How Jews of Yesteryear Celebrated Graduation from Medical School:
Congratulatory Poems for Jewish Medical Graduates in the 17^th and 18^th Centuries:
An Unrecognized Genre

Rabbi Edward Reichman, MD

Edward Reichman, Professor of Emergency Medicine at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine, is the author of The Anatomy of Jewish Law: A Fresh Dissection of the Relationship Between Medicine, Medical History and Rabbinic Literature (Published by Koren Publishers/OU Press/YU Press, 2022), as well as the forthcoming, Pondering Pre-Modern(a) Pandemics in Jewish History: Essays Inspired by and Written during the Covid-19 Pandemic by an Emergency Medicine Physician (Shikey Press).

Prelude

    As the season of graduation is upon us, I thought to look for a copy of the Hebrew poem I received upon my graduation from medical school. My search however was in vain, as I ultimately realized that no such sonnet was ever composed. When I graduated medical school some years ago, my parents, a”h, were overjoyed. They purchased me a copy of the Physician’s Prayer of Maimonides [1] (which still hangs on my wall) from the then-popular olive wood factory on the bustling Meah Shearim Street in Jerusalem. My extended family, friends, classmates, and mentors shared in my accomplishment, but no tangible expression of their happiness was forthcoming (nor did I expect one). At that time, the notion of someone authoring a poem in honor of my graduation, was, suffice it to say, nowhere to be found in the gyri of my cerebral cortex, with which I had become intimately familiar from my neuroanatomy lectures.

    My transient memory, or more aptly, history lapse may perhaps be forgiven, as I currently spend a portion of my life in Early Modern Europe, immersed in the world of Jewish medical history. It is in this period where we will find the origins of my (only partially misguided) poetic yearnings.

Introduction

    This year I discovered an account of a poem in honor of the graduation of an 18^th century Jewish medical student. It appeared some fifty years ago in the pages of Koroth, a journal of Jewish medical history.[2] The poem is housed in the Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana in the Netherlands, part of the Library of the University of Amsterdam. The article, written by the late Professor Joshua Leibowitz, grandfather of the academic field of Jewish medical history, and founding editor of Koroth, discusses the poem’s author, Isaac Belinfante, a poet, bibliophile, and preacher at the Ets Haim Synagogue in Amsterdam, and provides a transcription and commentary of the poem.

    As to the date of the poem, Leibowitz suggests around 1770.[3] About the recipient, whose name appears in the text of the poem, Leibowitz was unable to identify additional biographical information.

    Leibowitz’s most astonishing observation, however, was that “what we have before us is an occasional poem dedicated to a topic not found in Hebrew literature, the graduation of a physician.” This was the first and only poem of this type Leibowitz had encountered.[4]

    Here we revisit this poem and reclaim the lost identity of its recipient, solving one seemingly insignificant historical mystery. In the process, however, we discover that Leibowitz’s observation was profoundly mistaken, though by no fault of his own. This poem is in fact part of a much larger story in Jewish literary and medical history, one that can only now be adequately explored. We reveal an entire genre of literature in Jewish history that has gone largely unrecognized and underappreciated.

Section 1- Solving a 150-year-old Mystery

    Isaac Belinfante was a prominent personality and prolific poet in eighteenth century Amsterdam. He penned poems for friends, preachers, fellow poets, and as far as we know, only one poem for a graduating physician, Moses Rodrigues.

    Until today, the identity of Rodrigues and his medical institution has remained unknown.

The Date of the Poem

    Leibowitz writes that, “The external evidence would favour a date round about the year 1770, as most of the printed poems of Isaac Belinfante appeared at this time.” In fact, we needn’t seek external sources. An examination of the original manuscript reveals the date at the very bottom of the page.[5]

 

 

 

 

    The “A” is assumedly for annum, and the Hebrew year 5529 corresponds to 1768 or 1769. As we shall see, it refers to the latter. Leibowitz was off by only one year. I suspect he viewed a reproduction of the document, and the bottom of the page, which included the date, was simply left off the copy. Had he viewed the original, this notation would have surely not escaped his keen eye.

The Institution and Identity of the Graduate

    The text of the poem does not explicitly mention the institution. The physical presence of the poem in the Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana in Amsterdam might reflect that the recipient was Dutch or that he graduated from a Dutch university. The author of the poem lived in Amsterdam and the last name of the recipient, Rodrigues, was common in 18^th century Amsterdam. However, based on the description of the graduation ceremony in the text of the poem, as well as other factors, Leibowitz writes that “we are inclined to suppose that Dr. Rodrigues obtained his degree abroad, possibly in Padua, as most of the Dutch Jewish physicians in the 17^th and 18^th centuries bore foreign diplomas.”[6]

Below is the relevant verse:

    The mention of the student’s rejoicing upon exiting the “house of the argument” is clearly a reference to the room where the graduation dissertation/disputation was held. The verse concludes with a description of the placing of a hat (biretta) on the graduate’s head and a ring on his finger. These are known features of the graduation ceremony from the University of Padua,[7] with which Leibowitz was quite familiar.[8]

    There is a spectacular illustration of this ceremony, which has gone unnoticed, found in the diploma of a Jewish medical graduate of Padua from 1687, Moses Tilche.[9]

    However, these elements were not necessarily unique to Padua. Indeed, while disputations were a prominent feature of most European universities, starting from the late fifteenth century (at least), the disputationes before obtaining a doctorate had fallen into disuse in Padua.[10] Leibowitz was not aware of this. The other graduation features were also not unique to Padua and were found in the commencement ceremonies of other European universities. Leibowitz believed this poem to be a unicum, and as such, he had no basis for comparison, or reference points to identify the institution.

    As for the graduate himself, Rodrigues is found nowhere in Friedenwald’s classic work,[11] nor in Nathan Koren’s expansive biographical index of Jewish physicians.[12] Moreover, despite the proliferation of online resources and databases, a Google search yields no results.

    Let us consider Leibowitz’s suggestion that Rodrigues was a graduate of a foreign medical school, such as Padua. Modena and Morpurgo compiled a comprehensive list, based on extensive archival research, of the Jewish students who attended the University of Padua from 1617-1816.[13] There is no Rodrigues listed among the students who either matriculated or graduated from the University of Padua.

    If Rodrigues did not attend Padua, perhaps he trained in Germany, as by this time Jews were widely accepted into German universities.[14] A review of these records again reveals no Moses Rodrigues. He is likewise not found amongst the of Jewish physicians in Poland at the time.[15]

    Having ruled out a foreign institution, we return to the land of the poem’s origin. Komorowski lists the graduation and dissertation of a Moses Rodrigues from Leiden in 1788,[16] but this is some twenty years after our poem was written. Perhaps a relative.

    This brings us to the work of Hindle Hes, who authored a monograph focusing exclusively on the Jewish physicians in the Netherlands.[17] Indeed, it is Professor Leibowitz who suggested to Hes the subject of her study.[18] (Perhaps he had hoped to resolve Rodrigues’ identity.) Hes lists a Mozes Rodrigues who graduated the University of Utrecht July 7, 1769,[19] the year of Belinfante’s poem. This aligns with the recipient of our poem. Rodrigues’ dissertation is pictured below.

    Moses Rodrigues hailed from Madrid and trained and practiced as a surgeon in Paris prior to his stay in Amsterdam. He later completed a medical degree in the University of Utrecht.²⁰ In the University of Utrecht student registry,[21] he is listed as Moseh Rodrigues, Hyspanus, Chirurgus Amstelodamensis (surgeon from Amsterdam), reflecting that he had already been a practicing surgeon. The other students in the registry have no such descriptor, only their names appearing.

    In the four-page introduction to his Latin dissertation,[22] Rodriguez notes that he had been a practicing surgeon for twenty-seven years prior to obtaining his medical degree. Unfortunately, he provides little other personal biographical information. What would compel a practicing surgeon to obtain an additional medical degree later in life? The content of the introduction provides possible insight. At this stage of history, surgery and medicine were unique disciplines with very different training and focus. Surgeons rarely attended universities. Rodrigues strongly advocates for the synthesis and unity of surgical and medical training.

