nation in exile can become the prayers of a nation that dwells in its land.[44] In fact, never before has the plain meaning of the entire book of Psalms and the extension of all its varied themes as found in the siddur been as literally true as they have become over the past two years. For the siddur to make literal and powerful sense, all it takes now is for communities of ‘Am Yisra’el to turn to the living God of Israel as the nation of the covenant.

Notes:

[1] I refer to “Religious Zionism” as a worldwide movement for well over a century, not to the current Israeli political party which adopted that title.
[2]
 The premodern sense of “Israel” as a nation, even in exile, is best understood in contrast to the widespread modern use of “Judaism” to signify a religion in the Christian or Protestant sense. For two excellent studies of the latter concept, and how it shaped Jewish identity and thought in modern times, see Leora Batnitzky, How Judaism Became a Religion: An Introduction to Modern Jewish Thought (Princeton University Press, 2011); Avraham Melamed, Dat: From Law to Religion—A History of a Formative Term (Tel Aviv, Hakibbutz Hameuchad: 2014) [Hebrew]. Also see below, n. 37.
[3]
Unless otherwise stated, the biographical, historical and literary information in this section is taken from the posthumous edition of Rosenstein’s writings, along with introductions by family members and friends: Ketavim: Ma’amarim, Reshumot, Divrei Sifrut [=Essays and Memoirs] (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1973). I also consulted Shelomoh Even-Shoshan, “Beit Avinu,” Mibifnim 46:4 (1984), pp. 548-553.
[4]
 Ketavim, p. 14. Haredi opposition to the ḥeder metukan had economic motives as well, because a major form of employment for traditionalists around the turn of the century was as teachers in the chadorim. On this point and on the history of the ḥeder metukan in general, including the information provided here, see Yossi Goldstein, “‘Ha-ḥeder ha-Metukan’ be-Rusya ke-Basis le-Ma‘arekhet ha-Ḥinnukh ha-iyyonit,” ‘Iyyunim be-Ḥinnukh 45 (1986): 147-157. More information on the ḥeder metukan is available in Hebrew via Yad Vashem. A first-hand description of the project’s initial goals can be found in a letter from Ḥayyim Nahman Bialik to Gershon Stavsky and Yaakov Weinberg in the year 1900, available at Project Ben-Yehuda. Also see M. Ẓ. Frank, “Ha-ḥeder ha-metukan be-Rechytsa,” in He-‘Avar le-Divrei ha-Yehudim veha-Yahadut be-Rusya (volume 16), ed. B. Ẓ. Katz (Tel-Aviv 1969), pp. 85-96.
[5]
 Ketavim, p. 19.
[6]
 Unfortunately, during my years at Yeshiva University, I did not know Rav Dovid Lifshitz z”l well, nor did I have any idea why he taught his shi‘urim in Hebrew. This story may shed light on part of the reason.
[7]
 It is possible that Siddur Rinat Yisra’el itself was partially inspired by Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah in its content (Hebrew commentary and translations) and even in its name (Rinah = Shirah); this suggestion appears in a discussion thread at Forum Otzar HaHochma.
[8]
 Over the years, sporadic protests against the use of Siddur Shirah Ḥadashah appeared in the ḥaredi press in Israel. A letter to the editor printed in She‘arim 3 (Elul 5735) castigates the siddur for a list  of “‘inaccuracies’ which should really be called misrepresentations” and bemoaned its use in synagogues and yeshivot. A letter to Digleinu (Tishrei 5742) points out that the siddur’s editor was “a certain maskil of the previous generation, and in his preface, which was omitted in the new printing, he boasts that he is one of the founders of the ḥeder metukan (mesukan). His name is Ḥ. D. Rosenstein.” The letter concludes: “This volume, in my humble opinion, is in the category of sifrei minim (heretical works), and it is forbidden to purchase it or bring it into one’s home. And as many good people have failed in this matter, I have felt it my duty to call attention to it.” Here are the texts of these critical letters, via the same thread at Forum Otzar HaHochma (see previous note):

[9] Beit Avinu, pp. 551-552.|
[10]
 The dates provided here and further biographical information on Birnbaum found below are all based on a well-researched biographical sketch of Birnbaum’s life, including never-before published testimonies to his early life, provided by Yosef Lindell in “Dr. Philip Birnbaum’s Forgotten Ḥumash,” Ḥakirah 35 (Summer 2024), pp. 207-222 (at pp. 208-210). Other biographical facts mentioned below are also based upon Lindell’s fine work. However, despite several excellent essays on Birnbaum which have been published by Lindell and others in recent years, Birnbaum’s Zionism—as a key motivation for his scholarly and popular publications—has been underemphasized or omitted. The description here thus has a different emphasis, but there is nevertheless some unavoidable overlap.
[11]
 For instance, Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el instructs one to say Morid ha-Tal “during the summer in Ereẓ Yisra’el” (p. 42). Unfortunately, Birnbaum’s adaptation of his original siddur to Minhag Ereẓ Yisra’el was sporadic and incomplete. Apparently, too much text was cut and pasted “as is” from Ha-Siddur ha-Shalem, and wasn’t always changed where it needed to be. Some typical examples: Birnbaum failed to change ve-sabe’enu mi-tuvekha to ve-sabe‘enu mi-tuvah in the ‘Amidah (p. 44). He failed to add Birkat Kohanim, which is said daily in Israel, within the text of the ‘Amidah (e.g. pp. 47-48); instead he added a short note about it at the bottom of the page. He failed to indicate that the final blessing of the ‘Amidah is not changed to ‘oseih ha-shalom during the Ten Days of Repentance in Israel (p. 48). For a complete digital siddur based upon Birnbaum’s original Hebrew version, which fully represents Nosaḥ Ashkenaz in both its traditional and Israeli versions, see Hebrew Wikisource. For a complete list of places in that digital siddur where Birnbaum’s original text has been modified for this purpose, see here.
[12]
The introduction is mostly new, not a translation of the English-language introduction to the bilingual Daily Prayer Book. Its first section emphasizes that the fixed community prayers are central to the shared culture of Israel. The second section is a short collection of talmudic maxims on prayer. The third and final section is the longest, a collection of notes by scholars over the generations on the text and procedure of the daily prayers. A number of the items in these three parts are already found in Birnbaum’s original introduction in English, but the Hebrew collection is richer. As for the explanatory notes in Hebrew at the bottom of many pages, they mostly parallel those found in English at the bottom of some of the pages in Birnbaum’s 1949 bilingual Daily Prayer Book, but are not direct translations. In particular, the English-language notes often provide information based on a Hebrew source for which a reference is provided, while in Hebrew that source is cited in its original language. As Yosef Lindell suggested to me in correspondence, Birnbaum may have felt that he could go more in depth with a Hebrew-speaking audience.
[13]
In his original bilingual Daily Prayer Book, Birnbaum printed a prayer that was worded specifically for the government of the United States. It asks God to bless “the president and the vice-president and all the officers of this country” (p. 380). But in Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el the Hebrew text was cut down to a simple generic form: “all the officers of this country.” This formulation is artificial, because although it technically fits all countries it actually meets the needs of none. It seems to have been chosen as an easy yet ineffective way to allow the siddur to be used internationally.
[14]
 I am grateful to Rabbi Gabriel Kretzmer Seed for the color photo of the Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el’s cover. Note that the flash distorts the grey area, which appears more like orange in the photo.
[15]
 A number of factors may have contributed to the market failure of Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el. It was inappropriate for an Israeli market because it was only printed in Nosaḥ Ashkenaz—the custom of a minority of Ashkenazic synagogues in Israel—and was unsatisfactory in terms of the Israeli version of even that custom (above, n. 11). In addition, the market for a Zionist siddur in Israel had already been captured by Siddur Rinat Yisra’el (Jerusalem, 1970)  which was issued in a more appropriate Ashkenazic version as well as a Sefard version. Then in 1981—just two years after the publication of Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el—Koren publishers issued the first edition of its own siddur, which was also quite popular and more appropriate for use in Israel than Birnbaum’s siddur. Overall, the Hebrew Publishing Company in New York, which marketed all of Birnbaum’s siddurim, never succeeded in penetrating the Israeli market, and was already in its waning years in America when it published Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el in 1979 (see Lindell, pp. 15-16, “The End of the Hebrew Publishing Company”). But the most important factor would seem to be the lack of an audience for a siddur of this type in America: Most American Jewish Zionists who used a traditional siddur preferred a bilingual one.
[16]
The Arabic Commentary of Yefet ben ‘Ali the Karaite on the Book of Hosea. Edited from Eight Manuscripts and Provided with Critical Notes and an Introduction by Philip Birnbaum, Ph.D. (Philadelphia: Dropsie College, 1942); doctoral dissertation. He later edited Karaite Studies (New York: Hermon Press, 1971).
[17]
Steve Lipman, “Birnbaum version: Bible purged of ‘thees’ and ‘thous’,” The Jewish Week (January 27, 1984), p. 24; cf. Lindell, pp. 5-6.
[18]
 “Teḥiyyat ha-Lashon ve-Hashpa‘atah” in Peleitat Soferim (Jerusalem, 1971), p. 309 (see the next paragraph regarding this book).
[19]
 Jewish immigrants to Israel (literally “those who ascend”).
[20]
Ibid., pp. 312, 315.
[21]
 Ibid., p. 312.
[22]
 I.e. a former Israeli who has left Israel (literally “gone down”).
[23]
Ibid., p. 315.
[24]
 Ibid., pp. 315-316.
[25]
Ibid., pp. 317-320.
[26]
On the rededication of Birnbaum’s gravestone, see Ari L. Goldman, “He wrote a beloved prayer book. But his gravestone misspelled his name” (Forward, July 19, 2022); Marla Brown Fogelman, “Bubby and Birnbaum” (Tablet, November 16, 2022). See Yosef Lindell’s blog for links to recordings of and about the rededication ceremony (here). All of these sources describe the new inscription as a reflection of Birnbaum’s great care for language, without mentioning his national feeling. Yet the traditional language which was chosen for the inscription (פיפיות עמו and לשונם) easily conveys that meaning too.
[27]
See Cecil Roth, “Was Hebrew Ever a Dead Language?” in his Personalities and Events in Jewish History (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1953), pp. 136-142 (at 136).
[28]
The quotation from Roth is found in Jack Fellman, The Revival of a Classical Tongue: Eliezer Ben Yehuda and the Modern Hebrew Language (The Hague: Mouton, 1973), p. 139, but does not appear as cited there in Roth’s “Was Hebrew Ever a Dead Language?” I have not been able to locate its source.
[29]
 Birnbaum, Peleitat Soferim, p. 306.
[30]
Those surviving Jews in modern times who continued to view themselves as ‘Am Yisra’el, managed to preserve just enough national spirit and power to allow for the State of Israel to arise. The Holocaust did not result in the rise of Israel, as is commonly thought today. Rather, Israel was just barely able to rise despite the Holocaust. Watch Yehuda Bauer, “Israel and the Holocaust: Debunking the Myth”.
[31]
Birnbaum, Peleitat Soferim, pp. 306-307. This is a play on words, because Hirsh’s Hebrew title for The Nineteen Letters (Altona, 1836) was אגרות צפון.
[32]
The open letters are also available via the National Library of Israel (Bamberger to Hirsch and Hirsch to Bamberger).
[33]
I have not been able to locate the original editorial. Another version of the newspaper appears here.
[34]
A discussion of Rav Kook’s early views on nationhood, universalism, morality and the challenges of modernity may be found in chapters 5-6 of Yehudah Mirsky’s Towards the Mystical Experience of Modernity: The Making of Rav Kook, 1865-1904 (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2019), pp. 233-328.
[35]
 Michael Weingard, “The Last of the (Hebrew) Mohicans,” Commentary (March 2006), p. 2.
[36]
In the “Acknowledgments” at the beginning of his original siddur (1949), Birnbaum thanks a number of scholars who assisted him with his work, beginning with Rabbi Ḥayyim Heller, who is followed by multiple figures associated with non-Orthodox institutions including several from the Jewish Theological Seminary (which was still a highly traditional institution at the time). The “Acknowledgments” page does not appear in the second edition (New York, 1977). On Birnbaum’s opposition to liturgical reform see below, n. 38.
[37]
 Ketavim, pp. 94-95.
[38]
Precisely because Zionism was a national movement, it may be argued that out of all the many competing Jewish ideologies from a century ago, it had the greatest potential for compatibility with the traditional Torah of premodern times, or even to be a fulfillment of that Torah. On a practical level, Zionism in its very nature had room for the entire nation, including those who still strove to be loyal to the ancient covenant. It is therefore not surprising that some of the ḥadarim metukanim eventually joined the Mizrachi movement (founded in 1902).

According to Melamed (Dat, pp. 206-277), modern resistance to the concept of “Judaism” as a religion in the Christian or Protestant sense came simultaneously from the “Orthodox” and “National” (=Zionist) camps. In his analysis, he groups religious Zionists together with the “Orthodox” rather than the “Nationalists,” but the opposite approach might have yielded a richer discussion of Hebrew nationalism and its attitude towards the term dat. He also strives to be balanced in terms of anachronism: “They all criticized the Jews who turned Judaism into a religion for having been influenced by alien elements, while ignoring the fact that their own identification of the Jews as an ummah (nation or volk) in the modern sense of the term, is a product of European nationalism, a clear import from without, no less than the identification of Judaism as a ‘religion’ in the modern sense of the term” (p. 245). This is quite true as a matter of principle, yet not in terms of proportion: It would have been impossible for Melamed to write a volume that describes radical, extraordinary changes throughout history in the sense of Hebrew terms like ‘am or le’om, as he did for the word dat, precisely because even the modern meaning of the former terms has much stronger roots in Israel’s past. In other words, the anachronism is indeed “less” than for the word dat.

That the “Orthodox” and the “nationalists” were both able to reject “Judaism” quite easily as an anachronistic modern concept is best explained by their awareness of the historic term “Israel” in its premodern sense, and of the radical sense of otherness that its use conveyed over the ages. That term, and the ramifications of its use before modernity, are barely considered by Melamed and Batnitzky in their respective books (above, n. 2). In fact, nearly all modern writers routinely translate premodern occurrences of the Hebrew word Yisra’el as “Jew” or “Jews” or “the Jewish People” because modern languages like English typically leave them with no other option. Yet this anachronistic conversion of “Israel” to “Jews” is precisely what obscures the traditional outlook at the roots of both religious and secular Zionism, and even the very choice of “Israel” as the name for the state that rose in 1948.

