“Contemporary Rabbis don’t bother to interrogate the sources of law and custom; instead, their purpose is to traffic in chumrot and create new prohibitions. They are unable to appreciate their hypocrisy … on the one hand, they roar like a lion against those who are open to change and the reformists, that one cannot alter an iota from what the kadmonim imposed, while on the other hand, casually discard the kadmonim whenever the achronim create new chumrot and they fight with all their might…to impose these new prohibitions.”

R. Yitzhak Shmuel Reggio, Yalkut YaShaR, Gorizia 1854.

Kitniyot and Mechirat Chametz: Paradoxical Approaches to the Chametz Prohibition

By Dan Rabinowitz

Some Pesach rituals trace their history for millennia. Others are of more recent vintage and continue to evolve significantly without any indication of stopping. Two in that category define the contours of chametz prohibition, one expanding and the other contracting its perimeters. Each’s creation was itself a radical departure from the status quo. In both instances, rabbis readily overcame established legal precedent. But their methodologies differ substantially and, at times, are contradictory. Yet, the intersection between the two, mechirat chametz and kitniyot, remains unexplored, and their conflicts unresolved.[1]

Mechirat Chametz

The present-day practice of “mechirat chametz” consists of the pre-Pesach transference of the title to the Jew’s chametz to a non-Jew, and upon the conclusion of Pesach, the chametz reverts to the Jew at no cost. The Torah prohibits any relationship between a Jew and their chametz on Pesach. Aside from the usual restrictions against eating or otherwise enjoying a prohibited item, here, the Torah proscribes even possession. One must destroy their chametz. The Mishna (Pesachim, 21a) and Talmud (Pesachim 13a) recognize that one can avoid liability if they sell their chametz to a non-Jew. But those transactions were permanent and irreversible, and the chametz never returned to the Jew. The first instance of a reversible transaction appears in the Tosefta (Pesachim 2:6).

ישראל ונכרי שהיו באין בספינה וחמץ ביד ישראל ה“ז מוכרו לנכרי ונותנו במתנה וחוזר ולוקח ממנו לאחר הפסח ובלבד שיתנו לו במתנה גמורה

A Jew and a non-Jew are boarding a ship on the eve of Pesach, and the Jew has chametz, he can gift it or sell it to the non-Jew and get it back afterward so long as it was an absolute gift.

The Jew is boarding a ship on Erev Pesach,[2] on a journey that will extend beyond the holiday. There is enough non-chametz for Pesach, but if he destroys his chametz now, he likely will not survive the remainder of the journey. Can one violate Pesach and keep the chametz?  If the chametz is necessary to survive Pesach, he can keep it and even eat it on the holiday. But does a future pikuah nefesh issue justify violating the law now? According to the Tosefta, a reversible transaction will avoid liability for the chametz, so long as it is “matanah gemurah,” an unconditional gift, and not matanah ‘al meant le-hachzer.   One can justify relying on pure legal formalism and comply with all the technical requirements of a transaction, even if the practical effect of this transaction is a nullity.  

Another version of the Tosefta seems to envision an even more restrictive view of the transaction.  In this version, in addition to the requirement that the transaction is a “matanah gemurah,” there is one more caveat, “u-belvad she-lo yarim,” “so long as it is not a trick.” [3]

According to Rav Amram Gaon (810-875) and Rishonim, “no trickery” codifies the implicit limitation of the Tosefta, that this solution is exceptional (expressed nautically) and can never become the norm. This approach remained the practice for hundreds of years, and there was no yearly mechirat chametz. The Rambam and the Rosh repeat the case described in the Tosefta, occurring on a ship, not in any other context. [4]

R. Yisrael Isserlein (1390-1460), in his collection Terumat HaDeshen, is the first recorded instance of a Jew seeking to avoid financial loss affirmatively engaging in the Tosefta’s solution. He discusses a case where someone owns a significant amount of chametz and would incur a loss if he destroys it. But there is a non-Jewish acquaintance that is willing to accept the chametz gift with the understanding that he will return it after Pesach. Isserlein permits this approach so long as it is a gift without explicit conditions. Isserlein does not limit the frequency of resorting to this approach.[5]    

The immediate impact, and rate of adoption, of his decision, remains unclear. Indeed, some question the historicity of Isserlein’s responsa. They claim that the issues described are theoretical and are not in response to actual queries or events.

In the 16th century, R. Yosef Karo (1488-1575) discusses the legal issue of the retrievable sale in his commentary on the Tur, Bet Yosef, and records Isserlein’s ruling in Shulchan Orach but does not indicate whether it was commonplace.  In his commentary on Shulchan Orach, R. Moshe Isserless (1530-1572) (Rema) is silent on this issue entirely and does not mention a yearly custom to sell chametz.  The first to widely apply this technique and significantly lower the requirements was R. Yoel Sirkes (1561-1640).  

With the introduction of propination laws in the 16^th century and the rise of the arendtor, there was consolidation in the alcohol industry, shifting control from localized production by peasants to the ruling class. Many of those licenses were managed or leased to Jews. By the late 16th century, Jews in Poland and Lithuania were firmly entrenched in the alcohol industry.  For many non-Jews, arendtor and Jew were synonymous. According to one account, Jews held a monopoly on the entire alcohol trade in Cracow. This created an issue for Pesach.  While Isserlein and Karo, and many others accept that one can sell their chametz, they all explicitly require, like any standard transaction, that the non-Jew remove the chametz he bought. Karo, in Shulchan Orach, codifies the requirement that the chametz is “me-chutz le-bayit,” outside of the Jews’ control. The Jew’s house was chametz-free.  But it was impractical to remove the distillers’ chametz from their property because of the substantial amounts and the fear that with alcohol, the non-Jew might not return it. [6] 

Faced with these issues, Sirkes created a new approach to the sale. Mechirat chametz is not just chametz, he also counseled to sell the ground underneath the chametz. It effectively created non-Jewish property within the Jew’s home. The chametz was “me-chutz le-bayit,” but remained in situ.

Sirkes’ ingenious solution created another issue. When the sale was just for chametz (a transportable good), a monetary transaction, even a nominal one, sufficed. But a written contract is required to sell land to a non-Jew.  Rather than change the process for the sale of chametz and mandate a written contract, Sirkes relaxed the contractual requirement.  He reasoned that requiring a contract for mechirat chametz potentially created another economic issue. He explained that a written agreement might otherwise induce the non-Jew to think the Jew fully sold the chametz and might keep it! This would trigger significant losses, and Sirkes was willing to forego the contract entirely.  He justifies both the sale and the diminution of its legal requirements because of potential economic harm.[7]  

Sirkes’ solution generally relaxed the legal requirements, but he did add two new aspects to mechirat chametz.  First, one must explicitly acknowledge the deficiency of the sale and announce that “I am selling you the room where the chametz is for money and even though I didn’t write a contract.”  He explains that this formulation works according to Tur and R. Karo in Bet Yosef (Choshen Mishpat 194), even for a land sale. Left unmentioned is that Sirkes rejects that position in that same section.

Second, the Jew must give the non-Jew a key to the house. Without that, no external action signifies the chametz is not the Jews, and the sale is clearly a sham.  By the early twentieth century, R. Yisrael Meir Kagan, in his Mishna Berurah, further eroded the key requirement and nullified the need for it entirely for all intents and purposes.  Rather than a physical transfer of the key, the Mishna Berurah allows one merely to identify the key’s location. Like the chametz, the keys can remain in the Jew’s possession, on their regular hook, and in the Jew’s control. There is no independent source for this leniency.  Instead, according to R. Kagan, it is “pashut.” [8] 

The key requirement was not the only aspect of Sirkes’ formula that fell by the wayside. Almost immediately after Sirkes created his workaround, it was being degraded.  Both R. Avraham Gombiner (1635-82), in his Magen Avraham, and R. David HaLevi Segal, in his Turei Zahav, hold that even giving a key is unnecessary. Simply setting aside a place for the chametz is enough.  (Although it seems that the key’s association with mechirat chametz was so pervasive that people began to sell the key rather than the chametz.) [9]

Sirkes’ idea that one can include non-chametz items in the fictional sale was adopted in a different context, again because of the effect of the alcohol trade. At the time, most distilling occurred with rye. The process produced a significant amount of spent rye, while otherwise useless, could be turned into cattle feed. Jewish cattle farmers recognized that they needed to sell their animal feed, and they did so. But, without that feed, the animal’s health and well-being were affected, and it took them time to recover after Pesach. Thus, it became customary to sell not only the chametz but also the cow. Now the non-Jews could come and feed the now non-Jewish cattle their regular diet. While this was initially frowned upon by some, many ultimately accepted it. [10]

The Dispute in Jassy Regarding Modifications to the Process

Despite all of these changes, until the 19^th century, one aspect of the sale remained consistent; the individual conducted it, and there was no public communal sale of everyone’s chametz. Yet, leaving it to the individual proved problematic. According to some, there were widespread issues of sales not conforming with the (then) acceptable formulations, inattention to the transaction details, and a general failure to consummate the sale. To accommodate those realities, another shift in the process occurred. The most conspicuous example of introducing the new approach occurred in Romania in the 1840s. R. Yosef Landau and R. Aaron Moshe Taub, two of the leading rabbis in the same city, Jassy, disagreed about the propriety of instituting this new method. Collectively, they published six titles and five books supporting their respective opinions. 

Additionally, Landau asked one of the most well-known legal authorities in the region, R. Shlomo Kluger (1785-1869), to adjudicate the dispute. He wrote a lengthy teshuva siding with Landau’s approach. Yet, this remained unsettled in his mind, and some years later, he retracted his position and agreed with Tauber.

R. Yosef Landau (1791-1853) came from a rabbinic family and, in his youth, studied with R. Levi Yitzhak of Bardichiv. He married young, and when his first wife died at 18, he remarried. His father-in-law was wealthy and generously supported Landau, enabling him to study full-time. At 22, he accepted the position as Liytin’s rabbi. In 1834, at the suggestion of the Ruzhiner Rebbe, Landau took the position of chief rabbi of Jassy.

Jassy (Iași) is today located within northeastern Romania, near the border with Moldovia. In 1565, it became the capital of the former principality of Moldovia and today is the second-largest city in Romania. Jassy had long been the spiritual center for Jews throughout Romania/Moldovia. By the early 19^th century, it became a hub for Chasidim. In 1808, R. Yehoshua Heschel Shor, the Apter Rebbe, settled in Jassy.

The early to mid-19^th century was arguably the high point of Jewish life in Jassy. At the opening of the century, there were less than 2,000 Jews. By 1838, there were almost 30,000 Jews, accounting for over 40% of the total population. Concurrent with the influx of Jews into Jassy was a general improvement of its finances, especially after the Russian Turkish peace of Adrianople in 1829. Jews played a sizeable role in the city’s overall commerce. They held monopiles to several industries, cattle, cheese, cereals, and dominated in others, such as banking, and owned most commercial buildings in the center of town.

While progress had been good for Jassy, it came with challenges. The combination of the sprawling populace and robust commercial market created complexities that required a revision to the process. After Landau arrived in Jassy, he instituted a new form of mechirat chametz. He established a system where individuals would no longer transact directly with a non-Jew. A handful of select people would buy everyone else’s chametz, and those designated ones would execute the final sale to the non-Jew. Appointing a few knowledgeable people ensured consistency and greater compliance.

Sometime before 1842, Landau published the rationale for this decision. There are no extant copies of that book, Seyag le-Torah, and consequently, the publication date has confused some bibliographers. Friedberg, and after him, Vinograd, date Seyag le-Torah to 1846, which would place it at the tail end of the controversy, its final book, published after three years of silence. But Shmuel Ashkenazi demonstrated that Seyag le-Torah is the first book published regarding the communal mechirat chametz controversy in Jassy and was printed around 1842. The rest of our discussion follows Ashkenazi’s reconstruction of the dispute. [11]

By 1842 Landau could no longer lead the community alone. He requested for the Jewish community to hire a second rabbi. With Landau’s blessing, R. Aaron Moshe Tauber (1787-1852), originally from Lviv, was engaged. Tauber also came from a storied rabbinic family and was the grandson of R. Yoel Sirkes. He also married into a wealthy family in Przemysl, Poland, and studied there for a few years after marriage. He began a relationship with R. Yaakov Meshulum Orenstein (author of the Yeshuot Ya’akov), then rabbi in Jaroslaw, about ten miles from Przemysl. Tauber eventually left Przemysl and returned to Lviv. By this time, Orenstein was the chief rabbi of Lviv, and he and Tauber reconnected. Tauber also began regularly studying with R. Shlomo Kluger, then rabbi in Kulykiv, on the outskirts of Lviv. In 1817, Kluger would leave Kukykiv for Brody, but Tauber remained until 1820. When he was 32, he took a position in the hamlet of Snyatyn, Ukraine, over 150 miles south of Lviv. In 1831, he made an unsuccessful bid for the chief rabbi of Óbuda (one of the three towns that merged in 1873 to form Budapest). In 1842, after 24 years in Snyatyn, Tauber moved further south to Jassy as the new co-rabbi.