It is one thing, moreover, that I thought it best to advise publicly in this work, namely, that twin arts are by the worst design and custom and are descended from the same father from the intimacy by which they are tied together. I am pointing to the medical and surgical art, which they distinguish with differences in various places, so that the first is concerned with curing internal diseases, the second in curing external diseases. What a distinction, since I see it extended beyond what is equal, as if these parts of medicine were to be separated rather than to be joined together! I wish to subject this work to this admonition, and to prove my endeavors in promoting both arts to good and fair readers, because, when I shall have attained it, I shall seem to have rendered to me the most beautiful fruit of design or of labor.[23]

    Formal university training in medicine would surely advance this objective. It is also possible that despite his years of experience, Rodrigues needed a formal degree to procure a higher-level position in the Netherlands.[24]

    The content of Belinfante’s poem further corroborates our identification.[25]

    In describing the medical practice of Rodrigues, Belinfante invokes distinctly surgical practices. The graduate is described as healing every “netah,” traumatic injury (from the word nituah, anatomy, or in today’s usage, surgery), as well as “one struck from a flying arrow.”[26] He seals the “mouth” of every wound and closes every opening. There are references to his treatment of afflictions of the skin and bone, as well as punctured, mauled or amputated limbs, all the domain of the barber-surgeon. This description would not have been applicable to a typical medical graduate or practitioner of medicine, but was clearly relevant to Moses Rodrigues, a practitioner of surgery. As mentioned above, Rodrigues was identified as a practicing surgeon in his matriculation record. He is also so identified on the cover page of his dissertation.

    While Hes makes no mention of any poem, it is unlikely she would have come across this lone leaflet buried in the archives of the Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana.

    In sum, we have conclusively proven that Moseh Rodrigues, graduate of Utrecht in 1769, is the recipient of Belinfante’s ode. While there is satisfaction in the historical restoration of this one obscure poem, it pales in comparison to the discovery revealed in the next section.

Section 2- An Update to Leibowitz’s Observation- Congratulatory Poems in Honor of Jewish Medical Graduates

    In 1971, Leibowitz was compelled to write an article on the Rodrigues poem owing to his belief in the utter novelty of a sonnet for a Jewish medical graduate in the 18^th century. How novel indeed was such an enterprise?

    In the last fifty years, a number of similar poems have come to light. Experts in Jewish Renaissance poetry have written about them;[27] bibliophiles, collectors and libraries own them; Jewish medical historians have footnoted them,[28] but I suspect none of them appreciates the extent of the proverbial forest.

    In the course of my research in the field of Jewish medical history, I have taken note of these poems, the majority of which were written for graduates of the University of Padua.

    Italian Hebrew poetry from the Renaissance and Early Modern Period, often in broadside form, has been and remains an eminently collectible category. These poems, written for a variety of occasions including weddings and funerals, are often part of larger manuscript and book collections of bibliophiles, and while some remain in private hands, many have landed in major institutions.[29] Among these collections, we find poems written for medical graduates of Padua.[30] Thus far, I have identified a record of one hundred poems,[31] mostly in Hebrew, written for sixty five medical graduates, all from the University of Padua during the 17^th to early 19^th centuries.[32]

    Similar poems can also be found for Jewish graduates in the Netherlands and Germany, though in smaller numbers.[33] The timeline of their appearance mirrors the transition of Jewish medical training from Padua to the Netherlands to Germany.[34]

    Though Leibowitz had no access to other poems, his conjecture was Padua as the student’s place of graduation.[35] While the recipient of that particular poem happened to be a Dutch university graduate, Leibowitz’s instincts were essentially correct. We now know that this genre of poetry for the Jewish medical student, in particular in Padua, was quite common.

Below I provide some observations of the congratulatory poetry for Jewish medical graduates.

Graduates of the University of Padua[36]

    Padua was the first university to allow Jews to formally train in medicine, and for a number of centuries, it was the only one. It is thus in association with the University of Padua that we find the earliest and most plentiful examples of our genre of poetry.

Chronological Span

    The poems range primarily from the 1620’s to the 1780’s, with some outliers expanding the dates from 1600 to 1836. One of the earliest examples is a poem written by Rabbi Yehuda Aryeh De Modena for the graduate David Loria.[37] The original, likely in the author’s hand, resides in the Bodleian Library.[38]

Format

    While the majority of the Padua poems are found in broadside format, some are found in book form, and others in manuscript. The broadside below, in honor of the graduate Jacob Coen (1691), is a typical example.[39]

Authors

    The authors include mentors, fellow students or recent graduates, family members, and poets (e.g., Simha Calimani and Isaiah Romanin). Some of the prominent personalities included among the authors are Rabbi Yehuda Arye de Modena, Rabbi Moshe Hayyim Luzzatto (Ramḥal), Rabbi Solomon Marini, and Rabbi Isaac Hayyim Cantarini. The example below, written by Ramḥal in honor of the graduation of Emanuele Calvo (1724),[40] is one of at least eight poems he authored for Padua graduates.[41]

Recipients

    For most of the graduates for whom we possess poems, we have only one example. A number of students however received multiple poems. For example, Joseph Hamitz (Padua, 1623) received eleven poems; Salomon Lustro (Padua, 1697)- eight; Shemarya (Marco) Morpurgo (Padua- 1747)- four. Below is a manuscript copy of a poem by Shabbetai Marini[42] in honor of Lustro. Marini, a fellow alumnus of Padua from 1685, and author of a number of graduate poems, also translated Ovid’s Metamorphosis into Hebrew.[43]

Numbers and Percentage of Students

    What percentage of medical graduates received congratulatory poems? Modena and Morpurgo list a total of 325 Jewish medical graduates from 1617-1816. We have a record of poems for sixty students in this period. We thus have poems for around 20% of the medical graduates from over a 200-year period. These are only the poems of which we are aware. As these poems were typically produced as ephemeral broadsides, there are certainly poems that have not survived. The actual percentage of student poems is thus likely higher.

Location

    The poems and broadsides derive primarily from the following institutions- the National Library of Israel (NLI),[44] the Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary (JTS), the Valmadonna Trust,[45] the British Library, the Bodleian Library, and the Kaufmann Collection at the Hungarian Academy of Sciences in Hungary.[46] In a number of cases, a copy of the same poem is found in more than one library. There are likely poems in both private and public hands that have not yet surfaced.

Congratulatory Poems from Netherlands and Germany

    While the lion’s share of congratulatory poems are connected to Padua, there are examples from other countries as well. In the mid-seventeenth century, universities in the Netherlands (Utrecht, Franeker, Leiden) began accepting Jewish medical students. I have begun exploring the dissertations of Jewish medical graduates of the Netherlands and their value for the study of Jewish medical history. A comprehensive study remains a desideratum. The poems from the Netherlands, and from Germany as well, are not found in broadside form, but rather appended to the medical student dissertations. In Padua there were no dissertations within which to append poems, thus the poems were issued as broadsides. The broadside form was also used for other types of poetry in Italy at this time. Below is an example of a poem for a graduate of the University of Leiden, one of the premier medical schools in the world at this time. Salomon Gumpertz graduated Leiden in 1684 with the following dissertation.

    Appended to the dissertation is a poem written by his relative and fellow graduate, Phillip Levi (AKA Yehoshua Feibelman).

    While there is no poem at the end of Levi’s own dissertation, there is a short prayer in Hebrew composed by Levi himself to celebrate the completion of his medical studies.[47]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blessed is the Lord who has not withheld his kindness from me and has bestowed upon me kindness and wisdom to learn the discipline of medicine. I hope that God will grant me blessing and success in my efforts and the scattered people of Israel from the four corners of the earth should be gathered, our exile should come to a speedy end, and God should send us to our land through the aegis of our Messiah speedily in our days, Amen.

