Jacob’s Dream: Reproducing a Talismanic Illustrated Title Page

Jacob’s Dream: Reproducing a Talismanic Illustrated Title Page

(Illustrations are from the following sources: the Edut Be Yosef, Rabot, Shivim Tekunei Zohar, and Yefeh Anaf are from the Gross Family Collection. The Minhat Shai is from Dan Rabinowitz’s personal collection, and the rest are courtesy of the internet.)

One of the earliest examples of Jewish art are the biblical paintings at the Dura Europos Synagogue, completed in 244-5 C.E. Among those images is that of Jacob’s dream. The importance of the Dura Europos iconography in the development of Jewish art is hard to overestimate. “The iconographic formulas, seen for the first time in the Dura synagogue would recur both in Jewish art and Christian art, in widely differing media – manuscripts, murals, mosaics, ivories and silver utensils – frequently without modification, or with only the modifications necessitated by different materials or techniques, or the need to emphasize a new theological perspective.”[1]

By the time of its discovery in the 1920s, only a fragment of Jacob’s dream scene remained visible. Nonetheless it is possible to discern the subtly of the artist. In the fragment, Jacob is depicted as a figure wearing Greek costume – the then contemporary dress – leaning on his elbow, in the posture of Palmyrene funerary reliefs. Only the body is preserved, the head and upper body are lost. Near the figure is planted an inclined ladder, which one or perhaps two (it is unclear) personages in Persian dress are ascending. This custom, consisting of a short-belted tunic adorned with braid at the throat and hem, and wide trousers gathered into short supple boots, represents in the language of the Dura painter the garb of kings and princes, and court temple personnel.[2]

Scholars have voiced a number of opinions to explain the Persian court dress. According to one scholar the artist was referencing a midrash that appears in Pirkei de-Reb Eliezer. The angels, rather than merely serving as Jacob’s protection, also allude to “the four kingdoms that would conquer and subjugate the Jews, each as represented by its prince.”[3]One of the kingdoms is Persia. Thus, the artist’s choice of iconography was deliberate.

Jewish Title Pages

The first illustrated Jewish title pages appeared in the early seventeenth century. In 1693, the first depiction of Jacob’s dream graced a Jewish title page. That book, Sefer Rabbot, Midrash Rabba, with the commentary of R. Yisachar ben Naftali Katz, printed in Frankfurt on the Oder by Michael Gottschalk.

He was a local bookbinder and bookdealer who took over the management of Johann Christoph Beckman’s printing press in Frankfort d.O. in 1693, and led the press for almost forty years.[4] Sefer Rabbot’s title page includes Moses and Aaron (who first appear in the 1610 edition of the She’a lot u-Teshuvot Mahril, printed in Hanau (see “Aaron the Jewish Bishop”), at the top, angels around the ark, and at the bottom, three biblical scenes, Jacob wrestling with the angel, David praying, and Jacob’s dream. It is obvious that these images are modeled after Matthaeus Merian’s engravings of biblical scenes that accompanied his Icones Biblicae printed between 1625-1630. All three of these images can be traced to Merian based upon a number of similarities and artist conventions.

The image of Jacob’s dream depicts, in both instances, Jacob laying next to a tree, boats and houses appear in the background, and angels’ hands are outstretched to greet Jacob. There is one significant puzzling difference. In Merian’s depiction, he substitutes the letters (reversed) of tetragram for God. In the Jewish book, God is depicted as an old man with a beard wearing a crown. This, despite Judaism’s strong prohibition on depicting God in a human form.

(This is not the only instance of a Jewish book containing a human image for God. The title-page of the first edition of R. Yedidia Shlomo of Norzi’s commentary on the biblical mesorah, Minhat Shai, Mantua, 1742-44, includes a depiction of God with a human face. The images on the title page are various biblical vignettes and in the one for the resurrection of the “dry bones” that appears in Yehkezkel, God is shown as an old man with a white beard.)

Here is that image in detail:

Michael Gottschalk reused the Rabot title page at least five times; in 1695, for R. Shmuel Yaffe, Yafe Anaf, in 1696, Mattityahu ben Asher Lemle Liebermann, Mattat Yah, in 1698 in R. Benjamin Ze’ev Wolf ben Samuel Romaner’s Ir Binyamin, in 1699 in Ohel Yaakov, and in 1602 in Yisrael b. Aaron Yaffa, Or Yisrael.

These title pages are just a few of Gottchalk’s illustrated title pages. Gottshalk artistic sensibilities are on full display in his 1697-99 edition of the Talmud, a work for which the Frankfurt press is best known to this day. It contains arguably the most magnificent Talmudic title page ever printed.

In 1695, the first illustrated copperplate Haggadah was published in Amsterdam. All the images are modeled based upon Merian. The title page too contains a number of biblical scenes in circular medallions. One of which is Jacob’s dream.

The next title page that depicts Jacob’s dream appears in Tzvi Hirsch ben Rachmiel Chotsh’s, Shiv’im Tikunei ha-Zohar, Hemdat Tzvi, Amsterdam, Moshe ben Avraham Mendes Coutinho, 1706.[5] Like the Gottchalk’s image that includes heretical iconography, those of Shiv’im Tikunei ha-Zohar would prove equally problematic.[6]

Despite Hemdat Tzvi’s impressive approbations, R. Jacob Emden accused Chotsh, and specifically this book, of holding and expressing Sabbatian beliefs.[7] It has been conclusively demonstrated that indeed Chotsh’s book contains Sabbatian ideas.[8] Evidence of Chotsh’s embrace of Sabbateanism is identifiable amongst the title page images. Indeed, Chotsh calls attention to the larger meaning of the title page’s images. At the bottom of the title page Chotsh provides that “whosoever wishes to know the secret of the above frontispiece, should see the introduction to the Tikkunim at the beginning of the first article.” An inspection of that section yields likely Sabbatian passages. Thus, Chotsh is indicating that like the introduction, the title page also contains allusions to Sabbateanism.

The title page depicts a variety of biblical figures and Jacob’s dream appears at the top center of the page. Above that are two deer holding a crown with the verse from Isaiah 28:5, “On that day will the Lord of the hosts be for a crown of glory, and for a diadem of beauty.” The “crown of glory” or in Hebrew “Ateret tzvi” has a double meaning here, “glory” and “deer” and, of course, is alluding to Sabbatia Tzvi, who, “on that day” will be presumably wearing the crown.[9]

The most long-lasting depiction of Jacob’s dream is that which appeared in Siddur Shaarei Shamyim from R. Isaiah ha-Levi Horowitz (Shelah), Amsterdam, 1717.[10]

This title page is notable in that the accompanying images that align with the book which was not always the case. This is a complete machzor and as such four holidays, Sukkot, Pesach, Shavout, and Rosh Hashana, are represented on the top encased in circles, and underneath the columns. On one side of the bottom of the pillars. On either side is a niche, on the right with Abraham with the legend and on the left, Isaac, underneath each is a verse corresponding to prayer. Displayed prominently at top center, depicting his dream, with the verse from which the book’s title is derived. Underneath the title is a depiction of the Levites pouring water over the priest’s hands with the legend above, Ze hasher la-leviim. This is a reference to R. Horowitz’s lineage. All of the biblical images correspond with Merian’s depictions.

