The Unusual Word Tzafufim in Pirkei Avos|
עומדים צפופים ומשתחווים רווחים

David S. Farkas*

On a recent Shabbos afternoon I was learning the Yerushalmi to Peah when my thoughts turned – for reasons described below – to the famous passage in Pirkei Avos (5:5) עומדים צפופים ומשתחווים רווחים.

Every schoolboy is familiar with the phrase. The Mishna sets forth ten miracles regularly experienced in the times of the Temple. The eighth of these, as set forth above, is that though the people stood crowded in the Temple courtyard, they were nevertheless able to bow with sufficient space around them. The word צפופים, accordingly, means crowded.

This much is evident from the Mishna itself. But where does this word צפוף come from? Thinking about it further, I could recall no similar examples of the word elsewhere. Indeed, a check of the Concordance (Even-Shoshan) confirmed that no such word exists in all of Tanach.

No matter. There are many words in the Mishna that do not exist in Tanach. Perhaps the word is Mishnaic Hebrew, rather than Biblical. Yet here too, investigation showed no other examples of the word צפוף appearing in the Mishna. At this point we had the makings of a problem. It seems strange for such a familiar word to appear neither in Tanach, nor anywhere else in the Mishna. And yet it does not appear to be a foreign loan word either, with none of the hallmarks of Greek or Roman influence, or that of any other language. Where did it come from?

This is why I mentioned what I had been learning when my thoughts were turned in this direction. For in Peah (3:1, 26a in the excellent Oz Vi-Hadar edition) we find a debate among the two schools of Shammai and Hillel, in a case where numerous small patches of grain were planted between the trees of an orchard. The question is whether, for purposes of leaving Peah, they are to be treated as a single field or as many. The Gemara narrows the inquiry: אם במורווחין אף ב“ש מודים שהוא נותן פיאה אחת על הכל. אם ברצופין אף ב“ה מודים שהוא נותן פיאה מכל אחד ואחד.. If the trees are spread out, even B. Shammai would agree that the patches are treated as single field (i.e., the trees are not seen as intervening) and a single Peah should suffice. If the trees are close together, they are treated as an intervening separation, and even B. Hillel would agree that Peah should be taken from every patch. The Gemara concludes, אלא כי אנן קיימין בנטועין מטע עשר לבית סאה ב“ש עובדי להון כרצופין וב“ה עובדי להון כמורווחין.. The case must be of trees planted in a certain density (ten per beis se’ah), and the point at issue is whether or not this density is enough to cause the fields to be considered spread out.

Of course, what jumps out to the reader, just as did to me that Shabbos afternoon, is the contrast between רווחין and רצופין. This is the exact same contrast employed in the Mishna in Avos, yet here the word used is רצופין, not צפופים.

Nor is this the only case where such a contrast is used with this exact same pair of words. In Yerushalmi Moed Kattan 1:3 4a (also found in Sheviis 2:7 18a) R. Eliezer ben Yaakov permits diverting pooled water via a channel from tree to tree on Yom Tov, but does not allow an entire field to be irrigated. The Rabbis disagree, and the Gemara again narrows the field of inquiry, observing that if the trees were “spread apart”, all would agree irrigation is prohibited because one is watering more than he needs. If the trees were packed close together, on the other hand, all would agree watering is necessary to keep them from drying out. Thus, the Gemara concludes that the field in question was planted with the standard density mentioned above, ten trees per beis se’ah, and the point at issue between R. Eliezer ben Yaakov and the Rabbis is only whether this density is considered “spaced” or “packed”. מה אנן קיימין? אם במרווחין, דברי הכל אסור. אם ברצופין, דברי הכל מותר. אלא כי נן קיימין בנטועין מטע עשר לבית סאה: רבי ליעזר בן יעקב עבד לון כמרווחין, ורבנן עבדין לון כרצופין. Once again, we see the word רווחין contrasted with רצופין.

Finally, for a third example, see Yerushalmi Nazir 9:3 51b (also found in Kilayim 5:2 48a) We find there a debate as to whether vines planted at 4-cubit intervals are considered a vineyard, or merely a group of individual vines. R. Shimon bar Ba posits that the same question applies to a group of corpses found closely together, and whether or not they constitute a שכונת קברים, a burial ground. (Both questions have halachic import not relevant here.) R. Yose, however, says the two are not comparable: אמר רבי יוסי ולא דמייא. תמן מרווחין ורצפן במחלוקת, רצופין וריווחן דברי הכל. ברם הכא מהו פליגין בשבא ומצאן רצופין. In the case of the vines, even if they were properly spaced when planted and later crowded by adding vines, it would still be a matter of debate. And if they were initially crowded but later spaced by uprooting vines, all would agree it is a vineyard. But with respect to a burial ground, the whole question is when they were found close together, and one does not know how they were originally buried. (See Artscroll translation.) Again, for our purposes, the key point is only the wording. Here again, we see the word רווחין contrasted with רצופין.

All these three examples are from the Yerushalmi – that is to say, from Eretz Yisrael, where the Mishna was written. I have cited them because they show a clear contrast between רצופים and רווחים. These are clearly two parallel technical terms, one the opposite of the other. Thus, while we have not yet formally laid out a case, the reader can already anticipate the closing arguments: Can the real reading of the celebrated Mishna in Avos actually be רצופים, rather than צפופים?

Before pronouncing judgment, let us return to צפופים. We have already stated that no such word appears either in Tanach or anywhere else in the Mishna. If so, where does it come from?

Rashi, in Yoma 21a, where the Mishna in Avos is quoted, says it comes from the word צף, floating. As he explains, it was so tightly packed that people’s feet would actually come off the ground. Bartenura adds, in following Rashi, that their feet remained suspended in mid-air. However, we might wish to interpret Rashi to mean that their feet would rest on their neighbors’ feet packed in next to them. צף in the sense of both floating or being elevated upon something does appear in rabbinic literature, see Sotah 45a (and arguably in Tanach as well, see Eicha 3:54). However understood though, one gets the sense that Rashi was forced to devise this picturesque understanding of צפופים only because of the absence of any comparable words elsewhere. In Zevachim 15b, for example, the Mishna discusses the law of one Kohen standing on the foot of another (and whether it constitutes an interposition) and neither there nor in the ensuing Gemara is there any reference to צף. Further, if this was the true source of the word, shouldn’t the phrase, in fact, simply be צף, as in Sotah 44b צף על פני מים (cited by Bartenura) or צפים, as used in Mikvaos 2:8 אם היו המים צפים על גביו כל שהוא ישבר? This does not explain how we get the unusual word צפופים.

Aruch says it simply means “crowded” (דחוקים) as we translated it above. He brings two other examples in Rabbinic literature of the word צפוף in this sense, which, if not exactly a verse or a Mishna, would still be supportive. Yet neither of these examples are actually extant. The first is from Menachos 85b פעם אחת נצטפצפו אנשי לדקיא לשמן which we are apparently to read as, “it once happened that the people of Laodicea were hard-pressed for oil.” But this would only be a borrowed sense of the term, using “hard-pressed” for “pressed”, and from thence to “crowded”. Further, this too, is not the word צפוף for which we are looking, but only a variation thereof. And more fundamentally, none of our editions today even have such a word, instead reading פעם אחת נצרכו להן אנשי לודקיא לשמן

The Aruch’s other example is from Midrash Yelamdenu, which he quotes in connection with the second set of tablets, ראו האיך עומדין המלאכים צפופין ומרתתין לפני See how the angels are crowded and tremble before me. Yet we do not have the Midrash Yelamdenu, and Midrash Tanchuma – which is sometimes said to be identical with Yelamdenu – also does not have any such phrase.¹ We therefore cannot examine this Midrash closely, because it has been lost to us. Indeed, the use of the word “crowded” in the context of this snippet seems strange and out of place. In fact, simply by reading this solitary citation, one wonders if the word really should be כפופין (“bent in submission”) rather than צפופין. We cannot tell.²

A. Kohut, in Aruch Ha-Shalem, fares no better, simply citing other cases where theעומדים צפופים phrase is cited. He also cites possibilities where words similar to צפוף might theoretically be interpreted to mean דחוקים. However, all these examples are rather דוחק. For example, he cites Rosh Hashana 16b, where Jews in the middle category of merits and demerits are described descending to hell. Afterwards, they are מצפצפין ועולין. Rashi explains “they cry out”, and the Aruch says it means “they float out”, but Kohut conjectures it to mean “they are pushed out”, thus a kind of doubtful proof to the usage of צפוף in the sense of “crowded”. A few other similarly doubtful possibilities are put forward, none of which actually use the word צפוף in this form. (Interestingly, Kohut precedes these examples with the curious word אתפלפל – by which, I interpret it to mean, he intended to engage in pilpul for etymologists.)

The case is far different when we come to רצופין. The meaning of the word is “connected” or “contiguous”, and appears in the Bible on multiple occasions in the context of the flooring in the Temple (or in Esther 1:6, the King’s court). These floors – the source of the common word רצפה – were made out of hundreds of connected stones or tiles, from whence the word is easily applied to a large grouping of anything close together, be it people, graves, trees, or anything else.

Three different examples of the word רצופים used specifically in contrast with the word רווחים were cited above from the Yerushalmi. However, when used by itself a crowded field of examples can be shown in the Bavli as well. See Moed Kattan 9a מה יום כולו רצוף אף עשתי עשר כולן רצופין (Rashi – מה יום רצוף שאין בו הפסק אף כולהו י“א יום רצוף דליכא הפסק בינתיים); Bava Basra 37b אכלן רצופין אין לו חזקה (Rashi – כגון שנטועין יותר מי‘ בבית סאה); Negaim 11:9 רבי שמעון אומר, השתי אם היה רצוף, מיטמא. (Rash – שהחוטים רצופים זה אצל זה כעין רצפה שסמוכים זה אצל זה) The word is also found in the closely related meaning of “consecutive”, as in the requirement for adverse possession of land to be שלוש שנים רצופות three consecutive years, see Bava Basra 29b and Gittin 82a. Many more examples are cited both in the Aruch itself and by Kohut.

Thus, we arrive at the conclusion. In answer to the question posed above, there is good reason to suspect the original phrase was actually עומדים רצופים ומשתחווים רווחים. These two technical terms were often used in parallel contrast with each other in Eretz Yisrael. (That the two words together appear only in the relatively little-known Yerushalmi may, in part, be a reason why this point appears to have escaped notice thus far.) The word רצוף in the sense of crowded or contiguous is well documented throughout chazal, in both the Mishna and the Gemara, and even has a Biblical pedigree. The word צפוף, on the other hand, does not appear anywhere else that we can verify, is not found in Tanach or the Mishna, and can only be explained via questionable or creative etymology. The two words sound very similar and use essentially the same letters, and by a simple metathesis צפוף could easily and early on have arisen from רצוף.

Whether the jury is convinced or not, I am very far from “campaigning” to change a well-known word that Rashi and the Aruch were comfortable using. There is certainly no absolute proof that the reading I suggest is correct, and no manuscript evidence I am aware of to suggest there ever was a different reading. As I have had occasion to write in this space before, there is a perennial balancing act between the freedom of inquiry afforded by the principle of מקום הניחו לנו להתגדר, and actually suggesting change to established rule and precedent. Our thoughts must thus remain within the realm of conjecture. Only this, and nothing more.

* Mr. Farkas is a practicing labor attorney in Cleveland, Ohio, and received his rabbinic ordination from Ner Israel Rabbinical College in 1999. He can be reached at davidsfarkas at gmail.com

R. Hayyim Soloveitchik’s Attitude Towards Girsaot

A Response to Dr. Marc Shapiro

Elisha Friedman

R. Hayyim Soloveitchik earned his towering stature in Jewish intellectual history for his revolutionary methodology of Talmudic analysis, but scholars have also noted another aspect of his insights, which is a disinterest, bordering on disregard, for textual veracity. In general, traditional Talmudists were not overly concerned with bibliographic issues and girsaot (textual variants), but even within this tradition R. Hayyim stands out as extreme. One of the most glaring, and by extension often quoted, examples of R. Hayyim using a faulty text is his analysis of the passage in Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Nizkei Mamon 4:4.

In a recent post, Dr. Marc Shapiro responded to my objection to this example. Dr. Shapiro’s clarification was helpful in elaborating on the proof from Nizkei Mamon, as well as documenting a number of scholars who have used it. The basic outlook of this school is that R. Hayyim is entirely removed from girsah considerations. In this post I will articulate an alternative approach to this issue, arguing that R. Hayyim does take girsah factors into consideration. In section one, I sketch Shapiro’s perspective (in my understanding) and the proof from Nizkei Mamon. In section two, I present an alternative reading. In section three, I conclude with some broader reflections on R. Hayyim’s attitude towards girsaot.

1. R. Hayyim’s Aversion to Girsaot

Traditional Talmudists, with some notable exceptions, generally ignored issues of girsah, preferring to focus on the content and logical flow of classical texts. In many ways this is the defining hallmark of traditional Talmudic scholarship, as opposed to other methods of study which concentrate on textual issues. One of the notable exceptions to this overall trend was Vilna Gaon. As an example, the mishna towards the end of tractate Avot (5:20) reads,

יהודה בן תימא אומר, הוי עז כנמר, וקל כנשר, ורץ כצבי, וגבור כארי, לעשות רצון אביך שבשמים. הוא היה אומר, עז פנים לגיהנם, ובשת פנים לגן עדן. יהי רצון מלפניך יי אלהינו שתבנה עירך במהרה בימינו ותן חלקנו בתורתך.

Yehuda ben Tema said: Be strong as a leopard, light as an eagle, swift as a deer, and brave as a lion, to do the will of your Father in Heaven. He would say: the brazen-faced [is destined] to Gehinom; the shame-faced to Gan Eden. May it be Your will, O Lord our God, that Your city be rebuilt speedily in our days and set our portion in the study of Your Torah

After two statements reflecting on the proper role of aggression in religious life, the mishna suddenly includes an out-of-place prayer for the rebuilding of Jerusalem. It seems clear there is a textual problem with this mishna, and surveying how traditional commentators approached it is illustrative.

Vilna Gaon offered an obvious textual emendation – that this prayer was erroneously copied here, but properly belongs four mishnayot later at the end of the tractate.[1] Meiri offers another textual solution, that originally this mishna was the conclusion of the tractate, so it ended with a prayer, and then subsequently additional statements were added on, but the prayer remained where it had been originally.[2]

Yet the majority of commentators, including Rambam, Bartenura and Tiferet Yisrael, avoid a textual solution. Some suggest a homiletical reason for the insertion of this prayer, based on the notion that God blessed the Jewish people with a lack of aggression. R. Akiva Eger in his commentary cites an interpretation from Radach (R. Dovid Hacohen of Corfu), who explains that since this mishna discusses the proper religious uses of aggression, therefore the mishna prays for the messianic times when we will no longer require any aggression.

This example illustrates the general reluctance of traditional commentators, with some exceptions such as Vilna Gaon, to resolve questions through textual solutions. It also points towards a possible reason for this: avoiding textual solutions generates greater religious and homiletical creativity. Since, in this instance, commentators avoided the textual solution, they were enabled to formulate homiletical insights.

There is no question that R. Hayyim Soloveitchik reflects this traditional hesitancy regarding textual solutions. When R. Hayyim confronts a difficulty, he prefers a conceptual answer over a textual resolution, even when the latter seems evidently correct. As an example, in Hilkhot Hametz u’Matzah 1:3, Rambam ruled that one who did not burn his hametz before Passover does not receive the punishment of lashes because it is a passive violation not active, “for he did not perform a deed” (מפני שלא עשה מעשה). R. Hayyim asks that this statement contradicts the Talmudic rationale exempting lashes (Pesachim 95a), which is that this is a prohibition which is attached to a positive mitzvah to destroy the hametz (לאו הניתק לעשה).

This question is problematic, since there is a seemingly obvious textual answer, namely, that Rambam had a well-attested variant girsah of that Talmudic passage, which omits the entire לאו הניתק לעשה rationale. In fact, in the standard Vilna Shas, this line appears in parentheses to indicate the alternative girsah! Yet instead of offering this obvious girsah solution, R. Hayyim prefers to develop his conceptual insight, which illustrates his general aversion to girsah answers.[3]

When studying R. Hayyim’s insights one can intuit that his avoidance of girsaot goes further than other leading Talmudists, his relentless focus on conceptual analysis seemingly leaves no room for girsaot (or other) concerns. But it can be difficult to express this insight in more precise language. It is particularly challenging because we have no programmatic statement from R. Hayyim as to his outlook on textual issues, as such scholars must try to recreate his attitude from his hiddushim.[4]

There is a scholarly formulation of this which contends that R. Hayyim avoids girsaot to the extent that he is even willing to cite and analyze faulty texts which were retracted by their very own authors. The explanation for this is that when it comes to religious texts R. Hayyim maintains an extreme theory of textual autonomy, that religious texts transcend the author who wrote it. I will cite Shapiro’s formulation of this idea,

On occasion, [traditionalists] even ignored the explanations Maimonides himself later gave for his halakhot… A different justification, with a more modern appeal, is quoted in the name of R. Naphtali Zvi Judah Berlin: “All the works of our teachers, the rishonim, until the era of Pnei Yehoshua, were written with ruah ha-kodesh, and obviously Maimonides’ Code is in this category. What Maimonides wrote in a responsum is Maimonides’ explanation of what he wrote in his Code, but there is still room for other explanations, for there are 70 facets to the Torah.” In fact, even after Maimonides wrote to the sages of Lunel – who had asked about a difficulty in the Mishneh Torah (Nizkei Mamon 4:4) – informing them that their text of this halakhah was mistaken, we still find R. Hayyim Soloveitchik and others offering analyses of the mistaken text!
Marc Shapiro, Studies in Maimonides and His Interpreters, (University of Scranton, 2008), 54-5.