    The Leiden University Senate was less than enamored by Levi’s addition and despite his graduation with honors censured him for concluding with a prayer insulting Christianity. The prayer ends with a plea to God to hasten the end of the exile by bringing “our Messiah” speedily in our days. The Senate added a warning as well for any future Jewish students to abstain from similar expressions.[48]

    We also find poems attached to medical dissertations of Jewish students in 18^th century Germany. However, while in the Netherlands there were only three of four major universities where Jews attended, with Leiden being the most common, in Germany, there were many universities that opened their doors to Jews in the 18^th century and onwards.[49] A proper study of the congratulatory poetry for Jewish medical graduates in Germany would be more challenging. Below is one example, a poem in honor of the graduation of Jonas Jeitteles[50] by Avraham HaKohen Halberstadt.

    Jonas was the Chief Physician of the Jewish community of Prague. In 1784, Joseph II granted Jonas and “his successors” the right to treat patients “without consideration of their religion.” He is best remembered for his campaign supporting Edward Jenner’s smallpox vaccination, for which he received the approbation of Rabbi Mordechai Banet.

Congratulatory Poems for Jewish Medical Graduates- A Genre Whose Time has Come

    Even today, manuscripts or books hidden for centuries are occasionally discovered and brought to light.[51] In this case however, it is not one item, nor even one genizah or repository that we have revealed, rather, recently discovered and previously unidentified items in collections across the world that constitute, in their aggregate, a unique genre of poetry. Imagine that just fifty years ago the founder of the field of Jewish medical history was aware of only one example.

    The collection of Jewish medical graduate poems as a whole merits recognition as a unique entity and awaits comprehensive cataloging and research.[52] To be sure, the concept of congratulatory poetry written upon completion of academic study, including medical education,[53] was not limited to Padua, nor was it limited to Jewish students. There was a broader practice of writing congratulatory poems, often in Greek or Latin, at the end of academic dissertations.[54] Nor was the use of the Hebrew language for this poetic expression restricted to the Jewish community. There was even a practice by non-Jews, typically Christian Hebraists, to write congratulatory poems in Hebrew.[55] Comparison of these different bodies of literature will surely be the substance of future dissertations, but there is no doubt that our genre will have a unique place in history.

    Jews throughout history were often restricted in their choice of professions, limited to money lending or medicine. Though allowed to become physicians, Jews were barred by papal decree from obtaining a university education. It was around the 16^th century that the first academic institution, the University of Padua officially accepted Jewish students. Next would be universities in the Netherlands, starting in the mid-17^th century, followed by Germany in the early 18^th century and others. It is in this historical context that the congratulatory poems for Jewish medical students evolved. The collective community elation at the newly allowed entrance into the world’s leading academic institutions is reflected in these sonnets.

Conclusion

    Writing in 1971 about a manuscript of a poem he had recently discovered, Leibowitz claimed that the congratulatory poem for Jewish medical graduates was “a topic not found in Hebrew literature.” We now know just how untrue this statement is. It is not only “found in Hebrew literature,” but it was a common practice spanning over two hundred years and multiple countries. More examples will surely be discovered. While extensive research has been done for the Paduan poems, more work is needed to explore and identify the poems from graduates of the Netherlands, Germany,[56] and other countries.[57]

    For a variety of reasons, the unique genre of poetry for the Jewish medical graduate has all but disappeared in the modern era. This at least partially reflects the dissipation of the novelty of the concept of the university-trained Jewish physician. While arguably a positive trend, it nonetheless behooves us to restore this underappreciated genre to its rightful glory. Though I hesitate to call for a resurrection of the enterprise, partially due to my personal literary ineptitude, at the very least a recollection of the practice would serve to imbue today’s Jewish medical graduates with a renewed sense of pride and historical perspective.

The Discovery of a Hidden Treasure in the Vatican and the Correction of a Centuries-Old Error

Rabbi Edward Reichman, MD

In 2018, I was invited to speak at a conference co-sponsored by the Vatican and the CURA Foundation entitled, Unite to Cure: A Global Health Care Initiative. The mission of the conference was to “convene leading decision makers in medicine, business, media, advocacy and faith to encourage multidisciplinary collaboration, increase investment in research and innovation… education and better access to health care.”[1] My role, as a physician and rabbi, was to represent the Jewish faith in this dialogue and initiative. While “better access to health care” remains a desideratum, access to information in our age is historically unprecedented. The explosion of technology, communication, and social media have put the world’s vast knowledge, both present and past, within finger’s reach. The present contribution, detailing a fortuitous discovery at the Vatican, recalls an earlier period in Jewish history when access to sacred texts was generally limited. The advent of printing would portend an exponential increase in availability of Jewish books, but a controversy arose in its wake which ironically led to even greater inaccessibility of one of Judaism’s most fundamental texts.

No visit to the Vatican would be complete without a visit to its storied library. In anticipation of my trip, I contacted the Vatican Library to secure a reader’s pass.[2] I then scoured the catalogue and consulted colleagues for items of Jewish medical and general Jewish interest.

While I would only have a brief time to spend in the library I focused my list mostly on medically related works, both in manuscript and printed form. One of the works I included is not typically thought of as such. It is an incunable which was the answer to one of Professor Marc Shapiro’s Seforim Blog quiz questions- what was the first Hebrew book published in the lifetime of its author? The answer is Nofet Tzufim (Abraham Conat: Mantua, 1475) by Judah Messer Leon.[3]

Judah Messer Leon was an extraordinary physician, professor, and Torah scholar. He was granted the title of Count Palatine by the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick III[4] which allowed him to confer doctorates upon other Jews of proven worthiness. Nofet Tzufim is a treatise on rhetoric, utilizing the classical literary devices of the ancient discipline of rhetoric applied to the Torah. One of the uses for this work was to prepare the Jewish students who matriculated from foreign countries to the medical schools in Italy. Indeed, he organized a yeshiva where students could receive a comprehensive Jewish education while training in the secular disciplines necessary for higher studies in the humanities, philosophy, and medicine.[5]

In my pre-visit research of the library catalogue, I noticed the record of a two-volume Mishneh Torah (Giustiniani: Venice, 1550-1551).[6] Being familiar with the controversy surrounding this work, I put it on my list despite its non-medical nature. I took a snapshot of the entry and placed it in my files.

Upon my arrival at the library, I was introduced to the protocols. I found it somewhat ironic that while the manuscripts were requested through a modern digital system, the printed works, housed in a different section, were requested by hand-written paper slip. When I submitted my requests to the librarian, I half expected her to respond, “and by the way, no, we do not have the Menorah.”[7]

The final item I requested was the Giustiniani Rambam. A short while after I submitted my slip, I noticed two massive unidentifiable tomes resting one atop the other on the front desk. It did not initially occur to me that these would be my requested items. I ultimately approached the desk and inquired if my items had arrived, only to be directed to these two plain, unadorned (with neither print nor illustration), nondescript, off white, cloth-covered folios. The covers are shown below:

The two volumes were virtually indistinguishable. As I opened the top volume, I observed the following printer’s mark on the title page.

This is the characteristic printer’s mark of Giustiniani, as expected, consisting of a picture of the Temple in Jerusalem (though more reminiscent of the Dome of the Rock). This was volume two of the Mishneh Torah.[8]

However, when I carefully cracked (almost literally) open the binding of the bottom volume, I noticed something unexpected:

The printer’s mark did not reveal a depiction of the Temple, rather it was comprised of three crowns, the distinct mark of another printing house. At this point, a brief review of the controversy surrounding the Giustiniani Rambam is in order.

