Book Review: Rav Aharon Lichtenstein’s Minchat Aviv

RAV AHARON LICHTENSTEIN’S Minchat Aviv: A REVIEW

Aviad Hacohen

Minchat Aviv: Studies in Talmudic Topics (Hebrew) HaRav Aharon Lichtenstein Editor: Rav Elyakim Krumbein Jerusalem: Maggid Books and Yeshivat Har Etzion, 2014 xvi + 659 pages; source and subject indexes Available here.

A person must exert considerable effort before producing words of Torah and wisdom. Toiling in Torah can be compared to toil in working the land: one must plow and sow, irrigate and fertilize, hoe and aerate, develop and cultivate, harvest and gather. Only after one completes all these tasks and receives God’s blessing does one merit to bring the fruits of one’s labors into one’s home and fulfill with them the mitzva of ingathering. Is it any wonder, then, that of all the Torah’s commandments, and of all the holidays on the Jewish calendar, it is Sukkot, the Festival of Ingathering, that merited the designation of chag – “holiday” par excellence – and the special mitzva of “And you shall rejoice in your holiday”?

Ingathering of the Sheaves

The publication of Minchat Aviv, a collection of “lomdish” and halakhic essays authored by HaRav Aharon Lichtenstein, Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Har Etzion and 2014 Israel Prize laureate for Torah literature, is cause for celebration for all lovers of Torah. For over half a century, HaRav Lichtenstein has been disseminating Torah both in Israel and abroad. Though some of his lectures have been adapted for print by students and are enjoyed by readers across the world, his written work has been relatively limited.

The eight volumes of lectures that have appeared to date under the title Shi’urei HaRav Aharon Lichtenstein testify to HaRav Lichtenstein’s breadth of knowledge and profundity in analysis. But, as is often the case when works of Torah scholarship are recorded not by the master himself, but rather by his disciples, sometimes the author’s particular “spark” is missing, both in substance and in formulation. While the lectures are unquestionably brilliant, and serve to showcase HaRav Lichtenstein’s unique style effectively, the personal electricity that one feels when learning HaRav Lichtenstein’s Torah directly from the source cannot be replicated. It is only natural that the lectures in the 8-volume series are largely limited to the Talmudic tractates that constitute the standard fare of yeshiva study, though here too HaRav Lichtenstein has left his mark. Thus, for example, one of the volumes deals with Taharot (ritual purity), while another deals with Dina De-garmi – an extraordinary phenomenon in itself in the yeshiva world.

Due to his very heavy teaching schedule, HaRav Lichtenstein has never been free to commit his teachings to writing in a systematic and consistent manner. Nevertheless, in free moments, and during the breaks between his classes, he has written on various topics. Over the years, these writings have increased in number and scope. The original articles appeared in a variety of journals, both in Israel and in the US. Only now, when HaRav Lichtenstein has reached his eighties, have these articles been gathered together and published in a single volume.

In their attempt to define the category of work known as immur, gathering, both with regard to the laws of Shabbat and with regard to the commandments relating to the Land of Israel, the halakhic authorities, both medieval and modern, took note of the nature of the labor of gathering. They understood that a sheaf is greater than the sum of its parts. A sheaf is not merely one ear of corn joined to another, but rather a new entity, of a different quality and with a different essence.

This is true in the field and equally true in the house – the house of study. Like the sheaf and like ingathering, so too the teachings of HaRav Lichtenstein. Collecting his articles in a single volume is not merely a technical act of gathering scattered items into one place, but rather a new creation. Studying the volume reveals a profound interplay of Torah and Jewish thought, of Halakha and Aggada, its various parts interconnected in different ways.

Alongside the standard issues found in the Talmudic orders of Mo’ed, Nashim and Nezikin, we find in-depth studies concerning the laws of Zera’im and the commandments relating to the Land of Israel, essays regarding matters discussed in the orders of Kodashim and Taharot and even several practical halakhic analyses. This is a book for experienced travelers in the world of Torah, but anyone who is ready to commit to reading it with the necessary concentration will profit from doing so, both with respect to the reader’s learning skills and through the expansion of the reader’s knowledge.

Cancellation of debts in the shemita Year

An examination of the various issues dealt with in this volume shows one common characteristic: the attempt to clarify the fundamental principles from which and through which the particulars arise. For this purpose, HaRav Lichtenstein makes use of all the expanses of Halakha, from top to bottom. For example, in discussing the mitzva to cancel debts in the shemita (Sabbatical) year, HaRav Lichtenstein starts with the explicit verse in the Torah, formulated in both positive and negative terms, the meaning of which is rather obscure: “Every lender who lends anything to his neighbor shall release it; he shall not exact of it of his neighbor, or of his brother” (Devarim 15:2). What is the meaning of this mitzva and how is it fulfilled? HaRav Lichtenstein cites a disagreement among the medieval authorities. According to the Yere’im, it is not the date in itself that nullifies the debt, but rather the lender’s declaration: “I release it.” Once the shemita year ends, the lender acquires an obligation to cancel the debt. In contrast, the Or Zaru’a maintains that the passage of time, i.e., the end of the shemita year, is what cancels the debt. This also follows from the words of the Rambam: “When the sun sets on the night of Rosh Ha-shana of the eighth year, the debt is nullified” (Hilkhot Shemita Ve-yovel 9:4). Of course, the practical difference between the two positions expresses itself in a case where the lender, contrary to Torah law, fails to declare: “I release the debt.” The Ittur combines both positions and asserts that the cancellation of debts in the shemita year is governed by two parallel laws: a personal obligation upon the lender and a “Royal cancellation” by heavenly decree.

HaRav Lichtenstein does not stop here after setting each of the various opinions in its place. In light of the Rambam’s opinion, he raises a difficult question: If indeed the cancellation of debts in the shemita year is a “Royal cancellation,” what exactly is the mitzva imposed on the lender?

In typical fashion, HaRav Lichtenstein examines the Tosafot, who try to explain the matter based on the law of a firstborn animal. There is a mitzva to sanctify the animal, even though it is automatically sanctified from birth. HaRav Lichtenstein concludes that the two cases are not similar. In the case of a firstborn, the mitzva to sanctify the animal does not merely dictate a “declaration,” a confirmation of the existing situation, but rather it “necessitates a novel act of sanctification that bestows additional sanctity upon the firstborn.” As for the cancellation of debts, however, if the debt is already cancelled, the lender’s release adds nothing at all. Thus, the question remains: What is the nature of the positive commandment obligating the lender to cancel his debts in the shemita year?

Even according to the opinion that the cancellation of debts is a “Royal cancellation,” this release does not nullify the debt; it merely “freezes” it. This explains the need for the active cancellation of the debt on the part of the lender, which adds force to the borrower’s exemption from repaying his debt, and utterly severs the connection between the lender and the borrower, not just temporarily, but absolutely and forever.

Using his characteristic method of tying together seemingly unconnected areas of Halakha, HaRav Lichtenstein links the laws of a firstborn to the laws of usury, and the laws of repaying a debt to the laws of a gift, and through them and with them he builds his edifice, a tower of scholarship, perfect precision and spectacular analysis. His subtle analysis, which penetrates the very foundations of the law, uproots the common assumption. According to HaRav Lichtenstein, in contrast to the common understanding, the “Royal cancellation” does not absolutely cancel the debt, but merely weakens its force. Thus, we understand why a borrower can repay a loan after the shemita year has passed, and why the Sages are pleased when he does so: The debt was never wiped out, but merely frozen. Based on this understanding, it is clear why the cancellation must be completed by way of an active step on the part of the lender.

Intimacy in prayer

While the book is principally a volume of advanced halakhic analysis, between the lines it allows us a glimpse of HaRav Lichtenstein’s spiritual world. For example, in the chapter discussing the issue of sounding one’s voice in prayer, here and there HaRav Lichtenstein uses characteristic formulations that reflect the “man of prayer” in him: “There is an internal balance between two factors that shape the character and content of prayer, greater concentration on the one hand and a soft voice on the other.”

Although HaRav Lichtenstein generally avoids kabbalistic matters, he cites the Zohar, which states: “If a prayer is overheard by another person, it will not be accepted above,” and emphasizes, on the basis of this passage, “the intimacy and privacy of prayer, in the absence of which prayer is impaired and not accepted above.” While the analysis is strictly halakhic, the spirit of HaRav Lichtenstein’s thought, rife with emotion, penetrates the dry and meticulous preoccupation with Halakha, instilling it with flavor and endowing it with sweet fragrance.

Another example, one of many, appears in the book’s concluding essay, which concerns itself with a “routine question,” as it were, sent to HaRav Lichtenstein by his students serving in the army. The students wanted to know whether an army tent requires a mezuza.

In his usual manner, HaRav Lichtenstein does not content himself with the bottom line, with a halakhic ruling issued, as it were, by way of divine inspiration. He opens with a comprehensive clarification of the plain meaning of the verse that speaks of “the doorposts of your house,” and attempts to define the term “house,” both regarding the prohibition of leavened bread on Pesach and regarding the prohibition, “You shall not bring an abomination into your house” (Devarim 7:26). From here he moves on to the distinction between “house” on the proprietary level and “house” on the geographic and functional level – a “residence,” the place where a person establishes his principal dwelling in actual practice. HaRav Lichtenstein considers the essential distinction between the different halakhic realms: Regarding leavened bread, the “house” is not part of the fulfillment of the mitzva, but merely a circumstantial detail, the place in which the prohibition of leavened bread happens to apply. Regarding a mezuza, on the other hand, the “house” is the cheftza, the object of the mitzva, and that which obligates the mezuza’s very installation.

A practical difference, one that is mentioned already in the Talmud, and afterwards in the words of the later authorities, relates to a renter’s obligation in mezuza. If we are dealing with an obligation of the inhabitant of the house, the question of ownership is irrelevant. But even if the obligation depends on ownership, there is room to consider whether or not renting creates proprietary rights in the property, if only temporarily (see Bava Metzi’a 56b). Characteristically, HaRav Lichtenstein also discusses the different levels of obligation. Even if a
renter is not obligated to affix a mezuza to his doorpost by Torah law, it may be that he is bound to do so by Rabbinic decree.

Restoring Former glory

Here, as usual, HaRav Lichtenstein asks: What precisely was the Rabbis’ innovation? Did they expand the mitzva in such a way that even when there is no “possession,” but only “residence,” there is still an obligation to install a mezuza? Or perhaps they expanded the law of renting and established that even “temporary possession” is considered possession with respect to the Rabbinic obligation of mezuzah? From the words of Tosafot in another passage (Avoda Zara 21a), he determines that it suffices that the house “appear to be his” for one to be obligated in the mitzva of mezuza. That is to say, according to the Tosafot, we are dealing with an expansion of the idea of possession, and that even a residence that only appears to belong to the person in question suffices to obligate him in the mitzva of mezuza on
a Rabbinic level.

Still not satisfied, HaRav Lichtenstein moves on to an analysis of the concept of “residence,” examining the question whether or not a forced dwelling, e.g., a jail, or, in stark contrast, the chamber in which the High Priest resides during the week before Yom Kippur, is considered a “residence” for the purpose of obligation in the mitzva of mezuza. From here, HaRav Lichtenstein shifts gears, taking time to clarify the term “temporary residence,” e.g., living on a boat during an extended journey or in a hotel. In addition to all these considerations, it may be that the obligation to affix a mezuza to the tent does not apply to the soldiers themselves, as they are “temporary guests” in the tent, and certainly not to its owners, but rather to the community or to the army, which owns the tent/house.

In a world where people are especially meticulous about the mitzva of “making many books” (Kohelet 12:12), out of the abundance of books that inundates us, HaRav Lichtenstein’s volume stands out, as its words of Torah are built on the most solid of foundations. Amidst the cacophony of “SMS responsa,” lacking sources and reasoning and presenting their conclusions as a sort of divine fiat, Rav Lichtenstein’s essay sing out with a unique melody, one that is clear and profound, systematic and logical. HaRav Lichtenstein’s work restores the crown
of Torah study to its former glory. Between the lines, it reveals something of the author’s personality, in its moral and emotional dimensions – a personality in which Torah and wisdom, Halakha and Aggada, join together and become one.

(Translated by David Strauss)

Prof. Aviad Hacohen is Dean of Shaarei Mishpat College and author of The Tears of the Oppressed – An Examination of the Agunah Problem: Background and Halakhic Sources (New York, 2004) and Parashiot u-Mishpatim: Mishpat Ivri be-Parashat ha-Shavua (Tel Aviv, 2011).

Book Review: The House of Twenty Thousand Books by Sasha Abramsky

‘The House of Twenty Thousand Books’/
Sasha Abramsky / Halban Publishers (London UK) / 321pp/ GBP 14.95 – easily
available from Amazon.uk

By Paul Shaviv

For many Seforim blog readers, the name ‘Abramsky’
will instantly be associated with the personality of Rav Yechezkel Abramsky
(1886-1976), the author of Hazon
Yechezkel on the Tosefta. Born in
Russia, imprisoned by the Soviets, released in the 1930’s after diplomatic
intervention by the U.S. and Britain, he was for years the head of the London
Beth Din before his retirement to Israel.