Soon after arriving, he learned of Landau’s mechirat chametz process and disapproved. In a public address, Tauber criticized the practice but declined to take any more concrete action against it because he deemed it an entrenched and accepted custom. Nonetheless, he counseled those “who have the fear and trembling of God in their heart” to execute a private sale. According to Tauber, Landau started a whisper campaign that all private sales of chametz are ineffective. Nonetheless, Tauber “remained silent” and held himself back from a direct conflict with Landau.

By Pesach of 1843, all the gloves were off. Tauber claimed that he identified additional issues with the new procedure that convinced him he must act; otherwise, all Jassy’s Jews risked liability. On the eve of Pesach 1843, he published Modo’ah Rabba (An Important Announcement), identifying issues with Landau’s approach to a communal mechirat chametz. Landau had his response ready and published Mishmeret Seyag le-Torah defending his position in Seyag le-Torah within a month. A second title, Bitul Modo’ah (A Nullification of the Announcement), specifically addressed the issues Tauber raised in Modo’ah Rabba appeared at the end of the book. While Landau was formulating and printing his response, Tauber was working to explain his position further.

A short time later, Tauber published Hagu Segim (Remove the Detritus, based upon Misheli 25:4), offering additional evidence against the new practice. But, he wrote this before seeing Landau’s Mishmeret Seyag le-Torah and did not discuss its arguments. To address that, soon after, Tauber published another pamphlet, Hareset Mishmeret (Destroying the Guardian), that attempted to rebut Landau’s rejoinder of Tauber’s rejoinder of Landau’s original defense.

A few copies of Landau’s Mishmeret le-Seyag with Bitul Mo’dah and Tauber’s Hareset Mishmeret survive. There are no extant copies of the other books. Mishmeret le-Seyag/Bittul Mo’dah and Hareset Mishmeret are now available online. But both digital versions are flawed. The National Library of Israel’s copy of Hareset Mishmeret is damaged, and some text is lost. But Tauber autographed the final page of that copy.

The issue with the copy of Mishmeret le-Seyag le-Torah on Hebrewbooks.org is more significant. There is no title page, and the text begins on the first page. Typically, the verso of the title-page is blank or contains copyright information. This copy was originally reproduced by Copy Corner.  In the pre-internet era, the Goldberg brothers photocopied rare and out of print books and bound them in a rudimentary hardcover and distributed them through Beigeleisen Books in Boro Park. Through their efforts thousands of seforim were accessible to the wider public at very reasonable prices.  For those without access to libraries with significant seforim collections, Copy Corner’s catalog stepped in to address that gap. When Copy Corner photocopied the books they added their publication information to the verso of the title page. Normally not an issue, here it results in a blank page with just the Copy Corner legend substituted for the second page of the text of Mishmeret le-Seyag le-Torah.

Hareset Mishmeret was the last public missive, but the two sides remained at loggerheads privately. Communal leaders unsuccessfully pressed for a resolution but eventually, the two reconciled. Love instigated the cessation of hostilities.

In 1846, R. Landau’s son, Mattityahu, married Tauber’s daughter. But the marriage almost didn’t happen. Not because of the controversy over mechirat chametz. Instead, the bride’s and groom’s mothers shared the same name, Hindi. Some view such a match as taboo. But the Ruzhiner Rebbe, R. Yisrael Friedman, endorsed the match. He reasoned that there is no prohibition here because neither mother uses her given name. They both go by “Rebbetzin.” [12]

Sometime before the intermarriage of the two families, Landau requested R. Shlomo Kluger’s assistance to resolve the dispute and determine which approach to adopt. Kluger’s reply begins that he is personally unacquainted with R. Landau but that Tauber is a childhood friend. Despite that friendship, Kluger sides with Landau.

Tauber only recently arrived in Jassy, the largest city in Moldovia, and was unwise to the realities of a big city. Kluger attributes Tauber’s objections to his naivety. Tauber spent the last twenty-two as the rabbi of the small town of Sniatyn, where there were around 2,000 Jews compared to Jassy’s 30,000. The traditional practice of private transactions might work in a town the size of Sniatyn, where Tauber was able to supervise the process. Jassy was a different animal. Landau was responding to those realities when he restructured mechirat chametz. Kluger was the rabbi of Brody, a substantial city of an estimated 15,000 Jews, and saw first-hand the challenges of a large and more cosmopolitan community. Like Landau, Kluger adopted the revised mechirat chametz. Indeed, he had already done so six years earlier! Over the next seven printed double-column pages, Kluger justifies his and Landau’s mechirat chametz ritual, concludes that Landau’s approach is correct, and describes it as “takanah Gedolah,” a worthy edict. Kluger, however, notes that he finds the whole episode distasteful and that he doesn’t have time to engage in these sorts of controversies and communicates his mystification that such a vicious dispute could arise over a “davar katan” like this.

Despite Kluger’s comprehensive defense of the communal mechirat chametz ceremony, he ultimately regretted that position. Kluger included an addendum when this responsum went to press in 1851. After seeing the effects of the new approach, he explained that he was reversing his stance. With the consolidation of mechirat chametz into a communal sale, an industry arose. Profiteers saw an opportunity and began competing for people to sell them their chametz. With money as their only motive, they were incredibly sloppy with the sales. With the single points of failure, there was often no legally recognized transfer, leaving countless people owning chametz on Pesach. Kluger disavowed his lengthy defense. He ascribed it to alternative motives, preserving Landau’s honor. Kluger concluded with the recommendation that every individual execute their own contract with the non-Jew, i.e., Tauber’s position.[13]

During that same period, R. Moshe Sofer, in a very lengthy responsum, supports preserving the less than 100-year-old practice of selling chametz and rebuffing the many reasons it seemingly conflicts with established Jewish law. Despite his leading the rallying cry of “hadash assur min ha-Torah,” Sofer, who rejects new approaches because of their novelty, unqualifiedly approved of mechirat chametz.

R. Ephraim Zalman Margolis wrote to Sofer and raised issues with the current process as it was nothing more than “ha-aramah” and that certainly selling one’s animal is prohibited. Sofer began by noting that there are instances where ha-aramah is permitted. Hazal crafted those exceptions because they recognized that “אין כל המקומות והזמנים שוים.” Ultimately, he concluded that despite the sham nature of the modern procedure, it is a fully-realized transaction that discharges ownership for purposes of chametz and even permits the Jew to sell their cattle with the chametz. [14]

Sometime after the widespread adoption of communal mechirat chametz, there was another revision to the practice. Now, the individual no longer sells his chametz to the rabbi and the individual never directly executes a sale. Instead, the individual approaches the rabbi not to sell him the chametz but appoint him an agent to sell it on their behalf.[15]

The most recent shift in mechirat chametz is that it is no longer de facto but de jure.  According to some, R. Shlomo Yosef Eliashiv among them, today, mechirat chametz is obligatory even if one destroyed their chametz. [16]  

(Bardak, recently satirized the contemporary practice, with all its details, in an episode that imagined a very sophisticated purchaser that presses their rights, legal and political.)

Kitniyot

The historical approach to mechirat chametz and the willingness to adapt biblical law to the realities of modern society stands in sharp contrast to another chametz-related issue, kitniyot. There is no doubt that the biblical prohibition against chametz did not include kitniyot. The Mishna and Talmud agree that it is permissible. At best, it is an Ashkenazi custom and/or edict whose earliest record is the 13^th century and was never universally adopted by all Jews. Consequently, many rabbis explicitly rejected the prohibition as either a “minhag ta’ot” or even a “minhag shetut.” Yet, according to some, kitniyot is such a powerful legal concept that even in instances of severe famine, kitniyot remains prohibited. Kitniyot is even more pervasive now than ever before, with new items added yearly to the list. [17]

There have been attempts to repeal kitniyot custom since the 18^th century, without significant success. In the case of the nascent Reform Judaism movement, like many other laws and customs, it overturned kitniyot without any specific halakhic justification. But the other attempts came with substantial legal analysis that supported removing the prohibition. Many raised economic arguments to justify reversing kitniyot. In the case of mechirat chametz, the initial beneficiaries of the sale were well-to-do Jews who held large amounts of chametz. The kitniyot restrictions mainly affected the poor who could not afford expensive matza and for whom kitniyot’s low cost would provide a more economically feasible alternative to satisfy their daily caloric needs.

R. Tzvi Ashkenazi, Chakham Tzvi (1656-1718), one of the leading rabbis in Western Europe, first articulated this argument. Chakham Tzvi concluded that the economic harm justifies removing the restriction. Nonetheless, he declined to act alone, and without others joining his approach, the rule remained in effect even in the communities he served. Likewise, his son, R. Yaakov Emden (1697-1776), agreed with removing the restriction against kitniyot but required consensus among rabbis to make any practical change. [18]

Eventually, beginning at the turn of the 19^th century, a handful of communities in Western Europe acted upon the approach of Hakham Tzvi (in addition to marshaling other arguments) and abolished the prohibition against kitniyot.[19] The first to do so was a community under French control, the Consistory of Kingdom of Westphalia, created by Napoleon in 1807, today located in the north-western corner of Germany. The argument for the repeal was initially only on behalf of garrisoned soldiers in the area. They did not have access to large amounts of matzo, and permitting kitniyot would alleviate their hunger. Ultimately, the kitniyot repeal applied to all Jews in the area. Perhaps the most well-known rabbi involved, R. Menahem Mendel Steinhardt, authored a lengthy defense of the dispensation and many other changes and sent it to his close friend R. Wolf Heidenheim (1757-1832). Although Steinhardt specifically told Heidenheim to keep the letter private, Heidenheim believed that the analysis was too compelling to hold back from the public. Heidenheim went ahead and published it without consent at his own expense. He also appended some of his notes to the book. The book, Divrei Iggeret, published in 1812, contains one of the most cogent published arguments for the abolition of kitniyot. Nonetheless, Steinhardt’s defense was rejected by many.

Despite those rejections, in addition to Heidenheim, others continued to support him, if not his kitniyot position. His former havruta, R. Betzalel of Ronsburg (1760-1820), who provided a haskamah to Steinhardt’s responsa work, Divrei Menahem, still held him in high esteem long after Divrei Iggeret. He also secured two subsequent rabbinic positions in other Jewish communities. Others, however, cast him as a villain.

One recent book characterizes Steinhardt and others as “the wicked maskilim may their names be blotted out” and ascribes their motivations as solely driven “to disparage the kadmonim.” Rather than concern for the poor, according to the book, the true purpose of reversing the prohibition against kitniyot is to permit chametz on Pesach eventually. [20]

Heidenheim’s support troubled some because he is an accepted orthodox figure. One approach is to attribute Heideheim’s willingness to publish Divrei Iggeret as a favor to Steindhardt’s uncle, R. Yosef Steinhardt, with whom Heidenheim studied in his teens.[21] This explanation seems implausible. First, this approach ignores Heidenheim’s unreserved praise of the force of Menahem’s arguments. Heidenheim justified his decision to unilaterally publish Menahem’s letter so that “every honest, sensitive, and intelligent person will see that [Menahem’s] purpose is to teach Beni Yehuda avodat Hashem, to fear and love Him in the ways of truth and peace . . . and to respond to the detractors and support the poor and provide them as much food as possible.” Second, when Divrei Iggeret was published, Yosef Steinhardt had been dead thirty-six years, and when he passed, his nephew, Menachem, was only seven years old. Indeed, another author, Benyamin Shlomo Hamburger, highlights this lack of connection between uncle and nephew to diminish any family prestige that might inure to Menachem.

Likewise, Hamburger turns Menachem’s adoption of his uncle’s surname (and not the more traditional approach of using his birthplace, Hainesport, as the surname) into a liability. Hamburger sees this as a blatant example of carpetbagging, trading on his uncle’s reputation. Similarly, Hamburger delegitimates Menachem’s responsa work, Divrei Menachem, and describes it as entirely self-interested, simply “an attempt to get any rabbinic position.”

Although Steinhardt’s approach to kitniyot did not significantly alter the orthodox practice, he substantially changed Jewish liturgical practices despite attempts to marginalize him. Steinhardt’s Divrei Iggeret comprises ten letters, one of which is devoted to kitniyot. The other nine argued for changes to other Jewish practices. The seventh letter addresses the custom to recite the mourner’s Kaddish.