Rabbi Meir ben Isaac Katzenellenbogen (1482-1565), known as Maharam Padua, produced a new edition of Rambam’s Mishneh Torah, including his own notes, and providing some of Rambam’s Talmudic references. As Jews were generally prohibited from publishing books at this time, he initially approached a veteran non-Jewish printer of Hebrew books, Marco Antonio Giustiniani. For unknown reasons, this arrangement did not work, and R. Katzenellenbogen instead published his work with Alfonse Bragadini, a novice printer for whom this would be his first publication. Very shortly thereafter, within the year, Giustiniani published a similar edition of the Mishneh Torah, including the notes of R. Katzenellenbogen, though with some alterations and with accompanying criticism, without the latter’s consent. He proposed to charge one gold coin less for purchase, clearly intending to sabotage Bragadini’s newly minted press. Fearing the loss of his significant financial investment, R. Katzenellenbogen approached the then-young R. Moshe Isserles (Rama) to adjudicate what would be one of the first cases in rabbinic literature of copyright infringement.[9]

Rama ruled in favor of R. Katzenellenbogen / Bragadini, but having no recourse in the secular courts, placed a cherem (excommunication) on any Jew who purchased books from Giustiniani until the print run of R. Katzenellenbogen had been sold. Giustiniani reacted fiercely, appealing to the Catholic Church and casting aspersions of blasphemy on the work. The Vatican expanded its inquiry launching a frontal attack on the work of R. Katzenellenbogen and other rabbinic texts as containing objectionable/heretical material. The attack soon included the Talmud and ultimately culminated in the decree to burn all extant copies of the Talmud and related works in 1553 in Campo di Fiori Square, just a few blocks from the Vatican.[10] Other cities in Italy soon followed suit and virtually all the copies the Talmud in Italy in both manuscript and print, as well as related works, including some editions of Rambam,[11] went up in flames.

The printer’s mark bearing the three crowns I observed on the title page of this work is none other than that of the Bragadini Publishing House. Upon further inspection, it became clear that I was looking at the original Bragadini edition of the Rambam Mishneh Torah, volume one, with the notes of the Maharam of Padua, from which the Giustiniani edition was copied. The Vatican library did not list a Bragadini edition of Rambam in its catalogue and was unaware of its existence. The Bragadini is volume one of the Mishneh Torah, and the Giustiniani edition is volume two. By external visual inspection the volumes look virtually identical in size and appearance with similar bland covers, worn and worm-eaten to the same degree. It is quite possible that the librarian who received these volumes some centuries ago opened only the second of two volumes, entering the information accordingly for the two-volume work, and simply never bothered to open the other volume. This theory is possibly corroborated by the fact that pencil markings with the catalogue number of the Vatican Library appear only in the second (Giustiniani) volume (in the upper left hand corner) and not in the first (Bragadini).

Once I realized the cataloguing error, I immediately notified the librarian of this oversight, though she was of course unfamiliar with the historical significance of these volumes, and I was assured that the catalog would be corrected accordingly.

Upon my return home, in April 2018, I followed with an e-mail to the Vatican Library including additional references and a fuller discussion of the historical significance of the different editions. Shortly thereafter, I had the opportunity to visit the private medical historical library and collection of the late, world-renowned neurosurgeon, Dr. James Goodrich, known for his expertise in separating craniopagus conjoined twins (sharing or connected by the brain). I shared the details of my recent Vatican Library visit, to which he responded with his own slightly more dramatic experience at the same library. While inspecting a Medieval anatomy text, he noticed one of the famous illustrations was missing from the volume. He immediately notified the librarian. Within a few moments, he was surrounded by police, hands in the air, being threatened with arrest, himself accused of the theft.

Every few months I would check to see if the catalogue entry had been corrected. Sometime in late 2019 or early 2020, I gave up hope of any correction and did not check further. In November 2021, in preparing topics for an upcoming cruise to Northern Italy on Italian Jewish medical history, I was reminded of the Vatican Library visit and searched the catalogue for the Bragadini Rambam. To my pleasant surprise, the catalogue had been corrected to reflect the two editions, and the entries for both volumes of Rambam had been updated and expanded.

New Entry for the Bragadini Rambam

New Entry for the Giustiniani Rambam

How these two volumes of one set from different printers originally came together remains a mystery, but this “mixed” set of Rambam appears to have been owned by both Jews and non-Jews from at least the 17^th century and possibly earlier. Previous ownership of the set by both institutions and individuals, Jews and non-Jews, is reflected by a number of similar inscriptions in the respective volumes.

Both volumes contain the imprint of the library of the Church Santa Pudenziana in Rome:

Volume 1

Volume 2

Both bear the inscription of D. Julius a S. Anast[asi]a with the added information that he purchased (emit) them in 1652.

Volume 1

Volume 2

That a set of Rambam would be owned by non-Jews, be it private or institutional, is not remarkable given the history of Christian Hebraism.[12] Julius de St. Anastasia was a pseudonym for Giulio Bartolocci (1613-1687),[13] an Italian Cistercian Monk and Hebrew scholar who authored a four-volume work on rabbinic literature, Bibliotheca Magna Rabbinica.[14] It was just a year before this purchase date, 1651, that he was appointed professor of Hebrew and Rabbinics at the Collegium Neophytorum in Rome and “Scriptor Hebraicus” at the Vatican Library. He may have purchased the volumes in 1652 either for his private collection or for the Vatican Library. In either case, it is likely that these volumes have been either in his possession or the Vatican Library’s since 1652. The residence of the Rambam volumes in the Biblioteca Santa Pudenziana thus likely precedes this period. Perhaps Bartolocci acquired the works from this library. This helps date another signature that appears on both title pages, one that escapes mention in the Vatican catalogue entry.

Volume 1

Volume 2

In the first I can clearly see the words שלי יצחק, which follow a decorative flourish, though cannot decipher the last name. In the second, I can see remnants of the words שלי יצחק, and the second name is missing entirely. At minimum, this establishes ownership by a man whose first name is Yitzhak sometime before the early to mid-seventeenth century. Who Yitzchak was, and when in the period between the publication of the volumes (1550) and their acquisition by the Biblioteca Santa Pudenziana he took possession, is unknown, though it is intriguing to contemplate. It is almost certain that he was the earliest of the known owners. It is unlikely that Yitzhak would have acquired a set of Rambam from representatives of the Catholic Church, though one can imagine how the Church acquired the works, be it directly or not, sometime after the events of 1553.

Let us consider the possibility that it was Yitzhak who first acquired the mixed set of Rambam during their time of publication. How would this have come about? Why did he not simply purchase both volumes of the Bragadini Rambam? Were both volumes issued together, or was volume two released later? The publication of the two volumes of the Giustiniani Rambam was separated by at least a number of months, with volume one appearing in 1550 and volume two released January 25, 1551.[15] Furthermore, what of the ban implemented by Rama? Would this not have prevented him from buying the Giustiniani Rambam altogether? When was the ban issued and when would he have even heard of it? Lastly, and most importantly, were these volumes not included in the decree to burn Jewish literature. How could they have survived?

In answer to this final question, copies of Rambam’s Mishneh Torah were confiscated and burned, though not as systematically as was the Talmud.[16] Rama’s ban would have had no impact whatsoever on Yitzhak’s purchasing preferences, as Rama explicitly limited his decree to “our country” (i.e., Poland). It is not known whether Italian rabbis adopted a similar stance for their communities.

Furthermore, these very volumes reflect the impact of the feud of their publishers, and of the subsequent burning and imposed censorship. According to the Vatican Library catalogue, they were censored by Lorenzo Franguello in 1575 and again in 1599 by Luigi Da Bologna.[17] Whether it was Yitzchak who presented the work to the censors we may never know.