The primary evidence for this formulation derives from R. Hayyim’s comments in Hilkhot Nizkei Mamon, to which we proceed now. The printed editions of Mishneh Torah read,

When a person entrusts his animal to an unpaid watchman, a paid watchman, a renter or a borrower, these individuals assume the owner’s responsibilities. If the animal causes damages, the watchman is held liable. When does the above apply? When they did not guard the animal at all. If, however, they guarded the animal in an excellent manner, as they should, and it got loose and caused damage, the watchmen are not liable, and the owners are liable.

This was a problematic halakha because if the watchmen guarded it excellently no one should be liable. Rambam himself was asked this question as part of a series of questions posed to him on Mishneh Torah by the sages of Lunel. Rambam responded explicitly that this version was an error and instead it should read that the owners are liable in a case of inferior protection,

If, however, they guarded the animal in an excellent manner, as they should, and it got loose and caused damage, the watchmen are not liable. If the watchmen guarded the animal in an inferior manner, they are not liable if they are unpaid. Instead, the owners are liable, even if the animal kills a person. The watchman is liable if he is paid, a renter, or a borrower.

Rambam’s response was cited in Kesef Mishnah, which is printed on the side of the standard editions of Mishneh Torah, such that no reader could miss this retraction. Yet, R. Hayyim wrote two lengthy pieces on Nizkei Mamon, and in both he analyzes this passage using the erroneous text, without ever noting Rambam’s own emendation! This seems to be clear evidence that R. Hayyim disregards textual emendation, even when the text in question is clearly mistaken.

In his recent post Shapiro documents a scholarly consensus which has coalesced around this reading, including rabbis Eliyahu Soloveitchik, Yehoshua Inbal, Norman Solomon and most prominently, Baruch Shmuel Deutsch. This reading of R. Hayyim has widespread support because it is so striking that he is knowingly using a faulty text in his lengthy analysis of this topic. In fact, when I explained this essay in May 2023 as part of a series explaining Hiddushe Rabbenu Hayyim Halevi, I enthusiastically made the same point, influenced by the earlier scholarship, which you can hear at the beginning here.

But after processing the piece, I came to believe that a more careful reading of R. Hayyim shows that in fact he deftly avoids ascribing ideas to Rambam based on the faulty text, in recognition of Rambam’s own emendation. I then found that this view had already been exhaustively presented in 2007 by R. Avraham Lipschitz.[6] In the following section I will present Lipschitz’s approach, that R. Hayyim does not dismiss Rambam’s own emendation of his text, and more broadly that R. Hayyim is not as impervious to textual matters as the prevailing scholarship would indicate.

1. Re-Reading R. Hayyim

Twice in his comments, R. Hayyim refers to the erroneous version. First, in the opening paragraph in Nizkei Mamon 4:4, where R. Hayyim sets up the piece. In order to explain why R. Hayyim is not in fact basing his insights on the faulty text, let me sketch the broad purpose of this piece. The conceptual insight at the heart of this piece is the idea that when an animal damages something, while being watched by a watchman, the watchman’s financial liability is inherent to his responsibilities as a watchman, and not derivative from the owner’s liability.[7] In R. Hayyim’s framework, the paradigmatic case for this is when the damaging animal was a tam (new damager). When a tam damages, as opposed to a mu’ad (habitual damager), the owner does not pay from their own estate, only from the value of the animal itself. This creates a litmus test for R. Hayyim to explore the watchman’s liability, since there is no financial restitution outside the animal itself.

If we now work backwards to the opening paragraph, we can see that this insight is not dependent on the faulty girsah. In order for the piece to work R. Hayyim needs to establish two things: first, that this halakha is referring to a tam, as Maggid Mishneh in his commentary suggests, second, he needs to introduce the issue of a watchman’s liability, which Raavad in his glosses touches on. Now both Raavad and Maggid Mishneh had the faulty version of Mishneh Torah, so it seems reasonable that when presenting their approaches R. Hayyim sticks with the faulty version, which is a historically accurate reflection of these two commentators.

But as R. Hayyim progresses to his own analysis of this issue, it is no longer relevant which version of Mishneh Torah one uses. In both versions – the mistaken one and the corrected one – Rambam is discussing a tam, and rules that in some cases the owner is liable, while in others the watchman is. The juxtaposition of these two rulings sets up the premise of R. Hayyim’s piece, and it makes no difference whether owners are liable for excellent protection (erroneous version) or inferior protection (corrected version). Rambam’s girsah is incidental to R. Hayyim’s discussion, and as such this piece does not provide evidence for R. Hayyim’s attitude towards girsaot.

Let us move on to the second instance where R. Hayyim analyzes Rambam’s problematic text, in Nizkei Mamon 4:11. This is a much stronger proof than the first instance, since in this piece R. Hayyim cites the erroneous version to prove the point that Rambam sees the owner’s and watchman’s liability as mutually exclusive. R. Hayyim deduces this from the erroneous text, which states the watchman is exempt and the owner is liable, indicating that it is an either-or issue, i.e. only one party will be liable in any given case. He then proceeds to explain the faulty text further, and he does all this without acknowledging Rambam’s own retraction.

From this passage then we do seem to have proof for the extreme formulation of R. Hayyim’s approach to textual autonomy, and Hazon Ish in his glosses (as Shapiro notes in his post) certainly understands it this way. But I would note two counter points. First, Lipschitz counters that R. Hayyim is still not really relying on a faulty text, since his overall discussion is not dependent on this point. The conceptual idea in this piece is whether in a case where the first watchman gave the animal over to a second watchman, the first watchman is entirely removed from the situation, or even though he’s exempt he remains a relevant party. As part of this discussion, R. Hayyim is attempting to explain the related issue of the owner’s role in the situation, which brings him to the faulty text. But even without this digression, the overall piece can stand on its own. According to Lipschitz, this minimizes the implication of R. Hayyim using the faulty text.[8]

Second, I would add that if you follow the contours of R. Hayyim’s discussion, this step is deep into a discussion of Raavad’s glosses. One could argue that in this step he is explaining the debate from the viewpoint of Raavad, who never knew about Rambam’s retraction and had to try and make consistent sense of Rambam’s rulings. Although R. Hayyim does ascribe these ideas to Rambam, it is really Raavad’s strawman version of Rambam. Put differently, had the faulty text not been used by Raavad, R. Hayyim would not defend it.

Lipschitz’s approach (slightly) modifies the prevailing scholarly view that R. Hayyim is entirely impervious to textual emendations.[9] While it is clear that R. Hayyim is largely dismissive of textual issues, even he has his red lines, such as using a faulty text which the author himself corrected. Though, I will note, the broader difficulty of formulating precisely R. Hayyim’s attitude towards girsaot remains.

1. R. Hayyim’s Attitude Towards Texts

We have explored the debate between Shapiro and Lipschitz, over the extent of R. Hayyim’s disregard for girsaot, namely, whether he would build a hiddush on a retracted girsah. In this conclusion I reflect on the religious motivation for R. Hayyim’s cavalier attitude towards girsaot.

It is important to clarify that R. Hayyim’s opposition to emendations is not rooted in a reverence for the printed text, but rather in a reverence for texts which were used by Torah giants. In other words, if a mistaken girsah can be attributed to a Torah giant, R. Hayyim considers it valid, but if it has no traditional support amongst Torah sages, it is invalidated. For example, if someone were to discover an unknown girsah in the Cairo geniza, it would have little relevance for R. Hayyim. Likewise, a printed version, which was not endorsed by Torah giants, does not have standing in R. Hayyim’s outlook.

For this reason, R. Hayyim is willing to change the girsah at the end of his essay on Hilkhot Edut 21:9, because as he notes none of the commentators on Rambam are bothered by this question (אשר כן משמע מזה שלא העירו בזה המפרשים כלל), which seemingly indicates they had a different girsah. Since no leading Torah scholar can be said to endorse the printed version, R. Hayyim does not need to defend it.

But R. Hayyim is not entirely consistent in this approach, and in another parallel case he does not apply this logic. In Hilkhot Korban Pesah 6:2, Rambam rules that one who slaughters the Korban Pesah for the correct group, but intends to sprinkle the blood for the wrong group, the sacrifice is valid but this group does not fulfill their Pesah obligation. Not only does this ruling seem logically inconsistent – if it is a valid offering why does the group not fulfill their Pesah obligation? – it also seems to blatantly contradict the explicit Talmudic ruling that the group does fulfill their obligation. R. Hayyim’s opening paragraph suggests all sorts of girsah based solutions, except the most obvious one: that there is a misprint in Mishneh Torah.

Here too, the misprint theory could be supported by the fact that none of the classical commentators on Rambam address this question, indicating they had a corrected version. In fact, in a letter critiquing R. Hayyim’s approach, R. Chaim Mordechai Roller, cites this exact consideration as proof that it must be a misprint in Mishneh Torah, since none of the classical commentators raise the question.[10] R. Hayyim’s refusal to accept this girsah change seems to contradict his own logic in Hilkhot Edut.

Be that as it may, R. Hayyim’s attitude seems to be that we must defend any version of a text which was used by Torah giants. Presumably, and this is my own words, it is hard to accept that Torah giants use nonsensical texts, such that any problematic girsah they used must have a good explanation. There may be an additional element of Divine Providence, that we must assume God would not allow Torah giants to get tripped up by worthless texts, so there must be a profound meaning to explain it.

* * * * * *

Notes

[1] Vilna Gaon in his commentary to Avot (on mishna 20 and mishna 24):

טעות סופר כאן, וצריך לומר בסוף הפרק, כמו שכתבתי למטה

[2] This is one option Meiri proposes (in his commentary to mishna 20):

או אפשר שיהיה זה סיום המסכת אלא שנתוספו בה אח”כ דברים אחרים

See also R. Shmuel de Uceda’s related discussion in Midrash Shmuel (end of mishna 21 and beginning of mishna 22), and Tosafot Yom Tov (beginning of mishna 21), about the order of these ending mishnayot. Chanoch Albeck in his edition of the Mishna (Mossad Bialik, 1952) endorses Meiri’s suggestion.

[3] Elsewhere I have documented the nuances of R. Hayyim’s attitude towards girsaot in further detail, see כללי הגר”ח מבריסק בביאור הרמב”ם – ספריית אסיף, pp. 388-92.

[4] Avraham Lipschitz, “יחסם של אחרונים לתגליות נוסח”, סיני, גליון קמא, תשס”ח, עמ’ קג

suggests a possible formulation, pointing to one instance (which will be discussed below) where other traditional commentators explain Rambam’s faulty girsah, but at least pay homage to the girsah issue and note the corrected version, whereas R. Hayyim’s omission of any acknowledgement of the whole issue is more extreme:

לכאורה לפנינו מקרה ראשון של התעלמות גורפת מהמישור הפילולוגי ללא כל צורך בהצדקתה

[5] Marc Shapiro, Studies in Maimonides and His Interpreters, (University of Scranton, 2008), 54-5.

[6] Avraham Lipschitz,

“יחסם של אחרונים לתגליות נוסח”, סיני, גליון קמא, תשס”ח, עמ’ פא-קו

which takes this halakha in Mishneh Torah as a test case for traditionalist attitudes towards girsaot. Lipschitz’s son, R. Uri Lipschitz, is a Rosh Yeshiva at Yeshivat Siach Yitzchak, founded by Rav Shagar.

[7] See R. Baruch Ber Lebowitz’s formulation of this in Birkat Shmuel, Bava Kamma, #7 & 8

[8] Ibid, pp. 103-4.

[9] Lipschitz sums up his conclusion (p. 103):

קיצור הדברים, טענתי היא שאין לגר”ח התנגדות עקרונית להשתמש בנוסחים חדשים, וודאי לא כאלה המוזכרים בכסף משנה, אלא שהקו המנחה אותו הוא הרעיון המרכזי אותו הוא בא לחדש, או הקושי המרכזי בו הוא עוסק

[10] Teshuvot Be’er Chaim Mordechai (3:12).

Lag B’Omer through the eyes of a Litvak in 1925[*]
By Shimon Szimonowitz

Dov Mayani (1903-1952)

A Static and Evolving Chag

Lag B’Omer has infiltrated Jewish culture as a bona fide holiday. While the day is celebrated throughout the Jewish world, it tends to take on added significance in Eretz Yisrael. This age-old disparity has seen a little easement, probably as a result of enhanced communication between the Promised Land and the rest of the world, but the difference is still obvious.

R. Chaim Elazar Shapira of Munkács[1] (1868-1937) states, as a point of fact, “It has been the custom for hundreds of years in the holy land, especially in Meron, to make se’udos accompanied by dancing and music on Lag B’Omer. He goes on to state that conversely, in Chutz L’Aretz, although Chasidim do make Se’udos, “to also have music and dancing as in Meron would be very bizarre[2] since it is not practiced in our lands.”[3] There is no question that a lot has changed since the publication of that Teshuva in 1922.[4]

The purpose of this article is to travel back in time and view Lag B’Omer through the eyes of a Lithuanian Yeshivah student studying in the Chevron Yeshivah in 1925. By comparing his attitude to the festivities to the ones prevalent currently, we can bear witness to the evolution that Lag B’Omer has undergone outside of Eretz Yisrael in the last hundred years. At the same time, it will underscore how little it has changed in Eretz Yisrael.

On his first Lag B’Omer in Eretz Yisrael,[5] in May of 1925, Dov Mayani (1903-1952)[6] penned a letter[7] to his close friend Ari Wohlgemuth[8] who was in Europe at the time.[9] In exquisite prose,[10] Mayani vividly describes the Lag B’Omer celebration in Eretz Yisrael. One can sense surprise and even a measure of bewilderment which Mayani in turn thought he would provoke in his friend back home as well.

Dr. Joseph Wohlgemuth – Ari’s father

On one hand, we see from this letter that very little has changed in almost a century regarding how Lag B’Omer is celebrated in Eretz Yisrael. On the other hand, we see how much has changed in the rest of the world. Today we are accustomed to the festivities in Meron and we see similar events taking place all over, even outside of Eretz Yisrael. What was entirely novel to a Lithuanian Yeshiva student and his German counterpart in 1925 has now become the norm in many circles.

The letter includes many other interesting and valuable tidbits of information regarding the Chevron Yeshiva,[11] but for the purpose of this article we will focus only on the portion concerning Lag B’Omer.

Presented below is a translation of said excerpt of the letter.

 

The letter

B’Ezras HaShem, Chevron Ir HaKodesh Tibaneh V’Sikonen, Tuesday- Behar Bechukosai

Chavivi!

[Following several handwritten pages concerning various important matters, Mayani continues…] Now I will write to you about our life [in Chevron] … Let me now go over to lighter matters.[12] Today is Lag B’Omer. Today is the day that the entire Yeshiva was desperately[13] waiting for, since they are now able to remove the mask[14] of hair which was covering their faces. You should know that here [in Eretz Yisrael] there are more stringent customs. Starting from Pesach, no man may raise a hand to touch his beard.[15] [The beard] grows and increases until it matures; the hair sprouts and there is no respite from it.[16]  Picture for yourself, that even mine [=my beard] got big and wide, and I already have an idea what I will look like in the future.

Dov Mayani with his friend Yitzchak Hutner in 1928

Rabbi Dov Mayani in his later years

And now on to the topic of the fires… You should know that here there is a custom of lighting a bonfire on Lag B’Omer. And what do they do? They light a bonfire and all the people of the moshav gather next to it and they sing and dance. The source of the custom seems to be in Kabala but it used to have a different character.[17]

Lag B’Omer is the Hilula [lit. a celebration] of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, the anniversary of his death. It is brought in the Zohar that his disciples would come to his grave and light candles in his memory and they would spend the day as a quasi-holiday.[18] The Mekubalim in the days of the holy Ari z”l [R. Yitzchak Luria (1534-1572)] renewed the custom and through the influence of Chasidim and their entire sect[19] it was adopted by the entire nation. It is self-understood what kind of form it has already taken on by now…

On the day [of Lag B’Omer] they gather from the entire land [Eretz Yisrael], mostly from the Chasidim, Sefardim, and the Bucharim, at the grave of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai in Meron, near Tzefas, and they make a big fire and they light candles and oil; all that they can get their hands on.[20] They throw all kinds of clothes into the fire, expensive items, and notes with requests on them.[21] This custom, although opposed by many of the Gedolim, still remained strong, and the masses believe in it and in its powers[22] It used to be a Yom Tov of Chasidim and Anshei Ma’aseh, but now it has the character described above, and it is certainly not appropriate to be excited about it.

From all corners of the Land, they come with their sick children, and with the young ones which are to get a haircut for the first time[23] and the hair is then thrown into the fire etc. They break out in dances and circles.[24] In short, these festivities are celebrated with magnificence and splendor.[25]

Lighting of smaller fires is also done throughout the land. In Chevron the townspeople made a fire last night and they invited the entire Yeshiva. The Hanhala [management] of the Yeshiva itself with the Rav [Rabbi Moshe Mordechai Epstein (1866-1933)] at its helm didn’t respond to the invitation at all, and declared that it totally doesn’t recognize it [= the festivities]. But many of the Yeshiva students came to see, and I[26] too was among the onlookers.

They went climbed up on to the roof after Ma’ariv and lit a large bonfire at the center and sang a Chasidic song. The students of the Yeshiva joined in spontaneously and many of them danced around the fire. It was an amazing sight, albeit a bit wild and lacking Jewish flavor. In didn’t find favor in my eyes at all, but it was interesting to watch.

Mainly it was a Chag for their children[27] who went around with fireworks[28] in their hands and with beaming and shining faces.

Analysis

[1] “…here there are more stringent customs…”

Mayani comments that in Eretz Yisroel there are more stringent customs regarding shaving during Sefirah. In HaHar Hatov (p. 49) it is suggested in a footnote that it can be deduced from this comment that in Berlin [whence Wohlgemuth hailed] they were lax regarding the customs of the Sefirah days.