Until the 19^th century, the accepted Ashkenazi custom was to have each mourner recite the Kaddish individually. Steinhardt argued for adopting the Sefardic tradition of all the mourners reciting Kaddish in unison. While some rejected that position as a change to the status quo, including R. Moshe Sofer, Steinhardt’s modification of the practice is today widely accepted. His opinion was first cited approvingly in the commentary to Shulchan Orach, Piskei Teshuva, with the instruction to review Divrei Iggeret for its compelling arguments. Many of those arguments mirror those Steinhardt relied upon for his repeal of kitniyot. Among those that kitniyot lacks Talmudic sources, the current restriction did more harm than good, the Sefardim already do it, and R. Emden theoretically permits its annulment.

Steinhardt first categorizes the entire kaddish ritual as a custom that “has absolutely no root or foundation.” He challenges any attempt to find early sources that support incorporating Kaddish into the standard prayers. Neither the Bavli nor Yerushalmi nor the “Rishonim” incorporate the practice. Steinhardt dismisses midrashic sources, presumably the Zohar Hadash (Achrei Mot, 112), as irrelevant to determining practice. Second, the current custom of assigning only one mourner to right to lead Kaddish is detrimental because it leads to fighting for priority and a general lack of decorum. Third, the modification is the standard practice amongst Sefardim. Fourth, in theory, R. Yaakov Emden’s willingness to overturn the Ashkenazi custom in favor of the Sefardic one. Fourth, he cites R. Moshe Hagiz’s that implies reciting kaddish unison is permitted. He concludes that despite canceling the historical practice, his position is also ancient.[23]

Steinhardt’s change was embraced by conventional rabbis, explicitly citing the Divrei Iggeret and incorporating the change into their codifications. For example, Kitzur Shulchan Orach, Ta’amei Minhagim, Kol Bo’ al Avelut, and the more recent Peni Barukh associate the change with Divrei Iggeret. R. Gavriel Zinner, in his work on the laws of mourning, Neta Gavriel, didn’t just cite the Divrei Iggeret; he reproduces the entire letter from “ha-Gaon Rebbi Mendel Steinhardt.”[24]

Hamburger is again troubled by the seeming approval of Menahem’s modification of Kaddish and asks, “how is it possible that Divrei Iggeret received such a positive reception that he became the source of this [new] law?” The answer: Steinhardt hoodwinked the Eastern European rabbis. They thought that the change occurred with the consent of all the German rabbis and was unaware that Menahem acted alone and his true purpose was radical reform. Left unexplained is why many of the same Eastern European rabbis were aware of his actual intentions when it came to kitniyot.[25]

Likewise, many of those same personalities that vigorously defended the retention and extension of the leniency of mechirat chametz refused to budge on the custom of kitniyot. Despite the lack of supporting evidence, R. Moshe Sofer held that repealing the kitniyot restriction is impossible because it is a universally accepted formal edict. Nonetheless, among his arguments in defense of mechirat chametz was that “any restriction that the Talmud does not explicitly mention we cannot decree that is prohibited.” [26]

R. Tzvi Hirsh Chajes defends the practice of mechirat chametz. He accepted that the justification for mechirat chametz is economic. Nonetheless, he rejects the elimination of kitniyot as a too substantial reformation of Jewish practice to allow, even though it too caused significant financial hardship. According to him, because the Reform movement abolished kitniyot, any other attempt is tainted and assumed to be driven by the same anti-Orthodox sentiments and must be rejected to maintain the status quo. Even though the first major successful attempt to remove kitniyot was not a Reform congregation but an Orthodox one, headed by notable Orthodox rabbis, who based their decision on the law. [27]

The practice of mechirat chametz significantly altered the landscape of Pesach compliance. Each stage of its evolution required creative solutions to contemporary issues as they arose. Rather than invoking the general rule that chametz demands a strict reading of the law, leniencies were repeatedly devised and were near-universally adopted. Indeed, R. Isserlein, in his responsum permitting mechirat chametz, rejects that principle’s applicability to mechirat chametz. With limited exception, until the 17^th century, Jews complied with the straightforward reading of the Biblical restriction, “chametz shall not be found in your houses.” The changing economics of the 17^th century forced the rabbis to confront a new reality where it was no longer financially possible to physically remove one’s chametz. One rabbi’s solution was universally adopted, altering the mechirat “chametz” to include a second sale, that of the land. In less than a century, his formulation proved insufficient to deal with the continuing changing reality. Other Rabbis instituted additional modifications to the process. Now there is no direct sale of chametz, and the mechirat chametz ritual consists of appointing an agent. Each of these changes required reliance on leniencies, and in nearly every instance, the modifications themselves created ancillary issues. Ultimately, rabbis overcame all the objections, and the mechirat chametz ceremony remains in full effect.[28]

Paradoxically, kitniyot, despite the many reasons marshaled against retaining the practice, each of these is ruled insufficient to justify repealing kitniyot. Instead, the principle of “the severity of the prohibition of chametz (leavened food) mandates rejecting leniencies” was applied to kitniyot (non-leavening foods) to justify its endless expansion and ignored for mechirat “chametz.” As of now, mechirat chametz does not apply to kitniyot, and the two practices remain isolated from one another, just as they have in their development and legal approach. Both, however, remain examples of the dynamic nature of Jewish practice even within Orthodoxy.

NOTES

[1] This article is not intended to provide a comprehensive survey of all the literature regarding mechirat chametz and kitniyot. The focus of the article is the historical modifications to the practices. For a general discussion regarding the history and application of mechirat chametz, see Shmuel Eliezer Stern, Mechirat Hametz ke-Hilkhato (Bene Brak: 1989); R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin, Ha-Mo’adim be-Halakha, vol. 2 (Jerusalem: Talmud HaYisraeli HaShalem, 1980), 294-304; Tuvia Friend, Mo’adim le-Simha, vol. 4 (Jerusalem: Otzar haPoskim, 2004), 151-223.

For a comprehensive discussion regarding kitniyot, see the recently published book by Yosef Ben Lulu, Kitniyot be-Pesach: Gilgulo ve-Hetatputhoto ha-Halakhtit ve-Historiyt shel Minhag Zeh be-Adat Yisrael ’ad Yamenu (Be’er Sheva: Dani Sefarim, 2021); see also our discussion, “Kitniyot and Stimulants: Coffee and Marijuana on Passover,” Seforim blog, March 9, 2010.
[2] The scenario of boarding on the eve of Pesach is problematic. The Tosefta prohibits boarding a ship within three days of Shabbat. Tosefta Shabbat 13:13. He is already in breach of one prohibition confirms that this is an extraordinary case.
[3] This is an alternative text and not a later interpolation. See Leiberman, Tosefta ke-Peshuto, Seder Mo’ad, vol. 4 (New York: JTS, 2002), 495-96. But R. Yosef Karo mistook this just to be the commentary of the BaHaG and not part of the text because otherwise, it would prohibit the then-current form of mechirat chametz. Karo dismissed “shelo yarim” as an independent requirement and treated it as simply a reiteration of the prohibition against an explicitly conditional gift. See R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin, Ha-Mo’adim be-Halakha, vol. 2 (Jerusalem: Talmud HaYisraeli HaShalem, 1980), 295.
[4] See Lieberman, id. at 496, collecting sources.
[5] See R. Israel Isserlein, Shmuel Avitan ed., Terumat ha-Deshen (Jerusalem: 1991), no. 120, 93. Of note is that Isserlein does explicitly cite the Tosefta as his source. Indeed, his “rayah” “prooftext” is a passage from Talmud Bavli (Gitten 20b). He argues that the Talmudic source generally recognizes a transaction even when the parties’ intent is for the recipient to return it. It is possible that he held the Tosfeta alone is insufficient justification for the broad applicability of a reversible gift. Instead, he needed to prove the general efficacy of this type of transaction.
[6] Gershon Hundert, Jews in Poland-Lithuania in the Eighteenth Century (Berkley: University of California Press, 2004), 14-15, 36-37; see generally, YIVO Encyclopedia, Tavernkeepers; Glenn Dynner, Yankel’s Tavern: Jews, Liquor, & Life in the Kingdom of Poland (Cambridge: Oxford University Press, 2013). Jews’ association with the liquor trade persists today in Poland. Since the 1980s, Kosher and “Jewish style” vodka has become popular with Poles. These vodkas are considered premium brands, allegedly so pure as to stave off any ill effects the next morning. See Andrew Ingall, “Making a Tsimes, Distilling a Performance: Vodka and Jewish Culture in Poland Today,” Gastronomica, 3 (1), (2003), 22-27.
[7] Sirkes assumes that a written contract is unnecessary. The contemporary practice of executing a written agreement occurred later. See Mechirat Chametz ke-Helkhato, 68-9.
[8] For a survey of sources requiring giving the key, see Mechirat Chametz ke-Hilkhato, 13n18. Mishna Berurah, 448:12 & Sha’arei Tzyion, id. He asserts that this position is alluded to in the Hemed Moshe. But the Hemed Moshe (448:6) discusses an instance where the non-Jew decides to return the keys to the Jew unilaterally. In that instance, the Jew does not violate the law. But this scenario still contemplates the Jew physically transferring the key to the non-Jew. There is no indication that the Jew can forego the entire transaction by simply referencing the existence of a key.

R. Yechiel Epstein (Arukh ha-Shulchan 448) also rules that the mere identification of the key’s location is sufficient to avoid liability. He also holds that he need not go alone if the non-Jew uses the key to access the room, not for chametz but to get something else. The Jew is permitted to accompany him to ensure the integrity of the goods.
[9] See Mechirat Chametz Ke-Hilkahto, 13.
[10] For an exhaustive collection of sources, see R. Yitzhak Eliezer Jacob’s 2003 book, Tevu’at be-Ko’ah Shor, devoted to the topic; see also Mehirat Hametz ke-Hilkhato, 30-31.
[11] See Yisrael Landau’s son, Mattityahu Landau, wrote a biography of his father. Toldot Yosef, (Bardichiv, 1908), 13-16; Shmuel Ashkenazi, “Ha-Mahloket bein Rabanei Yus be-Shenat 1843,” Ali Sefer, 4 (June 1977), 174-77. Iasi, Yivo Encyclopedia; Iasi, Pinkas Kehilot Romania.

For biographical information for Tauber, see Hayyim Nasson Dembitzer, Kelilat Yofei (Cracow, 1888), 151n1.
[12] Landau, Toldot Yosef, 15.
[13] Shlomo Kluger, Shu” T meha-Gaon Mofes ha-Dor R. Shlomo Kluger, in David Shlomo Eibsheuctz, Na’ot Desha (Lemberg: 1851) 3a-6b (at the back of the book). Avraham Binyamin Kluger, Shlomo Kluger’s son, published the book.

A few years later, another Pesach controversy, machine-made matza, also involved R. Shlomo Kluger. He was against using the new technology for Pesach. See Meir Hildesheimer and Yehoshua Lieberman, “The Controversy Surrounding Machine-made Matzot: Halakhic, Social, and Economic Repercussions,” Hebrew Union College Annual 75 (2004), 193-26.
[14] Shu’T Hatam Sofer, OH, 62.
[15] Like the other solutions, using an agent created its issues. But none were significant enough to undermine the efficacy or acceptance of the practice. See Mechirat Chametz ke-Hilkhato, 5-6, 110-19.
[16] See Mechirat Chametz ke-Hilkhato, 7. The legitimacy of the sale is of such force that even if someone completely ignores it and continues to eat and use their chametz, the sale is still effective for anything that remains. See R. Moshe Feinstein, Iggerot Moshe, Orach Hayim 1 (New York: 1959), 203 (no. 149).
[17] Ben Lulu, Kitniyot, 31-93.
[18] Yaakov Emden, Mor u-Ketiah, 453.
[19] Another early attempt to rescind kitniyot was the inclusion of a responsum in Besamim Rosh that alleges kitniyot source is from the Karaites. There is no basis for this assertion. On the contrary, the extant evidence demonstrates that Karaites affirmatively rejected any prohibition against kitniyot. See Ben Lulu, Kitniyot,173-75. See here for our previous discussions regarding the Besamim Rosh.
[20] Moadim LeSimcha 241-42
[21] See R. Nosson David Rabinowich, “Be-Mabat le-Ahor: Kamma he-Orot be-Inyan “Heter” Achilat Kitniyot be-Pesach,” Kovetz Etz Chaim 15(2011), pp. 345–348.
[22] Binyamin Shlomo Hamberger, Ha-Yeshiva ha-Ramah be-Feyorda: Ir Torah be-Dorom Germaniyah ve-Geon’eha (Bene Brak: Machon Moreshet Ashkenaz, 2010), 398-422.
[23] See Divrei Iggeret, no. 7, 10b-11a; Tzvi Hirsch Eisenstadt, Piskei Teshuva, Yoreh De’ah, 376:6.
[24] Gavriel Zinner, Neta Gavriel: Helkhot Avelut (Jerusalem: Congregation Nitei Gavriel, 2001), 344n2.
[25] Hamburger, Ha-Yeshiva, 412-417.
[26] For a discussion of R. Moshe Sofer’s position regarding kitniyot and his involvement in the controversy, see Ben Lulu, Kitniyot, 185-88.
[27] See Darkei ha-Hora’ah, chap. 2, Kol Kitvei MaHaRiTz, vol. 1, 223-225; Minhat Kenot, Kol Kitvei MaHaRiTz Hiyut, vol. 2, 975-1031.
[28] Some refrain from selling certain forms of chametz out of an abundance of caution, but the custom of the vast majority of Jews is to sell all types of chametz. See Mehirat Chametz, 5-6.