The impact of the burning of the Talmud on Jewish literature in general has been treated elsewhere, but as my interests lie in Jewish medical history, I conclude by sharing its effect on one of the more prominent figures in Jewish medical history, Abraham Portaleone (d. 1612).[18] Portaleone, descendant of a long line of prominent physicians, and himself physician to dukes and princes, developed a stroke in his sixties leaving him partially paralyzed on one side of his body. His illness sparked reflection that led him to the conclusion that he had not devoted enough of his life to Torah study. To rectify this deficiency, he set out to compose a comprehensive work on prayer and the Temple service, Shiltei haGibborim, which he dedicated to his children. It is an encyclopedia of Renaissance knowledge, including extensive discussions on the composition of the Temple incense, drawing on contemporary botanical studies, as well as unprecedented research into the instruments and music of the Levites accompanying the Temple service.[19]

In his introduction, Portaleone details the nature of his early education, and recalls how while a student studying Talmud with R. Yaakov MiPano, the infamous decree led to the Talmud “being consumed by fire before our eyes.”[20] After the initial burning of the Talmud in Rome, other Italian cities followed suit with their own citywide burnings of the Talmud. Portaleone was witness to one such event. Decades later, as he penned his classic work, Shiltei haGibborim, the Talmud still remained unavailable in Italy. Portaleone was forced to use substitute works that alluded to or quoted the Talmud, if available, but sometimes the information was simply not accessible. For example, in his discussion of the Lechem Hapanim (shewbread) of the Temple, he writes, “Perhaps some place in the Talmud Hazal spoke of this, and I am not aware. As a result of the known decree [preventing access to the Talmud] I have not been able to properly ascertain this.”[21]

In one remarkable instance Portaleone reveals his elation at being able to acquire a bona fide Talmudic reference. He writes that after he completed the chapter on the Lishkat haGazit (Chamber of Hewn Stone), God ordained (“hikra”) that he happen upon a wise man from the city of Tzfat (where the Talmud was available) who had come to Italy to seek financial support for his family. “From his mouth I heard the sugya in the second chapter of Yoma on the laws of the Lishkat haGazit, and I write them here for you (my children) from his mouth…”[22]

In yet another place he excitedly relates of his accessing a small passage from Tractate Chagigah from a tattered manuscript remnant in the library of a great Torah scholar (Gaon) of Verona.[23]

These few, yet remarkable, instances reveal how the absence of access to the Talmud in Italy impacted the life and work of one of Jewish medical history’s most famous personalities.

While our ancestors yearned for access to even one miniscule fragment of the Talmud, we have unfettered access to virtually the totality of rabbinic literature literally at our fingertips, from a device likely smaller in size than the one fragment of Talmud Abraham Portaleone was so overjoyed to discover.

Conclusion

It is incredible to think that for hundreds of years, unbeknownst to the Vatican library, Bragadini has been hiding in plain sight under the cover of his arch nemesis and fierce competitor Giustiniani. Their feud led to one of the greatest tragedies in Jewish history, instigated by the very institution wherein they now lie. Giustinani’s press ceased production in 1552, shortly after and possibly related to his attack on Bragadini, while the Bragadini press, and the three crowns, continued for generations.[24] At long last Giustiniani’s reach from the grave to still overshadow Bragadini has been foiled and a centuries-long error has been rectified.

It is perhaps noteworthy that this discovery occurred while I was a presenter at a Vatican conference. As for the conference itself, the medical issues addressed (including stem cell research, CRISPR gene editing and longevity research) and their halakhic ramifications merit discussion in a different blog. However, let us pause and appreciate how far we have come with respect to religious tolerance.[25] Suffice it to say, had I lived in the times of Bragadini and Giustiniani, I would likely not have been invited to a conference at the Vatican.

Dr. Samuel Vita Della Volta (1772-1853): An Underappreciated Bibliophile and his Medical “Diploma”tic Journey

Rabbi Edward Reichman, MD

I came upon the name Samuel Vita Della Volta through my usual historical pathway, the world of Jewish medical history, and my continued quest for medical diplomas of Jewish physicians from the premodern era. While the lion’s share of the diplomas I have identified come from the University of Padua,[1] there are some extant Jewish diplomas from other Italian universities, including Siena, Rome, and Ferrara. One of two Jewish diplomas I have procured from the University of Ferrara is that of Samuel Vital Della Volta, a graduate of 1802.

From an artistic perspective, it pales in comparison to the diplomas of his Paduan predecessors. See, for example, the diploma of the 1695 Jewish Padua graduate, Copilius Pictor (AKA Jacob Mehler), below.[2]

In contrast to this profusely hand illustrated spectacular example of Renaissance art, Della Volta’s is a templated diploma with both text and illustration printed. Only the graduate’s particulars are written, or I dare say squeezed in, by hand. To be fair, by this time not all Padua medical diplomas were as ornate as in the past, as evidenced by the diploma of Andrea di Domenico Rossi (Padua, 1788).[3]

However, the university did not entirely abandon its practice of issuing such diplomas, as evidenced by the diploma of Carlo Tomasini (Padua, 1794).[4]

The diploma below of Jewish Padua graduate Rafael Luzzatto from 1797[5] is more in line with Della Volta’s, though at least Luzzatto’s diploma was hand calligraphed.[6]

This diploma bears the invocation, “In Dei Nomine Amen” (in the name of God, Amen), typical for the Jewish student, instead of the standard invocation, “In Christi Nomine Amen” (in the name of Christ, Amen), used for the Christian students. Close inspection of this diploma reveals that the word “Dei” was written over an erasure of a longer word.

I have a strong suspicion that this was a standard templated diploma and that the calligrapher erased the word “Christi” and replaced it with “Dei.”

While the medical diplomas of the Jewish students of Padua,[7] as well as those from other universities such as Siena,[8] contained unique emendations, one finds no such alterations in Della Volta’s case.[9]

What caught my attention about Della Volta’s diploma was not its esthetics, or lack thereof, but rather its place of residence. This lackluster diploma currently resides in Budapest, Hungary in the Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. The extant diplomas I have identified can be found mainly in Italy, Israel, and the United States. While each diploma has had its unique journey, these are by and large locations where the physicians lived, or their descendants migrated. For example, the diploma of Isaac Hellen can be found in a library in Germany,[10] but this is where Hellen lived and practiced. Della Volta was a Mantuan physician who lived and died in Italy. There is no record of his descendants migrating to Hungary. By what route then did this document reach such a wayward destination? Tracing the circulation of Jewish books “through time and place” is the laudable goal of the wonderful “Footprints” project.[11] While one may not always be able to track the exact journey of a book or manuscript through time, in this case we possess a passport of sorts with only three stops over some two hundred years that lead us directly to our final destination. The origin of this journey lies in the lifelong pursuits of our graduate.

Samuel Vita Della Volta (שמואל חי מלאוולטא) (1772-1853) was a physician and scholar born in Mantua whose writings include Biblical and Talmudic commentaries, sermons, and responsa. His works remain in manuscript and to my knowledge he has not been the subject of an academic biography.[12]

As a modest initiation into his writings, I share with you some observations from a few chapters selected from his unpublished work, Dan Yadin (1797).[13] The work is a miscellany of responsa and halakhic discussions. While the topics I have chosen are medical in nature, this reflects more my interest than the nature of the work.

Chapter 8 – Tefillin and Apoplexy (Stroke)[14]

This chapter takes the form of a classic responsum. The question is about a person who suffers from apoplexy, what today we would call a stroke or cerebrovascular accident (CVA).

While his cognitive function remains intact, he has lost motor function and sensation of his left arm. Is he still obligated to put on his tefillin shel yad, and if so, on which hand?

One of the more remarkable descriptions in Jewish literature of a stroke and its subsequent religious impact appears in the introduction to a work by another Jewish physician, Abraham Portaleone (d. 1612).[15] Portaleone came from a long line of physicians and graduated the University of Pavia in 1563.[16] He served as physician for the Dukes of Mantua, receiving special permission from Pope Gregory XIV to treat Christian patients. While he authored a number of medical works, it is only later in life that he wrote his Shiltei Ha-Gibborim on religious matters. The passage below from the book’s introduction explains why:

In June of 1605, Portaleone, a renowned and accomplished physician, reports how he experienced the sudden loss of function of the left side of his body, incapacitating him for some nine months. While he does not discuss how he observed the mitzvah of tefillin, he does mention his prayer, supplication, repentance, and religious self-reflection, which led him to undertake the writing of his magnum opus. This encyclopedic work was written for his children as a guide to proper religious prayer and observance,[17] focusing on the Temple service. It includes chapters on the musical instruments of the Beit Ha-Mikdash, the composition of the incense, and the details of the daily sacrifices. Della Volta would likely have read, if not owned, this work.

