Torah Under Wraps

by Yoav Sorek

translated by Daniel Tabak

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Scholar is Born

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead of Polemic, Shock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Professor in All But Name

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

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

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

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

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

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

Between Seclusion and Entrenchment

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

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

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

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A DUAL DESTINY

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Translator’s Notes:

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

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

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

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

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

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

[3] Cf. Prov 11:2.

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

[5] cf. Shabbat 31a.

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

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

Contemporary Uses and Forms of Hasidut. Edited by Shlomo Zuckier. Yeshiva University Press, 2022. 516 pages. ISBN 978-1-60280-398-5.

REVIEWED BY BEZALEL NAOR

When the ‘Ilui of Denenburg was in Lublin, he visited the Rabbi of the city, the Gaon Rabbi Shneur Zalman [Fradkin]. Upon parting, he asked him if there is to be found in Lublin another gaon. Rabbi Shneur Zalman replied: “There resides here Rabbi Zadok HaKohen, a great gaon.” The ‘Ilui of Denenburg went to the “Kohen,” who received him with great honor.

(Shmuel Ungar, Sefer Toledot Hakohen mi-Lublin, ed. Zevi Moskowitch [Jerusalem, 1966], chap. 9, p. 36)

When the famous Gaon, Rabbi Yosef Rosen, may he live, the Rabbi of Denenburg, visited him and wished to engage him in pilpul (Talmudic dialectic), [Rabbi Zadok Hakohen] said to him: “When the Men of the Great Assembly instituted the blessing, ‘You bestow knowledge upon men,’ their intention was not that one should demonstrate ones prowess in pilpul. But since ‘from the LORD a man’s steps are set’ [Psalms 37:23], perhaps it is for this reason that His Honor has come to me. Though His Honor is an ‘ilui, he should know that I was an ‘ilui. While I was yet young, I won over all the gedolim (greats) who engaged me in pilpul. Yet, I saw afterward, that it is impossible to merit to the ‘crown of Torah’ unless we latch onto the door of the disciples of the Ba‘al Shem Tov, may his merit protect us.”

(Shlomo Gavriel Margaliyot, “Toledot Rabbeinu ha-Kohen ha-Mehaber,” Introduction to Rabbi Zadok ha-Kohen, Sihat Mal’akhei ha-Sharet [Lublin, 1927], 2a)

For the better part of the twentieth century, Yeshiva University—under its rashei yeshivah, Rabbi Moshe Soloveichik, his elder son Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik (referred to simply as “the Rav”), and younger son Rabbi Ahron Soloveichik—was the vanguard of the much vaunted “Brisker derekh,” the novel method of Talmudic analysis developed by Rabbi Hayyim Soloveichik of Brisk de-Lita (Brest-Litovsk), Moshe’s father. This methodology was later transported to Yeshivat Har Etzion (in Gush Etzion), when Rabbi Yosef Dov’s son-in-law Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein became rosh yeshivah there in 1971. The Soloveichik Family, descendants of Rabbi Hayyim of Volozhin, the premier disciple of the Vilna Gaon, carried on the Mitnagdic tradition of Torah li-shemah (study of Torah for Torah’s sake) as outlined in Rabbi Hayyim’s work Nefesh ha-Hayyim, and as put into practice for the better part of the nineteenth century in the Volozhin Yeshivah, ‘the mother of yeshivot.”

And then there was Shagar. ShaGaR (acronym of Shimon Gershon Rosenberg) (1949-2007), himself a product of the Dati-Le’umi (Religious Zionist) world (identified by their knitted yarmulkas, or kippot serugot) posed a challenge to the monolithic world of Brisk. With an impressive armamentarium of spiritual works—Habad, Likkutei Moharan (by Rabbi Nahman of Breslov), Mei ha-Shilo’ah (of the Izhbitser Rebbe)—his teachings found a chink in the armor of the time-hallowed derekh ha-limmud (method of study). One could say, Shagar was a Litvak’s worst nightmare. Students of the Gush, the so-called “Harvard of yeshivot hesder,” who evidently were dissatisfied with the traditional diet of the yeshivah, were taken by the siren song of Shagar, who dispensed a post-modernist presentation of Hasidic thought.

And then the unthinkable occurred. The refracted light of Hasidism bounced back to the “mother ship,” Yeshiva University, and in 2013, Rabbi Moshe Weinberger, an American Hasidic rebbe (a graduate of Yeshiva University), was appointed “Mashpi‘a” of Yeshiva University. (Previously, the title “mashpi‘a,” or “spiritual influencer,” was synonymous with Lubavitcher yeshivot.)

The meeting between the Vilna Gaon’s heirs and the Ba‘al Shem Tov’s heirs was happening.

The present volume, edited by Rabbi Dr. Shlomo Zuckier, a polymath of some distinction, and published under the auspices of Yeshiva University, is testimony to this paradigm shift within the world of Yeshiva University and Yeshivat Har Etzion.

The thought occurs to this writer that the confrontation of Shagar and Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein in the Gush, might have taken place a generation earlier had Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel become faculty at Yeshiva University. (There exists documentation to substantiate the negotiations between Heschel and Yeshiva University.) Within the halls of Yeshiva University there would have held forth the Rav and the Rebbe; the scion of the Beit Harav mi-Volozhin, and the descendant of the Apter Rov (his namesake, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel), author of Ohev Yisrael; Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berdichev, author of Kedushat Levi; the royal house of Ruzhin; and the Rebbe of Novominsk. A generation earlier, the encounter of the Man of Halakhah and the Man of Aggadah might have produced a marvelous cross-pollination.

A single example will illustrate the fecundity of their mutually complementary thought: Prophecy.