I believe this to be in error. It seems that Mayani was referring to the difference in custom between Lithuania and Eretz Yisroel. In Lithuania, religious Jews refrained from shaving only from Rosh Chodesh Iyar until Lag B’Omer [18 days] and then again from Lag B’Omer until the Sh’loshes Yemei Hagbala [13 days], thus never allowing the beard to grow too long. See Aruch HaShulchan (493:6) where he confirms this to be the custom in Lithuania”.[29] In Eretz Yisrael, the Yeshiva students felt compelled to conform to the local custom which was to observe Sefirah from Pesach until Lag B’Omer. Since they couldn’t shave from Erev Pesach, it forced them to grow their beard for twice as long as they had been accustomed to in Europe.

Regarding laxity with Sefirah, R. Eliezer Brodt pointed me in the direction of a letter dated May 10, 1938, in which Ernst Guggenheim, a French Yeshiva student who traveled to study in the Yeshiva in Mir, reports “everyone has a dirty beard, but in other yeshivot, like the one in Brisk, for example, the whole Yeshiva, with the Rosh Yeshiva in the lead, shaves during this period” (Letters from Mir: A Torah World in the Shadow of the Shoah pp. 127-128). Guggenheim writes again about his beard on May 29^th (ibid p. 137) “I wear a quite gorgeous beard at this moment, six-week-old and cleaned on Lag B’Omer. It’s not simply a piece around the chin, but a collar à la Hirshler before he trimmed it. Moreover, soon I will make it disappear even though it is already popular at the Yeshiva.” See Nefesh HaRav p. 191.

[2] “Lag B’Omer is the Hilula of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, the anniversary of his death”

Lag B’Omer is not mentioned anywhere in the Mishnah or Talmud. An early reference to it can be found in the name of R. Zerachya HaLevi of Gerona (c. 1125-1186). Accordingly, R. Zerachya was in possession of an old Sephardic manuscript of the Talmud which alludes to the fact that Rabbi Akiva’s disciples ceased to die on that date.[30] R. Menachem HaMeiri (1249 – 1306) is probably one of the earliest sources to explicitly mention the day of Lag B’Omer. [31] Despite that fact that these Provencal sages[32] do mention this day as the end of the mourning period, they do not mention it as a reason to celebrate it in any shape or form.

There is also very little in the classical Poskim regarding the origins of Lag B’Omer. R. Moshe Isserls (1520-1572), based on Maharil, simply states that one must ‘celebrate a bit’[33] on Lag B’Omer.[34] The Vilna Gaon (1720-1797) indicates that the reason for celebration is the fact that the disciples of Rabbi Akiva ceased to die on that day.[35] This would also appear to be the reason given by the Maharil. The problem is, as pointed out by R. Aryeh Leibish Balchubar (1801-1881), that the reason they stopped dying is because there were none left. Why would this be a reason to celebrate?[36]

R. Avraham Gombiner (c. 1635-1682) relates in the name of R. Chaim Vital (1542-1620), that someone once said Nachem [a prayer with an expression of mourning] on Lag B’Omer and was punished.[37] It would seem that this event was unrelated to Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai or his place of burial. R. Aaron Alfandari (c. 1700–1774) questions this omission and points out that the reason why the man was punished is only because he said Nachem on the Hilula of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and not because it was Lag B’Omer… if it was because of Lag B’Omer”.[38] R. Menachem Mendel Auerbach (1620-1689) prefaces the abovementioned story by saying that it is the custom in Eretz Yisrael to visit the graves of Rabbi Shimon and his son Rabbi Elazar on Lag B’Omer. He identifies the anonymous man mentioned by R. Gombiner as a Rabbi Avrohom HaLevi, and adds that R. Yitzchak Luria delivered a message from Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai to R. Avrohom HaLevi, that the latter is going to be severely punished for saying Nachem on the day of “my happiness”.[39]

Regarding R. Alfandari’s argument that Lag B’Omer was not the reason for R. Avrohom Halevi’s punishment, but rather due to the Hilula of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, R. Chaim Yosef Dovid Azulai (Chida, 1724-1806) suggests that Lag B’Omer and Hilula of Rabbi Shimon are one and the same. In other words, the source of celebration on Lag B’Omer was the fact that it was the Hilula of Rabbi Shimon. Still, R. Alfandari viewed these as mutually exclusive. In any event R. Azulai also concedes that the opposition to saying Nachem was confined to the place of Rabbi Shimon’s burial. Interestingly enough, R. Azulai ends his remarks by praising R. Gombiner’s ambiguous wording since it leads to what he sees as a positive conclusion, that one should celebrate on Lag B’Omer regardless of whether he is at the gravesite of Rabbi Shimon or not. He merely points out that the intensity of the celebration is greater near the gravesite.

Although we now know that Lag B’Omer is the Hilula of Rabbi Shimon, we are still left in the dark regarding the exact reason for celebration. The most popular explanation is the one which Mayani mentions here, that it was the anniversary of Rabbi Shimon’s death. R. Azulai mentions this possibility, but elsewhere in his writings he questions it. R. Dovid Avitan in his notes on the Birkei Yosef, argues that R. Azulai’s conclusion was that it was not the anniversary of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai’s death. This is corroborated by a more reliable manuscript of R. Shmuel Vital’s (1598 – 1677) writings. Instead R. Azulai suggests that perhaps Lag B’Omer was the day that Rabbi Shimon began studying Torah at the feet of Rabbi Akiva.

Lag B’Omer has confounded many halachic authorities throughout the generations.[40] For a more comprehensive treatment of this subject, the reader is referred to R. Eliezer Brodt’s Seforim Blog article: http://seforim.blogspot.co.il/2011/05/printing-mistake-and-mysterious-origins. and for a great lecture on the subject, Professor Shnayer Leiman’s the strange history of Lag B’Omer is strongly recommended.

[3] “…at the grave of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai in Meron, near Tzefas…”

It is safe to say that nowadays the name Meron garners instant recognition among most religious Jews. Yet in 1925 this was apparently not the case. Mayani felt compelled to identify Meron as being situated “near Tzefas.” The Chasam Sofer, in his teshuva about the Lag B’Omer festivities, writes that “they gather from all over in the holy city of Tzefas to celebrate the Hilula of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai”.[41] Throughout the entire Teshuva he fails to mention Meron by name. While it is true that in those days they would gather from all over the Land and converge in Tzefas and then go on to Meron, as recorded by Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kaminetz (1800-1873) in his Koros Ha’itim, it is still noteworthy that the Chasam Sofer does not mention the name of the town. When discussing the custom of gathering in Meron on Lag B’Omer, R. Aryeh Leibish Balchubar also feels a need to add that this takes place in the village Meron “which is near Tzefas”.[42]

[4] “They throw all kinds of clothes into the fire, expensive items… opposed by many of the Gedolim…”

The custom of throwing expensive clothes into the fire in honor of Rabbi Shimon is well documented. One of the earliest descriptions available is found in a letter written by a student of R. Chaim Ben-Attar (1696-1743) in which he writes that R. Chaim went to Meron the day after Purim of 1742 and “lit many clothes” in honor of the Tanna.[43] R. Menachem Mendel of Kaminetz (1800-1873) is an early eyewitness who describes how this was practiced on Lag B’Omer itself. He relates that they would sell the honor of igniting the fire for a large sum of money and the one who bought it would take a large scarf in good wearing condition, light it, and throw it into a bowl of oil. Additional historical accounts of burning clothes are compiled in the introduction to the 2011 edition of R. Shmuel Heller’s Kevod Malachim.

This custom merited the ire of R. Yosef Shaul Nathanson (1808–1875). In a Teshuva concerning an event that took place in 1842, R. Nathanson writes that he has a lot to say about the custom of burning clothing in honor of Rabbi Shimon on Lag B’Omer. He maintains that “they are transgressing the prohibition against wasting[44]  and are engaging in superstitious practices[45] which are forbidden”. He adds that this custom was obviously not practiced in the days of the Ari z”l and he is certain that R. Yosef Karo would not have allowed it. R. Nathanson ends off by saying that he guarantees that if they were to take all that money [wasted on the burning of clothes] and use it to support the poor of Eretz Yisrael, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai would derive much more pleasure from it.[46] These very sentiments are also expressed by the Sephardic Rishon L’Tzion, R. Rafael Yosef Chazan (c.1741 – 1820).[47]

In 1874 the Chief Rabbi of Tzefas, R. Shmuel Heller (1803-1884), authored a pamphlet named Kevod Malachim, in which he vehemently defended this practice and thereby encouraged its continuation despite of the abovementioned opposition. For a more comprehensive treatment of this fascinating subject, the reader is referred to Prof. Daniel Sperber’s Minhagei Yisroel vol. 8 pp. 72-83.

It is also possible that Mayani was referring to the Teshuva of R. Moshe Sofer (1762–1839) in which he takes issue in general with the festivities in Meron. According to R. Moshe Sofer, turning a day on which no miracle occurred into a Chag, constitutes a transgression of the commandment against adding to the Torah.[48]  Allusion to the lighting of the fires is treated with similar disapproval.[49]

Kever of Rabbi Shmuel Heller

[5] “It used to be a Yom Tov of Chasidim and Anshei Ma’aseh…”

Mayani obviously did some research on Lag B’Omer. In a letter dated April 25, more than a week before Lag B’Omer, he writes:

Here in the Land, Lag B’Omer, the anniversary of the death of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and many of his disciples, is a great Chag for the people of the Yishuv. Originally it was [intended] only for the Talmidim and people of a high caliber, but now ‘that there are scarcely any men of high caliber and there is an influx of big-mouths and strongmen’, it has lost it pure character. I heard from people in Jerusalem that very few of the very pious[50] visit the village of Meron on that day.[51]

This sentiment that Lag B’Omer used to be celebrated in a more spiritual manner in earlier times is found in some other sources as well. Among others, R. Nathanson (שואל ומשיב מהדורה חמישאה סימן לט) argues that in all probability back in the days of the Ari z”l, they would only learn by the graveside of Rabbi Shimon and recite prayers so that he should awaken the mercy of Heaven.

[6] “…sang a Chasidic song…”

From his letter one gets the sense that Mayani was a bit prejudiced against chasidim as was typical of a Lithuanian Misnaged. This happens to be far from the truth. On his farewell trip leaving Europe he stayed by a Chasid who was an Agudah leader and in addition to discussing with him Torah topics, Dov Mayani learned many Modzhitzer Nigunim during his stay. According to his daughter this encounter made a deep impression on Mayani’s musical style.[52] She also says that in general her father had an affinity toward Chasidus.[53]

Nevertheless, Mayani can be critical at times of what he called a “Chasid Shoteh”. In a letter describing his fellow passengers on the boat trip to Eretz Yisrael, Mayani describes a Belzer Chasid whose entire Judaism was encompassed in his sidelocks, his beard, his long gabardine, despised Lithuanians, and minimized interaction with any other kind of people (תמצא לו החברה חסיד בלזאי שוטה, אשר כל יהדותו בפאותיו וזקנו וקפוטתו תלויות, ושונא הליטווקים תכלית שנאה וממעט מכל שיח ושיג עם אנשים אחרים.). On the other hand, in that same letter, he describes a Chasid of Chabad in glowing terms, as someone he considers to be a Lamdan and an important man… (גם חסיד ליטאי, מחסידי חב”ד איש למדן וחשוב בעירתו אשר ירד מגדולתו ועשרו לרגל המלחמה ובעוד כוחו עמו עולה לארץ ללמד בה ולהאחז בה).

Later in his life he came even closer to Chasidus. His daughter Rivka states that despite his Lithuanian upbringing and education, her father possessed a Chasidic soul.[54] He especially appreciated the emphasis placed on music. In his later years, he became close to some Chasidic leaders such as R. Yisrael Alter (1895-1977) and R. Simcha Bunim Alter (1898-1992). He was even asked by the latter to deliver sermons in the Gerrer Yeshiva in Tel Aviv in 1941. He also forged a close relationship with R. Chaim Meir Hager of Viznitz (1887-1972) and Reb Arele Roth of Jerusalem (1894-1947), and even prayed with a Gartel given to him by R. Hager.[55]

Review of ‘After Revelation: The Rabbinic Past in the Medieval Islamic World’, by Marc D. Herman

Reviewed by Eliyahu Krakowski

 

Dr. Marc Herman’s After Revelation: The Rabbinic Past in the Medieval Islamic World (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2025) examines shifting conceptions of Torah she-beʿal peh within the Judeo-Islamic world from the geonic period through the time of Maimonides.[1] Beginning with Rav Saadya Gaon and concluding with the Rambam, Herman traces a gradual reorientation away from the geonic understanding of Torah she-beʿal peh as wholly revealed toward the Maimonidean position, in which human interpretation plays a constitutive role in the formation of rabbinic law. Alongside his analysis of Jewish legal sources, Herman situates these developments within their broader intellectual environment, drawing careful parallels to contemporaneous trends in Islamic jurisprudence and legal theory. In tracing this shift, the book clarifies how medieval Jewish thinkers conceptualized the authority of Torah she-beʿal peh, and how those conceptions correspond to broader jurisprudential models current in the Islamic world.

But beyond its central thesis, the book assembles a substantial body of sources bearing on a range of foundational questions, including rabbinic authority, legal innovation, and the historical development of Torah she-beʿal peh. Many of the texts Herman discusses are drawn from recently published fragments or from manuscripts that remain unpublished, and several appear to have received little or no attention in prior scholarship. Rather than offering a comprehensive or conventional review, I will focus here on a selection of sources that I found particularly significant and that contribute to a more precise understanding of several of the issues under discussion. Because Herman’s treatment of these materials is often brief, expanding upon certain sources and arguments in greater detail is worthwhile.

1. Adding to Torah Prohibitions and the Tree of Knowledge 

The story of Adam and Eve contains an interesting example of what, depending on one’s perspective, can either be seen as a (very early) model of rabbinic legislation or as a problematic example of proto-bal tosif, the prohibition of adding to the Torah. When repeating God’s command not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge, Eve apparently adds to the prohibition (Gen. 3:3): “But from the fruit of the tree which is in the middle of the garden, God has said, ‘You may not eat from it and you may not touch it, lest you die.’” Every yeshiva student is familiar with Rashi’s interpretation:

“‘And you shall not touch it’ – she added to the command; therefore she came to detraction, as it is said: “Do not add to His words” (Proverbs 30:6).”

This, in turn, is based on the Gemara (Sanhedrin 29a):

“Hizkiyah said: From where is it derived that whoever adds, detracts? As it is stated: ‘God said: You shall not eat from it and you shall not touch it.’”

However, according to Avot de-Rabbi Natan (version 1, 1:5), it appears that the added prohibition was in fact a prototypical seyag, a protective fence of the sort we are instructed to erect in order to safeguard the Torah:

“And make a fence for your words, just as the Holy One, blessed be He, made a fence for His words; and Adam the First made a fence for his words … What was the fence that Adam the First made for his words? As it says: ‘And the Lord God commanded … for on the day that you eat of it you shall surely die’ (Genesis 2:17). Adam the First did not wish to say to Eve exactly as the Holy One, blessed be He, had said to him; rather, he said to her thus, and he made a fence for his words beyond what the Holy One, blessed be He, had said to him: ‘But from the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden God said: You shall not eat from it and you shall not touch it, lest you die,’ for he wished to guard himself and Eve from the tree even through mere touching.”

In the context of Karaite critiques of rabbinic authority, this question took on heightened urgency. Herman (39-40) refers to Rav Saadya Gaon’s commentary on Genesis 3:1, which elaborates the positive reading found in Avot de-Rabbi Natan:

“The fifth question: On what basis did Eve say, ‘and you shall not touch it,’ when God did not say this to Adam?

The answer: After God said to Adam not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge, he instituted a safeguard for the matter and refrained even from touching it, so that if some mishap should occur in this regard, it would fall upon what he himself had added and not upon the essence of the prohibition. This is like an expert physician who wishes to distance a patient from eating meat and therefore also warns him against poultry, so that if he should treat the command lightly he will stumble with poultry and not with actual meat. On this basis our predecessors instructed us: ‘Make a fence for the Torah’ … and in all these cases, and others like them, we rely upon what the Torah itself prohibited as a matter of protection and fencing, as it is written: ‘He shall not multiply wives for himself, lest his heart turn astray’; and ‘silver and gold he shall not multiply for himself exceedingly, lest his heart grow haughty,’ and the like.”

Rav Saadya likens Adam’s added prohibition to the case of a patient who is forbidden to eat meat and whose physician therefore also prohibits poultry. As Herman observes, the analogy closely recalls the rabbinic prohibition of poultry with milk. Notably, in this instance Rav Saadya is prepared to treat the added restriction as Adam’s own enactment, a position that sits uneasily with his more general tendency to ground even rabbinic legislation in divine authority.

Elsewhere (80), Herman cites the eleventh century Andalusian commentator R. Yehuda Ibn Balaam who went a step further and “described the addition of a prohibition against touching the forbidden tree in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3:3) as the sound exertion of legal thinking (ijtihād).”[2] It seems that according to Ibn Balaam, in contrast to Rav Saadya, this is not merely a discretionary seyag but a logical extension of the law. In other words, according to Rav Saadya, the prohibition of touching the Tree of Knowledge would have been classified under the Rambam’s first shoresh in Sefer ha-Mitzvot, namely rabbinic enactments, whereas according to Ibn Balaam it would fall under the second shoresh, that of rabbinic derashot or derivations.[3]

2. Rabbinic Legislation and Adding to the Torah

Another obscure yet significant source cited by Herman bears on a question raised forcefully in Karaite polemics, namely, why rabbinic legislation does not itself constitute a violation of the biblical prohibition against adding to the Torah. Herman (27) points to Rav Saadya Gaon’s discussion in his work on the calendar, the Kitāb al-Tamyīz (Book of Distinction), where Saadya emphasizes that the prohibition of adding to revelation applies to “all that I have commanded you” (Deut. 4:2; 13:1), and not to “all that I have written for you.” On this view, rabbinic enactments cannot be considered impermissible additions, since they themselves form part of the revealed command structure. The relevant text survives only in an Arabic fragment published by Hartwig Hirschfeld in 1903.[4]

Herman (90) also cites R. Yehudah ha-Levi’s response to this challenge in the Kuzari (3:41). Ha-Levi explains that the biblical prohibition was directed at the masses, in order to prevent them from conjecturing, theorizing, and legislating on the basis of their own reasoning, as the Karaites did. Laws instituted by the Sanhedrin or by prophets, according to ha-Levi, are categorically excluded from the scope of this prohibition. Notably, Maimonides appears to adopt the opposite position. In his view, it is precisely authoritative figures such as prophets or the Sanhedrin who are capable of violating the prohibition of bal tosif.[5] But Maimonides’ formulation in Hilkhot Mamrim 2:9 (cited above, note 3) represents an even sharper rejection of Rav Saadya’s approach. According to the Rambam, bal tosif is violated precisely by collapsing the distinction between rabbinic legislation and divine command, thereby presenting the former as if it were itself part of the Torah. This could serve as a description of Rav Saadya’s enterprise. 