Returning to the halakhic question, Della Volta cites the Shevut Yaakov’s case of one born with only one arm on the right.[18] Rabbi Reischer debates whether such a person would be free of any obligation as he does not possess a yad keihe (non-dominant arm); or whether perhaps since he was born this way, his sole arm has the status of both a dominant and non-dominant arm combined. Rabbi Reischer accepts the latter approach and as such, requires the donning of tefillin. One who sustains a traumatic complete amputation of his non-dominant arm, however, would no longer be required to wear tefillin on that arm. (The obligation to wear tefillin shel rosh remains undisturbed.) Support for this position comes from Rama, the Bach and Maḥzik Brakhah. Della Volta argues that this would not apply to his case, where the physical arm is completely intact, albeit nonfunctional. With additional support from Rabbi Yeḥezkel Landau’s Dagul MeRevava, he concludes that the one who suffers a stroke with loss of function of his left arm would be required to wear tefillin accompanied by the requisite blessing.

Chapter 25[19] Anatomical Dissection

The topic of discussion for this chapter is anatomical dissection.

This appears to be a narrative bibliography of sorts. Della Volta cites a reference to a passage “at the end of Yoreh De’ah.” The halakha[20] to which he refers is:

אין מפרקין את העצמות ולא מפסיקין את הגידים

One must not separate the bones of the body, nor sever the gidim (however these are to be defined, possibly includes veins, arteries, nerves, and tendons).[21]

This halakha is in the context of a discussion on likut atzamot, collecting the bones for reburial after initial temporary burial, often in caves or kukhin (niches).[22] This halakha is not typically invoked in contemporary halakhic discussions about the prohibition of autopsy. The now famous teshuva of the Noda biYehuda on autopsy (Tinyana Y.D., 210) had already been published in 1776, but Della Volta does not appear to have been familiar with it.

While the Hebrew source seems to oppose dissection, the other sources marshalled appear to be supportive. In his discussion on the use of tefillin in a case of stroke, there is no mention of secular or medical sources, as they would be noncontributory. In a discussion on the value of dissection, such material would certainly be relevant. He cites, for example, the preface to a work on pathology by Christoforo Conradi which lauds the educational benefits of anatomical dissection.[23]

Della Volta cites from a number of additional medical sources, including Biblioteca Medica Browniana Germanica.

Of particular interest is his reference to another Jewish source:

Here he refers to the work of Benzion Raphael Kohen (Benedetto) Frizzi titled, Dissertazione di Polizia Medica sul Pentateuco (Pavia, 1787–1790), which is a thematic analysis of medicine and public health in the Torah and Jewish tradition.[24]

This volume, published in 1789, is one of six such dissertations written by Frizzi over four years. The exact passage referenced by Della Volta begins below:

This may be one of the earliest, if not the earliest, Jewish references to the works of Frizzi.

Frizzi subsequently expanded his research to produce a little-known work in Hebrew of over a thousand pages, P’tah Einayim (Leghorn, 1815–25), addressing the medical and scientific aspects of the Talmud.[25] In a section from this work, not cited by Della Volta, Frizzi addresses another rabbinic passage which is conspicuously omitted from modern halakhic discussions on autopsy.

Frizzi focuses on the statement, “Didn’t Rav Yitzḥak say: The gnawing of maggots is as excruciating to the dead as the stab of a needle is to the flesh of the living.”[26] While this passage and its corollary rabbinic passages has received ample treatment,[27] Frizzi’s lesser-known interpretation is exceptional:

Recent medical research, by the likes of Albrecht Haller and Luigi Galvini, who explored bioelectricity (or animal electricity) and muscle irritability, even after death,[28] led him to consider the possibility that this statement was meant literally, i.e., the corpse experiences physiological pain. At least one posek of his day cited Frizzi’s interpretation as a reason to prohibit autopsy.[29]

A most remarkable aspect of this entry is the signature of the author.

הרופא ולא לו הצעיר וזעיר(?) שמואל חי מלאוולטה

I recently completed an article about the various interpretations of a rarely used physician epithet, “A Physician, and Not for Himself,” after serendipitously discovering its use in a manuscript.[30] After an extensive, though not exhaustive, search, I was able to identify only nine physicians throughout history who have used this epithet. As hashgaḥah would have it, we now know of at least ten.[31] Its use here, however, does not shed any further light on the meaning of this expression.

Chapters 38,[32] 116[33] and 128[34] Bathhouse Insemination

These three chapters discuss one who is born sine concubito, through artificial insemination, or as in the Talmudic case, through bathhouse insemination.[35]

(Chapter 128)

Della Volta is equally versed in both the halakhic and contemporary medical literature. While his then current medical references, such as Commentarii Medici by Brugnatelli and Brera,[36] may be unfamiliar to us, his halakhic sources ring remarkably familiar. Amongst others, he cites from Ḥida,[37] Mishneh LiMelekh, Maharil regarding Ben Sira, Rashbetz, R. Yaakov Emden, R’ Yitzḥak Lampronti’s Paḥad Yitzḥak, Ḥelkat Meḥokek, as well as Frizzi, including Petaḥ Einayim.[38] This reads like a contemporary article on artificial insemination by Dr. Rosner or Rabbi Bleich, though for Della Volta this was a purely hypothetical halakhic question. It would only be in the late 19^thearly 20^th century that this would take on practical halakhic relevance with the development of therapeutic artificial insemination. Indeed, the very same sources can be found in today’s discussions. In my historical discussion of artificial insemination, I discuss all the aforementioned sources, including Frizzi.

A casual glance at the remainder of Dan Yadin reveals countless detailed references to medical, secular, and Jewish sources, replete with chapter and verse. Della Volta was clearly a doctor of the book. In fact, he wrote for the journal Otzar Nehmad, corresponded with the likes of Shmuel David Luzzatto, Joseph Almanzi and Lelio Della Torre,[39] and contributed an introduction to Shlomo Norzi’s Minhat Shai. But his bibliophilia did not stop at reading and writing; he ventured into the world of book and manuscript acquisition, amassing an impressive library by the end of his life. Della Volta’s name would not appear on a list of prominent Jewish book collectors, nor even as an afterthought for that matter. Names such as Azulai, Oppenheim,[40] Almanzi or Strashun[41] are more likely to come to mind. Yet, his library caught the eye of some of the greatest Jewish scholars of his day, a virtual who’s who of Jewish biobibliographers, including Marco Mortara, Moritz Steinschneider, Shmuel David Luzzatto (Shadal) and Moshe Soave.

Marco Mortara (1815-1894) was one of Shadal’s prize students at the Rabbinical Seminary of Padua and later served as the Chief Rabbi of Mantua.[42] Mortara became a renowned scholar and bibliographer[43] and would go on to collaborate with Steinschneider for decades. Their very first correspondence was about the biographical details of Della Volta. Della Volta’s library was of great interest to Steinschneider, as evidenced by the multiple correspondences to both Shadal and Soave on this matter. It is only from the letters of Shadal to Steinschneider that we learn how Mortara had acquired Della Volta’s library, which by that time contained some 130 unique manuscripts that bibliophiles across Europe had unsuccessfully tried to purchase. How Mortara came to possess such a valuable library, especially given his financial situation, whether by inheritance or monetary acquisition, is a matter of debate.[44] In any case, this represents the first stamp in our passport, but a brief journey for Della Volta’s diploma within the city limits of Mantua. Della Volta’s library and diploma, at least for now, remained in his hometown.

