Notes on the Book of Samuel, and the Eternal Sanctity of the Temple in Maimonidean Thought

By Rabbi Avi Grossman

avrahambenyehuda.wordpress.com

Rabbi Label Dulitz, who passed away last week, was an iconic figure at YUHSB. I was privileged to first meet him when I began my studies at the school in the fall of 1996. That year, Rabbi Dulitz was teaching Talmud to part of the tenth grade, but some of us lucky freshmen got to sit in his afternoon Navi class. His photographic memory of the Bible, Talmud, and Shakespeare has already been recounted by many; what struck me more about the man who sought to mold men was his persistence, his insistence that all of his students put every ounce of their efforts into their studies. For years, I found myself more comfortable in the library than in the beis midrash, not because I was not interested in Torah study, but rather because of the atmosphere. In this, I found a model in Rabbi Dulitz, who made the third-floor gallery of our high-school library his personal study and let me spend as much time as I wanted at his table, even when I was cutting other classes. (I am also indebted to the long-time librarian, Mr. Wexler, for his support and dedication.) 

That year, Rabbi Dulitz did not teach us about the Book of Samuel; he drilled it into our minds as though using a thumbscrew (his word), and when we did not do well enough on our exams, he would wail like Achish, “do I lack crazies?”  When I was fifteen years old, I had questions about Samuel, but it took almost 25 years for me to even begin to articulate them. I regret that I had not sought the opportunity to thank Rabbi Dulitz before he was gone, but I pray that this serves as a fitting monument to him.

…

This is the story of an interesting argument over the interpretation of historical matters incidentally described in halachic works. For a few years, I made a number of assumptions regarding Maimonides’s views in this regard but recently those assumptions were challenged. 

A note on terminology: I will follow Maimonides’s precedent in this regard. That which the Israelites built in the wilderness and then established in a number of places within Israel is referred to as the mishkan, which is invariably rendered as Tabernacle, or as ohel mo’ed, Tent of Meeting, while the Temple is the translation of habayith, or some other construction, like beith adonay, and the word miqdash, Sanctuary, is the term that includes both Temple and Tabernacle alike, and which Maimonides uses to halachically define and equate all of the historical Sanctuaries:

מצות עשה לעשות בית לה’, מוכן להיות מקריבים בו הקרבנות, וחוגגין אליו שלוש פעמים בשנה–שנאמר “ועשו לי, מקדש” (שמות כה,ח); וכבר נתפרש בתורה משכן שעשה משה רבנו, והיה לפי שעה–שנאמר “כי לא באתם, עד עתה . . .” (דברים יב,ט)

 ואלו הן הדברים שהן עיקר בבניין הבית:  עושין בו קודש, וקודש הקודשים, ויהיה לפני הקודש מקום אחד והוא הנקרא אולם; ושלושתן נקראין היכל.  ועושין מחיצה אחרת סביב להיכל, רחוקה ממנו כעין קלעי החצר שהיו במדבר; וכל המוקף במחיצה זו שהוא כעין חצר אוהל מועד, הוא הנקרא עזרה. והכל נקרא מקדש

כיון שנכנסו לארץ, העמידו המשכן בגלגל ארבע עשרה שנה שכבשו ושחלקו.  ומשם באו לשילה, ובנו שם בית של אבנים; ופרסו יריעות המשכן עליו, ולא הייתה שם תקרה.  ושלוש מאות ותשע וששים שנה, עמד מקדש שילה. וכשמת עלי, חרב ובאו לנוב ובנו שם מקדש, וכשמת שמואל חרב ובאו לגבעון ובנו שם מקדש. ומגבעון באו לבית העולמים וימי נוב וגבעון, שבע וחמישים שנה

However, in many instances, the Bible uses all four and even some others as poetic synonyms. For the sake of clarity, I shall not.  

For some years now, I have  wondered about three things: Why is the destruction of the Tabernacle at Shiloh, although alluded to in the Book of Samuel and explicitly described in the Psalms and Jeremiah and the Mishna, not explicitly mentioned in Samuel? On the other hand, why does the Torah devote so much detail to the materials and construction of the Tabernacle, and why do the prophets give so much detail concerning the materials and construction of the First Temple, and then so much detail and reiteration when describing the First Temple’s destruction? Lastly, although we have no clear Talmudic or Mishnaic source for this claim, why is it that many commentators echo the claim of the Or Hahayim, that had the Temple been built by Moses, it never would have been destroyed? How did the Or Hahayim know that?

This website analyzes a number of topics which we have studied in the past, and its author, a prominent faculty member at Merkaz Harav with whom I have corresponded on this matter, offers an explanation that does not satisfy me because part of its basis is the assumption that the Tabernacle as it stood in Nov and Gibeon was not considered a full, halachic Sanctuary, whereas I feel it is clear from both the Yerushalmi and Maimonides’s commentary on the Mishna that the Tabernacles at Nov and Gibeon, despite the fact that they never housed the Ark of the Covenant, were as much complete sanctuaries as those at Shiloh and Jerusalem. While I  agree with his assertion that the main tragedy of Shiloh was the Ark of the Covenant’s falling into enemy hands, the idea that the rest of the Sanctuary’s destruction was insignificant because the Ark was already removed does not satisfy me, because by that logic, according to the major opinions that the Ark had been removed from the Temple decades before the Temple’s destruction, the Temple’s destruction would have also not been so tragic. Similarly, the Second Temple, which never housed the Ark, would also not have had a remarkably tragic destruction. These ideas are untenable.

Instead, I answered that the Torah dedicates so much detail to the construction of the Sanctuaries because they were the physical manifestations of Israel’s dedication to God’s service. The contributions of gold and silver transcended their physical value. They were the pride and joy of our people. The tragedy of the destruction of the First Temple was that due to our sins, the neglect of God’s law, the great riches that had been dedicated to the Temple fell into the hands of the heathens for their own profane use. This is a theme addressed by the prophets and sages, and part of the consolation of Zion that led to the building of the Second Temple was that they were returned. However, as history attests, the only component of the Mosaic Tabernacle that ever fell into enemy hands was the Ark, while the rest of Tabernacle, including its structural components and appointments, was evacuated from Shiloh before the Philistines got there, and eventually made its way to Nov, then Gibeon, and then was brought to be put into g’niza, permanent storage, under the Temple in Jerusalem. The Philistines merely demolished the stone walls that held up the impermanent, tent-like roof of the Shiloh Sanctuary and its stone altar, but the original altars of wood, bronze, and gold, for the burnt offerings and the incense, were saved. Thus, major tragedy was averted, although the people learned a harsh lesson. This explains why the prophets did not in any way detail the destruction of Shiloh like they did that of Jerusalem. No spoils were taken. I therefore suggest, as others have done before me, that the fact, mentioned in Sota 9b, that Moses’s major handiwork, the Tabernacle, never fell into enemy hands, is the basis for the idea that the same would have been true for the Temple. 

I recently had the honor of discussing these issues with Rabbi Shendorfi, and in response to his challenges, I collected the various sources within the writings of the Meiri, the Meshech Hochma, and the Hevel Nahalato that point to the absence of the Ark of the Covenant from the Sanctuaries at Nov and Gibeon as the reason, or perhaps the halachic mechanism that allowed, for the hetter bamoth, the permission to offer sacrifice outside of the Sanctuary. The original and complete Hebrew version of my analysis and conclusions is available here,, while an oral explanation thereof can be found in a series of Youtube videos here. God willing, their English counterparts will be made available soon.

The following is a summary of my main original arguments:

Maimonides describes two positive commandments (to offer all sacrifices in the chosen Sanctuary, and to bring all sacrificially designated things outside of Israel to the Sanctuary) and two negative commandments (not to slaughter sacrifices outside the Sanctuary courtyard, and not to burn any sacrifice outside the Sanctuary courtyard) that, as the sages point out in Z’vahim 14:4-10, did not apply when the Sanctuary stood in Nov and Gibeon. This is the state we refer to as hetter bamoth, when anyone could build his own bama, a “high place”, i.e., an altar, for private sacrifice.

The aforementioned commandments were taken very seriously early in our history; Joshua 22 describes how shortly after the Sanctuary was established at Shiloh, the Transjordanian tribes of Israel built a large, purely symbolic altar along the Jordan, and the other tribes were prepared to go to war against them for what was their seeming intention not to follow these commandments, while the book of Kings judges every single king of both Israel and Judah by how well each upheld these commandments. Every king of Israel starting from Jeroboam onward with the exception of Hosea son Elah, the last king of Israel, is faulted for maintaining places of sacrifice other than Jerusalem, while many kings of Judah are criticized for not abolishing the private altars that stood in their realms, and Hezekiah is the described as the greatest, most righteous king because he finally put an end to the practice. (I have always said that the modern political and religious establishment preventing Jews from visiting the site of the Temple, etc., is merely another manifestation of Jeroboam’s main policies, policies he and almost every one of his successors adopted in order to maintain their own grips on power. Thus, until an Israeli Prime Minister once again allows the Jewish People to worship God as per the Torah, they will all have “done evil in the eyes of God.”)

The main question before us is, therefore, on what basis did our ancestors establish altars and offer sacrifice outside of the Sanctuary during the time when it stood in Nov and Gibeon? What was the source or reason for this temporary suspension of a number of Biblical commandments?

The Meiri, noting that since the Ark of the Covenant was never present in the Sanctuaries at Nov and Gibeon, as is clear from the Book of Samuel, writes that its absence was the ostensible halachic allowance for sacrifice on private altars:

 הואיל ולא היה הארון קבוע עם המזבח – הותרו הבמות

Many similar sources can be found in Hevel Nahalato, available here. One of them is the Meshech Hochma, who claims that the Israelites were permitted, in isolated incidents, to offer sacrifice beyond the Shiloh Sanctuary when the Ark was temporarily removed from the Sanctuary. The problem is that this view of the Meshech Hochma, and the views of those who followed him, can not be resolved with Maimonides’s own commentary to the fourteenth chapter of Z’vahim, in which he explicitly writes, as per both Talmudim, that the hetter bamoth of the  Nov/Gibeon era was on the authority of an expository tradition of our sages (Z’vahim 119a):

When they came to Gibeon [and set up the Mishkan there], bamoth were [once again] permitted. How do we know that? — Because our Rabbis taught: “For you have not yet come to the m’nuha, the resting place and the nahala, the inheritance.” ‘The resting place’ alludes to Shiloh, ‘the inheritance’ alludes to Jerusalem. Why does Scripture separate them? [That is, why does scripture mention that there are two destinations?] In order to grant permission between one and the other.

See Maimonides’s complete commentary to Z’vahim 14, in which he also describes how the bamoth that existed before the Tabernacle was at Shiloh, when it was in Gilgal, were allowed by yet another derivation from the relevant verses, and not because the Ark was usually outside of the Tabernacle:

לפי שתלה הכתוב איסור הבמות במחנה והוא שנאמר אשר ישחט שור או כשב או עז במחנה ונתן טעם בזה למען אשר יביאו בני ישראל את זבחיהם וגו’ וזהו איסור הבמות לפי שמיום שפסקו המחנות [תרגום הרי׳׳ק: ״חיסול מחנות״] ונכנסו לארץ ר”ל ארץ כנען והוא הזמן שבאו לגלגל נסתלקה מצות לא תעשה זו ונשאר מותר 

As a matter of fact, according to the non-Maimonidean school, it would actually be quite imprecise for the sages of the Mishna to declare that there was a hetter bamoth during the Gilgal period, or any period for that matter. As a matter of fact, the entire style of the Mishna, to state whether there was a hetter bamoth or issur bamoth when the Sanctuary stood in any place, is pointless according to the Meiri and Meshech Hochma. Instead, the Mishna should have just stated a general rule at the outset that when the Ark was kept in the Tabernacle, the bamoth were prohibited, and when the Ark was taken out of the Tabernacle, the bamoth were permitted. As we will be reminded later on, the fact that the Mishna describes certain periods is exactly as the Talmud concludes: the permissibility of the bamoth depended on the time period, and not on a particular condition that could change during that period. 

One particular passage in Hevel Nahalato is particularly perplexing because he acknowledges Maimonides’s explanation for why the bamoth were permitted during the Gilgal period, but he then writes that the permission during the Nov/Gibeon period was granted because the Ark was absent.

 ישנה הסיבה בזמן נוב וגבעון שארון לא היה במקומו ואז המזבח ירד ממדרגתו להיות במה גדולה. וישנה הסיבה שהיתה בגלגל שבטלה החלוקה למחנות שכינה לויה וישראל ולכן אף המשכן כולו ירד ממדרגתו לדרגת במה גדולה\

This idea, which explicitly contradicts Maimonides’s own words, is echoed in later works, including those on the internet, such as this article by Rabbi Prof. Yoel Elitzur, son of the late Bible scholar Rabbi Yehuda Elitzur, and in it, he brings an answer that I recall hearing was also offered by Rabbi Soloveichik. He begins by citing another relevant passage from Maimonides’s laws (4:1):

When Solomon built the Temple, he was aware that it would ultimately be destroyed. [Therefore,] he constructed a chamber, in which the Ark could be entombed below [the Holy of Holies] in deep, maze-like vaults. King Josiah commanded that [the Ark] be entombed in the chamber built by Solomon, as it is said: “He said to the Levites, consecrated to the Lord, who taught all Israel, ‘Put the Holy Ark in the House that Solomon son of David, king of Israel, built…’” (II Chronicles 35:3).

This is unusual, as Rambam generally does not rule on historical questions in Mishneh Torah, including the interpretation of texts and even halakhic questions that were only relevant in the past (such as the permissibility of the bamoth), unless there is some practical halakhic implication for the present or the future, or if the question touches on a fundamental foundation of faith. In light of this, why did Rambam choose to rule with such certainty in our case, weighing in on what amounts to a Tannaitic historical dispute?

It is likely that the reason behind this ruling can be found in the Talmud Yerushalmi:

Rabbi Yassa said in the name of Rabbi Yohanan: “This is the rule – whenever the Ark is within [the Sanctuary], the bamot are forbidden; when it has left [the Sanctuary], the bamot are permitted.” Rabbi Ze’ira asked Rabbi Yassa: “Even [when the Ark has left the Sanctuary] temporarily, as in the case of Eli?” (Yerushalmi Megilla 1:12)

In the style of the Yerushalmi, Rabbi Ze’ira’s question that was seemingly left unanswered serves as its own conclusion: Indeed, even when the Ark leaves the Sanctuary temporarily, the bamot become permitted. Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk, in his Meshekh Chokhma commentary on Parashat Re’eh, expanded on this notion, using it to explain the apparent violation of the prohibition on bamot during the Shiloh period. According to him, during the time of the Mishkan in Shiloh, the Ark would be removed regularly from its place to be present at national gatherings elsewhere, and sometimes it would even remain in those other locations for extended periods of time. During those periods when the Ark was absent from the Mishkan in Shiloh, claims the Meshekh Chokhma, the bamot were permitted.

Now we can return to Rambam’s unusual ruling. In a different, well-known statement that is accepted as the normative halakha, Rambam rules that the “first consecration” performed by Solomon in Jerusalem applied “for that time and for eternity” (Hilkhot Beit Ha-bechira 6:14). This ruling has several halakhic implications, both positive – we can offer sacrifices on the Temple site even without the Temple itself; we can eat the “most holy” sacrifices even without the “hangings” of the Courtyard; we can eat sacrifices of lesser sanctity and ma’aser sheni even without the wall surrounding Jerusalem (Mishna Eduyot 8:6; Hilkhot Beit Ha-bechira 6:15) – and negative – the impure may not enter the area of the Courtyard; and bamot are prohibited outside of Jerusalem. In order to reconcile this ruling with the statement of the Yerushalmi, Rambam was forced to rule in accordance with Rabbi Judah son of Lakish – the Ark was hidden in its own place![11] If so, according to Rambam the Ark is still in its original location, waiting for us in the depths of the Holy of Holies, beneath the Foundation Stone in Jerusalem.

I wrote to Prof. Elitzur about how this is not a valid resolution to the question regarding Maimonides’s formulation because it assumes that the exchange between Rabbi Yassa and Rabbi Ze’ira is the bottom-line halacha and the conclusion of that Talmudic discussion, but in reality, the Talmud continues, and brings, at the conclusion of that section cited above, an elaboration of the mishnayoth in Z’vahim we saw above. There, at the conclusion of the first chapter of YT M’gilla, it explains why bamoth were prohibited during the Shilonic period, then permitted in the intervening period, and then permanently prohibited once the Temple was built: it was a d’rasha, an esoteric rule encoded in the unusual language of the prohibition, and it did not condition the hetter bamoth on the Ark’s constant presence in the Sanctuary, and is along the lines of the passage from Z’vahim 119a, above, and in the corresponding section from the Yerushalmi, after quoting the same verse referencing “the resting place” and “the inheritance,” and explaining that the former was Shiloh and the latter was Jerusalem, the consequences are explained:

Thus, while the Tent of Meeting [stood during the sojourn in the wilderness], the bamoth were prohibited. While [it stood] in Gilgal, the bamoth were permitted. While [it stood] in Shiloh, the bamoth were prohibited. While [it stood] in Nov and Gibeon, the bamoth were permitted. While [it stood] in Jerusalem, the bamoth were prohibited. [This can be compared] to a man who told his servant, “do not drink wine from Tiberias, nor from Caesarea, nor from Sephoris,” implying that from areas between those places, he could [drink wine].

And that is how Maimonides explains the Mishnayoth in his uncensored commentary to Z’vahim. This seems necessary, because the exposition of the verse about “the resting place” and “the inheritance” does not seem to teach anything about the Gilgal period, and it must be that the hetter bamoth of that period was due to some other factor. Be that as it may, Maimonides reiterates why there was a hetter bamoth between the Shiloh and Jerusalem eras: Moses, when he related this command, had implied that there would be a period between the two major Sanctuaries when the bamoth would once again be permitted.

It therefore turns out that Rabbi Yassa’s rule, actually a k’lal in the original Hebrew, should more accurately be translated as a “general principle,” less a declaration of halacha, and more of a mnemonic, a correlation that does not imply causation. If you will ask, how are we to remember if high places were permitted during the days of a particular sanctuary, then look for the Ark. The Ark stood in Shiloh, so the high places were then prohibited, but it did not stand in Nov and Gibeon, and therefore high places were permitted in their days. But Rabbi Ze’ira points out that this is too simplistic, because it implies that if the Ark were to have been removed from Shiloh temporarily, then the high places would have been temporarily permitted, or if the Ark were to be removed from the Temple in Jerusalem, it would also result in a hetter bamoth until it would be brought back, which is untenable, and explains why Rabbi Yassa has no rejoinder for Rabbi Ze’ira’s point, because the hetter bamoth, according to the conclusion of this Yerushalmi, and according to the plain meaning of the Bavli in Z’vahim, and according to Maimonides’s commentary, does not depend on the strict and immediate presence of the Ark of the Covenant in the Sanctuary, and that is why the Temple is still the Temple in its state of desolation according to Maimonides, even though the Ark has not been present therein since the late First Temple Period.

I also have a hard time accepting Rabbi Shendorfi’s terminology which implies that when the Ark is absent, the Sanctuary’s altar loses (lit. descends from its level of) sanctity and becomes a “bama g’dola, a great high place.” This term, bama g’dola, is actually greatly misunderstood, as we shall see. We also disagreed regarding the application of the word miqdash to the Tabernacles of Nov and Gibeon; I had written that the interpretation of what Maimonides wrote in the first source cited above meant that the Nov and Gibeon Sanctuaries were מקדשים לכל דבר, “Sanctuaries for all intents and purposes,” and this was also stated by Rabbi Bar Hayim in a series of recent lectures posted to Youtube, but Rabbi Shendorfi argued that Nov and Gibeon were not ״,מקדשים לכל דבר״ that they were somehow inferior or of lesser status, and the prophets never referred to Nov and Gibeon the way they referred to Shiloh and Jerusalem, and challenged me to prove my assertion. I think Maimonides’s opening ruling/definition is sufficient, and my challenge was instead to answer why the destruction of Shiloh became an afterthought, and why the subsequent Sanctuaries were not described with reverence.

I Kings 9:2-5, I Chronicles 22:1, and Psalms 132:14, and other relevant verses, as well as Laws of the Chosen Temple 1:3 and 6:13-16 show beyond any doubt that according to Maimonides, there is no indication that the sanctity of the Temple and the eternal prohibition against bamoth that were initiated with the Temple’s inauguration had anything to do with the absence or presence of the Ark in the Temple. Rather, they were made known to us expressly by the prophets and the Mosaic tradition.

Not only that, in those latter laws, Maimonides actually explains the nature of the Temple’s eternal sanctity and its halachic ramifications, and how their unconditional nature stands in stark contrast to the sanctity of the land of Israel, which is conditional, and therefore subject to nullification:

How was [the Second Temple] consecrated? With the first consecration initiated by Solomon, for he consecrated the Temple Courtyard and Jerusalem for that time and for eternity. Therefore, we may offer all the sacrifices [at the Temple], even though the Temple itself is not built. Similarly, the most holy sacrifices can be eaten in the entire [area of the] Courtyard, even though it is in ruin and not surrounded by a formal wall. We may also eat less holy sacrifices and the second tithe throughout Jerusalem, even though it is not [presently] surrounded by a wall, for through its original consecration, it was consecrated for that time and for eternity.

Why do I say that the original consecration sanctified the Temple and Jerusalem for eternity, while with regard to the consecration of the remainder of the Land of Israel, specifically regarding whether the Sabbatical year, tithes, and other related [agricultural] laws are in force, [the original consecration] did not sanctify it for eternity? Because the sanctity of the Temple and Jerusalem stems from the Divine Presence, and the Divine Presence can never be nullified. Thus, Leviticus 26:31 states: “I will lay waste to your sanctuaries.” The Sages declared: “Even though they have been devastated, their sanctity remains.”

In contrast, the [original] obligation to keep the laws of the Sabbatical year and tithes on the Land stemmed from the fact that it was conquered by the [Jewish people as a united] community. Therefore, when the land was taken from their hands [by the Babylonians,] their [original] conquest was nullified. Thus, according to Torah law, the land was freed from the obligations of the Sabbatical year and tithes because it was no longer “Land of Israel.”

That is, according to Maimonides, the sanctity of something is whether or not the relevant commandments and laws apply to it. An Aaronite priest is holy because specific commandments apply to him beyond those that apply to an ordinary Jew, whereas a halal, the offspring of a priest and a woman not fit for him, is desecrated, and the commandments and laws of the priesthood do not not apply to him. The land of Israel was promised to the Patriarchs and is eternally in the possession of the Jewish people, but its sanctity only exists under certain conditions, and it is only under those conditions that the laws and commandments actually apply therein. The idea of sanctity is a fundamental tenet of halacha, and applies in various forms to inanimate objects, vegetation, animals, people, places, and even time periods.

Most importantly, Maimonides writes explicitly how the Holy of Holies was holier than every other place:

בית קודש הקודשים מקודש ממנו שאין נכנס לשם אלא כהן גדול ביום הכיפורים, בשעת העבודה

The Holy of Holies is holier than [the rest of the Sanctuary edifice], as only the High Priest may enter there on Yom Kippur at the time of the service.

We see from this halacha that the essence of the Holy of Holies’ sanctity derived from the fact it was the place designated for more commandments than the other places, i.e., it had even stricter rules of limited entry than the rest of the Temple, and it was designated for a unique sacrificial service not performed elsewhere, and that is what made it holy, even when, for centuries perhaps, the Ark of the Covenant was absent. In the Guide to the Perplexed (3:45, based on the Friedlander translation), Maimonides explains that these defined areas of additional sanctity have a specific utility:

It is evident that the object of giving different degrees of sanctity to the different places, to the Temple Mount, the place between the two walls, to the women’s courtyard, to the Hall, and so on up to the Holy of Holies, was to raise the respect and reverence of the Temple in the minds of all who approached it.