In Christian Europe before emancipation, Jews and gentiles alike considered the Jews to be a separate nation, a disgraced nation that had been exiled and scattered around the world. Their disagreement was a theological one: Did God hate and reject that nation for its sins (the Christian position), or was that nation still beloved by God as “Israel” despite its failings and contrary to appearances (the Jewish position)? This explains why the term “Israel” was invariably used in Hebrew study, prayer, correspondence and formal writing over the ages: On the one hand, “Jew” was a pejorative term preferred by Christians (it implied betrayal). On the other hand, Jews before modern times made every effort to call themselves “Israel,” the still-proud name of their exiled nation and partner to the divine covenant.
[39]
 Ketavim, pp. 88-89. The text of Rosenstein’s siddur is entirely traditional, and basically identical to other eastern European siddurim in its day. There is no trace in his writing of a desire for liturgical change in the spirit of the times, just as he avoided modifying the original Hebrew language of other classic texts that he presented in modern Hebrew editions (this is the case for Beit Midrash [Vilna, 1906], Mishnah Berurah [Vilna, 1910] and presumably also for his lost edition of Ein Ya‘akov). In this he provides a contrast to Bialik and Ravnitsky’s Sefer ha-Aggadah (Odessa, 1912). He seems to have viewed the siddur as a national cultural treasure that one must learn to appreciate in its classic formulation. Thus, Reuven Gafni’s conjecture that the fully traditional nature of Rosenstein’s siddur may have been by dint of necessity does not seem correct (“Educational Prayer Books and Synagogues in the Land of Israel During the Mandate,” Dor le-Dor 26 [2013], pp. 433-465 [at p. 436]). Similarly, Birnbaum wrote: “The Siddur should never become a source of contention among any segment of our people. One must not fail to realize that the Siddur is a classic similar to the Bible and the Talmud, to which the terms orthodox, conservative or reform do not apply. Editors of the Siddur should not take liberties with the original, eliminating a phrase here and adding one there, each according to his own beliefs. Such a procedure is liable to breed as many different kinds of public worship as there are synagogues and temples. The danger of rising sects is obvious, sects that are likely to weaken still more our harassed people. The ever-increasing modifications in the text of the Siddur are apt to destroy this unique source book of Judaism, designed for old and young, scholars and laymen” (p. XIII; cf. Lindell, p. 14). In short, the root of this reticence for both of them alike seems to be a concern for national unity combined with a deep respect for national culture, which to their mind included the traditional siddur.
[40]
 Ketavim, p. 17.
[41]
This paragraph is a restatement of Abram Leon Sachar, A History of the Jews (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1965), p. 410.
[42]
 In terms of Birnbaum, Yosef Lindell noticed this about his introduction to the Daily Prayer Book: “Birnbaum waxes poetic about the Siddur’s educational function, but entirely neglects to discuss how prayer facilitates communication with God. He only adds such a discussion in the second edition. One gets the impression that for Birnbaum, prayer was almost the siddur’s secondary function. Cultivating Jewish knowledge was more important” (ibid., p. 6). Not only is this observation quite true, but even in the discussion added to the second edition—which stresses the public aspect of prayer, its deeper meaning, the need for kavvanah, the importance of custom and the history of the siddur—communication with God is hardly central. The same is true of Birnbaum’s Hebrew introduction to Siddur ‘Am Yisra’el, of his essay Ha-Siddur ve-Lashon ha-Tefillot (Peleitat Soferim, pp. 77-106), and it is typical of the rest of his writing.
[43]
 That the Torah is the center of Israel’s national culture, which makes any distinction between religion and culture artificial at best, is typical in the outlook of early religious Zionists and of their pedagogical approaches. A bold statement to this effect may be found in Rabbi Chaim Hirschensohn’s introduction to his pedagogical manual for teachers of Talmud, Mosedot Torah shebe-‘Al Peh (Jerusalem, 1889). This approach further means that the written and oral Torah form the core of all Hebrew literature, including modern secular literature. On Hirschensohn see Melamed, Dat, pp. 235-238. A similar sentiment seems to have motivated Rosenstein, who in the year 1900 expressed his desire “to revive our language and return it to the days of its youth, when it was a language of qodesh and ḥol at once” (“Litḥiyyat ha-Safah” in Ketavim, pp. 20-22 [at p. 20]).
[44]
 The traditional view is that fixed public prayer took place throughout the Second Temple Era. Its content consisted of the same themes as in exilic times, but its wording reflected a pre-exilic reality. As Rabbi Shim‘on ben Ẓemaḥ Duran expressed it, “Our wording of prayer today is clearly not the same as how they prayed when the Temple stood. For we pray that that Kingdom of David be restored, that the Temple be rebuilt soon in our days, and that our scattered people be gathered together. But they would pray for the Kingdom of David to continue, for the Temple not to be destroyed, and for Israel not to be exiled from its land. Similarly, when the High Priest prayed the blessing reẓeh on the Day of Atonement, he did not pray using our words…” (Responsa II:161; cf. Ramban on Berakhot 49a). On the views of Duran and others as to whether rabbinic prayer is meant to be a fixed text or more of a general structure, see my Kavvana: Directing the Heart in Jewish Prayer (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1997), pp. 257-357; “Each River and its Channel: Halakhic Attitudes Toward Liturgy” (Torah Musings, October 30, 2011).

 




Special Italian Haftarah for the “Shabbat Kallah”

Special Italian Haftarah for the “Shabbat Kallah”[1]

By Eli Duker

Many communities in Europe and beyond had the practice of reciting a special haftarah from Isaiah 61–62 in honor of a groom on the Shabbat following the wedding.[2] Ashkenazi communities began the haftarah with 61:10 and read until 63:9,[3] which is also the 7th of the haftarot of consolation, which is which was read in most communities on the Sabbath before Rosh Hashanah, and in some others on the Shabbat between Yom Kippur and Sukkot in the event that there was one in a given year.[4]

As the practice to read the seven haftarot of consolation was universal outside in Italy in the late Medieval period, humashim and haftarah books had no reason to cite this practice, as the special haftarah for a groom was read during the calendrical cycle, and was in any event included in the humash for that purpose.

Italy is the exception. The practice in Italy was, and is, not to read special haftarot for the entire three-week period before Tisha B’Av or on the seven Shabbatot between Tisha B’Av and Rosh Hashanah.[5] Rather, a special haftarah is read on the Sabbath before Tisha B’Av and haftarot of consolation are read on the three remaining Sabbaths of the month of Av. The normal haftarah for Pinhas, a rarity in most communities, is read in Italy every year. Matot, Masei, Shoftim, Ki Tetze, Ki Tavo, and Nitzavim all have their own haftarot, which are found in the Cairo Geniza, Siddur R’ Shelomo B’Rabbi Nattan,[6] and in the list of haftarot in the Seder Tefillot of the Rambam.

The result is that in Italy, the haftarah from Isaiah is read only in honor of a groom. Out of the twenty-five Italian humashim and haftarah books in manuscript that I checked, the haftarah for the groom appears in twenty-three of them.[7] Out of the remaining two, one is missing pages at the end and likely had it in the original.

All twenty-three manuscripts have Isaiah 61:9 as the start of the haftarah. In all manuscripts besides one, the haftarah ends at 62:9, which is similar to the practice today in Italian communities, while in one manuscript it ends at 62:12.

One manuscript sticks out: Paris, National Library of France, Ms. hebr. 102. This is a book of haftarot and all of Ketuvim that was copied by Aryeh ben Eliezer Halfon for Rafael ben Yitzhak Malmassa of Voghera in northern Italy and completed on the 11th of Marheshvan 5242 (corresponding to October 4, 1481 in the Julian calendar).

The haftarot are similar to other manuscripts that follow the Italian rite (Jeremiah 1:1–19 for Shemot, Isaiah 18:7–19:24 for Bo, regular haftarot for the two weeks following the fast of 17 Tammuz and for the month of Elul, and the haftarah for the Sabbath of Hol Hamo’ed Sukkot is Ezekiel 38:1–23). There are slight differences concerning the haftarot for the parshiyot of Mishpatim,[8] Vayikra,[9] Tzav,[10] and Metzora.[11]

Interestingly, there is a note before the groom’s haftarah that reads, L’Shabbat Lifnei Hilula, indicating that the haftarah was read not during the “Sheva Brachot” week following the wedding, but before the wedding.[12]

What is unique is yet another nuptial haftarah. Afterward, a haftarah from Isaiah 60:1–19 appears, which is the same haftarah read in non-Italian communities on the sixth Sabbath of consolation, on the Sabbath of Parashat Ki Tavo. Beforehand there a note that reads “Lifnei HaKallah Koddem Hakiddushin.” Although there is no mention of the Sabbath here, the verse from Isaiah 47:4 appears at the end, which according to the practice in Italy was read after the reading of every haftarah. It is therefore clear that it is a haftarah, and highly unlikely that it was read on a weekday.

Evidently, two haftarot were read in honor of the nuptials, one before the “kiddushin” and the other before the “hilula,” as it is highly unlikely that the copyist here used two different phrases for the same event. Moreover, it does not seem likely that the marrying couple were in different synagogues on the Sabbath before the wedding, as towns generally had only one, and travel between different places took time.

The reason for the two haftarot has to do with yet another unique Italian practice. R’ Yosef Colon cites the practice of the native Italian Jews to perform an initial kiddushin privately in front of two witnesses “because they fear witchcraft.”[13] Later, at the nissuin, the kiddushin was performed again in the presence of a quorum of ten men.[14] This seems to be what the word hilula here means (the celebaration of the Nessuin along with the second Kiddushin) Presumably, the reason why Isaiah 60 was chosen to be read before the bride prior to the kiddushin is either that the haftarah addresses Jerusalem in the feminine form. Alternatively, we can suggest that the kiddushin, unlike nissuin, primarily affects the bride, as she is now forbidden as a married woman to all beside her betrothed husband while they would continue to live apart, with the mutual obligations of married life coming into place only after the nissuin, which was created by the “Hillula.

Bibliography

Genizah Fragments (All Cambridge TS B)

14.2, 14.65, 14.74 14.90, 14.105 14.119 16.5, 16.9, 20.1, 20.3, 20.4, 20.5, 20.6, 20.8, ,20.9 20.11

Manuscripts

Library of the Alliance Israélite Universelle, Paris, France Ms. 11

The Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford, Oxford, England Ms. Can. Or. 75 Borja Library, Sant Cugat del Vallès, Spain Ms. C-I-1

Casanatense Library, Rome, Italy Ms. 2898

Casanatense Library, Rome, Italy Ms. 2919

The British Library, London, England Add. 4709

The British Library, London, England Harley 7621

The Jewish Theological Seminary of America, New York, NY, USA Ms. 571 The National Library of France, Paris, France Ms. hebr. 42

The National Library of France, Paris, France Ms. hebr. 50

The National Library of France, Paris, France Ms. hebr. 102

The National Library of France, Paris, France Ms. hebr. 104

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm. 1840

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm. 2015

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm. 2024

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm. 2127

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm. 2169

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2171

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2538

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2171

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2538

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2690

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2822

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2856

The Palatina Library, Parma, Italy Cod. Parm 2894

Trinity College Library, Cambridge, England Ms. F 12 107

Vatican Library, Vatican City, Vatican City State Ms. Ross. 478

Printed Books

(חמשה חומשי תורה. (תקב מנטובה

מהרי”ל. מנהגים (תשמ”ט ירושלים: מכון ירושלים)

משנה תורה לרמב”ם–יד החזקה. (תשל”ד ירושלים)

סידור רבינו שלמה ברבי נתן הסיג’ילמסי. ערוך ומתרגם מערבית. שמואל חגי. (תשנ”ה ירושלים)

פיוטי ר’ יהודה בירבי בנימן / יוצאים לאור בצירוף מבוא, חילופי נוסח וביאורים בידי שולמית אליצור. (תשמ”ט ירושלים: מקיצי נרדמים)

שו”ת מהרי”ק. (תש”ל ירושלים)

אנצקלופדיה תלמודית–כרך עשירי. (תשנ”ב ירושלים: מכון האנציקלופדיה התלמודית)

 ברית כהונה. משה הכהן. (תש”א ג’רבא)

נישואין נוסח איטליה: על יהודי איטליה בראשות העת החדשה. ויינשטיין, ר. (תשס”ז)

עולם כמנהגו נוהג: פרקים בתולדות המנהגים הלכותיהם וגלגוליהם. יצחק (אריק) זימר. (תשעט ירושלים: מרכז זלמן שזר לחקר תולדות העם היהודי)

(סדר קידושין אחרי חתימת התלמוד: מחקר היסטורי דוגמתי בתולדות ישראל. פרימן, א. (תשכ”הירושלים: מוסד הרב קוק

Weinstein, R. (2004) Marriage Rituals Italian Style: A Historical Anthropological Perspective on Early Modern Italian Jews. Leiden: Brill.

Notes

[1] This article is written in honor of the upcoming wedding of my niece Chana Duker to Aryeh Mateh and in order to show the boundless gratitude I have to Chana and the entire family of my brother and sister-in-law R. Yehoshua and Shayna Duker for the devotion and loving care of our beloved Bubby Selma A”H in her last year. I would like to further thank my brother R. Yehoshua for editing this article, as well as R. Elli Fischer, Dr. Gabriel Wasserman, R. Prof. Jeffrey Woolf, Dr. Ezra Chwat and the staff of the National Library of Israel for their assistance.
[2] See S. Elitzur’s introduction to “Piyyutei R’ Yehudah Biribi Binyamin” p. 60, regarding the haftarah apparently appearing in piyyut of R’ Yehudah, who (according to Elitzur pp. 72–77) lived in the east (most likely Bavel) sometime between the mid-9th century and the end of the 10th century. 3 For a discussion of the medieval Ashkenazi practices concerning this haftarah and its relative importance in Western vs Eastern Ashkenaz, see E. Zimmer “Society and Its Customs” (Hebrew) vol. 2. pp. 273–280. The haftarah was read, along with the various piyyutim recited, on the Sabbath following the wedding. This is more reasonable, as that is during the period of the celebration mandated by the Talmud, while beforehand is prior to the kiddushin (outside of Italy, as will be discussed later on), making liturgical changes unlikely. The manuscript presented here is a clear exception to this.

The reading of the groom’s haftarah on the Sabbath following the wedding is explicit in the Maharil (Minhagim: Four Parshiot 7, p. 417), where it is stated that if wedding takes place during the week of Shabbat Shirah, one reads the normal haftarah.
[4] See Talmudic Encyclopedia (Hebrew) Vol X., p. 22 and footnote 367–378א.
[5] Unlike the Nusah Hatefillah, where Italian Jewry retained more of the nusah of Eretz Yisrael, when it comes to haftarot they are more in line with the haftarot listed in the Babylonian Genizah fragments than any other community. Outside of the four special haftarot that they read between Devarim and Re’eh, the only non Babylonian Haftarah they read is for Shemot, when they read from Jeremiah, as opposed to the original Ezekiel 16.
[6] Pp. 201-202
[7] This haftarah, with the length according the standard Italian rite (Isaiah 61:9-62:10), is cited in the Mantua humash from 1742.
[8] The haftarah finishes at the end of Jeremiah 34, while in the standard Italian rite it continues until 35:11. The shorter haftarah also appears in Ms. Paris BN 42.
[9] The haftarah is Isaiah 43:6–44:23, similar to most other communities today. In other Mss. and printed humashim with the Italian rite, the haftarah ends at 44:6, which is the ending of the haftarah in most Genizah fragments I have seen, as well in the Seder HaTefillot that appears in the Rambam and is the practice in Yemenite communities. Talmudic Encyclopedia (vol.10, pp. 447–448) cites Brit Kehuna, which claims that the Djerban practice is to read this as well, but in Brit Kehuna (p. 33) the standard haftarah until 44:23 is brought.
[10] The main part of the haftarah concludes at 7:31 and then continues with 9:22–23. I have found this haftarah in eight Sephardic humashim in manuscript. It also appears in the Mahzor Vitry, and I have found it in over forty Ashkenazi humashim and haftarah books in manuscript. In other manuscripts and humashim with the Italian rite, the haftarah is from Jeremiah 7:21–28 and then continues at 10:6–7.
[11]
The haftarah begins at Kings II 7:1 (similar to other humashim and haftarah books in the Italian rite), and finishes at 8:2 (probably in order to avoid concluding with the death of the official at the conclusion of chapter 7). This haftarah appears in the Ashkenazi Ms. Parma 2005. The standard Italian haftarah (found in all other manuscripts I have seen) skips from the end of chapter 7 and ends with 13:23. This is the haftarah in the Seder HaTefillot in the Rambam and in most Geniza fragments that I have seen.
[12]
The earliest mention of a celebration on the Sabbath prior to the wedding is in Maharil (Hilchot Shiva Asar BeTammuz VeTisha B’Av), concerning the possible suspension of the practice to refrain from wearing Sabbath clothing on the Sabbath before Tisha B’Av for a groom and his father due to the “Shpinholz” celebration the Sabbath before the wedding.
[13] Translation from R. Weinstein, “Marriage Ritual Italian Style” p. 163. His translation of the following words are “I am told they then repeat the ceremony in the presence of ten people and in company, and then recite the engagement blessing [again]. I believe that the words “I am told” are part of the previous sentence (regarding the initial kiddushin) as Maharik, as a rabbi and rosh yeshiva in the French/Ashkenaz community, would not likely be a witness in an extremely private ceremony, as opposed to at the subsequent kiddushin where many would attend, and no reason why he would have to rely on hearsay. Moreover, as the vast majority of communities would have kiddushin together with the nissuin at every wedding, a kiddushin at a wedding is not the type of matter that he would mention as having heard from others, as opposed to a rather strange obscure practice in another community.