It is in the Summer of 1877 that the second journey of our graduate’s diploma commenced. As librarian of the Budapest Rabbinical Seminary, David Kaufman, a prodigious historian and bibliophile, had acquired the collection of Lelio Della Torre, an Italian Jewish scholar. While in Italy making arrangements for the transfer of the library, he made the acquaintance of Mortara. Kaufmann was well aware of the extent and value of Mortara’s collection, and that it included Della Volta’s library as well.[45] Kaufmann and Mortara would correspond for some time thereafter.

When Mortara died in 1894, you can well imagine the great interest in his collection, which the family was motivated to sell. A number of individuals and institutions, including Kaufmann, were vying for the opportunity, but family and logistical issues delayed the process, not the least of which being the absence of a comprehensive catalogue of the holdings. It would ultimately be David Kaufmann who would walk away with the treasure, his success partially attributed to his earlier visit in 1877, his previous familiarity with the collection, and his continued contact with Mortara and his family.

The transfer of this library from Mantua to Budapest, where it arrived in February 1896, was apparently no small feat, with some of the Mortara collection somehow finding their way into non-Kaufmann hands.[46] Yet, it represents the second entry in our passport and longest journey for our diploma.

Alas, Kaufmann would die only three years after acquiring the Mortara collection. Would Della Volta’s collection now be transferred to the hands of a new scholar in yet another country, perhaps America or Israel? Fortunate for our diploma, its third and final journey would again be only a brief intracity trek, akin to its earlier trip in Mantua. Kaufmann bequeathed his collection to the Hungarian Academy of Science, where it remains to this day.

Fortunate for scholars unable to journey to Hungary, reference, and often digitized copies, of items in the Kaufmann collection can be found on the National Library of Israel website.

I doubt that Della Volta would have envisioned that the final resting place for his collection would be in Budapest, but nor would he have imagined a Jewish doctor in Woodmere writing about, of all the valuable items in his library (including his original compositions), his medical diploma.

An Illustrated Life of an Illustrious Renaissance Jew Rabbi Doctor Shimshon Morpurgo (1681-1740)

By Rabbi Edward Reichman, MD

Shimshon (AKA Samson or Sanson) Morpurgo is a classic Italian Renaissance personality- physician, rabbi, liturgist/poet, author. Born in 1681 in Gradisca d’Isonzo, close to Gorizia, Morpurgo was brought by his father to Venice as a young boy. He spent his entire life in Italy, training to be a rabbi and physician, practicing medicine, composing prayers and poems, engaging in debate and dialogue with some of the generation’s prominent figures, and ultimately serving as the rabbi of the city of Ancona for the last twenty years of his life. While a definitive biography of Morpurgo remains a desideratum, he has been the subject of a number of dedicated essays.[1] Scholars have addressed his medical practice,[2] his philosophical work,[3] and his lengthy correspondence with Moshe Chagiz regarding the controversies involving both Shabtai Tzvi and Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto.[4] A collection of his halakhic responsa, Shemesh Tzedakah, was published posthumously by his son, Moshe Hayyim Shabtai,[5] and manuscript examples of his personal correspondence, halakhic responsa, and occasional poems can be found in various libraries.[6]

The present contribution is not primarily intended to expand upon Morpurgo’s narrative biography, though it will enhance it, but rather as a visual supplement. Here we bring to light previously unknown or little-known documents from significant chapters of his life, including his medical diploma, his semikhah and his portrait. It is a rarity to possess such a group of documents for any one figure in the pre-modern era.

Medical Diploma

Morpurgo graduated the famed University of Padua Medical School in 1700 at the age of nineteen. Padua was the first university in Europe to officially open its doors to Jewish students,[7] and hundreds of Jewish students studied there between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries. A number of diplomas of Jewish graduates from this period are extant in libraries, museums and personal collections.[8] The full text of Morpurgo’s diploma is printed in Edgardo Morpurgo’s book on the Morpurgo family history,[9] but he provides neither a picture of the diploma nor any context to compare this diploma to that of other Padua medical graduates. Indeed, based on the question marks in the text and the occasional misspellings, it leads me to wonder if he had access to the original diploma when writing this text.[10] The original medical diploma, a portion of which is pictured below, is housed in the U. Nahon Museum of Italian Jewish Art in Jerusalem.[11]

The diplomas of the Jewish graduates of the University of Padua Medical School possess unique features which are reflected in Morpurgo’s diploma. For example, the invocation for a standard issue medical diploma from Padua in this period, “In Christi Nomine Amen” (in the name of Christ Amen), is replaced with the non-Christian substitution, “In Dei Aeterni Nomine Amen” (in the name of the Eternal God, Amen). Morpurgo is referred to as Hebreus, typically added for the Jewish graduate. Other changes include the writing of the date as “current year,” as opposed to the typical forms of dating which included Christian reference (e.g., Anno Domini), and the location of the graduation ceremony, which was in a nondenominational venue, as opposed to a church. 

While similar to other Jewish diplomas in form, this is not the case with respect to style. In this regard, Morpurgo’s diploma stands apart from his peers. Most of the diplomas we possess of Padua graduates form this period, whether Jewish or not, are ornate elaborate works of art with magnificently illustrated borders, often including a portrait of the graduate and a family coat of arms. Indeed, Padua University hired its own staff of artists and calligraphers for this purpose. The Morpurgo family had a coat of arms- a depiction of the prophet Jonah in the clutches of the jaws of the whale- which appears in documents and tombstones of the family throughout the centuries.[12] Below are some examples:

Morpurgo’s diploma contains no portrait, no coat of arms, no illustration whatsoever. It is a simple calligraphic text.

Below are some example pages from the diplomas of two Jewish students, both of whom graduated within a year or two of Morpurgo. These diplomas were more the norm.[13]

Diploma of Lazarus De Mordis (1699)[14]

Diploma of Samuel Coen (1702)

Rabbinic Ordination (Semikhah)

As recorded in the preface to his responsa Shemesh Tzedakah, Morpurgo received his rabbinic ordination from Rabbi Yehudah Briel in 1709. Meir Benayahu records the text of the semikhah document in his article on Morpurgo.[15] Rabbi Briel was a mentor to other Padua medical graduates, including Yitzhak Lampronti.[16] 

The original document is housed in the National Library of Israel[17] and is reproduced below. The ordination is handwritten on a simple piece of paper (?parchment) with no ornamentation. 

This stands in stark contrast to the semikhah of Rabbi Brill himself, which is quite ornate.[18] 

The unembellished nature of both Morpurgo’s medical and rabbinic certificates, especially in the historical context of Renaissance Italy, may reflect a preference for simplicity or trait of humility.

Papal Privileges

In 1730, during a severe Influenza outbreak, Morpurgo distinguished himself by providing medical services to both Jew and Christian alike. This was particularly remarkable in light of the Papal decrees prohibiting Jews from treating Christians and reciprocally forbidding Christians from being treated by Jews. At the time, this earned him the approbation and commendation of Cardinal Prospero Lambertini.[19] Lambertini would later go on to become Pope Benedict XIV (1740 –1758). In gratitude, Morpurgo and his heirs received rights to act as superintendents of merchandise arriving at the port of Ancona and intended for use in the Apostolic Palace.[20] I have discovered three extant documents issuing privileges to Morpurgo’s heirs. None of the current bearers of these documents notes the existence of the others examples.

1. 1787

The earliest example of a Papal privilege for the Morpurgo family dates from 1787. The document, a picture of which appears below, was sold by Sotheby’s Auction House on December 22, 2015.[21] The catalogue entry is titled as follows: Privileges Accorded to the Heirs of Samson Morpurgo, Granted by Filippo Lancellotti, Prefect of the Apostolic Palace, Rome: 1787.