The sixteenth-century commentator Radbaz has a classic explanation of Maimonides’s distinction between the sanctity of the Temple and the sanctity of the land, and it answers a question regarding the Mishna (Keilim 1) that Maimonides cites regarding the ten levels of sanctity within the Land of Israel:

The land of Israel is sanctified above all other lands. What is its sanctity? From it we bring the ‘omer, the bikkurim, and the two loaves of (pentecostal) bread.

Why doesn’t the Mishna just state that the land’s sanctity is that the mitzwoth hat’luyoth ba’aretz, the agricultural commandments that are contingent on the land, only apply in the land of Israel?

The answer is that the Mishna was aware that the main sanctity of the land is transient, that it was once conditional and then nullified, and therefore there were times when the land had no sanctity, i.e., the usual commandments were not in force. But, because the Temple’s sanctity is eternal and unconditional, and never lapsed, the sacrifices were always required, and the offerings mentioned in this Mishna are all public offerings of the Temple, and therefore this aspect of the land’s sanctity, which is a derivative of the Temple’s sanctity, is also eternal. That means, for example, that if during the times of the Babylonian exile, before work even began on the Second Temple and the altar was rebuilt, the Jews had an opportunity to offer sacrifice at the Temple ruins, as apparently happened at certain times even after the destruction of the Second Temple, and it was Passover or Pentecost, they would have to make sure that the grains they were using for the ‘omer and the pentecostal loaves, (also called bikkurim) had to come from the land of Israel, even though they could not and did not count the years of the Sabbatical cycle, or tithe their crops, or keep the other commandments that were contingent on the land.

Were the Temple’s sanctity conditional like that of the land’s sanctity, as the Meiri and the Meshech Hochma claim, I would have expected Maimonides to say so, just as he wrote how the land’s sanctity was once conditional and subject to nullification, and just as he wrote in the Book of Commandments regarding a similar issue:

If we were to suppose that the people of Israel were to disappear from the land of Israel – although it is sacrilege to say that God allow such a thing, as He has already promised that the remnant of this people shall neither be erased or uprooted – then our calculation [of the calendar] would not be of any utility to us whatsoever, because we are not supposed to calculate and intercalate the years and establish new moons outside of the land except for specific circumstances, and as we have explained, “for Torah shall go forth from Zion, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.”

According to Maimonides, the complete removal of the Jews from the land of Israel would be the destruction of the Jewish people.

This passage teaches us that the responsibility/necessity of a court to establish the Jewish calendar is, at least in theory, conditioned on the presence of that court within the land of Israel.

Thus, if the Temple’s sanctity was conditional, for example, on the presence of the Ark of the Covenant, we would have expected Maimonides to write something along the lines of:

If we were to suppose that the Ark of the Covenant were to disappear from the Temple – heaven forbid – then the entire sanctity of the Temple would be nullified, and we would not be able to offer any of the public sacrifices therein, even though the Temple would still be standing in all its grandeur, and we would not be able to eat the most holy sacrifices in the Temple Courtyard even if its walls were standing, and neither would we be able to eat less holy sacrifices and the second tithe within Jerusalem even if it had a wall, because the original sanctification of the Temple only has effect as long as the Ark remains in the Temple.

But Maimonides never wrote any such thing. It is very difficult to argue that according to Maimonides, or the sages for that matter, the sanctity of the Temple would be contingent on the presence of the Ark.

…

We will now turn to explaining what Maimonides’s intent was in seemingly ruling that the Ark of the Covenant was hidden in a secret chamber beneath the Temple Mount. The matter of the Ark’s disappearance from history is a matter of dispute both among secular researchers (at least among those who believe it ever existed) and our sages, and it seems that many of the proposed narratives are speculative and conjectural. How and why did Maimonides see fit to take sides in this argument?

As we have mentioned, the Meiri and Meshech Hochma et al. claim that the Ark must have stayed within the Temple for its sanctity to be able to persist, thus allowing for us to keep all of the positive and negative commandments of the Temple throughout history, even during the times the Temple stands in ruins, and even during Second Temple times. Although this could very well be a valid explanation for why some of the sages may have claimed that the Ark was hidden under the Temple, it certainly could not have been Maimonides’s reason.

My tentative answer is that with regards to historical and halachic disputes that have no clear resolution, it is Maimonides’s general practice to side with the position that draws the most scriptural support. In this case, there is a verse that seems to describe Josiah instructing the Priests and Levites to hide the Ark, and although Kings, Jeremiah, and Chronicles describe how the Babylonians destroyed and despoiled the Temple in great detail, no mention is made whatsoever of the Ark. This seems to indicate that the Ark was safely hidden before the destruction. This may also be the reason why the Mishna assumes that the Ark was hidden under the Temple, even though differing opinions existed among the sages. 

But why would Maimonides include his historical view at this point in the laws of the Temple?

My first answer is that just like in his introduction to the Yad, Maimonides lists all of the transmitters of the Oral Tradition in order to emphasize that the halachoth he records are solidly grounded in positive tradition, and in the first chapter of these laws he emphasizes the unbroken Jewish tradition of Sanctuary service since the revelation at Sinai until the permanent Temple in Jerusalem, and in the second chapter he brings the importance of the historical, eternal tradition of the location of the Altar, and in this fourth chapter, Maimonides emphasizes the Foundation Stone that lay prominently in the Holy of Holies, which has a long history parallel to that of the location of the Altar, and serves as its reference point. Yes, in the First Temple the Ark and the manna and Aaron’s staff rested upon the stone, but in the Second Temple, when they had already been hidden, the Foundation Stone was still there, and that was the important part. That is why Maimonides then describes how, because the location of the Holy of Holies needs to be exactly that as demanded by positive tradition, the builders of the Second Temple adjusted the plan of the partitions between the Holy and the Holy of Holies because of the doubt that had arisen. In each of these chapters, Maimonides’s purpose is to define a specific place to the exclusion of all others: The Temple Mount in Jerusalem to the exclusion of all other places in Israel, the place of the Altar as it always was to the exclusion of any other place on the Mount; the place of the Holy of Holies to the exclusion of any other place on the western part of the Mount. 

(Considering that because Maimonides already wrote in his commentary to the Mishna that the Temple’s sanctity is eternal and inalterable, and certainly not contingent on the presence of the Ark, I would have expected the Meshech Hochma and others to suggest that the sanctity of the Temple emanates from the presence of the Foundation Stone. I would not be surprised to learn that others have already suggested this.)

On the other hand, one might have thought that perhaps the location of the Holy of Holies should depend on that of the Ark, for example, if the Ark were now hidden 30 feet underground and a few hundred feet to the east of the where the foundation stone is (the Chamber of Wood was at the eastern end of the Temple’s outer courtyard), the Second Temple’s edifice should have been built directly over that new spot.

Secondly, Maimonides mentions that the Ark and the other items, Aaron’s staff, and the manna and the anointing oil, are still intact because these items serve as the tokens of the covenant (see below). A couple can not stay together alone in the house, or vacation on the opposite side of the world together, if they do not know where their k’thuba is. So too, Maimonides needed to write that the Temple is still God’s chosen place to be with His chosen people, and the marriage contract and the tokens of the covenant are still there for safekeeping.

Thirdly, Maimonides is following an idea found in the Midrash (Genesis Rabba 79:7):

“[Jacob] bought the section of the field where he had pitched his tent for one hundred qesita.” Rabbi Judah b. Simon said, “this is one of three places with which the nations of the world cannot deride Israel saying, ‘they are not lawfully yours:’ the Cave of the Patriarchs, the Holy Temple, and Joseph’s burial plot.

The verse described how all of these places were bought by Abraham, David, and Jacob respectively, for large sums. History has shown time and again that the people of Israel have endured the strange fortune of having to fight to maintain their historical connection to their eponymous land, even though the Chinese and Bulgarians and most others have not had to fight to maintain theirs.

Maimonides foresaw how one day, the nations of the world would challenge Israel’s right to the land of Israel, Jerusalem, the Temple Mount, and the places of the Altar and the Sanctuary, and that they would thus challenge the intrinsic and eternal holiness of those places. He thus brought the history and the enduring connection of those places to the Jewish tradition when explaining how their eternal sanctity affects the commandments that are meant to be performed in those places.

…

Rabbi Shendorfi used Rashi’s comments on Z’vahim 61b in an attempt to show how the Sanctuaries at Nob and Gibeon were of lesser holiness, but I disagreed with him because, in that context, Rashi was specifically addressing the construction of the altars at those two Sanctuaries, and as per the discussion on the previous folio, those altars only possessed a temporary sanctity that had long since passed, as opposed to the sanctity of the transportable, bronze altar of the Tabernacle, which maintained some of its sanctity even when it was not in usable condition, and the holiness of the Temple altars, which exists to this day at the site of the altar, even though the altar itself still awaits to be rebuilt. 

…

I will not translate the detailed disagreement regarding the interpretation of Z’vahim 119a, regarding where the second tithe was consumed in the years after the destruction of Shiloh and before the Temple was built. The Hevel Nahalato wondered why Maimonides and the Bartenura did not interpret the Mishna according to Rabbi Judah’s position if the halacha is normally in accordance with Rabbi Judah. My answer is that the Hevel Nahalato assumes that Rabbi Judah’s opinion is as explained by Rashi, but Maimonides and Bartenura understand the discussion entirely differently, and in their view, they do interpret the Mishna as being in accordance with Rabbi Judah. 

…

I suggest that it is a fallacious tendency to causally link the facts that the Ark was not present in both Nov and Gibeon and that at those times there was a hetter bamoth. However, correlation does not mean causation, as can be seen from the conclusions of both Talmudim and Maimonides’s commentary. The hetter bamoth was not due to the absence of the Ark, although it did coincide with the absence of the Ark. As I wrote earlier, this was even a rejected hawa amina in the Talmud. I am therefore not surprised that the rabbinic-literary record shows that this hawa amina appeared a few times in history. 

In the 20th century works that did assume this causal relationship, a slew of Biblical and Talmudic sources was marshaled as proof, but each time the indication was that indeed there was a correlation, but no proof of causation. For example, the Tosefta at the end of Z’vahim says “What was the great bama during the period of the hetter bama? The Tent of Meeting was pitched as normal, but the Ark was not there.” This, as the Hevel Nahalato and Rabbi Shendorfi pointed out, seems to say that the hetter bamoth may have been due to the absence of the Ark, but we should first ask what this teaching tells us beyond what is explicitly mentioned in many verses in Kings, Chronicles, and Samuel, including this one (I Kings 3:3-4):

Solomon loved the Lord, walking in the statutes of David his father; he would only slaughter and sacrifice in the [official] high places. The king went to Gibeon to sacrifice there; for that was the great bama; Solomon offered a thousand burnt-offerings upon that altar. 

The answer happens to be found in the two previous verses (ibid., 1-2):

Solomon married into Pharaoh, king of Egypt’s, family; he married Pharaoh’s daughter, and brought her to the city of David until he completed building his own house, the Temple of the Lord, and the wall of Jerusalem roundabout. Yet the people still sacrificed at the high places, because there was still no Temple built for the name of the Lord in those days. 

That is, the bamoth would become prohibited once the Temple was built. This verse is the clearest Biblical source for the Talmudic/Maimonidean position. Indeed, the Tabernacle stood in Gibeon while the Ark was first in Abinadab’s house and then in Jerusalem, and at that time Gibeon was called the “great bama” and other bamoth were permitted, but the reason for bamoth being permitted was because the permanent Temple had yet to be built.   

This is actually quite profound. One might have argued that if a “great bama” was at Gibeon, while an ordinary [minor] bama is any other private altar, then ever since David brought the Ark to Jerusalem and the prophets had endorsed his plan to build a permanent Temple in Jerusalem, and they had established an altar at what would be the site of the future, permanent Temple, there were actually two national central places of worship: the great bama in Gibeon, and the bama that already stood in Jerusalem, at the site of the future Sanctuary which God had chosen and which was accompanied by God’s messiah and His Ark. The verses therefore teach us that even though Solomon was stationed in Jerusalem, and he already had an established altar at the designated site of the Temple and the Ark of the Covenant was already waiting there in Jerusalem, the Tabernacle at Gibeon, where only Aaronite priests could serve and where the sacrificial service was done on the nation’s behalf every day “as per the the Torah of Moses” (I Chronicles 16:39-40) was still the only place true place of national, central worship, and for example, the Paschal offering could only be brought there (Laws of the Paschal Offering 1:2-3). I believe that there were perhaps thousands who were of this belief already in the last few years of David’s reign, especially after many Israelites became uncomfortable with making their pilgrimages to Gibeon, which, although a priestly city (Joshua 21:17), was also inhabited by cruel, unforgiving non-Jews (II Samuel 21:1-7), and had twice been the site of inter-Israelite, political violence (II Samuel 2:12-17 and 20:8). 

This idea is actually alluded to in Moses’s prayer when the Israelites would begin their journeys in the wilderness. “the Ark of the Lord’s Covenant would travel before them… to seek out m’nuha, rest, for them” (Numbers 10:33). “And when the Ark traveled, Moses said, Arise O Lord, and Your enemies will be dispersed, and those who hate You will flee from before You” (ibid., 35). As we saw, m’nuha is a reference to the Shiloh Sanctuary and its time period. That is, when the Israelites first came into Canaan, as Maimonides described, the land was sanctified through their conquests, when the Ark of the Covenant would lead them out to war. (As we wrote earlier, every one of the Israelite’s journeys from Sinai were acts of war and conquest). The Ark would go out to war with the people throughout their conquests, until at the end of those conquests, it, along with the rest of the Tabernacle, was brought to its first resting place in Shiloh, but after that, once God had come to His permanent resisting place, His nahala, portion, the Land would be sanctified not through war and conquest, but by the mere presence of His people. 

Another ramification of the Talmudic outlook regarding the hetter bamoth is that we are not obliged, like the Meshech Hochma and others were, to explain examples in the Books of Joshua and Judges wherein the Israelites built altars and offered sacrifice beyond the Shiloh Sanctuary as instances of when the Ark was temporarily removed from the Sanctuary. Instead, just like we find explicitly regarding Elijah at Mt. Carmel, and Gideon (Judges 6:25-26) and Manoah (ibid., 13:16), God expressly instructed them to offer sacrifice then and there, what the sages called a hora’ath sha’a, a one-time dispensation, the other instances were also similarly prophetic temporary dispensations. 

Another Biblical passage presents a challenge to the Meiri’s position. Upon witnessing the Clouds of Glory fill the Temple, Solomon declared (I Kings 8:18-21):

Now it was in the heart of my father David to build a temple for the Name of the Lord, God of Israel, but the Lord said to my father David: Because it was in your heart to build a temple for My name, you have done well with what was in your heart; However, you shall not build the Temple. Rather, your son, who shall come from out of your loins, he shall build the Temple for My Name. The Lord has kept His word that He spoke, and I have risen up in place of my father David, and I have sat on the throne of Israel, as the Lord spoke, and I have built the Temple for the Name of the Lord, God of Israel, and I have set therein a place for the Ark in which is the covenant of the Lord, which He forged with our fathers when He brought them out of the land of Egypt.’

According to the Meiri et al., why would Solomon need to say this? Isn’t the Temple’s very sanctity conditional on the presence of the Ark? Isn’t it supposed to be there? So why is it remarkable that Solomon’s magnificent Temple had a place for the Ark?

The answer is that, as Maimonides already implied, the Temple does not necessarily need the Ark. Yes, it was there during our best eras, but, as the Gibeon/Nov and Second Temple eras show, the Ark is far from necessary, and one should not assume that it would always be housed in the Sanctuary. An amazing aspect of the First Temple was that for the first time in decades, the Ark could once again be housed in the Holy of Holies.

Concerning the fact that Maimonides did not list an independent commandment to fashion the Ark, it must be noted that as he lists only one commandment to build and upkeep the Temple, and all of the service vessels within the Temple are included in the one commandment, and he does even count independent commandments to make those vessels that were actually used in the course of the service, e.g., the altars and the candelabrum, it is understandable why the Ark, which served no ritual purpose, enjoys no commandment regarding its own fabrication. This also explains why no replacement ark was created for the Second Temple: it served no practical purpose and did not and could not be replaced, because its purpose was disconnected from any Temple service. Only Solomon, and not Samuel, David, or Saul, installed the Ark in the Sanctuary when the time came. We see from this that it did not bother anyone that the Sanctuary lacked the Ark until then.

Josiah’s aforementioned removal of the Ark from the Temple did not in any way change the function or sanctity of the Temple.

Zerubbabel and Jeshua the High Priest received a mandate from Cyrus to do whatever was necessary to found and rebuild the Temple, and although they were guided by three prophets, they never sought to locate the Ark and return it, and they were never told to do so. Neither Ezra nor Nehemiah tried to do so even though they could have. Neither did any subsequent Jewish ruler: Simon the Just, the Maccabees, Simon ben Shetah, or Herod, who demolished the original structure of the Second Temple in order to build an even grander one under the guidance of the sages. All of these Second-Temple figures had just as much legal access to the entire Temple Mount as the modern Israeli government, and much less outside interference, if any at all. 

The Mishna does mention that there was a priest who believed that he may have found an indication of the Ark’s hiding place, and that he died a miraculous, sudden, and horrific death before he could share his find. This was a heavenly sign that the Ark was not supposed to be in the Second Temple. (In a nod to the teachings of R’ Avigdor Miller, I would argue that the benefit here was that the testimony contained in the Ark could not be claimed and hijacked by sectarian groups, the Sadducees, the Boethusians, and the Christians, that arose in that era and who did hijack the Temple and our scriptures when they had opportunities. At the very least, the Philistines who seized the Ark respected it as a vanquished god and learned to treat it with awe, and one could imagine that the Babylonians, who, according to some scholars both Jewish and non-Jewish, may have likewise shown some reverence to the Ark, but in the hands of the Christians it would be treated in a manner completely sacrilegious, or, God forbid as proof to their legitimacy. Until today, the Ethiopian Christians make such claims regarding the non-Ark they claim to possess.)

From a philosophical perspective, there never was and still is no reason to seek the Ark. In Hebrew, the Ark is referred to as both the Ark of the Covenant and the Ark of the Testimony because it holds the testimony, the physical relics, of the covenant enacted at Sinai: the tablets and the Torah are analogous to the Jewish institution of the marriage contract which is signed by both parties. In this case, the covenant has one document signed by God Himself, so to speak, the tablets, and the other by Israel’s legal representative, Moses, the Torah written by his hand. The Torah scroll itself was finalized by Moses on the day he died, when he contracted a second covenant with Israel, the covenant in the Plains of Moab, with the new generation that replaced the first. Nahmanides writes about how the Redemption from Egypt climaxed with the construction of the Tabernacle, while Solomon, in his speech at the Temple’s dedication, emphasized that the new edifice was to house the Ark of the covenant that began with the Exodus, which is why, of all of the events in scripture aside from the Passover observed in the wilderness a year after the Exodus, the dedication of Solomon’s Temple is dated to the year of the Exodus, as it was a continuation of that redemptive process.

However, in the interim exile, when the Second Temple’s construction was drawn out, the Jews reaccepted the Torah and the commandments anew, and out of love, as per the sages’ teaching regarding the ninth chapter of Esther, “the Jews accepted and upheld for themselves and for their descendants” that which they had previously accepted, and thus we had a new diaspora-born covenant that ascended to Israel with the builders of the Second Temple. The signing of this New Deal took place in the rebuilt Temple, as described in the latter part of the book of Nehemiah, among the people and their representatives led by Ezra, who, as the sages tell us, was worthy of receiving the Torah on Israel’s behalf, and was the one who had the final say as to the authorized text of the Torah, and who changed its script. The new tokens of this new covenant, Ezra’s Torah scrolls, were kept safely in the Temple, while the artisans fashioned new, engraved cherubim to adorn the back wall of the Holy of Holies, as though a replacement for the Ark of the Covenant, and analogous to the replacement marriage contract that the sages ordered a man to write for his wife if the original is no longer. The Ark of the Covenant was made to contain the physical evidence of the covenant and act as a divine antenna, but during the time of the Second Temple, the people saw how the Divine Presence rests upon Israel even in the Ark’s absence, and the people themselves carried or demonstrated the tokens of the eternal covenant with their very bodies.

This was foretold in Jeremiah 31:

Behold, days are coming, says the Lord, and I will enact a new covenant with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah; not like the covenant that I made with their fathers the day that I took them by their hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt, for they abrogated My covenant, although I lorded over them, says the Lord. For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, says the Lord: I will have placed My Torah within them, and I will write it upon their heart; I will be a God for them, and they shall be a nation for Me.

(See also Rashi’s commentary to Jeremiah 3:16.)

Even when the Ark’s whereabouts were known, its function was exclusively as a prophetic antenna, and even when it is was stowed away in Abinadab’s house, the prophets flourished, and when it was ultimately hidden, Josiah told the people that although the priests no longer had any responsibility to protect and transport the Ark, the people should continue to serve God as they always were supposed to have done. And even after that, new prophets arose in Israel. Thus, nothing actually changed when the Ark was lost, and we are hard-pressed to find any example of how, when the Ark’s location was known, our manner of serving God was supposed to be different from the way it is now.

The Mishna mentions that the sages approved of Hezekiah’s destruction of the brazen serpent Nehushtan that Moses had fashioned. At the time, the people had started to ascribe powers to the inanimate object, and this smacked of idolatry. I believe his great-grandson Josiah’s decision to hide the Ark was along the same lines, especially given the impending destruction which he sought to avoid. Shortly before the destruction of Shiloh, the people had looked to the Ark in an inappropriate manner, thinking that it somehow guaranteed them divine protection and victory in battle, and this was also slightly idolatrous. The Ark contains the documentation of the covenant, but the covenant still has to be kept if the Jews wish to merit divine protection. At that point, they were punished by being routed in battle, and having the Ark captured and the Sanctuary destroyed, and much of Samuel’s subsequent work was to get the people to abandon the idolatry to which they had become accustomed. The verse explicitly connects the Ark’s concealment with the people returning to the pure worship of God (I Samuel 7:2-3):

It was that from the day that the Ark abode in Kiriath-Jearim, that many years passed, it was ultimately twenty years, and the entire house of Israel was drawn to the Lord.

Samuel said to the entire house of Israel, saying: If you return to the Lord with all your heart, then get rid of the foreign gods and the ashtaroth from among yourselves, and direct your hearts to the Lord, and serve Him exclusively, and He will deliver you from the hand of the Philistines.

The first of these two verses describes the entire twenty-year period, the latter describes Samuel’s initiation of the repentance movement.

Josiah was trying to pre-empt this type of after-the-fact reaction to retribution. His generation believed that the very Temple was invincible and would afford them lasting protection (Jeremiah 7:4), and this may have been due to an overly literal understanding of the Sanctuary as God’s residence, as that is what seems to be indicated by the words in Exodus, but in actuality, in Moses’s own words in Deuteronomy and in the traditional Targumim, the Temple did not and can not possibly contain the One Whose glory fills the universe, but rather, it is a place dedicated to His name and service. Their reliance was possibly fatal, and Josiah therefore sought to show them that the Temple did not need the Ark in order to function, and that it was not some sort of talisman. In essence, he wanted to bring about the pure state of both private religious devotion and public sacrificial service that had been in Samuel’s time, but without having to suffer the destruction of the Sanctuary. The sages themselves discuss such forms of pre-emptive remedies, such as self-imposed lashes and exile for penitents, and praying outdoors and visiting cemeteries on emergency fast days.