But other readers will also know his son, Chimen (1916-2010),
whose life followed a very different path, and was, simultaneously, one of the
leading bibliophiles of the Jewish world – and of the Socialist-Marxist
world. One of his grandsons, Sasha
Abramsky, has written a memoir of his grandfather centred on 5, Hillway – Chimen’s
house close to London’s Hampstead Heath (and to Highgate Cemetery, burial place
of Karl Marx). Chimen was a bibliophile
and scholar, but also an obsessive collector of books, of which 5, Hillway
contained an estimated twenty thousand.
This book describes the house room by room, and the significance of the
books in each one, piled high and crammed into every nook and cranny.

Chimen left the Soviet Union with his father. Soon after arrival in London, he made his
way to Mandatory (or, Mandatary[1])
Palestine, where he took courses in Jewish history at the Hebrew University.[2]
He was already a committed Communist.
Returning to London at the outbreak of war, he became a hugely
influential member of the Communist party in London. To his grandson’s
bewilderment, he was a convinced Stalinist, attributing such anti-Jewish
excesses as he was prepared to recognise to Soviet anti-religious, rather than
anti-Semitic, sentiment.

At the same time, on marriage to Miriam Nirenstein,
he entered the family business – ‘Shapiro, Vallentine’, a small Jewish bookshop
and publishing company in the East End of London. Over successive years he turned it into a center of rare book
dealing, while simultaneously serving the London Jewish community with
siddurim, machzorim, barmitzvah presents and other ritual paraphernalia[3].

Chimen, together with other Jewish communists, left
the party after 1956 – although, inexplicably, he was one of the last to
leave. He turned his energy into an
academic career; first as Sotheby’s consultant on Judaica[4],
then as a fellow of St Antony’s College Oxford (on the strength of his
co-authored book on ‘Karl Marx and the British Labour Movement’, and on the
personal recommendation of Isaiah Berlin) and shortly thereafter, at the age of
51, as Reader in Jewish Studies at University College, London. He was appointed Professor at UCL in 1974. In
the 1970’s he was one of the first visiting Fellows at the Oxford Institute of
Postgraduate Hebrew Studies[5],
where he was my teacher of early medieval Jewish history. Chimen was a world-class polymath, with a
totally encyclopedic knowledge of manuscripts, books, footnotes, scholars and
libraries.

His grandson has recorded the history and topography
of his household, which functioned as research library, international salon for
streams of visitors, and a family home.
Every room had its subject area – Judaica, European socialism, Marxiana,
art history, philosophy and social studies.
Chimen and Miriam had two children – Jenny, later famous as the most
senior female executive at the BBC, and Jack (Sasha’s father)[6]. Chimen’s relationship to his Judaism was
complex; despite his veneration of his father, he does not appear to have given
his own children much of a Jewish education, even though they grew up in a
house full of some of the rarest Judaica in private hands. Sasha describes the
historians[7],
politicians, thinkers and scholars who came to sit at the table of this
diminutive, engaging personality with his thick Russian accent, which he never
lost. His later years were affected by
deteriorating health, and he finally passed away at the age of 93 in 2010.

‘The House of Twenty Thousand Books” is an unusual,
affectionate, and admiring memoir[8]. Booklovers will love it, as will anyone who
knew the enigmatic subject at the centre of the story. The book is not perfect;
far more attention – perhaps a little repetitively – is paid to Chimen’s
socialism (and its abandonment) than to his Jewish involvement and
scholarship. The author is clearly not
on such familiar ground in this latter area, and makes a few mistakes. But it is a labour of love, and a good one
at that.

Finally, let me leave a bibliographic tantalizer for
the readers of the Seforim blog. In
1974, Chimen told me with pride that Gershom Scholem had visited him, and that
he had shown Scholem a ‘Hassidic siddur’ from his, Chimen’s collection, “which
was earlier than any previously known Hassidic book. Scholem was very excited
by this. He demanded that I must publish it!”
Did he ever do so? Where is the
book now? I have no idea.

[1] The correct spelling – See Edward
Ullendorff ‘The two Zions’.

[2] He never took a degree, which was
awarded to him decades later as a prerequisite of his being appointed Professor
of Jewish Studies at University College, London.

[3] As a teenager beginning to buy Jewish
books in the 1960’s, this is where I first met Chimen, He was patient,
encouraging, and sold me a number of exquisite and fascinating books – material
otherwise unobtainable anywhere else in the UK. He closed the store when he took up his academic career.

[4] In later years his bibliographic
expertise was applied as adviser to Jack Lunzer in the assembling of the
Valmadonna Trust library.

[5] Now the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and
Jewish Studies.

[6] Jack Abramsky, in the photographs in the
book and in the video (see below), bears a very striking resemblance to Shlomo
Carlebach….

[7] Shmuel Ettinger, Chimen’s closest friend
from his Jerusalem days, passed away suddenly in 5, Hillway while visiting.

[8] See also here
for a short video about the book, including some video of Chimen.

Review of Outside the Bible: Ancient Jewish Writings Related to Scripture by Shaye J.D. Cohen

Review of Outside the Bible: Ancient Jewish Writings Related to Scripture

by Shaye J.D. Cohen

Shaye J. D. Cohen is the Littauer Professor of Hebrew Literature and Philosophy in the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations of Harvard University. This is his first contribution to the Seforim blog.

Outside the Bible: Ancient Jewish Writings Related to Scripture.

Outside the Bible: Ancient Jewish Writings Related to Scripture. Edited by Louis H. Feldman, James L. Kugel, and Lawrence H. Schiffman. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, and Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2013. xxviii+3361.

These three hefty volumes, comprising three thousand three hundred and sixty one pages, have been a long time coming. Planning began in 1994. We can only admire the editors’ persistence and the publisher’s patience. The volumes show us what the rabbis of antiquity did not want us to read. The Mishnah, the Talmud, and the Midrash jump back to the Bible directly, skipping over the intervening centuries. The rich and manifold literature of the late second temple period, whether in Greek, Hebrew or Aramaic, whether from the land of Israel or the diaspora, no matter the genre, and no matter the social setting – all these works were resolutely ignored by the rabbinic sages of Israel and
Babylonia. Aside from a few scattered citations of Ben Sira and a few references to the Greek version of the Torah (the Septuagint), the rabbinic literature of antiquity does not mention, refer to, or cite any the texts included in these volumes. The rabbis did not read these texts and, we may assume, did not want us to read them either.

Why not? Perhaps because some of these texts emanated from circles that were at odds with the progenitors of the rabbinic sages. Or perhaps because some of these texts were composed in Greek, and the rabbis’ pervasive disdain for Greek literature extended even to Greco-Jewish literature. Or perhaps because some of these texts say amazing, unexpected things. Two texts (Jubilees, the Temple Scroll) seem not to accept the canonicity of the Torah. Any number of texts tell stories about the mysterious giants of Genesis 6:1-4, a race brought into being through the miscegenation of (fallen) angels with mortal women (Book of Enoch, Genesis Apocryphon). Two texts tell stories about Moses’ military campaign in Ethiopia (Artapanus, Josephus), one text tells of the military campaign of Qenaz, father of Othniel (Book of Biblical Antiquities), others tell of the military campaign of the sons of Jacob against the sons of Esau
(Jubilees, Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs). Needless to say, Scripture knows nothing about any of these campaigns. One text attributes to Joseph the institution of Egyptian polytheism and theriolatry (Artapanus). Medieval rabbinic culture was more tolerant of such free invention than was ancient rabbinic culture.

The editors of these volumes are keenly aware of the relative neglect from which these texts have suffered across the millennia. The editors see their task as reclamation, to reclaim these texts for Jewish culture and, dare I say it, for Judaism. Most of these texts were preserved by Christians for Christians, and Christian scholars have studied these texts for much longer, and valued these texts much more highly, than have Jews. Witness the Jewish reception to Wilhelm Bousset’s classic The Religion of Judaism in the Late Hellenistic Period (published in German, first edition 1903). Bousset based his portrait of second temple Judaism on the Jewish texts of the period that had been preserved by Christians, in other words, on the texts presented in Outside the Bible. Bousset more or less ignored rabbinic texts. Jewish scholars were scandalized. Rabbinic texts were written after the second temple period, replied Bousset, and cannot claim to be anything other than the work of a lettered elite, whereas these texts are of “popular” origin. Jewish scholars retorted: these texts are not “Judaism,” because we Jews have abandoned them long since. Nowadays most modern Jews have a more capacious definition of Judaism than did Bousset’s opponents, and it is for them that these volumes are intended. Between the Bible and the Mishnah – the subtitle Ancient Jewish Writings means “pre-rabbinic Jewish writings” – is a rich and fascinating storehouse of Jewish literature.

The collection is called Outside the Bible, that is, outside the Hebrew Bible. The canon of the Hebrew Bible (or Tanak) is a relatively narrow one; all the books it contains were composed and preserved in Hebrew (or Aramaic, a cousin language to Hebrew), and none explicitly acknowledges that it was composed later than the Persian period (5th century BCE). Modern scholars believe that any number of biblical books were either composed after the Persian period (for example, Daniel), or contain sections composed after the Persian period (for example the Psalms), but the key point is that the Hebrew Bible itself does not acknowledge such a late date of composition. Certainly the rabbis of antiquity, and after them traditionalist Jews of our own time, had no doubt that all the biblical books were composed not later than the fifth century BCE. Greek-speaking Jews apparently had no such scruples. Their canon, which forms the basis of the Christian Old Testament, contains many works that do not hide the fact that they were composed after the Persian period (for example, the books of Maccabees) or in Greek (for example, the Greek translation of Ben Sira, or the second book of Maccabees). These books, which are to be found in the Christian Old Testament but which are absent from the Hebrew Bible, are called “deuterocanonical” by Catholics and “apocryphal” by Protestants. Outside the Bible includes them all for the simple reason that these books are outside the Hebrew Bible.

The collection of texts that most nearly approximates Outside the Bible is the two volume set edited by James Charlesworth, The Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (1985). The collections resemble each other but also differ from each other. The editors of Outside the Bible have wisely chosen not to perpetuate the title “Pseudepigrapha,” which is a perfectly fine description for literary works that bear a false attribution (from the Greek pseud+epigraph) but which is a misleading and useless catch-all heading for ancient Jewish literature. The Old
Testament Pseudepigrapha is arranged by genre, more or less (Testaments, Apocalypses, Rewritten Bible, etc.), while Outside the Bible is arranged by relationship with Scripture. First comes the Greek translation of the Bible, then commentaries on the Bible, then paraphrases and retellings of the Bible (notably the works of Philo and Josephus), then testaments, prayers and psalms, wisdom writings, and philosophical treatises of Philo. By this point the biblical connection has become rather tenuous. The volumes conclude with stories set in biblical times, stories set in post-biblical times, and sectarian texts (from Qumran). Outside the Bible thus includes works omitted by Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (notably excerpts from the Septuagint, Philo, and Josephus, and various texts from Qumran), and omits works included by Old Testament Pseudepigrapha (works that are Byzantine in date and Christian in origin, or that bear scant relationship with the Bible, e.g. the Sibylline Oracles). For the most part the terminus ad quem for Outside the Bible is the destruction of the temple in 70 CE, but a few late-comers are allowed to join the party: the Fourth Book of Ezra and the Syriac Apocalypse of Baruch, two works lamenting the destruction of the temple, and Greek synagogal prayers, which admittedly are not directly related to Scripture but which are full of biblical idioms and in any case are of great interest.

As a rule the editors of Outside the Bible did not commission new translations; they were content to incorporate and revise translations that had already appeared in Old Testament Pseudepigrapha or elsewhere. For these texts the novelty of Outside the Bible is the annotation that it provides, which is far more detailed and far more sustained than what can be found in Old Testament Pseudepigrapha. For some texts, though, the translations are new; among them are the sermons On Jonah and and On Samson, falsely attributed to Philo, now translated into English for the first time, two unique specimens of Hellenistic Jewish preaching; Philo’s Questions and Answers on Genesis and Exodus, newly translated from the Armenian (the Greek original being mostly lost); the Testaments of the Twelve Patriarchs; the Genesis
Apocryphon from Qumran; the Temple Scroll from Qumran. Aside from the new translations and the extensive introductions and annotations, there are no novelties in these volumes. No heretofore undiscovered texts. No long lost documents. No secret scrolls. (Contrast Old Testament Pseudepigrapha: More Noncanonical Scriptures, volume 1, edited by Richard Bauckham, James R. Davila and Alexander Panayotov [2013] which is full of newly-translated and long-neglected texts, mostly of Byzantine origin.)