Where the Rav, the Ish ha-Halakhah (based on Maimonides, of course) “worked overtime” to glean the halakhic takeaway of the entire prophetic enterprise, and arrived finally at the notion of imitatio Dei (“ve-halakhta bi-derakhav”), the Rebbe, the Ish ha-Aggadah, dismissed imitatio Dei. While the Man of Halakhah sought the dimension of “prophecy needed for generations” (“nevu’ah she-hutzrekhah le-dorot,” b. Megillah 14a), the Man of Aggadah searched for precisely the “teaching of the hour” (hora’at sha‘ah).

After quoting Maimonides’ Hilkhot De‘ot 1:6 (“And in this way, the prophets called God by all those epithets [kinuyim]—“Long Suffering,” “Master of Lovingkindness,” “Righteous,” “Straight,” etc.—to make known that they are good and straight ways, and a man is obligated to conduct himself by them and to emulate Him to his ability”), Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik confides:

I always had difficulty in regard to the role of the prophets of Israel. On one hand, we rule that a prophet may not innovate to add or subtract even a jot; on the other hand, the word of the LORD required prophets, and their prophecy was written down for generations. What is the purpose of their prophecy inasmuch as they were unable to innovate any matter of Halakhah? Certainly, they rebuked Israel, and rebuke was one of the purposes for which our prophets were sent. However, I still have difficulty saying that in their prophecy they told Israel nothing in the Halakhic sense.

But now all is crystal clear. There is an entire Torah in the books of the Prophets—the Torah of the ways of the LORD, the Torah of the epithets that obligates man in imitating his Creator. … Tout court, prophecy came to teach man how to participate in the attributes of the Holy One, blessed be He, and to attain His epithets.

(Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, Shi‘urim le-Zekher Abba Mori [Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 2002], vol. 2, pp. 188-189)

In revolt against Maimonides, and nurtured on the iconoclasm of Pshysucha and Kotzk, Heschel, proponent of divine pathos, searches for exactly the “teaching of the moment,” the prophet’s experience of the moment. (As one of the authors in the collection, the late Ya‘akov Elman, wrote, “Individualism in Przysucha-Kotzk-Izbica-Lublin involves not just individual humans, but also individual moments in time and circumstance” [p. 87].)

Heschel writes:

Prophetic sympathy is by no means identical with the imitation of God, which in the broadest sense is also a biblical motif (cf. Lev. 19:2). The difference is the more significant because the resemblance, too, is obvious. Imitatio, the pattern of which is a concrete life-history, is realized as a practical way of life. Sympathy, whose object is an inner spiritual reality, is a disposition of the soul. The prototype of imitatio is an unchanging model; a constant traditional knowledge of it indicates a ready path to be followed. Pathos, on the other hand, is ever changing, according to the circumstances of the given situation. The content of sympathy is not fixed by any predetermination. What is abiding in it, is simply the orientation toward the living reality of God.

Imitatio is concerned with a past, sympathy with a present, occurrence. Imitatio is remote from history; what is at stake in sympathy is an actual historical situation.

(Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Prophets [Peabody, Mass.: Hendrikson, 2010], Part Two, p. 102)

And again, in even more strident terms:

The goal of sympathy is not to become like unto God, but to become effective as a prophet through approximation to the pathos of God. In sympathy, divine pathos is actually experienced in the moment of crisis; in imitatio, the fixed pattern is transmitted. In the former case, an assimilation or creative understanding is necessary; in the latter, mere knowledge is sometimes sufficient.

In imitatio, the whole being of the deity is often taken as the pattern; in sympathy, only its aspect as pathos is taken as the pattern.

(Ibid. pp. 102-103)

We read that when a meeting was arranged between Rabbis Heschel and Soloveitchik in the 1960s to map out a strategy for confronting the Vatican, at their initial encounter, these two Jewish leaders (whose parallel paths traversed Warsaw, Berlin and New York) discussed (at Rabbi Soloveitchik’s insistence)—Yiddish literature. Perhaps the time has come for the denizens of the worlds of Halakhah and Aggadah to discuss—Prophecy.

A Young Man Holding a Torah Scroll and a Young Woman Holding a Book:
The Life and Afterlife of Two Illustrations

By Rachel Manekin

Rachel Manekin is Professor Emerita of Jewish Studies at the University of Maryland. Her area of specialization is the social, political, and cultural history of Galician Jewry. She is the author of The Jews of Galicia and the Austrian Constitution: The Beginning of Modern Jewish Politics (Zalman Shazar Center for Jewish History, 2015, Hebrew), and most recently, The Rebellion of the Daughters: Jewish Women Runaways in Habsburg Galicia (Jerusalem: Magnes Press, 2024; Hebrew). Her previous essay at The Seforim Blog was in Rachel Manekin and Charles (Bezalel) Manekin, “The Ḥafetz Ḥayyim’s Statement on Teaching Torah to Girls in Likutei Halakhot: Literary and Historical Context,” The Seforim Blog (27 May 2020), available here.

The 1922 illustration below of a young man holding a Torah scroll has gained a new life within the context of recent Bais Yaakov scholarship and a partial image of it appears on the main page of the Bais Yaakov Project website.[1]

This article calls into question this use of the illustration and shows that it has no connection to the Bais Yaakov movement, or Orthodox women, at least in interwar Poland. The article first traces the origin of the illustration and the context in which it was used after its first publication, and then examines the campaign proposed in 1933 to mobilize Bais Yaakov students in Poland to support financially the writing of a Torah scroll. Finally, the article presents an interwar illustration of a young woman holding a book with a tall Hanukkah menorah in the background. The latter was used as a symbol of Bais Yaakov in Viennese publications in the German language, but never appeared in Polish Yiddish publications of the Bais Yaakov movement. The article suggests a possible reason for that.