Armin Wilkowitch about Shabbes Shekolim in his youth in Russia

by Gabriel Wasserman and Phillip Minden

Shabbes Shekolim (Shabbat Sheqalim) is the first of the four special Sabbaths in or near the month of Adar, when special passages are read from the Torah. In addition to the special readings from the Torah, Ashkenazic Jewry has distinguished these four Sabbaths with the inclusion of special piyyutim in the Sabbath service; these piyyutim – most, and perhaps all – are by Eleazar b. Qallir (or Qillir) of sixth- to seventh-century Eretz Yisrael, and they have been part of the liturgy of Ashkenazic Jewry ever since there has been such a thing as Ashkenazic Jewry, since before the year 1000 CE. Although many Ashkenazic communities today omit the piyyutim for Shekolim, happily there are still many Ashkenazic communities that maintain them through today, unlike many piyyutim for other occasions in the year, which have suffered almost complete extinction in living usage.

(As an aside: In the middle ages, many non-Ashkenazic communities, as well, recited piyyutim, different from the Ashkenazic ones, on the four special Sabbaths of Adar. These have fallen into complete disuse today, other than the piyyut “Mi Khamokha” by R. Judah Hallevi for Shabbat Zakhor. These piyyutim will not be the subject of this post.)

In the past, Shabbes Shekolim and the recitation, or singing, of these piyyutim had an aura of great emotional significance for many Ashkenazic communities. As an example of this, the Seforim Blog will present here a piece by Cantor Armin Wilkowitsch, originally published in the Österreichisch-Ungarische Cantoren-Zeitung (supplement to Die Wahrheit), vol. 24 no. 10 (4 March 1904), p. 10. Wilkowitsch writes here about the composition of a setting for the piyyut “Eshkol Ivvuy” (אשכל אווי), the opening of the piyyutim for Musaf of this Sabbath. Wasserman’s research, in a project to collect musical settings for all Ashkenazic piyyutim for special Sabbaths, has uncovered thirty different musical settings for “Eshkol Ivvuy,” and further research may discover far more; this piyyut was clearly very important to cantors, and communities, in generations preceding ours.

According to the biography on Geni.com, Cantor Wilkowitsch, was born in Kalvarija, in the Russian Empire (see map here), today in Lithuania. He lived most of his adult life in the Austro-Hungarian empire, and served as chief cantor of a community in Eger (Erlau, Cheb), in Hungary, for 32 years. In 1939, under Nazi occupation, Wilkowitsch got a visa to escape to America, to join his wife and children who were already there. He boarded the ship, but, in light of the terrible events going on in Europe at the time, he lost the will to live and committed suicide by jumping off the ship. Very sad, and creepy.

In his youth, Wilkowitsch was a meshorer in his native Russia. Meshorerim were a standard phenomenon in pre-modern Ashkenazic synagogues: a group of men and small boys who would accompany the cantor as a kind of choir, though without the Western rules of four-part counterpoint that define modern choirs.

Perhaps the most picturesque line in the story is: “the Special Sabbaths are coming, which are soon bound to chase the polar bear out of the land” (es kommen die ausgezechneten Sabbathe, die den Eisbären bald aus dem Land verjagen).

Wilkowitsch refers to a species of fish, eaten at shalleshuddes, by the Yiddish word shtinkes. This word may be familiar to some readers of this blog from halakhic literature (see, e.g., the commentary of Rashash on Sukka 18a, and here).

The text of Wilkowitch’s piece will be presented here, first in the original German (the educated language throughout the Austro-Hungarian Empire) and then in English translation. Hopefully it will give the readers a sense of what Shabbes Shekolim was like in those bygone days – as Wilkowitsch writes, in the Italian expression that concludes his story, tempi passati.

Jugenderinnerungen.
Von Kantor Armin Wilkowitsch.

Jüngst suchte ich unter meinen alten, längst ad acta gelegten Notenblättern herum. Wie pochte da plötzlich mein Herz, und als begegnete ich meinen besten Jugendfreunden, die mir Grüße von meiner Heimat brachte und längst vergangene und verschollene Geschichtchen auffrischten, so sprachen mich diese vergilbten, nach Moder riechenden Notenblätter an. Es waren hunderte von ein- und mehrstimmigen Kompositionen, die ich mir von verschiedenen Chasanim auf meinen Meschorer-Wanderungen mit vieler Mühe erworben hatte. Darunter auch russische und jüdisch-deutsche Liedlein, selbst Sabbathsemiroth, wie Zur mischelo ochalnu, oder Joh, ribbon olam, die ich in meinem Elternhause, im Vereine mit meinen Geschwistern, allsabbathlich sang. Später, als ich Einblick in die Harmonielehre gewann, gab ich den Semiroth regelrechte Rhythmen und bearbeitete sie für zwei Soprane und Klavierbegleitung.

Unter diesen losen Blättern fand ich u. a. für Sabbath-Schekolim einen Eschkol, welcher als Introduktion eine längere, polonaiseartige Melodie vorgespannt hatte und in einer „phrygischen“^* Tonart sich bewegte. Herr Oberkantor Singer-Wien nennt, wenn ich nicht irre, diese Skala  „jüdische Tonleiter.“ Den russischen Chasanim ist aber meines Wissens keine jüdische Tonleiter bekannt und, wie gerne ich auch uns Juden eine Eigenart in der Musik einräumen möchte, muß ich trotzdem gestehen, daß ich dieser Skala schon bei mehreren kleinrussischen Volksliedern begegnete; auch das rumänische Volkslied dürfte wohl diese Tonart sich zu eigen gemacht haben.^** Daß Anton Rubinstein die Melodie für die Worte:  „und der Sklave sprach“, in seinem  „Asra“ einem jüdischen Chasan abgelauscht hat, möchte ich stark bezweifeln. Das eine ist jedoch gewiß, daß den Deutschen diese Intervalle fremd sind, aber deswegen sind sie noch nicht speziell „jüdisch“.

Bei diesem Eschkol verweilte ich lange, lange…. Habe ich doch denselben  „mitkomponieren“ geholfen.

Der Kantor in Rußland betet nicht jeden Sabbath vor, höchstens, daß er am Sabbath-meworachim Jehi rozôn und Jechadschehu absingt, das weitere betet ein Balbos oder der Schammes, und hat der Chasan Chanukalichtlein mit den Meschorerim und Klesmorim entzündet, dann hält er seinen Winterschlaf, bis Sabbath-Schekolim, der erste von den ausgezeichneten Sabbathen, ins Land zieht.

Hui, wie tobt draußen der Sturm! Neue Schneeflocken häufen sich auf die längst zu Eis erstarrten und der grausame Winter herrscht noch mit unbeschränkter Macht. Was gilt ihm die Armut? Was die Not? Despot ist Despot! — Aber im Herzen regt sich die Hoffnung: es kommen die ausgezeichneten Sabbathe, die den Eisbären bald aus dem Lande verjagen, und ein Frühlingsahnen überkommt die geplagte Menschheit.

Es war Sabbath vor Schekolim. Wir, Meschorerim, saßen beim Chasan und halfen ihm zum Scholasch-sudos die länglichen, schmalen Stinkes (Fischlein) vertilgen. Da sprach Schimschon, der Tenor:  „Nu, Chasanleben, was wird sein mit eppes a neuen Eschkol? Wieder und aber die alten Trallalaikes?!“ Der Chasan ließ sich Majim-acharonim zum  „Benschen“ geben und machte dann eine Handbewegung, die soviel heißen sollte, wie:  „Bleibt alle hier!” Nach dem Tischgebet sprach er:  „Paßt auf!“ und fing leise eine Melodie zu singen an. Diese Melodie sangen wir, Soprane, einigemal nach, der Chasan sang indessen mit den Altisten die zweite Stimme, während die Tenöre und Bassisten sich nach eigenem Gutdünken ihre Stimmen bildeten. Und so entstand in zirka einer Stunde ein Eschkol fix und fertig, mit dem wir dann „die Welt eingenommen haben.“ Tempi passati!

Childhood memories

By Cantor Armin Wilkowitsch

Recently, I leafed through my old sheet music I had long filed away. How did my heart suddenly pound, and these yellowed sheets with their fusty odour talked to me as if I were meeting my dearest boyhood friends, who brought greetings from my homeland and revived stories long past and lost. There were hundreds of compositions for one and for several voices, which I had acquired with great effort from several chazzanim during my meshorer wanderings. Among them also Russian and Jewish-German songs, even Sabbath zemiroth such as Tzur mishelo ochalnu or Yoh, ribbon olam, which I used to sing every Sabbath in my parental home together with my siblings. Later, having gained some insight into harmonics, I gave regular rhythms to the zemiroth and arranged them for two sopranos with piano accompaniment.

Among other things, I found an “Eshkol” for Sabbath Shekolim in these unbound leaves, which was preceded by a longer polonaise-like tune as an introduction and moved in a “Phrygian”^* mode. If I am not mistaken, Chief Cantor Singer of Vienna calls this scale “Jewish mode”. As far as I know, though, the Russian chazzanim are not aware of any Jewish modes or keys, and much as I should like to grant an original feature in music to us Jews, I have to concede that I’ve met this scale in several Little Russian [=Ukrainian] folk songs already, and it can be stated that the Roumanian folk song has embraced this mode as well.^** I strongly venture to doubt that Anton Rubinstein overheard a Jewish chazzan and copied the tune for the words “und der Sklave sprach” [“and the slave said”] in his “Der Asra”. These intervals are certainly alien to Germans, but that does not make them specifically “Jewish”.

I dwelled long on this “Eshkol”… After all, I helped compose it.

A cantor in Russia doesn’t lead the prayers every Sabbath; at most he will sing “Yehi rotzon” and “Yechadshehu” on Sabbath Mevorachim, and a balbos or the shammes will lead the other prayers. As soon as the chazzan has kindled the Chanukkah lights with the meshorerim and the klezmorim, he goes into hibernation until Sabbath Shekolim, the first of the Special Sabbaths, comes round.

Oh, how does the storm rage out there! Fresh snowflakes pile onto those long frozen to ice, and grim winter still rules with unlimited power. What does it care about hardship? About affliction? A despot is a despot! But hope is rising in the hearts: the Special Sabbaths are coming, which are soon bound to chase the polar bear out of the land, and a hunch of spring spreads in plagued humankind.

It was the Sabbath before Shekolim. We meshorerim were sitting with the chazzan, helping him to devour the oblong, narrow shtinkes (little fish) during sholash-sudos. Shimshon, the tenor, then said: “So, my dear chazzan, is there maybe going to be a new ‘Eshkol’? Again and again the old trallalaikes?” The chazzan had mayim acharonim given to him for “benshen” and then waved his hand in a sense of “Everybody stay here!” When Grace After Meals was finished, he said “Listen!” and started to sing a tune in a low voice. We, the sopranos, repeated this melody a few times, the chazzan added the second voice with the altos, while the tenors and basses formed their voices as they seemed fit. And so, an “Eshkol” came into being, all done and ready in the course of approximately one hour, with which we then “conquered the world”. Tempi passati!