For an overview of the Italian kiddushin during the time of the copying of our humash and afterward see ibid. chapter 3. For a general overview of the combination of the kiddushin and nissuin acts in general, see A. Freiman, Seder Kiddushin Aharei Hatimat HaTalmud, pp. 28–31. See ibid. 127–131 concerning Italy in general, where the approach is that by the 16th century Italians had combined the kiddushin and nissuin (as opposed to Marriage Ritual, which claims that separating the two was quite normative through the 17th century). This is beyond the scope of this article, which addresses a late 15th century book. Therefore, Maharik’s testimony concerning the Italian practice suffices, and accords with the custom of the two wedding haftarot.
[14]
See Maharik for a justification of this presumably strange practice




The American Yekkes

The American Yekkes[1]
By Yisrael Kashkin
As I march around town grasping my Hirsch Siddur, I sometimes am asked, “Are you a Yekke?” to which I answer, “I am an American Yekke.”[2]  This statement draws puzzled looks as if I had said that I were an Algonquin Italian. “America is a Germanic country and my family has lived here for a century,” I say, attempting to explain but provoking usually even more puzzlement. For those who want to hear more, I present my case. 
Consider the country’s language. English is technically a Western Germanic tongue. It started when Germanic tribes settled in Britain in the fifth century, displacing Common Brittonic, a native Celtic language, and Latin, which had been introduced by the Romans. The English that was formed then was called Old English. As Wikipedia describes it, “Old English developed from a set of Anglo-Frisian or North Sea Germanic dialects originally spoken along the coasts of Frisia, Lower Saxony, Jutland and Southern Sweden by Germanic tribes traditionally known as the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes. As the Anglo-Saxons became dominant in England, their language replaced the languages of Roman Britain…”[3] Frisia is a coastal region along the Southeastern corner of the North Sea which today sits mostly in the Netherlands. 
The Frisian languages are the closest to English. Wikipedia explains: 

The Frisian languages are a closely related group of Germanic languages, spoken by about 500,000 Frisian people, who live on the southern fringes of the North Sea in the Netherlands, Germany and Denmark. The Frisian dialects are the closest living languages to English, after Scots.[4]

The language of Scots mentioned here is also a Frisian tongue brought by the Germanic immigrants and not Scottish Gaelic, a Celtic language that people generally associate with Scotland.[5] 
Old English was followed by Middle English which started in the 11th century after the Norman Conquest and continued unto the late 15th century. While Modern English contains vocabulary from several languages, the second most prominent being French which arrived with the Normans, the basic vocabulary and grammar of English is Germanic. Of the 100 most commonly used English words, 97% are Germanic; of the 1000 most commonly used English words, 57% are Germanic.[6]
Look at this example. Here’s one way to say, “Hello, my name is Harold” in several languages, the first four being Germanic. 
Dutch: Hallo mijn naam is Harold. 
German: Halo mein numen ist Harold. 
Swedish: Hej, mitt namn är Harold 
English: Hello, my name is Harold. 
French: Je m’appelle Harold. 
Italian: Ciao, mi chiamo Harold. 
Latin: Salve nomen meum HOROLD. 
Russian: привет меня зовут Гарольд. 
Chinese: 你好,我的名字是哈羅德 
See what I mean? 
As mentioned, those Germanic tribes went by the names Angles, Saxons, and Jutes. While most people associate the term Anglo-Saxon with the American aristocracy and the British, the term actually finds its origins in those Germanic settlers of Britain as does the name of the language called English, which derives from the Angles specifically. The Encyclopedia Britannica sums it up as follows: 

Anglo-Saxon, term used historically to describe any member of the Germanic peoples who, from the 5th century ce to the time of the Norman Conquest (1066), inhabited and ruled territories that are today part of England. According to the Venerable Bede, the Anglo-Saxons were the descendants of three different Germanic peoples—the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes—who originally migrated from northern Germany to the island of Britain in the 5th century at the invitation of Vortigern, king of the Britons, to defend his kingdom against Pictish and Irish invaders.[7] 

The Venerable Bede was an 8th century English monk and historian whose book The Ecclesiastical History of the English People earned him the title “The Father of English History.” The name Bede is actually Anglo-Saxon, ie. Germanic, being built on the root bēodan or to bid or command.[8]  Thus, the father of English history has a Germanic Anglo-Saxon name. 
It is possible that a high percentage of the inhabitants of 5th century Britain were not only influenced by the Germanic invaders but were actually comprised largely of those Germanic invaders and their descendants. We see this in the spread of the Frisian-Germanic language throughout Britain. In “Empires of the World, A Language History of the World,” Nicholas Ostler traces the decline of Latin during the collapse of the Roman Empire against invading armies. Slavic languages took hold in Eastern Europe but Germanic-Frisian held sway in Britain. 

Perhaps something similar happened at the opposite end of the Roman dominions, for Britain too lost its Latin in the face of invasions in this period. It also lost its British. This event of language replacement, which is also the origin of the English language, was unparalleled in its age – the one and only time that Germanic conquerors were able to hold on to their own language.[9] 

Ostler cites a theory by researcher David Keys that the ravages of the bubonic plague facilitated the spread of the Frisian Germanic dialect as it wiped out a high percentage of the Britons who, unlike the Saxons, maintained trade routes with the Roman Empire, from which the plague entered the island. A Germanic language took hold because a large percentage of the populace was actually Germanic. 
Genetic studies support the theory. One study at the University College of London tracked a chromosome that is found in nearly all Danish and North German men to about half of British men.[10] It is not found in Welsh men of Western England where the Angles and Saxons did not invade. 
While anthropologists debate the percentages of the British populace that trace to the AngloSaxons, the sociological discussion is more relevant to the thesis. The Germanic Anglo-Saxons ruled the British Isles for centuries, and rulers tend to dictate cultural norms. The Wikipedia entry on the Britons sums up their demise with the pithy words: “After the arrival of the Anglo-Saxons the population was either subsumed into Anglo-Saxon culture, becoming “English”; retreated; or persisted in the Celtic fringe areas of Wales, Cornwall and southern Scotland, with some emigrating to Brittany.”[11] The point here is that the nationality called English is built on Anglo-Saxon or old Germanic culture. 
And again, pithily, Wikipedia sums up the entire cultural transformation of Britain under the Germanic invasion: 

The Anglo-Saxon settlement of Britain is the term traditionally used to describe the process by which the coastal lowlands of Britain developed from a Romano-British to a Germanic culture following the withdrawal of Roman troops from the island in the early 5th century. The traditional view of the process has assumed the large-scale migration of several Germanic peoples, later collectively referred to as Anglo-Saxons, from the western coasts of Europe prior to the establishment of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms that came to dominate most of what is now England and lowland Scotland.[12] 

A connection between the aristocracies of Germany proper and England has endured to modern times. British Kings George I and II were born in Germany, spoke German, and belonged to the House of Hanover.13 Queen Victoria’s mother was born in Germany, and Prince Albert, the husband of Queen Victoria, also was born in Germany. Their son King Edward VII, was an uncle of Kaiser Wilhem II, the last German Emperor and King of Prussia. Mary, the Queen consort of King George V, was a princess of Teck, a German aristocratic line. The present British monarch, Queen Elizabeth II, inherited the throne from Edward VII’s grandson George VI. Thus, she too is part German as are the princes Charles and William, the current heirs to the throne. 
It should be no surprise that the British and other Germanic peoples have much in common. One sees it in their orderliness, rationalist mindset, industriousness, and emotional reserve. Similar too is the Anglo aristocracy that set up the USA, laid down its primary culture, and arguably continues to run the place or did so through the 1950s. The educated American reader certainly needs no overview of the British roots of the USA which started as a British colony. The connection is so strong that the term WASP or White Anglo-Saxon Protestant is generally used by Americans to designate a type of American even though, as I have shown, it traces back to the Germanic English and their German ancestors. While the USA is composed today of many ethnic groups, it is governed mostly in an AngloGermanic style, ie. rule-based and organized. 
So there’s the Germanic-English connection and its role in the founding of America. What about the American people? There we have an even more recent linkage via 19th century immigration. German Americans, some forty-nine million strong, are the largest ancestral group in the country.[14] By contrast, Irish Americans number thirty-five million and Italian Americans seventeen million. The 2010 census reports the top five as follows:
1      German      49,206,934      17.1% 
2      African      45,284,752      14.6% 
3      Irish      35,523,082       11.6%
4      Mexican      31,789,483      10.9% 
5      English      26,923,091      9.0% 
Incredibly, there are nearly twice as many Americans of German ancestry as English.[15] In 1990, fiftyeight million Americans reported German ancestry, constituting 23% of the entire country.[16] Between 1850 and 1970, German was the second most widely spoken language in the United States, after English.[17]
Germans immigrated in the greatest concentrations to the Midwest where the state legislatures of several of the North-Central states promoted their immigration with funding and support.[18] The area between Cincinnati, Milwaukee, and St. Louis was known as the German triangle.[19] By 1900, more than 40% of the major cities of Cleveland, Milwaukee, and Cincinnati were German American.[20] However, they landed also in large numbers in New York and Pennsylvania and went all the way to the West Coast. In 1790, a third of the residents of Pennsylvania were German immigrants.[21] The following map shows plurality ancestry, ie the largest groups of national origins, in each state in 2010: 
Plurality ancestry in each state.[22]
More states have a plurality ancestry of German than any other nationality, three times the number of the next highest group.[23] Moreover, significant German immigration started in the 1670s and continued in large numbers throughout the 19th century, whereas most of the other ancestral groups of significant numbers arrived much later into a more established culture into which they strove mostly to conform.[24] Africans, whose numbers come closest to the Germans, also arrived early but were not in a position to shape the national culture.[25] 
Now, the word German and any word that contains it such as Germanic are problematic for many Jews, particularly those who were most directly affected by the Holocaust. This is understandable. However, as we have shown, the term Germanic is not limited to Germany proper. Germanic languages are spoken in such places as Holland, Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, culturally similar countries from a global perspective, and sources of immigration to the USA, particularly the Midwest. All are considered Germanic peoples.[26] Switzerland and Belgium too are largely Germanic. While technically, English and German belong to the West German family of languages along with Dutch and Afrikaans, North Germanic languages include Norwegian, Danish, Swedish, Icelandic, and Faroese, which is spoken in the islands off the coast of Norway.[27] The adjective Germanic describes not just the culture of Germany but that of Northern Europe including large parts of Holland, Scandinavia, England, Switzerland, Luxembourg, and Iceland. The Danes who are famous for protecting Jews during World War II are Germanic, as were the Dutch business associates of Otto Frank, Anne Frank’s father, who assisted her family as they hid in the attic, as was the Swede Raoul Wallenberg, who, by the way, studied in the American Middle West, at the University of Michigan, before he risked (and likely lost) his life saving Jews during the Holocaust. 
Accordingly, England, Germany, and the United States are not culturally identical. The Germanic Anglo-Saxons merged with the Britons and Pics of the British Isles. The British colonialists cohabited the New World with French settlers, Native Americans, Africans, Dutch, Irish, and an idiosyncratic group of Germans who came to the New World in search of religious freedom. As the USA formed and evolved millions of immigrants from all over the planet joined them. Germans are more intense than the other two groups. The British have the best sense of humor. Americans are the least formal of the three. Additionally, Americans are the least class conscious, have by far the best record regarding treatment of the Jews and religious freedom in general, and lack the ethic of blind obedience to authority that once characterized the Germans and enabled the Holocaust. In fact, the phrase “question authority” originated in the USA during the sixties movement and is arguably traceable to American sensibilities in general. Nobody knows what the future holds, but as I write, America, though Germanic, is not Germany, even as it picked up many traits from German immigrants. The same applies to England. But all three societies start to look quite similar when you compare them to Italy, Greece, Ukraine, Turkey, India, China, Nigeria, or the Arab countries. 
Even though my great-grandparents, who I never met, lived their lives in shtetls in the Ukraine, I am more Western and Germanic in style than Eastern European. Many Jewish Americans of Eastern European extraction can claim the same since peak immigration occurred at the turn of the last century. In those days, immigrants were encouraged to Americanize. The situation might be somewhat different for the people who attended yeshivos in New York City and lived in enclaves there, but for those who lived “out of town”, moved to the suburbs, or attended public school, the culture could be quite distinct from that of Eastern Europe. In American public schools until very recently, literature classes consisted of British and American authors and history classes British and American leaders, the latter being of Anglo descent. 
Granted, America has many sub-cultures, some not Anglo at all. You can visit neighborhoods in Metropolitan New York City such as Spanish Harlem and Chinatown in Manhattan or Little India in Jersey City and experience the difference. However, many Jewish Americans were raised in the suburbs, and their culture was defined by the public education system which took its cues from the universities which themselves are Anglo-Saxon in style, at least they used to be. Consider the archetypal professor in a tweed jacket with elbow patches ‒ the British gentleman. So, too, are most corporations Anglo-Germanic in style with their command and control organizational structure. 
The German influence is seen from coast to coast. Some people argue that the whole notion of a public education, funded and administered by the government, comes from the Germans.[28] Elsewhere, schooling was a private matter. This may be one reason that the Midwest developed such strong public schools, as German American writer Kurt Vonnegut often noted[29], and such strong state universities. In the Northeast, private colleges are more prominent. The concept of kindergarten comes from Germany.[30] The concept of the research university, used by many of America’s most prominent institutions, comes from Germany, as does the practice of faculty following their interests and students choosing their courses – the model used in most colleges today.[31] The old British model called for a rigid curriculum. The prizing of home ownership, which is a strong American value, was common among German immigrants. In the words of La Vern J. Rippley, “There was a low rate of tenancy among early German immigrants, who purchased homes as early as possible. German Americans have traditionally placed a high value upon home ownership and prefer those made of brick.”[32] Not surprisingly, home ownership is highest in the Midwest.[33] And let us not fail to mention hamburgers with pickles and frankfurters with sauerkraut, German imports, named for German cities but as American as the flag. Few Americans have 4th of July picnics or any picnics without them. 
Even socially, America resembles Germany. I recall as a youth visiting Europe and noting the contrasting styles of the people in various societies, particularly in comparison to Americans. As I entered each new country, I felt as if I were meeting entire new breeds of people. For example, the English were more classy (more than me) and sticklers about social propriety. They had complex rules about social interactions that I had never heard before, when to call, when not to call, how long a visit should be, what topics to discuss and not to discuss. The French were more cultured and had rules about food, dining, and clothing, rules that I had never heard before. I was impressed by aspects of both groups but felt like an outsider. However, with the Germans I seemed to know the rules and to care about them as well. The smooth running of society was a central concern. Our very practical goals for education seemed similar. They were ambitious and interested in engineering, commerce, politics, and history. The gaps between their style and mine were the narrowest − even physical mannerisms and social cues seem to be the same. For example, while the British, French, and Germans all displayed senses of humor, the Germans tended to take serious topics more seriously and refrain from joking about them.[34] I felt much of the time that I was with Americans, which is not something I felt with any other group. 
Blogger Dana Blankenhorn makes a similar observation: 

Here is something you weren’t told in school.  