The illustration of the young man holding the Torah scroll appeared first on a postcard, one in a set of ten “art postcards” drawn by Uriel Birnbaum, the son of the general secretary of Agudath Yisrael, Nathan Birnbaum. The postcards were produced by the Viennese Tseirei Agudath Yisrael organization (Agudas Jisroel Jugendgruppe) and sold for fundraising purposes. The price of each set was 500 krone. Indeed, in May 1922 the Austrian Orthodox weekly Jüdische Presse published advertisements for this set.[2]

In 1924 the Viennese Menorah Journal published two of the postcards in a long article dedicated to Uriel Birnbaum.[3]

Each postcard had a black and white illustration of a Biblical theme with a Biblical verse under it. One can see the original envelope and some of the postcards (including the youth with the Torah scroll) in an advertisement published on February 28, 2023, on the website of Kedem Auction House:[4]

The postcard with the illustration of the youth holding a Torah scroll as if rescuing it from the whirlwind in the background (perhaps symbolizing the First World War) appears with the verse from Jeremiah 1:7, “Do not say I am a youth, for to whomsoever I shall send thee thou shalt go and whatsoever I shall command you thee thou shalt speak” (אַל תֹּאמַר נַעַר אָנֹכִי כִּי עַל כָּל אֲשֶׁר אֶשְׁלָחֲךָ תֵּלֵךְ וְאֵת כָּל אֲשֶׁר אֲצַוְּךָ תְּדַבֵּר). The import in this context is that one should not excuse himself from obeying God’s commandment, interpreted here as spreading Torah study, by claiming to be a youth.

The youth is wearing a long kapota reaching his feet, as did many at the time, and his head, especially the back of it, is all colored in black and so one cannot see the skullcap. Still, it is obvious that this is a young male, not only because of the Biblical verse under it, but also because it is absolutely inconceivable that a female carrying a Torah scroll would appear in an Agudath Yisrael sponsored postcard in the 1920s (or, for that matter, today).

After its original publication as a postcard, the illustration was used always in the context of male Torah study. To the best of my knowledge, it first was featured in the 1925 booklet of Keren ha-Torah (חוברת של קרן התורה) which included several other of Uriel Birnbaum’s postcard illustrations.[5] The illustration appears at the top of a rabbinical appeal (קול קורא) that was published in the wake of the First Assembly of Agudath Yisrael (1923) to support Keren ha-Torah. It stretches over several pages and is signed by major Agudah rabbinical figures of the time, with the Ḥafetz Ḥayim and the leaders of the Czortków and Ger Hasidic dynasties appearing first. The illustration was edited to include only the image and not the Biblical verse. Keren ha-Torah was established during the First Assembly in the purpose of supporting yeshivas, many of which collapsed during the First World War.

It should be noted that contrary to claims in recent scholarship on Bais Yaakov, there is no evidence that the First Assembly of Agudath Yisrael in 1923 mentioned the Bais Yaakov schools, and the published reports of the assembly included nothing about the support of religious education for girls.[6] During the 1924 meeting of the Central Council of Agudath Yisrael in Kraków, several delegates called for actual steps to be taken by Keren ha-Torah to support Bais Yaakov schools. Indeed, after major rabbinical figures supported this idea, the participants at a special meeting in the winter of 1925 drew up a plan to financially support the establishment of a teachers’ seminary and improve professionally the Bais Yaakov school system, all under the leadership of R. Dr. Shmuel Leo Deutschländer, the director of Keren ha-Torah. It was only during the Second Assembly of Agudath Yisrael (1929) that Bais Yaakov was mentioned.[7]

Birnbaum’s illustration of the youth with a Torah scroll later appeared in Luach Blätter der Agudas-Jisroel Jugendgruppe-Wien, the periodical of the Viennese Tseirei Agudath Yisrael, for the year 1931, this time with the Biblical verse.

A 1937 publication of Keren ha-Torah also included this illustration, albeit without the Biblical verse. It appeared on the title page of the first chapter which was dedicated to the discussions on male Torah education in the Second Assembly of Agudath Yisrael (1929).[8]

The same 1937 publication included a chapter with supplements the largest of which discussed in detail the Bais Yaakov schools. The heading of this chapter had an illustration of a young woman holding a book to which we will return below.

First, however, I wish to discuss the aforementioned campaign for writing a Torah scroll which was introduced in a Bais Yaakov Journal article in the Hebrew month of Iyar, 1933, titled: “The ‘Yehudis’ Camp’s Own Torah Scroll Will Be Written Through the Students of the Bais Yaakov Schools in Poland.”[9]

The article describes the plan for purchasing letters by Bais Yaakov students for a Torah scroll to be written for the Yehudis summer camp.[10] Camp Yehudis, according to articles published in the 1933 journal, was the first permanent summer camp built for Orthodox children, boys and girls. The journal includes two photographs of children in the camp, one of boys and another of girls.

Clearly, this summer camp was not intended exclusively for Bais Yaakov girls as can be seen also in a photograph kept in the YIVO archives of boys in the camp playing chess.[11]

The plan to have Bais Yaakov students raise money for writing a Torah scroll was proposed by Yoel Unger, a Warsaw Agudah activist and the director of one of the Bais Yaakov schools in the city. Unger was in charge of the Yehudis association,[12] and it was he who came up with the initiative to build a summer camp. Indeed, the camp was built in 1931 in the village of Długosiodło, 73 km north-east of Warsaw.[13] In the years prior to that, the Yehudis association rented camp facilities for the summer, first in 1929 in Marązy and then in 1930 in Otwock. The aim of the summer camp was to provide children, many of whom came from impoverished families, with an opportunity to enjoy fresh air and water as well as physical exercises in a country setting. In doing that, it followed what was already a norm for non-Orthodox Jewish organizations in interwar Poland. In later years the summer camp added a sanatorium for children who were at risk of tuberculosis.[14]

The number of girls in the new camp exceeded the number of boys,[15] perhaps because boys went to cheder also in the summer months.