This title page, with small modifications, was repeatedly copied and is found in books from across Europe. One explanation for the ubiquity of this title page is that the Siddur ha-Shelah was imbued with talismanic effect. R. Yoel Sirkes in his approbation assures that whoever prays from this book their prayers would be answered. As evidence of the talismanic effect of the book one only needs to look to recent auctions where the book is regularly sold for tens of thousands of dollars. Perhaps printers looking to capitalize on the aura surrounding the Siddur ha-Shelah incorporated the images in their books.

For example, the title page appears in Edut be-Yaakov, Sulzbach, 1741,[11] in 1765, Furth, Siddur Korban Minha, and in 1797, in the north west of France in Luneville, Sha’ar Selihot ve-Tahanunim. In the latter, the Levite is substituted for Jonah as that is more aligned with the High Holiday themes of the book, and the four depictions of the holidays are removed because they conflict with the singular nature of the book.

Illustrated Hebrew title pages are perhaps the most ubiquitous, and certainly the most accessible form of Jewish art. Yet, the study of the art of the Hebrew title page has not attracted commensurate scholarly interest. Our example, tracing the depiction of Jacob’s dream, is but one instance that illustrated Hebrew title pages fit within the larger history of Jewish art. Here, the Hebrew title pages seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Hebrew books harken back to the iconography identified at Dura Europos that continued to appear in Jewish artistic forms, in this instance books.

[1] Gabrielle Sed-Rajna, Jewish Art (New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1997), 127.

[2] Gabrielle Sed-Rajna, Jewish Art (New York: Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1997), 559.

[3] E.L. Sukenik, Bet-haKeneset shel Dura-Europa ve-Tserayav (Jerusalem: Mossad Bialik 1947), 112-3.

[4] B. Friedberg, History of Hebrew Typography in Central Europe (Antwerp, 1935), 35-49.

[5] Like Gottschalk, Coutinho also produced a number of other illustrated title pages with biblical images.In 1696, the year before he published the siddur, he published at least two books with illustrated title pages, Sefer Hinukh and the Mishna. This title page was reused in Coutinho’s 1698 edition of R. Hayim Moshe Karinal, Yemin Moshe.

[6] Bezalel Naor, Post-Sabbatian Sabbatianism, (Spring Valley, NY: Orot, 1999),79-82.

[7] See Shnayer Leiman, “Sefarim ha-Hashudim be-Shabbta’ot: Rishimat shel ha-Gaon Yavet”z Tzal,” in Sefer ha-Zikhron le-Rebi Moshe Lifschitz, (New York, 1996), 890

[8] See Naor, Post-Sabbatian, 80-81 and the sources cited therein.

[9] Of course, Shabbatai Tzvi is not the only “Tzvi,” Chotsh’s first name is Tzvi. Perhaps the image is an allusion to his name – a somewhat common theme in Hebrew title page illustrations. Recently, however, one scholar noted that the deers are not the only Sabbatian reference. According to his theory, the layout of the biblical figures aligns with kabbalistic representations of the sefirot. See Naor, 81.

[10] Horowitz’s other book, Sheni Luhot ha-Brit, Amsterdam, 1698, also contains a beautifully illustrated title page.

[11] The title page was reused for decades in the Sulzbach presses. As late as 1794, there are examples of the title page. See, e.g. Tsenah u-Renah, Sulzbach, 1794.

Invitation to Two Lectures by Dan Rabinowitz this Week & Discount Code

This Tuesday Dan Rabinowitz will appear on a panel, “Saving Jewish Cultural Legacy: Libraries and Archives During and After WII,” at Brandeis University.

This Thursday he will be discussing his book at the Library of Congress, at the African and Middle East Reading Room at noon.

Seforim Blog readers are invited to attend.

Additionally, readers of the blog can receive a 20% discount on Dan’s book, The Lost Library: The Legacy of Vilna’s Strashun Library in the Aftermath of the Holocaust, for purchases directly from University of Chicago Press (here) using the code BUPRABIN for 20% off.

Book Announcement: The Lost Library by Dan Rabinowitz

Book Announcement: The Lost Library by Dan Rabinowitz

By Eliezer Brodt

Its with great pleasure that I announce the recent publication of an important work, that I am certain will be of great interest to readers of the Seforim Blog – The Lost Library by Dan Rabinowitz, founder and editor-in-chief of the Seforim Blog. This book is devoted to the legacy of the personal and expanded public library of Rabbi Mattityahu Strashun.

From the back cover:

The Strashun Library was among the most important Jewish public institutions in Vilna, and indeed in Eastern Europe, prior to its destruction during World War II. Mattityahu Strashun, descended from a long and distinguished line of rabbis, bequeathed his extensive personal library of 5,753 volumes to the Vilna Jewish community on his death in 1885, with instructions that it remain open to all.

In the summer of 1941, the Nazis came to Vilna, plundered the library, and shipped many of its books to Germany for deposition at a future Institute for Research Into the Jewish Question. When the war ended, the recovery effort began. Against all odds, a number of the greatest treasures of the library could be traced. However, owing to its diverse holdings and its many prewar patrons, a custody battle erupted over the remaining holdings. Who should be heir to the Strashun Library?

This book tells the story of the Strashun Library from its creation through the contentious battle for ownership following the war until present day. Pursuant to a settlement in 1958, the remnants of the greatest prewar library in Europe were split between two major institutions: the secular YIVO in the United States and the rabbinic library of Hechal Shlomo in Israel, a compromise that struck at the heart of the library’s original unifying mission.

In 2005 Dan Rabinowitz founded the Seforim Blog and I started corresponding with him almost immediately. One of the people we discussed often was R’ Strashun as both Dan and I were fascinated by him. Dan’s interest extended to the library and what happened to it after R’ Strashun’s death and especially what happened to it after World War Two. Eventually, in November 2015 Dan authored a lengthy post on the Seforim Blog dealing with different aspects of R’ Strashun and his library. This post eventually turned into this full-length book on the subject.

The Lost Library is written in Dan’s extremely clear, lucid and captivating manner as familiar to readers of the Seforim Blog (having read hundreds of his articles and at times not realizing he is the author of them because most do not include his name – in essence, stamm seforim blog post dan rabinowitz, at least the scholarly ones). The book begins with an exciting personal introduction (A PDF is available upon request) giving background to the development of one of Dan’s favorite pastimes collecting books. However, similar to the subject of this book R’ Strashun, Dan’s interest extends to not just owning the book but to developing a personal relationship with the book contents. This becomes evident as one reads The Lost Library, especially the vast number of sources in multiple languages housed in numerous collections and libraries all over the world including his personal library. The Lost Library meticulously documents each of his claims from these extensive sources collected over intense research conducted over a few years.

The book begins with an overview of that ‘ir ve’em be-yisrael, the famous city of Vilna, giving the reader excellent background to the environment and city (including current descriptions as the author visited Vilna while working on this volume). The author discusses what made Vilna famous, sidetracking into very relevant topics such as R’ Mattityahu father, the Rashash and others affiliated with the Vilna Gaon, Vilna’s most famous resident. Dan then turns to deal with the hero of the book, R’ Mattityahu and provides the reader with a comprehensive biography that discusses his unique style of learning and how that influenced his book collecting habits. The next chapter is the opening of the public library after Mattityahu’s death and the impact it had on the community and eastern European Jewry at large. The book then goes onto detailing the library’s life during the Holocaust and especially afterword as different parties claimed ownership when most of it was discovered to have survived.