America is a Germanic country.  

Our food is German. Our dress is German. Our distances, both personal and urban, are German. Our sense of beauty is German, not French. Our bread and sweets are German. Our loud laughter is German. America has people of French and Spanish and Polish and English and Irish and a hundred other descents, but the Germans set the mood, and the mood remains the same.[35] 

On the darker side, some argue that the notion of compulsory peacetime military service and general militarism come from the Germanic kingdom of Prussia and lead to the World Wars.[36] As James Gerard, the US ambassador to Germany during World War I noted, “Prussia, which has imposed its will, as well as its methods of thought and life on all the rest of Germany, is undoubtedly, a military nation.”[37] Mirabeau the French orator said, “War is the national industry of Prussia” and Napoleon said that Prussia “was hatched from a cannon ball.”[38] The USA, with a larger military budget than the next fifteen nations combined and five times the budget of the second biggest spender, seems to have inherited much of this militaristic sensibility.[39] The USA, despite having oceans for natural boundaries, has military personnel in over one hundred countries, far exceeding the global military presence of any other country.[40] 
With all of this said, we can return to the term that I have set out to explain: American-Yekke. What is a Yekke? Is he or she a descendant of Yepeth, Gomer, Ashkenaz, and the Germanic tribes that migrated from Asia Minor to Central Europe, warring with and pushing out the Roman legions?[41] No, he or she is a descendant of Shem, Abraham, and Sarah who practiced Judaism in the countries built by those Germanic peoples, extracting some of their better qualities. An American-Yekke is a Jew who lives not in European Germanic countries such as Germany, Austria, Switzerland, or Holland but in Germanic America. 
Just this week, I received a phone call from a long, lost elder cousin. He was born in Cuba in the 1930s after my great-uncle immigrated there from a shtetl in the Ukraine. One brother gained entrance to the United States and the other to Cuba where he stayed until the communist takeover, immigrating eventually to Miami, Florida. My cousin was raised in Cuba and absorbed some of the best features of the Latin personality. He is easygoing and super-friendly, almost musical in his speaking manner. Certainly, I observed myriad universal Jewish qualities in my cousin and traces of Eastern Europe as you’ll find in me. But you can hardly call him an Eastern European even though his father, a wonderful man, was very much an old world yid from the shtetl. In talking to my cousin after a break of four decades, I could see how much we are shaped by the societies in which we are reared even as we retain Jewish identity and practice as he has. I have made similar observations of South African Jews whose parents are from Lithuania, British Jews whose parents are from Poland, and French Jews whose parents are from North Africa. We absorb much from the societies in which we live. I once had a Shabbos meal with a Haredi family in Paris. They served traditional Eastern European type food – chicken and kugel – but in tiny portions on large plates, in the manner of French cuisine.[42] After only one generation in France the influence was visible. 
So what are the repercussions of this? They are that some American Jews will be attracted to German Orthodoxy as it developed to suit the needs and reflect the sensibilities of pious Jews in Germanic lands. Each of the different camps of Orthodoxy work from the same literature, principles and laws. They are substantively the same, differing only in the margins, in style, via the parts of the Torah that they emphasize. 
I have observed a curious phenomenon. Many Russian Jewish baalei teshuvah thrive in the Eastern European portion of the Haredi world, looking completely at home there. They embrace the isolation from and lack of identification with the general society that characterizes much of that world. After all, they don’t even want you to call them Russian. “I am a Jew from Russia, not a Russian Jew,” they’ll say. Now, how many American Jews don’t want to be called American? Even those who make aliyah often still refer to themselves as American. Same with the British, Canadians, Australians, Swiss, and other Westerners. One can see in these recent immigrants from Russia how Eastern European Jewry in the 19th century put less emphasis on concepts like ‘light unto the nations’ and ‘tikun olam.’ This can happen when an entire nation is cast into an apartheid situation like the Pale of Settlement and mistreated there. 
By contrast, many American baalei teshuvah were attracted to Torah because of those ideas. One of the pillars of education in the USA is civics. Public school education in the United States of the 1920’s centered on the teaching of citizenship and civic service.[43] Scores of American youth envision for themselves careers in the public service. This is very American. Certainly before the 1970s it was.[44] It was German too.[45] Civic duty and national loyalty ‒ those were important parts of the culture in Germany. Certain nefarious people manipulated that value for wicked purposes as we know. One sees those values addressed in a constructive way in the writings of numerous German rabbis. In the words of Rav Joseph Breuer of Frankfurt, Germany: 

“And promote the welfare of the city to which I have exiled you; pray for it to God, for with its welfare, you too, will fare well” (Yirmeyahu 29:7). Because the Prophet has given this message to our people, banished from its homeland by the Will of God, each Jew, wandering through the world and faithful to the Torah, is obliged to keep faith towards the country which gives him refuge and a home.[46]

This idea being rooted in the Prophets is not alien to any Orthodox Jewish group but is emphasized in the German Jewish community. Rabbi Leo Jung, who attended the Hildesheimer Seminary in Berlin, wrote, “Judaism is a national religion in that it is the religion which God has given to Israel. According to the Torah, He has chosen us as His peculiar people, ‘to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.’ But Judaism is also universal, for that very choice implies that, as a priest to his congregation, the whole nation should be an example unto the gentile world of a life lived with God – upright, just, and kind. Our rabbis tell us that Judaism is the way of salvation for the Jew, but the righteous men of other religions will also partake of eternal salvation.”[47] 
Interestingly, I know one young woman who was born in the Ukraine but raised from a very young age in the United States. She even speaks fluent Russian but having been raised and educated in a Germanic country, the USA, she is attracted to the German Jewish approach on these matters. I know another that moved to the USA as an adult and she views both her native country Russia and her new host society the USA from the perspective of an outsider, with palpable suspicion and an often amusing derision. 
Of course, there are limits within German Orthodoxy to identification with one’s host country. If German Jews are anything, it is self-disciplined and they know where to draw the line. As Mordechai Breuer noted, “S.R. Hirsch was not alone in his aversion to Prussiandom and manifestations of German flag-waving. There were observant Jews in all parts of Germany who consciously distanced themselves from such display, either because they tended toward the old piety, where their ‘Jewishness’ did not leave room for German national consciousness, or because they shared an overriding affection for the local urban or rural surroundings.”[48] The idea within German Orthodoxy is to act with gratitude and loyalty towards one’s host country and to serve as a light when possible. But it is a host country; it is not our country. The very identification of it as a host puts us on the outside. 
Also appealing to the American sensibility is the order and decorum of the German Jewish approach. The first time that I walked into K’hal Adath Jeshurun the main synagogue of the German Orthodox community in Washington Heights, New York City, I was dazzled by the tidiness and order of the place. Their bank of light switches is numbered and color coded. It was a thing of beauty. The tefillah schedule is accurate and displayed outside the front door. The siddurim are grouped by type as they sit neatly on the shelves.[49] I cannot tell you how many times I have tidied up the sefarim in shuls around the world only to find them a mess again days later. In KAJ, I felt at home. I felt like I was back in the Midwest. 
The sense of discipline and order is found as well in the German approach to minhagim. The German Jewish loyalty to every detail of minhag avoseinu is well known and has served to safeguard authentic practice. In the words of Lakewood Mashigiach Matisyahu Salomon: 

As we know, over the years it became common to poke fun at the customs of the ‘Yekkes’, until someone proceeded to show the world that it is specifically the Yekkes who continue the ancient traditions, and that their customs originated during the time of the Geonim and Rishonim.[50]

Maintenance of the many details of minhagim right down to the nusach of fine points of the Siddur and piyutim requires a special kind of commitment and attitude. The Yekke beis ha-kenneses puts this all on display with its unique atmosphere of decorum, seriousness, and refined sentiment. 
One sees a similar sort of decorum in many American institutions from government to military to education much as one does in other Germanic countries. However, this does not mean that the German Jewish approach is to imitate the German gentiles. As Rav Joseph Breuer pointed out, “Extensive chapters in the Shulchan Aruch stress the vital importance of cleanliness, order, and dignity in the Synagogue. Thus, these aspects in themselves have little to do with a specific ‘German Jewishness.’”[51] According to Rabbi Avigdor Miller, the idea of order and punctuality as Jewish virtues traces back to the great generation of Har Sinai as depicted in the Chumash: 

But before Moshe, the Am Yisroel were so good that even Bilaam, al corchei had to praise them. Now it states, Vayisa Bilaam es einav. Bilaam lifted up his eyes. Now he wasn’t looking for good things in the Am Yisroel. You have to know that. If Bilaam could have found faults, he would have pounced on it like a fly pounces on a speck on the rotten apple. He was looking for faults. Vayar es Yisroel shochain l’shvatim. He saw Yisroel dwelling according to their shevatim. Now this I’ll say in passing although it’s not our subject. He saw that they were orderly. That they didn’t mix. Everything was done with a seder. Now that’s off the subject. Someday I’ll talk about the importance of the orderliness of the ancient Jewish people. The ancient Jewish people were punctual in time. It’s a mistake when you say Jewish time. It’s a big lashon hara. There’s a zman krias Shema and that’s the time. You got to be punctual. No fooling around with that time. And other things in Halacha. Oh no, Jewish time is the most punctual, precise time. They were baalei seder.[52]

While some people view German Jewish punctuality as a quaint idiosyncrasy, we see that it represents the preservation of ancient practice that predates the German golus by thousands of years. What is happening is that the environment of the host country allows for better enactment of important parts of halacha. This doesn’t mean that the gentile hosts are encouraging halachic excellence but it just so happens that their style works in our favor on occasion. 
The incentive apparatus for observance is another distinguishing trait of German Orthodoxy – at least the Hirschian portion of it – that works better for many Americans. One finds in some parts of the frum world an intense focus on divine wrath. It may work successfully for many people. However, it is not productive for some, particularly when administered in large doses. I know of people who literally suffered nervous breakdowns from the continuous feeling of failure and terror. Moreover, the “terror of Heaven” approach does not go well with the American sensibility of optimism, responsibility, selfrespect, and healthy ambition as primary motivations in life. 
Fittingly, we do not see a persistent terror-based approach in the writings of Rav Hirsch, not a continuous emphasis on it. One finds openly threatening talk towards people who take advantage of the innocent and the helpless (Horeb 353 for example), and certainly, Rav Hirsch often discussed divine judgment (Siddur, Pirkei Avos, 3:1; Horeb, chapter 8; Collected Writings, Vol. I, p. 216; Vol. II, p. 398, and Vol. IX, p. 123 are a few examples), warning us of the “stern justice in the hereafter weighing all in an unerring balance” (Judaism Eternal , Vol. 1, “Adar”). He even translated passages from the medieval work Sefer Chasidim, which, while presenting love of and obedience to God as the primary 9 motivations for its stringent call to piety (Sefer Chasidim 62, 63), reference palpable concern over divine reward and punishment as well. For example, “Whatever you may have done to give your neighbor even a moment’s grief will be subject to punishment by Divine judgment, for it is written (Ecclesiastes 11,9;12,14) that God will call you to account for all this, even for secret things.” (Sefer Chasidim 44 in Collected Writings, Vol. VIII, pp. 160-1). However, overall Rav Hirsch’s approach was multi-faceted, utilizing love and awe of God, self-respect, fear of Divine retribution, and yearing for Divine reward. He did not resort to fire and brimstone at every turn. In the words of the gaon R’ Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg:

Rav Hirsch reestablished the principle of the fulfillment of religious duties with a spirit of joy and love, that is, from a satisfaction of the natural yearning of the Jewish soul for authentic religious expression. Mitzvos, as understood by Rav Hirsch, are the conduit of the Divine blessing in this world, the cord which binds man’s soul to his Creator, and which binds his fundamental spiritual nature with his physical presence. Rav Hirsch constantly appealed for the living of a religious life enriched by spiritual vitality, not by fear of Divine retribution in this life and the next.[53]

According to Rav Weinberg, an excessive reliance on fear of punishment as motivation for religious observance was an unfortunate byproduct of antisemitism. In his article “The Torah of Life, As Understood by Rav S. R. Hirsch,” he said the following in a discussion of medieval European Jewry, which presumably included medieval Germany, and the effects of persecution, pogroms, banning of Jews from trades, and expulsions. 