Why was obtaining a Torah scroll necessary for a summer camp for children that apparently did not even have its own synagogue?[16] The girl campers, according to Esther Goldshtof, prayed on Friday night and on Sabbath morning in the forest surrounding the camp while sitting on benches.[17] It is not clear from the articles in the Bais Yaakov Journal whether the boys – all younger than 13 – did the same or whether they prayed in the town’s synagogue. Of course, one could place a Torah scroll in one of the rooms and have the boys pray and hear the Torah reading there. But it is more likely that Unger intended to use the money raised also for the camp itself, which struggled with a deficit because of the high expenses of running it.[18] Only a small number of children paid the full tuition, while the rest received a discount or went there for free.[19] The camp did receive financial support from the Viennese Keren ha-Torah, the Warsaw Jewish community, German Jewish organizations, the American Joint, as well as some large donations from rich Jews. Small donations from individuals also helped as those apparently accumulated to large sums.[20] In addition, Bais Yaakov raised money from their students to support the camp, mostly with the help of teachers in the three Bais Yaakov schools in Warsaw and some from Bais Yaakov schools in Rzeszów, Sosnowiec, Częstochowa, Wolbrom, Szydłowiec, Bychawa, Płock, Bełchatów, and Pińczów. Those were small sums amounting to 10-60 zlotys.[21]

This was the context of Unger’s somewhat ambitious plan to recruit Bais Yaakov teachers to raise money for writing a Torah scroll, as explained in the 1933 Bais Yaakov Journal article.

Reaching Bais Yaakov teachers would be relatively easy since one could use advertisements in the Bais Yaakov journal to which all teachers were required to subscribe, or contact Bais Yaakov schools directly, the addresses of which were kept in the central Bais Yaakov office in Kraków. There was no parallel journal or a central office with the addresses of all cheders and Talmud Torahs. The 1933 Bais Yaakov Journal article explained that “the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll, which only individuals are able to fulfill, will be done now through the Bais Yaakov students with their own efforts.” Unger refers here to the positive commandment obligating every individual Jew to write a Torah scroll for himself or hire a scribe to do it for him. Since this is an expensive endeavor, it is allowed to pay for it in partnership with others.[22] At the same time, the article added, the money collected would also support Bais Yaakov students who cannot afford the camp tuition. Clearly, Unger himself explained that the money raised was meant not only for writing the Torah scroll.

Unger proposed that the Yehudis association would send to all Bais Yaakov schools signature forms with a picture of a Torah scroll. The price of purchasing a letter to be written in the scroll would be 25 groshen (pennies), and the names of all those who purchased a letter would be inscribed in a special book. However, each Bais Yaakov student would need to purchase a letter and sell at least one additional letter. A student who sold at least ten letters would receive gratis an additional letter in her name. The teachers responsible for selling 200 letters would have their names etched forever on a special board, and in addition they would be able to have a whole word in the Torah scroll on their name with a great discount.

But Unger proposed even more than this. The day that the writing would commence would be declared a holiday (יום טוב) in all Bais Yaakov schools. On this day the teachers would deliver lectures about the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll,[23] and organize celebrations and special programs. When the writing of the Torah scroll would be completed – scheduled for 15^th of the Hebrew month of Av – a three-day Siyum celebration would take place in Długosiodło with the participation of all Bais Yaakov teachers, students’ delegations, the central administrations of Yehudis and the Bais Yaakov schools in Warsaw, Kraków, and Łódź. Unger also proposed that at the time of the Siyum celebration a special conference for Bais Yaakov teachers and operatives (‘askanim) would take place in Długosiodło to discuss all the problems of the movement. It is to be expected, he wrote, that the Bais Yaakov teachers would understand the important significance of this campaign, which would for sure be a wellspring of joy and enthusiasm for Bais Yaakov children and would unite them into one family that owned its own Torah scroll. It would also help the camp financially and enable it to develop so it could accept more children in need. “That is why our teachers,” Unger envisioned, “will work for the campaign with energy and dedication.” Unger added that in the following days the Yehudis association would send out the first circular with instructions regarding this important campaign.

But this ambitious and elaborate plan never came to pass, as is clear from two articles published in the Agudah newspaper, Dos Yudishe Togblat, a month after the death of Sarah Schenirer, which provided an opportunity to relaunch the project.[24] The first article, written by Abraham Mordechai Rogovy, who was involved in many aspects of Bais Yaakov, reports that the Education Center (מרכז החינוך) of Agudath Yisrael has now proclaimed for Benos and Bais Yaakov girls a campaign of writing a Torah scroll for the summer camp to memorialize Sarah Schenirer. The initiator was Yoel Unger, who had already made a name for himself as an expert fundraiser. Rogovy does not mention purchasing letters or fulfilling the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll (the word “mitzvah” does not appear at all), but rather that there is not a more beautiful monument for Schenirer “than a Torah scroll written in partnership (בשותפות) with tens of thousands of Jewish religious girls.” The life-ideal of Schenirer, he continues, was always to connect Jewish girls to the Torah, so that their entire being and every thread of their gentle souls would feel the connection of Israel and the Torah (ישראל ואורייתא). He also writes that “there is no better manifestation of the wish to remain loyal to the teachings of Sarah Schenirer a”h than to join a common Torah campaign that should include all the Benos and the Bais Yaakov students,” or that the “Torah campaign will be transformed into a great manifestation of the Benos and Bais Yaakov idea.” Interestingly, there is no mention of the role of Bais Yaakov teachers; rather Rogovy calls on the (male) ‘askanim of Bais Yaakov and the (female) activists of Benos “to throw themselves with energy in the collection.” According to Rogovy, the writing of the Torah scroll is expected to start on 33 of the ‘Omer )May 21) and be completed on the 15^th of Av (August 14). Like Unger’s original plan, Rogovy also talks about a “grandiose” Siyum celebration after which everyone will travel to Schenirer’s tombstone in Kraków, where they will announce that a Torah scroll in her memory was completed.