How much Greek in “Greek Wisdom”? On the Meaning of Hokhmat Yevanit

by Eliyahu Krakowski

      In the medieval controversies over the study of philosophy, one of the major points of contention was the Talmudic prohibition against hokhmat yevanit. Modern historians, who are generally well-disposed toward the Maimonidean proponents of philosophy (often at the expense of the anti-rationalists), nevertheless often assume that the anti-rationalists had the better of this particular argument. The Maimonidean defense of philosophy against the Talmudic stricture, if not an outright distortion, was at least a forced explanation.[1] However, the truth seems to be the opposite—it was not the defenders of philosophy who “redefined” the Talmudic passages, it was philosophy’s opponents. The success of this redefinition indeed put the proponents of philosophy on the defensive, but without good reason. To demonstrate this thesis, we will briefly consider the Talmudic evidence, and then turn to the history of the interpretation of the phrase hokhmat yevanit. Most contemporary scholars who have discussed the Talmudic passages have concluded, with varying degrees of certainty, that hokhmat yevanit incorporates Greek philosophy. Gerald Blidstein, noting the indeterminacy of the sources nevertheless concludes, “Though no Talmudic source indicates what is included in this wisdom, it is likely that literature, rhetoric, and philosophy are what is meant, while language instruction in a matter of further debate.”[2] Louis Feldman likewise claims that, “when the Talmud imposes a curse on those who instruct their sons in Greek wisdom, a good guess is that this wisdom is philosophy,” and “that the rabbis were strongly opposed to the study of philosophy may be inferred from the fact that … its teaching is cursed together with swine herding, and hence is associated with the antithesis of Judaism.”[3] Noah Efron claims unambiguously that, “if one wants still more evidence of rabbinic indifference toward philosophy of nature, it is worth considering that, in many places in the Talmud (and then for centuries after the Talmud), a synonym for philosophy of nature was ‘Greek wisdom.’”[4] David Shatz formulates his position more carefully: Regarding Talmudic and Midrashic literature, Shatz says, “we find no evidence of extensive involvement with philosophy… and we even encounter statements that could be construed as opposed to ‘Greek wisdom,’ ‘the wisdom of the nations,’ and ‘logic.’[5]

However, when we turn to the Talmudic passages in question, the evidence for the identification of hokhmat yevanit with philosophy is lacking. In context, these passages support a narrower definition of hokhmat yevanit:

בבא קמא (פב ע”ב – פג ע”א): תנו רבנן: כשצרו בית חשמונאי זה על זה, היה הורקנוס מבפנים ואריסטובלוס מבחוץ. ובכל יום היו משלשים להם בקופה דינרין, והיו מעלים להם תמידין. היה שם זקן אחד שהיה מכיר בחכמת יוונית, אמר להם: כל זמן שעוסקין בעבודה אין נמסרים בידכם. למחר שילשלו דינרין בקופה, והעלו להם חזיר. כיון שהגיע לחצי החומה נעץ צפרניו בחומה, ונזדעזעה ארץ ישראל ארבע מאות פרסה על ארבע מאות פרסה. באותה שעה אמרו: ארור האיש שיגדל חזירים, וארור האדם שילמד את בנו חכמת יוונית… וחכמת יוונית מי אסירא? והתניא, אמר רבי: בארץ ישראל לשון סורסי למה? או לשון הקדש או לשון יונית! … אמרי: לשון יוני לחוד, חכמת יונית לחוד. וחכמת יונית מי אסירא? והאמר רב יהודה אמר שמואל משום רשב”ג: (איכה ג) עיני עוללה לנפשי מכל בנות עירי – אלף ילדים היו בבית אבא, חמש מאות מהם למדו תורה, חמש מאות למדו חכמת יונית, ולא נשתייר מהם אלא אני כאן ובן אחי אבא בעסיא! אמרי: שאני בית רבן גמליאל, שהיו קרובים למלכות; וכדתניא: המספר קומי הרי זה מדרכי האמורי, אבטולמוס בר ראובן התירו לו לספר קומי, מפני שהוא קרוב למלכות; של בית רבן גמליאל התירו להם לספר בחכמת יונית, מפני שקרובים למלכות.

In this passage, the knowledge of hokhmat yevanit enables communication with the Greek enemy. Furthermore, the initial confusion between “lashon yevani” and “hokhmat yevanit” and the use of the verb “lesapper”—to speak—regarding hokhmat yevanit indicate that we are discussing a linguistic phenomenon. The next Talmudic relevant passage is more problematic, and seemingly presents a prohibition on everything but Torah study:

מנחות צט ע”ב: שאל בן דמה בן אחותו של ר’ ישמעאל את ר’ ישמעאל: כגון אני שלמדתי כל התורה כולה, מהו ללמוד חכמת יונית? קרא עליו המקרא הזה: לא ימוש ספר התורה הזה מפיך והגית בו יומם ולילה, צא ובדוק שעה שאינה לא מן היום ולא מן הלילה ולמוד בה חכמת יונית.

However, in light of the prohibition on hokhmat yevanit, it would seem more likely that R. Yishmael’s response should not be construed as a prohibition on all non-Torah pursuits, but as a rhetorical enforcement of the existing ban on hokhmat yevanit. This reading receives support from a parallel in the Jerusalem Talmud:

ירושלמי סוטה פ”ט הט”ו: שאלו רבי יהושע מהו שילמד אדם את בנו יונית. אמר להן ילמדנו בשעה שאינה לא יום ולא לילה דכתיב והגית בו יומם ולילה. מעתה אסור לאדם ללמד את בנו אומנות בגין דכתיב והגית בו יומם ולילה. והתני רבי ישמעאל ובחרת בחיים זו אומנות. רבי בא בריה דרבי חייה בר בא בשם ר’ יוחנן מפני המסורות.

Turning now to the medieval commentators, Maimonides addresses the definition of this term in his commentary on the Mishnah (Sotah 9:15):

ואמרו יונית, רוצה לומר חכמה יונית, לפי שהיו מכנים את הרמזים שבדבור, וכן דברים שאינם כפשוטם אלא יש להן ענין נסתר חכמה. ובתלמוד אמרו ר’ משתעי לשון חכמה והזכירו דברי חידה כמו שנתבאר בגמר עבודה זרה. והיה אצל היונים דברים מעין אלה מיוחדים אצל אומה זו שמשוחחים בהם מה שרוצים כעין רמזים וחידות, וטעם אסור דבר זה לפי שבזמן בית שני צר אחד ממלכי בני חשמונאי על ירושלם והיו אנשי ירושלם משלשלין להם למחנה קופה דינרין בכל יום ונותנין להם בהם שני תמידין לקרבן והיה שם איש היודע אלו הרמזים שהמציאו היונים ודבר עמהם בהם, וכך הוא לשון התלמוד לעז להם בחכמה יונית שכל זמן שהם מקריבין לא תוכלו לכבשם והפסיקו מהם הקרבן, באותה שעה אסרו שילמד שום אדם אותם הרמזים שהמציאו היונים לדבר בהם. ודבר זה אין לי ספק שנשתקע ולא נשאר ממנו בעולם היום לא מעט ולא הרבה.

According to Maimonides, hokhmat yevanit has nothing to do with Greek philosophy, and Maimonides adds emphatically, whatever coded language intended by this term is undoubtedly no longer in existence. In accordance with his position here, Maimonides makes no mention of what is now an obsolete prohibition in his code. A number of contemporary scholars have assumed that Maimonides’ explanation is the result of his predetermined position on the merit of Aristotelian philosophy, and therefore an attempt to redefine a problematic prohibition.[6] Yet if we look at Maimonides predecessors, his position is hardly novel. Rashi in his Talmudic commentary takes a position essentially identical to Maimonides. In his commentary to Menahot (64b) Rashi defines hokhmat yevanit in one word: “רמיזות”. In the Sotah passage (49b), Rashi explains further: חכמת יוונית – לשון חכמה שמדברים בו בני פלטין ואין שאר העם מכירין בו. This position is not unique to Rashi. Tosafot likewise assume as self-understood that hokhmat yevanit refers to a coded language. Thus in explaining the Talmudic passage according to which Babylonia has no “ketav,” Tosafot (Avodah Zarah 10a) cite R. Isaac of Dampierre who explains this to mean that Babylonia lacks its own “important language” akin to hokhmat yevanit:

לכך פירש ר”י כתב לשון חשוב שהמלכים משתמשין בו כעין חכמת יונית והיינו דאמרינן במגילה (דף י: ושם( והכרתי לבבל שם ושאר שם זה לשון ומאי קאמר דהא בלשון ארמי הם מספרים ועודם משתמשין בו אלא בודאי לשון מלכות קאמר.[7]

Nor is this view of hokhmat yevanit limited to Ashkenazi predecessors of Maimonides. An anonymous Gaon (quoted in R. Betzalel Ashkenazi’s Shitah Mekubetzet to Bava Kama 83a) also explains: חכמת יונית לחוד. דחכמת יונית אסורה והאי חכמת יונית ברמיזה הוה. גאון ז”ל. Likewise, later halakhists who believed that it is prohibited to sudy Greek philosophy nevertheless did not understand the prohibition of hokhmat yevanit as a prohibition against philosophy. For example, R. Isaac b. Sheshet (Rivash) was asked whether hokhmat yevanit refers to Aristotle’s Physics and Metaphysics. Although he forbids study of these works, Rivash argues that they are not prohibited as hokhmat yevanit:

ומה ששאלת: מה היא חכמת יונית אשר יתרחק האדם? ואם הם אותם ספרים המפורסמים בעולם כשמע טבעי, ומה שאחר הטבע? … נראה, שאין הספרים ההם בכלל גזרה זו, שאם מצד שהם כתובים בלשון יוני, הלשון לא נאסר, וכלם היו בקיאין בו… ואם מצד החכמה בעצמה, מהו זה שלעז להם הזקן ההוא? ולכן נ”ל, שחכמת יונית היא לדבר בלשון יוני בחידות ובלשון סתום, שלא יבינו אותו ההמון, רק אותם שלמדו והורגלו באותן החידות. דמיון מ”ש (בפרק כיצד מעברין נג:): אמהתא דבי רבי, כי הוו משתעון בלשון חכמה, אמרין הכי: עלת נקפ’ בכד ידאון נשריא לקיניהון. ור”ל שהכלי הקטן ששואבין בו היין מן החבית, מנקפת בשולי החבית, לפי שכבר כלה היין, ולכן שיעופו וילכו התלמידים למקומם… וחידות כאלו, כשנאמר בלשון יוני, נקראים חכמה יונית… אמנם, ספרי הטבע המפורסמים, לא מן השם הוא זה, אבל ראוי לימנע מהם, אם הם מתאמצים לעקור עקרי תורתינו הקדושה. ובפרט שני עמודי התווך אשר היא נכונה עליהם, שזהו, חדוש העולם, והשגחת השם יתברך בפרטי המין האנושי. והם מביאים ראיות ומופתים לפי דעתם לקיים קדמות העולם, ושהוא מחוייב מן השם יתברך, כמו שהאור מחוייב מן השמש, והצל מן האילן, ואין יכולת לשם יתברך לשנות דבר מטבעו, ולא להאריך כנף הזבוב, ולא לקצר רגל הנמלה; כמו שאין יכולת בשמש לשנות האור הנמשך ממנו, ולא האילן הצל. וכן, שהשגחת השם יתברך לא תהיה במה שהוא למטה מגלגל הירח. וכתבו בספריהם, שאין ידיעה שלמה רק אותה שהיא מצד החקיר’, לא מצד הקבלה. ואנחנו מקבלי האמת, דעתנו, שהתורה שלנו שלמה, שבאה אלינו במעמד הר סיני מפי הגבורה ובאמצעות אדון הנביאים ע”ה, היא למעלה מהכל, וכל חקירתם אפס ותהו לערכה.[8]

It is not hard to see the reason for this commentatorial consensus. The Talmudic account refers to an old man communicating with the enemy in hokhmat yevanit as the cause for this prohibition. It is hard to see how Greek philosophy could have served as an effective mode for secret communication.[9] But there is another reason to prefer this identification as well. The Talmud consistently refers to hokhmat yevanit, not to hokhmah yevanit. The latter should indeed be translated as “Greek wisdom”; the former, however, means instead “wisdom of Greek.” Here the word “Greek” is not an adjective describing the kind of wisdom, but a noun, meaning the Greek language. This nuance is reflected in the commentaries which understand hokhmat yevanit not as Greek wisdom but as a cryptic language based on Greek. If not from the traditional Talmudic commentators, where then does the identification of hokhmat yevanit with “Greek wisdom” come from? As far as I can tell, the first to identify “hokhmat yevanit” with Greek philosophy is R. Yehudah Halevi. In a well-known poem, Halevi warns a friend not to be seduced by hokhmat yevanit: ואל תשיאך חכמת יונית אשר אין לה פרי כי אם פרחים. ופריה – כי אדמה לא רקועה וכי לא אהלי שחק מתוחים. ואין ראשית לכל מעשה בראשית ואין אחרית לחדוש הירחים.[10] Halevi alludes to the Aristotelian doctrine of eternal matter, which he sees as flower without fruit, or appearance without substance. Were Halevi’s anti-Aristotelian poem the first source for this explanation, we would have reason to remain skeptical about its veracity. However, despite Halevi’s use of the term “hokhmat yevanit,” there is little reason to assume that Halevi really believes this is the meaning of these words in the Talmud. Using a poetic license, it would be hard for an anti-Aristotelian like Halevi to pass up the rhetorical opportunity granted by the Talmud’s curse on teaching hokhmat yevanit, which, even if not literally the same, at least provides a negative association for the accursed ‘Greek wisdom.’[11] Bernard Septimus notes what he views as use of this term by a twelfth century proponent of Aristotelian philosophy, Abraham ibn Daud.[12] In his Sefer ha-Qabbalah, ibn Daud describes the positive attributes of some of his predecessors:

והיה [האמורא, שמואל] חכם גדול בכל חכמה יונית מוסף על תורתו.[13] ומוסף על חכמתו ותורתו היה פייטן גדול ויודע בחכמה יונית ורבץ תורה הרבה והעמיד תלמידים הרבה.[14] היה רב ברוך זה יודע בחכמה יונית מוסף על תורתו וחכמתו והעמיד תלמידים הרבה ואני קטן שבכלם. [15] ר’ משה בר’ יעקב בן עזרא מזרע המשרה וחכם גדול בתורה ובחכמה יונית.[16]

However, in all these cases, ibn Daud refers not to hokhmat yevanit, which is the term used by the Talmud for the prohibited subject matter, but hokhmah yevanit, which indeed must mean “Greek wisdom.” As a proponent of Greek philosophy, it is hard to imagine ibn Daud would not have made this distinction. For if hokhmah yevanit is identical with the Talmud’s prohibited subject, ibn Daud, at very least has some explaining to do, which evidently he does not feel to be the case. Thus, instead of support for the theory that hokhmat yevanit refers to Greek philosophy, ibn Daud provides indirect support for the difference between “Greek wisdom”—hokhmah yevanit—and that which the Talmud calls hokhmat yevanit. If we are correct, we have yet to find the first usage of hokhmat yevanit to refer to Greek philosophy in an unambiguously literal sense. Interestingly, it seems that the first documented examples of this usage occur in rapid succession during the controversy over the study of Greek philosophy in the 1230s. R. Yehudah Alfakar, in his letter to R. David Kimhi in opposition to the pro-philosophic faction, refers to hokhmat yevanit a number of times:

ואינו כדאי מופת חכמת יונית לעקור את הכל שנאמר ובא האות והמופת וגו’ וכתוב בתריה לא תשמע אל דברי הנביא, ועוד שאפילו לדבריהם שהם מדברי סופרים ולא מפי ספרים, כי כל מופת שלם צריך עיון גדול עד מאד מפני שפעמים יתערב בו דבר מתעה מאותה חכמה שקרנית שנקרא בלשון יון סופיסטיק”ה ובהתחברות אליו יעשה מרמה ללכוד חכמים בערמה כגון שיהיה באות ובמופת או בהקדמות מהקדמותיו עד סוף כל העולם אחד מן המומים הפוסלין המחפפים משותפים או טענות מחופות מזוייפות צנומות דקות שדופות ונמצאים תולדותיהם כיוצא בהם שאינן משיחין לפי תומם כי זנתה אמם לפי דרכנו למדנו שהסומך על דבריהם בדברי תורתו לא יצא ידי חובתו וכל שכן לענין מופת הקדמות שהוא פוסל את השבת במומו… מפני שהיתה כונתו שלא לשנות מנהגו של עולם למען העמיד התורה עם חכמת היונית יחד לחבר את האהל להיות אחד ודימה היות הראשונה עם השניה כשתי עפרים תאמי צביה והיתה תאניה ואניה ולא נשא אותם הארץ לשבת יחדו להיות כשתי אחיות כי לא כנשים המצריות העבריות ופוסחים על שתי הסעיפים והם חושבים כי הם לכאן ולכאן והם באמת יורדים ואינם עולים אלא עומדים בתוך לנדה ביניהם לא אור התורה נגה עליהם ולא שם חכמה יונית נקרא בהם.[17]

According to Alfakar, all philosophy risks sophistry, and should therefore not be relied on for religious purposes. In light of Alfakar’s hostility toward ‘Greek wisdom,’ it is interesting that he does not refer directly to the Talmud’s prohibition. If this is out of respect for the “Andalusian tradition,” his fellow Spanish anti-Maimonidean, R. Joseph ben Todros Abulafia, feels no such constraint:

והנה איך יתחמץ לב אדם על רבותינו הצרפתים וכליותיו ישתוק אשר גזרו לבל ילחם אדם בלחם חכמי יונים בצלם אל יתלונן דהא ודאי קדמום רבנן ואסור ללחום בלחמם שחטיהם שחטי מנית(?) [מינות?] ואמרו ארור המלמד בנו חכמה יונית והנה גם מלכי הערב בתחלת מלכותם חכמו השכילו זאת הבינו לאחריתם ושמו בראשית חקיהם ודתם לבל יהגה אדם בכל חכמת ההגיון ובכל חכמות יונים מפני שבדבריהם דברי מינים, ואתם בעקבות חכמי הקבלה לא יצאתם וכמשפטי הגוים אשר סביבותיכם לא עשיתם, ואם לחשך אדם לומר דע מה שתשיב את אפיקורס: לקומם חרבות האמונה יאמרו, לא להרוס, כי תשובת חכמי היונים הם האפיקורסים הם המינים, ודבריהם הם נכוחות למשמע אזנים ולחפצים לפרוק מעליהם עול מלכות שמים ודבריהם קרובים להבין ואזני הפתאים קשובות להאזין אם ימתק בפיהם ענינם יכחידו תחת לשונם, ואף אם ישמעו עליהם דברי רבנו בספר המורה בתשובות נצחות ולשון מדברת צחות קרובים דבריו בפיהם ורחוקים מכליותיהם.[18]

Unsurprisingly, this position was also taken by an Ashkenazi polemic at the time of the controversy: כל גאוני צרפת ואשכנז אשר לא שתו לבם לשעות בדברי שוא ולעזוב מקור חיים הלכות ואגדות לעסוק בחכמה יונית אשר אסרו חכמים ללמד את בנו חכמה יונית[19]

This term occurs again in the controversy of the 1230s in the conciliatory letter of Nahmanides to the French rabbis:

הביטו וראו היש מכאוב כמכאובינו, כי גלו בנים מעל שלחן אביהם ויתגאלו בפת בג המלך וביין משתיהם ויתערבו בגויים וילמדו ממעשיהם אף כי חרב השמד אשר בעוונותינו שרד בגלות ירושלים אשר בספרד והותר לקרובי מלכות ללמוד חכמת יוונית להבין במלאכת הרפואות לשער כל מדה ולדעת כל תבנית ויתר החכמות ותחבולותם להחיות נפשם בחצרות המלכים ובטירותם אף כי אלה חכמות מותרות [ו]רבותינו ז”ל הזהירונו בהם וצוונו עליהם וכאשר אבדו ספרי חכמותנו באבדן מולדתנו והוצרכ[נ]ו ללמד בהם מספרי היונים והעמים שונים נמשכו הלבבות אחר המינות התחילו בשבח וסיימו בגנות[20]

Nahmanides argues that the Ashkenazi rabbis must recognize the plight of Spanish Jewry, who in her exile was contaminated. In this context, he makes use of the Talmud’s leniency for kerovim la-malkhut to study hokhmat yevanit—clearly this does not refer to the coded language of earlier commentators, but Nahmanides’ exact position regarding Greek wisdom here remains somewhat unclear. The fact that the interpretation of hokhmat yevanit as Greek philosophy first arose in the controversy over the legitimacy of the study of this subject, by the opponents of such study, should alert us to the possibility that this is not the original intent of the Talmudic passage. Yet to participants in the controversy, even to the proponents of philosophy, this point was not so obvious. R. Yaakov Anatoli, author of the philosophical Malmad ha-Talmidim addresses the question of “foreign study” in the introduction to his work:

גם אם אחד בדור ימלאנו לבו ללמוד החכמות הנמצאות בלשון אחרת המועילות להשלים כונת התורה, יחשב הלמוד ההוא לעון אצל רוב בני דורו. ונותנים טעם לדבריהם ממה שאמרו רז”ל: מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון וכן ממה שהזהירו שלא ללמוד חכמת יונית. ואין ספק למי שבוחן שאר דבריהם שאותה המניעה אינה כוללת אבל היא לנערים וכיוצא בם, לפי שהחכמה ההיא אם לא יקדים לה למוד התורה ותלמודה ובלבד שיהא הלומד ההוא איש נעים ובעל מדות טובות הנכללות ביראת שמים היא בלא ספק גורמת להוציא האדם מן הכלל. לפי שהחכמה ההיא עמוקה מאד וכל ראיותיה משקול הדעות ומעט הם הראויים לה, כי היא צריכה אנשי לב נבונים ירא אלהים יודעי התורה ותלמודה, והם שנכנסים לפרדס בשלום ויוצאים בשלום לפי שמטים ספיקותיהם אחר האמת המקובלת אצלם מצד התורה הנטועה בלבם אבל חסר לב יקצץ נטיעות לפי המבוכה היוצאת לו בקצת ענינים ומקשים לבם ומגלים פנים בתורה ומטים הספיקות אחרי יצרם ושרירות לבם ולפיכך היתה המניעה ראויה אל הרוב. [21]

Anatoli accepts the anti-philosophic definition of hokhmat yevanit, but argues that anyone familiar with the corpus of Hazal must recognize that this prohibition cannot be construed as a blanket prohibition, but as a limitation on those who are unprepared. Likewise, R. Samuel b. Abraham Saporta, a defender of the philosophic camp, does not reject this interpretation of hokhmat yevanit but rather argues that the prohibition could not have been based on heretical content, because then the dispensation for kerovei malkhut would be incomprehensible:

והנה אפילו לאומרים שהחכמות האלה הן החכמה היונית, לא גזרו עליהם מפני שישי בה מינית, אלא מפני מעשה שהיה כאשר הוא מפורש באותה שאמרו ארור אדם שיגדל חזירים וארור שילמד את בנו חכמה יונית, והרי חכמה יונית הותרה לקרובי מלכות ואם היה בה שמץ מינות אפילו להבין ולהורות נאסר ללמדה, כמו שאמרו הלמד דבר אחד מן המכשף מן המגושי חייב מיתה, ואלו הם לא התירוה לקרובי מלכות ומצינו למדין שהחכמה היונית לא נאסרה מפני צד מינות.[22]

Although the “philosophical” interpretation of hokhmat yevanit was born during the first Maimonidean controversy, it did not die with the controversy’s end. The Spanish kabbalist Abraham Abulafia, active during the second half of the thirteenth century, uses this definition in a discussion of the relationship between divine, revealed wisdom and “human” wisdom, including mathematics, logic and dialectics:

ועל דרך האמת אשר אין בה ספק למי שחננו חונן הדעת מדע והשכל, כי החכמה העליונה האלהית התוריית אינה חכמה היוונית הנקרא לימודית ושמה בלשון יון מתימתיק”א, ולא החכמה אשר שמה הגיון ובלשון יון דיאליטיק”א וגם לוגיק”א, שעל החכמה ההיא אמרו מקבלי האמת מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון. [ור’ שמואל בן תיבון ז”ל אמר עליו פירושים זרים מהאמת, שאמר כי על כן אמרו מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון] ולא עצמכם, כלומר שבניכם אינם יכולים לקבל החכמה. ולפי דעתי מהחכמה האלהית, דבר נראה בעיניי פירושו מעולה מאד ואין ספק כי הוא טעם טוב לבעלי ההגיון אבל לא לנו, שכבר ידענו באמת עיקר המאמר הנכבד הנבואי ההוא, והוא בלא ספק שהזהירונו חכמי האמת מהשתדל בחכמות היווניות ההן, מפני שאנחנו עם הקודש עם יי’, יש לנו תורה קדושה מורה אמיתת שתי החכמות אשר הם מקדימים החכמה הלימודית להן כדי לאמתן במופתים לפי סברת שכלם, כי לא השיגו מה שראוי להשיג עד שידעו אמיתתן מבלי הקדמת ספריהם. ובאמת כי הם עשו דבר גדול במה שעשו, ולפי מה שקראתיו אני מספריהם ראיתיו שהשיגו דברים רבים שמספיק להשגתם כח השכל האנושי, אבל בדברים שהוצרכו אל השכל האלהי לאמתם, לא השיגו להם עניין כלל, ועל כן טעו ברובם כמו שנודע מספריהם. ושתי החכמות ההן הן חכמת הטבע וחכמת האלהות, שהן כוללות כל עצמות המציאות ונקראו בלשוננו מעשה בראשית ומעשה מרכבה. וההבדל אשר בינינו לבינם שאנחנו קראנום בשמות מורים חידוש מעשים נבראים בכוונה וראשון, והם קראום בשמות מורים קדמות מעשים נמצאים בחכמה תמידית בלתי כוונה רצונית, ודעתם הפך מדעתנו בלא ספק… אבל אין ספק אצלנו אנחנו בעלי התורה אשר קבלנו ממנה הקבלות האלהיות, שהתורה השלמה היא מגדת לנו כל מה שסופק להם.[23]