It is also noteworthy that figures operating within the Karaite orbit accepted the premise underlying the question, namely, that there exists a general prohibition against adding new laws to the Torah. By contrast, rabbinic authorities more distant from anti-Karaite polemics, such as Rashi, R. Yosef Albo, and the Maharal, rejected this premise altogether. On their account, bal tosif does not prohibit the introduction of new mitzvot, but rather the alteration of an existing mitzvah’s internal structure, such as adding a fifth passage to the tefillin. From this perspective, rabbinic legislation bears no relation to the prohibition of bal tosif at all.[6]

3. Hanukkah from Where in the Torah?

Rav Saadya Gaon’s discussion of Hanukkah provides a clear illustration of a broader geonic tendency: to anchor what might otherwise appear to be rabbinic innovations or postbiblical developments in biblical revelation itself. As Herman (29) notes:

“Saadia was anxious to uphold divine authority for Hanukkah, the formulations and structures of many prayers, court oaths, communal bans, the second day of festivals observed in the diaspora, and even one passage in a lament by Eliezer Qillir… Saadia adopted a variety of strategies to depict these practices as supported by divine revelation. Written revelation, he claimed, actually refers indirectly to legal institutions that might be considered postbiblical, such as the festival of Hanukkah, the observance of two days to mark some new lunar months, or the rules of the Jewish calendar.”

One of the sources Herman adduces in this context is a passage from the the recently recovered complete Sefer ha-Mitzvot of Rav Saadya, in which Rav Saadya seeks to ground the festival of Hanukkah in biblical prophecy:

“The tradition has established that there will be a day on which He will deliver us from the descendant of Amalek … and that when the Lord grants victory to the sons of Levi in their war against those who rise against them, that time shall be honored, as it is said: “Bless, O Lord, his valor, and accept the work of his hands; crush the loins of those who rise against him, and of those who hate him, that they rise no more” (Deut. 33:11). And we do not find that they fought anyone other than the Greeks.”[7]

This passage is particularly illuminating when read alongside Maimonides’ remarks in the first shoresh of his own Sefer ha-Mitzvot, where he sharply criticizes those who would count Hanukkah among the 613 commandments:

“I do not suppose that anyone would imagine, or that it would even occur to anyone’s mind, that it was said to Moses at Sinai that he should command us that, if at the end of our kingdom such-and-such should occur with the Greeks, we would then be obligated to light the Hanukkah lamp.”[8]

The position that Maimonides declares inconceivable is, in fact, precisely the one advanced by Rav Saadya. Because Maimonides elsewhere explicitly objects to the Behag’s enumeration, and because the Behag does count ner Hanukkah as a mitzvah, it has generally been assumed that Maimonides’ polemic here is directed against the Behag. The discovery of this passage, however, together with another like it in Rav Saadya’s writings, reveals that Maimonides’ criticism is not aimed at a merely theoretical justification for counting Hanukkah, but at Rav Saadya’s concrete attempt to ground the obligation in biblical revelation.[9] Herman (104) himself emphasizes this point, noting that:

“This was something of a pattern for Maimonides, who was reluctant to name Saadia even when strongly disagreeing with him. But it is hard, in fact, not to read Maimonides’s presentations of the Oral Torah as a pointed rebuttal of the views of the Egyptian-born gaon.”[10]

The same geonic impulse to locate Hanukkah within the orbit of biblical revelation appears elsewhere as well. In his discussion of the Torah center of Kairouan, Herman (67) observes that R. Nissim Gaon likewise adopted Rav Saadya’s position regarding the divine authority of Hanukkah, repeating a midrash according to which the festival had already been foretold to the biblical Aaron. This refers to the well-known passage cited by Nahmanides in his commentary on Behaʿalotekha (Num. 8:2):

“Why is the section of the Menorah juxtaposed with the dedication of the princes? When Aaron saw the dedication of the princes, his spirit sank, for neither he nor his tribe had participated in the dedication. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to him: ‘By your life, yours is greater than theirs, for you kindle and prepare the lamps morning and evening’ – this is the language of Rashi, citing an aggadic midrash… The intent of this aggadah is to expound a hint from the passage concerning the dedication of the lamps that would take place in the Second Temple through Aaron and his sons – that is, the Hasmonean High Priest and his sons. I found it stated in this very language in the Megillat Setarim of Rabbeinu Nissim, who cites this aggadah and says: ‘I saw in a midrash: once the twelve tribes had brought offerings and the tribe of Levi had not brought [any]… the Holy One, blessed be He, said to Moses: ‘Speak to Aaron and say to him’ – there will be another dedication [hanukkah] involving the lighting of lamps in which I will perform miracles and deliverance for Israel, through your descendants. [This] dedication will be named for them, namely the Hanukkah of the sons of the Hasmoneans. Therefore this section was juxtaposed to the section of the dedication of the altar’.”

This is a celebrated passage in Nahmanides’ commentary, but when read against the background of geonic polemics and the geonic impulse to locate later rabbinic enactments within biblical revelation, it takes on a new significance. Herman draws attention in this connection to the landmark work of Yosef Ofer and Jonathan Jacobs on Nahmanides, which reconstructs the layered development of Nahmanides’ Torah commentary on the basis of authorial update lists and a comprehensive comparison of manuscript traditions. Ofer and Jacobs demonstrate that the passage attributing Hanukkah to Aaron through R. Nissim Gaon’s Megillat Setarim belongs to Nahmanides’ later additions, composed after his arrival in Eretz Yisrael, and that in earlier recensions of his commentary Nahmanides struggled to resolve the difficulties posed by this midrash.[11]

4. A Sage is Superior to a Prophet

Interpretations of the talmudic dictum hakham adif mi-navi, “a sage is superior to a prophet” (Bava Batra 12a), offer a revealing lens through which to assess medieval attitudes toward the relative status of divine revelation and human juridical creativity. In a substantial study published two decades ago, Alon Goshen-Gottstein traces the reception history of this dictum and concludes that it was largely ignored prior to the emergence of the Book of the Zohar.[12] Herman (81-82), however, draws attention to a significant pre-Zohar interpretation that appears to have gone largely unnoticed in this discussion, preserved in the commentary of R. Isaac Ibn Ghiyath, commonly known by his acronym רי״ץ גיאת, to Kohelet:

“Upon proper reflection, I have found that the sages of the Torah possess a superiority over the prophets. For the former draw forth [insights] from their intellectual inquiry and the illuminations of their intellect: they innovate new teachings from foundational principles and derive consequences from root concepts. The latter, by contrast, are guided only by prophecy and directed by prophetic vision alone. You already know what occurred with respect to what the prophet Nathan said to David, ‘Do all that is in your heart, for the Lord is with you’ (II Sam. 7:3) – and he was mistaken; whereas Solomon’s ruling in the case of the two women was successful. It is to this distinction that the saying refers: ‘A sage is superior to a prophet.’”[13]

As Herman observes, Ibn Ghiyath’s interpretation is “closer to that of the Qaraite Qirqisani – who had cited it to show that the ancient rabbis themselves admitted to ‘extracting’ new law – than to geonic-era apologetics.” In other words, this interpretation stands in contrast to the geonic claim that Torah she-beʿal peh is all revealed law, instead seeing the active process of building upon revelation by means of human wisdom as a higher achievement than the passive process of receiving prophetic instruction. This helps explain why this dictum received little attention in certain eras. In the context of anti-Karaite polemics, openly conceding the primacy of human legal creativity over prophecy was potentially destabilizing. Yet Herman does not emphasize the significance of Ibn Ghiyath’s comment in the history of the interpretation of this saying, noteworthy in its own right.[14]

5. Increasing Andalusian Independence

A recurring theme throughout Herman’s work is the growing independence of non-Iraqi scholars, such as R. Hananel, R. Shmuel ha-Nagid, the Rif, and R. Joseph Ibn Migash, from the authority of the Babylonian geonim. This is the intellectual world into which Maimonides was born. Herman (104-105) highlights one particularly telling instance in which Maimonides explicitly defends his Andalusian tradition against claims of Babylonian hegemony:

“[I]n a polemic against against Samuel ben ‘Eli…who claimed the title gaon, Maimonides provided a list of Andalusi “geonim” to support his view: Ibn Ghiyath, al-Baliya, al-Fasi, and Maimonides’s own father’s teacher, Ibn Migash. Maimonides asked: ‘Should one not heed the words of our geonim because they are not Babylonian [i.e., Iraqi]? Is it possible that locale is determinative [she-maqom gorem]?’ While these examples show a sense of continuity with the Andalusi tradition, Maimonidean innovations nevertheless abounded…”

Herman offers a nuanced account of the gradual emergence of Andalusian scholarly independence from geonic authority, culminating in Maimonides’ own complex stance toward the inherited geonic tradition.[15]

These few examples from this densely referenced work should suffice to illustrate the wealth of material contained within. Dr. Marc Herman’s After Revelation: The Rabbinic Past in the Medieval Islamic World is distinguished by its meticulous research and careful presentation of sources, a quality that is especially welcome in the current scholarly landscape. In addition, by focusing on a specific historical era which has received relatively little scrutiny, Herman has brought to light a rich array of material which deserves the attention of anyone interested in the development of the concept of Torah sheb’eal peh.

[1] Full disclosure: the author of the book under review, Dr. Marc Herman, is a longtime friend to whom I often turn with questions regarding Maimonides’ Sefer ha-Mitzvot. References to his pages are given parenthetically in the text. Readers of The Seforim Blog may already be familiar with his work through his review in Marc Herman,  “Review of ‘Ha-Sefer ha-Kollel (Kitāb al-Hāwī)’, by Rabbi David ben Saʿadya al-Ger,” The Seforim Blog (4 September 2024), available here. My thanks to Seforim Blog editor Menachem Butler for his editorial review and comments.
[2] Herman cites Ibn Balaam’s comment from Maaravi Perez, “Another fragment from Kitāb al-Tarjīḥ by R. Yehuda Ibn Balaam: Genesis 2:11-4:9; 8:10-20,” Proceedings of the American Academy for Jewish Research, vol. 57 (1990-1991): 8 (Hebrew), available here; the fragment is also available via the remarkable alhatorah.org.
[3] For a discussion of the tension between seyag and bal tosif as it arises from the narrative of Adam and Eve, see R. Bezalel Naor, “Mitzvat Hashem Barah,” printed at the conclusion of his edition of the Rashba’s Maʾamar ʿal Yishmael, ed. Bezalel Naor (Spring Valley, NY: Orot, 2008), 87-91 (Hebrew). His discussion displays his characteristic breadth of learning, though he does not cite the sources later adduced by Herman; conversely, Herman does not refer to Naor’s treatment. Notably, the Hida (Ahavat David, derush 13) explicitly confronts the apparent contradiction between the position of the Gemara with that of Avot de-Rabbi Natan and proposes a reconciliation:

“The matter is straightforward: Adam the First certainly acted properly in making a fence. However, he should have said, “This is the command of the Lord, and I am making a fence with respect to touching,’ and in that case Eve would not have erred. It was from this aspect that the mishap emerged, and this is what is meant by the conclusion, ‘A person should not add to the words he hears’; that is, one should not attribute the addition to the original speaker.”

See also R. David Zvi Hoffmann’s commentary to Genesis 3:1, and R. Yaakov Kamenetsky, Emet le-Yaʿakov, Genesis 3:3, who develop the same distinction—between legitimate protective legislation and its improper attribution to divine command. R. Yaakov Kamenetsky articulates this concept pointedly in his commentary to Avot 2:5:

“The essential point is that one know that he is keeping this only as a fence, and not as an essential matter in its own right … for if this is not known, one may come to great stumbling blocks. It appears that Adam the First himself stumbled precisely in this matter in the sin of the Tree of Knowledge, and from this grew and developed the entire notion of sin and iniquity in the world, with the resulting consequence – death.”

Against this backdrop, R. Bezalel Naor draws attention to a difficult comment of the Moshav Zekenim. The Moshav Zekenim cites the following question of the tosafist R. Isaac [presumably Riʾ of Dampierre]:

“You shall not eat and you shall not touch”—from here [we learn that] whoever adds, detracts, for the Holy One, blessed be He, commanded only with respect to eating. And R. Isaac finds this difficult: perhaps she acted by way of distancing, as we find with respect to the nazirite… and this requires further investigation.”

Why, R. Naor asks, did the Moshav Zekenim not explain that the difficulty with this seyag lay specifically in its attribution to God Himself, as is made explicit in the aforementioned sources? One possible answer emerges from the Maharil’s account of asmakhta. See Maharil, Likkutim, no. 70 (quoted by R. Asher Weiss, Minhat Asher, Devarim, p. 37):

“Wherever it is stated [that something is] rabbinic and the verse is merely an asmakhta, this is its meaning: it is certainly a rabbinic enactment, and they went and examined and found for themselves a scriptural support, and they anchored their words to it in order to strengthen them—so that people would think it is of Torah origin and be stringent with it, and not come to treat the words of the Sages lightly and leniently. (In the Mekhon Yerushalayim edition there is another version: ‘in order to mislead them.’)”

According to the Maharil, the purpose of an asmakhta is precisely to cause people to attribute divine authority to a rabbinic enactment. This would also appear to be the most straightforward explanation of the Raʾavad’s gloss to Hilkhot Mamrim 2:9. Maimonides explains that the difference between prescribed rabbinic enactments and proscribed bal tosif lies in their attribution: 

“Since a court has authority to decree and prohibit something permitted, and its prohibition may stand for generations … what, then, is the meaning of the Torah’s warning ‘You shall not add to it nor detract from it’? That one should not add to the words of the Torah nor detract from them, and establish the matter permanently as Torah law.”

On this, Raʾavad comments: 

“All of this is mere wind, for anything they decreed and prohibited as a fence and safeguard for the Torah does not constitute adding, even if they established it for generations, treated it as Torah law, and anchored it to Scripture, as we find in many places where something is rabbinic and the verse is merely an asmakhta.”

Raʾavad apparently sees the existence of asmakhta as a refutation of Maimonides’ position. Cf. the Vilna Gaon’s comment in Aderet Eliyahu, Genesis 3:3, which offers another defense of Eve’s “fence.”
[4] Hartwig Hirschfeld, “The Arabic Portion of the Cairo Genizah at Cambridge (Third Article): Saadyah Fragments,” Jewish Quarterly Review, vol. 16, no. 1 [old series] (October 1903): 103, available here.
[5] See my article in Eliyahu Krakowski, “Is a Prophet Authorized to Institute a Rabbinic Commandment? A Halakhic Clarification and Its Implications for Maimonidean Thought,” Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought, vol. 12 (Fall 2011): 26-28 (Hebrew), available here, for a detailed analysis of Rambam’s position that the prohibition of bal tosif applies precisely to prophetic or judicial claims of divine authority. R. Asher Weiss formulates this point as a matter of halakhah le-maʿaseh in response to a question posed by his teacher, the Divrei Yatziv:

“My teacher and master, the holy rabbi, our master [Rabbi Yekusiel Yehudah Halberstam], wrote in Responsa Divrei Yatziv (Orah Hayyim §214) to comment on the formula le-shem yihud customarily recited by Hasidim prior to the counting of the ʿomer, in which it is said: “to fulfill the positive commandment of the counting of the ʿomer, as written in the Torah, etc.” This formulation implies that the obligation in question is a de-oraita commandment, and thus constitutes an addition to the commandments and a violation of bal tosif according to the view of Maimonides. For this reason, he adopted the practice of saying instead: “to fulfill the commandment of the counting of the ʿomer, and it is written in the Torah, etc.,” so that it should not be understood as a de-oraita commandment, but rather in a formulation that is also compatible with a rabbinic commandment… In my view, however, even though this observation has merit, as a matter of strict law there is no objection here, for several reasons. First, there is no prohibition involved except in the context of formal legal instruction issued by a court or by a sage rendering authoritative rulings to others; this has no application to a devotional prayer recited informally by each individual person…”