The second article presents an undated letter that Schenirer wrote to Bais Yaakov girls, presumably following Unger’s 1933 article in the Bais Yaakov Journal, encouraging them to buy letters for the Torah scroll. The article explains that although the project was not carried out then “for various reasons” it has now been renewed by the initiators. “‘Keren ha-Torah’ with Agudath Yisrael are about to write a Torah scroll named after Sarah Schenirer, may she rest in peace.”

Schenirer’s letter, which has hitherto been unnoticed, reveals an important point not indicated in any of the articles cited above, namely, the audience for the Torah scroll. Ascribing to the Warsaw ‘askanim the establishment of the Yehudis summer camp, Schenirer explains that they thought that the boys who benefit from the camp should have a Torah scroll of their own so they would not have to use a Torah scroll that was already donated to some “bais midrash” [in the area]. By buying letters, Schenirer writes, the girls would not only be “fulfilling the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll,” but also be participating in writing a Torah in which it is written עֵץ חַיִּים הִיא לַמַּחֲזִיקִים בָּהּ וְתֹמְכֶיהָ מְאֻשָּׁר. In short, Schenirer saw the goal of the project to provide a sefer Torah for the boys in the camp, and to involve girls in the mitzvah of its production by buying letters.

While the article does not explain why the first campaign never got off the ground, one may speculate that the sum collected just was not enough for the project. (Schenirer writes in the beginning of her letter that she knows that more than one will complain about being asked again for money, especially at such difficult time.) Perhaps the initial project was frowned upon by some parents or rabbis. After all, the idea that Bais Yaakov girls would be fulfilling the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll made little sense since according to most religious legal opinions, women are exempt from this mitzvah, not to mention that most girls were minors.[25] Indeed, Unger’s 1933 article does not mention rabbinical support for his proposal. The second initiative avoided, as we have seen, mentioning buying letters or referring to it as the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll, and instead talked simply about a “collection.”

Apparently, the second initiative did not materialize either; had a Torah scroll in memory of Schenirer been written, it would have surely been reported in the Bais Yaakov journal or in Dos Yudishe Togblat.

We now come to the illustration mentioned above of the young woman holding a large book with a tall Hanukkah menorah in the background that is found in the 1937 Keren ha-Torah publication.[26]

In fact, this illustration had appeared already in 1935 on the title page of a Keren ha-Torah booklet containing a report written by Deutschländer on the activities of the central office of the Bais Yaakov schools.[27]

Although the publications where this illustration appeared do not have the name of the artist, the style of the illustration suggests that it might also have been Uriel Birnbaum.

The unusually large book that the young woman is holding and the tall menorah in the background are not explained. We may speculate that the young woman in the illustration portrays a Bais Yaakov teacher as a modern “Judith”, a heroine who saves the Jewish people. Whereas the classical Judith held in her arms the head of the decapitated enemy general, Holofernes, this Judith holds a book (ספר, בית ספר). European artists have painted the scene of Judith carrying the head of Holophernes for centuries.

Connecting the illustration to Judith would explain the Hanukkah menorah in the background, for in the Jewish medieval tradition, Judith was associated with Hanukkah.[28] Moreover, Sarah Schenirer, who established the first Bais Yaakov school, records in her 1933 published memoir that she was inspired by the sermon delivered by R. Moshe David Flesch in Vienna on the Sabbath of Hanukkah which described the greatness of Judith and called contemporary Jewish women to take as an example the historical Jewish women heroines.[29] Schenirer subsequently wrote a dramatization of the story of Judith for girls.[30]

Starting on December 13, 1920, after Schenirer and her students staged the play in the Orthodox Warsaw Ḥavazelet high school during a visit there, the published version was advertised on the front page of the Warsaw daily newspaper of Agudath Yisrael, Der Yud, for several weeks (first as the most beautiful present for “children” and later as a present for “girls”).

However, the above illustration of the young woman did not appear in the Bais Yaakov Journal or in any other Polish Agudath Yisrael publication. The illustrator for the Viennese publication was apparently unaware of the modesty requirements in the Polish Bais Yaakov movement, especially the style of the dress and the length of the sleeves. In illustrations of women and girls appearing in textbooks for school age Bais Yaakov students, the women were portrayed with long sleeves reaching the wrist.[31]

* * *

To sum up: we began by mentioning that Birnbaum’s illustration of the young man holding the Torah scroll appears prominently in recent academic forums where Bais Yaakov is discussed.[32] We have claimed that this illustration was neither appropriated nor used by the Bais Yaakov movement in any of its publications. In fact, it is inconceivable that it would do so. But it is understandable why some today would like the illustration to have been of a woman, or at least be relevant to women. Such an interpretation accords nicely with the narrative in recent scholarship that Bais Yaakov provided Orthodox women in Poland, for the first time, the opportunity to have a strong connection with Torah study. The same is true of the aforementioned proposed campaign to write the Torah scroll. That interpretation bolsters the contemporary reading of the Bais Yaakov movement in interwar Poland as a movement that brought Torah to women by involving them in the mitzvah of writing a Torah scroll and by teaching them classical texts and commentaries (albeit not of the Talmud) in the Kraków seminary. In various writings I have shown this reading to be mistaken.[33]