Marc Shapiro wrote:

Taking us on a journey from nineteenth-century Vilna until almost the present day, Rabinowitz not only documents the vicissitudes of this important institution, but helps us understand the intellectual culture of one of the centers of Judaism in modern times.”—Marc B. Shapiro, Weinberg Chair in Judaic Studies, University of Scranton

And others praised the work as well.

“Rabinowitz has done a brilliant job in his moving and important book…. Through the story of the Strashun Library, he gives us insight into the richness and vibrancy of Jewish life in Vilna. He vividly portrays the restoration of the books of the Strashun Library, a testimony to the indomitable Jewish spirit.”
—Ambassador Stuart E. Eizenstat, chief White House domestic policy adviser to President Carter

“Rabinowitz’s meticulously researched study is an outstanding expression of the wealth of knowledge provided by a thorough exploration of Jewish material culture…In his detailed reconstruction of the Strashun library’s fate after the German invasion, he detects a breathtaking history of loss and mourning, of illegal claims and desires, of appropriation and incorporation that expresses the rupture of the Holocaust and the contested visions of Jewish life after catastrophe.”—Elisabeth Gallas, Leibniz Institute for Jewish History and Culture –Simon Dubnow

This book is of particular personal great interest. The first time I recall hearing something from R’ M. Strashun was when I was in tenth grade. R’ Hershel Schachter had just begun giving a shiur once a week in Flatbush for Balei Battim on Mesechtas Kidushin. I attended a few of them, during one of the shiurim he mentioned R’ M. Strashun’s comments in Bava Basra praising him (I do not recall his exact discussion, but it was about the word Achron). I had been familiar with the Strashun name for a while through R’ Mattityahu father, the Rashash via my father. The Rashash symbolized an emphasis on peshat, from then on I was very curious about R’ Mattityahu. Fast forward a few years when I began learning in the Mir in EY I was talking to a friend somehow it came up about R’ M. and the friend mentioned he loves him and that the great Gaon R’ Yakov Chaim Sofer always quotes him with great respect. He then showed me a sefer of Mattiyahu printed by Mossad Harav Kook (Mivchar Kesavim). The sefer was out of print and hard to find, but the Sitrah Achrah helped me find it a little while later. I immediately began learning through the work. Since then I have found the work many times in used shops and have found these copies, proper owners, to appreciate them. One time while learning the sefer an Israeli chavrusha saw what I was learning and said how you could learn a sefer of a maskil! I argued it was good enough for me that R’ Yitchack Elchanan Spektor who, in his old age, came to Vilna to eulogize R’ Mattityahu. My chavrusha dismissed this anecdote and replied that means nothing! Of course, I could not convince him that there was nothing wrong with him. However, his complaint sparked the exact opposite – and spurred me to research and read more of R’ Mattityahu’s writings which only enhanced my reverence for him. My chavrusha’s position notwithstanding, other very frum Israelis friends expressed their appreciation and fascination with R’ Mattityahu. Most of his writings appeared in newspapers and journals and are not readily available or even known. However, in a few months, I will god willingly print some of them. Eventually, I wrote my first academic article in English about him (available in PDF upon request or from here).

One final point about R’M that particularly resonated with me. R’M did not merely collect seforim he used them, and this is apparent from hundreds of citations throughout his works. A later resident of Vilna, and one too who was indeed very well-read was R’ Chaim Ozer. He did not need an extensive personal library as he had unfettered access to the Strashun Library – indeed was unique in that he was one of the few given borrowing privileges. Here is a book request from R’ Chaim Ozer, addressed to the Strashun Library’s head librarian Chaim Chaikel Lunski. Thanks to R’ Dovid Kamenetsky for making it available:

One of my favorite stories about the library as told by R’ Moshe Shmukler in his fascinating book, Moshe Shmuel ve-Doro, combines the idea of the voracious reader and a comprehensive library:

ר’ חיים עוזר… מלבד בקיאותו הגדולה בתלמוד ובראשונים, הצטיין בבקיאות עצומה בשאלות ותשובות האחרנים… פעם החלטתי לנסותו עד כמה כוחו גדול באחרונים, סרתי לספריה של שטראשון ועברתי על פני הקאטאלוג במקרה נתקבל מבטי על הספר מאמר מרדכי להגאון ר’ מרדכי זאב אוטינגר מלמברג ספר שלא נודע לי עד אז וחשבתיו ליקר המציאות. דפדפתי בספר ומצאתי איזה הערה נפלא על דברי בעל הלכות גדולות המובא ברא”ש סוף פ”ב דיבמות. חשבתי האח, מצאתי את מה שאוותה נפשי. במוצאי שבת באתי לר’ חיים עוזר, כי הערב ההוא היה מוקש ללות אתו בחידוש תורה. בשעת השיחה העילתי כלאחר יד את הקושיא על הבה”ג. ומה השתוממתי לשמוע מפי תיכף, כי זוהי קושיתו של בעל מאמר מרדכי… [ר’ משה שמואל ודורו, עמ’ 176].

The book can be purchased from the publisher here, Amazon or Book Depository.

Here is a portrait of R’ Mattityahu followed by a scene depicting the Strashun Library in Vilna in its heyday:

Everything is Illuminated: Mining the Art of Illustrated Haggadah Manuscripts for Meaning

We have discussed haggadah illustrations in the past (see the links at the end of this post) and we wanted to expand and update upon that discussion for this year. In this post we focus on Hebrew illuminated haggadah manuscripts, and in the follow-up post will turn our attention to printed illustrated haggadot.

While there is not as large of a body of Jewish art as that of art in general, historically Jews have appreciated the visual arts early in their evolution into a nation. Aside from the biblical forms, we have evidence of art dating to the second century of the common era in the well-known frescos at the Dura-Europos synagogue.[1] But, such appreciation was not limited to second century Palestinian Jews, as evidenced from the discussion below, this appreciation continued, almost unabated, until the modern period. It was not just the artist class or wealthy acculturated Jews that were exposed to and admired this medium. For example, in the 1560 Mantua haggadah, one of the more important printed illustrated haggadot, the wise son appears to be modeled after Michelangelo’s Jeremiah in the Sistine Chapel (view it here: link).

Lest one think that it is highly unlikely that a 16th century Italian Jew would have even entered the chapel, let alone been familiar with this painting, a contemporaneous account of Jewish art appreciation disabuses those assumptions. Specifically, Giorgi Vasari, the 16th century artist and art historian, in his Lives of Excellent Painters (first published in 1560), records regarding Michelangelo’s statute of Moses – that is a full statute depicting the human form and was placed in the church of San Pietro in Rome – that “the Jews [go] in crowds, both men and women, every Saturday, like flocks of starlings, to visit and adore the statue.” That is, the Sabbath afternoon activity was to go to church to admire the statute of Moses, that is more famous for having horns than its Jewish visitors.[2]

Hebrew Manuscripts Background

A brief background regarding Hebrew manuscripts before delving into the illuminated haggadah manuscripts. Details regarding manuscripts, the name of the copyist, the date, and the place where the manuscript was written, were supplied not at the beginning of the book – as is the convention with printed books and title pages – instead in manuscripts this information is provided at the end. For this reason, the scribe’s note containing the information was called a colophon – from the Greek word kolofon, meaning “summit” or “final point.”[3]

Number of Hebrew mss.