Judaism no longer drew direct sustenance from life; it no longer was synonymous with the abundant power which dwells in the Jewish soil. Rather, it began to be viewed as being nourished by fear -‒ of death and of awesome punishments in the world to come. It is true that belief in reward and punishment is a fundamental of Judaism, and indeed, no religion worthy of the name can dispense with a concept which logically follows from the idea of an omniscient and omnipresent Supreme Being, as clearly elucidated by Saadia HaGaon in his Emunot V’deiot. However, the use of this belief as a central pillar or religious feeling and the sole motivating force for the fulfillment of one’s duty served only to cast a pall over religious sensibility and weakened any spiritual vitality, as decried by the Chassidic masters.[54]

One can become so accustomed to the punishment-only approach to Judaism that he or she may be surprised to find that there can be another. In Rav Hirsch one finds another. In drawing from the Torah to motivate German Jews of the modern era, he served Americans too. 
While gentile German immigration to the Americas started early by American historical standards, it transpired deep into European history, two centuries after the close of the Middle Ages. The Napoleonic Wars, which affected meaningful Jewish emancipation in Europe, particularly Germany, were a major impetus for immigration as they caused severe disruption in the Germany economy.[55] During the same period, France under Napoleon granted Jews full rights as citizens and this included the Jews living in the Rhine Valley, which had been annexed by France.[56] Thus, the German immigrants who formed so much of American culture were not the same people who had so intensely persecuted the Jews in Medieval times. They were for the most part 19th century contemporaries of Rav Hirsch. Thus, it makes sense that the approach to religious motivation and divine reward that Rav Hirsch formulated for Jews in 19th century German society would be meaningful to Jews who are raised in an American society that was shaped to a major extent by immigrants from 19th century Germany. 
As Rav Weinberg points out, Rav Hirsch accomplished this by returning to a traditional Jewish outlook. He did not invent something new. Says Rav Weinberg, “Nor were these ideas unique to him – they were as old as the founding Sages, who called this attitude הרוממות אהבת הרוממות יראת : awe and love of the Almighty’s elevated nature, and the greatness in man which it implies.” Rav Hirsch brought us back to where we stood before persecution “cast a pall over religious sensibility.” Since the multi-faceted approach is rooted basic Talmudic thought, Rav Hirsch was not the only one to turn to it. As Rav Weinberg noted, the Chassidic masters of Eastern Europe also pursued this approach, as did others. The same applies to many of the distinguishing traits of German Orthodoxy. They are not necessarily exclusive to German Jews. As mentioned, the differing styles of the various derachim often come down to a matter of emphasis. When I sing the praises of German Orthodoxy, I do not intend to slight other groups or discount the worth of their approaches, nor do I always intend to contrast them with the vast and magnificent world of Eastern European Judaism. Even when I do contrast West and East, I am pointing out only differences in style. Each has its merits and shortcomings. 
And of course the two groups are cousins. Ashkenazi Jews in general can count a long stay in Germany as part of their golus story. After the destruction of the Second Temple, the Romans took many Jews as slaves across the Mediterranean to Rome proper, which in our times is called Italy. Sometime after earning their freedom and building communities in Italy, they migrated to France and elsewhere in Southern Europe and then to Germany where the language of Yiddish, a German dialect was formed. After several hundred years persecutions drove them East to Poland and Russia. The vast majority of Ashkenazi Jews have German Jewish ancestry which is why they are called Ashkenazi, a term used since Medieval times for Jews living in the Rhine Valley in Germany. 
Another area of overlap between Germany and America is recognition of the value of secular studies. According to Professors Mordechai Breuer[57] and Marc Shapiro[58], openness to quality secular learning was nothing unusual in Germany. As Professor Mordechai Breuer wrote, “Among German Jewry, there had always been rabbis who had recognized the need for Jews to acquire some general culture and who saw no offense against tradition in this.” This makes sense given that there was much quality material.[59] The same applies in the United States, which, until recently, displayed in many quarters a distinct concern for morality and faith and a knack for memorializing them in literature and law. Accordingly, Torah observance need not stand in opposition to the best of “secular” knowledge. It is the next step above it. They are not always opposites. A person need not toss aside his secular education if that education was of a proper kind. This is an important idea for Americans as the USA is intensely focused on higher education. In the most recent Quacquarelli Symonds World University Rankings, 13 of the 25 top ranked universities are located in the USA[60] and in the London Times rankings 17 of the top 25 are in the USA.[61] Rav Hirsch stresses of course that “the knowledge of the Torah and the understanding we derive from it is to be our principle concern and…must be the yardstick by which we measure all the results obtained by other spheres of learning.” (R’ Hirsch on Vayikra 18:5)[62] 
Steven M. Lowenstein’s Frankfurt on the Hudson, which is a history of the German Jewish community of Washington Heights in Manhattan, discusses other Germanic qualities such as thrift.[63] Germanic peoples are known for it. Along with thrift comes savings. The book talks about immigrants who espoused the philosophy of “saving for a rainy day” even deep into their elder years when that rainy day had come.[64] Accordingly, the contemporary trend of forgoing job training for the young and living with no financial plan is quite alarming to many culturally Germanic Americans.[65]
Being practical-minded comes into play here too. As Russian immigrants encountered German immigrants at the turn of the last century, each formulated generalizations about the others. Polish born Educator Israel Friedlander summed them up as follows: 

The German Jews were deliberate, reserved, practical and sticklers for formalities, with a marked ability for organization; the Russian Jews were quick-tempered, emotional, theorizing, haters of formalities with a decided bent towards individualism (Israel Friedlander “The Present Crisis of American Jewry,” 1915)[66]

Sociological generalizations are considered not “politically correct” these days, but we all know that they often contain grains of truth. German Jews (and Germans) do tend to be concerned with the practical. Rav Hirsch uses the words “practical” and “practice” more than a dozen times in the eighteenth letter of his book Nineteen Letters. So, too, are the British and the Americans inclined towards the practical. 
The leaning towards practicality can play a role in an entire religious philosophy. In the Nineteen Letters, Rav Hirsch, apparently basing himself on the Kuzari, challenges a notion that developed in parts of Medieval Spanish Jewry that the goal of man was philosophic perfection for which mitzvos were a handmaiden, rather than the reverse. In Rav Hirsch’s view this approach was the result of an attempt to reconcile Judaism with Greek thought. Aristotle had said, “The highest individual perfection is speculative wisdom, the excellence of that purely intellectual part called reason.” (Comp. Aristotle, Ethics, I, 6.) Professor Harry Wolfson described this encounter with Greek thought as follows: 

Like Philo, the philosophers of the Middle Ages aimed at reconciling Jewish religion with Greek philosophy, by recasting the substance of the former in the form of the latter. The principles upon which they worked were (i) that the practical religious organization of Jewish life must be preserved, but (ii) that they must be justified and defended in accordance with the principles of Greek philosophy. Thus Hellenic theory was to bolster Hebraic dogma, and Greek speculation became the basis for Jewish conduct. The carrying out of this programme, therefore, unlike that of Pauline Christianity, involved neither change in the practice of the religion, nor abrogation of the Law. There was simply a shifting of emphasis from the practical to the speculative element of religion. Philo and the mediaeval philosophers continued to worship God in the Jewish fashion, but their conception of God became de-Judaized. They continued to commend the observation of the Law, but this observation lost caste and became less worthy than the “theoretic life.” Practice and theory fell apart logically; instead there arose an artificial parallelism of theoretic with practical obligations.[67]

This outlook was influential on kelal Yisrael, in Rav Hirsch’s view negatively so as it lead to a devaluation of mitzvos. It seems to me that parts of Jewry in general more enthusiastically embraced “the speculative element of religion.” By contrast, as Israel Friedlander described it, the Germans were “practical.” The term in this sense conveys the meaning of something that one puts into practice. Not surprisingly, Rav Hirsch repeatedly stressed the importance of putting study into practice. He wrote, “You must study for practical life — that is the fundamental principle of the law. With attentive mind and with receptive heart you must study in order to practice. You must aim at learning from the law a way of life, which is its true teaching; only then can you learn it properly, only then will it disclose to you its inmost meaning.” (Horeb 75, 493) And he wrote, “Knowledge of the Law alone is not enough to gain Paradise in world to come; if that Paradise is to be won and the earth is also to be transformed into a Paradise, this Law must be not only known but also observed. And there remains a very wide gap between the knowledge of the Law in theory and its observance in practice.”[68] And once again, let us remark that German Jewry is not unique in this value, ie., it is not the only group that emphasizes the putting of learning into practice.[69] However, it is one of the most fervent. 
As Rav Shimon Schwab tells us, Rav Hirsch did not create his derech out of thin air. He got it mostly from his rebbes (who were German Jews) who got it from their rebbes: “But Rav Hirsch also had behind him a solid mesorah from gadolim who showed him the way. From the time of Chazal through the period of the Geonim; the Rambam, the Chachmei Sepharad through the Talmidei Hagra all the way down to his own Rebbe the Oruch L’ner and his disciples. Rav Hirsch had his mesorah.” (Selected Speeches, p. 243).[70]
Aside from the Germanic trait of pragmatism, Friedlander mentioned also emotional reserve, deliberation in action, and formality. Lowenstein elaborates: 

Among the many formal values that were highly praised were dignity, discipline, punctuality, structure, and order. Spontaneity was less prized than stability. Many German Jews expressed disapproval of the loud wailing at eastern European funerals as undignified; at their own funerals, weeping was restrained and silent.[71] 

Conduct at funerals was not the only issue. The book goes on to describe actual confrontations at Simchas Torah celebrations where the old-timers from Germany struggled with attempts by the youth to bring Eastern European style boisterous dancing into KAJ and other German Orthodox synagogues in Washington Heights. As it stands now in the 21st century, shtick and exuberant dancing at weddings and other gatherings seems, well, Jewish. In actuality, it is Eastern European Jewish, probably Russian Jewish for the most part (along with numerous Sephardic groups). German Jews conducted themselves differently. 
None of this is intended to equate German Jews with German gentiles nor American Jews with American gentiles. I am saying only that we are influenced by our host societies, sometimes in negative ways, sometimes in neutral ways, and sometimes in positive ways. For example, many of us feel quite Jewish when we refer to horseradish as כרײן. But this word, like most in Yiddish, does not have a Hebrew etymology: 

The Southern German term Kren is a loan from a Slavonic tongue, where cognates of Kren are widespread (Czech křen, Sorbian krěn, Russian khren [хрен], Ukrainian khrin [хрін] and Polish chrzan) and ultimately of unknown origin. Some other non-Slavonic European languages have also borrowed that name, e. g., French cran, Italian cren, Yiddish khreyn [כרײן] , Romanian hrean and Greek chreno [χρένο].[72]

That would be a purely neutral influence. Then there are some that are mixed. Take for example the philosophy of Kant. Many Orthodox Jews have studied it and claim to have grown from it. Yet, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik noted the following problem with Kant: 

…the religious person is given not only a duty to follow the halakha but also a value and vision. The person performing the duty seeks to realize this ideal or vision. Kant felt that the duty of consciousness expresses only a “must” without a value. He demanded a routine form of compliance, an “ought” without aiming at a value. As a soldier carries out his duty to the commanding officer, one may appreciate his service or just obey through discipline and orders. Kant’s ethics are a “formal ethics”, the goal is not important. For us it would be impossible to behave this way. An intelligent person must find comfort, warmth, and a sense of fulfillment in the law. We deal with ethical values, not ethical formalisms. A sense of pleasure must be gained by fulfilling a norm. The ethical act must have an end and purpose. We must become holy.[73] 

So a German Jew is not a German, even this very distinguished German. Nevertheless, German Jews often possess certain sensibilities that may work best with German Orthodoxy. And so it goes for many American Jews. 
Rav Shraga Feivel Mendlowitz, ever sagacious, told his students, “I cannot understand how it is possible for an American yeshiva student to be Jewish without The Nineteen Letters.”[74] The Nineteen Letters, Rav Hirsch’s first published book, explained Torah Judaism to the Western world, particularly to German Jewish youth. Coming from Eastern Europe, Rav Shraga Feivel could see how Americans would take to its approach, would need its approach. 
Many observant Jews struggle to find a derech. Some leap from Haredism to Modern Orthodoxy in search of a home. They may like the seriousness of Haredism but are uncomfortable with the striving for complete isolation from general society. They may like the appreciation of secular studies in Modern Orthodoxy but deem the filtering process inadequate. They may like the Modern Orthodox inclusion of Nach in the educational curriculum but cannot wrap their minds around the image of teenage boys and girls studying it in the same classroom.[75] 
Round and round it goes. However, German Orthodoxy, particularly as practiced via Torah Im Derech Eretz, contains elements of both. It is an approach to Torah observant Judaism which, unfortunately, one does not see substantially in action nowadays. One has to seek it out. For many it may resolve much confusion vis à vis derech when the others, all noble paths if done in sincerity, remain an uncomfortable fit. 
It is not an easy road. As Rav Shimon Schwab noted, “Torah Im Derech Eretz is not a kulah but a chumrah.” (Not a leniency but a stringency.)[76] In other words, the goal of Torah Im Derech Eretz to bring holiness to all aspects of one’s life, including the ‘secular’ parts, even while engaging general society, is formidable. Perhaps it is handled best by the German Jewish character, with its discipline on all sides, its sense of balance and proportion, its pragmatism, and its concern for piety, propriety, politeness, and community. 
Now, German Orthodoxy is not necessarily equivalent to Torah Im Derech Eretz. Many German Jews dating back to Rav Hirsch’s day and through today, demonstrate a different approach to German Orthodoxy even as they carry many of the traits that produced Torah Im Derech Eretz. For example, many people in Eretz Yisroel who maintain minhag Ashkenaz do not involve themselves with secular studies. And many German Jews have taken on other derachim entirely. This article, which may seem to merge German Jewry and Torah Im Derech Eretz, is not intended to parse out and categorize all the subtle differences between them. Its purpose is to say that America is largely a Germanic country and the different strains of German Jewry may be appealing to Americans and to Jews from other Germanic countries. I would expect that Torah Im Derech Eretz would hold the broadest appeal. 
One may legitimately question whether contemporary American culture is still concerned with piety, propriety, politeness, and community. The same can be asked of contemporary Germany. What person who has laid his eyes on television or the NY Daily News could answer confidently in the affirmative? One wonders if any society in modern history, other than Germany in the 1930s, has changed as much as has the USA and the West in general over the last half-century. It’s truly night and day, just an astonishing collapse in values. 
Rav Hirsch warned us about the mutability of ‘Hellenic culture,” ie. culture that draws from the blessing of Noah’s son Japheth to ennoble human kind through the pursuit of knowledge, beauty, and symmetry in contrast to the fear, ignorance, and violence of idolatrous, pre-Hellenic societies. Rav Hirsch’s lengthy discussion of this complex topic can be found in the chapter “Hellenism, Judaism, and Rome” in the book Judaism Eternal. He tells us as follows: 

The Hellenic culture only stimulates the intellect, only creates the thirst for knowledge and truth, but is not capable in itself of assuring knowledge and producing truth. The mind indulges in surmises and conjectures, forms fanciful and hypothetical assumptions in order to solve the enigmas with which man is confronted both by the world outside and within himself and the solution of which his yearning soul passionately seeks. And as long as Hellenism assumes that the human mind alone-which, as reason, is created to “perceive” only the truthsimultaneously creates, reveals and dispenses truth, so long does the misty wisdom of the Hellenic spirit arrive at results which swing from one extreme to the other in everrecurring cycles, as has been evident in the history of human thought seeking wisdom for nearly 2,500 years in the Hellenic spirit.[77] 