The canonization of the Hebrew Bible was an enormous goad to Jewish creativity. Across genres, styles, and languages, the Jews of the second temple period reacted to, interacted with, interpreted and re-interpreted, the words of the Bible, especially the Torah, in an extraordinary variety of ways with an extraordinary variety of results. The words of the Bible, especially the Torah, seem to have consumed the Jews to such an extent that they produced little literature that did not somehow engage the Bible and its concerns. Outside the Bible is a good entry point for the study not just of ancient Bible interpretation but also of ancient Judaism as a whole.

Who will read Outside the Bible? From cover to cover, probably no one. As a work of reference, as an anthology of ancient Jewish Bible interpretation, no doubt scholars will consult it and be grateful for the breadth of its scope and the erudition of its annotations. But who else will read it, and, what is more important for the publisher, who will want to purchase it? I am not sure that there is an audience for this act of cultural reclamation. Traditionalist Jews, beholden to the rabbinic suspicion of all “external” literature, who purchase ArtScroll/Mesorah Publications by the carload, will probably not be interested in these books. Will secular Jews be interested? I hope so, but that seems unlikely. So who is left? Christians interested in Jewish bible interpretation and in the “Jewish background” to the New Testament, and liberal Jews whose intellectual horizons extend beyond the rabbinic corpora. Will these two groups be persuaded to part with two hundred dollars plus for these three weighty tomes? That remains to be seen.

Book review: Asaf Yedidya, Criticized Criticism – Orthodox Alternatives to Wissenschaft des Judentums 1873 – 1956

אסף ידידיה, ביקורת מבוקרת: אלטרנטיבות אורתודוקסיות ל’מדע היהדות’ 1956-1873, 415 עמודים, ירושלים תשע”ג

Asaf Yedidya, Criticized Criticism – Orthodox Alternatives to Wissenschaft des Judentums 1873 – 1956

By Ezra Brand

Criticized Criticism is a book which I think would greatly interest any reader of the Seforim Blog. It deals with the history of the Orthodox “alternatives” to secular Jewish Studies, as well as many important issues that religious Jewish Studies scholars face.[1] In this, it fills a definitely felt lack in Jewish historiography. It follows a trend of recent works devoted to the history of specific aspects of Jewish Studies.[2] The book is especially important since we do not yet have a complete history of Jewish Studies, but rather many works that focus only on slices of it. For example, there are a number of works on the history of research into the Cairo Genizah, as well as numerous books and articles on individual researchers and institutions.[3] This is part of a larger trend in academia – the study of the history of academic disciplines themselves. Given its scholarship and readability, Criticized Criticism is likely to take a deserved place with other important works on the history of Jewish Studies.

The book does not try to encompass the entire history of the phenomenon it studies. As stated on the cover, it covers an 83-year period, from 1873 until 1956. The significance of the year 1873 is that this is the year that the Rabbinical Seminary in Berlin was opened by R’ Ezriel Hildesheimer. With the establishment of the Seminary, an “alternative,” Orthodox, Jewish Studies had an institutional home. 1956 is the year that Bar-Ilan University was opened. As Yedidya explains, Bar-Ilan was intended by its founders to continue the tradition of providing an “alternative” form of Jewish Studies, but ended up producing scholarship with essentially the same assumptions as mainstream Jewish Studies, for various reasons. The Orthodox alternative tradition no longer had an institutional home.[4]

The book begins with a general overview of the early development of Jewish Studies, starting from the early nineteenth century in Berlin (including a description of what Jewish Studies then entailed, and how it was different from traditional Jewish scholarship), and its subsequent spread to Eastern Europe. In Chapter Two, a short history of early Orthodox reactions to Jewish Studies is given.[5] At the end of this chapter, the program of the book is stated: To analyze Orthodox reactions to secular Jewish Studies, which on the one hand accept the scientific method, and on the other hand accept Orthodox principles of faith as a given. Yedidya states (pg. 72): “The first real attempt in this direction was the establishment of the Rabbinical Seminary headed by R’ Ezriel Hildesheimer in Berlin, which devoted itself among other things to Jewish Studies.” [6] In Chapter Three, the book begins its discussion of the Seminary.

The book discusses many other major figures, such as R’ Yitchak Isaac Halevi and Ze’ev Ya’avetz. Yedidya carefully analyzes their methodology and their underlying ideology.

A major portion of the book is devoted to discussing Orthodox Jewish Studies in Eretz Yisrael in the early twentieth century. Many of the scholars in this group were greatly influenced by R’ Kook, and his influence is discussed extensively. R’ Kook supported studying texts scientifically, and expanding the range of texts studied. However, R’ Kook is portrayed by Yedidya as doing so only in order to counter heretical scholarship: “R’ Kook supported the Orthodox study of ‘Jewish Studies’, as an alternative to the non-Orthodox study” (pg. 273, my
italics). Again: “R’ Kook sought to widen the scope of limmud hatorah […] and to add additional Torah subjects, which would prepare Talmidei Chachamim for intellectual creativity which would allow them to confront with the litereature of Haskalah and secular nationalism” (pg. 282, my italics). However, it appears that in fact R’ Kook believed that scientific Jewish Studies is important for its own sake. R’ Ari Shvat, in a series of articles, shows that R’ Kook had great respect for Jewish Studies, and felt that it inherently had great religious worth.[7] R’ Kook writes: “Subjecting the intellect and causing it to slumber […] is the destruction of the world […] therefore, when the attempt to cause the intellect to sleep comes in the name of ‘faith’, in the name of ‘fear of Heaven’, in the name of ‘diligence in Torah study’ and ‘doing mitzvos’, it is a terrible falsehood […] the hatred of haskalah[8] because of a faith-based bias (הנטיה האמונית) comes from the poison of heresy, which divides the domains (המחלקת את הרשויות)”.[9]

At the end of the book, Yedidya summarizes the common denominator among all the scholars attempting to defend their beliefs and create an “Orthodox alternative.” In the beginning of the book, we are told that the book will discuss scholars who are between two opposite extremes: On one side, traditional Orthodox scholars who refuse to accept the legitimacy, or usefulness, of the scientific method, and on the other side, scholars who look at the discipline of Jewish Studies as they would any other subject. Yedidya explains very nicely how the scholars about whom he writes are different from both of these extremes. Three differences – numbered – are listed for differences from the former, and six for differences from the latter. I’d like to make two observations.

In the enumeration of differences from traditional Orthodox scholars, the second difference listed is the following (pg. 372): “Secondly, from a thematic perspective, they dealt with a wide range of disciplines – Tanach, literature of Chazal, Jewish history, and Jewish philosophy, and did not focus only on specific debates with ‘problematic’ works or with introspective inner-gazing at the roots of the specific movement they are part of.” This may be meant to be implied by Yedidya, but it is important enough that it should have been mentioned explicitly: The scholars discussed by Yedidya wrote almost exclusively on Jewish history, the history of Torah Sheba’al Peh; and Tanach. (These are the titles in Critized Criticism of chapters four, five, and six, respectively. Of course, these scholars also researched traditional Jewish literature, such as R’ Chaim Heller’s edition of Sefer HaMitzvos.) Which of these scholars researched Kabbalah as did Graetz, Shadal, Jellenick, Franck, and later Scholem? Which of these scholars wrote on Jewish philosophy and science in the Middle Ages, as did Steinschneider? Which of them researched piyyutim (Zunz, Shadal, Brody), Karaism (Poznanski), or magic (Blau and Trachtenberg)? It would appear that, in fact, these scholars did not write on any subject that touched on Jews, except in one of three cases: one, if they felt they had to defend something; two, if it was important for educational purposes; three, if it was part of Talmud Torah.

The attempt at creating religious “alternatives” to secular Jewish Studies mostly ended in the 1950s, as pointed out by Yedidya. However, this is not true for the study of Tanach. Defense of the traditional understanding of Revelation, against academic Bible Studies, was relaunched with full force by R’ Mordechai Breuer in 1960. Breuer’s idea of “Bechinot” caused great controversy, but he continued to publish and teach his ideas. The yeshiva that he became associated with, Yeshivat Har Etzion in Alon Shvut, or “The Gush” as it is colloquially known, is now synonymous with an entire method of Biblical hermeneutics, known as the “The Gush method.” R’ Amnon Bazak’s pioneering book, Ad Hayom Hazeh (Tel Aviv 2013), systematically lays out for the first time possible flexibility in the traditional understanding of the Bible. “Orthodox alternatives” are alive and well.[10]

That Criticized Criticism can prompt such lively discussion is a tribute to its author and his presentation of his subject. The book is an enjoyable and informative read, and I heartily recommend it.

[1] “Jewish Studies” meaning the critical, historical research into Jewish sources, using all tools and methods available, whether
history, philology, realia, or comparison to non-Jewish sources. Recently, a number of religious Jewish Studies scholars have discussed the differences between traditional methods of study and the scientific method. See, for example, the important article by Menachem Kahana (מנחם כהנא, “מחקר התלמוד באוניברסיטה והלימוד המסורתי בישיבה”, בחבלי מסורת ותמורה, רחובות
תש”ן, עמ’ 113-142), and the articles mentioned in the introduction to Sperber’s Neitvot Pesikah (דניאל שפרבר, נתיבות פסיקה, ירושלים תשס”ח). See also further, footnote 10.

[2] One of the first to study at length the history of research in Jewish Studies is the great Jewish historian Salo Baron. His essays on this topic are collected in History and Jewish Historians, Philadelphia 1964.

[3] Some of the researchers have full-length academic monographs devoted to them, usually including both a biography as well as an analysis of their works and methods. Examples are the following (authors of the biographies in parenthesis; more information can easily be found in online catalogs): Nachman Krochmal (Jay Harris), Shlomo Yehuda Rapoport (Isaac Barzilay), Heinrich Graetz (ראובן מיכאל), Gershom
Scholem (David Biale). Others have only non-academic, popular biographies: Isaac Halevy (O. Asher Reichel), Louis Ginzberg (Eli Ginzberg), Saul Lieberman (Schochet and Spiro). Articles on individual scholars can be found in all the Jewish enyclopedias (Jewish Encyclopedia, both editions of Encyclopedia Judaica, and in the Hebrew Encyclopedia Ha’Ivrit), as well as in the following works: Getzel Kressel, Lexicon Hasifrut Ha’ivrit Bedorot Ha’achronim, Tidhar, Encyclopedia Lechalutzei Hayishuv Ovonav, S. Federbush, Chochmat Yisrael B’Ma’arav
Eiropa, 1–3, Jerusalem 5719-5725; Encyclopedia shel HaTziyonut Hadatit, 1-5, Jerusalem 5718-5743. These last two works are the ones usually used in the work under review for biographies of people mentioned in the book; numerous other works can be found in the bibliography. Another important resource is of course Jubilee volumes, memorial volumes, and tribute articles.

[4] This is no longer completely true. The Gush Yeshiva can currently be considered an institution that offers a consistent alternative methodology, at least in regards to Tanach. See later.

[5] For some reason, Maharatz Chajes is not mentioned at all in this section.

[6] My translation of the book’s Hebrew.

[7] ארי שבט, ” ‘חכמת ישראל בקדושתה’ חזונו של הרב קוק ללימוד ביקורתי-מדעי אמתי”, טללי אורות יג (תשס”ז), עמ’ 309-340; “מבחנים מעשיים המבטאים את אהדת הרב קוק ללימוד תורה ביקורתי-מדעי”, טללי אורות יד (תשס”ח), עמ’ 243-271; “קשריו של הרב קוק עם פרופ’ הרב שאול ליברמן כדגם ליחסו למחקר תורני ביקורתי”, צהר לה (תשסט) 59-66.

[8] This can be translated either as “Haskalah” (as in the movement) or as “education.” R’ Kook may have been intentionally ambiguous.

[9] Orot Haemunah, ed. 5745, pg. 98. Quoted by Shvat, “Chochmat Yisrael”, near footnote 88.

[10] There is also a nascent interest in yeshivos in the academic study of Talmud and Rambam. The academic study of Talmud was experimented with by R’ Shagar, and continued in the yeshiva of Otniel, especially by R’ Yakov Nagen (Genack) and R’ Meir Lichtenstein. However, as far as I know it has not produced any “school” of methodology. R’ Shagar ultimately rejected the academic method. See the collection of his essays, B’toraso Yehege (הרב שמעון גרשון רוזנברג – שג”ר, בתורתו יהגה : לימוד גמרא כבקשת אלוקים, בעריכת זוהר מאור, אלון שבות תשס”ט). R’ Nagen discusses the religious advantages and disadvantages of the academic method in his fine article, “Scholarship Needs Spirituality, Spirituality Needs Scholarship: Challenges for Emerging Talmudic Methodologies”, Torah u-Madda Journal 16 (2012-2013), pg. 101-133 . The academic study of Rambam was pioneered by R’ Rabinowitz and R’ Sheilat in Ma’aleh Adumim. R’ Rabinowitz’s commentary on Rambam is in the same tradition as the works described by Yedidya, but is not properly an alternative, as it is not guided by a reaction to the secular, scientific study of Rambam. (The main “secular” academic expositors of Rambam’s Mishneh Torah are David Henshke and Yaakov Blidstein. Henshke used to teach in Ma’aleh Adumim.) An extension of Yedidya’s research past 1956 is desideratum. In addition, it would be interesting to analyze the relationship of the traditional Orthodox (i.e., those who not consider themselves to be participating in scientific study of texts), and especially Chareidim, to academic scholarship. In the past few decades, we have seen a phenomenon of traditional scholars being aware of academic scholarship, and even using it, but not acknowledging it. (For those interested in examples, please contact me.) For a similar phenomenon in regards to popular Chareidi literature, see the fascinating study by Yoel Finkelman, Strictly Kosher Reading: Popular Literature and the Condition of Contemporary Orthodoxy, Boston 2011.