A cautious guess of the number of extant Hebrew manuscripts in existence is between 60,000 -70,000 “but no more than 30-40 thousand of them predate the middle of the sixteenth century.”[4] Of the 2-3 hundred thousand Hebrew manuscripts presumed in existence in Europe at the beginning of the fourteenth century, probably no more than four to five thousand are extant today, possibly even less. “From the tenth century (before which information is very scarce) to 1490 (when the influence of printing books began to be felt)” there are an estimated one million manuscripts, meaning, “that 95 per cent of manuscripts have disappeared.”[5] In addition, the early printed books – incunabula – had similar survival rates.

The dearth of manuscripts has left a significant hole in our knowledge of major Jewish texts. For example, there is only one complete manuscript of the Palestinian Talmud (1289) and two partial manuscripts. The Babylonian Talmud fared slightly better, with one complete manuscript (1342) and 63 partial manuscripts in libraries, with only 14 dating from the 12th & 13th centuries.[6]

One of the partial TPs is known as the Vatican Codex 133 – and worth mentioning is the Vatican and its role regarding Hebrew manuscripts. While there is no doubt that the Church had a significant hand in reducing the number of manuscripts – in reality the destruction of Hebrew manuscripts was the work of the Jesuits and not the Roman Catholic Church. Indeed, the Church confiscated and, thus in some instances preserved Hebrew manuscripts. Consequently, we have a number of important Jewish texts that survive in the Vatican library. Today, many of these manuscripts have been published. The incomplete manuscript of the TP is but one example. Additionally, regarding the use of (rather than just reprinting) the Vatican library, for at least late 19th century, Jews had access to the library. For example, R. Raphael Nathan Rabinowitz, who authored a monumental work on Talmudic variants provides that “I prayed to God to permit me entrance to the Vatican library to record variant readings” his prayer was answered, and he received permission not only to use it during regular hours but “even on days that it was closed due to Christian holidays, when the library was closed to all, and even more so Jews.”[7] In total he spent close to 9 months in the library. In addition, Rabbi Rabinowitz’s presence and special status at the Vatican library was instrumental for the editing of the Vilna Talmud, where he secured permission for the Romm-employed copyists to work with manuscripts of the commentary of Rabbenu Hananel, even though they arrived in Rome during the summer season when the library was closed.

Of the estimated one million Hebrew manuscripts from the 10th century until 1490, approximately 5% have survived. As mentioned, religious persecution was one reason, but the main reasons are (1) deterioration from use, (2) accidents, and (3) reuse. The first two are self-explanatory, the third requires a bit of explanation. From the times that manuscripts were written on papyrus, unwanted manuscripts were scraped or washed and then reused. (This papyrus recycling was not confined to reusing for books, papyrus was used from wrapping mummies, burned for its aroma, and used, according to Apices, to wrap meat for cooking). Similarly, leather and parchment were recycled, in the more egregious examples for shoe leather but in many cases for book bindings. The latter reuse would be critical to the survival of numerous Hebrew manuscripts which have now been reclaimed from bindings. It is estimated that there are 85,000 such binding fragments. “The commonest use of written folios, however, was in bindings, whether for binding strips, end papers, or covers.”[8]

Illuminated Hebrew Manuscripts

The “earliest examples of Jewish book illumination are tenth-and eleventh-century Bible codices written in the Orient or Near East. The illuminations are not figurative but consist of a number of decorative carpet pages adorned with abstract geometric or micrographic designs preceding or following the Biblical text.”[9] While these early illuminated manuscripts did not contain human figures, they did contain the first iterations of something unique to Jewish manuscripts, “one form of manuscript depiction unique to Jewish manuscripts is micrography with the earliest examples of this art may be found in the tenth-century Bibles written in the Orient.”[10] A beautiful example of this art can be seen in the carpet pages for the Leningrad Codex.

Similar non-representational geometric art was incorporated into Islamic art to avoid graphic representation. Consequently, symmetrical forms were created which required advances in math theory to accommodate the ever more complex art.

Hebrew manuscripts did not adopt the Islamic convention – for the most part – and the earliest illustrations of human figures appear in Franco-Ashkenazic manuscripts – bibles – of the thirteenth century.

The earliest extant illustrated haggadah[11] is what is known as the Birds’ Head Haggadah dated to the early 1300s. The moniker “Birds’ Head” comes from the fact that the illustrator used birds heads/griffins in place of human heads. This manuscript is not the only Jewish manuscript to use zoophilic (the combination of man and beast) images. Zoophilic images can be found in a variety of contexts in Jewish manuscripts. For example, in the manuscript known as Tripartite Machzor, men are drawn normally while the women are drawn with animal heads.[12] The name of this Machzor comes from the random fact that the manuscript was split up into three. At times manuscripts are titled by location (Leipzig Mahzor), history (tripartite) or owner. In one example, the “Murphy Haggadah” “ suffered a fate all too common to many Hebrew texts. Before the Second World War the manuscript belonged to Baron Edmond de Rothschild. During the war it was stolen and sold to an American, F.T. Murphy, who bequeathed it to Yale University, his alma matter. For years it was known as the “Murphy Haggadah” until, in 1980, a Yale scholar, Prof. J. Marrow, identified as belonging to the Rothschilds. The manuscript was returned to the Rothschild family and presented by the Baroness Dorothy to the Jewish National Library.[13]

When it comes to the Birds’ Head manuscript, a variety of reasons have been offered for its imagery, running the gamut from halachik concerns to the rather incredible notion that the images are actually anti-Semitic with a bird’s beak standing in for the Jewish nose trope and the claim that the ears on the “birds” are reminiscent of pigs’ ears. Generally, those claiming halackhic, or more particular pietistic reasons, do so because they are unable “to conceive of such a bizarre and fanciful treatment of the human image as emerging from anywhere other than the twisted and febrile imagination of religious fanatics.”[14] But, in reality the use of bird’s head in lieu of human “reflects a liberal halakhic position rather than an extreme one.”[15] The camp of Yehuda ha–Hassid would ban all human, animal and celestial depictions, a more liberal position from this perspective permits animal images. And, while that position doesn’t explicitly permit a depiction half-animal half-human, the zoophilic images appear to show they were allowed, as the illuminator and owner of the Birds Head Haggadah agreed with that position.

Aside from halakha, and the meaning or lack thereof behind “birds”, a close examination how the illuminator used this convention yields surprising nuance and commentary.

While most of the images carry a bird’s head, there are a few exceptions. Most notably, non-Jews, both corporeal and spiritual do not. Instead, non-Jewish humans as well as angels have blank circles instead of faces. But, there is one scene that poses a problem. One illustration shows the Jews fleeing Egypt (all with birds’ heads), being pursued by Pharaoh and his army. Pharaoh and his army are depicted faceless.