This argument can be seen from the progression of events in II Chronicles 34 and 35. There are those who argue that the proof text for Josiah hiding the Ark, 35:3, actually describes Josiah returning the Ark to its rightful place within the Sanctuary, because either his father or grandfather had removed it, but if that were the case, we would have expected to find Josiah doing so much earlier in the narrative, when he became an adult and ordered the refurbishing of the Temple, during the course of which the priests found the ominous Torah scroll which prompted the king and his advisors to seek Hulda’s guidance. When her prophecy of impending destruction was heard, Josiah began his national campaign of repentance in an effort to stave off the impending disaster, ridding the land of idolatry and having the people enter into a new covenant to keep the Torah. In context, the hiding of the Ark can be seen as an act meant to ensure that the people’s intentions in their worship of God would be pure and exactly as the Torah had commanded.

Indeed, in the recently released Steinsaltz Tanakh in English, a similar point is made in the commentary to Jeremiah 3:16.

As for the important question, “isn’t the idea of the Sinaitic covenant being superseded dangerously close to the Christian doctrine which proposes a New Testament and a new covenant with a newly chosen people to replace Israel?” The answer is thankfully no, because what we have seen in our very own Torah (the covenant in the Plains of Moab) and in the rest of the Bible, as we mentioned, are not new covenants but merely reaffirmations of the original eternal covenant, and that which has been replaced is limited to the documentation thereof. To what is this analogous? To a lender who lost his promissory note, and has a new one issued to him by the court. The attestations are the same, that the loan was given on such a date to so-and-so and due at such time, except that it now supersedes the previous note if it were to be found. So too, the covenant since the time of the Second Temple is the same covenant of Abraham and Sinai, just attested to by different exhibits.

I certainly do not buy the argument that Josiah hid the Ark of the Covenant in order to protect it from falling into the hands of the Babylonian conquerors because there does not seem to be any scriptural support for this contention, and because unlike the other Temple appointments, which fell into the hands of both the Babylonians and Romans, and were then desecrated, we already have seen what happened to the Ark when it was captured by the uncircumcised heathens: it brought retribution upon them. Had the Babylonians or Romans been foolish enough to take the Ark, they would have learned their lesson even faster than the Philistines did.

Instead, I offer this passage from Sh’qalim (6:1):

מי גנזו יאשיהו גנזו כיון שראה שכתוב (דברים כח) יולך ה’ אותך ואת מלכך אשר תקים עליך אל גוי אשר לא ידעת אתה ואבותיך עמד וגנזו הדא הוא דכתיב (דברי הימים ב לה) ויאמר ללוים המבינים ולכל ישראל הקדושים לה’ תנו את ארון הקדש בבית אשר בנה שלמה בן דוד מלך ישראל אין לכם משא בכתף אמר להם אם גולה הוא עמכם לבבל אין אתם מחזירין אותו עוד למקומו אלא (שם) עתה עבדו את ה’ אלהיכם ואת עמו ישראל

Josiah said to the Levites, “if the Ark goes into exile with you, you will never return it to its place.”

Notice that Josiah was not afraid of the Babylonians taking the Ark; as we saw it it could take very good care of itself. Instead, he was afraid the Levites would take it to accompany the people in exile, and then once it would be there in Babylonia, the Levites would, for whatever reason, not return it to the Temple when the time came. Why not? Well, as we read in Ezra, there was little enthusiasm to leave Babylonia when the time came, and the Levites were especially lackadaisical. Nothing has changed in all these centuries. To take the Jews out of the exile, you first have to take the exile out of the Jews. Now imagine the Ark had joined the Jews in exile. They would have come up with all sorts of lofty-sounding divrei torah about how the Divine Presence is with them in Babylonia, how their synagogues are much more than miqd’shei m’at, and other such justifications, just as today we delude ourselves with excuses for not leaving the diaspora, not voting for leadership that pledges to uphold the Torah, and not pressing for the building of the Temple. W’hameivin yavin.

…

Rabbi Shendorfi then asked me incredulously, “The Ark does go in the Holy of Holies. Is that not what grants it its holiness?” and my answer was no, it has intrinsic holiness in that it has limited access, as the Mishna states. However, it is also the ideal place for storing not only the Ark, but also other major symbolic objects, like the manna and Aaron’s staff, but even so, sometimes circumstances call for some or all of those items to be removed from the Holy of Holies, but that by no means detracts from its holiness. 

Finally, returning to terminology, the sages followed the Biblical precedent of using the terms “great bama” and “minor bama” in the same way they referred to synagogues and study halls since the times of the Babylonian exile as miqd’shei m’at (based on Ezekiel 11:16), lit. “minor sanctuaries,” as opposed to THE miqdash. That is, during David’s time, because altars were called bamoth, even if they were not literally “high places,” the central, national altar was called “the great bama.” 

We should also note that even though we find the term “great bama” regarding Gibeon in the Bible, we do not find it regarding Nov, even though it is obvious that the Tabernacle stood there. Further, it is well known that the site of the Sanctuary at Shiloh was neither on top of any hill or mountain, nor was it in a particularly low spot, but rather in a level area on the side of a hill.

(The author standing in the vineyards below the site of the Tabernacle at Shiloh. The Tabernacle stood on the side of the hill in the center of the picture, above his left shoulder.)

We also have no indication that the Tabernacle, at any station in the wilderness or at Gilgal, was ever erected at a particularly high place. Thus, it seems to me that the novelty of these verses is two-fold: Gibeon was the first place that the Israelites erected the Tabernacle in a place that was noticeably elevated, and that place was called “the [great] bama” because of its appearance. That it, is in the Bible, the Sanctuary was always referred to as “the  Tabernacle” or House of the Lord, etc., while its location in Gibeon was descriptively called “the great bama,” and many years later, long after the Jerusalem Temple became established, the altar at Gibeon was then referred to as “the great bama“, and the sages eventually referred to the entire Sanctuary at Gibeon as “the great bama.” This is reminiscent of how, in the language of the Talmud and the Rishonim, there is the issue of k’nisa, entering, or biath, coming into, the miqdash (Maimonides even has a whole class of laws called “biath miqdash“), whereas today, the controversy is referred to as k’nisa l’har habayit, “entering the Temple Mount,” or even more distantly, aliya l’har habayit, “ascending the Temple Mount.” I, in the spirit of accuracy and fidelity to tradition, use the Maimonidean term in order to stress the importance of the commandment in our day; we are not just walking around the perimeter of the Temple Mount. לשכנו תדרשו, ובאת שמה. We are going to the Temple.[1]

Thus, we see that the prophets never referred to the Gibeon Sanctuary as “the great bama,” but rather to only its location as “the great bama,” and every halachic distinction between the private bamoth and “the great bama” discussed by the sages is only in the realm of the service on those altars, but with regard to every other aspect of the service that did not involve the altar, e.g., the services done with the other appointments, such as the candelabrum, the golden altar, and the table of the shewbread, and all the laws of the priesthood, there were no differences. That is, contrary to what the Hevel Nahalato argued, the public sanctuary service throughout the Nov and Gibeon periods was in no way different from that of the Shiloh and Jerusalem periods, with the only exception being the allowance to eat “the less holy sacrificial foods in any city of Israel,” as the Mishna states explicitly. Many, as can be seen, have suggested that certain sacrifices were simply not offered during the Nov and Gibeon periods, but these arguments can not be made within Maimonides’ understanding of the sources. 

I was then challenged by the following passage from the Guide wherein Maimonides proposes reasons for the Temple appointments (ibid.):

It is known that the heathens in those days built temples to stars, and set up in those temples the image which they agreed upon to worship; because it was in some relation to a certain star or to a portion of one of the spheres. We were, therefore, commanded to build a temple to the name of God, and to place therein the Ark with two tables of stone, on which there were written the commandments “I am the Lord,” etc., and “Thou shalt have no other God before me,” etc. Naturally the fundamental belief in prophecy precedes the belief in the Law, for without the belief in prophecy there can be no belief in the Law. But a prophet only receives divine inspiration through the agency of an angel… From the preceding remarks it is clear that the belief in the existence of angels is connected with the belief in the Existence of God; and the belief in God and angels leads to the belief in Prophecy and in the truth of the Torah. In order to firmly establish this creed, God commanded [the Israelites] to make the form of two angels on top of the Ark. The belief in the existence of angels is thus inculcated into the minds of the people, and this belief is second in importance to the belief in God’s Existence; it leads us to believe in prophecy and in the Torah, and opposes idolatry. If there had only been one figure of a cherub, the people would have been misled and would have mistaken it for God’s image which was to be worshiped, in the fashion of the heathen; or they might have assumed that the angel [represented by the figure] was also a deity, and would thus have adopted a Dualism. By making two cherubim and distinctly declaring “the Lord is our God, the Lord is One,” Moses clearly proclaimed the theory of the existence of a number of angels; he left no room for the error of considering those figures as deities, since [he declared that) God is one, and that He is the Creator of the angels, who are more than one.

Although this could be seen as Maimonides stressing that the Ark was an almost critical fixture of the Sanctuaries, when we consider that in his definition, three Sanctuaries never housed the Ark, we realize that here Maimonides is actually emphasizing the form of the Cherubim that adorned the Ark, and that, as pointed out by the sages, even when the Ark was absent from the Sanctuary, other Cherubim were still within the Holy of Holies: Solomon constructed two, larger wood and gold Cherubim that stood in the First Temple, while in the Second Temple there were Cherubim carved into the wooden interior wall of the Holy of Holies (Yoma 54), and they were overlaid with gold. Thus, the important symbolic and ideological message of the Cherubim was never missing from the Temple, even if the Ark was. 

…

This entire discussion began with an attempt to explain why the destruction of Shiloh was almost ignored in the book of Samuel, and is only invoked in passing in other prophetic books. In truth, the book of Samuel is entirely transitory in nature. It is the story of the transition between the old, egalitarian system, to a rigid, exclusive establishment.

In one of his previous videos, Rabbi Bar Hayim discussed the commandment to build the Temple, specifically the statement of the sages that the Israelites were commanded to appoint a king, destroy Amalek, and build the Temple, implying that the order described is required, and meaning that the Temple could only be built by a king, which many authorities understood to mean that in the event there is no king in Israel, as is the case, for example, now, then there is no obligation to build the Temple. Rabbi Bar Hayim disagrees with this position; Maimonides for example, in the previously cited section from the Guide explains that a king would only be required not for the construction of the Temple per se, but 

chiefly, every one of the twelve tribes would desire to have this place in its borders and under its control; this would lead to divisions and discord, such as were caused by the desire for the priesthood. Therefore it was commanded that the Temple should not be built before the election of a king who would order its erection, and thus remove the cause of discord. 

The king is necessary for us to get past the selection of a place for the Temple, but once that is no longer going to be disputed, a king would not be necessary.

Alternatively, a hereditary monarch might not be totally necessary; perhaps, as we have seen before, the role of a Jewish king can also be filled by a prophet or Judge, as Maimonides writes specifically regarding the commandment to conquer the land. This would explain how the Tabernacle and the Second Temple were built under the leadership of Moses and Zerubbabel as the undisputed leaders of Israel, respectively, even though neither held the title of king. A prime minister would be no different.

It is therefore my proposal that in the days of Joshua, who was the most faithful to Moses’s teachings and knew the Torah better than anyone else, the Israelites did fulfill these three commandments. Joshua was for all intents and purposes the king of Israel just like Moses was, the Israelites had concluded their wars for the security of the people, which is the essence of milhemeth amalek, and by building a semi-permanent Sanctuary at Shiloh, they fulfilled the commandment to build the Temple. For close to four hundred years, no one doubted that the Israelites and their chosen leader had not done exactly “as God commanded Moses.” However, as history has shown, the prophets were still among us, and even though once upon a time, certain crowns had yet to be taken, the prophets could inform us that eventually those crowns would fall into certain hands exclusively. 

Before David, they knew that the Tabernacle could be transferred to a new place, as long as God ordained it. Even Shiloh, the place that God did choose, was eventually “rejected” (Psalms 78:60, 67). The Tabernacle reverted to its original, transportable condition, until It finally found its permanent, never-to-be-replaced home. In that intervening period, the Ark was even waiting  for the Tabernacle to leave its temporary place in Gibeon and join it in Jerusalem. The Tabernacle was moving frequently, and when it reached its penultimate station, it was even rivaled by its eventual replacement. With regards to the priesthood, in the old system any of Aaron’s descendants were eligible for the high priesthood, and the sages pointed out that the high priests had been descended from both of Aarons’ surviving sons, Elazar and Ithamar. However, even though Eli’s family held the high-priesthood at the end of the Shiloh period, as we see from Saul’s massacre of that family at Nov, and the subsequent transfer of the Tabernacle to Gibeon where Zadok’s family apparently had lived since Joshua’s days, in the intervening period both Abiathar and Zadok enjoyed the privileges of the high priesthood, and many verses in Samuel, Kings, and Chronicles, as well as teachings of our sages, point to the growing tension between the two men and their families throughout David’s reign, leading to a dangerous intrigue that saw Zadok being appointed the exclusive high priest and Solomon letting Abiathar live despite his perhaps selfish involvement in insurrection. From then on, the prophets would describe how the high priesthood would be exclusively in the hands of Zadok’s house. The high priesthood was up for grabs, and when it reached its penultimate officeholder, he was rivaled by his eventual replacement. Most noticeably, in the old system leadership was open to all of the tribes of Israel, and the sages claimed that every tribe produced one of the Judges. However, Samuel, who was a Levite just like Moses, presided over the transition from his unofficial role in lieu of king, to a temporary, conditional, Benjamite dynasty, to a state of two competing kingdoms (Ishbosheth and David) to that of an eternal, Davidic dynasty, and even David’s own family suffered from instability until Solomon was a few years into his reign. Leadership was changing hands, and when it reached its penultimate office holder, he was even rivaled by his eventual replacement. These three houses, the House of God in Jerusalem, the House of David, and the House of Zadok, would form an inseparable union, and they would forever retain the crowns they had earned, even though those crowns used to change hands regularly.

These transitions were all described by Samuel and the anonymous prophet who preceded him (I Samuel 3:11-14). The destruction of Shiloh:

The Lord said to Samuel: Behold, I will do a thing in Israel, at which both ears of everyone who hears it shall tingle.

This expression is an allusion to the destruction of the Sanctuary, as can be clearly seen by its use in two later prophecies of the Sanctuary’s destruction, in II Kings 21:12 and Jeremiah 19:3. 

The House of Eli would be cursed:

On that day I will execute against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from the beginning even unto the end. For I have told him that I will judge his house forever, for the iniquity, in that he knew that his sons did bring a curse upon themselves, and he did not rebuke them. Therefore, I have sworn unto the house of Eli that the iniquity of Eli’s house shall never be expiated with sacrifice nor offering. 

and replaced:

And I will raise up a faithful priest for Myself, who shall do according to that which is in My heart and in My mind; and I will build a steady house for him, and he shall walk before My anointed forever. 

And this prophecy foreshadowed the rise of the Davidians, under whose tenure the Zadokite priests officiated (I Chronicles 29:22):

They ate and drank before the Lord on that day with great gladness. They made Solomon the son of David king for a second time, and anointed him for the Lord as ruler, and Zadok as priest.

Later, in the days of the building of the Second Temple, the prophet Zechariah described how these three great houses which had suffered from so much corruption leading up to the First Temple’s destruction, would experience a period of divine renewal (Zechariah 4:9-13):

The hands of Zerubbabel laid the foundation of this house; his hands shall also finish it, and you shall know that the Lord of Hosts has sent me to you. For who has despised the day of small things? Even they shall see with joy the plummet in Zerubbabel’s hand, even these seven [candles], which are the eyes of the Lord which dart to and fro across the whole earth. I Then responded, and said to him: ‘What are these two olive-trees on the right of the candelabrum and on its left?’ I responded a second time, and said to him, ‘What are these two olive branches, which are beside the two golden spouts, that empty the golden oil out of themselves?’ He answered me and said, ‘Do you not know what these are?’ And I said, ‘No, my lord.’ Then he said, ‘These are the two b’nei yitzhar,  those anointed with oil, who stand by the Lord of the whole earth.’

The anointed ones being Zerubbabel and Jeshua, the high priest. 

This explains why the destruction of Shiloh is almost ignored in the book of Samuel, and why Nov and Gibeon were not treated as full-fledged Sanctuaries in the eyes of the prophetic authors. They are not described with the same reverence and majesty that Shiloh and Jerusalem enjoyed, and Nov is nowhere explicitly described by any of the usual Biblical terms for any of the Sanctuaries, even though from a halachic standpoint it was a Sanctuary. This explains why Saul, after being rejected, was no longer an ideal, legitimate king even if he was halachically king even after David was anointed. This explains why Abiathar (II Samuel 15:24, according to the sages) and his father (I Samuel 14:3, 18, 19, 37) received no answer from the Urim and Tummim even though they were halachic high priests.  

…

II Samuel 7:18 states that, “David came and sat before God.” This could mean that David either sat before the Ark of the Covenant in the tent that he had pitched for it in Jerusalem, or that he went to the Sanctuary at Gibeon, but the Talmud, in a number of places, declares that only Davidic kings may sit in the Temple courtyard, and uses this verse as the proof text for this important exception, meaning that David did go to Gibeon, and that the sages assumed that the laws that applied to The Temple courtyard in Jerusalem once accordingly applied to Gibeon. Similarly, just as Maimonides rules (Laws of Murderers and the Preservation of Life):

The altar in the Temple serves as a refuge for [unintentional] killers… if a person kills unintentionally and takes refuge at the altar, and the blood redeemer kills him there, [the blood redeemer] should be executed as if he had killed him in a city of refuge.

it would seem reasonable that both Joab and Adonijah fled to Gibeon, and not the Jerusalem altar, to seek refuge from Solomon, even though they were not priests.

…

A possible challenge: Midrash Tanhuma (Wayaqhel 6) states that the entire Tabernacle was made for the sake of [housing] the Ark!

Indeed, this may be a challenge, but Maimonides already wrote that the initial commandment to build the Tabernacle is the also the eternal commandment to build the Temple: 

It is a positive commandment to build a House for God, ready for sacrifices to be offered within. There, we are to make celebratory pilgrimages three times a year, as it says [Exodus 25:8] states: “And you shall make a sanctuary for Me.”

And the purpose of any sanctuary from a halachic standpoint is sacrifice and pilgrimage. The Midrash, which discusses Bezalel’s seemingly supernatural wisdom, is describing a deeper, esoteric idea. 

Secondly, the Midrash is answering a potential challenge. The sages, as we have seen, said that the Israelites were to keep three commandments when they would settle in the land of Israel, and the building of the Temple is one of them. Why then would God command Israel to construct His house even before they would arrive in the land? Indeed, the sages debated to what extent the service was even conducted in the wilderness Tabernacle (Hagiga 6. See also the commentaries to Amos 5:25). None of the seasonal offerings were ever brought, and it is a matter of Talmudic dispute as to what, if any, of the daily and holiday public offerings, including offerings of mineral, vegetable, and animal origin, were actually brought! According to Maimonides, the Tabernacle was not only temporary, it was never used as a place of pilgrimage and used for very limited sacrifice! Rather, it must be that although the main purpose of the Tabernacle/Sanctuary would only be realized once Israel settled the land, the covenant they entered at Sinai required of them to have a proper place of storage for the tokens of that covenant, the Torah and the Tablets, and that is why the Tabernacle had to at least be built decades before it could be used as completely intended.

…

In Conclusion: An Interesting Symmetry and the Nov Novelty

According to the Talmudic chronology in the last chapter of Z’vahim and quoted by Maimonides:

The Tabernacle was in the wilderness for 39 years (almost exactly, from 1 Nisan until the second week of Nisan 39 years later).

The Tabernacle stood at Gilgal for 14 years.

The Tabernacle stood at Shiloh for 369 years. 

The Tabernacle stood in Nov and Gibeon for 57 years.

We do not have strong traditions regarding the dates of all of these; for example, although the Tabernacle was brought to Gilgal in Nisan, we do not know at what time of year it was then transferred to Shiloh, nor at what times of year Shiloh and Nov were destroyed. However, I propose that because the sages said that Israel began to count toward Sabbatical years after the 14 years of conquest, which ended when the Tabernacle was brought to Shiloh, and that the count traditionally starts on Rosh Hashana, the Tabernacle was therefore officially inaugurated at Shiloh on or about Rosh Hashana, just like the Temple eventually was.  

The First Temple stood for about 410 years, and sat in ruin for 70 years.

These figures are also rounded. The Temple was inaugurated on the 8th of Tishrei, but destroyed on the 9th of Av, while construction on the Second Temple began in Iyar. 

Thus, the total years that the Tabernacle stood and there was an issur bamoth is 369 + 39 = 408, while there were 14 + 57 = 71 years of the Tabernacle’s history that there was a hetter bamoth.

The First Temple stood for 410 incomplete years of issur bamoth, and lay in ruins for 70 years. I have not seen any treatment of this strange, chronological symmetry.

Now, I find it very interesting that the Daat Mikra and other modern-day commentaries struggle to positively identify the location of Nov. Unlike other major Biblical locations, there is still no consensus as to where Nov was. People visit Shiloh everyday, and if Gibeon were not in Area A, it would probably have many visitors. Where is Nov?

Further, I Samuel 21 describes Nov as both the home of the Tabernacle and as a priestly city, yet unlike Gibeon and Anathoth and the rest of the classical priestly cities within the territory of Benjamin, Nov is not on the lists as they appear in Joshua 21:17 and I Chronicles 6:45. When did Nov become a priestly city?

Next, I Samuel 22 describes how the women and children of Nov, the priests’ families, were also massacred. That is, unlike Shiloh and Jerualem, which the on-duty priests visited without bringing their families, who were left behind in their hometowns, Nov was apparently originally a priestly town even before the Tabernacle was brought there. Abiathar was the sole survivor of Nov, yet, when Solomon expelled him from Jerusalem and the priesthood, he commanded him to go back to “his field” in Anathoth. This is strange, because I would have expected Solomon to send Abiathar back to Nov, from which he had fled, and why would a priest own a field in a priestly city? The Levites and priests were given personal possession of the houses within the city, while the limited open areas around the cities were public spaces not owned by anyone!

Lastly, where does the name Nov come from, and what does it mean?

The answer to all of these questions is mentioned in the Zohar: Nov is Anathoth! That is why Gibeon and Anathoth are listed as priestly cities within Benjamin’s territory, but Nov is not, why the priests’ wives and children were also present in Nov, and how Abiathar as the sole survivor of the family that resided in Nov would eventually return to the ancestral fields that he came to possess in Anathoth. This also adds an ominous allusion to Jeremiah’s story (1:1): the prophet of the destruction of Jerusalem and its Sanctuary hailed from a town that had once housed the Sanctuary, and that had been destroyed and had its people massacred just like what would happen to Jerusalem. As we have written before, a prophet from, say, Shiloh, would not have been so ominous, because the destruction of Shiloh was not as tragic, because its holy vessels and treasures did not fall into enemy hands, and its people were evacuated before they could be slaughtered. 

At first I did not like this answer, because, as Prof. Elitzur pointed out to me, there is ample Biblical evidence that Nov was somewhere in the area of what is now Mt. Scopus/Shuafat, while Anatot is considerably farther to the north-west, but then he also pointed out to me that the modern-day settlement of Anatot/Almon which I had in mind is not the Biblical Anathoth. Rather, the Arab neighborhood of Anata is generally identified with Anathoth. 