The Vilna Gaon, part 2 (Review of Eliyahu Stern, The Genius)

The Vilna Gaon, part 2 (Review of Eliyahu Stern, The Genius)

by Marc B. Shapiro

Continued from here.

Another reference by the Gaon to the Guide – in this case it is only attributed to him – is found in his comment to Bava Kamma 92b (commenting on (בירא דשתית מיניה לא תשדי בי קלא, which has been published in a number of different sources, most conveniently in the commentary Anaf Yosef to Ein Yaakov, Bava Kamma 92b. The Gaon quoted the Guide as saying that if you find one good thing in a book you shouldn’t deride it for any other nonsense in it.[1]

This must refer to Maimonides’ comment in the Introduction to the Guide where he writes: “All into whose hands it [the Guide] fall should consider it well, and if it slakes his thirst, though it be only one point from among the many that are obscure, he should thank God and be content with what he has understood.”

When it comes to the Guide and the Vilna Gaon, there is also a reference in the Gaon’s commentary to Esther 1:18. Here are the pages from the Mossad ha-Rav Kook edition.

As R. Meir Mazuz pointed out,[2] the Gaon is referring to Guide 1:54. However, as you can see, the editor didn’t know this and thus didn’t provide the source.[3]

Here is another example where a learned editor did not know a source in the Guide. In R. Abraham Sofer’s edition of Meiri, Hibbur ha-Teshuvah, p. 170, the Meiri quotes Maimonides, and as you can see in note 4, Sofer comments, “I don’t know where.” Maimonides words are not in any of his halakhic writings, which is why Sofer didn’t know about them, but they do appear in Guide 3:8.

Returning to the Gaon and Maimonides, when it comes to sex the Gaon’s view parallels that of Maimonides in the Guide, although I don’t know if we can speak of influence. Maimonides famously spoke of the sense of touch as being a “disgrace to us.”[4] The Gaon actually had the same opinion in that he regarded sex as something to be loathed and a necessary evil. Only with regard to the spiritual elites did he see something intrinsically positive in it.[5]

שדברי העולם הזה בעצם מאוסים, כמו האכילה, שנוטל מאכל ועושה פרש ורעי וכן המשגל, אבל התכלית, מה שבא מזה הוא טוב, כמו תכלית האכילה שיהא חזק ללמוד תורה, ותכלית המשגל להיות בנים צדיקים וטובים, וזהו תכלית ופעולה. וז”ש בהצדיקים לא מיבעי שהתכלית מזה אצלם טוב, אלא אפילו הפעולה עצמה הוא לחיים, שהן מכוונין בזה ואכילתן כקרבן ממש. וכן בכל דבר.

Yet even when dealing with the righteous, one can only imagine how the Gaon would have reacted if he had seen the following text, from R. Solomon of Karlin, Shema Shelomo (Jerusalem, 1956), p. 96 (sippurim no. 59), in which we see how an unnamed hasidic figure said that he needed sex every day, a statement that shocked his bride to be.[6]

Here is another example where the Gaon’s has the same view as Maimonides in the Guide. Tamid 1:1 states: “The priests kept watch [throughout the night] at three places in the Temple.” Why? In the Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Beit-ha-Behirah 8:1, Maimonides says that this is just a matter of showing respect to the Temple, since there is no fear that anything will be stolen. In his commentary to Tamid 1:1 (found in the Vilna ed.), the Gaon explains that the guards were there to prevent unauthorized entry. In Guide 3:45 Maimonides also offers this explanation (in addition to mentioning that the watch was for glory and honor).

Regarding Meiri’s Hibbur ha-Teshuvah, mentioned above, in Saul Lieberman and the Orthodox I mentioned the notes at the end of this volume by Louis Ginzberg, notes that have not yet been removed from newer printings. I neglected to mention this dedication to Ginzberg at the beginning of the volume.

As for Ginzberg’s notes at the end of Hibbur ha-Teshuvah, A reader sent me the following, which shows how Yeshivat Ner Israel’s beit midrash copy of the book is “decorated”.

Regarding Sofer’s edition of Hibbur ha-Teshuvah, there is one other important point I must mention. The volume first appeared in 1950 and was subsequently reprinted by Sofer, with no changes to the text of the Meiri or the pagination. This reprint is what appears in the multivolume Beit ha-Behirah that everyone purchases. However, this is unfortunate, because the 1950 edition is far superior. Here is the title page of the first edition, which was published by Yeshiva University.

This edition contains a lengthy and valuable introduction by R. Samuel Mirsky, which deals with various aspects of the Meiri. Furthermore, Mirsky included thirty pages of important notes, many of them textual, that are vital for anyone who studies the Hibbur ha-Teshuvah. (Mirsky also calls attention to the passage in Guide 3:8, which as I noted above, Sofer did not know about.[7]) Quite apart from the 1950 edition, in Talpiot 4 (5710), pp. 417ff., Mirsky published a number of chapters from Hibbur ha-Teshuvah and his notes often call attention to things not mentioned by Sofer. It would therefore be helpful if a new edition of Hibbur ha-Teshuvah was published and included the notes of both Sofer and Mirsky. This new edition should also include the many pages of notes by Yehudah Preis-Horeb and R. Dov Berish Zuckerman that appeared in Talpiot 5 (5712), pp. 880ff., which are also quite valuable.

I can’t explain why Sofer did not include at least Mirsky’s notes when he republished the book. Fortunately, the first edition is available on hebrewbooks.org.

Finally, here is an example where the Gaon’s position is not merely similar to that of Maimonides in the Guide, but is clearly influenced by the latter.[8] In Yahel Or the Gaon states:[9]

כי כל השמות אינן רק משותפין ומושאלין מפעולותיו . . . רק שם הוי”ה . . . והוא שם העצם שאינו מושאל מפעולה רק (מורה) על הויותו תמיד והיותו מעצמו

Here is what Maimonides writes in Guide 1:61 (Ibn Tibbon translation). It is obvious that the Gaon was influenced in this matter by Maimonides’ words.

כל שמותיו יתעלה הנמצאים בספרים כולם נגזרים מן הפעולות, וזה מה שאין העלם בו, אלא שם אחד, והוא יו”ד ה”א וא”ו ה”א, שהוא שם המיוחד לו יתעלה, ולזה נקרא שם המפורש, ענינו, שהוא יורה על עצמו יתעלה הוראה מבוארת אין השתתפות בה . . . להיותו מורה על עצמו יתעלה, מאשר לא ישתתף אחד מן הברואים בהוראה ההיא

P. 109. Stern mentions the report that after the Gaon’s death on Sukkot, when the hasidim continued to celebrate, three hasidim were killed by mitnagdim. It is hard to know whether there is any truth to this story, or to the report of hasidim killing a mitnaged.[10] Unfortunately, in our day we have seen haredi Judaism in Israel descend to a level unimaginable even ten years ago.[11] Harsh rhetoric, which on occasion has led to real violence, is now routine, and the rabbis who use the harsh, and often hateful, speech are never called to account for their actions.[12] It is only a matter of time before we see a religiously motivated murder, and we have already had close calls, including a stabbing at Ponovezh.

Seeing what has occurred in recent months, we can understand why some people might conclude that R. Akiva was right on target when he told his son, “Do not dwell in a town whose leaders are talmidei hakhamim” (Pesahim 112a). In a previous post I already quoted Yeshayahu Leibowitz’s comment that we know the Sages had a sense of humor since they stated תלמידי חכמים מרבים שלום בעולם. Along these lines, many decades ago an unnamed rabbi explained why the blessing reads

הפורש סוכת שלום עלינו ועל כל עמו ישראל ועל ירושלים

The problem with this formulation is that there is no need for Jerusalem to be singled out after mentioning the entire people of Israel. The explanation given is that since Jerusalem has more disputes than anywhere else (and today we could add Bnei Brak) it therefore needs a special mention when asking God to spread over us his shelter of peace.[13]

R. Kook actually claims that the Jewish people are more apt to be involved in internal disputes than any other people. In Kevatzim mi-Ketav Yad Kodsho (Jerusalem, 2006), p. 43, he writes:

ישראל הם עלולים יותר לפירוד ומחלוקת מכל אומה, מפני שריבוי הצביונים שמתחלקים בעמים רבים, כלולים בישראל ביחוד.

I am writing these words not long after a man attacked R. Aharon Leib Steinman, which could easily have caused R. Steinman’s death. So as not to put all the blame on one side, does anyone have any doubt that if Degel ha-Torah was running the show that R. Shmuel Auerbach would right now be under house arrest or sitting in jail? I say this only because I assume that the rhetoric directed against him is hyperbole, because if is not hyperbole, then we should assume that if Degel ha-Torah was in charge he would have been executed by now. Can the rabbis who use this sort of rhetoric really claim that they are innocent when an individual decides to take their words literally and kill someone, even a great Torah scholar? Didn’t these rabbis learn the lesson of the Rabin assassination, that if you call someone a rodef (and thus hayav mitah), someone might very well take you up on this? As for throwing people out of kollels because they didn’t vote for Degel ha-Torah, any kollel that does so should be ineligible for Israeli government money.

Most disappointing in this matter is R. Chaim Kanievsky who seems to think that Torah Judaism has the equivalent of a papacy, and he can thus declare that all are obligated to follow R. Steinman, meaning that there is only one Torah path.[14] This approach first surfaced when R. Elyashiv was ill and R. Kanievsky declared that the torch of leadership had passed to R. Steinman whose word was now law. See here. Have we ever had such a thing in the Lithuanian Torah world where a sage’s unquestioned leadership is formally proclaimed in this manner, as if he were a hasidic rebbe taking over for his deceased father? In the non-hasidic world the people have always chosen their spiritual leaders, as the Sages tell us: עשה לך רב. Never have they been imposed on us from above.

In the booklet Kuntres Tikun Haderah, which is an attack on R. Yehoshua Ehrenberg, the Rosh Yeshiva of the Haderah yeshiva, one of R. Ehrenberg’s great sins is that he declared that “the” gadol ha-dor is not something that can be proclaimed in papal fashion. Here are two of his statements that strike me as entirely reasonable, but which for the followers of R. Kanievsky are enough to turn him into an enemy of Torah Judaism.

ר’ חיים החליט שהרב שטיינמן הוא הגדול. גדול זה לא דבר שאפשר להחליט עליו

לדעתי המושג ,הנהגה, הוא מי שהציבור בפועל שומע בקולו. כמה אחוזים צריך? ר’ חיים חושב שמספיק מה שיש לרב שטיינמן. אולי לא

And here is another statement from R. Ehrenberg, which for his opponents is the height of chutzpah simply because he doesn’t believe that there is currently one authority whose decisions bind everyone.

עוד התבטא בחוצפה עזה: “מאז שהרב אלישיב נפטר אין מנהיג אחד בעם ישראל. אין כזה מושג הנהגה. היום זה התבטל אין אחד שחייבים לשמוע לו

No one is saying that R. Kanievsky shouldn’t express his opinion that his approach is the proper one. But that is very different than what he and his followers have been doing. Declaring that supporters of R. Auerbach are behemot, invalid as witnesses, and should not be given aliyot is just the beginning. אחרי אלף גלגולי מחילות, some believe that R. Kanievsky’s language has unintentionally even verged on incitement to murder. He has followers who will do anything he says, and he has declared that R. Auerbach is a zaken mamre and deserving of sekilah (the death penalty of stoning) for not accepting the leadership of R. Steinman.[15] (Say what you will about R. Auerbach’s politics, he is certainly enough of a Torah scholar to have his own opinion on matters.) R. Kanievsky has also, playing on the word עץ which is how the Bnai Torah party is often referred to, said that its followers should be “hung on a tree”. I assume that this comment was said in a non-serious manner, but as a leader he needs to be aware that there are people who might not see it this way, and take it into their hands to fulfill his words. Was it this sort of language that led followers of Beit Shammai to kill followers of Beit Hillel, a fact attested to by the Jerusalem Talmud?[16] When vitriolic language was used in New Square, we saw how someone decided to take matters into his own hands, and his solution was to burn down a house which would have killed all the inhabitants. Unfortunately, it would no longer be a surprise if one of R. Kanievsky’s followers decided to use violence as part of this milhemet mitzvah.