But, unlike the rest of the figures in Pharaoh’s army, two figures appear with birds’ heads. Some write this off to carelessness on the illustrator’s part. Epstein, who credits his (then) ten-year old son for a novel explanation, offers that these two figures are Datan and Aviram, two prominent members of the erev rav, those Jews who elected to remain behind. Indeed, they are brandishing whips indicative of their role as nogsim (Jewish taskmasters, or the precursor to Jewish Sonderkommando). While the illustrator included them with the Egyptians, he still allowed them to remain with their “Jewish” bird’s head. This is a powerful idea regarding the idea of sin, and specifically, the Jewish view that even when a Jew sins, they still retain their Jewish identity – their “birds head.” Sin, and including sinners as Jews, are motifs that are highlighted on Pesach with the mention of the wicked son and perhaps is also indicated with this illustration. The illustrator could have left Datan and Aviram out entirely or decided to mark them some other way rather than the Birds’ head. Thus, utilizing this explanation allows for the illustrator to enable a broader discussion about not only the exodus and the Egyptian army’s chase, but expands the discussion to sin, repentance, Jewish identity, inclusiveness and exclusiveness and other related themes.[16]

Once we have identified the Jews within the haggadah, we need to discuss another nuance in their depiction. The full dress of the adult male bird is one with a beard and a “Jewish hat,” pieus conutus – a peaked hat, or the Judenhut. Children and young servants are bareheaded. But, there are three other instances of bareheadness that are worthy of discussion. (1) Joseph in Egypt, (2) the Jews in Egypt and (3) Datan and Aviram. The similarity between all three is that each depicts a distance from god or Jewish identity. Joseph, unrecognizable to his brothers, a stranger in a strange land, and while inwardly a Jew, externally that was not the case.

The Jews in Egypt had sunk to the deepest depths on impurity, far from God. Finally, as we discussed previously, Datan and Aviram are also removed from god and the Jewish people. Again, the illustrator is depicting Jews – they all have the griffin heads – but they are distinct in their interaction with god and the Jewish people.[17]

Using this interpretation of the griffin images, yields yet another subtle point regarding inclusion, and also injects some humor into the haggadah. The dayenu panel has splitting of the sea, the manna and the giving of the Torah. The middle panel is less clear. Some posit that it is the Jews celebrating at the sea, but there is no indication of that because in most manuscripts, that includes Miriam, and the Egyptians drowning, not just five random images.

Instead, it appears that the person to the left is speaking (his hand is over his heart a medieval convention to indicate speech), and they are approaching the older figure on the left. All are griffin headed and Judenhut attired – so Jews and regular ones. Between the splitting of the sea and the manna and quails the Jews complained to Moses. Its possible that this is what is being depicted here, the complaining Jews, and the illustration serves as a testament to God’s patience and divine plan, the theme of dayenu, that even though we complained and did X, God still brought the manna, quail and Torah.[18]

If these are in fact the complainers, we can theorize about another detail of the image. Above the figure at the left and the right, is faint cursive (enhanced here for visibility as much as possible) that reads: “Dass ist der Meirer (this is Meir) Dass ist der Eisik (this is Issac).”[19] Thus Meir and Issac are being chided – but not kicked out – for complaining too much (rather than representing an unclear image of the Jews celebrating at the sea or just evidencing poor dancing).

Continuing through the dayenu we get to the giving of the Torah, and again, the nuance of the illustrator is apparent

Two tablets were given at Sinai, but the actual Pentateuch is comprised of 5 books. Thus, to capture that the 5 are a continuity of the two, as they are transmitted down, they transform into five tablets. What about the ram/lamb at the bottom? Some have suggested that it is the Golden Calf. But it is unlikely that such a negative incident would be included. Instead, assuming that continuity or tradition is the theme, this lamb is representative of pesah dorot that is an unbroken tradition back to Sinai and unconnected with the Christian idea of Jesus as a stand in for the lamb. Immediately prior to dayenu we have the Pesach mitzrayim with the figure’s cloak blowing back due to the haste.

Thus, the dayenu is bracketed by the historic Pesach and the modern one – all part of the same tradition. [20]

It is worth mentioning that the Birds’ Head Haggadah is currently in the news. An item recently appeared about how the heirs of Ludwig Marum and his wife Johanna Benedikt, the owners of the haggadah prior to the Nazi era, are pressing the Israel Museum to recognize their family’s title, and pay them a large sum of money (but only a fraction of its estimated value). The Israel Museum acquired the haggadah for $600 from a German Jewish refugee in 1946. (link).

Turning to Spain, one of the most beautiful illuminated haggadot is the “Golden Haggadah.” Just as the Ashkenazi Bird’s Head has depth to the illustrations, the Golden Haggadah can be mined for similar purpose. Each folio is comprised of four panels. And while they appear to simply depict the biblical narrative, they are so much more.

In an early panel we have Nimrod throwing Abraham into the fire and later Pharaoh throwing the males in the Nile, both Nimrod and Pharaoh are similarly depicted, on the throne, with a pointed finger indicating their equivalence in denying god.

The folio showing the Joseph story has the brothers pointing in the same manner as Pharaoh and Nimrod – the illustrator showing his disdain for the mistreatment and betrayal and equating it with the others.

But, that is not all. Counting the panels there are 9 between Nimrod and Joseph and 9 between Joseph and Pharaoh. Taken together, these illustrations “renders an implicit critique of the attitude of that Jewish history is nothing but an endless stream of persecution of innocent Israel by the bloodthirsty gentiles. Yes, it is acknowledged, these gentile kinds might behave villainously in their persecution of Jews. But groundless hatred between brother and brother is on par with such terrible deeds, and sometimes sinat hinam can precipitated treachery as destructive as persecution by inveterate enemies.”[21]

One other striking feature of the Golden Haggadah is the inclusion of women. There are no fewer than 46 prominent depictions of women in the haggadah. Indeed, one reading of the exodus scene has a woman with a baby at the forefront leading the Jews out of Egypt behind Moses.

This may be a reference to the midrash that “in the merit of the righteous women the Jews were redeemed.”[22] The difference in the exodus scene is particularly striking if one compares it to the Ashkenaz Haggadah – Moses clearly at the front, and the most prominent woman in the back.

Of course, it is completely appropriate for the inclusion of women in the haggadah as women and men are equally obligated to participate in the seder. Another example of the prominence that woman play in the Golden Haggadah iconography is the scene of Miriam singing includes the largest images in the haggadah, the women occupying the full panel. We don’t know why the illustrator chose to highlight women – was it for a patron or at a specific request.[23]

The Golden Haggadah is not the only manuscript that includes women in a prominent role in the illustrations. The Darmstadt Haggadah includes two well-known illuminations that place woman at the center. The illuminations adoring other Darmstadt serve a different purpose than the Golden or Birds’ Head, they are purely aesthetic.[24] Thus, the inclusion of women may not be linked to anything in particular. At the same time, it is important to note that in terms of reception, that is, how the reader viewed it, the focus on women was not cause for consternation. One other note regarding the haggadah, the last panel is a depiction fountain of youth. Note that men and woman are bathing – nude – together, which seems odd to a modern viewer (and, again, apparently did not to the then contemporary reader). And, while admittedly not exactly the same, the 14th century R. Samuel ben Baruch of Bamberg (a teacher of R. Meir of Rothenberg) permitted a non-Jewish woman to bath a man so long as it was in public to reduce the likelihood of anything untoward occurring.[25]

Before we leave the Darmstadt Haggadah, we need to examine the panel facing the Fountain of Youth. This panel depicts a deer hunt.