In fact, the Bais Yaakov movement was from its inception a deeply conservative movement of religious revival aimed at Polish Orthodox girls and young women, in an age when various ideologies (Zionism, Socialism, Bund, etc.) competed for their attention. Through mostly supplementary education and youth activities, the movement promoted a model of a Jewish woman that emphasized piety and modesty in dress, and that educated girls to accept with pride and joy their traditional roles as Orthodox women. This is why it enjoyed and benefited from broad rabbinic support from the outset.[34] The small number of zealous Hasidic leaders who opposed the Bais Yaakov schools did so only after Agudath Yisrael, their ideological foe, took it under its auspices. It also explains why of all the Polish and Lithuanian innovations in Orthodox Jewish female education during and after the First World War (e.g., the Warsaw Ḥavazelet high school or the girls’ Yavneh high school in Telz), Sarah Schenirer’s afternoon school in Kraków, which taught young girls prayer, strict Orthodox observance, and Biblical stories, was adopted by the Polish Agudath Yisrael as the model for the development of the Bais Yaakov school network. The Bais Yaakov teachers’ seminary provided the teachers for these schools. Schenirer, a pious woman with a burning zeal for bringing Jewish women back to Orthodoxy, played a major role as the public face of the movement, primarily as its chief promoter in the towns and Polish countryside, and as the “spiritual mother” of the movement.[35] But the portrait of her as instituting women Torah study for its own sake, or of encouraging life-long study of Torah, a portrait that accords with modern progressive sensibilities, does not stand up to sober historical inquiry.[36]

Notes

[1] The illustration appears as a frontispiece of a chapter in Naomi Seidman, Sarah Schenirer and the Bais Yaakov Movement: A Revolution in the Name of Tradition (Liverpool: Littman Library, 2019), 226.
[2] Jüdische Presse, May 12, 113; Jüdische Presse, May 19, 120.
[3] Menorah: jüdisches Familienblatt für Wissenschaft, Kunst und Literatur, May 1924, 17. See also Der Israelit: Ein Centralorgan für das orthodoxe Judentum, October 6, 1930, 22.
[4] See the auction site here.
[5] Shabtai Scheinfeld (ed.), Ḥoveret shel Keren Ha- Torah, Vienna 1925, 24. For a digitized copy see https://hebrewbooks.org/43310.
[6] For a detailed discussion on this issue see Rachel Manekin, “Torah Education for Girls in the Interwar Bais Yaakov School System: A Re-Examination,” Zion, vol. 88, no. 2 (2023): 219-262, esp. 238-244, 238n71 (Hebrew). In 1929 Leo Deutschländer recounted that “just a few months” after the First Assembly, Keren ha-Torah took up its task “according to five main directions,” the fifth of which was to establish and expand the Bais Yaakov organization of schools for girls. If that is the case, then the decision of Keren Ha-Torah to support the Bais Yaakov schools was taken at its first founding meeting on December 25, 2023. But no practical steps were taken until the September 1924 meeting of the Central Council of Agudath Yisrael in Kraków.
[7] Der Israelit: Ein Centralorgan für das orthodoxe Judentum, Blätter, September 19, 1929, 2, §2c.
[8] Programm und Leistung: Keren Hathorah und Beth Jakob 1929-1937: Bericht an die dritte Kenessio Gedaulo, London/Vienna 1937, 5.
[9] See Naomi Seidman’s blog post, “When Bais Yaakov Girls Commissioned a Sefer Torah,” available here. The illustration of the youth with the sefer Torah (including the Biblical verse) accompanies the blog post giving the impression that it is part of the original 1933 article on the campaign. The following corrects inaccuracies in the blog post and adds details concerning the proposed campaign that did not come to fruition. Cf. Seidman, Sarah Schenirer and the Bais Yaakov Movement, 166.
[10] “An-eigene sefer-torah far der kolonye ‘yehudis’ vert gishribn durch di shilerins fun di beis yakov shuln in Poyln” (The ‘Yehudis’ camp’s own sefer Torah will be written through the students of the Bais Yaakov schools in Poland), Bais Yaakov 104 (1933), 15-16.

[11] YIVO Archives, ID: RG 120 / yarg120po705.01, “Description: Dlugosiodlo, 1920s-1930s. Boys playing chess at the Yehudia summer camp for religious children. Photographed by Leo Forbert.” The description erroneously calls the camp “Yehudia”.
[12] The Yehudis association was founded in 1928 for the purpose of religious education of girls. Among its aims it listed also the establishment of summer camps for girls from religious schools and ensuring that poor children attend school. Its organizing committee included Alexander Zusha Friedman, Yoel Unger, Yehudah Leib Orlean, and others. See “Oyfruf funem ferband far relig. yudishe techter ertsihung in varsha ‘yehudis’” (call of the association for a religious education for girls in Warsaw “Yehudis”), Der Yud, April 2, 1928, 4.
[13] “Gilaygt a yesod… fun der gruntshtayn chagigah in dlugashadle” (placing a foundation… about the cornerstone celebration in Długosiodło), Bais Yaakov 69 (1931), 2-3. Gershon Eliezer Friedenson, who wrote the article, says that when he visited the socialist Medem sanatorium five years earlier he was ashamed and jealous for not having a truly-Jewish similar institution. See also “Fayerleche grunt-shtayn leygn fun der ershter ortodoksisher zumer-kolonye ‘yehudis’ in dlugat-shadle” (the festive cornerstone placing of the first orthodox summer camp ‘Yehudis’ in Długosiodło), ibid., 14; “Der fayerliche chanukat-habayis fun der ershter ortodoksisher zumer-kolonye ‘Yehudis’” (The festive opening celebration of the first Orthodox summer-camp ‘Yehudis’), Dos Vort, June 26, 1931, 4.
[14] See the article in a Yiddish newspaper on a visit of journalists organized by the camp, “A bezuch in der chasidisher… ‘medem-sanatarye’ in dlugashadle” (A visit in the chasidic ‘Medem-sanatorium’ in Długosiodło), Unzer Białystoker Expres, January 13, 1939, 14. ‘Medem’ was the famous Tsysho sanatorium for children named after the Bundist leader Vladimir Medem. The article, which praises the camp and includes two photographs, also mentions the physical exercises as well as the play and the songs performed by the girls for the journalists. See also the photographs published in the art section supplement, Forverts, March 26, 1939.