It seems that the western end of Anata, northeast of where Highway 60 crosses Route 1 (just to the left of the red place marker on the map) is right about where Nov stood. I wonder if any particular place around there has been offered as a possible location for the Tabernacle? Considering that all of the Tabernacle’s components were moved intact to Gibeon, that King Saul had the place destroyed in his anger, and that the Tabernacle was not there for long, there might be very little archeological evidence remaining. I would imagine that Saul would have also ordered that no one ever again refer to the place as Nov. Thus, upon his return to Anathoth/Nov, Abiathar would not have found much of a city, but instead a large city-sized scene of desolation entirely belonging to him and his children, which they would build up anew. 

(Interestingly, the Zohar also rejects this opinion that identifies Nov with Anathoth, arguing that while Nov was a city, Anathoth was just a village. As Yehuda Kyl and others have pointed out, the Bible does refer to both towns as cities, so the Zohar’s rejection is itself denied.)

So why was Anathoth called Nov during Samuel’s time, if when it was first settled it was called Anathoth and then shortly thereafter reverted to Anathoth?

I believe the answer is that when Eli’s surviving family evacuated the Tabernacle from Shiloh to Nov, they had to find a place outside of their original city large enough to accommodate the Tabernacle and its courtyard and its other attendant facilities, and the many expected pilgrims, who, like Doeg himself, would need places to stay overnight after discharging their sacrificial obligations. They would have to put this new Temple-precinct to the west of the city, closer to the ancient highway that also served Shiloh to the north, the aforementioned Route 60 of today, and where the weather was more pleasant and the views prettier (the Judean Desert basically begins just to the east of Anata), and not within the areas designated by Torah law outside of the city for the Levites’ fields and vineyards and for open space, just like the Shiloh Sanctuary was erected outside of the walls of the ancient city. By the sages’ count, for about fourteen years, including the entire tenure of Samuel as Judge, this “New Anathoth” served as our people’s religious nucleus, and its name, like a handful of other words in the Bible (alon, m’cherotheihem, hein, hadar, amor, totafoth, etc.,) is borrowed from the ancient Mediterranean Languages; in Old Latin, as in Classical Latin, “nova” means “new.”

[1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6lHPQvYX4A

Recent Notes On Hebrew Pronunciation

By Rabbi Avi Grossman

Edited by Mr. Jonathan Grossman 

Many of the ideas discussed in this article were in my notebook for some time, and just as I was getting around to preparing them for publication, my prolific colleague Rabbi Reuven Chaim Klein sent a copy of Professor Geoffrey Khan’s The Tiberian Pronunciation Tradition of Biblical Hebrew to me. After reading it and briefly corresponding with the author, I concluded that it was time to release this article. Professor Khan invites the yeshiva world to read his book, available for free at this link, and to check out his website. Full disclosure: although Prof. Khan’s research is enlightening, not only do I not agree with or endorse everything he claims, I do not believe that certain points are admissible as halachic sources in the Bet Midrash. 

With regards to the details of halachic pronunciation, I have already released my own book wherein I try to show how the rishonim would pronounce Tiberian Hebrew, and I direct readers to Rabbi Bar Hayim’s videos on the subject. Rabbi Bar Hayim follows the views of Rabbi Benzion Cohen. All of us are attempting to recreate something that we cannot really know, and for now, we still have to debate the fine details. I seriously doubt that the Masoretes spoke a ritual Hebrew that sounded exactly the way any of us describes it. 

Before getting into the nitty gritty of Prof. Khan’s arguments, I would like to introduce some basic ideas that can be gleaned from an elementary, comparative study of Arabic.

A few years ago I took some classes in modern spoken Arabic, which I hoped would help me begin to read Maimonides’s original writings. Aside from helping me realize how there is so much I have to learn about that language, it helped me learn more about Biblical Hebrew. Fifteen years ago, when I started working on what would become my aforementioned book about Masoretic Hebrew, I wondered about certain missing consonants. Thankfully, those and many other questions I had have been somewhat answered, and I now wish to present some of my own findings. I realize that for some, these may not be so novel, but my intention is to bring them to the attention of those in the yeshiva world who, for whatever reason, would enjoy learning about this but will not come across these issues in their regular courses of study.

Concerning the Consonants:

Arabic has only a cursive form, unlike our Hebrew which has had over the course of time many forms, including the common, Assyrian block form and the various cursive forms, which thanks to the advent of modern-Hebrew education has become much more standardized. Also, many letters have up to four forms: the isolated (stand-alone) form, the initial form, which the letter takes at the beginning of the word or in the middle of the word when the previous letter is cursively non-connective, the medial form, and the final form. For some letters, there is significant overlap. See a chart here, for instance. 

The Arabic letter alif is basically the Hebrew alef, but it is used much more often as a mater lectionis, the Latin translation of the Hebrew אם קריאה. (See below.) 

The Arabic equivalent of bet, ba, is always strong, meaning that in most forms of Arabic there is no letter that represents the weak bet sound, that of V, while the Arabic equivalent of pei, fa, is always weak, and never strong.This means that in most forms of Arabic there is no letter that represents the strong pei sound, that of P. Thus, many native Arabic speakers have a hard time pronouncing foreign words that have the P or V sounds. Today, in Israel at least, the solution is to use the stop, B, to also represent the P, thus giving us words like بيانو, biano, for piano, while the V sound is a variant of the fa, ف, and sometimes it is marked with three dots on top instead of one to indicate the V. Consequently, Israelis who pronounce their surnames that begin with vav in the standard, European-influenced accent, e.g. Vaynshtain instead of Weinstein, have the Arabs spell their names with a variant of fa. 

Unlike in Hebrew, the diacritical dots you find above and below certain Arabic letters are not vocalizations but rather critical components of the letters. It seems that early on the diacritics were used to distinguish between alternate sounds created by single letters, like the dagesh qal is and was used to distinguish between sounds made by single letters, while other letters originally had unique forms, but evolved into identical forms, and the diacritics were introduced in order to preserve the distinctions. The initial and medial forms of the Arabic letters ba, nun, ya (the equivalent of the Hebrew yod), and ta (the equivalent of the Hebrew tau) are orthographically identical and distinguished by the diacritics, the ba with one dot below, the ya with two; the nun with one above, and the ta with two, even though in all of the earlier Semitic alphabets, the equivalent consonants had distinct forms. This has made Arabic very receptive to new letters: it is very easy to modify an already existing letter form by adding anywhere from one to three dots as a superscript or subscript. In Hebrew, we still have not completely assimilated new consonantal symbols into new letters (the ג׳, ץ׳, ז׳, etc.), and the typical method of representing them looks out of place in context. 

Gimmel: In many languages, the hard G sound has been assimilated to a soft one, and this is as true in Arabic as it is with certain English words. However, the Arabic jim is not always pronounced like a J, which, as I pointed out in my book, is a combination of the D sound followed by a voiced shin (SH) sound, or the voiced equivalent of the CH sound achieved by clustering the T and SH sounds. Rather, jim makes the voiced shin sound (the G in massage) on its own. Also, the jim is still pronounced like a hard G in some countries, such as Egypt. 

Dal is the Arabic equivalent of our dalet, and it, like our dalet, has a weak, fricative counterpart, the dhal, (as in “the”), although unlike Hebrew, in which the weakness or strongness of the bet, gimmel, dalet, kaf, pei, or tau (the “beged kefet” letters) depends on the form of the word, and one set of rules governs all of these letters, in Arabic it seems that dal and dhal no longer have such a relationship, and as above, are now considered separate letters. 

The Arabic waw serves the same purposes as our vav. More on that soon. 

Het has its equivalent in the Arabic ha, while the sound of our kaf’s weak counterpart, khaf, appears in Arabic as a variation of the ha, pronounced kha, and the latter is represented by writing the former with an additional upper dot: ح and خ, respectively, while the one with a lower dot, ج, is the aforementioned jim. This seems to indicate that the weak sound of the khaf that distinguishes our Hebrew so much from English is a historical latecomer, and that while we first made it a variation of kaf, the Arabs made it a variation of het, and indeed, since in most Jewish circles the het is pronounced (incorrectly) as a khaf, perhaps the Arabs were just anticipating us. Many academics claim that the sound migrated; even in Hebrew the sound of the khaf was made by the het in certain words, but later, when all hets were pronounced alike, the sound was given to the weak kaf. This would explain why, for instance, certain proper nouns have been historically transliterated unusually. E.g., Jericho, Rachel, etc.

The Arabic counterpart of tet is the ta, but unlike our Hebrew tet which has no voiced counterpart, like tau has dalet and samech has zayin, the Arabic ta does have a voiced counterpart, the dad, ض, which is the D in words like Ramadan. Just like English transliterations of Hebrew commonly lose the distinction between tau and tet, they also lose the distinction between dal and dad, and in many systems used to teach Arabic to Hebrew speakers, they simplify the dad and tell them that just like they always pronounce the tet like a tau, they can pronounce the dad like a dal.

The Arabic counterpart of the yod is ya, and it pretty much behaves like the yod, but has traditionally been used as a mater lectionis even more than yod has. For example, many transliterations of Hebrew into Arabic not only use the ya to represent the Hebrew tzeirei, they even use the ya to represent the segol in open, accented syllables.

I was asked concerning the yod in second-person-possessive male suffixes, as in, for example בנֶיךָ ba-NE-cha: if the yod is not meant to be pronounced as part of the segol vowel, why is it even there? My proposed answer is that it is there to distinguish the singular from the plural, along the lines of the silent yod in the third person counterparts of those nouns, for example in בנָיו ba-NAW, which most never even get around to wondering why we do not pronounce as ba-NAYW. I believe that the yod in words such as בניו may have once been pronounced, and this explains the suffix’s relationship to its Aramaic counterpart, וֹהִיx or וֹיx. In essence, the two languages present the combined sound of the low vowel with the two semivowels, just that in Hebrew the Y sound preceded that of the W, whereas in Aramaic the W sound preceded the Y. Similarly, up until the common era, decisors would represent the western sound of “OW” (as in “brown” and Ashkenazi surnames with “baum” in them) in Yiddish and Yiddish-influenced written Hebrew as וֹי, “oy,” despite the inaccuracy. In any event, the silent yod in the plural possessive suffix is a critical indicator of the plural state, even more so than the potential vav of the holam in words like אבֹתֶיך  and עֹלֹתֵיכם. As a matter of fact, the vast majority of these words are written in the Torah with the yod and not the vav, and even when there is no need for a possessive or constructive suffix, the vav of the (generally) feminine plural suffix is usually omitted. Rather, the holam is usually written plene when the vav (or the yod that it replaces) is part of the root of the word. Thus, there is always a vav after the first tau in the word Torah (of the root yod-reish-silent hei) and its derivatives, but more often than not there is no vav after the reish indicating the plural of Torah.)

Sometimes, at the end of words, the alif is in the form of a ya minus the two lower dots that  distinguish the ya from the ta, ba and nun. Such an alif is called an alif maqsura (a “shortened alif”), and is often used in place of the ya that was part of the root word. See below for how this may relate to the phenomenon of the equivalency of yod and silent hei as the third letter of many Hebrew roots.

The Arabic counterpart of kaf, ka, is always strong. This would remind us of the instances in which the suffix khaf in Hebrew is strong, as in ארוממךָּ, although in spoken Arabic, what was once the sound of qamatz/patah after the suffix ka has now been placed before the kaf, such as in possessives that end with the sound “ak” instead of “ka.”  Similarly, the possessive suffix is pronounced “kha” in Hebrew, while in Aramaic it is pronounced as “akh.” 

The Arabic counterpart to lamed, lam, is often orthographically combined with the alif that precedes it or comes after it. Certain Hebrew printers would use a combined letter for alef and lamed; I do not know who learned from whom (no pun intended), or if it is just a coincidence. 

Samech has no true Arabic counterpart because the Arabic sin corresponds to both the Hebrew sin and samech. Considering how the samech–sin redundancy in other Semitic languages predates the Arabic’s language’s evolution, this is understandable. Yiddish also has this phenomenon: in native Yiddish words, only samech is used to represent the S sound, and the sin is only used for words that have their source in semitic languages. Rav Mazuz recently pointed out that in Rashi-era French, not only did the samech and sin sound like an S, but the shin also did, and this is why when Rashi invokes French, the shin is usually used for the S sound. 

Ayin exists also in Arabic, although orthographic variants thereof, specifically the addition of a diacritic dot above, changes the ayin to a ghayn. (I would have expected the aforementioned jim to therefore to be an orthographic variant of this letter instead of the ha.) Many have pointed out that early Greek translations of personal nouns such as ra’am, ‘amora and ‘aza have used the progenitor of the latin G, and this would indicate that Hebrew once had a similar dual use for the ayn symbol, and as Professor Khan has shown me, the jim was once actually the equivalent of a hard G, and still is in some places, so it would be a natural and eventual variant of the ghayn. 

Pei’s equivalent is the fa. It has this weak form, and never a strong form. As I wrote above, modern Israeli Arabic uses a new variant of the ba, but with three lower dots, to represent the P sound. 

The tzadi has the Arabic sad. Further, the sad has a voiced counterpart, ظـ, ẓāʾ, the most recently developed letter in the Arabic language, and the sad and tet are already variants of each other, with the ta being a sad with a vertical line. Strangely, the voiced counterpart of the ta is a sad with an extra dot, ضـ, while the voiced counterpart of the sad, the ẓāʾ, is a ta with a dot. I would have done the opposite. Years ago I wondered why Hebrew did not have these letters. I now realize that they are just too inconvenient, or else we could also expect to see the fricative forms of both the tet and the dad in Arabic. Thus, Arabic developed and maintained letters to represent many of the consonantal sounds that were either lost by spoken dialects of Hebrew, or were never present in Hebrew. Considering that the twenty-two-letter Hebrew alphabet is considered sacrosanct by the Hebrews, and that even the weak sounds from the six beged kefet letters did not earn their own letters, I do not believe we will see new Hebrew letters to represent these sounds any time soon, although the sound of the jim (represented in Modern Hebrew by ג׳) and the modern English CH (represented by צ׳), for instance, are today ubiquitous. I was prompted to think about this by my daughter, who, in second grade, was mindful enough to point out that her version of the Alphabet had both bet and vet, but Ashrei, as printed in her siddur, only had a verse for bet.

Modern Hebrew tutorials for spoken Arabic use the samech to represent the Arabic sad, because the samech is much closer to the way sad should be pronounced than the way the Modern Hebrew tzadi is, although on some street signs, proper nouns with sad’s are rendered with tzadi in Hebrew, e.g. the town of Musmus in the Galilee is מוצמוץ, which delighted my daughter. Also, the ubiquitous condiment hummus, although spelled חומוס in modern Hebrew, should be spelled חֻמֻץ to accurately reflect its Arabic spelling. There are even some families here in Israel that do not eat chickpeas on Passover not because they are legumes but because back in the old country, the word was too similar to חמץ, “leaven.”

Quf: Many people know that the Hebrew quf should be pronounced like the true Arabic quf, what the speech professionals call the voiceless uvular stop, or, to the rest of us, the sound made by pressing the tongue farther back in the mouth, but like the quf in Modern Hebrew, the Arabic quf has also suffered from neglect. In some places it is pronounced like a hard G, while in others it is pronounced like a K, as we do, and sometimes, especially in local dialects, it is not pronounced at all, and is basically treated like an alif. For example, local speakers refer to Jerusalem as al-uds instead of al-quds, and even al-uds often comes out as il-uts, all of the previous with a short vowel sound. Or the imperative of stand up is um instead of qum, and daqiqeh, minutes, becomes da’i’eh. 

Reish: The Arabic sign for reish is the zayn with an additional dot on top, which may indicate the closeness of the two sounds. According to Sefer Yetzira, the reish is produced by the teeth, just like the zayin and samech.  

Shin and sin are one symbol, with the shin having three dots on top. They both even resemble the Assyrian shin: س ش. The extra tails do not appear mid word.

Tau: Both the strong and weak tau have Arabic counterparts, the ta and tha, respectively, with the former with two dots, the latter with three. As we mentioned, the strength of the Hebrew beged kefet letters depends on a letter’s position in a given word, while in Arabic that is not the case. 

More interestingly, the ta has a common silent form, called “ta marbuta,” literally, a “sad ta,” that appears as the feminine suffix roughly equivalent to the qamatz-silent-hei suffix in Hebrew. Interestingly enough, this ta marbuta is silent, like our hei, and is even written as a ha but distinguished by the characteristic two dots on top, just like a ta. That is, orthographically it is a combination of ha and ta. Just like the Hebrew hei suffix becomes an actual tau in various construct states, the ta marbuta becomes an actual ta in construct states. For example, the Arabic word for automobile is sayara, while “his car” is sayarato. When we consider Hebrew, we often think of the silent hei as converting to tau in construct forms, whereas from this point of view, the tau can be considered the default letter, and the hei that exists in isolated forms is the simplified form. This explains, for instance, why we encounter words like zimrath as in עזי וזמרת י-ה and aqereth in מושיבי עקרת הבית are spelled with the tau although they are not in the construct state. (Hat tip: Rabbi Yedidya Naveh of Koren Publishers.)

This is reminiscent of the phenomenon in Hebrew that in certain roots, the final silent hei become a tau in certain conjugations, e.g. ראה is ראתה in the feminine, while in other conjugations it becomes a yod, e.g., as in ראיתי and ראינו. Had an alef been in those roots, it would have stayed in both types of conjugations: the feminine of ברא is ברָאת, and the first persons are בראתי and בראנו.

Concerning the possessive suffixes, in spoken Arabic the male form is as in Hebrew, an O sound, but it is written with a silent ha, reminiscent of uncommon instances where the mater lectionis is also hei for the holam, as in שלמֹה, שילֹה, אהלֹה, and סֻכֹּה. Whereas in Hebrew, the female possessive suffix is usually qamatz-nonsilent (mappiq) hei, and this is mostly overlooked in spoken Hebrew. I know of no one, (not even the usual professionals who otherwise pronounce things properly) who actually tries to pronounce the mappiq hei in conversation. The equivalent suffix in spoken Arabic is much easier to say, as it is written as ha-alif, and is pronounced as “ha.”

The lack of a local Arabic equivalent to the hard G sound made by gimmel has led to some interesting inconsistencies regarding how to spell Ben Gurion, which comes up often considering all the places named after him. Some spell his name with a jim, others with a ghayn, and others with the new, hard-G gim, the aforementioned jim but with three dots instead of one. The first version enjoys the precedent that the Hebrew gimmel has been represented by the Arabic jim, and it is up to the reader to know that historically both were pronounced as G, while the second version enjoys the precedent that foreign words with a hard G have been represented with a ghayn because vocally it is is closest to the hard-G sound. For example, in Arabic a gorilla is called a ghorilla. Indeed, in this case they would be pronouncing “Gurion” with a form of gimmel, just the weak form. I have noticed that, especially around the eponymous airport, all three Arabic spellings of Gurion are commonplace.

Otherwise, many Israeli street signs can be seen as the work of vigilant trolls, who mock the way most Jews pronounce the tzadi, vav, tet, and quf incorrectly. For example, the signs pointing to my town, Kochav Yaakov-Tel Zion, appear as they should in Hebrew, כוכב יעקב – תל ציון, but in Arabic they are rendered as كوخاڤ ياكوڤ تل تسيون, which, represented in Hebrew characters, is כּוכאבֿ יאכּובֿ תל תשיון. That is, although the Biblical name of Jacob has a well-known classical rendering in Arabic, because the Jews pronounce the ayin and quf as alef and kaf respectively, they are rendered as such, and the same with the tzadi of Zion, rendered ts because that is how it is pronounced. Similarly, place names with tet are transliterated with the counterpart of tau, ta, because that is how it is incorrectly pronounced. An example: טירת צבי, Tirat Zvi, is rendered by the Arabic equivalent of תיראת תשבֿי. Lastly, פתח תקוה is (thankfully) transliterated into formal English as Petah Tiqwa, but in Arabic it is   ‎بتاح تكفا, or in Hebrew characters, פּתאח תכּבֿא, although it would have been more egregious had they rendered the first word as פתאך.

The Vowels

The Arabic counterpart of the dagesh hazaq is the shadda, a small W or shin-like symbol written above the letter indicating its gemination. The counterpart of the sh’wa nah (silent sh’wa) indicating that the consonant closes the previous syllable is the sukkun, which appears as a small circle above the letter in question.  

As a general rule, the major vowels are represented with their plene spellings, while the minor vowels are defective, and the ya represents what sound like the Hebrew tzeirei and hiriq, while the waw represents the holam and shuruq sounds. However, there is more ambiguity with regard to the representations of the minor vowels: there is one vowel superscript symbol that represents the short patah sound, and not coincidentally it is called fat-ha, while a single waw-like superscript is used to represent both the equivalents of the qamatz qatan and qubbus, and a single subscript dash represents the equivalents of the short segol and hiriq. Surprisingly, accented, segols in open syllables are transliterated into Arabic also as plene. For example, Petah Tiqwa, above, is sometimes spelled with a yod after the pei equivalent, פיתאח. And, along those lines, many of the counterparts of the qamataz gadol are represented by an additional alןf, as are patahs in open-accented syllables. Thus, names like Ibrahim (Abraham) and Binyamin are written with alif’s after the reish and ya respectively, and in Israel place names with the words sha’ar and har are represented by the Arabic equivalents of האר and שאער. This far more liberal use of the alif to represent the presence of vowels is also characteristic of Yiddish, in which the alef has completely transformed from a mater lectionis into a vowel-letter, although I would be very grateful if someone could enlighten me as to why in Yiddish, our ancestors chose to represent the segol with the ayin. I cannot fathom even a tenuous connection between that particular vowel and the consonant.

Concerning mater lectionis it must be noted that although in many of the languages under discussion they are silent place holders that do not affect the pronunciation, once upon a time they did. It is not due to some arbitrary decision or convenience that the prophets chose to represent the holam and shuruq sounds, for example, with a waw. Rather, it is because the vav and yod once were, and often should still be, a natural, necessary, and logical component of the vowels’ pronunciations, and as I wrote about in my book, the true hiriq and shuruq sounds cannot be articulated without the natural semivowels that complete them, and when they are followed by guttural letters that necessitate the additional patah g’nuva, or the epenthetic in Prof. Khan’s jargon, the semivowel is even geminated. 

Plural suffixes: Instead of im, יםx, in Arabic, as in Aramaic, “in” is often used. In feminine forms, instead of oth, ותx,  ات, which is the equivalent of אתx, is used. However, many nouns have a unique plural form that does not employ a suffix or any set rule of new vowel structure.

…

And now for the nitty-gritty of Prof. Khan’s book. The second volume of Khan’s work is a translation of the Hidāyat al-Qāri, which was written by a prominent grammarian, and it and other Karaite works and documents make up a significant portion of his sources. Although there may be that which we can learn from both Karaite and Samaritan sources, they can hardly be considered by traditional Jews to be sources for anything halacha l’ma’aseh. For example, the notion that the shuruq form of vav hahibbur before labial letters is pronounced as “wu,” and not “u,” is very hard for me to believe, especially because it contradicts most modes of pronunciation among world Jewry, and makes one wonder why such a vav would not therefore be considered a complete syllable unto itself. As I wrote about last time, an analysis of the trop indicates that the Masoretes did not not count the prefix vav as a syllable even when it was pronounced as a shuruq. If they had been pronouncing such a vav as “wu”, it would count as a full syllable, especially if it preceded a letter with a sh’wa. I believe that even the Karaites and Samaritans themselves do not pronounce it that way anymore, if they ever did. R’ Schachter likes to relate a story about a conversation between Rabbi Soloveitchik and Rabbi Saul Lieberman, in which the former was dismissive of certain medieval sources, because just like today when we have pseudo-scholars who write halachic nonsense, they also had such things back then. Just because you can find that Karaites distinguished between the mobile and silent sh’was using different criteria from ours, we should do as they do?!