This represents the distinctively Maimonidean understanding of bal tosif, in marked contrast to the approach articulated by R. Yehuda ha-Levi.
[6] See Rashi to Deut. 4:2 and 13:1; Sefer ha-Ikkarim 3:14; Maharal, Beʾer ha-Golah, beʾer 1; cf. Nahmanides to Deut. 4:2. Notably, both sides in the Karaite-rabbinic controversy presupposed that bal tosif prohibits the introduction of new laws as such, even though this assumption was rejected by a number of rabbinic authorities operating at some remove from the immediate polemical context. A structurally analogous phenomenon, in which opposing camps converge upon a shared but historically secondary interpretation of a source, can be observed in the medieval debates over hokhmat yevanit. See Eliyahu Krakowski, “How Much Greek in ‘Greek Wisdom’? On the Meaning of Hokhmat Yevanit,” The Seforim Blog (27 December 2011), available here, where I argue that the identification of hokhmat yevanit with Greek philosophy represents a thirteenth-century polemical development rather than the original talmudic meaning, even though both sides in the controversy itself accepted this understanding.
[7] Rav Saadya Gaon, Sefer ha-Mitzvot (Kitāb al-Sharāʾiʿ), ed. and trans. Nissim Sabato (Jerusalem: The Ben-Zvi Institute, 2019), 199 (Hebrew). My thanks to Rabbi Dr. Eliezer Brodt for obtaining a copy of this important work for me. The text is also available on alhatorah.org, and should not be confused with R. Yeruham Fishel Perla’s monumental commentary on Rav Saadya’s poetic Azharot.
[8] See, now, the newly-published edition of Maimonides, Sefer ha-Mitzvot, ed. R. Yitzhak Sheilat (Jerusalem, 2025), 39-40 (Hebrew). It is surprising that R. Sheilat, who serves as rosh yeshiva of Yeshivat Birkat Moshe alongside R. Sabato, does not reference in this context Rav Saadya’s Sefer ha-Mitzvot.
[9] For an otherwise insightful discussion of this passage, see Moshe Halbertal, Maimonides: Life and Thought (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014), 111-116, who perceptively analyzes Maimonides’ objection to the enumeration of rabbinic enactments but does not identify Rav Saadya Gaon as the concrete target of the critique.
[10] In his notes to this passage in Rav Saadya Gaon’s Sefer ha-Mitzvot, R. Haim Sabato expresses caution as to whether Maimonides had Rav Saadya specifically in mind. However, Herman’s view is compelling. For a fuller treatment of whether Maimonides’ critique in Sefer ha-Mitzvot is aimed specifically at Rav Saadya Gaon, see R. Haim Sabato, “Did Maimonides Know Rav Saadya Gaon’s Complete Sefer ha-Mitzvot?” in Zvi Heber and Carmiel Cohen, eds., MiBirkat Moshe: Maimonidean Studies in Honor of Rabbi Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch, vol. 2 (Maʿale-Adumim: Maʿaliyot, 2012), 757-763 (Hebrew), available here, and Marc D. Herman, “Systematizing God’s Law: Rabbanite Jurisprudence in the Islamic World from the Tenth to the Thirteenth Centuries,” (PhD Dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 2016), 167-168, 301, available here.
[11] See Nahmanides’ Torah Commentary Addenda Written in the Land of Israel, eds. Yosef Ofer and Jonathan Jacobs (Jerusalem: Herzog Academic College and the World Union of Jewish Studies, 2013), 430-432 (Hebrew).
[12] See Alon Goshen-Gottstein, “The Sage is Superior to the Prophet: The Conception of Torah through the Prism of this Proverb through the Ages,” in Howard Kreisel, ed., Study and Knowledge in Jewish Thought (Beer Sheva: Ben Gurion University of the Negev, 2006), 37-78 (Hebrew), available here, who identifies two citations of this dictum in sources that predate the Sefer ha-Zohar, one in Hovot ha-Levavot and one in a work attributed to R. Avraham b. ha-Rambam, possibly by R. Nissim Gaon. The interpretations of R. Isaac Ibn Ghiyath and R. Joseph Ibn Migash discussed here, however, suggest that the paucity of earlier citations reflects not simple neglect but a reluctance to highlight texts that openly privilege human juridical creativity over prophetic transmission.
[13] This commentary is printed in R. Yosef Qafih, Hamesh Megillot, ed. Shimon Najar (Israel, 1970), 162-163 (Hebrew), where it is attributed to Rav Saadya Gaon; it is now also available online at alhatorah.org in R. Qafih’s translation. Another text overlooked by Goshen-Gottstein and cited by Herman (87) is the commentary of R. Joseph Ibn Migash (Riʾ Migash) preserved in Shitah Mekubetzet to Bava Batra 12a:

“‘Amemar said: A sage is superior to a prophet. Rav Ashi said: You may know this from the fact that a great scholar states a matter and it is then said that the law accords with [a tradition] given to Moses at Sinai’— and even though this scholar never heard this matter at all. Thus, [we see that] ‘the sage is superior to the prophet’: for the prophet says only what he has heard and what is placed in his mouth to say, whereas the sage can articulate what was said to Moses at Sinai even though he never heard it.”

[14] Elsewhere, however, Herman does highlight the significance of Ibn Ghiyath’s comment more explicitly. See Marc Herman, “Situating Maimonides’s Approach to the Oral Torah in Its Andalusian Context,” Jewish History, vol. 31, no. 1 (December 2017): 31-46, available here.
[15] This analysis bears indirectly on a debate I conducted in the pages of Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought with R. Shmuel Phillips concerning whether Maimonides adhered to a rigid, geonically derived methodology of talmudic interpretation that would have sharply limited the scope for post-talmudic harmonization or innovation. My contention in that exchange was that Maimonides engages in implicit synthesis and interpretive reconciliation of talmudic sources, even when such activity is not explicitly signaled in his formulations. The historical picture reconstructed by Herman strengthens the view of Maimonides as an independent thinker who was not constrained by geonic precedent, nor, in fact, by the precedent of his immediate Andalusian predecessors, making it difficult to sustain an account of Maimonides as merely transmitting talmudic conclusions through the mechanical application of geonic rules. See my article in Eliyahu Krakowski, “Talmud Oversimplified? A Partial Review of Talmud Reclaimed: An Ancient Text in the Modern Era by Shmuel Phillips,” Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought, vol. 35 (Summer 2024): 129-145, available here, as well as the continued exchange in Shmuel Phillips, “Talmud Reclaimed and a Battle Over Methodologies of the Rishonim,” Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought, vol. 36 (Winter 2025): 193-216, available here, and Eliyahu Krakowski, “Rejoinder: Reclaiming Talmudic Complexity,” Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought, vol. 36 (Winter 2025): 217-229, available here.

 

Gelatin, Supposed Retractions, and Abraham Goldstein, Part 1

Marc B. Shapiro

In my last post I quoted something from Mesorat Moshe and wondered whether R. Moshe Feinstein could have actually said that which is attributed to him. While the Mesorat Moshe series is quite valuable, whenever one deals with “table talk” there is always going to be the issue of how much authority do you give to such reports, especially compared with written texts of R. Moshe. Here is an example of what I am talking about.

In the new Mesorat Moshe, vol. 4, p. 191-192, R. Moshe Feinstein is asked why gelatin is forbidden, and he replies that it is because gelatin tastes good. Unfortunately, R. Moshe was given false information, as gelatin has no taste whatsoever. If this was all we had, then I think we could assume that R. Moshe should not be regarded as strict in this matter (since the strict ruling was based on an error). Yet in R. Moshe’s responsum forbidding gelatin, Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh Deah 2, no. 23, there is no mention of gelatin having a taste, so clearly this was not an important consideration for him in coming to a stringent decision. In other words, one whose only source of information in this matter comes from Mesorat Moshe will be misled. (In Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh Deah 2, no. 27, we see that R. Moshe did not know if gelatin has a taste.)

The gelatin issue has long been an interest of mine, both the halakhic and also the sociological angles. Those interested in how the gelatin controversy played out in the United States should examine Roger Horowitz’s wonderful book, Kosher USA. Chapter 3 is titled “The Great Jell-O Controversy”. The hashgachah on Jell-O was first given by Rabbis Samuel Baskin and Shimon Winograd. They later removed the hashgachah after being pressured by R. Eliezer Silver and other members of Agudas ha-Rabbonim. See R. Baskin and R. Winograd’s public statement here.

By the 1960s R. David Telsner was giving the hashgachah, and he was later joined by R. Yehuda Gershuni. (Incidentally, R. Telsner was the one who translated R. Soloveitchik’s Hamesh Derashot into Hebrew.) Here is a letter from 1975 in which these rabbis affirm that Jell-O is kosher.

Here is R. Telsner’s responsum permitting gelatin. This was printed by R. Telsner and distributed to those who wanted to know the basis for his permission. As far as I know, this responsum never appeared in any publication and it is not found on the internet.

When it comes to gelatin, there were great rabbis on both sides of the issue, and those who permitted it were able to point to the lenient position of R. Hayyim Ozer Grodzenski. Even among those rabbis who were lenient, there were disputes as to whether all gelatin is OK, including from pigskins, or only gelatin made from bones or hides of kosher animals. Not so well known is the report that R. Kook permitted gelatin.[1] Also of note is that in 1952 R. Simhah Elberg testified to the wide acceptance of gelatin in the Orthodox community:[2]

שכבר נתפשט היתר והותר ע”י גדולי וגאוני ארץ

R. Noah Sheinkopf has prepared the following list of poskim who permitted bovine gelatin. (I have not checked the sources.)

1) Rabbi Dovid Tzvi Hoffmann, Melamed L’Hoil, Y.D., #24 and #35 (By Inference)

2) Rabbi Mordechai Leib Winkler, Levushei Mordechai, Yoreh Deah Tineyna, #60

3) Rabbi Yehuda Leib Tzirelson, Lev Yehuda #39

4) Rabbi Ze’ev Bidnovitz, Divrei Ze’ev, vol. 18. #12

5) Rabbi Y.L. Graubart, Chavalim Baneimim, vol. 4. #23; (See also HaPardes, Aug. 1942, p. 19)

6) Rabbi Shmuel Pardes, Avnei Shmuel, Berurei Halacha, #19

7) Rabbi Yosef Konvitz, Divrei Yosef, vol. 1, p. 172

8) Rabbi Hayyim Ozer Grodzenski, Achiezer, vol. 3, #33, sec. 5; see also Avnei Shmuel, pp. 10-11

9) Rabbi Simcha Zelig Regeur (Brisker Dayan), printed in Kovetz Moriah, issue 400-402, p. 76-77

10) Rabbi Yitzchak Burstein, Mataamei Yitzchak, vol. 2, chap. 24-25

11) Rabbi Yosef Eliyahu Henkin, HaPardes, July 1952; Edus L’Yisrael, p. 177

12) Rabbi Yehuda Leib Seltzer, HaPardes, July 1952; Vezos L’Yehuda, O.C. #26

13) Rabbi Simcha Elberg, HaPardes, July 1952; HaPardes, October 1952 

14) Rabbi Nissen Telushkin (Chabad), Taharas HaMayim, vol. 1, chap. 54

15) Rabbi Nachum Weidenfeld, Chazon Nachum, #61

16) Rabbi Tzvi Pesach Frank, Har Tzvi, Y.D., #83

17) Rabbi Yechezkel Abramsky, introduction to Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 4; Chazon Yechezkel, Zevachim, Sh“ut #6

18) Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg, introduction to Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 4; Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 20, #33

19) Rabbi Koppel Kahana, Teshuva B’Inyan Gelatin, 1966 (By Inference)

20) Rabbi Moshe Nosson Nota Lemberger, Ateres Moshe, vol. 1, Y.D., # 42-43

21) Rabbi Yitzchak Glickman, Kol Torah, Shana 13, Choveret 4

22) Rabbi Yosef Shalom Elyashiv, Kovetz Teshuvos, #73, sec. 3 (In terms of practical halakhah, for R. Elyashiv the crucial point is if some taste remains, but as long as it is rendered completely tasteless, then he identifies with the R. Hayyim Ozer Grodzenski’s lenient decision.)

23) Rabbi Ovadya Yosef, Yabia Omer, vol. 8, Y.D., #11

24) Rabbi Ben Tzion Abba Shaul, Ohr L’Tzion, vol. 5, #32, sec. 6 (By Inference)

25) Rabbi Shlomo Amar, Shema Shlomo, vol. 5, Y.D., #12

26) Rabbi Yechezkel Roth, Emek HaTeshuva, vol. 3, #67 (By Inference)

27) Rabbi Yisroel Yaakov Fisher, Even Yisroel, vol. 8, #56

28) Rabbi Yirmiyahu Menachem Kohen, V’Heirim Kohen, vol. 2, Y.D., #31; vol. 4, Y.D., #40

29) Rabbi Moshe Levi, Tefilla L“Moshe, Y.D., #4

30) Rabbi Almog Levi, Avnay Levi, Y.D., #1

31) Rabbi Yitzchak Mekayis and Rabbi Yaakov Mekayis, Ohr HaHalacha, Kuntres #3

32) Rabbi Amit Chadad, Pri Eitz Chaim, p. 529

33) Rabbi Moshe Dan Sheinkopf, a Vice President of the Agudas HaRabbonim, who certified Kojel until the late 1970s.

To this list from R. Sheinkopf, we can add R. Yaakov Ariel, Be-Oholah shel Torah, vol. 5, pp. 76-77, R. Eliezer Melamed, Peninei Halakhah: Likutim 3, pp. 352-353, R. Shlomo Aviner (see here) and R. Yitzhak Abadi (as seen on learn.oheltorah.com and prior to this on the old site, kashrut.org). R. Abadi’s view is particularly interesting as his teacher, R. Aharon Kotler, was one of the major forces behind the general rejection of gelatin in the United States. It is also noteworthy that for a short time in the 1950s the OU also approved of gelatin.[3] R. Avraham Vilner, in an earlier post at the Seforim Blog here, provides evidence that the Hazon Ish felt that one could rely on R. Hayyim Ozer Grodzenski’s heter for gelatin.

כשאמרתי למו”ר [הרב שמריה שולמאן] שראיתי הרבה חולקים על פסקו של רבי חיים עוזר בענין הג’אלאטין, וגם אלו שבדרך כלל לא היו פוסקים נגדו כמו הרב אליעזר סיבלר, בזה פסקו אחרית ממנו, אמר לי שהראש ישיבה הרב רודערמאן זצ”ל אמר לו, שהחזון איש אמר שעל כל פסקי רבי חיים עוזר אפשר לסמוך בלי שום פקפוק, חוץ ממה שהתיר לשמש במוך היכא שהסיבה לשימוש במוך הוא מצד האיש, שבזה א”א לסמוך

Ironically, it was Conservative Rabbi Louis Ginzberg who was mahmir, writing with great certainty:

I am convinced that no rabbinical scholar who is in a position to comprehend a problem in chemistry would ever permit the use of gelatin. . . . The late Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinski was well known to me personally; as a matter of fact, his wife was a close relation to me, and I would certainly attach great weight to any decision by him on Jewish Law, but not in a case for which some knowledge of chemistry or physiology is necessary.[4]

On the other hand, Conservative Rabbi Isaac Klein, who was one of only three people to receive private semikhah from Ginzberg—the other two being Louis Finkelstein and Boaz Cohen—permitted gelatin.[5]

Returning to Mesorat Moshe and the problems with oral reports, I saw something relevant in R. Yehuda Spitz’s comprehensive new book, Food: A Halachic Analysis. The matter under discussion is whether one can use the same dishwasher for meat and milk utensils. R. Moshe has a number of responsa where he says that this is permissible as long as you have separate dish racks. His first responsum on the topic appears in Iggerot Moshe, Orah Hayyim 1, no. 104, and is from early 1957. It is the second part of one of his famous responsa on bat mitzvah, and was sent to R. Baruch Aharon Poupka of Pittsburgh. (For some reason, the heading of the responsum only mentions bat mitzvah, not the dishwasher question). R. Moshe’s answer is short and to the point:

ובדבר הכלי החדשה [!] לרחץ את הכלים שנקרא בשם “דיש וואשער” אם יכולין לרחוץ שם כלי בשר וכלי חלב זה אחר זה. הנה צריך שמה שבתוכו שהוא על מה שמניחין הכלים, שיהיה לכלי בשר אחרים ולכלי חלב אחרים, ועצם הדיש וואשער שמשימין בתוכו הדבר שמניחין עליו הכלים שהוא רק הדפנות שסביבותם יכולין להשתמש בו לשניהם בזה אחר זה

This is a very simple reply, and it is not possible to misunderstand what R. Moshe is saying. R. Moshe later sent two other responsa where he explains his reason for requiring separate dish racks (Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh Deah 2, nos. 28, 29). In the latter responsum, he mentions that different water should be used for the milk and meat washings. (In the earliest dishwashers you could use the same water more than once.) He states that he did not mention this point in the original responsum because in any event those who have a dishwasher change the water between cycles. He specifically tells us that he is referring to householders, not that anyone would have any doubt about this.

ובפרט שזמן גדול בהרבה שעות יש לכל בעה“ב מרחיצת כלי חלב עד רחיצת כלי בשר ולא ישאירו שם המים סרוחין זמן כזה

In this responsum, R. Moshe also recommends running an empty rinse cycle between milk and meat dishes. R. Moshe repeats his basic position in a couple of other responsa,[6] and a simple internet source will reveal that lots of people have discussed R. Moshe’s view and there is no room for misunderstanding.

R. Spitz, Food: A Halachic Analysis, p. 70, quotes someone who spoke to R. Moshe about his “dishwasher leniency.” According to this person, R. Moshe explained that everyone misunderstood what he wrote, and his view that one can use the same dishwasher with separate racks was only stated regardingcommercial dishwashers. However, when it comes to the home, one cannot use the same dishwasher, even with separate racks. Based on this report, R. Spitz writes, “If so, there is ample reason to be stringent, certainly lechatchilla, regarding using the same dishwasher for both milk and meat dishes.”

I have to say that testimony such as this has absolutely no halakhic significance. There is indeed reason to be stringent, based on the views of other poskim (and most people do not seem to follow R. Moshe’s heter of two dish racks). However, if all we had was this report, it would not lead us to ignore R. Moshe’s explicit position in his responsa.