Considering the shocking things R. Kanievsky has recently said, is it possible that he doesn’t really know the situation, and the people who are meeting with him and getting him to speak about certain matters are really manipulating him? R. Kanievsky has been meeting with people and providing advice for decades and until the last couple of months he never spoke like this. Is there any other explanation for his sudden change of tone? Here is the recording of R. Kanievsky referring to R. Auerbach as deserving sekilah and also referring to him as a zaken mamre and his followers as behemot. I ask the readers, does it sound like R. Kanievsky really understands what is going on? Do we have any idea what sort of information against R. Auerbach various askanim have provided him with?[17]

Let me take you back to an earlier era when we heard the type of rhetoric you can now hear. This is from the front page of the newspaper Davar, Nov. 29, 1972, and came after R. Shlomo Goren was subjected to death threats.

Should we be surprised if what R. Goren was subjected to is soon repeated with R. Auerbach? And even if it doesn’t reach this extreme, we have already seen how much damage can be caused by what the Lithuanian haredim call “השקפה”, to which one can reply:[18]

אין “השקפה” אלא לרעה (ראה רש”י בראשית יח, טז)

Now is as good a time as ever to note that the falsehoods of Yated Ne’eman begin right with the title of this newspaper. The title is derived from Isaiah 22:23 which reads

ותקעתיו יתד במקום נאמן

This means, “And I will fasten him as a peg in a sure place.”

Yet if you look two verses later (Is 22:25) you find the following words

תמוש היתד התקועה במקום נאמן

We see from this is that the word יתד is feminine.[19] Furthermore, throughout rabbinic literature יתד is feminine and it is also feminine in modern Hebrew, meaning that the title of the newspaper should be Yated Ne’emanah.[20] I say this even though there is one biblical verse, Ez. 15:3, where the word is masculine, since I don’t think the newspaper was intending to adopt the usage of one verse in contradiction to the general “Masorah” (as we know how important Masorah is to them).

יתד is a feminine word along the same model – kametz followed by tzeireh – as the following words that are also feminine[21]: חצר, גדר, ירך, כתף

While I think that the newspaper’s title is probably just a simple error, I know some of you conspiracy theorists are thinking about how the people who run Yated don’t like to give the females among us their due, and won’t even publish their pictures, so maybe they see it as disgraceful to have something feminine in the title . . .[22]

Pp. 160-161: Stern records a few of the famous, and from a contemporary perspective, shocking stories about how the Gaon related to his children. “His children divulge that Elijah never once wrote a letter to any of them. Nor when he saw them, once every year or two, did he ever ask about their work or their well-being.” Stern refers to these stories as “painful memories.” I don’t think this is accurate. If they were painful memories, his children would not have recorded them. It might be painful for us to read the stories, but we have to be careful not to project our sense of how parents and grandparents should behave onto a different culture.[23[

Aryeh Morgenstern refers to R. Hayyim of Volozhin’s comment in the introduction to Sifra di-Tzeniuta that the Gaon never asked about how his children were doing and never wrote them letters or read letters from them. According to Morgenstern, this should be seen as a veiled criticism of the Gaon by R. Hayyim, since if he wanted to show people how great the Gaon’s ascetic attachment to Torah was, he didn’t need to bring an example illustrating how the Gaon related to his family.[24] I completely disagree. To suggest that R. Hayyim intended to criticize the Gaon regarding this matter, especially in the introduction to one of the Gaon’s books, is in my mind impossible. While moderns such as Morgenstern might find the description of the Gaon problematic, it was not viewed as such by R. Hayyim, nor by those of our contemporaries who continue to cite this description (and similar ones about other great Torah scholars.)[25]

In an earlier post, available here I noted that David Singer and Moshe Sokol advance the radical view that the Rav’s descriptions of his family members is actually designed to show his opposition to their hyper-intellectualism and pan-halakhism. They write

[T]here is something strange about Soloveitchik’s tales of the Litvaks. The behavior he describes is so radical, so extreme, as to make his presumed heroes seem grotesque. Who, for example, wishing to portray Litvak intellectualism in a positive light, would boast that his father and grandfather set aside all human sentiment and refused ever to enter a cemetery, because a stark encounter with death would have distracted them from the contemplation of the law. Or again, who would tell with pride the following macabre story about his maternal grandfather [referring to the story of R. Elya and his dying daughter]. . . . Stories like this, while ostensibly presented in order to glorify the Litvak, cannot help but evoke strong disapproval in the reader. And this disapproval, it seems safe to assume, is shared in part by Soloveitchik himself, specifically by that part of him which rebels against the Litvak tradition’s spurning of the emotions. The vein of anger that runs through the anecdotal material in “Halakhic Man” is not to be missed.[26]

Again, I find it impossible to accept that the Rav was actually criticizing his father and grandfathers. I say this not because of any pieties, but simply because the Rav’s connection to these people was not merely one of admiration but idolization. It is obvious that Singer and Sokol have a different vantage point than the Rav and traditional Lithuanian Jewish society in general. But why do they assume that what they see as “grotesque” must be shared by the Rav? All one needs to do is peruse haredi hagiographies to find lots of descriptions of what, when it comes to intellect triumphing over emotion, one can call rabbinic counterparts to Mr. Spock.

Returning to Stern, he also quotes Aliyot Eliyahu’s comment that “to love the path of God and His Torah . . . he [Elijah] had to fight against his human instincts, pause, and let go of his own love for his own children.” Stern notes Solomon Schechter’s comment that Aliyot Eliyahu was “incapable of marking the line between monster and hero,” which again reflects a modern sentiment.

Incidentally, I am sure Schechter’s comment was influenced by what appears in Aliyot Eliyahu, note 51, which is not mentioned by Stern (perhaps because it refers to a segulah?):

סיפר לי גיסי המופלג מ’ זלמן ז”ל נכד הגאון ז”ל, שאמו בת בגר”א היו בני’ מתים כשהם קטנים ר”ל, וכשהיתה מעוברת ממנו [גיסי הנ”ל]., נסעה מביתה [מק’ דיסנא], אל אביה הגר”א שיבקש רחמים שיהיה הולד של קיימא. ובבואה לפניו אמר לה במילים קצרים סגולה לקיום בנים . . . ויותר מזה לא רצה לבטל לדבר עמה.

R. Ephraim Kirschenbaum takes note of this passage and some similar ones and raises the question – which itself I find surprising in a haredi publication – is this proper Torah behavior?[27]

הנה מתיאורים הללו, מגדולים אנשי שם, מצטייר לנו הגר”א כאלו איש אשר מרוב השתקעותו בתורה דוכא כליל כל רגש כלפי ילדיו. האם האדם השלם אמור כך להיות?

The answer his gives, not surprisingly, is that there is a different standard for saintly figures than for the masses.

האמת היא שהגדולים הנ”ל בהלכות ביטול תורה וחומרתו קעסקי, ואין מדבריהם סתירה לפן נוסף.

Stern (p. 161) aptly quotes the Gaon’s suggestion[28]

that one should follow the Babylonian Talmud’s injunction (tractate Eruvin 22a) to “blacken” oneself toward one’s children as a “raven” does to her fledglings. The “raven” the Gaon explains, is “an allegory for the scholar who becomes cruel to his children [so that] he can spend all of his time studying the Torah.”

I would just add to this the quote from the Gaon in R. Samuel Maltzan’s Even Shlomo, ch. 3:4 (emphasis added):

שני מיני גבורה נמצא בעובדי ה’, ונקראים גבורים ואנשי חיל. גבור הוא הכובש את יצרו בעת שבאה העברה לידו, ואנשי חיל הם אבירי הלב בשלמות הבטחון להגות בתורה יום ולילה ושלא להשגיח על בניו ובני ביתו הצועקים ללחם, וכמו שאמרו (עירובין כב ע”א) שחורות כעורב שמשים עצמו אכזרי על בניו כעורב. ומה עושה לו הקב”ה? מזמין לו אדם להחזיקו כיששכר וזבולון.

R. Yitzhak Zilberstein quotes the story found in the introduction to the Gaon’s commentary to Shulhan Arukh according to which the Gaon was so involved in his learning that he forgot about his ill son. Rather than conclude that this is something only for spiritual elites, he seems to regard this as something everyone should strive for. He writes:[29]

וזהו דרגת חשקת התורה, שהוא למעלה מדרגת אהבת התורה, שהחושק בתורה שוכח כל אהבותיו, אפילו ממה שטבע הקב”ה בבריאה, כדוגמת אהבת אב לבן, ויתכן שזה הכונה בגמרא בעירובין (דף כב ע”א) שהתורה מתקיימת במי שמשים עצמו אכזרי על בניו ועל בני ביתו כעורב. דהיינו שחושק בתורה, עד שמשכח כל אהבה אחרת

The removal of what moderns regard as a basic emotional connection to one’s children[30] is also seen the anonymous hagiography of R. Elyashiv, Ha-Shakdan.[31]

I, for one, was quite surprised that this was included in the hagiography, as it runs so much against how people today think about such matters. I also have to say that I find some of what appears in the book very difficult to believe. R. Elyashiv probably knew the entire Talmud by heart, so how are we supposed to believe that he didn’t even know the names of his children?[32]

When Ha-Shakdan appeared I went out on a limb stating that I was sure that this sort of material would never appear in English because of the shocked reaction it would create even among haredi readers in the U.S. It is always dangerous to make predictions about the future, which is why we historians usually stick to the past, but in this case it turns out that I was correct.

In February 2013 Artscroll published an English translation (“adapted and expanded”) of Ha-Shakdan.[33] Without discussing the book or the translation in any detail, let me just call your attention to some of the material that, not surprisingly, was deleted. Here is p. 69 of Ha-Shakdan and p. 123 of the translation.

Notice how in the translation most of the paragraph beginning with the words מעבר לזה have been deleted. I think the reason is obvious, as mentioned already. But is Israeli haredi society really so different when it comes to this sort of thing than American haredi society? That is, won’t Israeli readers be saddened to see sentences such as לא היו לו דיבורים עם הבנות and כשהם באים אצלו בביקורים או בתורנות, אין להם שיחה משותפת בכלל

Here is Ha-Shakdan, pp 62-63, and the translation pp. 105-106.

Notice how the first two paragraphs on p. 62 are not translated and also the first full paragraph on p. 63. Also, in the translation on p. 106, the second paragraph (“Rav Elyashiv’s lack of involvement . . .”) does not appear in the original. The translator obviously thought that this clarification was important for the English-speaking audience.

Here are two other passages from Ha-Shakdan, pp. 96 n. 69 and 251-252, that also don’t appear in the English translation.

Regarding the story on p. 98 n. 69, this should be contrasted with how it is told that R. Avraham Shapiro took up smoking as a way of dealing with the emotional strain of some of the cases he was confronted with as a dayan.

In general, when it comes to the stories reported in Ha-Shakdan, I have to say that I don’t accept the basic message the author is trying to get across. His point is that the stories he tells of R. Elyashiv regarding his indifference to people and events are a result of his complete absorption in Torah study. Yet it should be clear to anyone who reads the book, and knows something about R. Elyashiv, that all we have in these stories are an aspect of R. Elyashiv’s personality that really has nothing to do with absorption in Torah study. There have been plenty of great Torah scholars who were people-persons and conversationalists.

It is obvious that someone who by nature is extremely introverted, as R. Elyashiv was, will be more inclined to find his place among the books than an extrovert. But to describe R. Elyashiv’s personality as a complete outgrowth of Torah study is a distortion and shows a basic ignorance of human psychology. We didn’t need R. Nathan Kamenetsky’s Making of a Godol to realize that great Torah scholars encompass all sorts of personalities and one sort is not any more “authentic” than another. All we can say is that people, including gedolim, are different.[34] While haredim who are knowledgeable about the history of Torah figures love to talk about their different personalities, it is also the case that it is harder in that world to publish something that seriously analyzes a Torah sage’s personality. Yet without such an attempt, you will never get a real biography, only hagiographies.

Here are some quotations from Ha-Shakdan, vol. 2, pp. 246, 248, and plenty more could be added:

הגרי”ש לא מתייחס לכל אחד, וכאשר הוא כן מתייחס למשהו, הוא בוחן בעין משלו כל נושא. הכרעותיו בנושאים רגישים ביותר – ענייניות וחסרות רגש. גם עם צאצאיו, ואפילו הקרובים שביניהם, נוהג הוא באותה ידה של איפוק ואדישות.