I would also like an explanation as to why, considering the mountain of proof that the vav was and should be pronounced like a W and not like a V, he recommends that it be pronounced as a V in certain instances. It is inconsistent in theory as well as in practice. However, it is interesting to note that historically Jews in Palestine began to assimilate the vav into a V sound around the same time that speakers of Greek began to assimilate the sound. Although I am happy to let people speak however they may like, I would strongly recommend against this and another common phoneme, namely the Modern Hebrew pronunciation of reish. Both made it into Modern Hebrew via Yiddish, and both make Modern Hebrew sound unpleasantly Germanic. For example, the word aquarium is both pleasant and easy to pronounce, and sounds like a fun place to visit with children, while ak-VA-ghi-um is jarring, hard to pronounce, and sounds sinister. If most can pronounce the vav and reish properly, they should try to do so. For those who may ask, I spell the name of the letter v-a-v in order to distinguish it from the Aarabic waw, although I believe that it makes the W sound. 

Prof. Khan’s take on orthoepy on page 101 fits with my point here that the Sifrei Emet have a higher tendency toward conjunctive cantillation marks than the rest of the books of the Bible. Along similar lines, you will find that in the majority of the biblical books, the non-Emet books, the lower level disjunctives, which therefore also occur earlier in a particular half of a verse, tend to be musical flourishes, and not unsurprisingly, can have many more conjunctive words (i.e., words marked with conjunctive trops) preceding them. For example, silluq and ethnah have at most one conjunctive word connected by either a mercha or munah, respectively, and the second-level disjunctives like tip’ha and zaqef have at most two conjunctives, while the pazer and t’lisha g’dola often have four or five conjunctives, and even up to seven at my last count. (Often, a string of connective words form one adjectival phrase beginning with asher, that or who, even if that phrase itself has many parts of speech.) Jacobson has already pointed out that there are no disjunctives lower than these, and therefore, even at preceding words where we would expect disjunctives, we find conjunctives. There is thus a proportional relationship between musicality and connectivity. 

A recurring argument is that when the Karaite transliterations into Arabic omit mater lectionis, the indication is a short vowel in the original Hebrew. I disagree, because we see that the farther back we go in Biblical Hebrew, fewer and fewer long vowels, especially qamatz and holam, are in the plene form. Incidentally, some have asked me for rules of thumb as to when the holam is plene or deficient. I have two of them: 1. In post-biblical Hebrew, the accented holam of segolate nouns is deficient (e.g., חֹדֶש, עֹשֶק, אֹכֶל, etc.) while in participles, the holam is unaccented and written in the plene form (e.g., אוֹכל, עוֹשֶק, etc.). In Biblical Hebrew, the older the book, the less likely these participles are to have the vav. 2. In the Torah and the earlier biblical books, the holam is often deficient when it is part of a plural suffix. Those words in which it is written plene, e.g., in בנות, are the exceptions. However, when the vav is part of the root, it usually is written, for example when the root of the word is yod-reish-(silent) hei and the conjugation is in the hif’il, which is why the word תורה and its variants are written in the plene form. 

Pg. 113. I used to joke that the common Ashkenazi practice of distinguishing between qamatz and patah and tzeirei-segol was an enactment of the biennial convention of Ashkenazic Jewry, for if you were to claim that qamatz and patah used to sound the same, and tzeirei-segol sounded the same, why do Ashkenazim distinguish between? However, Prof. Khan seems to say that it was apparently the case, and we are left looking for an explanation as to how our ancestors figured out the difference in theory and adopted it in practice. 

The argument on page 409 regarding epenthetic vowels fits with the argument I made previously about the pronunciation of ohela.

Pg. 428: Yaamdu. I believe that Prof. Khan and I are making similar proposals, except that he is using much more advanced terminology. 

Pg. 450: As per the brilliant and indispensable treatise on cantillation found in the classic Tiqqun Mishor, I believe that it is much easier to explain the vocalization of the word מה (ma) with the rules governing the hei hay’dia, the definite article. The atei merahiq (dehiq) explanation may account for the dagesh in the first letter of the second word, but it does not account for the variety of possible vowels: segol, qamatz, patah, etc. that parallels that of the hei hayedia and that can be explained using the general principles of vowel shifts. 

Pg. 509. Is the masoretic hyphen supposed to be called a מַקֵּף or מַקָּף? I can entertain either, just like the exact vowelization (and names for that matter) of the words we use for the vowels are also pretty dynamic, and the same can be said of the trop. 

Pg. 519: Prof. Khan does not find any lengthening of the vowel in the syllable marked by the metiga of the zaqef gadol, nor of the geresh of the ravia mugrash. As I wrote earlier, I am of the belief that these particular symbols are quite arbitrary, and their placement is less about accentage, etc., and more about distinguishing them from similar symbols, and explains why trop like the dehi and t’lisha gedola are always marked on the first syllables even if those syllables are not accented. 

Pg. 524: Concerning the verb להניח, Prof. Khan offers that the forms which have the dagesh are not reflective of a different root altogether, but rather are a convention to create a distinctive meaning. The forms with the weak nun imply “to give rest,” while the forms with the strong nun imply placement. It would thus seem logical that the blessing on laying t’fillin should be להַנּיח תפלין and not להָניח תפלין. However, most siddurim follow the Shulhan Aruch’s ruling (Orah Hayim 25:7) to use the latter formulation, and indeed, the Mishna B’rura there explains that the weaker form implies placement, while it is the strong form that implies handing over. However, in the original source in the Beth Yosef, it is mentioned that there is no actual difference in meaning between the two forms, but the weak form is preferred because it is the one used in the verse (Ezekiel 44:30), להָניח ברכה, “to place a blessing within your house.” The Vilna Gaon seems to endorse this view. 

The following is from a letter I wrote to the publishers of the Makbili edition of the Mishneh Torah:

במהדורתכם, בהלכות תפילין, פרק ד׳, כל פעם שמדובר על מעשה הנחת תפילין וברכתה, הנו״ן דגושה והתנועה לפניה או חיריק חסר או פתח, ושתיהן תנועות קלות, וזה למרות דעת השולחן ערוך וכמה אחחרונים שצ״ל נו״ן רפה והתנועה לפניה או קמץ או צירה, ושתיהן תנועות גדולות. לדעת מרן הבית יוסף, זה בגלל שהנחת תפילין שורשו נו״ח, ומעשה ההנחה הוא בבנין הפעיל, לעומת הנחה בנו״ן דגושה, שהיא באה משורש אחר ומשמעותה לשון עזיבה

?האם דעתו של הרמב״ם מפורשת שכן צריכים להגות ״הנחה״, או האם יש לכם סיבה אחרת בשיטת הניקוד

In short, they decided to vowelize l’haniah t’fillin, the blessing on laying t’fillin, with a dagesh in the nun, l’hanniah t’fillin. This is in contrast to most known opinions, including that of the Shulhan Aruch. Whose opinion were they following, bearing in mind that Maimonides himself did not actually state anything in regards to the matter and his own editions of the Mishneh Torah were not vowelized?

The editor answered that

:זוהי תמצית תשובת ד”ר יחיאל קארה, עורך המשנה של המהדורה לענייני ניקוד

במהדורתנו ניקדנו על פי המסורת התימנית, וכן הוא גם בכ”י קאופמן של המשנה. אכן במקרא אפשר שיש מקום להבחין בין “והניח לכם מכל אויביכם” ב-נ’ פשוטה לעומת “והניחם שם” ב-נ’ דגושה, כהבדלה בין נתינת מנוחה לבין שימה, אך הדבר אינו מוחלט, ובכל מקרה מדובר במה שמכונה “פועל עלול”, שבו יש תנועה בין הגזרות השונות. וראה גם במילון אבן שושן, שמביא את שתי הצורות בלא להבחין ביניהן

Or in short, that there is a Yemenite tradition that it should be that way. Indeed, one Yemenite rabbi showed me some Yemenite codes that explicitly record the practice.

A few years ago, I found what may be the source for the Yemenite/Maimonidean tradition.  According to the Shulhan Aruch, the three-letter root of l’haniah is nun–yod (or waw)-heth. Thus, all the letters of the root are present in that conjugation, and thus do not require any letter to be geminated in order to compensate. However, In The Guide for the Perplexed, 1:67, Maimonides wrote (Friedlander translation):

Our Sages, and some of the Commentators, took, however, nuaḥ in its primary sense “to rest,” but as a transitive form (hif’il), explaining the phrase thus: “and he gave rest to the world on the seventh day,” i.e., no further act of creation took place on that day.

It is possible that the word wayyanaḥ is derived either from yanaḥ, a verb of the class pe-yod, or naḥah, a verb of the class lamed-he, and has this meaning: “he established” or “he governed” the Universe in accordance with the properties it possessed on the seventh day”; that is to say, while on each of the six days events took place contrary to the natural laws now in operation throughout the Universe, on the seventh day the Universe was merely upheld and left in the condition in which it continues to exist. Our explanation is not impaired by the fact that the form of the word deviates from the rules of verbs of these two classes: for there are frequent exceptions to the rules of conjugations, and especially of the weak verbs: and any interpretation which removes such a source of error must not be abandoned because of certain grammatical rules. We know that we are ignorant of the sacred language, and that grammatical rules only apply to the majority of cases.

Thus, it seems that in the form l’hanniah, the yod of the beginning of the shoresh has been left out, necessitating the dagesh in the second letter of the root, the nun. However, Maimonides acknowledges the apparent difficulty: usually, when the first letter of a root is yod, verbs in the hiph’il conjugation are vowelized with a full holam after the prefix, for example להוציא from יצא and להושיב from ישב, and even להוליך from הלך, which does not even have a yod. 

Pg. 599-600: The discussion reminds me of my epiphany concerning the Vilna Gaon’s pronunciation of זֵכר. The difficulty native speakers have when trying to distinguish between sets of similar sounds is very frustrating, especially when they attempt to add their own vowelizations. I tell Israeli schoolteachers that it is not even worth it for them to try, because when it comes to qamatz-patah and segol-tzeirei, they will always get it wrong. 

Finally, Prof. Khan is not alone in advocating that the sh’wa na’ of Tiberian Hebrew be pronounced basically like a hataf patah. Support for this position comes from written testimony that describes it as such. However, I do not accept this. It seems to me today, linguists discuss dozens of types of vowels, and spoken English, for example, utilizes dozens of vowel sounds, but in the medieval period, they used to only discuss three, and then five, different vowel qualities. It makes sense that to them, the sh’wa would have to fit into one of those descriptive categories even if we now have the tools to be more specific. Further, if the sh’wa was supposed to sound like a hataf patah in the majority of cases, why did the Msaoretes choose the sign of the sh’wa, which half the time is used to mark a letter that closes a syllable, and not the hataf patah, which they had already created to mark specific sh’wa’s? Also, it would be a practice that contradicts the living custom of most of Jewry, and would require a thoroughly novel explanation as to why the pronunciation of the vav hahibbbur changes before words that begin with a letter vowelized with sh’wa. However, I also believe that a sh’wa should not be pronounced identically to the short I sound as is common in most places today. The best description of the sound that I can offer today is the sound in the word “the,” as in “I went to the store.”

…

Concerning Vav Hahippuch

As opposed to the conjunctive vav, the vav hahippuch generally turns a past-tense verb into future tense, and a future-tense verb into past tense. Many thus believe that the hippuch, inversing, refers to the tense. But, the vav hahippuch inverses a lot more:

The accentage: In most past-tense verbs converted to future, the accent is shifted from the middle syllable, if that is its position, to the last syllable. E.g. a-HAV-ta is “you loved,” whereas w’A-hav-Ta is “you shall love”. (Most speakers of Hebrew are unaware that the past-tense second person plural verbs are accented on the last syllable: אהבתם is ahav-TEM, and not aHAV-tem, and when marked with the vav hahippuch stay accented as such.) Notable exceptions occur in verbs with yod/silent hei as the last letter of the root. E.g., w’a-SI-tha, “you shall make,” is accented on its middle syllable even though it is future tense. Once again it is verbs of this category that are the major exception; last time I pointed out that the singular masculine past-tense conjugations of these verbs do not follow the rule of athei merahiq. In the case of a future-tense verb made past, the accent is shifted from the last syllable to an earlier one. (e.g., ya-QUM becomes way-YA-qom, and yo-MAR becomes way-YO-mer).  

The syntax: Standard form would be subject-verb-object. When vav-hahippuch is utilized, the order is verb-subject-etc.. This is the usual form used throughout the Bible when describing events, and usually in chronological order. When I teach about vav hahipppuch, this is the first indication: Does the verb start the sentence or clause instead of the subject? If yes, then you most likely have vav hahippuch.

Lastly, the vocalization is changed, at least from future to past. Instead of simply being marked with a sh’wa, or whatever would have taken the sh’wa’s place based under other considerations (e.g., becoming a shuruq before labial letters), the vav hahippuch is vowelized with either a patah before the future-prefix tau, yod, or nun, or a qamatz before the future prefix alef, which cannot receive a dagesh. Thus, when you have a vav hahippuch before a first-person singular pi’el verb like avaqqesh, which starts with an alef vocalized with a hataf patah, the vav hahippuch will be marked with a qamatz. There are two practical applications with regard to the meaning: If the vav preceding such a verb was not a vav hahippuch, it would be marked with an ordinary patah and the verb is in standard future-tense form, and therefore the reader must distinguish between the two. If he does not, he should be corrected, and normally, the vocalization of the vav hahippuch actually matters.  However, the vocalization of the vav hahibbur, which can prefix all parts of speech, is not critical, i.e., whether one pronounces it with a sh’wa, or any vowel, or as a shuruq, does not affect the meaning and intent. Because vav hahippuch only prefixes verbs, any time a vav prefixes anything but a verb, I would not correct the reader if he pronounces it with the wrong vowel. For example, if one were to read וגדולה as vig-do-LA  instead of ug-do-LA, or ושמעון as wa-shim-’ON instead of w’shim-’ON.

As far as I can tell, classical Aramaic has no vav hahippuch, and perhaps others can weigh in on whether such a form exists in other semitic languages.  

Once one is familiar with the style of the vav hahippuch, he will notice that certain verses (or parts of verses) actually follow standard syntax: The subject will precede the verb, which will be in the correct tense. In such cases, the subject may be preceded by a vav hahibbur, and the overall indication will be that the information expressed is that which had happened previously. I.e., such a style of syntax indicates the past perfect. Some examples:

Genesis 4:1: והאדם ידע את חוה אשתו, “The man had known his wife, Eve.” Many scholars have pointed out that this indicates that Eve had at least conceived her first children before Adam ate of the forbidden fruit, with the Midrash even describing Cain’s birth the day Adam and Eve were created.

Genesis 14:1: עָשׂוּ מִלְחָמָה אֶת-בֶּרַע מֶלֶךְ סְדֹם, “They had made war against Bera, King of Sodom, etc.” As is evident from the subsequent verses, the initial war preceded the events of the running narrative by some fourteen years.

Genesis 18:17: וַה׳ אָמָר הַמְכַסֶּה אֲנִי מֵאַבְרָהָם אֲשֶׁר אֲנִי עֹשֶׂה “And the Lord had said, would I conceal from Abraham that which I am doing?” That is, God had already decided, so to speak, that He would inform Abraham of the judgment against Sodom and Gomorrah. 

If you read II Samuel 2, it seems that Abner crowned Ishbosheth in the aftermath of Saul’s death, shortly before or right around the time David was crowned king of Judah, and considering that the verse describes how Ishbosheth’s kingdom gradually expanded as more tribes accepted him, it seems to me that it took David five and a half years after Ishbosheth’s death to then be accepted as king over all of Israel, and in support of the Ttosafists’ classical position against that of  Rashi’s (Sanhedrin 20a) , it took some time before Ishboshesh was accepted  by all of the tribes, but the five years of no kingdom seem to have been after his death, as the tribes came around to accepting David as king.  

Concerning Athei Merahiq, Nasog Ahor, and the Ravia Mugrash, and More

by Rabbi Avi Grossman

(The author would like to express his gratitude to those who supported the recent publication of his Haggadat Hapesah. Contact him at avrohom.grossman@gmail.com to obtain a copy. Parts of this post originally appeared here.)

Recently, I was privileged to be part of a fun-yet-esoteric discussion on matters of Hebrew grammar. First, some background: there is a grammatical phenomenon in Biblical Hebrew known as “nasog ahor,” literally, “stepped back.” In certain words that are accented on the last syllable but have an earlier syllable that is open, sometimes the accent is shifted to that earlier syllable if the proceeding, grammatically connected word is accented on one of its earlier syllables. Examples with which many are familiar include the blessing on the Torah, wherein the word בחר, when connected to the next word, BA-nu, becomes “a-sher BA-har BA-nu,” or the blessing on the bread, wherein the word would normally be ham-mo-TZI, but when connected to LE-hem, it becomes ham-MO-tzi LE-hem. 

The second is a phenomenon that is often a consequence of the first, and it is not well known at all. “Athei merahiq,” lit. “coming from afar,” is when a word ends with an open, unaccented syllable vowelized with a qamatz or segol and is joined to the proceeding word that is accented on the first syllable, placing a dagesh in the first letter of that latter word. The fact that the first word’s last syllable is unaccented may be due to the “stepped back” phenomenon described above, but not always. Examples that come to mind from recent Torah readings include Genesis 30:33, w’A-n’tha BI, in which the beth has a dagesh, and 31:12, O-seh LACH, in which the lamed has a dagesh.

While the nasog ahor phenomenon makes sense to me, and interestingly enough, has its parallels in spoken English, for instance, I do not understand the latter phenomenon, nor am I aware of any explanation among the various authorities. However, based on the theories I outline in my book, I can tolerate why this phenomenon of basically closing the final syllable of the first word would happen only with the segol or qamatz. The segol is a t’nu’a q’tana, a minor or short vowel, and the only t’nu’a q’tana that occurs in open, accented syllables that end words, making it more versatile than the patah, the only other short vowel that occurs in open or accented syllables, and because it does not have a natural semivowel at its end (the Y sound at the end of the long E and A sounds, or the W at the end of long O or U sounds), closing its syllable does not result in an unaccented consonant cluster, which, as explicated by Gesenius, is not allowed. As for the qamatz, it is the only t’nu’a g’dola, major or long vowel, that does not have a natural semivowel conclusion, and once again closing its syllable does not result in the formation of a consonant cluster, although this would then require us to explain why an ordinary qamatz is treated like the other major vowels if it is lacking this essential feature. 

Like every rule, athei merahiq has its exceptions. For example, we read A-sa LO in Genesis 37:3 , and in that case, the lamed should have a dagesh, but it does not, or in 1:5, QA-ra LAY-la, and once again the lamed should have a dagesh, but it does not. It seems that whenever a past tense, singular, masculine verb in the pa’al conjugation that ends with a silent hei or alef is accented on its first syllable, it does not place a dagesh at the beginning of the next word. I have not yet found an explanation as to why this class of verbs should not follow the athei merahiq rule, and it is quite surprising being that their female counterparts (words like קראה and עשתה, etc.) are sometimes accented on their first syllables and then follow the rule of athei merahiq.

Recently, Dr. Marc Shapiro, k’darko baqodesh and blogs, released another must-read article on the Seforim blog. In it he made the following point: 

In the ArtScroll siddur, p. 86 it reads:

ועל מאורי אור שעשית, יפארוך, סלה

There is a dagesh in the ס of סלה. This means that the comma after יפארוך is a mistake, as you cannot place a dagesh in this ס if preceded by a comma.

Dr. Shapiro’s assumptions in this matter are that the samech of sela receives a dagesh because of the athei merahiq rule, meaning that the previous word, y’fa-a-RU-cha, must be connected to it, and therefore it would be wrong to have a comma between the words. If there were a comma, then the samech would not receive a dagesh. It is then that I took issue with his argument, and wrote the following to him:

Actually you can have a dagesh. For example, אַ֭שְׁרֵי יֽוֹשְׁבֵ֣י בֵיתֶ֑ךָ    ע֝֗וֹד יְֽהַלְל֥וּךָ סֶּֽלָה.

This is a well-known verse from the Psalms. 

Now, you might be initially inclined to dismiss this example, as in this case, sela is connected to the previous word by the trop, but the truth is that in the Sifrei Emeth, what would normally be a mercha tip’ha (pause) siluq succession (in the other 24 books), does not and cannot exist when the word with the siluq is less than three whole syllables (or when accented before the last syllable, four whole syllables). Instead, what would be the tip’ha, the mafsiq, becomes the m’shareth of the siluq. For example, in Chronicles we have this well-known verse

 הוֹד֤וּ לַֽיהוָה֙ כִּ֣י ט֔וֹב כִּ֥י לְעוֹלָ֖ם חַסְדּֽוֹ׃

But in the Psalms, because the word hasdo only has two syllables, the last three words are all connected, and hasdo is connected to the previous word: 

:הוֹד֣וּ לַֽיהוָ֣ה כִּי־ט֑וֹב    כִּ֖י לְעוֹלָ֣ם חַסְדּֽוֹ

The trop of the word ki is not the tip’ha-mafsiq that exists in the other books, rather, it is also a m’shareth:

This happens to also hold true for the etnah in Sifrei Emeth, which, according to R’ Breuer, and as you can see from this example, has the weight of a zaqef of the other books, and also converts its mafsiq mishneh into a m’shareth when the word with the etnah is “short.” I have yet to figure out why this is. So, for example, if the verse lha’alot ner (mafsik) tamid were to be in Psalms, it would just be lha’alot ner tamid. Or the verse nagila w’nism’ha vo. In the Torah, it would have been nagila w’nism’ha (pause) Bo, but because bo is a short word, it is automatically connected to the previous. Every time the word sela appears at the end of a verse, it must be connected to the previous word, even if in context, the mafsiq that was supposed to be right before it would indicate the highest grammatical disjunction. For example, in the above verse, if sela were not there, it would be read “ashrei (pause) yosh’vei veithecha; od, y’hal’lucha (full stop).” And the same is true for basically every verse in Psalms that ends with sela. 

 :יְהוָ֣ה צְבָא֣וֹת עִמָּ֑נוּ    מִשְׂגָּֽב־לָ֨נוּ אֱלֹהֵ֖י יַֽעֲקֹ֣ב סֶֽלָה

Logically, according to our accepted use of commas, all of those verses should have a comma, or perhaps even a period, right after the penultimate word. “The Lord of Hosts is with us; Our stronghold is the God of Jacob. Sela!” Yet, here sela is once again connected to the previous word. 

So yes, if “m’orei or she’asita, y’faarucha, sela” were a verse in Psalms, the last two words would be connected (because y’fa’arucha is accented on an early syllable and ends with a qamatz) and the samech would have a dagesh.

Dr. Shapiro had some follow up questions: 

I see that you are assuming that a tipcha equals a comma (and let’s assume we are dealing with Tehillim). Leaving aside the issue of since when do siddurim insert commas before words like they did before סלה? I have not seen that anywhere. But is a tipcha really a comma?

He also complimented me, and I wrote the following response to him:

The answer is that tip’ha is sometimes a comma. The rule in the 21 ordinary books of scripture is that tip’ha is the mafsiq before the siluq. Every verse in those books has at the very least a siluq and a tip’ha.

This needs to be clarified. There are probably only a few dozen or so verses wherein the last mafsiq before the siluq is an ethnah, but in those cases, the ethnah is preceded by a tip’ha. 