We have many examples of such statements, where a posek supposedly said something privately that completely contradicts what he said in print. In such cases, one cannot rely on these supposed retractions or statements of clarification, except in very rare cases where the author makes his opinion widely known or the person reporting the retraction is a universally recognized Torah scholar[7] (although even in the latter case we cannot always rely on the scholar reporting the supposed retraction).[8] I have no way of knowing what the man R. Spitz quotes was told by R. Moshe. It could be that he completely misunderstood what R. Moshe said. It could also be that R. Moshe had a reason for telling this person what he did, as perhaps R. Moshe thought that this man should hold to a higher level. But it is simply incorrect to suggest that R. Moshe was not referring to a home dishwasher when all can see that he certainly was. R. Spitz himself, p. 71 n. 23, recognizes that R. Moshe was referring to home dishwashers. He also cites R. Baruch Moskowitz, Ve-Dibarta Bam, vol. 2, no. 244, that R. Dovid Feinstein also explained his father’s position as referring to home dishwashers. You can also listen to R. Shmuel Fuerst, a leading student of R. Moshe, explain the matter here.

Quite apart from my point just mentioned, that reports of private conversations that contradict a posek’s written opinion do not have halakhic significance, I must again stress the larger problem raised by books like Mesorat Moshe which is how much significance we should give to works that report oral teachings of great rabbis. Since we have so many examples of contradictory reports and incorrect statements in such texts, I think it is obvious that even such a wonderful work as Mesorat Moshe has to be used carefully, and in no way can it be seen as rising to the level of authority of what R. Moshe himself wrote.

Returning to the gelatin issue, Horowitz tells the story of Abraham Goldstein (1861-1944), who really should be given the title of originator of industrial hashgachot in the United States. Here is his picture.[9]

It was Goldstein who was behind the OU’s kosher certification program and who established the agreements with the early companies. He was also the OU’s “chemical expert,” yet as Horowitz notes, he has been completely erased from the OU’s institutional memory.[10]

In 1935 he broke with the OU and founded the OK Laboratories. This would be sold in 1969 to Rabbi Berel Levy, and would then become a universally recognized hashgachah. However, this was not the case when Goldstein was in charge, and it is when Goldstein founded the OK that the controversial period of his life begins. This was because Goldstein, who was not a rabbi and had no expertise in Jewish law, set out to determine what was kosher and what was not. He made it clear that in determining what was kosher, chemists (such as himself) were a more reliable source than rabbis, as the latter did not understand food technology and were mistakenly giving approval to non-kosher food items. Goldstein had a very simple approach to the matter: If a product had any non-kosher element in it, it was treif and forbidden to be eaten. The notions of bitul or that the non-kosher food had so changed its form were not considerations he paid any attention to.[11] He also did not rely on rabbis whom he felt were not careful in such matters. Thus, he refused to accept the hashgachot issued on Coke by R. Samuel Pardes, editor of Ha-Pardes, and later by R. Tuvia Geffen.[12]

As Horowitz notes, R. Geffen was not happy with R. Pardes’ hashgachah on Coke because the drink included 0.09 percent glycerin from a non-kosher source. This is a very tiny amount—less than 1 in 1000—which according to halakhah is batel, and thus of no halakhic significance. Yet there are some fundamental questions involved here. One is if the tiny amount of non-kosher is put in as part of production, rather than accidentally falling in, do we still say that it is batel? Most authorities assume yes, so from this angle R. Pardes would have been on firm ground to declare the drink kosher. However, there is another issue, and that is can you officially give a hashgachah to an item relying on bitul, especially when the company will then be advertising the product as kosher? This can certainly be seen as distasteful and perhaps even bringing us to a situation of ein mevatelin issur lekhathilah (as the kashrut organization is now involved with the company).

R. Geffen believed that Coke should not be given a hashgachah as long as the non-kosher glycerin was not replaced with a kosher alternative. In fact, as far as I can see, R. Pardes himself never argued that it is acceptable to rely on bitul in issuing a hashgachah, since he flatly declared—mistakenly it turns out—that there were no non-kosher ingredients in Coke (that is, he was not saying that the non-kosher ingredients were of no halakhic significance).[13]

Goldstein had nothing but contempt for the way the old-time rabbis went about issuing hashgachot, and R. Pardes’ hashgachah on Coke was just another illustration of this. In speaking of R. Pardes, Goldstein wrote that “such men undermine the very foundation of our religion” and “there is no room for such scoundrels in decent company.” To reiterate, this was not a dispute between two rabbis but rather a layperson with no yeshiva training declaring that a learned rabbi did not understand the basic laws of kashrut. As far as the rabbis were concerned, the chutzpah here was unbelievable, and this was doubled by the fact that Goldstein’s Kosher Food Guide, which included all sorts of important information about kosher food together with Goldstein’s attacks on various rabbis, had a circulation of 150,000.[14] Significantly, Goldstein refused the OU’s demand that his publication be reviewed by rabbinic scholars.[15] Goldstein believed that when it came to modern food technology, he should be the one telling the rabbis what was kosher, not the reverse.

As Horowitz describes, Goldstein ratcheted up his attacks on R. Pardes after the latter gave a hashgachah to Junket, a product that was used to make a custardlike desert but which contained rennet that came from calves that were not ritually slaughtered. R. Pardes also received the backing of the OU for both his Junket hashgachah and his hashgachah on gelatin. (In 1952, after R. Eliezer Silver’s expressed a stringent opinion regarding gelatin, the OU removed its endorsement.[16])

Here is an ad from Ha-Pardes, April 1938, for Junket, with R. Pardes’ hashgachah.

Here is an ad from Ha-Pardes, April 1943, for Carmel gelatin, with R. Pardes’ hashgachah.

Here is an ad from Ha-Pardes, April 1943, for Kojel gelatin, with R. Judah Leib Seltzer’s hashgachah.

In Goldstein’s opinion, the fact that the OU would support R. Pardes when it came to Junket—he was no longer alive when the OU approved of gelatin—only showed how low his former organization had fallen and how little it understood of food technology. For Goldstein, it was not only a sign of ignorance on the part of R. Pardes and the OU, as he also wondered if there was financial corruption involved. Addressing R. Pardes, Goldstein asked, “How much money has been paid for this false Hekhsher.” Turning to the OU, he asked if any them “participated in the division of this money.”[17] When it came to the issue of gelatin—which had great rabbis on both sides of the issue—Goldstein expressed his ire over Jello-O advertisements in the Jewish press, stating that these advertisements “are not only deplorable from a Jewish religious standpoint,” but were “an outrageous attempt to smuggle an absolutely trefa article into Jewish homes.”[18] He later repeated his warning regarding other brands of gelatin: “Neither Carmel, Emes, or Kojel gelatines can be used in Orthodox homes. They are trefa gelatines, despite the Rabbinical Heckshers.”[19] So here we have a layperson declaring that a product endorsed by leading American rabbis was “absolutely trefa.”

It was one thing for a rabbi who opposed the kashrut of gelatin to say such a thing, but to have a halakhically unlearned layperson setting himself up as the arbiter of what is, and is not, kosher was too much for the rabbinic leadership in the United States. Now it was no longer a question about the kashrut of Junket and gelatin—both of which R. Eliezer Silver himself would later reject—but respect due to talmidei hakhamim. As far as the rabbis were concerned, it simply was unacceptable for a layperson to establish himself as an authority when it came to kashrut. The most that he could do was supply information to the rabbis so they could make the proper halakhic decisions, but to publicly challenge the rabbis about their scientific facts and halakhic interpretations went over the line, and it was time for the rabbis to put Goldstein in his place. Here is the public statement issued by Agudas ha-Rabbonim and the Rabbinical Board of Greater N.Y.[20]

This is the English translation of the following Hebrew proclamation that appeared in Ha-Pardes, August 1939, p. 16.[21]

Almost ten years later it was Goldstein’s son, George, who was running the OK after the death of his father. He too was causing problems for R. Pardes. In Ha-Pardes, January 1948, p. 21, R. Pardes attacked the younger Goldstein, referring to him as הנער החצוף.

Despite the virtual herem on Abraham Goldstein, I agree with Horowitz[22] that at least to some extent Goldstein was posthumously vindicated. While the notion that a layperson could challenge learned rabbis in halakhic matters was never countenanced (and this is presumably the reason why Goldstein is completely absent from the OU’s institutional memory), Goldstein’s other point, that knowledge of chemistry and food technology is vital for kosher supervisors, has been accepted by all the mainstream hashgachot. Furthermore, despite the opposition of the rabbis to Goldstein’s OK, it remained a popular hashgachah with a wide following. In fact, until the mid-1950s, the OK supervised more products than the OU.[23]

One can only imagine Goldstein’s reaction had he heard of a pesak of the famed R. Ishmael ha-Kohen of Modena (1723-1811) in his Zera Emet, vol. 2, no. 48. The question is as follows:

נשאלתי מהו ליתן רפואה לחולה שאין בו סכנה חתיכות עגולים קטנים שקורין בוקונ”י בלע”ז מרוקחים בהרבה מינים ובכללם יש ג”כ עצם גולגלות אדם שרוף וכתות

R. Ishmael was asked about using a medicine for someone who was sick but not in serious danger. The issue was that the medicine contained pieces of a ground up human skull. This is what has been called “powdered skull,” and was a common medicine in the eighteenth century.[24] R. Ishmael permits one to consume this “medicine”.

A few centuries earlier, R. David Ibn Zimra was also asked about medicine that was made from flesh of non-Jewish dead bodies (מומ”יא — mummies).[25] R. Ibn Zimra focuses his responsum on the issue of benefiting from a dead body, since when it comes to eating the flesh, he sees no problem at all in this, as its form has been entirely changed:

איסור אכילה לא הוצרכת לשאול דודאי מותר באכילה שהרי נשתנה צורתו וחזר להיות עפר בעלמא וכ”ש ע”י סמים שהרי המומי”א היא בשר החנוטין שחונטין אותם בכמה מיני סמים כדי להעמיד צורתו וגופו וחזר להיות כעין זפת ואין בו איסור אכילה

For those interested in learning more about the subject of “corpse medicine”—which included much more than the skull—and if your stomach can handle it, I recommend Richard Sugg, Mummies, Cannibals and Vampires: The History of Corpse Medicine from the Renaissance to the Victorians (London and New York, 2016). What passed for medical cures in pre-modern times is shocking, and often downright disgusting.

As late as 1907, the Adeni Rabbi Samuel Yeshuah[26] discusses sick people who consume “mummy medicine,” what he refers to as

 רפואת ההבל שנתפשט בין העם . . . באמת המומיא הזו לא יועיל ולא יציל והיה כלא היה

I assume many readers will be shocked to learn that great poskim permitted what I have just described. Today, of course, it would turn our stomachs to even think about consuming part of a corpse, much like Goldstein was outraged that anyone could think that it is permissible to consume something from a non-kosher animal, even from a pig no less. Yet this revulsion does not arise from halakhah. Speaking personally, I can’t imagine that anyone I know would eat a piece of meat from a pile if he knew that a non-kosher piece had fallen into the group of kosher pieces, despite what the halakhah says; all the more so if a piece of pork fell into a kosher dish even if it was nullified by 60. Again, our revulsion has its origin in feelings that have little to do with pure halakhah. In fact, some authorities feel that to be strict in such cases is akin to heresy, as it is in practice (but not in theory) a denial of the halakhic principle of bitul.[27]

If I could have spoken to Goldstein, I would have tried to explain to him that the halakhic system does not work in accord with what has been called “da’at baalei batim,” and those who forbid gelatin also acknowledge that not everything from a non-kosher animal is forbidden. The gelatin dispute concerns the role of gelatin in the finished food product, not with the existence of non-kosher per se. Thus, even one who is strict in the matter of gelatin would not start screaming if he saw his son standing in right field chewing on his non-shechted leather baseball mitt.

To be continued

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My Torah in Motion trips are starting again. I am leading a group to Morocco in January, and there is a full line-up for next summer. You can see details here.

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I am currently doing a series of classes for Torah in Motion on R. Saul Lieberman. You can see them here on YouTube. Here are some pictures that were taken at the Jewish Theological Seminary minyan in Unterberg Auditorium on Hoshana Rabba 1971. (At this minyan there was separate seating but no mechitzah.) The pictures were taken by Joel Mandelbaum, son of R. Bernard Mandelbaum who held many positions at the Seminary, including serving as president from 1966-1973 under Chancellor Louis Finkelstein.

Here is Lieberman.

Here is Lieberman and Louis Finkelstein. Abraham Joshua Heschel is standing between them and Bernard Mandelbaum is on the far right.

In front of Lieberman, leading the procession, is Moshe Zucker. Behind Lieberman is Simon Greenberg.

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[1] See Ha-Pardes, August 1942, p. 19. It also states here that R. Shlomo Natan Kotler permitted gelatin.

[2] Ha-Pardes, October 1952, p. 31.

[3] See Horowitz, Kosher USA (New York, 2016), pp. 59-60.

[4] The Responsa of Professor Louis Ginzberg, ed. David Golinkin (New York and Jerusalem, 1996), p. 152.

[5] Responsa and Halakhic Studies (n.p., 1975), ch. 7.

[6] Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh Deah 3, nos. 10, 11.

[7] For example, the Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh Deah 201:75, famously forbids heated mikvaot. (R. Karo cites the stringent view as יש מי שאוסר and he does not offer a lenient alternative). However, R. Eliezer ben Arha of Hebron (died 1691) reported that R. Karo abandoned this stringency and permitted the heating of a mikveh.

ואפילו בזמן הרב מוהרי”ק זלה”ה עשה מעשה נגד מה שפסק שחשש וכתב סברת האוסר, כי רבים מבני עליה הם המתירין, ועלייהו קא סמכינן

See She’elot u-Teshuvot Rabbenu Eliezer ben Arha (Jerusalem, 1978), no. 18, and see note 1 for the impact of this reported change in R. Karo’s position.

Another interesting phenomenon, which I will not discuss in this post, is when a posek refuses to put a leniency into writing. How authoritative is this posek’s oral ruling? A classic example of this is R. Moshe Feinstein’s opinion about turning off the flame of a gas stove on Yom Tov. In Iggerot Moshe, Orah Hayyim I, no. 128, R. Moshe writes that he doesn’t wish to put his opinion in writing, but it is known that he permitted this.

[8] See e.g., here where I discuss the false claim that R. Ezekiel Landau retracted his view that sturgeon is kosher. For the claim that R. Joseph Hayyim retracted his permission to ride a bicycle on Shabbat where there is an eruv (Rav Pealim, vol. 1, Orah Hayyim, no. 25), see R. Ovadiah Hadaya, Yaskil Avdi, vol. 3, Orah Hayim, no. 12:5:4, vol. 5, Orah Hayyim, no. 40. For a rejection of this claim, see R. Ovadiah Yosef, Yabia Omer, vol. 9, Orah Hayyim, no. 108:189. See also here where R. Doniel Neustadt writes: “Several sources report that the Chafetz Chayim eventually changed his ruling and exempted cooked fruits served for dessert from a blessing; see Orchos Rabbeinu 66 and Vezos ha-Berachah, pg. 78. Others dispute that the Chafetz Chayim changed his ruling.” The forger Chaim Bloch, Ha-Maor, Dec. 1951, p. 7, who was himself opposed to the gelatin heter, claims to have discussed the matter with R. Hayyim Ozer Grodzenski. Not surprisingly, Bloch records that R. Grodzenski told him that he never actually gave a ruling on the question of gelatin. Rather, he was only stating that his opinion inclined in this direction. For a rejection of Bloch’s false testimony, see R. Samuel Baskin and R. Shimon Winograd in Ha-Maor, Aug. 1952, pp. 7-8. Here is some of what they write:

אם הגאון רח”ע באמת חזר מתשובתו ומהיתרו על תוצרת הנ”ל, איך לא הודיע זאת ברבים, כדי שלא יכשלו ח”ו ויסמכו על פסקו ותשובתו בשו”ת אחיעזר, ויעשו מעשה לכתחילה בדבר שלא נתן הגאון הנ”ל היתר מוחלט, ועוד אם הגאון רח”ע ז”ל דיבר עם הרב ח”ב בשנת תרצ”ה כאשר כותב בהירחון “המאור”, איך כתב הרב הגאון רח”ע ז”ל להרב הגאון ר’ יוסף קאנוויץ ז”ל בחודש אייר שנת תרצ”ו שנה או יותר לאחר שיחתו עם הרב ח”ב, שמסכים עמו על היתרו בדבר הכשר הז’לטין

[9] The picture is found here and comes from the Ezra and Monica Friedman collection.

[10] Kosher USA, p. 26.

[11] See Spitz, Food: A Halachic Analysis, p. 459: “Dr. Goldstein . . . publicly maintained that any food item whose origins lie in a non-kosher source may not be considered kosher, no matter how “changed” it may currently appear.”

[12] Horowitz, Kosher USA, pp. 33ff.

[13] See Adam Mintz, “Is Coca-Cola Kosher?” in Rafael Medoff, ed., Rav Chesed: Essays in Honor of Rabbi Dr. Haskel Lookstein (Jersey City, 2009), vol. 2, p. 80; Horowitz, Kosher USA, p. 36.

[14] Horowitz, Kosher USA, pp. 29, 37.

[15] Horowitz, Kosher USA, p. 41.

[16] Horowitz, Kosher USA, p. 64.

[17] Horowitz, Kosher USA, pp. 38, 41.

[18] Horowitz, Kosher USA, p. 50.

[19] Horowitz, Kosher USA, pp. 54-55. Kojel is no longer is made with problematic gelatin and is currently under the OU hashgachah.

[20] Document provided courtesy of the Israel Rosenberg Archive, The Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary, New York, NY, ARC 98, Box 6, Folder 23.

[21] This proclamation was reprinted in Ha-Pardes, October 1939, p. 29. For other attacks on Goldstein see Ha-Pardes, August 1942, p. 17; Ha-Mesilah, Adar 5702, p. 20, sections ב, ה.

[22] Horowitz, Kosher USA, p. 42.

[23] See here.

[24] See here.

[25] She’elot u-Teshuvot ha-Radbaz, vol. 3, no. 548.

[26] Nahalat Yosef (Jerusalem, 1907), pp. 15a-b.

[27] For one discussion, see here.

Tikkun Olam Revisited
Shmuel Lesher 

Shmuel Lesher is the assistant rabbi of the BAYT in Toronto, Canada. You may reach him at shmuel.lesh@gmail.com.