כאשר ביום השלישי למלחמה פשטה השמועה שהצבא כבש את העיר העתיקה, והכותל המערבי בידי היהודים, הדבר עורר התרגשות גדולה מאוד. בשלב זה כבר לא עצר בעצמו בעל המעשה, וניגש לרגע לפינתו של רבינו לספר לו כי הצבא כבש כבר את כל מזרח העיר מידי הירדנים! הגרי”ש פסק מהלימוד והקשיב לו עד שכילה לדבר, ולא הגיב כלל. המספר המשיך בהתלהבות: והכותל המערבי גם כן משוחרר! רבינו שמע אותו עד הסוף באדיבות ותשומת לב כדרכו, ובלא שום זיק של התרגשות שב להתנועע ולהחזיר את עיניו בחזרה לגמרא הגדולה להמשיך מהמילה שפסק בה.

There are lot of further examples I can cite from other great rabbis. Here is how the Hafetz Hayyim is described by his son:

Father had no personal friendships with anyone all the days of his life, even though he loved every Jew and especially men learned in the Torah, whom he loved as his very self. Many times did I hear him tell how the daughter of the Vilna Gaon, who lived in another town, once paid a visit to her father. The Gaon inquired after her health and that of her husband and children and then immediately returned to his studies. The daughter began to weep at her father’s apparent indifference, but he declared, “I do not have the time” [in Yiddish, nitoh kein zeit]. So it is not surprising that father, of blessed memory, had no material friendships with anyone . . . . I once heard him explain the verse “And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all they heart” (Deuteronomy 6:5) to mean that the heart should be so filled with the love of God as to leave no room in it for any other loves.[35]

R. Joseph David Epstein, who cites this passage, hastens to add that this sort of behavior is only intended for the spiritual elites.[36] הדברים האמורים לעיל, על הסתייגות מאהבה משפחה, ועל העלמת עין מצרכי בית, הרי אך לבעלי מדרגה וקדושי עלינו המה

What is one to make of the following story, found in Meir Einei Yisrael (Bnei Brak, 2004), vol. 1, p. 274?:

שמועה התהלכה בינינו שרבי משה לנדינסקי למד שמונה שנים עם חבר בוולוז’ין ולא ידע מה שמו של הבחור. הסיפור הקטן הזה מדגיש את אישיותו העצומה, שהיה בכל הוויתו רק מתמיד, ומעבר ללימוד לא נחשב אצלו שום דבר.

Quite apart from the fact that I don’t believe such a story is possible, I wonder why this is quoted as praise. Is this supposed to be a characteristic of a Torah personality, that you can learn with someone for eight years and never even take the trouble to learn the person’s name? I can’t imagine that the Hafetz Hayyim – R. Londinsky was the rosh yeshiva in Radin – or any of the mussar teachers would think that this is appropriate bein adam le-havero behavior.

Here is another story, found in R. Moshe Sternbuch, Ta’am ve-Da’at, vol. 1, pp. 244-245.

I don’t believe such a story is even remotely possible. R. Akiva Eger was a real person, with real feelings, and he loved his daughter. The idea that he could be at her house for an entire Shabbat, after not having seen her for years, and be so engrossed in learning that he didn’t even notice that a different woman had taken her place is simply not believable. Yet it is significant that the story is told as an example of praise, and R. Sternbuch concludes by pointing to it as an example of how gedolim so involved in Torah study forget everything else in the world. If you would repeat such a story before a Modern Orthodox crowd they would be horrified. What would the haredi masses think of such a story? Would they be inspired by the commitment to learning above all else, or would they share the Modern Orthodox negative reaction?

R. Yonason Rosman called my attention to the following passage in R. Yitzhak Zilberstein’s Tuvkha Yabiu, vol. 1, p. 38, which describes how a yeshiva student was so involved in his learning that he named a newborn daughter with the same name as one of his other daughters, forgetting he already had a child with that name!

אחד האברכים המצויינים בבני ברק, העמל ויגע בתורה, קרא לבתו שנולדה לו בשם פלוני ורק לאחר מכן נזכר שאחת מבנותיו נקראת כבר בשם זה… המדובר במשפחה ברוכה ילדים עד כדי כך שהאב הספיק לשכוח שכבר נעשה שימוש בשם זה. והוא פלא!

Whether the story ever happened is not important. What is important is that it is being told on the assumption that people will be impressed with the yeshiva student’s total absorption in his studies

To be continued

* * * *

1. In recent years, books have appeared on every possible halakhic topic. This genre keeps expanding and here is the title page of a new book, Asurei ha-Melekh by R. Mordechai Agasi of Boro Park.[37]

I thought nothing could surprise me anymore, but this book certainly did. It is a large two volume set, and the first half of volume one deals with the halakhot relevant to one who is serving time in prison (or as I told a friend, “the halakhot of being in jail”). The rest of the book contains words of inspiration, stories, prayers, etc. all of importance for the prisoner. As the author explains in his introduction, the book is needed because of the increase of haredim in the prisons.

התרבתה, לדאבונינו, האוכלוסייה החרדית בבית הסוהר, וגדלה פי כמה.

It really is incredible when one thinks about this, since not too long ago it would have been simply unimaginable that such a sefer would have been needed.

2. Many people are interested in the Rogochover, R. Joseph Rozin. There is no question that he had a fascinating personality and there are many interesting stories about him. Yet very few people actually study his works because they are so difficult. Until now, nothing of significance has appeared in English on his halakhic thought. Therefore, I am happy to recommend R. Dovber Schwartz’s new book, The Rogochover Gaon, for those seeking to learn about this significant figure.

[1] R. Abba Mari of Lunel, Minhat Kenaot, ed. Dimitrovsky (Jerusalem, 199), p. 317 (ch. 23) wrote:

ואני לא על המחזיק בספרי היונים אני כועס ולא אחשבנו ככופר לא כמחליף חק ולא כעוזב ברית ומפר ואם נמצא בהם דבר טוב אפי’ בדף אחד, מציל על כל הספר

See also R. Jacob Lorberbaum, Ma’aseh Nissim (Jerusalem, 2011), Introduction:

וכבר אמרו וידוע כי בדברי תורה אף אם ימצא דבר אחד טוב מציל על כל הספר כולו

In his Torat Gittin (Jerusalem, 2003), Introduction, he writes:

ואמר החכם כי דבר אחד טוב יציל על כל הספר כולו

See also R. Yissachar Tamar, Alei Tamar (Jerusalem, 1979), Zeraim, vol. 1, Introduction, p. 14.

[2] Or Torah, Iyar 5772, p. 741.

[3] R. Mazuz has more to say about the Mossad ha-Rav Kook edition of this commentary, which I will perhaps return to in a future post..

[4] See The Limits of Orthodox Theology, pp. 15-16.

[5] The quote that follows come from the Oxford ms. of the Gaon’s commentary to Prov. 10:16. See the Mossad ha-Rav Kook edition, p. 110, n. 56.

[6] The story originally appeared in R. Zvi Ezekiel Michaelson’s Pinot ha-Bayit, p. 78.

[7] R. Ovadiah Yosef, Yehaveh Da’at, vol. 5, no. 35, also provides the source that eluded Sofer.

[8] Credit for this example goes to R. Eliyahu Tziyon Sofer, Tziyon Eliyahu (Jerusalem, 2008), p. 273.

[9] (Vilna, 1982 ), vol. 2, p. 19a.

[10] See Mordechai Wilensky, Hasidim u-Mitnagdim (Jerusalem, 1970), vol. 2, p. 178. This report, contained in the early anti-hasidic text Shever Posh’im, includes names and places and was written not long after the event described. Nevertheless, I would not accept the story as historically accurate without confirmation from other sources, which as far as I know has not been found. See also S.’s post here which discusses another alleged murder by Hasidim. In Sippurei Niflaot mi-Gedolei Yisrael (Tel Aviv, 1969), p. 279, it reports that R. Menahem Mendel of Kotzk thought that R. Shmelke of Nikolsburg made a mistake when he forced his “enlightened” opponents to leave the city. What he should have done, according to the Kotzker, is have them killed.

[11] One positive recent development is that at least some people in Bnei Brak have woken up to the sexual abuse problem. See here where parents are advised not to send children outside by themselves. In the letter it refers to incidents related to “kedushat and taharat Yisrael”. What exactly does this mean? The English translation speaks of kedushat Yisrael being “compromised” by certain “terrible incidents”. Does this mean that the kedushat Yisrael of the victims has been compromised? If so, this is an unbelievably offensive statement, since how can the kedushat Yisrael of a victim, who did no wrong, be compromised based on the evil actions of someone else?

[12] R. Zvi Yehudah Kook wrote (Sihot ha-Rav Zvi Yehudah: Bereshit [Jerusalem, 1993], p. 242):

ר’ שלמה זלמן זצ”ל זקני היה אומר על סוג מסוים של קנאים: “הם חיות קדושות, חיות טורפות שקשה לסבול, אבל בסגנון של קדושה.” אמנם קדושים הם, אבל בגלל שנאתם לישראל, מתעכבת אהבת ד’ אליהם, כדברי הגר”א. ביחס לאף לא אחד מגדולי ישראל, לא מצאנו שבח שהיה שונא ישראל. נכון שלפעמים יש צורך במלחמה מעשית, אבל לא בשנאה, שהיא קטנות.

When R. Zvi Yehudah refers to the Gaon he has in mind the Gaon’s comment to Tikunei Zohar, 57b s.v. דבגינייהו where he writes:

דהש”י שונא מקטרג על בניו אף הקדושים

Elsewhere, R. Zvi Yehudah elaborates (Or li-Netivati [Jerusalem, 1989], p. 307:

חטא גדול הוא לקטרג על ישראל ובהרבה ספרים הוא מוזכר. הגר”א אומר :”ד’ יתברך שונא את המקטרגים על בניו – אף הקדושים,” הגר”א משתמש במילה נוראה זו “שונא” – אפילו על קדושים וצדיקים, אם הם מקטרגים על ישראל ח”ו.

See also R. Shlomo Aviner’s commentary to R. Kook, Orot ha-Tehiyah (Beit El, 2009), vol. 2, p. 175.

[13]> Moshe Aharon Perlman, ed., Mi-Pi Dodi (Jerusalem, 1935), p. 22.

[14] In opposition to this, see the continuation of the passage quoted above from Kevatzim mi-Ketav Yad Kodsho, p. 43:

שינויי דעות בכמה ענינים רוחניים וחומריים אינו מעכב, ואדרבא מועיל, מכל הטפוסים יצא הדבר הטוב הכללי. אלא שהכל צריכים להתאחד בנוגע לכללות קיומה של תורה

[15] See here where Chaim Shaulson asks why R. Auerbach as a zaken mamre is hayav sekilah. According to Sanhedrin 11:1 a zaken mamre is to be strangled (henek).

[16] JShabbat 1:4. See Tosafot, Gittin 36b s.v. אלא.

[17] In general, R. Kanievsky, whose unique greatness in Torah knowledge must be acknowledged by everyone, has made a number of astounding statements over the years. (A few years ago the internet was abuzz with his statement that Jews have a different number of teeth than non-Jews, and more recently we all heard about what he said regarding people who have iPhones.) These sorts of statements can charitably be explained by the fact that since his entire world is Torah he relies on intermediaries for knowledge about the wider world. But this raises the question of why he should be the address for questions relating to political matters.

To give an example of the problem I am referring to, here are two pages from R. Shmuel Baruch Genut, Iggeret ha-Melekh (Elad, 2013), pp. 3-4..

R. Kanievsky declares that there is no medical danger from smoking and the doctors don’t know what they are talking about. Despite his unquestioned Torah brilliance, such as answer shows a complete disregard of reality and encourages unhealthy living. I ask those readers from the haredi world, doesn’t this show that perhaps R. Kanievsky is not the best person to ask when it comes to matters outside of “pure” Torah? I don’t ask this to be disrespectful. I would really like to hear from people who follow R. Kanievsky how they see the matter.

Finally, let me say a word about askanim, since I referred to them. While in the case of the incomprehensible attacks on R. Auerbach I raise the possibility that the askanim have poisoned R. Kanievsky’s view of R. Auerbach, I am not one of those who blaime everything on the “evil askanim” The first time I ever really heard the askanim blamed in a major way was when Making of a Godol was banned. In the first few days after the ban appeared, I remember seeing various people on the internet saying that it couldn’t be true, that it was just the askanim, etc. In the last decade there have been numerous other statements and bans that upset many people, especially in the American haredi world, and we have heard over and over again that gadol x couldn’t have said that which was attributed to him, and that it was a creation of the askanim. Yet in almost every case we have seen that American haredi apologists were wrong and the gadol indeed said that which was attributed to him.

[18] This comment was originally made by R. Yehudah Naki in his note to R. Ovadiah Yosef, Ma’yan Omer, vol. 12, p. 145.

[19] See also Deut. 23:14: ויתד תהיה לך על אזנך.

[20] This was pointed out to me years ago by R. Nathan Kamenetsky.

[21] See Yitzhak Avinery, Heikhal Rashi (Tel Aviv, 1960), vol. 4, p. 436.