Once upon a time, the USA, upon whose currency is emblazoned the creed “In God we trust,” was largely a faith-based society as was Germany. Arguably, those days are gone despite some superficial activity that is merely reminiscent of the past. At minimum, the departure from religion correlates with the collapse. It is more likely the primary cause as it left us vulnerable to the wild “swings” of Hellenistic based culture. As Rav Hirsch said, “Hellenic culture contains only one single fraction of that truth which some day will bring salvation to mankind. It is only a small preparation for that happiness which will some day flourish on earth through Shem’s “tents wherein God dwells”; and as long as it is not wedded to that Hebraic spirit, as long as it prides itself on being sublime and exclusive, it falls into error and illusion, degeneration and servitude.”[78] 
My maternal grandmother was from Uman in the Ukraine ‒ yes the actual Uman made famous by the Chassidic leader Rebbe Nachman. She returned to a Germanic land on the other side of our millennial family history. I would argue that my upbringing was more Germanic than that of many second generation German Jews from Washington Heights as that community started merging with the rich Eastern European yeshivish culture four decades ago. The America of my youth was much more distinctly Germanic for the most part. It should be no surprise that German Orthodoxy is the closest thing to it. I have met numerous others like me and am confident that there are many more out there, many more American Yekkes.
________________________________________________________
[1] Yekke is a colloquialism for German Jew. The term possibly originates in the German word Jacke (with the J pronounced as a Y) which means jacket as German Jews tended to wear shorter coats (jackets) than Eastern Europeans. Another theory posits that it stems from the Western European pronunciation of the name Jacob as Yekkef. (“Yekke,” Wikipedia) There are other explanations for the term. My apologies to those in the German Jewish community who are not fans of it. The usage here obviously is with affection and esteem as you shall see. 
[2] The Hirsch Siddur (Nanuet, New York: Feldheim, 2013) contains the commentary of R’ Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-1888) of Frankfurt, Germany. 
[3] “Old English,” Wikipedia. 
[4] “Frisian languages,” Wikipedia. 
[5] “Scots Language,” Wikipedia: “Scots is the Germanic language variety spoken in Lowland Scotland and parts of Ulster (where the local dialect is known as Ulster Scots). It is sometimes called Lowland Scots to distinguish it from Scottish Gaelic, the Celtic language which was historically restricted to most of the Highlands, the Hebrides and Galloway after the 1500s. The language developed during the Middle English period as a distinct entity.” 
[6] Nation, I.S.P. (2001). Learning Vocabulary in Another Language. Cambridge University Press. p. 477 in “English Language,” Wikipedia. 
[7] “Anglo-Saxons,” Encyclopedia Britannica. 
[8] “Bede,” Wikipedia. 
[9] Nicholas Ostler, “Empires of the World, A Language History of the World,” (Harper Collins: New York, 2005), p. 312. 
[10] “Are the English really Germans or Spaniards?,” The Telegraph, 
[11] “The Britons,” Wikipedia. 
[12] “Anglo-Saxon invasion of Britain,” Wikipedia. 
[13] “Hanover,” English Monarchs . 
[14] 2000 US Census in Wikipedia, 
[15] “Race and ethnicity in the United States,” Wikipedia.org
[16] “The Germans in America,” Library of Congress (link).
[17] La Vern J. Rippley, “German Americans,” . The first recorded usage of the name “America” as the name of the New World is found on the 1507 map Universalis Cosmographica by German Cartographers Martin Waldseemuller and Matthias Ringmann. “Martin Waldseemuller,” Wikipedia.org. 
[18] “Waves of German Immigrants,” Energy of a Nation 
[19] “1890,” “The Germans in America,” Library of Congress (link). 
[20] “German Americans,” Wikipedia. 
[21] “Germans in America,” Library of Congress (link). 
[22] “Race and ethnicity in the United States, “ Wikipedia. 
[23] Ibid., Applysense – Map from Blank USA by Lokal Profil. Information and colors from USMapCommonAncestry2000.PNG by Porsche997SBS, who sourced the info from Census-2000-Data-Top-USAncestries-by-County.svg, copy permission granted. 
[24] “German American,” Wikipedia,. 
[25] “Sentiment among German Americans was largely anti-slavery, especially among Forty-Eighters.” “German American,” Wikipedia from Wittke, Carl (1952), Refugees of Revolution, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania press. 
[26] “Germanic Peoples,” Wikipedia. 
[27] “Germanic Languages,” Wikipedia. 
[28] “Henry Philip Tappan,” Wikipedia 
[29] In particular, see his last book “Man Without A Country.” 
[30] “The History of Kindergarten from Germany to the United States,” Christina More Muelle, Florida International University . Freidrich Froebel started the first kindergarten in Germany and German immigrants George Schurz and his wife Margaretha Meyer, a student of Froebel, transplanted it to the USA in 1855. 
[31] Steven Muller, “After Three Hundred Years: A Keynote Address in 1983,” “America and the Germans, An Assessment of a Three-Hundred Year History,” Edited by Frank Trommler and Joseph McVeigh (Philadelphia: The University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983), p. xxvi-xxviii. 
[32] La Vern J. Rippley, “German Americans,” . 
[33] “Homeownership in the United States,” Wikipedia. Interestingly, home ownership in 21st century Germany is relatively low by European standards. Amelie Constant, Rowan Roberts, Klaus Zimmerman “Ethnic Identity and Immigrant Homeownership.” September 2007, IZA DP No. 3050. [34] A similar observation is made in John Ardagh, “German and the Germans,” (Penguin: New York, 1991), p. 4. 
[35] Dana Blankenhorn 
[36] Irving Gordon, “World History Review Text,” (New York: Amsco Publications, 1988), p. 206. See also B. Ann Tlusty, “The Martial Ethic in Early Modern Germany: Civic Duty and the Right of Arms,” (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011). The publisher’s book summary notes as follows: “For German townsmen, life during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was characterized by a culture of arms. Because the urban citizenry, made up of armed households, represented the armed power of the state, men were socialized to the martial ethic from all sides. This book shows how civic institutions, peer pressure, and the courts all combined to create and repeatedly confirm masculine identity with blades and guns. Who had the right to bear arms, who was required to do so, who was forbidden or discouraged from using weapons: all these questions were central both to questions of political participation and to social and gender identity. As a result, there were few German households that were not stocked with weapons and few men who walked town streets without a side arm within easy reach. Laws aimed at preventing or containing violence could only be effective if they functioned in accordance with this framework.” 
[37] James W. Gerard, “My Four Years in Germany.” (New York: George H. Doran Company, 1917), p. 75. 
[38] James W. Gerard, “My Four Years in Germany.” (New York: George H. Doran Company, 1917), p. 76. 
[39] CIA World Factbook, CIA.gov in GlobalFirepower.com (link) “Military budget of the United States,” Wikipedia. 
[40] “Ron Paul says U.S. has military personnel in 130 nations and 900 overseas bases,” Politifact.com here
[41] Binyamin Shlomo Hamburger, “The Migration of Torah Tradition from the Land of Israel to Ashkenazic Lands,” This explanation of the origin and migration of Germanic peoples to the Rhine Valley differs from that of many academic historians who argue that the Germanic tribes originated in Scandinavia. See Wikipedia, “Germanic Peoples.” 
[42] “French lessons: East petite, take your time,” Karen Collins R.D., NBCNews.com 
[43] Robert Reich, “The Next American Frontier” (New York: Penguin Books, 1983) pp. 55-56. See also Diana Owen, “Citizenship Identity and Civic Education in the United States,” Paper presented at Conference on Civic Education and Politics in Democracies, Center for Civic Education and the Bundeszentrale fur Politische Bildung, San Diego, September 26, 2004 (link). 
[44] See James Wilson, John DiIulio, Jr., Meena Bose “American Government, Essentials Edition,” (Boston: Centage Learning: 2015), p.83. They cite a study that shows Americans display higher rates of faith in their public institutions, belief in the imperative of civic duty, and sense that a citizen can affect government policies than people in several other countries. 
45 Joseph Breuer, “Our Way,” Rav Breuer His Life and Legacy (Nanuet, NY: Feldheim, 1998). EDiplomat.com, “Germany” writes “Germans value order, privacy and punctuality. They are thrifty, hard working and industrious. Germans respect perfectionism in all areas of business and private life. In Germany, there is a sense of community and social conscience and strong desire for belonging.” 
[46] Joseph Breuer, A Unique Perspective, “Our Duty towards America,” (New York: Feldheim, 2010) p. 310. Joseph Breuer (1882-1980). 
[47] Leo Jung, Between Man and Man (New York: Jewish Education Press, 1976) p. 150. Leo Jung (1892-1987). 
[48] Mordechai Breuer, Modernity Within Tradition (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992) p. 304. 
[49] R’ Joseph Breuer wrote, “Physically, the Kehilla’s German-Jewish character is immediately visible in the Synagogue. Extensive chapters in the Shulchan Aruch stress the vital importance of cleanliness, order, and dignity in the Synagogue. Thus, these aspects in themselves have little to do with a specific “German Jewishness.” “Our Way,” Rav Breuer His Life and Legacy, (Nanuet, NY: Feldheim, 1998). In other words, the cleanliness of the German Orthodox synagogue is rooted in the halakha. It is not merely a reflection of German traits. However, German Jews excel in observing the halachos on this matter. 
[50] Binyomin Shlomo Hamburger, Shorshei Minhag Ashkenaz, (Bnei Brak: Machon Moreshes Ashkenaz, 2010), p. 9. 
[51] “Our Way,” Rav Breuer His Life and Legacy, (Nanuet, NY: Feldheim, 1998). 
[52] Avigdor Miller, “True Modesty,” tape 412, 42:27. Rabbi Miller was born in Baltimore, studied at Slabodka Yeshiva in Lithuania in the early 1930s, and lived most of his life in Brooklyn, NY. He once remarked, “I have plenty to say about the German kehillah. I love the German kehillah. As a boy I davened every Shabbos in a German shul. I can sit four hours in the afternoon, Shabbos afternoon, in a German shul.” Loving His People 2, #528 1:06. 
[53] Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, “The Torah of Life, As Understood by Rav S. R. Hirsch,” The World of Hirschian Teachings, ed. Elliott Bondi, (Nanuet, New York: Feldheim, 2008) pp. 102-3. 
[54] Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, “The Torah of Life, As Understood by Rav S. R. Hirsch,” The World of Hirschian Teachings, ed. Elliott Bondi, (Nanuet, New York: Feldheim, 2008) pp. 102-3. 
[55] “Waves of German Immigrants,” Energy of a Nation . The beginnings of tolerance date from the Peace of Westphalia in 1648, a treaty granting tolerance to Christian minorities; although Vienna banned Jews in 1670 and Worms in 1689. “German Jewish History in Modern Times,” Leo Baeck Institute (link). 
[56] “German Jewish History in Modern Times,” Leo Baeck Institute, p. 13 . Prussia granted Jews the status of “native residents and Prussian citizens” in 1812. 
[57] Mordechai Breuer, Modernity Within Tradition (Columbia University Press: New York, 1992), p. 73. See also Marc Shapiro, “Great Figures in Rabbinic Judaism”, Classes on Samson Raphael Hirsch, www.TorahInMotion.org. See also Shnayer Leiman, Judaism’s Encounter with Other Cultures, ed. J.J. Schacter (Northvale, NJ: Aronson, 1997) “Rabbinic Openness to General Culture in the Early Modern Period in Western and Central Europe,” Sections on Isaac Bernays and Jacob Ettlinger. 
[58] Marc Shapiro, “Great Figures in Rabbinic Judaism”, Classes on Samson Raphael Hirsch, www.TorahInMotion.org. See also Shnayer Leiman, Judaism’s Encounter with Other Cultures, ed. J.J. Schacter (Northvale, NJ: Aronson, 1997) “Rabbinic Openness to General Culture in the Early Modern Period in Western and Central Europe,” Sections on Isaac Bernays and Jacob Ettlinger. 
[59] Consider this quotation from German-born Friedrich Frobel, the founder of the first kindergarten, “Education consists in leading man, as a thinking intelligent being, growing into self-consciousness, to a pure and unsullied, conscious and free representation of the inner law of Divine unity and in teaching him ways and means thereto.” “The History of Kindergarten from Germany to the United States,” Christina More Muelle, Florida International University . 
[60] Quacquarelli Symonds World University Rankings, 2014. 
[61] Times Higher Education World University Rankings 2014-2015 . 
[62] Samson Raphael Hirsch, The Pentateuch, Leviticus 18:5, translated by Isaac Levy (Gateshead: Judaica Press, 1989) 
[63] The Wikipedia article “Prussian Virtues” lists the following: austerity, bravery, courage. discipline, frankness, godliness, humility, incorruptibility, industriousness, loyalty, obedience, punctuality, reliability, restraint, self-denial, self-effacement, sense of duty, sense of justice, sense of order, sincerity, subordination, and toughness. Interestingly, Wikipedia does not have an article on Russian virtues but does have one on the “Russian Soul.” Certainly, Prussians have soul and Russians virtue. Both terms concern human ideals, but approach it in a different manner. 
[64] Steven M. Lowenstein, Frankfurt on the Hudson (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1989). 
[65] kwintessential.co.uk, “German Society and Culture.” writes “In many respects, Germans can be considered the masters of planning. This is a culture that prizes forward thinking and knowing what they will be doing at a specific time on a specific day. Careful planning, in one’s business and personal life, provides a sense of security. Rules and regulations allow people to know what is expected and plan their life accordingly. Once the proper way to perform a task is discovered, there is no need to think of doing it any other way. “ See also“German Cultural Values” at . 
[66] Israel Friedlander “The Present Crisis of American Jewry,” 1915 in Steven M. Lowenstein, Frankfurt on the Hudson (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1989). Friedlander (1876-1920) was a founder of the Young Israel movement. 
[67] Harry Wolfson, “Maimonides and Halevi: A Study in Typical Jewish Attitudes Towards Greek Philosophy in the Middle Ages” in Michael Makovi, “The Kuzari as Contrasted With Rabbi S. R. Hirsch’s Conception of Tiqun Olam – The Place of Universalism and Morality in Judaism.” . 
[68] Collected Writings, Vol. II, p. 398. 
[69] See for example the Ramban’s famous letter to his son. 
[70] Shimon Schwab, Selected Speeches (Lakewood: CIS, 1991) p. 243. 
[71] Steven M. Lowenstein, Frankfurt on the Hudson (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1989), ebook, Loc 2480. 
[72] Gernot Katzer’s Spice Pages, “Horseradish (Armoracia rusticana G. M. Sch.) “, (link). 
[73] Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Mesorat HaRav Siddur (Jerusalem: Koren, 2011) p. 112-3. 
[74] Klugman, p. 66. 
[75] They may also jump to and from Chassidism, enjoying the emphasis on community and song. And we find this too in German Orthodoxy, particularly in Frankfurt and Washington Heights with its implementation of the complete kehilla and the choir. In Washington Heights, NY, Rav Joseph Breuer built a totally self-sufficient community with a huge synogogue, day school, kollel, beis din, mikva, kashrus organization, senior center, and chevra kiddushah. The feeling of community and togetherness is palpable there on Benett Ave. as is the dignity and good manners of its community members in a manner reminiscent of the musar movement. 
[76] Cited by R’ Yisroel Mantel, KAJ, “60th Anniversary Gathering.” . 
[77] Samson Raphael Hirsch, “Hellenism, Judaism, and Rome,” Judaism Eternal, Vol. 2 (London: Judaica Press, 1972) p. 191. 
[78] This is all most relevant for choosing educational strategies for the young people of today. I argue that Hirsch’s Torah Im Derech Eretz is still needed if only because it is not possible to hide from a wireless society and its equally invasive government. The Czars actually granted Jewish communities in Russia a fair amount of autonomy in comparison to ours. However, the exact form of Torah Im Derech Eretz for the 21st century likely needs to differ somewhat from that which may suit the people of my generation even as the basic principles as outlined by Rav Hirsch still apply. I recognize sadly that the America that many of us knew is largely but a memory. However, for some the memory is strong enough to inform their religious outlook.