Tikkun Olam, translated as either “healing the world” or “repairing the world” is a phrase that evokes a variety of reactions today. This two-word Hebrew phrase has become known to many even outside of the Jewish world as the Jewish term for social action. In fact, while President of the United States, Barak Obama invoked tikkun olam in a speech he delivered in Israel in 2013.[1]

Notwithstanding the terms’ acclaim, there have been those who have severely criticized its popularity. In 2018, Jonathan Neumann, in his book To Heal The World? How the Jewish Left Corrupts Judaism and Endangers Israel writes that the “tikkun olam movement” (a term he coined) is one that is born out of a rejection of traditional Jewish law and practice is synonymous with a politically leftist agenda. In his words:

Tikkun olam has no basis in Judaism. It was conceived by Jews who rejected the faith of their fathers and midwifed by radicals who saw it as a pretext to appropriate Jewish texts and corrupt Jewish rituals — such as the Pesach Seder — to further political ends. Tikkun olam represents…for all the talk of liberation, the enslavement of Judaism to liberal politics.[2]

Neumann argues that the current popularity of tikkun olam actually undermines Jewish peoplehood and “gives sanction to Anti-Zionism and assimilation.”[3]

Neumann is right and he is wrong. He is right that many have used tikkun olam to further their own political agenda without much of a basis in traditional Torah sources. He is also correct to challenge those who have jumped onto the tikkun olam bandwagon. As none other than Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, a vocal advocate for tikkun olam and social action himself, has noted, for some, “social justice has become a substitute for religious observance or G-d.”[4]

This trend is further evidenced by Jack Wertheimer, a professor of American Jewish history at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America and its former provost:

The large majority of non-Orthodox Jews have internalized a very contemporary set of values and ways of thinking about ethical decision making indistinguishable from those of their non-Jewish peers. They have been encouraged in this direction by religious leaders who invented a new commandment in the 1980’s — the injunction to engage in tikkun olam…Whatever act a Jew undertakes in a well-meaning way has come to be seen as an act of tikkun olam.”[5]

However, Neumann is wrong to assert that tikkun olam, a concern for the welfare of general society, has no basis in Judaism. 

Granted, as R. Jonathan Sacks has argued in the context of “progress” and Judaism’s view of social justice, “It is anachronistic to read back into ancient sources ideas that made their appearance centuries later.”[6] Some of the literature on tikkun olam suffers from this mistake. It is intellectually dishonest for an author to use the term “tikkun” used in Kabbalah and Jewish mysticism, or in the Aleinu prayer, “li-taken olam bi-malkhut shakay,” a hope for a world devoid of idol worship that recognizes one single G-d, and repurpose it to support the cause of feeding the hungry, universal health care, caring for those who suffered from AIDS, and other social justice causes.[7] Neumann is certainly on point by noting that the usage of the term “mipnei tikkun ha-olam” in the Talmud and in most of rabbinic literature refers to rabbinic enactments specifically for the Jewish community and not for the betterment of society at large – a far cry from the way in which the concept is used in Jewish social justice activism.[8] However, if one looks beyond the technical usage and context of this one term, there are certainly traditional sources for the importance of Jewish involvement in the betterment of general society.

A Light Unto the Nations

When one takes a look at the sources, from the Talmud until the contemporary halakhic literature, it is clear that the recognition that the Jewish people is charged with the improvement of mankind as a whole has widely been accepted among rabbinic scholars.[9]

There is a Breita (a Tannaic teaching) cited in Gittin (61a) that states that Jews are to support the gentile poor, visit their sick, and bury their dead along with the dead of Israel, and maintain their poor “mipnei darkei shalom, for the ways of peace.” Whereas some authorities interpret this phrase to mean that we adopt a non-discriminatory policy for these social issues in order to avoid non-Jewish animosity,[10] Rambam appears to see a far-reaching principle in the Mishnah. When codifying this law, his formulation is instructive:

Even with respect to Gentiles, our Sages admonish us (tzivu hakhamim) to visit their sick, bury their dead along with the dead of Israel, and maintain their poor as well as the Jewish poor in the interests of peace (mipnei darkei shalom). Behold it is written, “The L-rd is good to all, and His mercies are over all His works” (Psalms 145:9). It is also written, “Its ways are ways of pleasantness and all its paths are peace (vikhol netivoseha shalom)” (Proverbs 3:17).

Rambam is advocating for a positive obligation given to the Jewish community by Hazal to engender peace with non-Jews. Complementing this, Rabbeinu Bahya writes that “tzedek tzedek tirdof”, “one should chase after justice” (Deuteronomy 16:20) includes our obligation to act justly with non-Jews as well.[11]

Rabbi Elazar and Rabbi Yoḥanan state in Pesahim (87b) based on a verse in Hoshea (2:25), that the purpose for the exile of the Jewish people among the nations was so that converts would join them. The Maharsha interprets this to mean not to proselytize, but rather “to spread faith among idol worshipers.”[12] These sources clearly demonstrate a legal and moral concern for the nations of the world.

Going even further, Rabbi J. David Bleich notes, “There are sources indicating that the divine intent is that…the nations of the world adopt the standards that are normative for Jews.”[13] R. Bleich cites the positions of Rabbi Yaakov Ettlinger, the author of the Arukh Laner, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, and Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, or the Netziv, in support of his thesis.

The Netziv, in a number of places, emphasizes the Jew’s obligation towards general society. In the introduction to Shemot in his Ha-amek Davar, he writes, “It is Hashem’s desire that [gentiles] study Scripture and for that reason [He] commanded it be translated into seventy languages.”[14] Netziv comments on the character of our Patriarchs who “conducted themselves with nations of the world, even…idolaters…with love and with concern for their benefit since that is what sustains creation.”[15] He also writes of the concept of being a “light unto the nations.”[16] In his words, “Israel was created to be an illumination to the nations [of the world] and to cause them to achieve knowledge of Hashem.”[17]

R. Ettlinger interprets the same concept of the Jewish people being a light unto the nations, as serving as a moral example to which they should aspire.[18] R. Ettlinger’s student, R. Samson Raphael Hirsch writes at length of the Jewish people’s obligation to serve as a moral example for all of mankind.[19]

In his landmark 1964 essay on interfaith dialogue, Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik writes of the double confrontation we face with those outside of our faith community:

We Jews have been burdened with a twofold task: we have to cope with the problem of a ‘double confrontation.’ We think of ourselves as human beings, sharing the destiny of Adam in his general encounter with nature, and as members of a covenantal community…In this difficult role, we are summoned by G-d, who revealed himself at both the level of universal creation and that of the private covenant, to undertake a double mission — the universal human and the exclusive covenantal confrontation.[20]

R. Soloveitchik refers to the Jewish commitment towards society, the “universal human covenant” as the “story [the non-Jewish faith community] already knows.” In his words:

We are human beings committed to the general welfare and progress of humanity, that we are interested in combating disease, in alleviating human suffering, in protecting man’s rights, in helping the needy, etc. – but also what is still unknown to it, namely our otherness as a metaphysical covenantal community.[21]

Notwithstanding the many Torah sources cited above supporting a commitment to the general welfare of society, as well as R. Soloveitchik’s words themselves, I have a feeling that this story is regrettably not known to many, neither in the non-Jewish faith community or in our community. [22]

The Seven Noahide Laws

The Talmud in Sanhedrin (56a) states that non-Jews are obligated in the seven Noahide laws. The Rambam emphasizes a Jew’s obligation to encourage non-Jews to adhere to the seven Noahide laws in the land of Israel.[23] In fact, the Rambam writes that the Jewish courts are obligated to establish judges for non-Jewish residents in order to enforce adherence to the Noahide Laws.[24]

Some contemporary poskim have strongly cautioned against publicizing and encouraging non-Jews to observe the Noahide Laws. Rabbi Moshe Sternbuch was staunchly opposed to Jews in any way encouraging non-Jews to observe the Noahide laws.[25] Although less adamant than R. Sternbuch, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein writes that, although it is permitted to teach the Noahide Laws to gentiles, it best not to publicize this.[26]

Rav Yosef states in Bava Kama (38a) that Hashem saw that the nations of the world were not observing the Noahide laws and therefore, He revoked the prohibitions and permitted them. Based on a number of verses, the Gemara connects Rav Yosef’s statement to the moment in history when Hashem chose to give the Torah to the Jewish people. There are a variety of explanations offered for this passage in the Talmud. The Hatam Sofer cites a ruling of the Pnei Yehoshua who explains this passage to mean that after the giving of the Torah, there is no obligation whatsoever for Jews to influence non-Jews to observe the Noahide Laws as they are no longer commanded to keep them.[27]

However, the Hatam Sofer himself disagrees and posits that the when Rav Yosef stated Hashem permitted the Noahide laws, he only meant to say that non-Jews no longer receive reward for their obligated observance of the Noahide laws, rather they receive reward like an “eino metzuveh,” someone who is not commanded, however they are still punished for violating what they are obligated in.[28] According to this reading of the Gemara, one could still argue that Jews should still encourage the observance of the Noahide Laws. 

Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, although not an advocate of interfaith dialogue within a religious context, somewhat surprisingly, does support teaching the Noahide laws:

The Torah was not given to non-Jews directly, but the Almighty has offered it to all of mankind indirectly, as a promise, a vision, an eschatological expectation, the ultimate end of history. The Torah was given to us so many millennia ago. Our task was and still is to teach Torah to mankind, to influence the non-Jewish world, to redeem it from an orgiastic way of living, from cruelty and insensitivity, to arouse in mankind a sense of justice and fairness. In a word, we are to teach the seven mitzvot that are binding on every human being.[29]

The strongest case for a Jew’s obligation to encourage non-Jewish observance of the Noahide laws can be found in the writings of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, whose approach to social action will be analyzed in depth below. In a letter to Chaplain Brigadier General Israel Drazin, the Rebbe emphasized the importance of the Noahide laws and the Jewish community’s obligation to encourage the observance of these commandments.[30]

The Lubavitcher Rebbe: A 20th Century Hasidic Socio-Mystical Thinker and Social Activist 

One contemporary Jewish thinker who took an active role in general society stands in a league of his own — the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson. One would be hard-pressed to find a better example in the 20th century of someone who was both staunchly committed to authentic Torah values and at the same time dedicated to the betterment of general society than the Lubavitcher Rebbe. The Rebbe developed a comprehensive, holistic, and deeply spiritual mandate for what sociologist Philip Wexler refers to as the “resacralization” of society. 

The Re-enchantment and Resacralization of Society

Borrowing from a term coined by Abraham Maslow, Wexler argues that today’s culture is in dire need of “resacralization,” a process of reintroducing values, creativity, emotion, and ritual into society. Instead of the social sciences and education in general assuming a totally secularized approach to the world, according to Wexler, we have now reached, what he deems to be, a post-secular era that demands a paradigm shift and a resacralization.[32]

Menorahs in the Public Square

The Rebbe’s campaign for the public lighting of Hanukkah menorahs is likely the most visible example of the Rebbe’s mission to bring spirituality, light, and a moral awareness to society at large. The public lighting of a giant menorah began in 1974 at the foot of Philadelphia’s Liberty Bell. By the late 1970’s, the practice began to gain visibility and traction. In fact, in 1979, President Jimmy Carter left a one-hundred-day self-imposed seclusion during the Iran hostage crisis in order to light the Chabad menorah in front of the White House.[33] But the Rebbe’s activities did not go without objections. In 1978, Rabbi Joseph Glaser, the head of the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR), the organization of Reform Rabbis, penned a letter to the Rebbe criticizing the public display of religion:

It has come to my attention that the Lubavitcher Chassidim are erecting Hanukkiot and holding religious services in connection therewith on public property in various locations throughout the United States. This is as much a violation of the constitutional principle of separation of church and state as is the erection of Christmas trees…It weakens our hands when we protest this institution of Christian doctrine into the public life of American citizens and thus, it is really not worth the value received.[34]  

In an additional letter, Glaser indicates the future legal efforts that were to come to the fore to stop the Menorah Campaign.[35] He ends his letter with an appeal to the Rebbe to end the menorah lightings immediately.[36] In the Rebbe’s response, he notes that there has already been positive acclaim observed over a number of years as a result of the menorah lightings:

The fact is that countless Jews in all parts of the country have been impressed and inspired by the spirit of Chanukah which has been brought to them, to many for the first time.[37] 

Regarding the constitutional issue, an issue that emerged a number of times throughout his career, the Rebbe was more forceful and unequivocal:

I can most assuredly allay your apprehension on this score. I am fully certain that none of those who participated in or witnessed the kindling of a Chanukah Lamp in a public place (and in all cases permission was readily granted by authorities) felt that his or her loyalty to the Constitution of the U.S.A. had been weakened or compromised thereby…seeing that the U.S. Congress opens [its daily sessions] with a religious invocation…and surely the U.S. Congress, comprising each and every state of the Union, is the place where the Constitution…should be most rigidly upheld.[38]

In his final letter to the Rebbe, Glaser makes a new argument, one that may be quite surprising to today’s reader. Glaser notes that the Rebbe sees some intrinsic value in having Jews attend a public menorah lighting. Glaser counters, “Ultimately the survival of Judaism depends on the home.” It is there that the menorah should be lit. Having people observing the ceremony in public constitutes a “flamboyant religious exercise instead of sacred home ritual.”[39] It is more than ironic that a major figure in the very movement that champions contributing to general society as their raison d’etre, hence the centrality of tikkun olam, claimed that Judaism’s rituals should be relegated to the Jewish home. 

Although it is not explicitly stated in the Glaser correspondence, the Rebbe’s advocacy of menorah lighting was rooted in his deeper conviction in the crucial role religion must play for society as a whole. In a 1990 worldwide menorah-lighting satellite event the Rebbe made this clear:

G-d gave each of us a soul, which is a candle that He gives us to illuminate our surroundings with His light…We must not only illuminate the inside of homes, but also the outside, and the world at large.[40]

The Educational Model of The Lubavitcher Rebbe

Building on the social theories of Max Weber and Emile Durkheim, Wexler argues in his groundbreaking work Social Vision: The Lubavitcher Rebbe’s Transformative Paradigm for the World, that religion, and specifically the socio-mystical community model of Habad Hasidim, has the potential to usher in a new social paradigm for society today.[41]  Wexler documents that the Rebbe’s educational program provided the foundation for an all-encompassing revision of social policy and social life in the United States.[42]

The Lubavitcher Rebbe’s educational agenda made its way into the public square when in 1978 President Jimmy Carter acted upon a congressional resolution to declare R. Schneerson’s 76th birthday “Education Day, U.S.A.,” recognizing the Rebbe’s commitment to general education in the United States for over three decades. 

This was a reflection of the active role the Rebbe took throughout his life in the advancement of education in American society. In 1960, R. Schneerson sent a four-person delegation to the White House Conference on Children and Youth where they argued that “children and youth be granted greater opportunities for specific religious education.”[43] A decade later, a fuller memorandum of Lubavitch policy proposal was entered into the Congressional Record. Here, the Rebbe’s vision for education in the United States is sharply articulated:

An educational system must have a soul. Children are not computers to be fed a mass of informational data, without regard for their human needs for higher goals and ideals in life.[44]

Yet, the Rebbe did not stop at what was taught in the classroom. His approach to educational policy is that it is equally important for an educational model to impact the homes, streets, and the entire social context of the students. According to Wexler, in the new social ethos of Hasidism, as conceived by R. Schneerson, lies an alternative to our current educational system. In such a model, using Wexler’s terminology, pedagogy can be seen as “initiatory, awakening, interactive…imaginative divinization.”[45]

The Non-Denominational Prayer 

The Rebbe’s view of the paramount importance of an education with a soul was given concrete expression in his advocacy for non-denominational prayer in public school classrooms in the United States. In 1962, in the Supreme Court case Engel v. Vitale, this proposition was deemed unconstitutional.[46] The case sparked a great level of controversy about the nature of education in America and how schools should best negotiate the separation of Church and State. Many Jewish groups applauded the decision of the courts.[47] However, the Rebbe, in two powerful letters, one written in 1962 and one in 1964, made his position clear. I cite excerpts of the 1964 letter below at length because I feel it clearly shows the Rebbe’s passion about this issue:

Let me assure you at once that my view… [has] not changed…On the contrary, if there could have been any change at all, it was to reinforce my conviction of the vital need that the children in the public schools should be allowed to begin their day at school with the recitation of a non-denominational prayer, acknowledging the existence of a Creator and Master of the Universe, and our dependence upon Him. In my opinion, this acknowledgment is absolutely necessary in order to impress upon the minds of our growing-up generation that the world in which they live is not a jungle, where brute force, cunning and unbridled passion rule supreme, but that it has a Master Who is not an abstraction, but a personal G‑d; that this Supreme Being takes a “personal interest” in the affairs of each and every individual, and to Him everyone is accountable for one’s daily conduct.

Juvenile delinquency, the tragic symptom of the disillusionment, insecurity and confusion of the young generation, has not abated; rather the reverse is the case…The remedy lies in removing the cause, not in merely treating the symptoms. It will not suffice to tell the juvenile delinquent that crime does not pay, and that he will eventually land in jail (if he is not smart enough?). Nor will he be particularly impressed if he is admonished that law-breaking is an offense against society. It is necessary to engrave upon the child’s mind the idea that any wrongdoing is an offense against the Divine authority and order.

According to the Rebbe’s shrewd analysis, for most people, well-reasoned argumentation or rational decision making, is simply not enough of a foundation to compel the observance of universal moral standards. A deep and lasting moral sensibility is best cultivated through a more basic socio-spiritual sense of a personal relationship with the all-knowing G-d.[48] 

The Rebbe was also a realist. He understood that if society was to change, it would not be enough to relegate his prayer to places of worship or synagogues. Prayer had to be brought to the masses, and especially to the children:

At first glance this seems to be the essential function of a house of prayer and of the spiritual leaders. However, anyone who does not wish to delude himself about the facts of house of prayer attendance, both in regard to the number of worshippers and the frequency of their visits, etc., etc., must admit that shifting the responsibility to the house of prayer will not correct the situation. Nor can we afford to wait until the house of prayer will attain its fitting place in our society, and in the life of our youth in particular, for the young generation will not wait with its growing-up process.