Abulafia recognizes the achievements of human reason, but denies their necessity for a people possessed of divine revelation. Abulafia also accepts the Maimonidean definition of ma’aseh bereishit and ma’aseh merkavah as hokhmat ha-teva’ and hokhmat ha-elohut—but says the terminological distinction between the Greeks and the Hebrews points to their essential difference, namely creation vs. eternity. This fundamental difference is based on the power of revelation to solve the doubts which philosophy cannot resolve. In contrast to the opponents of philosophy, for Abulafia, the Torah and Greek wisdom have a hierarchical relationship. The results of philosophical inquiry are valuable, but incomplete. R. Abba Mari ha-Yarhi, the primary instigator of the “Maimonidean controversy” of 1303-1305, took a position similar to Abulafia’s. In his Minhat Kena’ot, R. Abba Mari defends Aristotle for his belief in eternity of the universe:

על כן אני אומר על ארסטו כי עינו הטעתו בראותו עולם כמנהגו נוהג גזר ואמר כי כל חלוף דבר מטבע נמנע והביא ראיות על הקדמות ואין לענשו על כך כי אין זה מכלל ז’ מצות שנצטוו בני נח אך על זה יזכר לטוב כי הביא ראיות על מציאת האל יתברך ואחדותו והיותו בלתי גשם ולא ישיגהו הפעלות ושינוי ובזה הלך אחרי עקבות אברהם ע”ה שהיה תחלה לגרים, וכן נמצא כתוב בספר התפוח כי הוא תשתדל לבטל הדעות הנפסדות כמו שעשה אברהם ראש לפלסופים אשר בטל עבודת שמש וירח בחרן ע”כ.[24]

According to R. Abba Mari, Aristotle cannot be faulted for his belief in the eternity of the world, because after all, that is not one of the seven Noahide commandments.[25] Instead, Aristotle should be credited for following in the footsteps of Abraham, a view supported by Aristotle’s own alleged recognition of Abraham as the father of philosophy. At the same time, R. Abba Mari expresses his deep ambivalence about philosophy as a legitimate enterprise for Jews:

באמת ובברור בקושי גדול ובהכרח התירו ללמוד מספרי החכמות, ואפי’ לשבח המאמרים שלהם אע”פ שאין בהם דבר רע כלל… וארז”ל בספרי: ודברת בם, עשה אותן עיקר ואל תעשהם טפלה, שלא יהיה משאך ומתנך אלא בהם, שלא תערב בהם דברים אחרים, שמא תאמר למדתי חכמת ישראל אלך ואלמד חכמת האומות, ת”ל ללכת בם ולא להפטר מתוכם, וגרסינן במנחת פ’ שתי הלחם, שאל בן דמא בן אחותו של ר’ ישמעאל את ר’ ישמעאל אני שלמדתי כל התורה מהו שאלמוד חכמת יונית? קרא עליו המקרא הזה, לא ימוש ספר התורה הזה מפיך והגית בו יומם ולילה, צא ובדוק שעה שאינה לא מן היום ולא מן הלילה. ולאותם שהם קרובים למלכות, התירו להם ללמוד חכמת יונית מפני שהם קרובים למלכות.[26]

R. Abba Mari’s ambivalence about philosophy, together with his respect and admiration for Maimonides himself, mark the contrast between this episode of the Maimonidean controversy and its previous outbreak in the 1230s. This time, the debate was not over the legitimacy of Maimonides, but over the true legacy of Maimonides.[27] R. Abba Mari, like Abulafia, did not deny the efficacy of philosophy but argued that the Jewish people, in possession of revelation, were not in need of its benefits. Another participant in the controversy, R. Menahem ha-Meiri, a moderate Maimonidean, took two opposing views of hokhmat yevanit in his Talmudic commentaries. In his commentary on Hagigah, Meiri takes the traditional view of hokhmat yevanit as a secret language:

בית הבחירה (חגיגה ז.): יש דברים שאין להם מן התורה שיעור למטה וחכמים נתנו שיעור בקצתן וכלן יש בהוספתן מצוה עד שאין להם ג”כ שיעור למעלה ואלו הן … ותלמוד תורה שלמטה אף בקריאת שמע שחרית וערבית קיים והגית בו יומם ולילה ואין צריך לומר שאין לה שיעור למעלה ואמרו עליה בתלמוד המערב שאלו לר’ יהושע מהו ללמד את בנו חכמה יונית אמר להם כתיב והגית בו יומם ולילה צא וראה אי זו שעה שאינה לא מן היום ולא מן הלילה, כלו’ ואך אפשר בכך? מעתה יהא אסור ללמדו אומנות, והא תני ר’ ישמעאל ובחרת בחיים זו אומנות, א”ר יוחנן מפני המסורות. ופירשוה חכמי נארבונאה שלא אסרה ר’ יהושע אלא מפני המסורות שלא יהו בקיאים בה וכמו שאמרו בפרק מרבה (פ”ב ע”ב) על אותו זקן שלעז להם בלשון יוני ולמדו מכאן שחכמת רמיזה בלבד הוא שאסרו. ושנו עוד שם ר’ אבהו בשם ר’ יוחנן מותר ללמד את בתו תורה מפני שתכשיט הוא. שמע שמעון ברבא אמר בגין דו בעי מילפא לבנתיה תלי ליה בר’ יוחנן, יהא עלי אם שמעה מר’ יוחנן.[28]

However, in his commentary to Bava Kama (82b), Meiri adopts the newer view of hokhmat yevanit as philosophy, while giving a new interpretation to the scope of the prohibition:

לשון יוני כבר בארנו במגלה שהוא ממאושרים שבלשונות ומ”מ חכמה שלהם אסור ללמדה מפני שמושכת לבו של אדם והורסת הרבה מפנות הדת וקרובי מלכות שלהם מצד שהם צריכים בה לכמה דברים בתכסיסי מלכיהם שהיו נמשכים אחר חקירת החכמה עד להרבה ולא היו מקרבים כל כך אלא מי שהוא שלם בחכמות ודעתו צלולה בכל הדברים הותר להם ללמדה ואף החכמים השלמים שכבר מלאו כרסם בשר ויין ר”ל התורה ותלמודה וסודות מצותיה אין לך קרובים למלכות יותר מהם והרי נאמר בי מלכים ימלוכו ומותר להם ללמדה כדי להשיב עליהם ולחזק ענין הדת במסמרים לא ימוט.

Perhaps this second interpretation, in which Meiri abandons the tradition of Talmudic commentators in favor of the “polemical” view, reflects Meiri’s newfound awareness of the dangers of unrestricted philosophic engagement. Not all the opponents of philosophy in this wave of the controversy shared R. Abba Mari’s moderate position. R. Asher b. Yehiel, the great Ashkenazi Talmudist who left his native Germany in 1303, arriving in Spain via Provence in 1305, only reluctantly supported the Rashba’s ban on philosophy—because it did not go far enough. According to the ban, philosophy was only forbidden until the age of twenty five, but according to R. Asher, alluding to the Talmudic passage in Menahot, it is never permitted: ועוד כי החרימו על דת משה דכתיב והגית בו יומם ולילה, ולאותה חכמה צריך שעה שאינה לא מן היום ולא מן הלילה.[29] ,[30] Yisrael Ta Shma pointed to another dispute in which R. Asher argued against philosophy, this time against using “philosophical reasoning” in determining halakha. R. Yisrael b. Yosef ha-Yisraeli, a member of R. Asher’s beit din, argued that in a case of communal decrees, questions must be decided not on the basis of Talmudic knowledge, but by possession of sound logic and knowledge of the literary Arabic in which the decrees were composed:

מאחר שהכל מודים שיש לנו להתנהג בירושת האשה על פי תקנת הנישואין, ואין חולק בדבר הזה, מעתה אין לנו עסק בדין זה עם הגמרא כלל, ואין ראוי שיפסוק אלא מי שיש בו שני הדברים הללו, האחד שיהיה בעל סברא נכונה, והשני שיהיה בקי בלשון ערב האמיתית, וכשיהיה בתכלית השלימות בשנים הללו, ראוי לסמוך עליו ולעשות על פיו, ואפילו אם יבא רב אשי ויחלוק עליו אין שומעין לו.

This position earned the fierce denunciation of R. Asher:

הצעה הראשונה שכתבת שאין ראוי שיפסוק דין זה אלא מי שיש בו שני דברים הללו, שיהיה בעל סברא נכונה… תהלה לאל חנני אלקים ויש לי כל בסברא אמיתית של תורת משה רבינו ע”ה ככל חכמי ספרד הנמצאים בימים האלה, ואע”פ שלא ידעתי מחכמה החיצונית שלכם בריך רחמנא דשיזבן מינה כי בא האות והמופת להדיח האדם מיראת השם ותורתו… ועל שכתבת מגזרת השכל וגזרת הדת, מה אשיב על זה, לא תהא תורה שלנו כשיחה בטילה שלכם, חכמת הגיונכם אשר הרחיקו כל חכמי הדת נביא ממנה לחייב ולזכות, לאסור ולהתיר, והלא חוצבי מקורה לא האמינו במשה ובמשפטים ובחוקים צדיקים אשר נתנו על ידו בכתב ובקבלה, ואיך שואבי מימיה יביאו ראיה מהם לחוקים ומשפטים של משה רבינו עליו השלום ולפסוק דינין במשלים שהורגלו בהם בחכמת הגיונם? האף אין זאת וכי בימי ובמקומי יפסקו הדינין על פי המשלים, ת”ל בעודי חי עוד יש תורה בישראל להביא ראיה מהמשנה וגמרא, בבלית וירושלמית, ולא יצטרכו להביא משלים לפסקי הדינים, כי חכמת הפילוסופיא וחכמת התורה והמשפטים אינן על דרך אחת, כי חכמת התורה היא קבלה למשה מסיני, והחכם ידרוש בה במדות שנתנה לידרש בהם ומדמה מילתא למילתא, אע”פ שאין הדברים נמשכים אחר חכמת הטבע אנו הולכין על פי הקבלה. אבל חכמת הפילוסופיא היא טבעית וחכמים גדולים היו והעמידו כל דבר על טבעו ומרוב חכמתם העמיקו שחתו והוצרכו לכפור בתורת משה לפי שאין כל התורה טבעית אלא קבלה… ועל זה אמר החכם כל באיה לא ישובון, רוצה לומר כל הבא ונכנס מתחלה בחכמה זו לא יוכל לצאת ממנה להכנס בלבו חכמת התורה, כי לא יוכל לשוב מחכמה טבעית שהורגל בה כי לבו תמיד נמשך אחריה. ומחמת זה לא ישיג לעמוד על חכמת התורה שהיא ארחות חיים כי יהיה לבו תמיד על חכמת הטבע ותעלה ברוחו להשוות שתי החכמות יחד ולהביא ראיה מזו לזו ומתוך זה יעוות המשפט כי שני הפכים הם צרות זו לזו ולא ישכנו במקום אחד.[31]

The ideological background of this dispute becomes clearer when we keep in mind R. Asher’s position on philosophy in general, and compare it to that of R. Yisrael:

ראוי לאדם להקדים תחילה לימוד התורה והתלמוד והלכותיו ולהגות בו ולדקדק עד אשר ישקע בלבו וידע כלליו ופרטיו ודיניו ומשפטיו ואח”כ ילמוד החכמות החיצוניות כדי לדעת תשובות הטועים וינצחם וטענותיהם. ולכן אחז”ל, “מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון” (ברכות כח ע”ב) ולא אמרו מנעו עצמכם, לפי שהבנים לא ריוו צמאון שכלם בתורה ובתלמוד, ואם ילמדו מיד ההגיון, והוא ההקדמה ללימוד שאר החכמות, אולי ישתבשו בסברתם ויצאו מהרה מן הכלל בר מינן, וכן אמרו ארור המלמד את בנו חכמה יוונית, ולא אמרו ארור שילמוד חכמה יוונית… לא הזכירו רק את בנו.[32]

R. Yisrael adopts the position of Shmuel ibn Tibbon, and R. Asher does not take kindly to that position.[33] A new argument against the identification of hokhmat yevanit with philosophy appears in the work of R. Levi b. Avraham, a prime target of the anti-philosophy camp in the controversy of 1303-1305. In a recently published section of his work Livyat hen, R. Levi distinguishes between two forms of hokhmat yevanit, one which is forbidden because it falls under the prohibition of hukkot ha-emori, and another form which is forbidden because it is a waste of time:

יודע לך כי חכמה יוונית הם שני מינין: המין האחד הוא ספרי דתם ונימוסיהם שהם כחקות האמורי, וזה אסור להתעסק בו… המין השני סיפורי מלכיהם ודברי הימים, בכלל זה ההתמדה במלאכת השיר, בהשתמשו בו בדברים דלים פחותים… וזה המין אין בו איסור אבל כליון הזמן, וכן הענין בספר בן סירא, ועל זה שנינו במסכת מנחות פר’ שתי הלחם: שאל בן דמה בן אחותו של ר’ ישמעאל את ר’ ישמעאל כגון אני שלמדתי כל התורה מהו שאלמד חכמה יוונית, קרא עליו מקרא הזה והגית בו יומם ולילה… כלומ’ כי ראוי לעסוק תמיד בתורה ובחכמה שהיא בכלל התורה… אבל לא דיברו בספרי החכמה שחיברו הפילוסופים האמתיים כסוקראט ואפלטון וארסטו ודומיה’, כי חדשים היו בימים ההם ועדיין לא התפשטו בכל, כי זה המין מן החכמה היה מצוי בין חכמי ישראל בספרים עבריים מיוחדים לזה, וכל חכמה מפוארת לא היו מייחסים רק [=אלא] לישראל, כמו שאמ’ כי היא חכמתכם ובינתכם. וצווי למנוע דברים אלה מן הילדים, גם מן ההגיון שהוא התחלה לשאר החכמות, להיותם דברים מושכים את הלב, ויהיה זה גורם להם לעזוב הקבלה, ועוד כי לתגבורת החומר בהם יטו אל דעת הכופרים דשאני מינות דמשכח [צ”ל דמשכה—א.ק.]…[34]

R. Levi objects to the classification of the philosophy known to us by means of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle as “Greek wisdom” because the sages would not have attributed such wisdom to the Greeks, but “only” to the Jews, from whom this wisdom was lost. The same argument is presented by R. David ha-Kokhavi, a Provencal Maimonidean and halakhist, in his Sefer ha-batim:

כבר כתבנו בהקדמתנו בחלק השני כי ראיות רבות יש מדברי התורה והנביאים ומאמרי רבותינו שידיעת ה’ על דרך האמת בראיות מופתיות הוא העקר, אשר ההתחלה הצריכה לזה היא מלאכת ההגיון, כדי לדעת דרכי ההקש ועשיית המופת ועניני הנצוח ההטעאה. ומה שטענו החולקים על זה בקצת הענות מדברי רבותינו, אחת מהם אמרם כי רבותינו אסרו להתעסק במלאכה הזאת והביא ראיה מאמרם מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון והושיבום בין ברכי החכמים, וכן אמרו שאסרו חכמה יונית, ואומרים כי “חכמת הטבע” והאלקות היא המיוחסת לחכמה יונית ואסורה. נאמר כי מה שאמרו רבותינו מנעו בניכם מן ההגיון בארוהו קצת מהמפרשים שלא נאמר על מה שאנו קורין היום “הגיון” שהוא כלי לחכמות, אך כוונו אל דרכי חידות הדיבור אין תועלת בו, והוא מפעל הבטלה כמו שבאר הר”ם בחכמה יונית כמו שאבאר… ומה שאמרנו [צ”ל: שאמרו] שהחכמה יונית היא חכמת הטבע והאלוקות, הנה הם רחוקים מכוונתנו. כי ידוע הוא כמו שהורנו הר”מ מורה צדק שמעשה בראשית ומעשה מרכבה הם חכמת הטבע והאלקות, וחכמה זו איננה יונית, וחלילה שתתיחס רק [=אלא] לזרע קדש והיא חכמת משה והנביאים והמדברים ברוח הקודש, וזה יתבאר לאשר יתן לו ה’ לב לדעת דברי תורה והנביאים.[35]

Both of these Provencal Maimonideans object to describing Greek philosophy as Greek, when it should properly be described instead as Jewish. Abraham Bibago, in his Derekh Emunah, gives this argument a universalist twist. Hokhmat yevanit cannot refer to philosophical speculation, because such inquiry belongs no more to one nation than another—it is the property of mankind as a whole:

ולהתיר הספקות נאמר כי החכמה היונית איננה חכמת החקירה המופתית הנאמרת, כי חכמת החקירה היא חכמה שכלית והיא לאדם במה שהוא אדם, אם כן היא חכמה אנושית לא חכמה יונית, והחכמה הנקראת חכמה יונית היא דבר מיוחד לאומת יון לא לאומה אחרת. וכבר נודעה חכמת שלמה ע”ה שקובל ממנו היות אלו החכמות באות מספריו, כי נאבדו לאורך הזמנים, ונעתקו ללשונות האומות הזרות, אם כן אלו החכמות הן הנה חכמות אנושיות לא חכמות יוניות… ולמה שהוא מצד צורתו הכוללת שהוא בה אדם, יהיה בעל שכל וישכיל וישלם בהשכלה, הנה ראוי לו ומחוייב ללמוד החכמה, כי בה יהיה אדם ויבדל מיתר בעלי חיים היותר חסרים ממנו…

For Bibago, the tradition of the Solomonic origins of philosophy proves that philosophy belongs neither to the Greeks nor to the Jews, but to mankind. R. Meir ibn Gabbai, the post-expulsion Spanish kabbalist, uses Bibago’s argument about the universality of philosophy as its own undoing. If philosophy is as universal as Bibago suggested, as no doubt it is, it cannot be the same as Solomon’s wisdom:

הפלוסופיא, והיא הנקראת חכמה יונית לרז”ל, ונתיחסה ליונים לפי שמהם יצאה והם המציאוה בעולם ובדוה מלבם, לפי שנתנו דעתם לחקור על הנמצאות ולשקלם בשקל שכלם ונקראת בלשון פלוסופי בני עמנו חכמת הנמצאות, לפי שהתחכמו בהן לפי דעתם, ובלשון יון פלוסופיא, היא אסורה לכל אשר בשם ישראל יכנה, ואיסורה מבואר ממה שאמרו בסוטה פרק עגלה ערופה, ובקמא פרק מרובה, אמרו שם בזה הלשון תנו רבנן כשצרו בית חשמונאי זה על זה, היה הורקנוס מבפנים ואריסטובלוס מבחוץ, ובכל יום ויום היו משלשלים להם בקופה דינרין, והיו מעלים להם תמידים, היה שם זקן אחד שהיה מכיר בחכמה יונית, אמר להם כל זמן שעוסקין בעבודה אין נמסרים בידכם, למחר שלשלו דינרין בקופה והעלו להם שועל, כיון שהגיע לחצי החומה נעץ צפרניו בחומה, נזדעזעה ארץ ישראל ארבע מאות פרסה על ארבע מאות פרסה. באותה שעה אמרו אסור לאיש מישראל שיגדל שועלים, (!) וארור האדם שילמד את בנו חכמה יונית… והחכם ר’ אברהם ביבאגי’ ז”ל יצא לישע הפלוסופיא והליץ בעדה והתירה לבא בקהל, ולהרים מכשול מדרך עם הקדש אביא דבריו בזה בקצרה, ואם הוא האריך והשיב עליהם ואשוב להוכיח כי הפלוסופיא והיא החכמה העיונית המופתית, אסורה לבא בקהל וגזרת רז”ל היתה עליה בייחוד… וכבר הארכתי בזה בפרק י”ו מהחלק הב’ מזה הספר בסייעתא דשמיא יבוקש משם, כי הוא פלא וחלילה שתיוחס החכמה השכלית לישראל, אבל היא חלק שאר האומות להיותה אנושית, ולזה נמצאו באומות חכמים ונבונים בה יותר ויותר הרבה ממה שנמצאו בישראל, בזמן שנתפתו אחריה גדולי פלוסופי בני עמנו, אבל חכמת ישראל פנימית אלהית מקובלת מפי הגבורה לא זכו בה האומות, וכמו שכתוב מגיד דבריו ליעקב וגו’ לא עשה כן לכל גוי, וחכמת שלמה ע”ה אלהית נתונה לו במתנה שנאמר ויי’ נתן חכמה לשלמה ומעולם לא יצא חוץ לאומה והיא מיוחדת לישראל, ומעולם לא זכו בה שום אומה ולשון, ואלו היתה שכלית אנושית היתה שוה לכל… ויראת יי’ היא חכמת האלהות שהיודעה הן הוא ירא הש”י וכו’, אמת כי היודע חכמת האלהות ירא את יי’ ואוהבו, אבל אינה החכמה שבדא היוני מלבו לאלהות כי לא השיג האמת ואיך איפשר שתמשך היראה ממנה.[36]

Ibn Gabbai was preceded in this argument by R. Shem Tov b. Shem Tov, who objected to the identification of ma’aseh bereishit and ma’aseh merkavah with physics and metaphysics because, “If that were so then these mysteries are available to all, to the pure and the impure, to the believer and the heretic, to the Canaanite, Hittite, Amonite and Moabite.”[37] Whereas R. Levi b. Abraham and R. David ha-Kokhavi are indignant at the thought that philosophical wisdom should be ascribed to the Greeks and not to the Jews, ibn Gabbai and Shem Tov are equally horrified that such universal wisdom be ascribed to the Jews. Ibn Gabbai (unlike Shem Tov) also rejects the notion of the Jewish roots of philosophy, so favored by proponents of philosophy. Philosophy as a discipline is properly named “Greek wisdom” because it is an invention of the Greeks. The true wisdom of Solomon is not the product of the Socratic method, but of divine revelation. Warren Harvey has noted that for medieval Jewish Aristotelians, Aristotle is simply “ha-filosof,” which means not merely that he is the Philosopher, but that his identity transcends the bounds of nationality and religion such that he needs no accompanying description. In contrast, anti-Aristotelians such as Halevi, Nahmanides and Crescas refer to Aristotle as “ha-yevani”—he is not a universal figure who escaped the bounds of his culture and place, he is a Greek, and his philosophy is not universal, it is Greek. [38]What is implicit in one’s choice of titles for Aristotle becomes explicit when it comes to classifying his philosophy. Bibago, foreshadowed by his Provencal predecessors, disputed the “Greekness” of philosophy. Ibn Gabbai, on the other hand, argued that the Greekness of philosophy is inseparable from its essence. [39] In the twentieth century, the argument that “Greek wisdom” is universal wisdom was challenged as itself being based on Greek premises. Philosophy following Plato seeks to move from the world of matter to the world of forms, to discover the universal essence which lies behind the particular instance. This underlies the idea that Greek philosophy expresses universal truth. However, there is a paradox in the idea that Greek philosophy represents universal wisdom. For the Greeks, the only things worthy of consideration is the unchanging essence, because only that is universal—but the idea that only universals are worthy of consideration is particularly Greek. Instead of the opposition of faith and reason, the philosopher Horace Kallen argued that the source of the ancient dichotomy between Athens and Jerusalem, or between Hebraism and Hellenism, is their respective interpretations of existence. For the Greek, the world represents “structure, harmony, order immutable, eternal; for the Hebrew, flux, mutation, imminence, disorder… In a word, for the Greeks, change is unreal and evil; for the Hebrews the essence of reality is change.”[40] William Barrett likewise contrasts Hebraism and Hellenism, where the “Hebraic” viewpoint is a precursor for existentialist philosophy’s shift of perspective to the individual: Hebraism does not raise its eyes to the universal and abstract; its vision is always of the concrete, particular, individual man. The Greeks, on the other hand, were the first thinkers in history; they discovered the universal, the abstract and timeless essences, forms, and Ideas… [For the Greeks,] the ‘really real’ objects in the universe, ta ontos onta, are the universals or Ideas. Particular things are half real and half unreal—real only insofar as they participate in the eternal universals. The universal is fully real because it is eternal; the fleeting and changing particular has only a shadowy kind of reality because it passes and is then as if it had never been. Humanity, the universal, is more real than any individual man.”[41] With this backdrop, we can now answer the following question: If the evidence for hokhmat yevanit as Greek philosophy is so weak, how did the anti-philosophy interpretation become so prevalent? The answer, in part, is because of the rationalists’ rejection of the dichotomy between Athens and Jerusalem. For them, the project of reconciling philosophy and Judaism was one of recovery, of reinstituting the lost Jewish tradition of philosophy. For the medieval rationalists, the content of Jewish revelation had to be understood in light of Greek reason. It was the anti-rationalists who challenged this identification. Of course, in the history of Western thought, the anti-rationalists won this argument, and the dichotomy of Athens and Jerusalem or Hebraism and Hellenism became firmly entrenched. To the eyes of history, there was no question—the anti-rationalists won the argument about the opposition between Athens and Jerusalem. This “victory” explains the readiness of modern authors to accept the anti-rationalist interpretation of hokhmat yevanit as Greek philosophy, despite the lack of evidence for this conclusion. The broad interpretation of hokhmat yevanit aligns perfectly with the Athens-Jerusalem dichotomy so well-ingrained for moderns. In fact, however, this interpretation which was created during the controversies over philosophy in the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, subsequently waned. Forged as a polemical weapon, it is withdrawn again only by authors like R. Shem Tov b. Shem Tov and R. Meir ibn Gabbai for whom philosophy is an enemy to be combated by all means. [42]