[22] When I pointed out the grammatical problem of Yated Ne’eman’s title to R. Meir Mazuz, he responded:

אבל הם כותבים ביום ששי מדור “יתד חָדָה”. ולפי דעתם שהוא לשון זכר צ”ל יתד חָד (כמו קם, שב, רץ, מנחי ע”ו) אא”כ סוברים שהוא אנדרוגינוס, פעם זכר ופעם נקבה

A few years ago it was reported that R. Mazuz was going to burn pages from Yated Ne’eman as part of the Purim festivities. See here.

[23] Stern writes:

In one startling vignette, they recount that as their father was preparing to leave on a journey of self-reflection, his favorite child, Shlomo Zalman, fell gravely ill. Elijah refused to change his plans. Only after a month away “not thinking about his family or his children” did the Gaon find himself on the toilet one day wondering about the boy’s well-being (for one is not supposed to think thoughts of Torah then.) He immediately returned home.

This story comes from the Gaon’s sons’ introduction to his commentary on Shulhan Arukh, and Stern has accurately reported what appears there with one exception. According to the text, the Gaon was in the בית הרחיצה when he recalled his son. While today people use the term “washroom” synonymously with “lavatory”, in this text the meaning is “bathhouse” not “toilet”.

The story recorded with the Gaon might also have a connection to Maimonides’ Guide, as Maimonides writes, Guide 3:51, that the time to focus on worldy things is “while you eat or drink or bathe” (emphasis added). This connection was noted by R. Meir Mazuz, Darkhei ha-Iyun (Bnei Brak, 2012), p. 194.

[24] Mistikah u-Meshihiyut me-Aliyat ha-Ramhal ad ha-Gaon mi-Vilna (Jerusalem, 1999), pp. 258-259.

[25] See ibid., where Morgenstern shows that a statement about the Gaon by his grandson was omitted from the introduction to a book. Although this statement refers to how the Gaon expressed no interest in his grandson or his family, I do not believe it was omitted because of a fear that others would regard this as criticism of the Gaon, but rather due to a general concern of how the Gaon would appear in readers’ eyes.

[26] David Singer and Moshe Sokol, “Joseph Soloveitchik: Lonely Man of Faith,” Modern Judaism 2:3 (October 1982), p. 259.

[27] “Peninim be-Mishnat ha-Gra,” Yeshurun 18 (2006), p. 890.

[28] The Gaon’s comment is in Peirush al Kamah Aggadot (Vilna, 1800), pp. 3b-4a (Stern mistakenly gives the reference as pp. 5-6.)

[29] Hashukei Hemed: Sanhedrin, Introduction, pp. 6-7.

[30] R. Yaakov Moshe Harlap describes R. Kook as having such concern for the kelal that his own relationship with his family was not in any way special to him, and he mentions an episode with R. Zvi Yehudah that illustrated this. See his letter in Me-Avnei ha-Makom 11 (2000), pp. 51-53 (part of the letter is found here):

ואף גם בצער קרובי משפחתו לא היה מרגיש בהם יותר ממה שהרגיש באחרים, שכן בכל מבטו ובחוג ידיעתו לא היה נמצא מושג של פרטים כי אם כללים, ומאי נפקא מיניה בינם לבין אחרים

R. Harlap’s description of R. Kook stands at odds with so much else we know about the special relationship between R. Kook and R. Zvi Yehudah.
[31] 3 vols. (Jerusalem, 2010-2013). All references in this post are to volume 1 unless otherwise noted.

[32] See Yeshurun 28 (5773), pp. 349ff., for three letters from the 1950s from R. Elyashiv to R. Chaim Kanievsky. In the greeting at the beginning of these letters he is careful to mention not only his daughter but also his granddaughter.

[33] The English title is Rav Elyashiv: A Life of Diligence and Halachic Leadership. This translation is also noteworthy, in that as far as I know, it is the only time that Artscroll has allowed material explicitly degrading Torah scholars to appear in its books. One does not find this in the works of Jonathan Rosenblum, Aharon Sorasky, or any of the other writers published by Artscroll. While the following sentence is typical of haredi works published in Israel, it is quite shocking that Artscroll included it, while at the same time deleting other parts of the book. P. 176 n. 5: “Rav Yoel Kluft, av beis din of Haifa, once remarked to his students, ‘If I would be offered a job today as a plumber, I would leave dayanus.’ This sharp statement expressed the bitter feelings of Torah-true dayanim toward the establishment that employed them.” So I guess the many dayanim who didn’t (and don’t) feel this way about being part of the Israeli government-funded batei din are not to be regarded as Torah-true.

[34] Yechezkel Moskowitz was kind enough to send me the booklet “עניני השקפה: Notes of a תלמיד” which appeared in 2004 and records various teachings from R. Henoch Leibowitz. The following is relevant to the matter we are discussing (nos. 5 and 24 from the booklet).

No שיחת חולין? We can’t live like that, so לשם שמים we need to keep our שמחת החיים. Some גדולים of the previous דור were able to be serious, but that may have been because of their personality. חפץ חיים did make some jokes occasionally. [RH (Rosh ha-Yeshiva) told us R. Chaim Ozer joked a lot but R. Elchonon rarely ever.]

As a young man, R’ דוד [R. Dovid Leibowitz] was by the חפץ חיים when a man came in and began complaining to the ח”ח about a certain גדול that he felt had hurt him in a certain way. R’ דוד was sure the ח”ח would reprimand the man for speaking such about a גדול! But the ח”ח just said “Nu, that’s the גדולים of our דור!” R’ דוד learned 2 things. 1) It’s שייך for גדולים to do something wrong. 2) He’s still a גדול! The ח”ח said “that’s the גדולים of our times” meaning he’s still a גדול but he has more faults. In our youth, we think a גדול is by definition perfect — and if he’s not then he’s not a גדול. It’s not so.

See also R. Yitzhak Dadon, ed., Rosh Devarkha (Jerusalem, 2010), p. 548, where R. Avraham Shapiro is quoted about a certain Torah scholar (not R. Elyashiv, so I have been informed by the source of the story). Yet the message is also applicable with regard to Ha-Shakdan and R. Elyashiv, i.e., there isn’t just one path, and devotion to Torah study doesn’t create one identical personality.

בשיחה שהיתה לכמה תלמידים עם רבינו זצ”ל, הוזכר רב פלוני מרבני דורנו, ואחד הנוכחים הוסיף ואמר באזני הנוכחים: הוא צדיק גדול! רבינו ששמע זאת, פנה אל זה ששיבח ושאל בסקרנות: איך אתה יודע? אותו תלמיד השיב: הוא תמיד בכובד ראש, עם פנים רציניות, אף פעם לא ראיתי אותו צוחק . . . מיד דיבר [הגר”א שפירא] בשבח אותו תלמיד חכם מצדדים אחרים שהכיר בו, והוסיף באזני התלמידים ואמר: שלא תחשבו ש”צדיק” זה דוקא מי שלא יודע לחייך, לזה יש לפעמים סיבות אחרות שאינו יודע לחייך, ואפשר להיות צדיק אמיתי עם מצב רוח טוב.

[35] Mikhtevei ha-Rav Hafetz Hayyim (New York, n.d.), Dugma mi-Darkhei Avi, no. 68 (p. 37), translation in Louis Jacobs, Holy Living: Saints and Saintliness in Judaism (Northvale, 1990), p. 51.

[36] Mitzvot ha-Bayit (New York, 1972), vol. 1, p. 138.

[37] I wonder about the title of the book, which is derived from Gen. 39:20. אסורי is the ketiv, but אסירי is the keri, so why isn’t the title Asirei ha-Melekh?

Book Review: Simon Schama, The Story of the Jews: Finding the Words, 1000 BCE – 1492 CE

Review of Simon Schama, The Story of the Jews: Finding the Words, 1000 BCE – 1492 CE by Marc Saperstein

Simon Schama’s The Story of the Jews, covering the period 1000 BCE to 1492 (actually 1497) CE, was for one week (October 5) at the top of the Guardian Bookshop Bestsellers list: a rare achievement for a serious book of Jewish history covering the pre-modern period. It was published in the middle of five one-hour prime-time Sunday evening BBC television presentations, for which Schama was the narrator, recounting his stories from various locations. The first of the five episodes had over 3 million viewers; the series is also being presented in Sweden.

Schama, University Professor of Art History and History at Columbia, is well-known as a serious academic scholar, and his earlier television presentations have made him into an esteemed public intellectual in his native UK. His elegant writing style arouses envy in many of his historian colleagues. This is his first academic encounter with the broad sweep of Jewish history, and the sincerity of his dedication to the project and personal identification with the Jewish past and present is apparent (a strong Zionist commitment was expressed in the television series; the book as well as the series is punctuated with occasional memories of his family and childhood).

Yet, despite the considerable attractions of the man and the book, as a serious work of Jewish history I consider it to be significantly flawed. It is simply too ambitious for someone who, with all his talents, has never published an academic article on any aspect of Jewish history during the period covered by this volume, who shows no evidence of working directly on any of the relevant primary sources in the original languages, and who documents his reliance on the work of other scholars in an inconsistent and incomplete manner, to produce the kind of work that one can recommend as a source of reliable information about “the story of the Jews”.

The presentation is apparently intended for a general readership, yet the material is set forth with the claim of academic authority as a historian. The author frequently appears to speak for the community of academic scholars on a specialized topic, announcing what “we know”, and what “we will never know”. While there are indeed endnotes (a total of 338 for 421 pages), the book is filled with long paragraphs and even full pages replete with detailed information for which there is no hint of the source. Some of the notes include a brief survey of relevant secondary literature, as is conventional in most academic historical writing, but others merely cite a single book title without a page reference. And there are far too many passages clearly taken from the published work of other historians without proper acknowledgment.

The writing style ranges from high seriousness to faux Woody Allen. Some readers will undoubtedly find amusing the frequent reduction of serious matters to a semi-humorous quip; I find this writing technique jarring and inappropriate. A few examples. The “Scroll of the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness” produced by the Qumran community is a work of utmost earnestness about ultimate issues. It contains detailed instructions on the manner of deploying battle squadrons when their full force is mustered, and specific qualifications and tactics for the men and horses of the cavalry, according to leading scholars conforming to Roman patterns of military organization, procedure and strategy. But because it also specifies religious inscriptions on the javelins (e.g. “Shining Javelin of the Power of God”), Schama’s sardonic exegesis is: “We are going to write the enemy into capitulation! Surrender to our verbosity or else!” And because of a brief phrase in the Scroll ordaining that the spears be engraved with a golden depiction of ears of corn, he concludes, “If the Ultimate Battle could only be decided by literary excess and sumptuous schmeckerei [sic] it would be a cakewalk for the Sons of Light”. Is this an illustration of the book’s sub-title: “Finding the Words”? Do such comments enhance our understanding of the apocalyptic eschatological world-view of Qumran?

Schama presents several paragraphs of a well-known letter by Moses Maimonides to Samuel ibn Tibbon, discouraging the recipient from travelling from southern France to Egypt on the expectation that Maimonides would have ample time to discuss with him problems relating to Samuel’s translation of the Guide for the Perplexed from Arabic into Hebrew. Maimonides describes extremely taxing his daily schedule fulfilling medical responsibilities in Saladin’s court and then to the Muslim and Jewish population of Fustat, explaining that he barely has time to eat, and no time to study except for a few hours on Shabbat. Most readers will recognize this as a poignant expression of a distinguished physician, currently in poor health himself, devoted to treating others. Schama’s introduction to the text: by writing this letter, Maimonides proved himself to be “a consummate moaner, a king of the kvetch”.

The Jewish Mother trope is introduced fairly early: “The moment you know that Josephus is the first . . . truly Jewish historian is when, with a twinge of guilt, he introduces his mother into the action.” Were none of the authors of Judges, First and Second Samuel, First and Second Kings, the no-longer extant “Chronicles of the Kings of Israel”,. and “Chronicles of the Kings of Judah”, First and Second Maccabees, who did not mention their mothers, deserving to be called “truly Jewish historians”?. The dated stereotype then runs amok in Schama’s presentation of a letter from the Cairo Geniza.

And, it need hardly be said that the Geniza has its share of grieving Jewish mothers complaining their sons don’t write. One peerless virtuoso of the maternal guilt trip, neglected by her bad boy right through the summer when she expected at least one letter, (was that too much to ask, already?) complained ‘you seem to be unaware that when I get a letter from you it is a substitute for seeing your face.’ Don’t worry, be cheerful, do your thing, whatever, I’m alright, this is just KILLING me. ‘You don’t realize my very life depends on getting news about you . . . Do not kill me before my time’. So alright if you won’t send a letter at least, if it’s not too much bother, Mr Always Busy Big Shot, at least send your dirty laundry, a stained shirt or two, so a poor abandoned mother could summon up her boy’s body and have her ‘spirits restored’. What an artist.’.