[15] A[lexander] Z[usha] Friedman, “Di arbit far der zumer kolonye ‘Yehudis” in licht fun tsifern” (the work for the summer camp ‘Yehudis’ in light of numbers), Bais Yaakov 104 (1933), 9-11.
[16] An article by Unger written after the camp was built lists the rooms in the building in the following manner: six rooms for sleeping, a dining hall, an office, a lounge for the [female] teachers, an isolation room [for the sick], two washrooms, pantry, kitchen with separate facilities for milk and meat dishes, wardrobe room, porches, “etc.” Had there been a synagogue in the building it would have certainly been listed. see Yoel Unger, “Fir yohr ‘yehudis’ arbit” (four years of the ‘Yehudis” work), Bais Yaakov 104 (1933), 5-6, especially 6.
[17] Esther Goldshtof, “Dos leben oyf unzere kolonye” (the life in our camp), Bais Yaakov 104 (1933), 8.
[18] The deficit in the summer of 1933 amounted to 8,000 zloty, and in addition the camp needed to complete things like running water and electricity, see A[lexander] Z[usha] Friedman, “Di arbit far der zumer kolonye ‘yehudis” in licht fun tsifern” (the work for the summer camp ‘Yehudis’ in light of numbers), Bais Yaakov 104 (1933), 11.
[19] Twenty-five children paid full tuition in 1931 and 100 in 1932. 310 children received a discount in 1931 and 180 in 1932 while 55 children went for free in 1931 and 75 in 1932, ibid., 9-10.
[20] “Der fayerlicher chanukat-habayit fun der ershter ortodoksisher zumer-kolonye ‘yehudis’” (the festive dedication celebration of the first Orthodox summer camp ‘Yehudis’), Dos Yudishe Togblat, June 22, 1931, 5.
[21] “Reshimeh fun menadvim letovas der ‘yehudis’ kolonye in dlugashadle”, (a list of contributors for the benefit of ‘Yehudis’ camp in Długosiodło), Bais Yaakov 104 (1933), 15-16.
[22] For the mitzvah obligating individuals to write a sefer Torah and the question whether it applies also to women see the article by R. Eliezer Melamed, available here; and the sources presented by Barry Gelman, here.
[23] This mitzvah is not about the laws of the Torah scribe or about the mechanisms of inscribing a Torah, but rather about the mitzvah that applies to each individual Jew.
[24] A[braham] M[ordechai] Rogovy, “Di heyntige hatcholah (tsu di shloyshim fun froy scheniere a”h) (Todays beginning: at the shloshim of Mrs. Schenirer, may she rest in peace), Dos Yudishe Togblat 169, April 2, 1935, 3; “A brief fun Sarah Schenirer a”h tsu di Bais Yaakov kinder vegen koyfn otiyos in der sefer-Torah far der ‘yehudis’ kolonye (A letter from Sarah Schenirer, may she rest in peace, to the Bais Yaakov children regarding buying letters in the Torah scroll for the Yehudis camp), Ibid., 6. The issue number is different on every page, but the correct date and issue number is as written on the front page.
[25] According to the “Sha’agat Aryeh” there is no reason to exempt women, see Aryeh Leib Gintsburg, Sha’agat Aryeh, 69-70 (https://hebrewbooks.org/14616), but his is a minority opinion.
[26] Programm und Leistung: Keren Hathorah und Beth Jakob 1929-1937: Bericht an die dritte Kenessio Gedaulo, London/Vienna 1937, 295.
[27] L[eo] Deutschländer, Tätigkeitsbericht der Beth Jacob Zentrale, Vienna 1935.
[28] On Judith, see Kevin R. Brine at al. (eds.) The Sword of Judith: Judith Studies across the Disciplines, open access, 2010, especially chapter 2, “The Jewish Textual Traditions” by Deborah Levin Gera.
[29] Sarah Schenirer, Gezamelte Shriftn, New York 1955, 9. This is the American edition (with some corrections to the original Polish 1933 edition) available online, see https://hebrewbooks.org/41613.
[30] The image below comes from the Moreshet auction house, which can be accessed here.
[31] See Eliezer Gershon Friedenson at al., Yiddish loshn: ilustrirte alef-bais un layen-buch far ershtn shul-yor, Lodz 1933.
[32] Cf. the website of the 2023 international conference on Bais Yaakov held at the University of Toronto, available here. The illustration also adorns the cover of the conference program, available here.
[33] See, for example, Manekin, “Torah Education for Girls.”
[34] The claim that Bais Yaakov was “controversial among the Orthodox at the outset,” and that Schenirer herself aroused orthodox opposition initially, is made among others by Seidman, Sarah Schenirer and the Bais Yaakov Movement, 5; its basis is the author’s interpretation of a story circulating in Bais Yaakov when she was a student there: “When she [Schenirer] would walk around the towns of Poland in her efforts to found Bais Yaakov schools, Jewish boys would throw stones at her. She would bend down, pick up the stones, and say to her assailants, ‘From these stones will I build my school.’”