However, the objective value of the tip’ha depends on the entire context of the particular verse. In a short verse, like “Adam Sheth Enosh” (I Chronicles 1:1) it corresponds to absolutely no punctuation. In וַיָּ֥זֶד יַֽעֲקֹ֖ב נָזִ֑יד וַיָּבֹ֥א עֵשָׂ֛ו מִן־הַשָּׂדֶ֖ה וְה֥וּא עָיֵֽף׃, the second tip’ha has the value of what we would call a comma, while the first tip’ha (under Yaakov) [does not.] If the word sela would ever end any verse in the 21 books, it would be preceded by a tip’ha, by definition, or perhaps the even stronger ethnah, and then you would have to examine the verse’s context and meaning to determine what ever mafsiqim are featured. As you know, in some verses, there aren’t even zaqefim, let alone etnahim, before the tip’ha, e.g.  וְהָי֞וּ הַדְּבָרִ֣ים הָאֵ֗לֶּה אֲשֶׁ֨ר אָֽנֹכִ֧י מְצַוְּךָ֛ הַיּ֖וֹם עַל־לְבָבֶֽךָ׃

In contrast, the verses in Sifrei Emeth have almost half a dozen ways of ending! Some have a ravia mugrash where the tip’ha would be, some turn the final ravia into a m’shareth (like the examples I showed you earlier), and some have a string of m’shar’thim with no mafsiqim, once again due to the shortness of all the words:  עֵֽינֵי־כֹ֭ל אֵלֶ֣יךָ יְשַׂבֵּ֑רוּ וְאַתָּ֤ה נֽוֹתֵן־לָהֶ֖ם אֶת־אָכְלָ֣ם בְּעִתּֽוֹ׃

My guess is that this has something to do with certain musical rules. 

The sages noted that the verses of Sifrei Emeth tend to be shorter than the verses in the rest of the Bible. I would also add that after careful analysis, including a thorough comparison of the verses and passages that appear in both (David’s victory song, for example), the verses of Emeth tend to have less mafsiqim. I would really like to find someone with whom to work to understand these phenomena, but alas, I immigrated to Israel after R’ Breuer and R’ Kappah left us.

Therefore, in answer to your question, I insert the comma because that is how the verse is to be understood when translated, and that is how the English language and modern Hebrew work, but in the scriptural form, the laws of grammar/music dictate that the pause be subsumed due to the shortness of the word. My belief is that the siddur makers should always leave in the trop where ever possible, but certain liturgies are not biblical, and therefore the siddur makers try to help the reader by adding our Western conventions. 

(75:4 is also a perfect example, by the way: נְֽמֹגִ֗ים אֶ֥רֶץ וְכׇל־יֹשְׁבֶ֑יהָ

  אָנֹכִ֨י תִכַּ֖נְתִּי עַמּוּדֶ֣יהָ סֶּֽלָה

If we were to parse this verse using modern commas and periods, the period would be before the word sela. And that is how, for example, the JPS 1917 has it.)

Consider: How should one say “al tig’u bimshihai“? In Chronicles, there is a disjunctive pashta on the first word, leaving the dagesh in the following beth, but in the Psalms, tig’u has a conjunctive mercha, making the next word “vimshihai.” Or “Lo tirtsah, lo tinaf.” When read with one set of trop, the tavim are strong, while when read with the other set, the tavim are weak. When you are speaking or lecturing, or perhaps reciting those verses as part of your prayers but not as part of whole paragraphs, which set of trop do you use? I have no answer at the moment. But this doubt must exist when the liturgy adds sela to the end of a sentence. Do we read it as though it were one of the Psalms?

In the three books of Emeth, there are many verses that conclude with a series of connected words, whereas in the other books, such a series would demand a number of mafsiqim preceding the end of the verse. However, with regards to the beginnings of verses, the opposite is true, when we deal with unusually long words. In the books of Emeth, the tendency is to have more mafsiqim, whereas in the other books, there are sequences of many connected words, usually leading into the flourishing mafsiqim of the fourth level, pazer, t’lisha, gershayim, etc. This might have something to do with those flourishes. Because the books of Emeth are more musical, the flourishes tend to be at the ends, so that would allow for more conjunctives, whereas in the other books, the flourishes and conjunctives are concentrated at the beginnings of verses.

… 

There is much to be said about the ravia mugrash (the trop that marks words such this: נַ֝פְשִׁ֗י,) one of the most common disjunctives found before the conclusion of verses in the books of Emeth. Most often, it does fill the role of the tip’ha found before the conclusion of the vast majority of verses in the rest of the Bible, but not always.

The zaqef gadol that occurs on “long” words that, due to their lack of an open syllable that is not accentable, can not receive a secondary accent (ta’am mishneh) is represented by the ordinary symbol for the zaqef qaton and another symbol, called a m’thiga, the symbol that normally represents the qadma or pashta, placed above the second letter of the word. Together, these two symbols signify the zaqef gadol, and not, as many believe, that the word is actually hosting both the accent of the zaqef and the secondary accent of the pashta/qadma. An illustration: לְזַ֨רְעֲךָ֔. In this case, all of the accents and musical notes should be placed on the final syllable, and no accent whatsoever is put on the first syllable, zar, the one under the m’thiga. Many are misled by the m’thiga, and it is unfortunate.

The ravia mugrash is similar to this type of zaqef gadol in that it is represented by the combination of two symbols, in this case the common ravia above the accented syllable plus another symbol, the one that normally represents the geresh, above the first letter of the word. Once again, these two symbols combine to form one unified symbol, and the presence of the geresh symbol on the first letter does not indicate secondary accentage. However, there are a number of cases in which a single word does have multiple trops, and the lesser of the two does indicate a secondary accent, for example, in words that have a munah and a zaqef qaton, or both qadma and azla (geresh), or, in rare cases, a tip’ha and an ethnah (Numbers 28:26) or the like on exceptionally long words. 

The ravia mugrash most often appears toward the end of a verse when what follows is a “long” word, or at least two words. Generally speaking, a “long” word is one that has three full syllables, whereas two words will do the trick even if combined they only have two full syllables. When discussing post-talmudic Hebrew poetry, the terms t’nu’a (lit., a “movement”) and yathed (lit., a “peg”) are used to describe the two types of syllables that can be formed in Hebrew. The former refers to a pure syllable, whether closed by a consonantal sound or not, while the latter refers to a pure syllable preceded by the sound of a consonant marked with a sh’wa na‘* (or a guttural letter vowelized with some sort of hataf vowel, which are types of sh’wa na’.). For the purposes of Emeth, both t’nu’oth and y’thedoth are (often literally) counted as syllables, whereas in the other books of the Bible, there are cases in which this categorical lumping is not admitted. (In later Hebrew terminology, including modern Hebrew, t’nu’a is also the word for a vowel sound, with the connection being that every syllable has but one vowel sound, with options for consonantal sounds to both precede and follow the vowel.) Rabbi Meir Mazuz uses this piyut as an example for beginners:

adon (yathed, as the alef is vowelized with a hataf patah) ‘o-lam (two t’nu’oth, pure syllables) asher (yathed) ma-lach (two t’nu’oth)…

These definitions of syllables are entirely unlike the ones with which we are familiar from our spoken languages. Indeed, we must also keep in mind that throughout the Bible, words connected by maqqafim (hyphen-like symbols) are, for all of our grammatical intents and purposes, considered as one word. Whether a compound noun, adjective, or adverb is “hyphenated” into one compound word or not is a delicate syntactical matter, and sometimes both forms appear in a single verse. 

In a particular verse, if there is only one word (according to our liberal definition) after the word that can potentially receive the ravia mugrash, in order for the ravia mugrash to appear, that ultimate word must, as we have said, have at least three syllables. Therefore, the following are not considered syllables:

1. Any syllable that may be after the accented syllable. That is, in words accented mil’eil, before the last syllable, the latter syllables do not count. Thus, words like KE-sef and ME-lech are considered monosyllabic for our purposes, while huq-QE-cha, and yag-GI-du are merely disyllabic. 
2. Similarly, the patah g’nuva necessitated by the combination of long vowels closed with final guttural consonants also does not count as a syllable: ya-REI-ah and ma-NO-a’ only have two syllables for our purposes, while Noah is a monosyllabic name.
3. Any letter vowelized with a sh’wa na’ or hataf vowel also does not form a countable syllable. Therefore, words like l’o-LAM only have two syllables. In poetry terms, both y’thedoth and t’nu’oth count as only one syllable each. 
4. When a prefix waw with a sh’wa is converted to a shuruq because it precedes a labial letter, and therefore seemingly forms a third syllable, it still does not count, and it is viewed as though it remained a waw with a sh’wa na’. Examples: u-va-A-retz  (Psalms 113:6) and u-vi-NA (Proverbs 23:23) are both still considered as disyllabic, the former because the last syllable is after the accented syllable. (When the prefix waw becomes a shuruq because the first letter of the word is vowelized with a sh’wa, in most cases a new, countable syllable is formed with the original first letter, e.g., וּשְמוֹ ush-MO or וּבְיוֹם uv-YOM, and in some exceptional cases recorded in the masora, the waw/shuruq forms its own syllable, and the subsequent sh’wa is na’ is still connected to the next syllable, e.g., u-Z’HAV (Genesis 2:12). In either of these cases, a syllable is added to the count.)
5. Lastly, if a word has every type of additional factor that does not increase its syllable count, i.e., both of its true syllables are preceded by some form of sh’wa na’ or hataf and it has another, third syllable after the accented syllable, then it may be considered a long word, e.g., l’sho-L’HE-cha (Proverbs 22:21), y’va-R’CHU-cha (Psalms 145:10) , and y’sha-R’THEI-ni (Psalms 101:6), but as can be seen from Psalms 145:6, asap-P’REN-na, this is not always the case. 

Thus, in Proverbs 29:22, the hyphenated word rav-PA-sha is not considered two words because of the maqqaf, nor is it considered a “long word” because it only has “two syllables,” the third syllable not being considered because it proceeds the accent, and therefore the preceding word is marked with a conjunctive munah, and the same can be said about the word y’shar-DA-rech five verses later, while in Psalms 145:4 EIN HE-qer does allow for a preceding ravia mugrash despite its lack of syllables because the words remain unhyphenated.  

The d’hi, (as in: ר֭וּחוֹ ) which we have addressed earlier, is also slightly misleading, due to its resemblance to both the disjunctive tip’ha of the rest of the Bible and the connective tip’ha of Emeth, and the fact that it is always written before the word, thus never indicating which syllable is to be accented. Further, the rules we have stated above regarding the ravia mugrash before the silluq apply to the d’hi that appears before the ethnah, i.e., that it is replaced by a connective trop in certain circumstances, but with one important addition: If no other word appears in the ethnah‘s domain before the word that is to receive the d’hi, and no other words are to appear connected to the word with the ethnah after the d’hi, the d’hi is replaced by a mercha, its counterpart conjunctive. This explains the phenomenon in the example I brought earlier, in the following verse with which many are familiar (I Chronicles 16:22): 

אל־תִּגְּעוּ֙ בִּמְשִׁיחָ֔י וּבִנְבִיאַ֖י אַל־תָּרֵֽעוּ׃

The second word is bim-shi-HAI, with a strong beth sound, whereas in the corresponding verse in Psalms(105:15),

אל־תִּגְּע֥וּ בִמְשִׁיחָ֑י    וְ֝לִנְבִיאַ֗י אַל־תָּרֵֽעוּ׃

the word is vim-shi-HAI, with a weak, veth sound. The (compound) word al-tig-G’U before the (long) word vim-shi-HAI has no other words before it, and therefore it is not marked with the disjunctive d’hi. This also explains the following noticeable break in the pattern in the final psalm, which is a good illustration of most of the rules we have discussed until this point: 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As you can see, the word hal’luhu, is usually marked with a disjunctive, because it is a verb followed by an object composed of multiple words (as in the conclusions of these verses), but in the second and fifth verses, the first hal’luhu‘s (in blue) have no words before them, nor do the subsequent words with the ethnah’s have other conjoined words. Thus, the hal’luhu‘s in those verses lose their disjunctive d’hi’s, and the following words (or hyphenated compound word), are modified, vig-vu-ro-THAW or v’tzil-tz’lei-SHA-ma’, respectively, and the prefix beth in each word is weak. In verses 3 and 4, the word hal’luhu in the first halves is proceeded by multiple words in the domain of the ethnah (the green words), and therefore it keeps its disjunctive d’hi. Now, one may ask, why is it that in verse 5 b’tziltzlei shama’ becomes one hyphenated word, whereas in verse 3, the seemingly shorter words b’theqa shofar remain separate? The answer lies in the fact, that, based on what we wrote above, b’tziltz’lei and b’theqa are both “short” words, but b’theqa has an open syllable capable of receiving an accent, whereas b’tziltz’lei does not have an accentable syllable that would not be adjacent to the accented syllable of SHA-ma’. Its latter syllable is obviously unfit due to proximity, and its first syllable is closed, making it also ineligible. Secondary accents may only be placed on open syllables.

…

A major exception to these rules occurs a number of times in the shortest verses of Emeth. In the verses that open each of the principles speeches in Job, (3:2, 4:1, 6:1, etc.) there are only three or four words, and we find that either a ravia (in the three-word verses that introduce Elihu or Job’s speeches) or a ravia mugrash (in the four-word verses that introduce the others with the longer names) precedes the final word, even though that final word is accented on its penultimate syllable. This can be explained by the perhaps-necessary proposition that every single verse needs at least one internal disjunctive trop, and there is no other place to put one in those verses, or that the final word actually is a “long” word, and we are just left with the question as to why “way-yo-MAR,” which is normally accented milra’, is here accented mil’eil, like its counterpart way-YO-mer, which has the same meaning, but normally appears at the beginning of a phrase. I hope the readership has any insights regarding this matter.

An opposite exception is in Job 6:4, whereby the “long” word YA-‘ar-CHU-ni is still connected to the previous word. I can hypothesize that this word should be considered short, as it was once pronounced with “only” two countable syllables, as though vowelized thusly: יַעְרְכוּנִי, ya’-R’CHU-ni.

….

One will also take note of the fact that in the Mechon Mamre edition (the online edition from which I borrowed these visual aids) and the various MHK editions edited by R’ Breuer, some verses have ordinary ravia’s instead of the ravia mugrash. For example, in the last verse of Psalm 150 above, the penultimate word has a ravia, but in the various Koren publications, for instance, and other traditionally Ashkenazi texts, those words also have a ravia mugrash. Apparently, R’ Breuer was of the opinion that a ravia mugrash can only appear in verses that already have an ethnah (or one of its replacements). The others do not subscribe to such a rule. Also, I find it interesting that in verses like those that conclude the last five psalms, we find a striking pattern that effectively divides the verse into three parts, instead of the usual two. Most verses in the Psalms follow the symmetrical division pattern, with the half-way point marked by an ethnah, and the quarters marked by a d’hi and ravia mugrash, respectively, but in these cases, the ordinarily symmetrical verse has the climactic Hallelujah added at the end, and because the ravia (mugrash) has to come before the silluq, what would have been the silluq is downgraded to a ravia mugrash, necessitating the downgrading of the the ethnah at what would have been the verse’s midpoint, resulting in it also receiving a ravia. This dispute between the publishers and the phenomenon of the verse being effectively divided into three by the ravia’s indicates to me that for our purposes both types of ravia (ordinary and mugrash) have the same punctuational value, and that in whatever theory we use to explain the hierarchy among the ta’amei emeth, the simple analogy of emperors, kings, viceroys (primary, secondary, and tertiary disjunctives), etc., that features in the other books of the Bible is not adequate for the books of Emeth. For example, in his introduction to the Daat Mikra Psalms, R’ Breuer wrote about how there are no “emperors” in ta’amei emeth, except for the silluqim, and how both the ravia and ethnah are on the same level, both being “kings.” I would like to offer that if we must use the nomenclature and analogies familiar from the other books, the silluq and oleh w’yoreid are the emperors, and the ethnah is the king, ravia’s are viceroys, etc., except that, in a radical departure from the rest of the Bible, most of the verses of Emeth, due to their shortness, have only one emperor, the silluq, and often the kings are also missing, as in those verses in which, as pointed out by R’ Breuer, some sort of ravia takes the ethnah‘s place because there are not enough words proceeding it that can be furthered divided.

One should also note how in the following two verses,

:וַיְדַבֵּ֣ר יְהוָ֔ה אֶֽל־אַהֲרֹ֖ן לֵאמֹֽר

and

:וַיְדַבֵּ֥ר יְהוָ֖ה אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֥ה לֵּאמֹֽר

the only difference is that the name of the object in the latter verse is slightly longer, and not even by a syllable. We see that the mere addition of a hei with a hataf patah lengthens the name Aharon enough so that it justifies upgrading the mercha before the silluq to a tip’ha, and the tip’ha that was already marking the Divine Name to be upgraded to a zaqef. Not only would this not fly in Emeth, as I have mentioned before, this shows the general tendency of the cantillation in most biblical books to have more disjunctives, especially when close to the “emperors,” whereas in Emeth the tendency is toward more conjunctives, especially as words get closer to the primary disjunctives. It is telling that the silluq, ethnah, zaqef, and tip’ha of most of the Bible have at most two words in their immediate domains connected to them by the trop, whereas the lesser disjunctives, e.g. the pazer, t’vir, and pashta are often preceded by three and sometimes four words marked with conjunctives. A comparison of similar words and phrases indicates for example, that the disjunctive t’vir of the rest of the bible is often converted to a conjunctive in Emeth. 

….

In the rest of the books of the Bible, this idea that the sh’wa na’ forms one syllable with that which follows is often preserved in the phenomenon of the athei me’rahiq. In the second reading of Wayeira, we have the combination ha-LI-la L’CHA, whereby the lamed of l’cha receives a dagesh because it is part of an accented syllable that is immediately preceded by a connected word that ends with an unaccented qamatz in an open syllable. 

Yet, there is also the phenomenon that a rule that distinguishes between two possible trops is even more specific than syllable count; sometimes, for instance, whether a word is marked with a qadma or munah, both conjunctives, depends on whether that word is accented on its very first letter, and that, in turn, effects the subsequent disjunctive. Two ready examples are Deuteronomy 15:7, V’CHA, and 17:18, w’CHA-thav. Words like these are either marked 1.with a munah if accented on their first letters, or 2. marked with a qadma if accented on any other letter. These examples show how exactly this rule is followed, as in both of them the first (compound) syllable is accented, but that is not sufficient to allow for the munah. Consequently, the following words are then, despite their being eligible to receive a gershayim, marked with a geresh, as there can not be a word marked with gershayim immediately following a word marked with a qadma. 

With this in mind, we can understand an unusual difference of opinion. In Numbers 33:9, most of the tiqqunim have the words שתים עשרה marked with a qadma and azla (geresh). Had the word esreh appeared alone, (which technically could not happen because the word, as vowelized, only exists in conjunction with another,) it would have been marked with a gershayim because it is accented on its latter syllable, but because the word שתֵּים, which by our definition is monosyllabic, is not accented on its first letter, it therefore receives a qadma, which in turn converts the gershayim on עשרה into a geresh. (The word gershayim itself is unusual in that if it or any word of its mishqal were to appear in the Bible, it could never be marked with a gershayim precisely because it is accented mil’eil! It is very odd that thousands of young men are taught the trop by singing their names, thus becoming familiar with the “ger-sha-YIM.”) However, in MHK publications and in the Mechon Mamre edition, שתֵּים is marked a munah, and this makes perhaps more sense, as in the words שְתַּיִם, שְתֵּי, and שְתֵּים the taw is still strong, indicating the tradition that in these words, the sh’wa under the shin is not pronounced na’ and it would have been more appropriate for me to represent שְתֵּים as shteim, without the apostrophe I have been using to represent the sh’wa na. If the shin is indeed read in one consonant cluster with the taw, then this word is now accented on its very first letter (along with all four of its letters), thus calling for its trop to be a munah and not a qadma. In Diqduq Eliyahu and Lehem Habikkurim, this strange circumstance is illustrated by placing a phantom alef vowelized with a short vowel before the shin, thus making the shin appear to close a syllable and “immobilizing” its sh’wa. In a similar word, the singular masculine form of the imperative “drink,” שְתֵה, the shin is pronounced with a sh’wa na’ and therefore the taw is weak, while when the word שְתֵּי is prefixed with a mem, e.g., in Judges 16:28, indicating the contracted word מִן, the shin does receive a dagesh to compensate for the missing nun, making its sh’wa a sh’wa na’, and the taw does lose its dagesh. 

Taking Issue with the Ish Matzliah 

Rabbi Mazuz is the leading authority on all things grammatical, and it is a testament to his influence and greatness that two of his more questionable opinions, opinions that can not be reconciled with the traditions we have received, have become more and more popular, and is partly attributable to the fact that the tiqqun published by his students, Tiqqun Qor’im Ish Matzliah, and the subsequent Hummash of the same name for synagogue use have become fixtures in many synagogues.

The first involves the public reading of Genesis 35:22, the Reuben incident. According to the traditional practice, this verse describing Reuben’s actions is combined with the next verse (what should be 35:23, “And the children of Israel were twelve,” but in many editions is not numbered) thus eliminating its silluq, the Torah reader’s cue for the Targum reader, depriving the Targum reader a chance to actually read the translation to the former verse aloud, and when he hears the silluq of the latter verse, he only reads the Targum thereto. The author of the weekly letter “Tamey Torah” (spelled in Hebrew טעמי תורה, tameytorah@gmail.com) has pointed out in the name of the Rabbi Jacob Emden that this is the explanation for the alternate sets of trop that accompany the Decalogue, both iterations of which are traditionally read publicly in the ta’am elyon, a set of trop which recombines the traditional verses, i.e. rearranges the silluqim, such that some verses are thereby combined into one verse, whereas another verse is divided into multiple short verses, thus cuing to the Targum reader to read his lines after individual commandments and not actual verses. The standard set of trop is referred to as the ta’am tahton, and the usual systems of numbering the verses follow it.

For centuries now, most Jewish communities have not been reading the Targum along with the public Torah reading, and based on this explanation, there is no longer any reason for us to continue reading these three sections with the ta’am ‘elyon, and indeed there are places in which the practice of reading the Decalogue with the ta’am ‘elyon has been suspended. However, in places where the Targum is still read publicly, this upholds the talmudic imperative to not translate the account of the Reuben incident (M’gilla 4:10, Laws of Prayer and Torah Reading 12:12). Rabbi Emden’s understanding is even mentioned by Rabbi Mazuz in his introduction to his tiqqun, yet, it was his father’s practice (see Tamey Torah for written sources) to read Genesis 35:22 twice, once on its own and once connected to the next verse, in order to thereby read the verse with both sets of trop, as though to satisfy all of the opinions because we can not know which is the correct set of trop to follow. Tamey Torah has documented a number of sefarim, all of North African origin, that record this practice, which, aside from the fact that it utilizes the Reductio Ad Opinionibus At Dissiderent fallacy instead of trying to come to sort of halachic solution, has the negative consequence of now having Reuben’s incident read in front of native Hebrew-speakers twice, ensuring that they clearly hear the verse as is, and maybe even provoking them to look into it further, because attention has now been drawn to it. In both this case and the next, it is surprising that the Lehem Habikkurim “died from a kashya” and altered the practice, because in other lands, the answer to his kashya (“why are there two sets of trop?”) had already been offered and accepted, thereby upholding the traditional practice. Tamey Torah also notes that the Vatican manuscript they claim as a source is misunderstood: its marginal note is merely pointing out the existence of two sets of trop, and does not literally mean that both sets should somehow be read publicly.

As a side note, the other peculiarity found in the Vatican manuscript, indicating that Genesis 35:22 should feature a zarqa–segol series in the ta’am elyon, was also included in the tiqqun. Now, there are two competing schools of thought regarding what exactly a segol is supposed to be:

1. Segol is a disjunctive trop on the level of an ethnah, and together they divide the verse into three parts, the first third concluding with the segol, the second with the ethnah. This explains why the segol always precedes the ethnah. (I know of only one verse in the Bible that has a segol but no ethnah.) When examining many verses, you can see that this makes a lot of sense, and is attributed to the Ibn Ezra and others, and is also endorsed by Rabbi Mazuz.