The note identifies the source in an article by Joel L. Kraemer, where the letter is presented without interspersing mocking comments. It is undeniably a guilt-inducing letter. But Kraemer provides the context in Muslim society, where the position of the mother without a husband is especially precarious. Schama reduces this to a Borscht Circuit Jewish joke.

The chapters appear to reveal a lack of internal consistency. To start with a technical issue: the general convention of publishing for biblical names is to use the standard forms of classical and most modern biblical translations. Thus we have through much of the book Samuel, Moses, Joseph, Abraham, Judah, Isaac.. Then, without explanation, in the discussion of Spanish Hebrew poets, the names appear in their Hebrew forms: Shmuel, Moshe, Yosef, Ibrahim, Yehudah, Yitzhak. In subsequent chapters, we find the equivalent names Yehudah and Judah on the same page (, and then return to the norm of Solomon, Isaac, Samuel, Abraham, Judah. The Index includes: Maimonides, Moses but Nahmanides, Moshe.

More important is the thematic inconsistency. The first part of the book emphasizes the lives of “ordinary Jews” as reconstructed by scholars from sources based on papyri from Elephantine and Alexandria, funeral inscriptions, archaeological excavations at Dura-Europos and synagogues of the Galilee, Arabic inscriptions about Jewish tribes in the Arabian peninsula, and of course the vast collection of the Cairo Geniza. Yet elsewhere in the book, the emphasis on the “ordinary Jew” seems largely to have disappeared in favour of far more extensive discussions of Herod and Josephus, Hasdai ibn Shaprut, Samuel ibn Nagrela, Moses Maimonides, Moses Nahmanides, while other figures no less significant are all but ignored. “Reb Solomon ben Isaac, known as Rashi”, for example, is given one full sentence and two additional passing mentions.

A second confusing inconsistency lies in his attitude toward historical accuracy. The title chosen is not “The History…” but The Story of the Jews. Yet the major repository of this story during the first third of his chronological range—the Hebrew Scriptures—is barely consulted. A reader who searches in this book for an account of the stories of Samson, Samuel, Saul, Elijah, Jonah may well feel surprised that there is no engagement at all with this material, influential as the stories have been on later Jewish consciousness. The focus of the early chapters is not on narrative but on critical biblical scholarship and on archaeology as tests for the historicity of the accounts in biblical texts written much later than the events they report. Indeed, the third chapter seems to be a major diversion from “the story of the Jews”: of its 32 pages, 17 are devoted to an account of 19th-century English archaeologists of the ancient Near East, leading to what Schama calls “the birthing moment of biblical archaeology in the late 19th century”, with the rest devoted to disputes among Israeli archeologists about the historicity of biblical narratives.

Summarizing one section, Schama writes:

“So this is where we are in the true story of the Jews. No evidence outside the Hebrew Bible exists to make the exodus and the law giving dependably historical, in any modern sense. But that does not necessarily mean that at least some elements of the story—servile labour, migration, perhaps even incoming conquest, might not, under any circumstances, have happened. For some chapters of the Bible story, as we have already seen, if only in the depths of H”

A third inconsistency: whether to present co-existence or conflict with the surrounding culture, the host government and population, as the norm. In places—Schama’s discussion of the Elephantine community and Hellenistic Alexandria, the world of the Dura-Europas synagogue and the mosaic synagogue floors in the Galilee, the Islamic-Arabic culture—he presents what appears to be a workable model of Jewish co-existence with Gentile neighbors based on a sustainable integration of Jewish loyalties and traditions with what they considered to be the best values of the surrounding civilization. Schama appears to reject what Salo W. Baron called the “lachrymose conception” of Jewish history, warning that “we must not make episodes of brutality the norm, for they were not”, that “life for the Jews was not all convulsion and expulsion”.

But elsewhere, and increasingly more so in the treatment of Christian Europe, the presentation suggests that the model of conflict, persecution, Jewish suffering is indeed the norm throughout the ages, pointing toward the denouement of the Nazi “Final Solution”. Unusually oppressive anti-Jewish legislation, which he calls “the great segregation”, was passed at Valladolid, Castile in 1412 (though, as Schama admits: “most of its most draconian restrictions proved impossible to enforce”, and it actually applied to Moors as well as to Jews). After listing all the provisions, he writes, “History frowns on anachronism, but what, the crematoria and the shooting squads aside, in the Nazi repertoire is missing from this list?” It should be needless to say that the systematic mass murder of Jews by Einsatzgruppen shooting squads and death camp gas chambers was the essence of the Holocaust. What relevant point can be made by putting these elements “aside” and suggesting a continuity that is extremely misleading.?

This and many other such passages suggest that the model of continuous persecution, with medieval precedents for the Nazi horrors, trumps the models of co-existence emphasized earlier in the book. [The choice of the first section of chapter 7 entitled “Sacrificial Lambs”— entirely devoted to the theme of persecution by Christians from 1096 throughout the 12th century—to be published as an “Excerpt” on the British newspaper Telegraph website on 2 September, before the book was officially released, signals which part of the book’s message the author considered most important.] [The Timeline provided at the end of the book, lists twenty dates from the period 1000–1500 CE. Two of these dates may be considered neutral: the fall of Cordoba and Saladin’s conquest of Jerusalem; two others led directly to heightened intolerance and oppression: the Almoravid and Almohade invasions of Spain, and proclamation of the First Crusade, The other sixteen are all incidents of persecution: massacres, anti-Jewish riots, expulsions. Not a single positive Jewish achievement is listed in this five hundred year period.

This emphasis on persecution as normative removes the policies of medieval popes and kings from their historical context. It presents anti-Jewish statements and decisions without comparison to policies regarding other deviant groups: Muslim minorities in Christian Spain, Christians deemed by the Church to be heretics, prostitutes, gays. And it ignores to a large extent the examples of Jews and Christians co-existing and interacting through a common vernacular in communities that were not at all violently hostile or shut off from each other. [To take just one example, the work of Joseph Shatzmiller based on archival records of court cases in fourteenth-century southern France revealed that in many cases, Christians requiring loans of capital preferred to take them from Jewish money-lenders rather than from Christians in the same business.]

I will pass over the minor factual errors in the narrative to focus on the presentation of three critical events in the middle of the thirteenth century: the internal Jewish conflict over the philosophical writings of Maimonides, the campaign of the Church against the Babylonian Talmud, and the disputation of Barcelona.

According to Schama (in an extraordinarily imaginative paragraph without a single source provided), the central complaint in the anti-Maimonidean campaign of 1232 to place a ban on Maimonides’ Guide and the first book of Maimonides’ Code (Mishneh Torah), containing philosophical material, was that Maimonides presumed “to uncouple the Mishnah from its cladding in the great richly woven garment of the Talmudic commentaries and supplements, and by setting it forth in naked simplicity, as if it were the entirety of the oral law”, he thereby “made the Talmud appear redundant in the eyes of the Gentile nations.” Thus he had “exposed the Talmud to the malicious questioning of outsiders. He had imagined himself to be giving tonic to the oral law but who, if you don’t mind, had asked him to the bedside of the Talmud anyway?”. Furthermore, by applying Greek reasoning to the holy texts, Maimonides had, as it were “dragged the Talmud into a pagan Temple”. In Schama’s imaginative rendering of a complaint by Maimonides’ opponents, “It had got so bad that any yeshiva boy with a saucy tongue in his head could quote half-digested gobbets of Rabbi Aristotle as if he were the equal of Rabbi Gamliel and Rashi, may they rest in peace!”.

The relevant Hebrew texts, written in a rather difficult rhymed prose by those in the anti-philosophical camp and their opponents, were printed already in the 19th century, and there is a significant academic literature discussing these texts. Spinoza summarized the position of one of the opponents (Judah Alfahar) in the fifteenth chapter of his Theological-Political Treatise. But Schama’s treatmentshows no evidence of having consulted any of this material. The reader is given no clue of the actual issues involved, such as:

• whether studying non-Jewish texts or even philosophical texts written by Jews has a proper place in the Jewish educational curriculum;

• whether allegorical interpretation of Bible and Talmudic aggadah is legitimate,

• whether the commandments were given for reasons that can be discerned rationally;

• whether the ultimate reward of eternal existence in the presence of the divine was to be earned through the strict performance of the commandments or through cultivation of the intellect.

Instead we are told that the attack on Maimonides was for isolating the Mishnah from the rest of the Talmud, an accusation that played no role in the literature of the conflict. The actual controversy was raged over serious matters at the core of Jewish religious identity; to reduce them to “half-digested gobbets of Rabbi Aristotle” does not begin to do justice to gravity of the Kulturkampf.

The other two spectacular events, both of which have abundant source material available in English translations, relate to direct interaction with Christians. First was the trial of the Talmud in Paris in 1240. The official doctrine of the Church was that Jews were to be allowed to live under protection in a Christian realm and observe all the practices of their faith, but with ground-rules that would demonstrate their inferior status. One of these was that Jews must not malign the sancta of the Christianity. But the Talmudic literature contains a handful of statements that clearly fall into this potentially perilous category. When converts to Christianity familiar with the rabbinic literature reported this to Christian authorities, Pope Gregory IX reacted strongly. His mandate was to gather and investigate the rabbinic texts to see precisely what they said.

Schama presents the statements reported by Rabbi Yehiel of Paris in defence of the Talmud in a trivializing, dismissive manner, “rhetorical shadow-boxing”, as if Yehiel faced no serious problem: “

The “Jesus” who was said [in the Talmud] to be standing in boiling excrement in the underworld was not Jesus of Nazareth, or he would have been so identified, for there were many other Jesuses at large in those preachy days (as indeed there were). When Donin [the apostate who served as prosecuting attorney against the Talmud] snorted at the disingenousness of the reply, Yehiel cheekily asked whether or not there were, after all, many Louis in France other than the king. [Pushing the mistaken identity line further he asked in wide eyed innocence whether it was remotely conceivable that ‘Miriam the hairdresser’, who was the object of further insults including the suggestion that she was a harlot, could be the mother of Jesus for no Jew had ever described Mary as established in the beauty business.]” ..

The burning of the Talmudic texts in Paris was the dramatically tragic focus of this section, and Shama dramatizes its pathos. But no mention is made of the subsequent accommodation in the papacy of Gregory’s successors, by which Jews were permitted to continue copying and studying the Talmud, provided that their scribes would eliminate the blatantly offensive statements.

As for the Disputation of Barcelona in which the Jews were represented by Moses Nahmanides (RaMBaN), Schama links it directly with Paris: “Thus it was that in 1240 in Paris and 1263 in Barcelona, the Talmud was put in the dock in a show trial of Judaism, with the objects of extracting admissions of its guilt”. While he continues to note that the Barcelona event did not challenge the very existence of the Talmud, he fails to convey the fundamental difference between the two events: in Barcelona, the Christian disputer, Pablo Christiani, did not ridicule and condemn the rabbinic literature; rather he used it in an attempt to undermine Jewish belief.

Thus the first question accepted by both sides for the formal disputation was: “Whether according to the Talmud, the Messiah had already come”. Arguing the affirmative, Pablo cited a rabbinic statement that on the day the Temple was destroyed, the Messiah was born. Schama’s presentation of the Jewish response—“Look,” said Nahmanides, “I don’t believe much of this stuff myself, and I don’t need to; it’s just catnip for debate”—trivializes what was undoubtedly an anguishing decision. To proclaim publicly that the rabbis of the Talmudic period were absolutely authoritative when they decided about a legal matter, but that these same rabbis could be mistaken on crucial theological matters, and that Jews were required to accept rabbinic law but were free to ignore assertions of rabbinic theology, was to tread on perilous ground.

Nahmanides therefore resorted to a technical distinction: that the rabbinic statement indeed asserted that the Messiah was born, but not that he had come, which meant that he had not begun his active career. But that implied that the Messiah was waiting somewhere on earth, almost 1200 years old. Caught in this intellectual thicket, the following day Nahmanides made two crucial concessions: that the aggadah was not absolutely binding but rather analogous to the sermon delivered by a bishop, and that Judaism did not depend on the doctrine of the Messiah and a messianic age (as Schama puts it, flippantly paraphrasing Nahmanides, “The Jewish Messiah—who by the way was not fundamental to our religion”. . . . Many scholars believe that these concessions did not truly reflect Nahmanides’ own beliefs, but that he was driven to them by the exigencies of the public debate. Little of this poignant drama is communicated in the narrative.

The Story of the Jews: 1000 BCE—1492CE will undoubtedly serve as a popular coffee table book. As a source of authoritative historical information about Jews during this long period, readers will need to turn to such collaborative one-volume works as A History of the Jewish People (1976) or The Jews: A History (2008), in which a small group of scholars—six in the first, four in the second—write surveys of their own period of specialization (note the more modest indefinite article in the title of both). Or to the specialized works so helpfully listed and described in Schama’s Bibliography.

Marc Saperstein, Professor Emeritus of Jewish History at George Washington University, is currently Professor of Jewish Studies at King’s College London, and Professor of Jewish History and Homiletics at Leo Baeck College.