Teffilah Zakah: History of a Controversial Prayer

Teffilah Zakah:
History of a Controversial Prayer*

Yom Kippur has many unique prayers, many of them have been added through the centuries. For instance, R. Hayyim Yosef Dovid Azulai (Hida) has a longer viduy. Another such addition is the prayer known as Teffilah Zakah. In this prayer the person enumerates and connects their various sins with various acts and asks for forgiveness. Additionally, the person forgives any who have caused them pain or harmed them. This prayer was popularized by R. Avraham Danzig, in his Hayye Adam.

There are two reasons offered for reciting this prayer. Dr. Sperber opines (Minhagei Yisrael, vol. 2, p. 37 and esp. n.10) that the purpose of this prayer is to fulfill the opinion of the Ramban who holds that is an additional viduy on directly prior to Kol Nedrei on Erev Yom Kippur. (He offers that either Teffilah Zakah or a piyyut from R. Abraham ibn Ezra, fulfills this purpose). R. Abraham Ashkenazi (Brit Abraham, Warsaw, 1884, no. 129) offers a different reason for Teffilah Zakah. The purpose according to him, is to accept Yom Kippur early. At the end of Teffilah Zakah, one voices that they are accepting “kedushas Yom Kippurim.” In fact, R. Ashkenazi holds that for the purposes of fulfilling the opinion of the Ramban Teffilah Zakah would be insufficient as it differs significantly from the standard viduy. R. Ashkenazi, however, also holds that one should fulfill the Ramban’s opinion and thus recite the regular viduy after Teffilah Zakkah. (Surprisingly, Dr. Sperber doesn’t discuss R. Ashkenazi’s concern).

As mentioned above, Teffilah Zakah has a passage where one forgives others who may have sinned against him. This is necessary, as although Yom Kippur takes care of sins between man and God, it can’t take care of sins between man and man. Thus, it is necessary for each to receive forgiveness from their fellowman to achieve full forgiveness. Teffilah Zakah is long, and this paragraph that forgives others, appears at the end. The Chofetz Chaim attempted to alleviate this problem “and contacted the printers to change the placement of this paragraph of Teffilah Zakah . That is, to place this later paragraph earlier in prayer, to place the paragraph where one forgives others in the middle or the beginning.” According to the Chofetz Chaim’s son, R. Areyeh Leib, some siddurim did in fact shift around the prayer. (Michtevei Chofetz Chaim, p. 21-2 no. 52; quoted in Sperber, Minhagei Yisrael, vol. 4, 274).

The source to popularize this prayer is the book Hayye Adam.[1] Hayye Adam was first published in 1809, then in 1819 (the discussion regarding Teffilah Zakah only appears in this second edition – and thus, perhaps should be called a mahdurah [2]), and the third edition in 1825 – it would be this third edition that would be used for subsequent printing. [3] And, thereafter there was a flood of reprints – by 1960, Hayye Adam had been published at least 103 times (!) – a very popular book by any measure. While the book was reprinted on many occasions there were slight changes (some for the worse – there were many printing errors that crept in). As relevant to our discussion, in some editions, the portion discussing Teffilah Zakah changed as well.[4] The source that R. Danzig lists for Teffilah Zakah (klall 144), is the Sefer Hemdat Yamim. [5] In light of the fact that Hemdat Yamim is controversial in some editions of the Hayye Adam they removed words “Hemdat Yamim” so as not to have that as the source for this prayer.[6] Not all publishers dealt with the mention of Hemdat Yamim in the same manner. The full passage, as per the second edition of the Hayye Adam (see above – this is the first time this prayer appears in the Hayye Adam):

אח”ז ילך לבית הכנסת באימה ורעדה והמנהג בקהלתינו בכל בתי מדרשים להוציא ס”ת מהיכל כמש”כ בכתבי האר”י ז”ל וכבר נדפס בחמדת הימים התפילה שיסדר ואמנם לא כל אדם מבין הדברים רק מי שבא בסוד ה’ ומי שא”י הוא להם כדברי ספר החתום ולכן העתקתי בספרי’ קדמונים תפלה בלשון קל . . . וכו

In the Zolkeiv(1838) edition the words “וכבר נדפס בחמדת הימים” are missing (this makes the next clause – “but not everyone understands those words” and “those words will be like a closed book” unintelligible); while in the Vilna (1849) edition only the words

אח”ז ילך לבית הכנסת באימה ורעדה והמנהג בקהלתינו בכל בתי מדרשים להוציא ס”ת מהיכל כמש”כ בכתבי האר”י ז”ל

and the rest of the paragraph explaining why R. Danzig was required to create a new prayer in a “simple language” doesn’t appear. In the Vilna (1895) edition they have as follows:

אח”ז ילך לבית הכנסת באימה ורעדה והמנהג בקהלתינו בכל בתי מדרשים להוציא ס”ת מהיכל כמש”כ בכתבי האר”י ז”ל והעתקתי בספרים קדמונים לומר אז וידיו בלשון קל

This way they avoid the ambiguous pronoun (the problem with the Zolkeiv) and provide background for the prayer generally, of course they have still altered what R. Danzig found unremarkable.

The twin factors [7] of the use of a suspect work, Hemdat Yamim, and the creation of a new prayer, made some hesitant to adopt Teffilah Zakah. In the Tosefot Hayyim, a commentary on the Hayye Adam written by R. Meshulum Finkelstein, [8] deals with both of these issues and defends the recitation of Teffilah Zakah (klall 144 n.31). First, he alleges the prayer is not the same as that in Hemdat Yamim.[9] Second, he argues that the concern of saying a later prayer – this concern is attributed to the AriZal and is why, according to some the Yigdal prayer is not recited in some circles – is applicable to “yehidei segulah” (special people) and not to the masses. This is demonstrated by the many piyyutim we recite which are later than the cut-off date for prayers (R. Eliezer HaKalir – whenever he may have lived). Additionally, according to some, any prayer that has been accepted by the masses, this concern is not applicable.[10]

What is worthwhile mentioning is that R. Danzig is not the only talmid HaGra to use the Hemdat Yamim. He is also not the only talmid HaGra to have his work censored for such an inclusion. R. Eliach (Avi HaYeshivos, pp. 184-186) notes that the talmidei HaGra had no problem using and praising the Hemdat Yamim. Aside from R. Danzig, R. Alexander Suesskind, author of the Yesod V’Soresh HaAvodah, in his Last Will and Testament he praises the study of Hemdat Yamim. In at least one edition of R. Suesskind’s Last Will and Testament, Tzavah Yesod V’Soresh HaAvodah, Jerusalem, 1955, the reference to the Hemdat Yamim was removed. Thus, on the one hand we have a group of people who had no issues using the Hemdat Yamim, while on the other hand, there is another group of people who wish to remove any such references.

Whatever the ultimate source of this prayer, there is no doubt that today, it is a popular one.

Notes

*The fullest discussion of this prayer can be found in Mordechai Meyer’s article “On ‘Teffilah Zakah'” in Kenishta, vol. 2 pp. 119-138 including the language above of the various editions of the Hayye Adam.

[1] According to R. Barukh haLevi Epstein, (Mekor Barukh, vol. 3 p. 1260 [end of chapter 21]), R. Danzig titled the book Hayye Adam to avoid any attempt to abridge it as it would then be titled Kitzur Hayye Adam (Shortening the Life of Man). If this is true, it appears it did not help as in 1854 an abridged version was published although the title was Kitzur M’Sefer Hayye Adam (An Abridgement of the Work Hayye Adam). Interestingly, R. Y.S. Nathenson refers to the Sefer Hayye Adam as Kitzur Hayye Adam. Shu”t Shoel u’Meshiv, vol. 2 no. 14 (it is unclear whether there should be a Hey prior to Hayye Adam that would have R. Nathenson as merely listing the Sefer Hayye Adam as an abridgment and the “kitzur” part would not be part of the title.)

[2] For the use of this term “mahdurah” and when it should be applied and more specifically should this second edition of the Hayye Adam should be deemed a mahdurah m’Tukenet or mahdurah Sheneiah, see Y.S. Speigel, Amudim b’Toldot Sefer HaIvri: Kitveah v’Hatakah, Ramat Gan, 2005, 109-60.

[3] Teffilah Zakah was published separately numerous times under the title Teffilah Zakah (it was here it seems the usage of Teffilah Zakah became popular – R. Danzig never refers to it as Teffilah Zakah). The first time it was published was in Minsk, 1833 (see Meir, supra, p. 122)(there is possibly one earlier print by a year or so, in Russia also around 1830 but this is not definite) and republished as a seperate prayer on numerous occasions (by 1900 it had been published close to 50 times). It was first incorporated into the Machzor in 1882 in the Romm edition of the Machzor. (Meir, p. 124) Although the title of Teffilah Zakah was well established as late as 1856 this prayer was published under the title Teffilah HaEtkah M’Sefer Hayye Adam and not Teffilah Zakah.

[4] While the exact nusach of Teffilah Zakah does not appear in Hemdat Yamim, much of it does (see notes below for more). There are those who claim that since the teffilah is not the same, thus, Teffilah Zakah doesn’t really come from Hemdat Yamin. This is wrong. First, R. Danzig states it does – so he had no problem with it. Second, even if it is not word for word, and R. Danzig “improved” on the one in Hemdat Yamim, at the very least the basis for it, and much of it does in fact come from Hemdat Yamim. But, it is unsurprising that people would go to great lengths to void Hemdat Yamim as the source for this popular prayer.

[4] The removal of the mention of Hemdat Yamim both here and in other cases (including the discussion below regarding R. Suesskind’s work) is discussed by R. S. Divlitsky, “HaShmotot Mahdirim,” in Taggim, 1 (1969), 76-77 [Ya’ari, in Talmuot Sefer, also mentions the change to the Hayye Adam see under index under Hayye Adam]. For other examples of removal or changes to various editions of the Hayye Adam see R. A.I. Goldroth, “Al HaSefer ‘Hayye Adam’ U’Mechbro,” in Sefer Margoliyos, Jerusalem, 1973, pp. 262-67 esp. n.1. For a discussion about Teffilah Zakah, as well as the Hayye Adam see R. E. Levin & M. I. Blau, “Teffilah Zakah,” in Mishpacha, Kulmus, Tishrei, 2008, 16-19; and Blau’s earlier article, “Al Sefer Hemdat Yamim,” in Kovetz Bet Ahron v’Yisrael, Nissan, 2004 (112), pp. 161-164.

[5] In the Zolikav, 1838, Vilna, 1849; Tchernowitz, 1864; editions the words Hemdat Yamim are cut out and instead, the line reads, “in the works of the AriZal” and then has Teffilah Zakah. This is not the only mention of Hemdat Yamim in Hayye Adam. When discussing (klall 145) what happens if one has a nocturnal emission on Yom Kippur the Hayye Adam again cites to the Hemdat Yamim. In some editions the words “Hemdat Yamim” are missing, in others, it is abbreviated (“ח”ה”), so only those “in the know” will be able to understand.

[6] There is a third concern raised by the former Pupa Rebbi, who notes that as Teffilah Zakah discusses inappropriate sexual behavior, one should avoid saying it as it may lead to improper thoughts about the possible improper behavior. See R. G. Zinner, Neta Gavreil, Hilchot Yom HaKippurim, Jerusalem, 2001, p. 185 n.4. For a list of those who did not say Teffilah Zakah, see Y. Mondshein, Otzar Minhagei Chabad, [Jerusalem], 1995, pp. 200-01. Among other reasons, a similar reason to the Pupa Rebbi is offered by the wife of the Tzemach Tzedek. Additionally, a entirely new reason is given – that Teffilah Zakah is actually a deficient or inadequate prayer. As it is so bad is why, perversly, it has become so popular because, it seems, people like junk. See id. at n.1 in the name of the Sefer Areyeh Sha’ag.
See also, R. T. Ohrenreich, Katseh haMateh, in Mateh Efrahim, no. 619:17 who offers other methods to fulfill the opinions who hold one must do a viduy prior to the onset of Yom Kippur in lieu of Teffilah Zakah.

[7] It was first published in the Warsaw, 1888 edition of the Hayye Adam. R. Finkelstein wrote not only a commentary on Hayye Adam but also on the Matteh Efrahim, Elef HaMogan, first published in Mateh Efrahim HaShalem, Pitrokov, 1908. He also published a collection of commentaries on the Mishna under the title Tosefot Hakhomim, Warsaw, 1916.

[8] See note 4 above. This justification is bizarre. First, as noted above, the Hayye Adam says he is using the Hemdat Yamim – so at the very least he had no problem if it was there. Second, there are entire passages that do appear in Hemdat Yamim. For instance, the Hemdat Yamim has using kissing the sefer Torah to fix various sins (p. 291 of Tzuriel ed. – all citations are to this edition). Or there is an extensive discussion about the inability to fix something that someone stole from someone else (p. 229-36). There is another list of sins that mimic that in Teffilah Zakah (p. 252-57).

[9] This reasoning appears somewhat circular in that how did the prayer get started if one is prohibited from saying it to begin with? Even if one assumes this is merely extending the concept of “im ain neviem, beni neviem hamah,” it doesn’t excuse the R. Danzig from advocating for something that is prohibited.




KEDUSHAH, KEDOSHAH, OR B’K’DUSHAH in KEDUSHAH D’YESHIVAH?

KEDUSHAH, KEDOSHAH, OR B’K’DUSHAH in KEDUSHAH D’YESHIVAH?

Wayne Allen

In his classic study of the content and evolution of Jewish prayer, Abraham Millgram (Jewish Worship, p. 134) asserts that “the most significant addition to the liturgy after its redaction at Yavneh was that of the Kedushah, a prayer in which the community of Israel together with the heavenly host proclaim God’s holiness.” Yavneh was the town in which rabbinic Judaism retrenched after the destruction of the Second Temple in the year 70 C.E. Millgram further contends that the Kedushah prayer “is obviously mystic in nature” and Babylonian in origin (ibid.). It was during the early Rabbinic period that Babylonian mystics “were engrossed in speculations regarding the nature, appearance, and functions of the…angelic sanctification of God” as described in Isaiah 6:3 and Ezekiel 3:12 which, along with Psalm 146:10 make up the central elements of the Kedushah prayer, surrounded by appropriate introductions and connecting phrases.

In his commentary on the Bible, Rabbi Meir Leib ben Yehiel Mikhel Malbim (1809 – 1897) explains that when, as described by the prophet Isaiah, the angels on high proclaim God’s holiness (kedushah, in Hebrew), they are, in essence, attesting that “God is separated from earth in that He is immaterial; He is separated from time in that He is everlasting or eternal; and He is also separated from the heavens in that He is insubstantial.” This threefold separation is what characterizes holiness. Rabbi Hayim Halevi Donin (To Pray as a Jew, p. 126–7) adds that “not only is God above and beyond man and his world, but the angels proclaim God to be above and beyond their world as well” leading to the inevitable question: “if the angels so proclaim, can mortal man say less?”