Children have to be “trained” from their earliest youth to be constantly aware of “the Eye that seeth and the Ear that heareth.” We cannot leave it to the law-enforcing agencies to be the keepers of the ethics and morals of our young generation. The boy or girl who has embarked upon a course of truancy will not be intimidated by the policeman, teacher or parent, whom he or she thinks fair game to “outsmart.” Furthermore, the crux of the problem lies in the success or failure of bringing up the children to an awareness of a Supreme Authority, Who is not only to be feared, but also loved. Under existing conditions in this country, a daily prayer in the public schools is for a vast number of boys and girls the only opportunity of cultivating such an awareness.

The Rebbe wholeheartedly believed in the civic utility of prayer. In his view, a more prayerful and soulful education for America’s youth would lead to a more moral America. Accordingly, the Constitution should not be a barrier to the best interests of the country:

To oppose non-denominational prayer “on constitutional grounds” is, in my opinion, altogether a misunderstanding or misrepresentation of the problem. The issue is: Whether a non-denominational prayer wherewith to inaugurate the school day is, or is not, in the best interests of the children. If the answer is “yes,” then obviously it should be made constitutional, for there can be no difference of opinion as to the fact that the Constitution has been created to serve the people, not vice versa.[49]

Following the establishment of “Education Day, U.S.A.” in 1978, the Rebbe delivered a talk at a farbrengen in his Brooklyn synagogue to mark the occasion. In this address, the Rebbe stated that the Torah requires Jews to pay attention to the nation’s educational concerns and not merely to ensure that their own community’s educational needs are met.[50]

In an even broader vision, the Rebbe advocated strongly for a new and independent department of education. Well ahead of his time, the Rebbe encouraged the raising of teacher’s salaries and more federal spending to improve the public schools. He believed this would in turn cause diminishing expenses in the penal system, crime prevention, health and welfare. In the Rebbe’s words, “A morally healthy, strong and united nation is in itself a strong deterrent against any enemy.”[51] Remarkably progressive, as part of his broad vision for a healthy and morally strong society, the Rebbe also advocated for criminal justice reforms, creating alternative energy sources, especially solar energy.[52]

The Moment of Silence Initiative 

Later, in 1981, after the election of Ronald Reagan to the presidency, the debate over the non-denominational prayer took off once again. In May 1982, Reagan proposed an amendment to the constitution that would support non-denominational prayer. While the Rebbe supported this, he understood that it would be the subject of much debate and may never be enacted. Therefore, at this time he vied for the establishment of a daily moment of silence in the public schools which he thought had the potential to gain more support. 

In a 1983 talk the Rebbe delivered, he voiced his support for a moment of silence and also stressed the need for parents to contribute to their children’s education:

The actual situation in this country is that parents have no time — and even those who do have the time do not have the patience — to invest themselves in the education of their children.[53]

The Rebbe’s solution to this was a moment of silence each and every morning in school before classes or instructions began. According to Wexler and other scholars, the moment of silence initiative created an opening for a post-secular turn in education. According to the Rebbe, the teacher’s role during the moment of silence is not to fill it with educational content but rather to “empower the students to go beyond all the normative axioms of education and find their own ways to make good use of an educational opportunity of an entirely different sort.”[54] More broadly speaking, the Rebbe’s support of the moment of silence represents his universalization of contemplative prayer within broader society. Here again we see a shift within the Rebbe’s worldview, of how a successful educational model is to be imagined.

The Contemporary Scene

The Lubavitcher Rebbe notwithstanding, R. J. David Bleich has noted that most community activities done on behalf of tikkun olam have been done in the non-Orthodox camp. He attributed the apparent neglect of broader social causes in the Orthodox community to their manifold commitments to intra-communal values such as Jewish Education, Kashrus, and other important religious activities that take up much time, energy, and attention.[55]

While it may be true that the Orthodox community has a variety of additional community causes that vie for their attention not held by their non-Orthodox brethren, I believe there is a deeper reason for the Orthodox community’s hesitation about involvement in social action. For thousands of years, the Jewish people have been the victims of discrimination, oppression, and antisemitism from the non-Jewish world. This tragic history has caused us to collectively develop a form of communal isolationism as a defense mechanism. Perhaps this is why, on the whole, and understandably so, more traditional communities have generally steered away from taking any active role in promoting religion or values in the public square. 

A few notable exceptions should be made. R. Jonathan Sacks is a towering exception to this rule. A central theme within the career and thought of R. Sacks is the belief in Judaism’s ability and obligation to influence general society. R. Sacks argued that, if understood properly, religion, and particularly Judaism, can be a source of developing a shared and collective vision for society at large.[56] Often in his writings, he emphasized the importance of religion on the world stage arguing that “a Judaism divorced from society will be a Judaism unable to influence society or inspire.”[57] 

There have been others as well. The chief rabbi of South Africa, Rabbi Warren Goldstein has worked to bring the voice of religion and values into the public school system in South Africa. In 2008, as part of the National Religious Leaders Forum, he played a major role in drafting a “Bill of Responsibilities for South African Youth.”[58] However, these exceptions prove the rule. For the most part, the frum community has not taken an active role in the betterment of society at large. 

Although this is understandable, considering our troubled history with society at large, there can be some collateral damage. Over twenty years ago, Rabbi Berel Wein told interviewer and author Faranak Margolese of the book Off the Derech, that he sees a lack of interest in general society and its issues as a contributing factor for today’s youth leaving a life of Torah and mitzvot. In his words:

To a great extent, I think one of the greatest problems that Orthodoxy faces is that it doesn’t promise anything. It should. On an individual basis perhaps it does; but [not] on a national basis. I mean let’s say everybody would vote for the Orthodox parties tomorrow. What would be its platform? What are we going to do? We have no idea. The Torah [has ideas], but someone has to articulate them. What’s our attitude toward labor unions? What’s our attitude toward the poorer section of society? Toward the Arabs? Toward anything? So now the attitude is: do Torah and mitzvot. But doing Torah and mitzvot is not a foreign policy and it’s not a domestic policy either. We don’t promise anything to anyone…We don’t say that we are going to fix the world; we don’t say those things even though it is part of our heritage, even though that’s part of Torah. We don’t express it. It could be the reason we don’t is that we have been under attack for so long; we have been the minority of a minority so we can’t afford grandiose dreams. But I think that if we don’t express grandiose dreams, we doom ourselves to remain the minority within the minority.”[59]

If as a community, we do not want to remain “the minority within the minority,” devoid of any public policy at the national or global level, it would do us well to consider an alternative model. Tikkun Olam, perhaps more accurately understood as care and concern for the society in which we live, is not our only priority. However, following the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s example, more attention must be placed on it. In the last century, Orthodox leaders and public figures, including the Rebbe, R. Sacks, and R. Goldstein have made significant contributions to betterment of general society but there is still more work to be done.

[1] “Remarks of President Barack Obama To the People of Israel at the Jerusalem International Convention Center in Jerusalem” Obamawhitehouse.archives.gov (March 21, 2013).
[2] Jonathan Neumann, To Heal The World? How the Jewish Left Corrupts Judaism and Endangers Israel (All Points Books, 2018), xvi-xvii.
[3] Ibid. xvii.
[4] R. Jonathan Sacks, To Heal a Fractured World (Schocken, 2005), 9.
[5] Jack Wertheimer, The New American Judaism (Princeton University Press, 2018), 41. Also see Paul David Kerbel, “The Tikkun Olam Generation,” Conservative Judaism 61(3) (January 2010), 88-91. For more on the misuse of the term, see Rabbi Yitzhak Aharon Korff, “The Fallacy, Delusion and Myth of Tikkun Olam,” Jewish News Syndicate (June 3, 2013) (https://www.jns.org/the-fallacy-delusion-and-myth-of-tikkun-olam/).
[6] R. Sacks, To Heal a Fractured World 78-79.
[7] Jane Kanarek, “What Does Tikkun Olam Actually Mean?” In Or N. Rose, ‎Jo Ellen Green Kaiser, ‎Margie Klein (ed.), Righteous Indignation: A Jewish Call For Justice (Jewish Lights Publishing, 2008), 19-22.

With regards to Aleinu, Mitchell First argues that a very strong case can be made that the word “letaken” in the original version of Aleinu was actually written with a khaf (meaning to establish the world under G-d’s sovereignty), and not with a kuf (meaning to perfect/improve the world under God’s sovereignty). See Mitchell First, “Aleinu: Obligation to Fix the World or the Text?” Hakirah, Vol. 11 (Spring 2011), 187-197.
[8] Neumann 133-135. The content of the Talmudic enactments referred to as “mipnei tikkun ha-olam,” are generally additional rabbinic rulings made to account for and circumvent potentially negative outcomes of previous legislature for the Jewish community. For examples of Talmudic applications of the term see Gittin 33a-35a and Gittin 45a. Neuman cites many scholars who have noted the incorrect usage of the term tikkun olam to refer to Jewish social action. See Eugene Borowitz, Renewing the Covenant: A Theology for the Postmodern Jew (Jewish Publication Society, 1996), 51; Gilbert S. Rosenthal, “Tikkun ha-Olam: The Metamorphosis of a Concept,” Journal of Religion, Vol. 85, no. 2 (2005); Levi Cooper, “The Assimilation of Tikkun Olam,” Jewish Political Studies Review 25 no. 3-4 (Fall 2014).
[9] See Rabbi J. David Bleich, The Philosophical Quest (Maggid, 2013), 209-252.
[10] See for example Ramban, Bava Metzia 78b.
[11]  Rabbeinu Bahya, Kad Ha-kemah, Gezel 1:3.
[12] Maharsha, Pesahim 87b s.v. lo higlah.
[13] R. Bleich, Philosophical Quest 236-237.
[14] Netziv, Kidmat Ha-emek. Translation adapted from R. Bleich 238.
[15] Netziv, Ha-amek Davar, Introduction to Bereishit. Translation adapted from R. Bleich 243.
[16] Isaiah 49:6.
[17] Netziv, Ha-amek Davar, Shemot 12:51. Also see Netziv, Harhev Davar, Bereishit 17:4 and Ha-amek Davar, Bereishit 9:27.
[18] R. Yaakov Ettlinger, Minhat Ani, Bamidbar. See R. Bleich, Philosophical Quest 236-237.
[19] See R. Bleich 239-246. For more on R. Hirsch’s belief in Judaism’s concern for mankind as a whole see my “For the Love of Humanity: The Religious Humanism of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch,” Hakirah, Vol. 33 (Fall 2022), 65-98.
[20] R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, “Confrontation,” Tradition 6:2 (RCA, 1964) republished in R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Confrontation and Other Essays (Maggid, 2015), 100.
[21] Ibid., 104.
[22] For more see David Shatz, Chaim I. Waxman, Nathan J. Diament (ed.) Tikkun Olam: Social Responsibility in Jewish Thought and Law (Aronson, 1997); Yosef ben Shlomo Hakohen, The Universal Jew (Feldheim, 1995); Rabbi Netanel Wiederblank, “Our Responsibility To Humanity,” Yadrim 4, (Sivan 5782), 5-29; R. Jonathan Sacks, “Tikkun Olam: Orthodoxy’s Responsibility to Perfect G-d’s World” (Speech delivered at the Orthodox Union West Coast Convention, December 1997 – Kislev 5758); Rabbi Dr. Jacob J. Schacter, “Tikkun Olam: Defining the Jewish Obligation,” in Rafael Medoff, ed., Rav Chesed: Essays in Honor of Rabbi Dr. Haskel Lookstein, vol. 2 (Jersey City: Ktav, 2009), 183-204.
[23] Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Melakhim 8:9-10.
[24] Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Melakhim 10:11.
[25] R. Moshe Sternbuch, Teshuvot Vi-hanhagot Vol. 3 no. 317.
[26] R. Moshe Feinstein, Igrot Moshe, Yoreh Deah Vol. 3 no. 89.
[27] Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, Hoshen Mishpat, Vol. 5, no. 185.
[28] Ibid. Whether non-Jews are obligated in the Noahide laws after the giving of the Torah is the subject of an earlier debate. Tosafot in Hagigah (13a) rule that although it is forbidden to teach Torah to non-Jews, there is no prohibition to teach them the Noahide laws. However, Tosafot cited in the Hagahot Ha-bah (Ibid. no. 40) disagree and state that after the giving of the Torah, gentiles are not obligated in the Noahide laws and there would be a prohibition of teaching them to non-Jews. For more on this see Dovid Lichtenstein, Headlines 2: Halachic Debates of Current Events (Orthodox Union Press, 2017), 125-128.
[29] Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Abraham’s Journey (Ktav, 2008), 182. Thanks to my father-in-law, Rabbi Hanan Balk for pointing this source out to me.
[30] Letter to Israel Drazin from R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson (October 31, 1986). See “What Could Have Prevented the Holocaust, Chabad.org. For more statements of the Rebbe on the importance of encouraging non-Jews to observe the Noahide laws see R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson, “The Seven Noachide Laws,” Sichos In English Vol. 16 (Kislev-Nissan 5743). This talk was delivered on Shabbat Parshat Beshalach, 15th Day of Shevat, 5743 (1983). Also see “Reach Out to the Non-Jews”, Disc 31, Program 123 (Event Date: 4 Tishrei 5747 – October 07, 1986) Chabad.org.
[31] Feist and Feist: Theories of Personality, 7th edition, (The McGraw−Hill Companies, 2009), 303.
[32] Philip Wexler, Mystical Sociology: An Emerging Social Vision (Westview Press, 2000), 42-46.
[33] Joseph Telushkin, Rebbe (Harper Collins, 2014), 262.
[34] Jonathan Sarna and David G. Dalin, Religion and State in the American Jewish Experience (Notre Dame University, 1997), 288-300 cited in Telushkin 263-268.
[35] The most significant legal case made against public menorah lighting was brought before the Pennsylvania Supreme Court in 1989. See Allegheny County v. ACLU, 492 U.S. 573 (1989). Today, Chabad’s public menorah lightings have become normative in North American society. Several thousand public lightings take place every year under Chabad auspices with an increasing amount of non-Chabad and even non-Orthodox involvement. See Telushkin 269-270.
[36] Telushkin 264.
[37] Ibid. 265.
[38] Ibid. 266.
[39] Ibid. 268.
[40] Ibid. 269.
[41] Philip Wexler, Eli Rubin, and Michael Wexler, Social Vision: The Lubavitcher Rebbe’s Transformative Paradigm for the World (Herder & Herder, 2019).
[42] Wexler 148.
[43] Ibid. 149.
[44] Cong. Rec. – Volume 116, Part 33 (December 28, 1970, 43738) cited in Wexler 173n12.
[45] Wexler 152.
[46] Engel v. Vitale, 370 US 421 – Supreme Court (1962).
[47] Most, although not all, of the opposition to the public prayer came from the organized Jewish community. See Telushkin 255.
[48] The Rebbe’s point that morality cannot be properly developed merely by reason and rational thinking, is not dissimilar to sociologist Jonathan Haidt’s theory that moral development happens primarily through intuitive and emotional processes rather than cognitive and reason-based judgments. See Jonathan Haidt, “The Emotional Dog and its Rational Tail: A Social Intuitionist Approach to Moral Judgment,” Psychological Review, 108 (2001), 814-834.
[49] R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson, “Prayer in Public Schools and Separation of Church and State,” 26th of Nissan, 5724 (April 8, 1964) https://www.chabad.org/therebbe/letters/default_cdo/aid/2051611/jewish/Prayer-in-Public-Schools-and-Separation-of-Church-and-State.htm. 

For the first letter see “Excerpt from the Lubavitcher Rabbi’s שליט”א Letter on the Question of the Regents Prayer, (24th of MarCheshvan, 5723, November 21, 1962)” Chabad.org

https://www.chabad.org/therebbe/letters/default_cdo/aid/1274011/jewish/Non-Denominational-Prayer-in-Public-Schools.htm.
[50] R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson, Sihot Kodesh 5738, Vol. 2 (Vaad Hanachot Hatemimim, 1986), 119-20.
[51]  “Excerpt from a Letter by the Rebbe שליט”א on the Proposal Creation of a Special Department of Education,” in Report on “Education Day–U.S.A.” Legislation, 18-19 cited in Wexler 176n49.
[52] Wexler 194-217.
[53] R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson, “A Moment to Save the World – Part 2”: 10 Shevat 5743 (January 24, 1983) Chabad.org cited in Wexler 168.
[54] Wexler 171.
[55] R. J. David, Bleich, “Tikun Olam: A Jew’s Responsibility to Society,” YUTorah.org (Oct 26, 1988).
[56] See R. Jonathan Sacks, The Persistence of Faith (Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1991. This book is an expansion on R. Sacks’s BBC Reith Lectures (1990).
[57] R. Jonathan Sacks, “A Judaism Engaged With The World” (2013). Also see his The Politics of Hope (Vintage, 1997); The Home We Build Together (Continuum, 2009); “Reconciling Religion’s Role in the West: An Interview with Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks,” Harvard International Review 38:1 (Fall 2016), 52-54 and Rabbi Yitzchok Alderstein, “How the Torah Helped Shape the Modern World,” Jewish Action (Fall 2010).
[58] Jonathan Rosenblum, “Hail to the Chief (rabbi),” Jerusalem Post (July 1, 2011). Also see the South African government’s website for the text of the “Bill of Responsibilities.” I thank Rabbi Daniel Korobkin for pointing this out to me.
[59] Faranak Margolese, Off The Derech (Devora, 2005), 202-203. The interviews with R. Wein were held on August 28, 2000 and January 8, 2001