2. Segol is a disjunctive on the level of a strong zaqef, and when a verse calls for many trops of that level, the first becomes a segol, under specific conditions. Jacobson brings a number of verses, including I Samuel 5:3-4 to illustrate this, and this is the position of Rav Breuer, among others, and explains why the segol‘s second mishneh is a ravi’a and not a zaqef, but it does not explain why segol is always before the ethnah.

According to the common tradition, Genesis 35:22 is to be read thusly:

:וַיְהִ֗י בִּשְׁכֹּ֤ן יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ בָּאָ֣רֶץ הַהִ֔וא וַיֵּ֣לֶךְ רְאוּבֵ֔ן וַיִּשְׁכַּ֕ב אֶת־בִּלְהָ֖ה פִּילֶ֣גֶשׁ אָבִ֑יו וַיִּשְׁמַ֖ע יִשְׂרָאֵֽל

and the subsequent verse, which as I mentioned, is not independently numbered in many editions, appears thusly:

וַיִּֽהְי֥וּ בְנֵֽי־יַעֲקֹ֖ב שְׁנֵ֥ים עָשָֽׂר׃

Now, there are two main ways we could have combined these verses into one long verse and preserve the hierarchy of the trop:

1. The first verse is now only half a verse, and therefore, it’s silluq is downgraded to an ethnah, and its z’qefim and tip’hoth should be downgraded to pashtoth, r’vi’im, t’virim etc.,

or

1. being that the latter verse has no ethnah, we could perhaps divide the combined verse into thirds, with the first verse containing the first two thirds, and its silluq becoming an ethnah and its own ethnah becoming a segol, but, as pointed by R’ Breuer and others, even if one were to assume that a segol is a disjunctive on the level of an ethnah, there is no such thing as a segol in such proximity to an ethnah. Therefore, this possibility is ruled out.

Yet, in the original verse, the zaqef on the word ההִוא is the strongest internal disjunctive after the ethnah of אביו, and when the verses are combined, because the original ethnah is downgraded, it stands to reason that the zaqef of hahi should have been downgraded to a ravia, and certainly not upgraded to a segol as it has been in the Tiqqun Ish Matzliah. On the contrary, if the Reuben verse is then extended by a new phrase that is “ruled by an emperor,” then the segol should at least be placed where the Reuben verse’s ethnah appeared, and I would therefore argue that if anything, we could only entertain a segol on the word hahi in the ta’am tahton of that verse.

Elsewhere in the tiqqun, the words ohela (genesis 18:6 and elsewhere) and tzo’ara (ibid 19:23) are, in accordance with the opinion of the Lehem Habikkurim, accented on their last syllables, o-he’LA and tzo-a’RA’, respectively, whereas in most tiqqunim, the words are accented on their first syllables, as is seemingly indicated in the oldest manuscripts, O-he’la and TZO-a’ra’. The argument for this position is as follows: Normally, the addition of an unaccented suffix qamatz-silent hei is an alternate form of the directional el or the prefix lamed (the same suffix when accented indicates femininity). “To Hebron” can either be el hevron, or l’hevron, or hevrona. In the latter case, the accent stays on the syllable that is normally accented, and the additional syllable formed by the qamatz and silent hei is not accented. Note also what happens to a word like goshen, which is of the same mishqal as tzo’ar and ohel. The normal pronunciation of the word is GO-shen, and when the directional is appended, it becomes GOSH-na, with the shin now closing the strong vowel of the accented syllable, but in the case of these two words, the presence of the guttural letter vowelized with a hataf, hei with a hataf segol and ‘ayin with a hataf patah, respectively, creates what appears to be a third syllable. Now, according to the rules of grammar with which we are familiar, those gutturals can not receive the accents because they have hatafim, and no hataf or sh’wa na’ is accented. Further, and this is the crux of the dispute, the first syllables of these words should not receive the accents either because that would result in words that are primarily accented too far away from the end of the words, and they are vowelized with holam, necessitating the subsequent guttural letters to be vowelized with forms of hataf vowels, themselves types of shwa na’, which according to another rule, can not follow a full vowel, a tnu’a g’dola, that is accented. Normally, Hebrew words are accented milra’, on the last syllable, whereas in some cases the word is mil’eil, accented before the last syllable, but even in those cases, the accent is at least on the syllable right before the last. There is no such thing as a word accented on a syllable two or more syllables away from the last syllable, and when there is a full vowel in an accented syllable, it can be closed by a shwa nah. For example, in אומרים o-m’RIM, the accented syllable has a hiriq gadol and is closed by the (unwritten) shwa nah of the mem, and in אומר o-MER, the tzeirei of the accented syllable is closed by the shwa nah of the reish.

However this argument is mistaken, because, as we have now learned, consonants, whether guttural or not, when vowelized with sh’wa na’ or any form of hataf do not count as syllables. Therefore, in the words ohela and tzoara, it is not the case that the first of three syllables is accented. Rather, it is just that the first of two syllables is accented. Also, because this first argument could be rejected by the editors of the tiqqun because they may not hold of this theory of explaining the vowels, it must be pointed out that even according to their own theory, when words do have full vowels in their final, accented and closed syllables and the final consonant is a pronounced guttural letter (‘ayin, heth, or a non-silent (“mappiq“) hei), then we add a phantom patah between the vowel and the consonant. If words like ohela and tzo’ara were to follow this model, we would have to pronounce them like אֹ ַהְלָה Oah-la and צֹ ַעְרָה TZOa’-ra, thus adding another seeming syllable to the word. (I added spaces within these words to show where the patah sound would be inserted. In words like תפוּחַ most people know to articulate the patah between the shuruq and the final heth.) In a word like GOSH-na, we would not be confronted with any problem because we already have a precedent for closing a holam‘s accented syllable with a shin sound without having to add a phantom patah, e.g., ראש, rosh. The truth is that in these unusual words, which are ideally accented on their first syllables which feature full vowels closed by guttural consonantal sounds, we have few options.

I welcome whatever insights the readers can offer. 

* For almost twenty years, I have followed the Soncino Talmud’s convention of representing the waw as a “w”  and thaw as “th” in transliteration. This, despite its unpopularity, eliminates many ambiguities and more accurately reflects the proper pronunciation. 

On the Times Commonly Presented for Birkat HaL’vana, Part 3

By Avi Grossman

Some time ago, my first article appeared on the Seforim Blog (link). It felt good to join the club.

In the comments section, readers took much more issue with the opinion of Rabbi Bar Hayim that I mentioned at the outset than they did with any of the arguments I myself was advancing, and it it even got a little personal, but along the way, I was able to refine some points I had always wanted to make, and I discovered some potential answers to other lingering questions.

The Talmud relates (Sanhedrin 42a):

“R. Aha b. Hanina also said in the name of R. Assi in Rabbi Yohanan’s name: Whoever pronounces the blessing over the new moon (hahodesh) in its due time (bizmano) welcomes, as it were, the presence of the Shechinah: for one passage states, “This month will be your first month,” while elsewhere it is said, “This is my God, and I will glorify Him.””

Rabbi Bar Hayim had argued that “in its due time” was a reference to Rosh Hodesh. I called this an elegant proof, and others challenged the assertion of elegance, saying it was no proof at all. I countered that if one were to look elsewhere in the Talmud, specifically in the second chapter of Rosh Hashana and Maimonides’s laws of Sanctifying the New Moon, the expression the “new moon in its due time” always meant the night when the court was expecting witnesses to spot the new moon, i.e. the first night of the month. For some inexplicable reason, this was still not accepted, with the other side arguing that somehow, this passage in Sanhedrin was referring to something else, possibly the allowed, as opposed to prescribed, time for reciting the blessing,^[1] which was the first half of the month. I showed that that was untenable based on the language, and also redundant, because if it were not the first half of the month, the blessing could not be recited at all, and therefore Rabbi Yohanan should just have said “he who recites the blessing on the moon.”

I also pointed out that Rabbi Yohanan’s proofs from the verses are also unequivocal. What is the connection between the verses he cites? Both have the word zeh, “this,” denoting that in the former verse, the one used as the source for all of our sages’ teachings concerning finding and sanctifying the new moon, God, so to speak, pointed out the appearance of the new moon to Moses and Aaron, while in the latter verse the people perceived God so clearly, it was as if they were pointing at Him. It is clear that Rabbi Yohanan can only be referring to spotting the new moon, and nothing else.

Some then pointed out that the offending word, bizmano, was not in some manuscripts of the Talmud, making any proof based thereon moot, but once again, the opposite would be true: If Rabbi Yohanan was specifically referring to the blessing on the hodesh, then it by force must be the first night of the month because thereafter the moon is not referred to as hodesh, “NEW moon,” but rather as just yareiah or l’vana!

Parenthetically, this, and the follow-up comments to my second post, made me realize that when trying to analyze the Talmud and codes, it is important to practice a form of  talmudic constitutional-originalism, in this case approaching the source texts with an intention to understand them as their writers meant them. In this case, I was advocating for an originalist approach to understanding what bizmano meant, and really, one should try to compare the sources with contemporaneous sources in order to be sure what the terms mean. My disputants were certainly not taking an originalist approach, and you can read their various arguments.^[2]

However, and this is something that carries a significance I have only begun to realize, although intellectual honesty requires of us to be originalists when dealing with those facets of the Oral Law that have been committed to writing, when the sages themselves looked to the scriptures, they practiced originalism when trying to give over the p’shat, the plain meaning, but they also practiced a form of “living-and-breathing constitutionalism” (or whatever is the opposite of talmudic originalism) when they derived teachings using the methods of exposition, or as we would say in Yeshivish, “when they made drashos based on the middos shehatorah nidreshses bahem.” The sages engaged in active reinterpretation of verses, and in a functioning Sanhedrin, such new teachings were halachically binding for all of Israel. If you think about it, the Written Torah with its critical oral counterpart was meant to be interpreted as a living and breathing document, and this harks back to a point I made a few years ago.

I then pointed out something which has even more halachic consequences. The aforementioned passage from Sanhedrin continues:

“In the school of Rabbi Ishmael it was taught: Had Israel earned no other privilege than to greet the presence of their Heavenly Father once a month, it would be sufficient. Abaye said: Therefore, we must recite it standing.”

That is, according to this exact reading of the Talmud, one only succeeds in greeting the Divine Presence if he recites birkat hal’vana the night of Rosh Hodesh, and therefore one needs to stand for the blessing only if he recites the blessing the night of Rosh Hodesh! If you take another look at Maimonides’s formulation, you can see that is implied, because he first mentions the issue of standing, citing our version of the Talmud, and then mentions that after the fact, one can still recite the blessing after Rosh Hodesh.

Most importantly, the points I was making, namely that Rabbi Yohanan in Sanhedrin is discussing birkat hal’vana specifically on Rosh Hodesh, and that the implication is that one should stand for reciting the blessing only on Rosh Hodesh, can be found by reading Rabbeinu Manoah’s commentary on Maimonides, and that he goes even farther. Many of the blog’s commentators were arguing that what I was writing was entirely my own, but they should have looked at the sources!

The Hebrew version of the Schottenstein edition mentions that the classic commentators do not explain why the word bizmano is there, and that the expression has a seeming redundancy that of course one has to recite the blessing when it is the blessing’s time, but they do not try to find out what the term means elsewhere, and they mention that an alternative manuscript does not have that word, but they fail to make anything of it. Dealing with Rabbeinu Yona on B’rachot, there were always some lingering difficulties I had with his essay, as I wrote here:

Rabbeinu Yona’s comments at the end of the fourth chapter of B’rachoth describe three ways to understand what Massecheth Sof’rim meant by not reciting the blessing “ad shetithbasseim…” Rabbeinu Yona offers his own understanding, and this is the basis for all later misunderstandings: tithbasseim refers to the light of the moon being significantly “sweet,” a state that it only achieves “two to (or ‘or’) three days” into the new lunar cycle. Why the vague language? Because no two months are the same. By the time the moon becomes visible for the first time, it could be that the molad itself was anywhere from twelve hours to 48 hours to even more or even less before that, and each month has its own set of astronomical conditions that affect this. See this chart. Notice that no two months share a percent illumination, or location in the sky, and each has its own level of difficulty being spotted. When two days are shown consecutively, it is because the first day’s conditions were not sufficient for most to have actually enjoyed or even seen the light of the moon. The possibilities are endless, and there is no objective rule for determining how much time the moon takes each month to get to the stage Rabbeinu Yona describes, and that is why he used the vague terminology “two to three days.” (As pointed out on the last page of the linked file, Maimonides did feel that there was a mathematical formula for determining minimal visibility.) More importantly, the “two to three days” statement is just an example of how long it takes, but the underlying rule is when the light becomes “sweet…” In languages like 13th-century Rabbinic Hebrew and Modern Hebrew and English, “two to three days” or “two or three days” allow for all of those possibilities. The halacha also allows for that… it seems that in every subsequent work you can find (with the the very important and critical exception of the Beth Yosef), the opinion of Rabbeinu Yona’s mentor is referred to as “Rabbeinu Yona’s opinion,” even though he offered one that actually differed from that of his mentor, and it is inaccurately reported as waiting for three days after the molad, taking out the the critical “two or/to.” Even later, it is further transformed into waiting until after three days have passed, i.e., at least 72 hours. This evolution is clear from reading the sources as they appear in the halachic record in chronological order. This is unfortunate and also illogical, because we saw above that the whole idea of “two to three days” is only offered as a way to describe how long it may take the light of the moon to become “sweet.” It could actually vary, because the sweetness is the point. Rabbeinu Yona did not mean “three days, in every single situation, no matter what,” and even if he had said that the underlying rule is to wait three days from the beginning of the cycle, why did they add that “at least” modifier?

The readers of the Seforim Blog rightfully asked: how could it be that Rabbeinu Yona did not read what was obvious to others, that the starting point for the recitation of the blessing was Rosh Hodesh? Perhaps it was not obvious!? To this I offered that perhaps he had incomplete access to the sources. After all, he himself admits that he was unfamiliar with our text of Massechet Soferim, which explicitly mentions birkat hal’vana on Saturday night. It is not such a stretch to say that his text of Sanhedrin was deficient, or that he did not have the complete version of TY B’rachot.

They also failed to notice that Rabbeinu Yona’s explicit hava amina, assumption, was that birkat hal’vana should be recited on Rosh Hodesh, but  Massechet Soferim could be used to derive when the blessing should first be recited because his text of Sanhedrin apparently could not. That is, just like he did not recognize our text of Soferim, he apparently did not have our text of Sanhedrin.

In their commentaries to Maimonides’s ruling that birkat hal’vana should be recited on Rosh Hodesh, two other 13th century sages, Rabbeinu Manoah and the Hagahot Maimoniyot, aka Rabbi Meir Hakohen, a student of the Maharam of Rothenburg, are explicit that the Talmudic sources indicate what Maimonides says, and they go further. Rabbeinu Manoah explains why the decisors did not take Massechet Soferim into halachic account on this issue:

“Because it does not make sense for one to delay performing a commandment that he has an opportunity to perform. Who knows how the world runs and what may occur, and there is much that can come upon someone that can prevent him from eventually performing [the commandment]. Therefore, any one who fears God should bless [the moon] right when he sees it in its renewal, and not wait for Saturday night.”

Note that Rabbeinu Manoah also refers to the recitation of the blessing as “a commandment.”

The Hagahot Maimoniyot also described how the Maharam dealt with the apparent contradiction posed by following Massechet Soferim:

“And thus my master, Rabbeinu, may he live long, practices: when he takes the initiative to recite the blessing during the week so that he not miss the time for reciting the blessing – which is until the sixteenth of the month – he wears his fine suit.”

That is, the Maharam realized, as I wrote earlier, that our received text of Massechet Soferim describes how to recite the blessing, and not when. Thus, he satisfied the opinion of Massechet Soferim not by reciting the blessing on Saturday night, but by reciting it some other time while dressed nicely.

I also wondered why Rabbeinu Yona postulated that the blessing on seeing the new moon involved deriving pleasure (or benefit, depending on how you translate the word hana’a) from the light of the moon. Since when did that have to do with the other birkot har’iyah, the blessings recited upon seeing certain phenomena? Is one required to somehow benefit from seeing the sun, or the sea, or lightning in order to recite the relevant blessings? Now, the blessing on the blossoming of the fruit trees makes mention of how people receive pleasure from seeing them, but then why can’t that be the case with the moon, that one enjoys seeing it, but does not have to have enough light to have some utility.

I believe the answer is that Rabbeinu Yona took his cue from a similar blessing that is also connected to Saturday night, the only one that the sages said demands that one derive some sort of pleasure/benefit from that which he sees: the blessing on the fire, in the eighth chapter of the Brachot.

Most importantly, I also found an amazing explanation as to why Rabbeinu Yona’s interpretation of Massechet Soferim became the basis for a halachic practice and opinion that persisted in Northeast Europe, even though it was rejected by scholars who lived in more temperate lands.

Check out a link to this site, which has some pretty good diagrams indicating where and when the new moon was or will be visible. I have been looking at the site regularly for some years, but this afternoon I found something very interesting. During the summer of 1990, there were months in which the moon was positioned very far to the south of the sky. On August 21, 1990, which was Rosh Hodesh, 30 Av 5750, the new moon was visible in most of Africa and South America as the night began, but in Israel and Europe and most of North America, the moon was not visible until late the following afternoon (Fig. 1).

(Fig. 1)

Almost a month later, on September 19, 1990, Erev Rosh Hashana, the new moon was visible in the South Pacific (Fig. 2) and the next day, September 20, 1990, Rosh Hashana 5751, it was visible across Australia, Africa, and South America (Fig. 3), but once again, those In Israel, Europe, and most of North America did not see it until September 21 (Fig. 4), and this is remarkable because Australia is well to Israel’s east, and it seems reasonable that if the Australians could see the new moon, then the Israelis should have had an even easier time spotting it, being that for them the moon is almost half a day older, and therefore larger.

(Fig. 2)

(Fig. 3)

(Fig. 4)

On December 5, 2002, 30 Kislev 5763, the new moon was at least visible in Israel, but once again, it was not visible in Northeast Europe, in places where the Ashkenazic aharonim had lived (Fig. 5). The true molad, the lunar conjunction, had been the previous day, December 4, at 9:34 am Jerusalem time while the average molad was  at 9:06 pm and 13 parts, although as can be seen from here, it is actually not easy to translate the average molad times to our current UTC system. See more below about that.) The following February, the moon was much harder to see in classical Lita than it was in the Mediterranean basin (Fig. 6).

(Fig. 5)

(Fig. 6)

I found all of these examples by a very superficial perusal of their archives, and it turns out there are dozens of examples that can be easily found in the last 30 years. A general rule can be derived: the farther a place is from the equator, the harder it will be there to spot the new moon compared to places of similar longitude but closer to the equator. For those in the Northern Hemisphere, there are many months when the added difficulty is quite significant.

Looking back, I could have extrapolated this from other information I already had, including the fact that the Israeli New Moon Society always publicizes that it is easier to spot the new moon from the Negev simply because it is in the south of the country.

All of this helps explain why we find that various forms of the practice of delaying birkat hal’vana for a day or two after what would appear to be the ideal time according to the classical opinions in the Talmudim is mostly a later Ashkenazic phenomenon, and one that Litvishe Rabbis, like Rabbi Tukachinsky, brought to Israel, whereas the generally Sephardic streams advocated for birkat hal’vana on Rosh Hodesh, or a week later, as per the kabbalistic practice. The fact that in Northeast Europe, the moon was often not visible until a day or two later than when it became visible in the more temperate regions seems to be a good explanation for this feature of the literature. Often, the Jews in Northeast Europe really had to wait for the moon to become barely visible even after the molad calculations indicated it was already well-visible in the places where the sages of the Talmud and the Rishonim used to live. I am grateful to have found this very real justification for a practice that at first seemed to go against the plain meaning of the Talmud.

Ultimately, I should have known that Maimonides was aware of all this, and took this into account. Chapters 11-17 of Kiddush Hahodesh are dedicated to explaining how to find the new moon in the sky, and that is the ultimate reason for knowing when the molad is of each individual month, and not so that one can add 72 or 168 hours to it in order to know when to recite the blessing, while the the eighteenth and last chapter discusses the practical case of the moon not being spotted for a number of months due to extenuating circumstances such as weather, and in our days, pollution. Towards the end of that chapter, he mentions that the more one stands to the east, the less likely he is to spot the new moon, while the farther to the west, the more likely, and then concludes with:

“All the above statements apply to the countries west and east [of Israel ] at the same latitude, i.e., they are between 30 and 35 degrees north [of the equator]. If they are located farther to the northerly, or less to the norther, different principles apply, for they are not parallel to Eretz Yisrael.”

There is no reason, therefore, to consider that places in northern Europe should be able to spot the new moon according to the molad in Israel, and as we have seen, they often have to wait significantly longer to see the moon.

…

Getting back to the issue of calculations and Professor Bromberg’s thesis, I recently saw that this year, the Ittim L’vina calendar has a new appendix explaining how there is a major disagreement regarding how to present the classic, average molad times in our modern terms. Considering that there are 1080 parts per hour instead of 3600 seconds, it should be easy to translate any molad time to any time on our clocks, but the problem is that no one knows, for example, if the tradition says that the molad for a given month is exactly at 15 hours of the day (9am), when that is according to the UTC time (adjusted for the Jerusalem time zone)! As Maimonides writes, the clock we use to determine the average moladot is, unlock the ritual clock used everyday, a constant, 24-hour clock, that assumes the day starts at hour 0, always 24 objective hours after the start of the previous day (like the secular system defines the start of the day as exactly 24 hours after the start of the previous) and therefore, during the summer, the “molad day” starts hours before the sundown, while during the winter, the “molad day” starts sometime well after the sundown that started that halachic, calendar day. The Ittim L’vina calendar brings four attempts to figure out how to determine when the average molad for any given month actually happens, and as Prof. Bromberg has shown, the truth is that no one knows. This can not be over-emphasized. When the calendar writers say, therefore, that on a given Saturday night, laymen should refrain from reciting birkat hal’vana at 7pm, as they depart the synagogue, because the average molad was say, at 8pm three or seven days earlier, and therefore they still have another hour before “the first opportunity” (sic) to recite the blessing, it is disingenuous, because they do not really know when the average molad was! It must be stated that, when Maimonides described the times of the average moladot, the only practical application was not birkat hal’vana, because up until the 13th century, no one even imagined that the time for birkat hal’vana should depend on the molad, but rather calculating the day of the week on which to establish the first day of Tishrei, which did not necessitate knowing when exactly the molad occurred according to which ever time piece they may have used. For example, if the calculation showed that on Monday the average molad was shortly before the end of the 18th hour (noon), making Monday fit for Rosh Hashana, it only meant that in the theoretical, 24-hour clock that started with the first molad, the molad of Tishrei was before the end of the 18th hour, but no one could know if that translated to before halachic noon on that particular Monday. And no one cared, either.

This revelation thus renders most of the foregoing discussions on the matter practically moot, and gives another very good reason why, if one were wondering when to recite the blessing on seeing the new moon, he should just follow the basic understanding of the talmudim and rishonim: when he sees the new moon, he should recite the blessing.

I would like to thank Rabbi David Avihail, Rosh Yeshivat Ramot, for his constant encouragement and support in producing these articles.

^[1] For more on this critical distinction between the prescribed time and the allowed time, see, for example, Maimonides’s descriptions of the times for the daily prayers in his Laws of Prayer, 3:1-7.

^[2] My blog, avrahambenyehuda.wordpress.com, has many more articles about understanding the original biblical and talmudic terms in context.