When the Babylonians introduced the inclusion of the Kedushah, it was fittingly placed immediately before the third blessing of the Amidah which concludes with an affirmation of God’s holiness. It quickly became the apotheosis of the public prayer service. After some initial resistance, the Kedushah gained currency among Palestinian Jews as well. Millgram (Jewish Worship, p. 136) surmises that Jews unable to attend synagogue services daily felt deprived of the privilege to recite Kedushah so the rabbis inserted an abbreviated form of Kedushah in the text leading up to the first blessing before the recital of the morning Shema as well as incorporating the key verses of the Kedushah in the paragraph near the end of the morning service, perhaps for late-comers. This form of the Kedushah did not require a quorum of worshippers, thus enabling all worshippers – whether or not in synagogue – to declare God’s holiness in the mystical words of the prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel. To distinguish the standing, public recital of the Kedushah during the reader’s repetition of the Amidah, the early recital of the Kedushah was termed Kedushah D’ Yeshivah (the “sitting” Kedushah or Kedushah D’Yotzer, referring to the blessing it precedes, cf. Resp. Otzar HaGe’onim, Berakhot No. 46) and the later recital of the kedushah was called Kedushah D’Sidra (See Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 49a; Shabbat 116b; Resp. Otzar HaGe’onim No. 320).

It is the Kedushah D’Yotzer that is the subject of a wording dispute. Four Hebrew words describe the manner in which the angels proclaim God’s holiness. The dispute centers on whether these four words constitute two pairs of phrases with each phrase consisting of a noun and a modifying adjective, or one phrase consisting of a noun followed by two modifying adjectives and then a proper noun. The first view would read this phrase as בְּשָׂפָה בְרוּרָה, meaning “with clear speech,” followed by וּבִנְעִימָה קְדשָּׁה, meaning “and in sacred melody.” The readers would treat the four-word phrase as if there were a comma between the two pairs of words even if a comma did not appear in the text. According to the second view, the phrase should read בְּשָׂפָה בְרוּרָה וּבִנְעִימָה. קְדֻשָּׁה, meaning “in clear and melodious speech. [They proclaim] the Kedushah.” On the first view, the phrase is simply descriptive of the way the angels would proclaim God’s holiness, without indicating the nature of the proclamation. On the second view, the phrase describes the way the angels recite the Kedushah. A survey of various prayerbooks demonstrates how this dispute plays out.

Prior to the publication of the Artscroll prayerbook in 1984, the most popular siddurim used in Orthodox synagogues were the De Sola Pool prayerbook and the Birnbaum prayerbook. The Traditional Prayer Book for Sabbath and Festivals was edited by Rabbi David De Sola Pool who served Congregation Shearith Yisrael, the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in New York City for more than forty years. His acknowledged erudition led to the official adoption by the Rabbinical Council of America of this prayerbook for all Orthodox congregations in the United States in 1961. Both the 1940 and 1960 edition (p. 53) translated the disputed phrase as:

Mutually accepting for themselves His heavenly rule, in unison they all give one another the word to hallow their Creator in serene, pure utterance of sacred harmony…

That De Sola Pool considered the first view as the correct one is confirmed by the punctuation in the Hebrew text which puts a period after the word Kedoshah which is vocalized with a holom, that is, a dotted vav, making it an “o” as in “so” sound, and rendering it as the modifier of “ne’imah.” Likewise, Ha-Siddur Ha-Shalem edited by Philip Birnbaum and mass distributed by Hebrew Publishing Company adopts the same view. The 1949 edition reads (p. 73):

In serene spirit, with pure speech and sacred melody, they all exclaim in unison and with reverence…

The Hebrew is vocalized the same way as De Sola Pool.

The series of prayer books published for or by the Conservative movement follows suit. The Prayer Book, edited by Rabbi Ben-Zion Bokser, long-serving rabbi of the Forest Hills Jewish Center in Queens, New York, and published by Hebrew Publishing Company in 1961 reads (p. 47):

They sing a hymn of allegiance to the Divine power, each bidding the other go be first in acclaiming their Creator, With soft and clear tones, they chant in unison a sacred melody declaring…

Bokser took the editorial liberty of interpolating the action taken by the angels, i.e. chanting in unison, to make the word flow smoother but he obviously holds that the text is composed of two pairs of phrases with a noun (“tones” in the first phrase and “melody” in the second) and a modifier (“soft and clear” in the first phrase and “sacred” in the second).

The Sim Shalom prayerbook, based on the work of the eminent liturgist Rabbi Jules Harlow, was published by the Rabbinical AHssembly in 1998. Here, the disputed phrase is rendered (p. 97):

One to another they vow loyalty to God’s sovereignty; one with another they join to hallow their Creator with serenity, pure speech, and sacred song, in unison, chanting with reverence…

With his talent for a more poetic rendering of Hebrew, Harlow matches the phrase “one to another” to “one with another” in describing the angelic choir. Notably, Harlow also give his nod to the first view, supported again by the Hebrew text with a comma between the two phrases and the vocalization of K’doshah.

Interestingly, the Jewish Welfare Board, tasked with unenviable mission of producing a prayer book that would serve Jewish troops of all affiliations, translated the disputed phrase in its 1969 High Holiday Prayer Book for Jewish Personnel in the Armed Forces as follows (p. 101):

All of them act with harmonious accord, with purity of purpose and with united strength to perform reverently the will of their Creator. They all break forth into song of pure and holy praise, while they bless, glorify, and proclaim…

The “song of pure and holy praise” conforms with the first view of the disputed phrase. Also of note, the description of the angelic proclamation as a “song” conforms to the Talmudic text as will be noted below.

In contrast, since 1984 and in line with siddurim published in Israel, the second view has ascended in prominence. The Complete Artscroll Siddur (1992 edition, p. 87), translated by Rabbi Nosson Scherman, is paradigmatic:

Then they all accept upon themselves the yoke of heavenly sovereignty from one another and grant permission from one another to sanctify the One Who formed them, with tranquility, with clear articulation, and with sweetness. All of them as one proclaim His holiness and say with awe…

While the identification of the name of the angelic proclamation as the Kedushah is not explicit, this translation accepts the notion that “clear articulation and sweetness” go together in describing it, clearly evident in the Hebrew and its punctuation with a period after the word u-v’ne’imah. This is a pattern followed by Siddur Rinat Yisrael, the mainstream Israeli prayerbook and the popular Koren Siddur under the guidance of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.

The question of which view is correct or which version is the more authentic is not easily resolved. One of the earliest Jewish prayerbooks, the ninth century Seder Rav Amram (Goldschmidt ed., p. 13), is ambiguous. Lacking any punctuation or explication, the four-word Hebrew phrase in question can be read either way. The same is true with Mahzor Vitry, an enhanced prayerbook produced by the twelfth century school of Rabbi Shlomo Yitzhaqi of Troyes (Horowitz ed., Part I, p. 65). However, the Frumkin edition of Seder Rav Amram published in 1912 notes (p. 188) that a British Museum manuscript vocalized the text to read “k’doshah” in reference to the angelic melody, supporting the first view, while RaShI’s commentary on Isaiah 6:3 (“Holy, holy, holy! God of Hosts—Whose presence fills all the earth!”) includes the observation: “This is the basis for the prayer in Yotzer Ohr, Kedushah: all together proclaim,” that supports the second view. It seems like the Tosafists agree (Babylonian Talmud, Hagigah 13b, s.v. mi-zei-atan).

Fourteenth century Spanish Rabbi David Abudraham, aware of the dispute, seeks to resolve it in his authoritative compendium on Jewish prayer. In the 1963 edition of Sefer Abudraham (p. 73), he explains the parallelism in the text. “Because the author called the language of the angels ‘clear,’ by extension, he also called the melody ‘sacred.’” In other words, the phrase in question consists of two pairs of words, each pair with a noun and a modifying adjective, implying that the text ought to be read as safah berurah and ne’imah kedoshah. He goes on to acknowledge that “some read ‘Kedushah,’ but the first version is correct.” In his multi-volume study of Jewish prayer, Netiv Binah (Vol. I, p. 235, n. 8), Rabbi Y. Jacobson cites Abudraham’s opinion as decisive. He also includes as support the Yemenite prayerbook that reads u-v’ne’imah t’horah, that is, “and with pure melody.” Even though the wording differs from the Ashkenazi prayerbook (t’horah instead of k’doshah), Yemeni Jews agree that the word that follows after “ne’imah” is an adjective. Hence, “Kedushah” would be incorrect.

But all is not settled. Complicating matters, thirteenth century authority on Jewish law, Rabbi Tzedekiah ben Abraham Anaw (Shibbolei Ha-Leket, Sec 13) reports that he had found a text ascribed to eighth century Rabbi Natronai Gaon that reads: “with clear speech, melodiously, and devoutly.” On this version, the phrase in question uses three terms to describe the manner in which the angels proclaim God’s holiness: clearly, melodiously, and devoutly. It certainly does not comport well with the second view that specifies that the angels recite Kedushah, but neither does it support the first. Likewise, the prayerbook of Italian Jews, Mahzor Italiani (Luzatto, ed., Vol. I, p. 14) reads: b’safah berurah, b’ne’imah, u’vik’dushah, best translated as “with clear speech, melodiously, and with sacred devotion.”

To sum up, there are actually three views on the proper reading of the phrase in question. The first view would stipulate reading: b’safah berurah, u-v’ne’imah k’doshah. This view is supported by Natronai Gaon, the British Museum manuscript of Seder Rav Amram, the Yemenite Siddur, and Abudraham. The second view would stipulate reading: b’safah berurah u-v’ne’imah, Kedushah. This view is supported by RaShI and the Tosafists. And the third view would stipulate reading: b’safah berurah, b’ne’imah, u’vik’dushah. This view is supported by the opinion of Natronai Gaon and the Mahzor Italiani. Jewish worshippers, then, are left with a conundrum. Each view has its defenders.

However, three further considerations make a better case for the first view. First, the preponderance of authorities favors this view. Late thirteenth century Spanish Rabbi Yom Tov Ishbili (Hiddushei Ha-RITVA, Meg. 23b, s.v. u-midivrei rabbotai) mentions the tradition of his teachers reciting b’safa berurah u-v’ne’imah kedoshah kulam k’ehad onim b’eimah v’omrim b’yir’ah Kedushah, meaning with clear speech and in sacred melody, together as one, the angels say the Kedushah with trepidation. The RITVA acknowledges that the angels recite the Kedushah. But they do so with clear speech and sacred melody (ne’imah k’doshah) which is the reading of the first view. In fact, reading k’doshah as Kedushah would make no sense since Kedushah here would be redundant, being mentioned at the end. Fifteenth century Spanish Rabbi Abraham Saba (Tzror Ha-Mor, Bereshit, s.v. v’od) identifies two kinds of speech: what comes from the mouth and what comes from the heart. The latter is the superior and is endemic to the angels. He implies that the distinction is embedded in the phrase in question: safah berurah and ne’imah k’doshah. Sixteenth century Turkish Rabbi Moses Alshikh (Commentary on Exodus 28, s.v. v’hayya) also seems to follow b’safah berurah, u-v’ne’imah k’doshah.

Further, Rabbi Joseph Karo (Bet Yosef on Tur, Orah Hayyim 59, s.v. katuv) cites the Orhot Hayyim who accepts the first view and adds “I heard that the leading authorities of the generation follow this version.” Likewise, Rabbi Moses Isserles, agrees (Darkhei Moshe HaKatzar, Orah Hayyim 59:2) and, in Tur, Orah Hayyim 59, n. 2 states that “this is how it is arranged in our prayerbooks.” Eighteenth century Rabbi Jacob Emden (Siddur Bet Ya’akov, Warsaw ed. 1910, p. 120) acknowledges that while some versions have the word “Kedushah” vocalized with the shuruk (vowel sound “oo”) treating it as a noun, the preferred version is to read the phrase in question as b’safah berurah u-v’nei’mah k’doshah with a pause after “berurah,” and a holom after the letter “daled,” because the word “k’doshah” is an adjective modifying “ne’imah.” And Siddur Ha–Ya’avetz, Amudei Shamayim (ed. Deutsch [2016] p. 86) has Emden punctuating the phrase in question with a comma after the word “berurah”(indicating in his notes a need for a pause) and vocalizing the noun in the ensuing phrase as “k’doshah.” Tellingly, the standard reference work for the Ashkenazi nusah, Seder Avodat Yisrael, arranged and annotated by Isaac Seligman Baer (see Robert Scheinberg, “Seligmann Baer’s Seder Avodat Yisrael (1868): Liturgy, Ideology, and the Standardization of Nusah Ashkenaz”), adopts the first view. Moreover, in his notes (ed. Rödelheim [1868], p. 78), Baer relies on Abudraham as authoritative and claims that ne’imah k’doshah was Abarbanel’s version as well. He also claims that he had a manuscript reading of RaShI on Isaiah 6:3 which does not include “Kedushah.” The Siddur Rav Shabbetai Sofer of Przemysl (or Premslow), an authoritative compendium of prayers for Polish Jewry, includes both views, with ne’imah kedushah followed by ne’imah k‘doshah in parentheses, identified as “another version.” In his notes, Sofer indicates that the parenthesized version is that of Abudraham. And, like nineteenth century Rabbi Yehiel Mikhel Epstein (Arukh HaShulhan, Orah Hayyim 59:10), former Chief Rabbi of Israel Ovadiah Yosef (Resp. Yabi’a Omer, Pt. 8, Orah Hayyim, No. 11, Sec. 15) acknowledges that there is support for both the first and second view, it seems that the latter gives greater credence to the first view.

Second, the Babylonian Talmud refers to the angelic proclamation as a “shirah” (song) and not Kedushah, as assumed by the second view. Rav Hananel cites the opinion of third century Rav (Hullin 91b) who said:

Three groups of ministering angels recite a song (shirah) every day from the verse “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord”; one says: “Holy,” and another one says: “Holy,” and another one says: “Holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory.”

There is no mention of this “song” as the Kedushah prayer. Avot D’Rabbi Natan (Version A, Chapter 12) explicitly refers to this proclamation as “shirah” as well.

Third, Hebrew grammar makes the second view problematic. If the phrase in question was intended to convey the idea that the angels above recite Kedushah clearly and melodiously, then the grammatically correct way to express that idea would be: b’safah berurah u-v’ne’imah, kulam k’ehad, onim v’omrim Kedushah b’yir’ah. Thus, the translation would be: “with clear speech and melodiously, all the angels together would respond and say the Kedushah in trepidation.” The extant word order does not support this reading. In simpler terms, Kedushah is the object of the sentence and must follow after subject and verb. Saying “Kedushah: all together they respond and say,” as the proponents of the second view would have readers do, is both awkward and ungrammatical. Indeed, this is precisely what Baer (op. cit.) states, describing it as “dohak ha-lashon,” difficult language.

Solomonically, Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef (op. cit.) concludes that either way, the first view or the second view, is acceptable. But which is “correct?” Ideally, worshippers should adopt the first view and follow the text as was printed in the Birnbaum and De Sola Pool prayerbooks as well as those published by or for the Conservative movement. (Why the Rabbinical Council of America pivoted away from the original De Sola Pool prayerbook is a mystery.) However, it is entirely proper to follow the text of the synagogue where one is worshipping. Maimonides (Resp. RaMBaM, No. 181) rules that congregational unity is more important than loyalty to the established text. The view of Rabbi Moses Schreiber is also apropos. Asked which mode of prayer is preferred, Ashkenazic or Sephardic, he answers that the Sephardic is preferred but “what we pray according to the formulations of Ashkenazi prayer is heard [by God] as well” (Resp. Hatam Sofer, Orah Hayyim, No. 15). Here, too, we may have the assurance that whichever way the disputed phrase is articulated, God will accept it in the spirit it is offered.