According to Seidman’s interpretation of the story, Schenirer “was seen by some in the Orthodox community as a dangerous innovator, and had thus faced opposition (stones), which she turned into support (schools).” Seidman cites for this E. G. Friedenson’s 1936 children’s anthology about Schenirer, Di mamis tsavoah: Zaml-buch far kinder un yugnt (The Mother’s Last Will: An Anthology for Children and Youth), 35-36. However, the story in Friedenson, which appears in the chapter on “Stories and Bon Mots” (mayselach un gute verter) and not in the chapter on “Life and Deeds,” differs significantly: “Mrs. Schenirer once visited a shtetl accompanied by its teacher. At that time, the idea of Bais Yaakov was not yet well known and fully developed as today, and its leaders and teachers were mocked at. When Sarah Schenirer had arrived in the city, a few young rascals (לאבוזיס; the Yiddish term comes from the Polish łobuz, ‘rogue’. See also Alexander Harkavy’s Yiddish dictionary for לאבוסעס) threw stones into [the classroom] (איר ארײַנגיווארפן) and one stone hit the teacher who, because of this, felt upset. We will have not just one stone – Schenirer said with a smile – they will throw stones and we will build with the stones our Bais Yaakov.” For a Hebrew translation see Em be-Yisrael, vol. 2, Yechezkel Rotenberg (ed.), Bnei Berak 1960, 41-42.

The story, apparently the first time to appear in print, and which may or may not have any basis in fact, refers to one incident in which ignorant rascals threw stones into somewhere, presumably, the school, and struck a teacher – providing Schenirer in the story with an occasion for a bon mot. Decades later, the story appears to have morphed into a tale of “violent opponents” throwing stones at Sarah Schenirer herself. See Chava Weinberg Pincus, “An American in Cracow,” in Daughters of Destiny: Women who Revolutionized Jewish Life and Torah Education, compiled by Devora Rubin, Brooklyn 1988, 189-208, esp. 200: “It was her courage and idealism that made her pick up the rocks thrown at her by violent opponents to Bais Yaakov. Rocks in hand, she would turn to her talmidos saying, ‘We will take these rocks and turn them into bricks with which we will build Bais Yaakow’.” See Shoshanah Bechhofer, “Identity and Educational Mission of Bais Yaakov Schools: The Structuration of an Organizational Field as the Unfolding of Discursive Logics,” Ph.D. Dissertation, Northwestern University, 2005, 121-122.

Clearly, לאבוזיס are not simply “Jewish boys,” nor can they represent Orthodox opposition to Schenirer as a “dangerous innovator,” since such opposition to her did not exist, even among the zealots who opposed Bais Yaakov as an Agudah project.
[35] Schenirer’s travel to towns throughout Poland was aimed to convince local Agudah ‘askanim to spend the money needed to open an afternoon Bais Yaakov school (housing and salary for the teacher, an appropriate space for the school, school expenses, etc.), as well as to convince parents to send their daughters to the school. As described in Yehudah Leib Orlean’s eulogy after Schenirer’s death, convincing ‘askanim was not always easy, although the people felt for her and the gedolei yisroel understood her, both placing their greatest trust in her. See Bais Yaakov journal 125 (1935), 6, and in Hebrew translation Em be-Yisrael, vol. 3, 49-50. According to Schenirer, many parents did not understand the importance of the Bais Yaakov education or were satisfied with sending their daughters to the school for one year, just enough for them to learn to pray and write in Yiddish. Even then, girls were occasionally late or missed school with all kinds of excuses. Other parents thought it was too difficult to attend two schools. See Sarah Schenirer, Tsu vos darf men Bais Yaakov shulen? Populare agitatsye-broshur far’n Bais-Yaakov-gedank )’Why Does One Need Bais Yaakov Schools? A Popular Agitation Brochure for the Bais Yaakov idea’), Warsaw 1933, 25-31. The brochure includes a proclamation by Agudath ha-Rabbanim signed by many rabbis (among them Ḥayim Ozer Grodzinski, Zalman Sorotzkin, and Aharon Walkin) calling parents not to send their daughters to Jewish secular schools, which were “akin to Molekh” (e.g., the Tarbut schools), but rather to Bais Yaakov. Clearly, such an endorsement was needed not to support Schenirer herself, but rather to convince parents of the importance of sending their daughters to Bais Yaakov. It should be noted that annual statistics of Bais Yaakov students do not take into account the number of years they attended the school.
[36] See Manekin, “Torah Education for Girls.” The memorial issue of the Bais Yaakov journal published after Schenirer’s death which includes about three dozen articles about her written by different personalities and students, praised her dedication, idealism, enthusiasm, piety, warmth, charity, modesty, and teaching yidishkeit rather than her learning or teaching Torah, something that was not even mentioned. One of the articles emphasized her simplicity (פשטות), explaining that “when she decided to devote her efforts to the education of girls, she did not make herself important as dealing with the problems of the education of daughters, did not aggrandize her mission, did not try to win personalities for her plan; in general, she avoided any advertisement or propaganda noise, but rather simply sat down to learn yidishkeit with children with seriousness and honesty, so her path did not only not arouse opposition (because of the fear of teaching girls Torah etc.), but on the contrary, it only aroused great satisfaction and approval of all circles.” See A. Y. Lipmanovitch, “Der Koyech fun Pashtus” (the power of simplicity), Bais Yaakov 125 (Iyar/Sivan 1935), 18.