On the Times Commonly Presented for Birkat HaL’vana: Part 2

By Avi Grossman

Continued from here

The Truth About The Beth Yosef’s Position

A while ago I received this from a disputant (I have not edited any of his writing):

In the Shulkhan Arukh (chapter 426 paragraph 3) it was ruled that one has to wait till seven days have passed, and the Rema did not override the halachik ruling of the Mechaber (the Shulkhan Arukh). Therefore this is the basic core law for Sepharadim and Ashkenasim alike. However, there is an Ashkenasi minhag to make the Kiddush Levana blessing after only three days. This minhag being based on the Gr”A (the Gaon miVilna) as brought down by the Mishna Brura in se’if katan (clause) 20. This minhag has on what to be based, however less than three days, is not the minhag at all. Nevertheless, if bedi’avad (if someone has not done according to the aforementioned minhag, and already has done otherwise i.e. less than three days), if the person made the blessing of Kiddush Levana, Rav Nevensal writes (in his commentary on the Mishna Brura in the name of Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach) that he accomplished the mitzva of Kiddush Levana and his blessing was not a brakha levatala, ( a blessing in vain.) This is also understood from the Shar haTziyun.

I have omitted his subsequent attack on my credentials and character. I also believe, that he has made a number of errors:

1. The Beth Yosef’s actual opinion is not as he represented it. 2. His method of discerning the Rema’s opinion is faulty. 3. He does not allow for the numerous times wherein the halacha and the common practice simply do not follow either the Rema or the Beth Yosef.[1] 4. Especially in Israel, there are many groups, usually those associated with Religious Zionism and inspired by the teachings of the Vilna Gaon, that seek to reintroduce the ancients’ practices as described by Hazal, and do not automatically accept later positions that contradict the classic understanding of Hazal. There are too many aspects of Jewish law that are also not even covered by the rulings of the Beth Yosef and the Rema.

I would now like to attempt to show what the Beth Yosef believed. Rabbi Yosef Karo was aware that the halacha, as stated by the Talmud and understood by the rishonim, was that birkat hal’vana should ideally be recited on the first of the month. In his commentary to Maimonides’s explicit ruling that birkat hal’vana be recited on Rosh Hodesh, he even cites the source for this rule. Moreover, Maimonides formulation is taken verbatim from the Yerushalmi in Berachoth 9:2, which also clearly means that the time for the blessing is Rosh Hodesh. The Beth Yosef then has much to say (a few paragraphs’ worth) about the Tur’s formulation of the relevant halachot, and finishes with one line about a much later, kabbalistic, non-talmudic opinion that the blessing should be delayed until seven days after the molad. It is impossible to properly understand his intent in the Shulhan Aruch before reading his longer dissertations in the Beth Yosef, and when we analyze the style he used to present many other halachot in the Shulhan Aruch, we see that when Rabbi Karo actually subscribes to a (usually kabbalistic) position that was explicated later in history as opposed to an earlier explicated halacha, he simply records that later opinion without mentioning the earlier differing opinions, or he may make mention of them and then dismiss them.

In order to see this most clearly one should read the actual text of the Shulhan Aruch as Rabbi Karo himself wrote it, without the interjections of the Rema. A good example is the laws of t’filln. In Orah Hayim 31:2 he writes straight out that it is forbidden to wear t’fillin on Hol Hamoed. This is the kabbalistic opinion, and he does not mention at all the opinion prevalent among the rishonim that t’fililn are meant to be worn on Hol Hamoed, because he dismissed it, and one cannot claim that he was honestly unaware of such an opinion, because in both his commentary to the Tur and the Mishneh Torah, he wrote about that opinion and its sources in the Talmud, and even explained why he rejected it despite the fact that it had been the near universal practice for centuries before him. (See here for more examples.)

However, with regards to the blessing on the new moon, Orah Hayim 426:1, he first states the straight halacha as recorded by the Talmud and the early commentators that “one who sees the moon in its renewal blesses…” and as he wrote in his earlier works, this was always understood to be ideally at the very beginning of the month. It is only in 426:2 that he brings the custom to wait until Saturday night, and in 426:4 he mentions to wait until after seven days. These three rules are all in conflict with each other. Which is it? The first of the month? Saturday night a few days in to the month, or a week after the beginning of the month?

The answer is that he presents the straight law as understood and received by generations, and then alternate practices that each have their own merit, but which do not and cannot trump the original rule. This is made clear when you also read what he wrote in 426:3, before mentioning the seven-day rule: the last time for saying the blessing is the fifteenth of the month. This shows that in 426:1 and 3 he defines the blessing’s set time as ordained by the sages and as to be followed, and only at the end does he mention an optional practice that does not readily fit the enactment. More importantly, if you look even more closely at the exact wording of the Shulhan Aruch you see that 426:2 and 426:4 are not discussing the precise ordained time for the blessing, but rather different issues entirely.

For our reference, here is the full text of Orah Hayim 426 without the Rema and further commentaries:

. א. הרואה לבנה בחדושה מברך אשר במאמרו ברא שחקים וכו‘.

ב. אין מברכין על הירח אלא במוצאי שבת כשהוא מבושם ובגדיו נאים ומיישר רגליו ותולה עיניו ומברך ואומר שלש פעמים סימן טוב תהיה לכל ישראל ברוך יוצרך וכו’.

ג. עד אימתי מברכין עליה עד ט“ז מיום המולד ולא ט“ז בכלל.

ד. אין מברכין עליה עד שיעברו שבעת ימים עליה.

A. One who sees the moon in its renewal blesses, “…Who hast through His speech created the heavens…”

B. We do not recite the blessing upon the moon unless it is the night after the Sabbath, when the reciter is perfumed and his clothes nice. He should raise his eyes high and stand straight, and bless. He should recite three times, “a good omen, blessed be, etc.”

C. Until when may he recite the blessing? Up until but not including the 16th day from the molad.

D. We do not recite the blessing upon [the moon] until seven days have passed on it.

And now for a brief point about an expression used here twice, which I emboldened in both the Hebrew and English. Our heroes have said the following, each in its own context:

אין שמחה אלא בבשר ויין

אין שמחה אלא תורה

אין שמחה כהתרת ספקות

אין שמחה גדולה ומפוארת לפני הקב״ה אלא לשמח לב עניים

Literally translated, each of these begins with “happiness is nothing but”, and each end differently. Respectively: meat and wine, Torah, resolution of doubts, and gladdening the hearts of the poor. How can these all be true? How can there be four ultimate forms of happiness? The answer is that this is the sages’ way of saying that with regard to a particular situation, there is something that can give someone the best feeling. When it comes to celebrating on a festival, the best way is to have a meal with meat and wine. With regards to achieving a sublime intellectual high, there is nothing like Torah study. With regards to feeling the joy of relief, there is nothing like resolving lingering doubts. With regards to doing something good for others, there is nothing greater than picking up those who are down. There is no contradiction.

Now, we can fully understand how to read the four rules of the Shulhan Aruch: The first rule tells us to say the blessing on the moon, and as we saw before, the running assumption of the rishonim and logic is that the first time is right at the beginning of the month. So too, the fact that the Shulhan Aruch places this chapter within the laws of Rosh Hodesh and then says in the third rule that there is a deadline, the assumption, and the only way the first rule can be understood, is that one may start to do recite birkat hal’vana when the month starts. Also, the Shulhan Aruch uses the same exact language as the Yerushalmi and Maimonides did to describe saying the blessing at the first sighting of the new moon, and the Shulhan Aruch has already shown us elsewhere that he knows the implication of using that language. The first and third rules thus form a pair, defining when to say this blessing. The second rule, which mentions Saturday night, is not contradictory, nor does it modify the objective time for saying the blessing. Rather, from the facts that a. it begins with that rabbinical term of speech “ein… ella…” and b. it then explains that it is so that he will be in a proper state of dress, it is telling us the proper mode of reciting this blessing. Dress nicely, smell good, stand straight, and take a good look at the moon. Consider this: Saturday night is not objectively the best time for saying this blessing which should be timed with the new moon regardless of the day of the week, as Rabbeinu Yona pointed out above, but rather it happens to be the time when one is still clean and wearing his Sabbath clothes, implying that if it were Saturday night and he were filthy, he gains nothing by reciting the blessing then, but if it were, say, Thursday night and he has just dressed up in a tuxedo in order to go meet an important personage, he should say the blessing on the moon if the opportunity presents itself. The subsequent gloss of the Rema also shows that this statement of the Beth Yosef is not a hard and fast rule about the timing of blessing. The way the third rule is introduced, it is Rabbi Karo’s way of saying “the best way to perform this commandment, the most gevaldikke way, is to do it like this…” More so, we can now understand why for many authorities (including Maimonides and the Vilna Gaon) the entire discussion of birkat hal’vana in Massechet Sof’rim did not enter their halachic calculus. In the context of the chapters preceding it, Massechet Sof’rim is not making a straightforward halachic statement about the halachic timing of the blessing, but rather about the manner in which it was ritually performed. Finally, the fourth rule also begins with that terminology, “ein… ad…” (the ad replaces ella because ella is used to describe things not defined by time, like gladdening and eating, whereas ad describes a period of time) because, once again, it is Rabbi Karo’s way of saying, “al pi qabbala, the most awesome way to perform this commandment for those who are mystically inclined and on a high enough level is to…”

Therefore, Rabbi Yosef Karo did not rule against saying the blessing on the new moon on Rosh Hodesh, nor did he rule that it may only be recited after seven days from the molad. It is clear that our master’s writings mean that the blessing was meant to be said on Rosh Hodesh, and that there are two conflicting middat-hasidut practices to delay it, and most of the time it is impossible to satisfy both if understood literally, and, as I have shown, the first of those practices is less about when to say the blessing and more about how to say the blessing, and the second is not halacha for the masses. I have written this to defend what he really said, and how his words have been twisted by those who came later, because there is a common claim made that his opinion was to delay the blessing until seven days have passed from the molad under all circumstances, and does not allow for other opinions. The writer above also claimed that this is also the implicit opinion of the Rema (!) and therefore should also be the default practice of all Jews, Ashkenazim and Sephardim alike, to wait until at least a week from the molad in order to recite birkat hal’vana. If our master, the Beth Yosef, had meant as that writer says, he should have written 426:1 thusly:

הרואה הלבנה אחר שעברו עליה שבעה ימים מברך וכו׳

“One who sees the moon after seven days have passed over it blesses…”

thereby combining both 426:1 and 4:26:4 in order to accurately reflect such a purported view, and then we would still be left with the superficial problem of 426:2 adding the practice to wait until Saturday night. But the Beth Yosef did not write the halacha like that because he actually understood the rules as I have presented them here, namely, that he ruled like Maimonides and the sages of old, that the true time for saying birkat hal’vanna is on Rosh Hodesh or as early in the month as possible, and that the seven-day rule is, like he implied in the Beth Yosef, a practice of those who live according to esoteric and uncommon kabbalistic ideas.

Four years after I first wrote this response, I discovered that Rabbi Moshe Elharar of Shlomi in the Northern Galilee has made this point, and has a video online where he declares as much. See here. He maintains that the practice of Moroccan Jewry is and always to recite birkat hal’vana on Rosh Hodesh, if possible.

I also discovered in recent months that there is a school of kabbalistic thought, the Arizal among them, that maintains that al pi qabbala, birkat hal’vana should of course be said on Rosh Hodesh. Indeed, there is a host of modern-day kabbalists and Hasidic rebbes who advocate and maintain this practice. Rabbi Raphael Aharon, a prominent scholar and mekubal from the nearby settlement of Adam has an entire siddur dedicated to birkat hal’vana, Siddur Sim Shalom, and many of these points can be found in his accompanying essays.

Waiting For Exactly Seven 24-Hour Days?

If one were to adopt the mystical practice mentioned by Rabbi Karo, namely to wait seven days to recite birkat hal’vana, Rabbi Karo has already stated that those seven days are a colloquial seven days. This is also the case with regard to many other realms of halacha which deal with groups of days. He dismissed the notion that the final time for the blessing should be calculated me’et l’et, to the second, minute, chelek, or hour. However, just like the Pri M’gadim unilaterally declared that the Rema calculates the first time for the blessing exactly 72 hours after the average molad even though the Rema never even hinted at such a thing (see above), the calendar makers have taken a further step and decided that those seven days mentioned by Rabbi Karo should also be calculated by adding exactly 168 hours from the time of the molad. We can see what may have influenced the Pri M’gadim to make such a claim within the Rema’s opinion, but there is no reason whatsoever for any of us to then extend a possible stringency within the Rema’s opinion to the opinion of the Beth Yosef.

A relevant recent example was Iyar 5775. The announced average molad was early Sunday morning on the 30th of Nisan (April 19, 2015), 1hour, 27 minutes, and 4 chalakim after midnight (6),[2] while the actual molad was a few hours earlier, at 8:57pm Motza’ei Shabbat (April 18, 2015) (7).[3] According to the traditional understanding of the Beth Yosef’s kabbalistic opinions, birkat hal’vana should have been recited the next Motza’ei Shabbat (the night of April 25), the beginning of the 7th of Iyar. Both moladot had occurred on a halachic Sunday, and this Motza’ei Shabbat was already a full week later than both, and it was also a night when many baalei batim would be in attendance at the synagogues, and the moon was clearly at least half full, yet the calendars declared that the it was too early for birkat hal’vana! By their calculations, despite the fact that the moon was already well into its eighth day, the earliest time for birkat hal’vana would only be sometime after midnight, a full 168 hours after the average molad, and at a time shortly after the moon would set that night. Instead, everyone was to have to wait for Sunday night, when attendance in the synagogue would be much less and the chances of cooperative weather would be diminished, thus depriving many unwitting people of the chance to recite the blessing that month.

The calendar makers grossly misrepresent the Beth Yosef’s opinion, and thereby cause many unwitting Jews to miss the proper times for reciting this blessing.

Additional Considerations

In a lecture recently uploaded to yutorah.org, R’ Schachter mentioned the opinion of the P’ri M’gadim (Yoreh Deah 15:2) regarding the eight-day waiting period between an animal’s birth and it becoming fit for sacrifice: the period is calculated as exactly 7 times 24 hours (me’et l’et) after the moment of its birth. R’ Schachter further mentioned that Rabbi Akiva Eiger (ad loc.) takes the P’ri Mgadim to task for this claim, as it contradicts the plain meaning of the relevant Talmudic sources which assume that the eight days are calculated according to the general rule of miqztath hayom k’chullo, that a part of the day is considered the entire day, just like with all the other similar calculations demanded by halacha. This is entirely analogous to he P’ri M’gadim’s opinion regarding birkat hal’vana, which would similarly be rejected by Rabbi Akiva Eiger.

In another lecture, available here, R’ Schachter discussed the issue of two-day Rosh Hodesh in Temple times: On which day of Rosh Hodesh were the additional sacrifices offered? While there is a Talmudic source that assumes that the sacrifices were only brought on one day of Rosh Hodesh, there is also Biblical evidence that even before the Temple was built, Rosh Hodesh was sometimes observed as two days, and even today, it is observed that way about half the time. At about six minutes in, R’ Schachter mentions an answer offered by Rabbi Soloveichik: In Numbers 28, we are bidden to offer the offering of the Sabbath, “olath shabbath b’shabbatto,” which literally means, “the Sabbath burnt offering on its Sabbath,” but which is rendered by Onqelos, “alath shabba tith’aveid b’shabba,” the Sabbath burnt offering should be made on the Sabbath.

Onqelos’s addition clarifies the meaning. However, in the subsequent paragraph describing the Rosh Hodesh offering, we read, “zoth olath hodesh b’hodsho,” literally “this is the [Rosh] Hodesh burnt offering on its Hodesh,” and we would expect Onqelos to render this along the same lines as shabbath b’shabbatto, but he does not. Instead, he abandons a literal translation with a one-word addition, and gives an explanation (which, by the way, is common. Whenever an anthropomorphism is used with regards to God, or whenever the halacha does not fit the literal translation, Onqelos does not translate literally): “da ‘alath reish yarha b’ithkhadathutheh,” which in Hebrew would be “zoth olath rosh yarei’ah b’hiddusho,” or “this is the New Moon burnt offering at the time of [the moon’s] renewal.” Rabbi Soloveichik offered that even if Rosh Hodesh were a two-day event, the special sacrifice of the beginning of the month should only be offered on the day of the renewal, that is, on the day of the two-day Rosh Hodesh that is observed as the renewal of the moon.

Thus, when the Shulhan Aruch (Orah Hayim 426:1) says hal’vana b’hiddusha, “the moon (this time described in the feminine form, l’vana, as opposed to the masculine hodesh, yarei’ah, yarha, or molad) in its renewal,” he means it as Rambam and Rashi meant it, on the first day of the month. The hiddush of the moon is by definition Rosh Hodesh.

It should not come as a surprise then that the Hafetz Hayim himself also was aware of this important halacha, and endorsed it. He held that me’iqqar hadin, according to the letter of the law, birkat hal’vana is to be said on Rosh Hodesh, and that although there are other practices to delay the recitation, none of them override the letter of the law. In Mishna B’rura, 426:20, he responds to the Shulhan Aruch’s proposition that we should wait for seven days to pass over the new moon before reciting the blessing, and mentions that “most Aharonim held that it is sufficient for the moon to be three days old for the blessing to be recited,” and for good measure he adds the P’ri M’gadim’s condition that those three days are calculated as exactly three time 24 hours, and then suggests that there is a way to maybe delay the recitation just a little bit more in order to also recite it on Saturday night. But then, he says something that only someone aware of the letter of the law will fully understand: “And some Aharonim, including the Vilna Gaon, are lenient even in this regard, [i.e., waiting about three days for birkat hal’vana], and they hold that it is not worthwhile to delay the commandment in any event, and therefore, one who practices like that certainly has on whom to rely, especially during the winter and the rainy season; certainly someone punctilious and quick to sanctify [the new moon] is praiseworthy.” Here, in no uncertain terms, the Hafetz Hayim champions those who would say birkat hal’vana at the very first opportunity. When, based on all of the available halachic sources, would that be, if not on Rosh Hodesh itself? Indeed, the primary source for this Gloss is the Magen Avraham ad loc., and there the Magen Avraham, explicitly mentions that the primary law is that the blessing is to be recited on Rosh Hodesh.

As an aside, I would like to dispute what R’ Schachter says in the first five minutes, namely why a particular day is Rosh Hodesh. As far as I understood, there are two reasons: when the Sanhedrin is functioning properly, a day is considered Rosh Hodesh when the court declares it to be Rosh Hodesh based on the testimony of valid witnesses who spotted the new moon, and when the Sanhedrin is not functioning, our set calendar considers only the moladoth of each Tishrei to determine days of weeks for Rosh Hashana, and once a particular year’s length is known, the first days of each month are then determined based upon alternating 30-day and 29-day months, with certain exceptions. Most importantly, the moladoth of the months that are not Tishrei have absolutely no bearing on when the individual rashei hodashim are celebrated, and I believe that the misconception was fostered by the new practice of announcing the molad each month, which leads people to believe that it somehow has weight in determining Rosh Hodesh. On the contrary, announcing the molad seems to be a very recent practice,[4] and one that I would argue the Beth Yosef and others would oppose, because it could lead the masses to think that the molad actually matters month to month. For example, many believe (mistakenly) that we announce the molad precisely because it is forbidden to recite birkat hal’vana either 72 or 168 hours have elapsed from that time. Some of the classical decisors may have tolerated this new practice, but they would certainly believe that if, for example, no one had a calendar to reference during the service, the announcing of the molad could be skipped.

* * * * *

Recently, I discovered the life and work of the prolific and tragic Rabbi Moshe Levi, a prize student of Rabbi Meir Mazuz. Lo and behold, in his treatise on the blessings, Birkat Hashem, he lists the prominent authorities, down to the Magen Avraham, who ruled that according to the straight letter of the law, birkat hal’vana should be said on Rosh Hodesh, and he himself rules that way.

This highlights an argument that is applicable elsewhere. It is well-known that the ideal time for the morning prayer is right at sunrise, which is when the morning sacrificial service is supposed to start in the Temple, and this was the practice of the wathiqin of Jerusalem. However, in Orah Hayim 281, the Rema mentions that the practice on Sabbath morning is to arrive at the synagogue later than on weekdays. It cannot mean that people show up later than they would on weekdays just to make sure that the amida prayer still starts at sunrise, because that would entail somehow abridging the recitation of all of the liturgy that precedes the amida, but that is not possible, because the practice is also to recite more psalms before the reading of the sh’ma and to recite a longer version of the blessings that accompany the sh’ma. The Rema is plainly stating that on the Sabbath, the morning service is delayed, and he even cites the explanation that it is based on what sounds like a d’rasha, that the verse that describes the Sabbath offering says that it is offered by day and not by morning. It must be said that the teaching in question is not a true d’rasha. It is not brought by Hazal, it is not followed by the halacha, as even on the Sabbath the morning lamb was offered at sunrise, and even in context, it is referring to the additional lambs brought after the morning lamb. Now, can one reasonably claim that because “the Minhag” is to pray later Sabbath morning, it is therefore wrong for some of us to pray at sunrise? After all, the Rema is fairly clear that that is the minhag. Of course it cannot be, but I dread the day someone will say that. This point was made implicitly by the Mishna B’rura, who pointed out that the assumption of Rashi was that in Talmudic times, the Sabbath morning service was also at sunrise. By giving this veiled reference, he is respectfully disagreeing with the practice endorsed by the Rema. Just because there is a practice to delay the performance of the commandment, it does not mean that the letter of the law may not be followed.

Similarly, there is a practice to delay the evening service the night of Pentecost. Now, it must be said the very idea postdates the Shulhan Aruch and the Rema, but the letter of the law is and always was that any Sabbath or festival can be accepted before the holy day officially starts, and that is considered a very meritorious deed. Can one reasonably claim that because “the Minhag” is to pray later Pentecost evening, it is therefore wrong for some of us to pray before nightfall? After all, the Mishna B’rura is fairly clear that that is “the Minhag.” Of course it cannot be, but I dread the day someone will say that. Just because there is a practice to delay the performance of the commandment, it does not mean that the letter of the law may not be followed. A few years ago I wrote about my surprise that Rav Aviner ruled that it is forbidden for Ashkenazim to begin the prayers before nightfall on Pentecost, thus ruling that that which the Rema did and the rest of the Ashkenazim did for centuries was against halacha.

Lastly, we come to the issue of birkat hal’vana, which, according to the letter of the law, should be on Rosh Hodesh. Can one reasonably claim that because “the Minhag” is to recite it some days later, it is therefore wrong for some us to say it earlier? After all, the printed calendar is fairly clear that that is “the minhag.” Of course it cannot be, but as punishment for my “sins,” I heard many times from those who should have known better that it may not be said earlier, despite the fact that it only takes a few hours of research to find that the letter of the law’s practice is actually endorsed by the sages, and Rashi, and Maimonides, and the Shulhan Aruch, and the Vilna Gaon, and the Mishna B’rura. Just because there is a practice to delay the performance of the commandment, it does not mean that the letter of the law may not be followed. On the contrary, the punctilious seek to perform commandments as soon as possible.

*****

I welcome any further insights on this matter. I hope and pray that reinstitution of the Sanhedrin and the adjustable calendar will lead to many more Jews seeking to find the appearance of the new moon as soon as possible, which in turn will lead to them understanding why the sages ordained a blessing on the phenomenon in the first place.

I would like to thank Rabbi Mordechai Rabinovitch and Rabbi David Bar Hayim for instigating the research that led to this work, Rabbi Herschel Schachter for his feedback on the first draft and Rabbi Moshe Zuriel for his warm encouragement and approbation.