As mentioned above, this image is not connected to the text and instead is solely for aesthetic purposes. The hunting motif is common in many medieval manuscripts, and in some a unicorn is substituted for a deer. While the unicorn has Christological meaning, on some occasions it also appears in Hebrew manuscripts.[26]

While the use of the hunting scene in the Darmstadt Haggadah was unconnected to the haggadah, in others it was deployed for substantive purpose.[27] [As an aside, it is possible that Jews participated, possibly Rabbenu Tam, in hunting, or at least its falconry form.[28]] As is well-known, the inclusion of the hare hunt is to conjure the Talmudic mnemonic regarding the appropriate sequence over the wine, candle, and the other required blessings, or YaKeNHaZ. “To Ashkenazic Jews, YaKeNHaZ sounded like the German Jagen-has, ‘hare hunt,’ which thereby came to be illustrated as such in the Haggadah.”[29]

Generally, Jews seem to have issues with botany. We struggle to identify which of the handful of fruits and vegetables mention in the Bible and Talmud. But on Passover, the marror an undefined term, proves particularly illusory. Today, there is no consistency regarding what is used for marror with it running the gamut from iceberg lettuce to horseradish root. While we may not be able to identify it with specificity, we know what its supposed to taste like – bitter. Manuscripts may provide some direction here. There are two depictions in illuminated haggadot. One of a leafy green, found in numerous examples, from a fragment from the Cairo Geniza to the Birds’ Head, and that of an artichoke.[30] If it is a leafy green, it must be a bitter one – and that changes based upon time, place and palate. For example, 30 years ago romaine lettuce was only the bitter lettuce widely available. But, among lettuces, it is far from bitter, and today, there are a variety of truly bitter lettuces available, arugula, mustard greens, dandelion, mesclun, etc. Another leafy and very bitter option that is found in illuminated haggadot is the artichoke. The artichoke is extremely bitter without proper preparation. Indeed, from just touching the leaves and putting them in your mouth you can taste the bitterness. The Sarajevo Haggadah and brother to the Rylands both have artichokes.

The association of the artichoke with Passover is more obvious when one accounts for Italian culinary history. Specifically, artichokes are associated with Jews and Passover. Carcoifi alla giudia – literally Jewish style artichokes “is among the best known dishes of Roman Jewish cuisine.” Artichokes are a spring thistle and traditionally served at Passover in Italy. Whether or not from a culinary history this dish sprung from the use of raw artichoke for marror is not known, but we can say with certainty that artichokes have a considerable history when it comes to Passover.

Horseradish only became popular, in all likelihood, because an early Pesach, would be too soon for any greens and thus they were left with horseradish – which is not bitter at all, instead it is spicy or more particularly hot. In Galicia in the 19th century the use of horseradish was so ingrained that permission was even granted and affirmed for people to use less than a kezayit and still recite the blessing. In light of this, the custom yields the possibility that all sort of other spicy items be used for marror including very hot jalapeño peppers, for example.[31] Since we are discussing herbs, it is also worth noting that recently rulings regarding the use of marijuana and Pesach have been issued both in Israel and the United States (here), for our discussion on marijuana and Pesach please see here.

One manuscript captures the uncertain identification of marror. In the Tubingen Haggadah, the place where the illustration for marror is left blank, presumably to permit the owner to fill in what they are accustomed to use.

Marror is not the only vegetable that is eaten during the seder, another difficult to identify is the karpas. Today there are a variety of items used, and in reality, any dip-able vegetable will suffice, historically, it seems that lettuce or celery was used. The Birds Head provides that “lattich (lettuce) and eppich (celery) should be used. These are traditional salad foods, which, in the normal course of things, would be dipped or tossed with a dressing. A dressing can be a simple as vinegar, and indeed, in many medieval haggadot, hometz or vinegar is used to dip. We can trace the change from the more obviously salad oriented vinegar to saltwater where in the Darmstadt Haggadah, a later hand wrote on top of hometz – mei melekh. While it appears nearly universal that hometz was used, its disfavor may be connected to a rule unrelated to Passover. Since the Middle Ages, there is a dispute whether or not vinegar falls under the ambit of stam yenam. Thus, the change to saltwater may be more of a reflection about views on what constitutes stam yenam and less to do with tears.

One final food item is the haroset preparation. Apples are familiar and linked to the midrash regarding birthing under an apple tree, in the Rothschild Machzor and the 2nd Nuremburg haggadah, cinnamon is called for because “it resembles straw.” It also concludes that “some incorporate clay into the haroset to remind them of the mortar. For those wanting to replicate this addition, edible clay, kaolin, is now easily procured, and there is even a preparation that creates stone-like potatoes, perfect for the seder.

To be continued… but until then see these posts Halakha & Haggadah, and regarding some illustrations in the iconic Prague 1526 Haggadah, here and also Elliot Horowitz’s discussion.

[1] E.L. Sukenik, The Dura-Europa Synagogue and its Art, Bialik Press, Jerusalem:1947. See also, Gabrielle Sed-Rajna, Jewish Art, transl. Sara Friedman & Mira Reich, Harry N. Abrams, Inc., New York: 1997, 9-13; 20-29;114-39.

[2] Two Prague Haggadahs, Valmadonna Trust Library, Italy:1978, 16 n.16 (the citation should read p. 435, not p. 345)

[3] Binyamin Richler, Hebrew Manuscripts: A Treasured Legacy, Cleveland/Jerusalem: Ofeq Institute, 1990, 20.

[4] Id. at 58.

[5] Colette Sirat, Hebrew Manuscripts of the Middle Ages, ed. & transl. Nicholas de Lange, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002, 234.

[6] Id. 242-43.

[7] R. N. Rabinowitz, Dikdukei Soferim, Munich: E. Hovner, 1881, vol. 11, Tractate Baba Bathera, 7.

[8] Sirat, Hebrew Manuscripts, 235-38.

[9] Richler, Hebrew Manuscripts, 45.

[10] Id. 48.

[11] Interestingly, illuminated haggadot did not end with the introduction of printing, there are a number from the 18th century and beyond.

[12] See B. Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts, Jerusalem: Keter Publishing House, 1969, 106.

[13] Richler, Hebrew Manuscripts, 47.

[14] Marc Michael Epstein, The Medieval Haggadah: Art, Narrative, and Religious Imagination, New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 2011, 50-51. See the other discussions of this book, here.

[15] Id. 51.

[16] Id. 51-53, 71-72. Much of the discussion regarding this haggadah and the Golden Haggadah is reliant upon Epstein’s thorough analysis of these manuscripts.

[17] Id. 65-68, 71-72.

[18] Id. 87-90.

[19] M. Spitzer & B. Narkiss, “General Description of the Manuscript,” in The Bird’s Head Haggada of the Bezalel National Art Museum in Jerusalem, ed. by M. Spitzer, Tarshish Books: Jerusalem, 1967, 23.

[20] Epstein, The Medieval Haggadah, 90-91.

[21] Id. 162.

[22] Id. 178.

[23] Id. 185-86.

[24] Narkiss, Hebrew Illuminated Manuscripts, 126.

[25] Elliot Horowitz, “Between Cleanliness and Godliness,” in Tov Elem: Memory, Community & Gender in Medieval & Early Modern Jewish Societies, ed. E. Baumgarten, et al., Bialik Institute, Jerusalem:2011, *38-*39.

[26] Piet van Boxel, “The Virgin & the Unicorn: A Christian Symbol in a Hebrew Prayer Manuscript,” in Crossing Borders, Hebrew Manuscripts as a Meeting-place of Cultures, ed. Piet van Boxel & Sabine Arndt, Bodleian Library, University of Oxford:2009, 57-68.

[27] The hare hunt image appears in Seder Zimerot u-Birkat ha-Mazon, Prague 1514, in the Shevuot portion. Of course, the mnemonic applies to any holiday that potentially falls on a Saturday night. See B. Roth, “Printed Illustrated Hebrew Haggadot,” Areshet, vol. 3 (1961), 8.

[28] See Leor Jacobi, “Jewish Hawking in Medieval France: Falconry, Rabbenu Tam, and the Tosefists,” in Oqimta 1 (2013) 421-504, available here.

[29] Y. Yerushalmi, Haggadah & History, The Jewish Publication Society, United States:1997, plate 15.

[30] The various manuscript depictions of marror are collected in Mendel Metzger, La Haggada Enluminee, Brill, Leiden:1973, figs. 242-65.

[31] Levi Cooper, “Bitter Herb in Hasidic Galicia,” Jewish Studies, an Internet Journal, vol. 12, 2013 (available here).

A Few Comments Regarding The First Woodcut Border Accompanying The Prague 1526 Haggadah

A Few Comments Regarding The First Woodcut Border Accompanying The Prague 1526 Haggadah

The Prague 1526 edition of the Haggadah is one of the most important illustrated haggadot ever published. It is perhaps the earliest printed illustrated haggadah for a Jewish audience and served as a model for many subsequent illustrated haggadot.[1] The earliest printed haggadah with illustration was published in 1512 in Latin and for a non-Jewish audience. That haggadah contains six woodcuts, and was intended as a response to the infamous anti-Semite Pfefferkorn’s screeds against Judaism.[2]The woodcut accompanying the first page shows three Jews around the seder who have four cups in front of them. Although the Talmud explicitly states that one is not required to have four distinct cups of wine, presumably the image is a crude method of indicating the four-fold nature of the wine during the seder rather than prescribing custom.

The Prague 1526 edition was published by Gershom and his brother Gronom Katz on Sunday, 26th of Tevet 5287 or December 30, 1526.[3] This detailed publication information does not appear on the title page, rather it appears at the end of the book and is referred to as a colophon. The colophon is a manuscript convention that was incorporated into earlier printed books. The Prague 1526 edition does not have a title page at all. At that time, the usage of the title page was only in its early stages.[4]

The Earliest Hebrew Title Pages

As with non-Hebrew titles, the title page developed over time, both in terms of content as well as usage.[5] The first Hebrew title page is that of the Sefer Rokeah published in Fano in 1505.[6] But that title page is really one of the more basic forms of the title page, known as a “label title page” providing only the title and author and no other ornamentation or information.[7] In that same year, an edition of Abarbanel’s Zevah Pesach was published in Constantinople. This edition was the first to contain a border with the title and author, but no place or date of publication.[8] The first Hebrew book containing all the elements of a traditional title page, border, title, author, place and date is likely the 1511 Pesaro edition of the Talmud published by Soncino.[9]

Traditionally, the Hebrew title page is referred to as a “sha’ar” or gate. The theory behind this description is that many title page borders are comprised of “gates,” the most common are the pillars that adorn many Hebrew books and are assumed to be those at Saint Peter’s Basillica in Rome. Their inclusion in Hebrew books is perhaps linked to the (discredited) notion that the Catholic Church maintains certain portions of the Jewish Temple, and these pillars were actually in the Temple. The first Hebrew book to use an architectural border is Daniel Bomberg’s edition of the Jerusalem Talmud published in 1522.[10]

Illustrations in Hebrew Books

Returning to the Prague 1526 haggadah, as mentioned previously, this edition was copiously illustrated, including the first page of the book. This is not the first example of Hebrew printed illustrations. The earliest illustration to appear in a Hebrew book is that of a lulav and a handful of other explanatory images accompanying the Rome edition of the Sefer Mitzvot Gedolot dated to before 1480.[11]

The first fully illustrated Hebrew book was published in the incunabula period as well, it is Isaac ben Solomon Ibn Sahula’s Meshal ha-Qadmoni, printed in Italy, circa 1491, by Gershom Soncino.[12]

The border surrounding the first page of the Prague 1526 incorporates both Jewish as well as non-Jewish elements. First, it is obvious that a Jew had a hand in the border as, in the inset, it displays someone performing bedikat hametz (searching for the bread) where he is using the traditional implements of a candle and chicken feather. The outside border is less Jewish, and as many have noted, appears to be a copy of Italian/German renaissance borders. The two most likely candidates for models for Prague are the border first used in the 1518 edition of Sacri Doctoris by Raymond Lulli (available here) or a border first used in 1519 for Paolo Ricci’s, Lepida et litere in Augsburg and reused in an Augsburg 1522 edition of Erasmus, Ad reverendum (available here). Although we cannot pinpoint exactly which of these, if any, served as a model, what is clear is that among the images included in this border are bare-breasted women.

The use of bare breasted women to illustrate the haggadah is not limited to Prague. Both Charles Wengrov and Elliot Horowitz have pointed to earlier manuscript antecedents for Prague’s usage of such illustrations.[13] Aside from the printed example of the Prague 1526 Haggadah, this convention continued in manuscripts as well illuminated after 1526. There are at least four such 16th century examples.[14] Additionally, and contrary to Horwitz’s contention that Spanish Jews were less accepting of such displays,[15] the Sarajevo Haggadah, which originated in Spain around 1350, includes two panels of Adam and Eve both depicting a bare-breasted Eve.

Likewise, the Golden Haggadah, 1320 Spanish manuscript includes the same form of illustration of the Adam and Eve scene. Additionally, the Golden Haggadah includes images of nude bathers when it depicts Miriam standing from afar to see what will become of baby Moses.[16]

III. Censorship in Modern Reprints of Prague 1526

These historical antecedents notwithstanding, recent reprints of Prague 1526 have not been as accepting. This initial border has been altered to airbrush and removes the bare breasts. In 1989, a facsimile edition of Prague 1526 was published with the commentary of the Prague rabbi, Rabbi Yehuda Loew (Maharal). This border has been “touched up.”

Similarly, in 1998, a colorized facsimile edition of Prague 1526 was published. Although the publishers took great pains to provide color where before there was black and white, they also altered this border.

Oddly enough, although they found this image offensive, they decided to reproduce it in two other places in this reprint even though this image only appears once in the original. Here is the original:

Not only is the first border altered, but other instances of bare breasts have been removed; most notably the image accompanying the verse from Ezekiel 16:7 “I made you grow like a plant of the field. You grew up and developed and became the most beautiful of jewels. Your breasts were formed and your hair grew, you who were naked and bare.”

(As discussed previously here a later, Venice 1609, edition also altered this page.) Again in 2001, a facsimile of Prague 1526 “published by the Religious Council of Efrat in honor of the settlement’s twentieth anniversary . . . . two illustrations are surreptitiously deleted: the bare breasted woman” accompanying the verse from Ezekiel.[17] Most recently, in 2009, the airbrushed image of this woman was reproduced in The Schechter Haggadah: art, history; commentary.[18]

[1] There may be an earlier illustrated print haggadah, however, only 12 leaves of this haggadah are extant making it difficult to date (or identify the country of origin). For a bibliography regarding this fragment haggadah see Y. Yudlov, Otzar haHaggadot, Magnes Press, Jerusalem:1997, entry 9; and most recently, Eva Frojmovic, “From Naples to Constantinople: The Aesop Workshop’s Woodcuts in the Oldest Illustration Printed Haggadah,” in The Library, Sixth Series, Vol. XVIII, No. 2, June:1996, pp. 87-109.

[2] See R. Cohen, Jewish Icons: Art & Society in Modern Europe, University of California Press, CA:1998, pp. 21-22; see also Y.H. Yerushalmi, Haggadah; History: A Panorama in Facsimile, Philidelphia:1978, plates 6-8.

[3] Aside from the edition discussed herein, there is at least one copy of another haggadah that is also published by Cohen in Prague that same year. While both versions are substantially similar, some of the images and borders have been changed. Relevant for our purposes, is that the image accompanying “Sefokh” which is a full
page border with images of bare breasted women, has been replaced with a more innocuous border found elsewhere in the haggadah. See Yudlov, Otzar, entry 8; A. Ya’ari, Bibliography of the Passover Haggadah,
Bamberg & Wahrman, Jerusalem:1960, entry 7; Rabbi Charles Wengrov, Haggadah & Woodcut: an Introduction to the Passover Haggadah Completed by Gershom Cohen in Prague, Shulsinger Bros., New York:1967, pp. 78-9.

[4] The first Prague imprint to include a separate title page is in a 1526 edition of Yotzrot published by Cohen. See Wengrov, Haggadah & Woodcut, p. 82 n.238.

[5] Although, with regard to the adoption of the title page, Jews appear to adopt this convention at or near the time as society at large, that was not the case with other literary advances. While the majority of the western world adopted the codex and discarded the scroll some time in the third century, the first recorded Jewish reference to the codex does not occur until the late
eighth or the early ninth centuries. See Anthony Grafton, “From Roll to Codex: A Christian Initiative,” in Crossing Borders, Hebrew Manuscripts as a Meeting-place of Cultures, ed. Piet van Boxel & Sabine Arndt, Bodleian Library:2012, pp. 15-20.

[6] A.M. Habermann, Title Pages of Hebrew Books, Museum of Printing Art, Safed:1969, pp. 8-9.

[7] For a discussion of the development of the title page as well as the different types, i.e., label, border, end-title, see M.M. Smith, The Title-Page its early development 1460-1510, The British Library & Oak Knoll Press, London & Deleware:2000.

[8] See M.J. Heller, The Sixteenth Century Hebrew Book: An Abridged Thesaurus, Brill, Leiden & Boston:2004, vol. I, pp. 6-7.

[9] The border used for the Pesaro Talmuds first appeared in Decachordum Christianum (The Christian Ten String Harpsichord) published in Fano, 1507 by Gershom Soncino. See M.J. Heller, Printing the Talmud, pp. 104-117 Additionally, see Heller’s discussion, id. p. 113, regarding Soncino’s reuse of the Dechachaordum‘s frames. In reality, although the frames were originally cut for Decachordum, they were first used on Gershom’s edition of Bahya ibn Pakua’s commentary on the Torah, published four months prior to Decachordum. See M.J. Heller, The Sixteenth Century Hebrew Book: An Abridged Thesaurus, Brill, Leiden & Boston:2004, vol. I, p. 41; Smith, The Title-Page, supra, pp. 47-59 (discussing the use of the blank title page).

[10] See A.M. Habermann, “The Jewish Art of the Printed Book,” in Jewish Art, An Illustrated History, ed. Cecil Roth [revised ed. by B. Narkiss], New York Graphic Society Ltd., Connecticut:1971, pp. 167-68. In Habermann’s earlier work, Title Pages of Hebrew Books, p. 9, he erroneously asserts that the earliest works to include architectural title pages were Soncino’s Melitza le-Maskil and Bomberg’s Tanach, both published in 1524/25.

[11] See Joshua Bloch, “The Library’s Roman Hebrew Incunabula,” in Hebrew Printing & Bibliography, ed. Charles Berlin, New York:1976, p. 140. For a description of this work see S. Iakerson, Catalogue of Hebrew Incunabula from the Collection of the Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, JTS, New York & Jerusalem:2005, entry 7.

[12] See A.M. Habermann, “The Jewish Art of the Printed Book,” supra, at 169. Habermann appears to argue that this is first printed Hebrew book containing illustrations, is incorrect. As discussed above, the first was the Rome edition of Sefer Mitzvot Gedolot. He is not alone in this error. Ursula Schubert makes the same error. See Ursula Schubert, Jewish Book Art, From the Renaissance until Emancipation, [Hebrew], Kibbutz hami-Uchad, Tel Aviv:1994, p. 27. Habermann, id., notes that the great Hebrew bibliographer, Mortiz Steinschneider, was tricked with regard to one of the illustrations contained in Meshal
ha-Qadmoni. Steinschneider, in a discussion about the alleged Christian origins of these illustrations, called attention to the fact that in one of them contains a monk wearing a crucifix. But, in the interim we have learned “that this last embellishment was a
practical joke played by a Christian scholar. . . [the crucifix] having been added by [a later] hand!” Regarding the history and origins of the images included in Meshal ha-Qadmoni, see César Merchán-Hamann, “Fables from East to West,” in Crossing Borders, pp. 35-44; Ursula Schubert, Jewish Book Art, pp. 27-8.

[13] Rabbi Charles Wengrov, Haggadah & Woodcut, p. 47 nn.112-13;Elliot Horowitz, “Between Cleanliness and Godliness,” in Tov Elem: Memory, Community & Gender in Medieval & Early Modern Jewish Societies, ed. E. Baumgarten, et al., Bialik Institute, Jerusalem:2011, *38-*39.

[14] Mendel Metzger, La Haggada Enluminée, E.J. Brill:1973, plate LIV, nos. 303-305; Chantily Haggadah, Musée Condé, Ms.
732, fol. 13, reproduced in Index of Jewish Art, eds. B. Narkiss & G. Sed-Rajna, Jerusalem-Paris:1976, vol. I, card no. 36.

[15] Horowitz, “Between Cleanliness,” at *38, (“One suspects that a Spanish Jew coming to Germany in the early 15th century would have been equally surprised to see an image of a naked woman” in a Hebrew manuscript.).

[16] The Golden Haggadah, ed. Bezalel Narkiss, Pomegranate Artbooks, California:1997, figs. 17 & 24.

[17] Id. n.37. Horowitz only notes the 2001 example of censorship of Prague 1526, and apparently is unaware of the earlier
examples. Additionally, he chastises the Efrat reproduction for erroneously indicating a 1527 publication date. Efrat is not only in erring regarding the secular date. The first facsimile edition (Berlin:1925), which includes a scholarly introduction, full title
is: “Die Pessach Haggadah Des Gerschom Kohen Gedruckt Zu Prag 5287/1527.” Perhaps one can excuse the error as, in reality, it was completed on the eve of 1527, December 30, 1526.

[18] The Schechter Haggadah: Art, History & Commentary, [illustrations selected and annotated by David Golinkin], Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem:2009, p. 36, fig. 16.1.