1. 1793

The second example is from the year 1793. This document is not found in any auction house or museum, but rather on the ancestry research website, MyHeritage.com, accompanying a Morpurgo family tree. While it is not as high quality a reproduction, it is clearly of the same origin as the other two issuances, similar to the third example below. These type of ancestry sites, which include elaborate family trees, often with accompanying historical documents (photos, paintings, etc.), represent an untapped resource for historical research. I will leave it to scholars to debate the use of such material, which may be unprovenanced. 

1. 1794 

The final example comes from the Umberto Nahon Museum (Jerusalem).[22]

Cardinal Lancellotti, the Prefect who issued the first document above, died in 1794. The latter two were issued by Giuseppe Vinci, assumedly another Prefect of the Apostolic Palace. All three of the documents above were issued under the auspices of Pope Pius VI (1775-1799). It is quite possible that more such documents will surface in the future. 

Portrait of Shimshon Morpurgo

As mentioned above, the diploma of Morpurgo bears no illumination, and thus, no portrait, as is found in the diplomas of some other Jewish graduates. Be it for principled or financial reasons, Morpurgo elected not have his portrait adorn his certificate of medical school completion. He did however sit for a portrait later in life,[23] which represents his rabbinic pursuits exclusively, without allusion to his medical practice.[24]

He is pictured at his desk, with his hand on an open Hebrew book. The top line, spanning across both pages is legible, and reads, “ach bi-zelem yithalekh ish,” a phrase from Tehillim (39:7) with kabbalistic overtones. 

The remaining open pages of the book consist of scrawled lines. Inscriptions in Hebrew characters can be found in the works of European artists of the early modern period.[25] Behind Morpurgo are shelves lined with Hebrew books. Some of the titles are legible, including Rambam and Levush, though I cannot make out the others. 

The artist for the Morpurgo portrait is not known, though it is remarkably similar to the portrait of another rabbi physician of this period, Chakham David Nieto (1654- 1728).[26]

There are so many similarities in fact – the curtains, the chair, the bookshelf,[27] the desk, the quill, the book with a legible Hebrew top line- that I am inclined to suggest that they were either drawn by the same artist, or at the very least one was directly inspired by the other.[28]

The book under Nieto’s hand is an accurate representation of his own Mateh Dan, published in 1714, while the book under Morpurgo’s hand does not appear to be that of his own authorship.[29] This may explain why Nieto is holding a quill as if writing the text before him. 

The artist for Nieto’s portrait is David Estevens, a Dutch Jew. Though we do not know the exact date of Nieto’s portrait, Landsberger writes that inasmuch as the portrait shows certain books written by him in 1714 and 1715, it follows that the portrait must have been painted at a time subsequent to then.[30] He does not identify the books to which he refers. A number of books of Nieto’s clearly appear in the portrait. Mateh Dan was published in 1714 and Pascalogia in 1702. Esh Dat was published in 1715, and though not clearly completely visible, the word “Dat” in English appears on a book resting on its side on the bookshelf. Perhaps Landsberger was referring to this. What Landsberger did not know, is that there is a more obtuse reference to another work of Nieto’s which may bring the date of our portrait forward by a few years. On the notebook behind the book Mateh Dan appears the word “Noticias.” Cecil Roth suggests that this one word was used by Nieto to cleverly claim authorship of an anonymously published controversial work beginning with the same word.[31] This work was published in 1722. Thus, this portrait must have been drawn between 1722 and 1728. 

While there is no way to determine the exact year of Morpurgo’s portrait, we can likewise limit it to within a certain time period based on the internal aspects of the portrait. The card sitting on Morpurgo’s desk displays the name of the city Ancona, though unfortunately I cannot make out the other words on the card. It is in Ancona that Morpurgo settled for the later portion of his life, marrying the daughter of Rabbi Fiametta, the rabbi of Ancona, whose position he filled after the latter’s death. Thus, it is fair to assume that the portrait was drawn somewhere between 1710[32] and 1740.

Parenthetically, this portrait depicts Morpurgo without a beard. Recent discussions have addressed the issue of the beardless rabbis of the Renaissance period and have included Morpurgo’s portrait.[33]

Portrait of Morpurgo’s Son

While researching the portrait of Shimshon Morpurgo, I came across a portrait identified as Joseph Leon Morpurgo (d. 1786), the son of Shimshon.[34]

What makes this portrait of particular interest is less its connection to his father than its correlation with Joseph’s ketubah, presently in the Jewish Theological Seminary Library.

This spectacularly ornate renaissance ketubah is unique in that it contains miniature illustrations of a bride and groom. 

Ketubah of Morpurgo’s son Yosef

Ancona 1755[35]

Are these simply generic representations of a bride and groom, or are they actual portraits of the wedding party? A “head” to “head” comparison between the portrait and the ketubah may provide some insight. 

I will leave it to the reader to decide on the extent of the similarities. The Morpurgo coat of arms also appears on the top of the ketubah.[36]

Morpurgo’s Participation in Weddings and Circumcisions

In addition to his scholarly exploits, we have record of Morpurgo’s social activities as well. Like many of his Jewish Italian Renaissance peers, he wrote occasional poetry, including for the wedding of Shabtai Marini, a fellow medical graduate of the University of Padua, though some fifteen years earlier.[37] Marini has also been identified as a rebbe of Ramchal, though evidence is scant,[38] and translated Ovid’s Metamorphosis into Hebrew.[39]

Morpurgo also wrote a wedding poem for another Marini family wedding in 1721, the union of Benjamin ben Matzliach Rava and Elena bat Gemma and Isaac ben Solomon me-Marini.[40]

We also have record of Morpurgo serving as a witness for the Ketubah of two weddings in the year 1722,[41] with one example below.[42]

We can compare Morpurgo’s signature on the ketubah to that found on the inside cover of Morpurgo’s personal copy of Rashba’s commentary on Kiddushin.[43]

A Pinkas Mohel, or circumcizor’s ledger, from his time (1705- 1736) documents his involvement in varying capacities in the circumcisions of the time, including those of his children.[44]

Conclusion

Shimshon Morpurgo is one of the more remarkable figures in Jewish history, a true Renaissance personality. From an archival perspective, he may possibly be the only pre-Modern Jewish figure for whom we possess a copy of his rabbinic ordination, medical diploma and portrait, in addition to the other notable material included here. These visual supplements to Morpurgo’s biography will hopefully further enhance our appreciation of his illustrious life. 

[1] On Morpurgo, see Edgardo Morpurgo, La Famiglia Morpurgo di Gradisca sull’Isonza 1585-1885 (Premiata Societa Cooperativa: Padova, 1909), 32–34, 65–69, 77, 104; Yeshayahu Sonne, “Letter Exchange Between R. Moshe Chagiz and R. Shimshon Morpurgo,” (Hebrew) Kobetz al Yad, 12 (1937), 157–96; M. Wilensky, “On the Rabbis of Ancona,” (Hebrew) Sinai, 25 (1949), 68–75; M. Benayahu, “Rabbi Shimshon Morpurgo,” (Hebrew) Sinai 84 (5739), 134-165; David Ruderman, “Kabbalah, Science and Christian Polemic: The Debate Between Samson Morpurgo and Solomon Aviad Sar Shalom Basilea,” in his Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery in Early Modern Europe (Yale University Press: New Haven, 1995), 213-228; A. Salah, La Republique des Lettres: Rabbins, Ecrivains et Medecins, Juifs en Italie au XVIIIe Siecle (Brill: Leiden, 2007), 455-460. On his graduation from the University of Padua, see A. Modena and E. Morpurgo, Medici e Chirurghi Ebrei Dottorati e Licenziati nell’Università di Padova dal 1617 al 1816 (Forni Editore: Bologna, 1967), 62, n. 147. In the eighteenth century, the Inquisition in Mantua routinely confiscated Hebrew books for expurgation. Some of Morpurgo’s books were confiscated in 1732, only to be returned six years later. See S. Simonsohn, The History of the Jews in the Duchy of Mantua (Kiryath Sepher: Jerusalem, 1977), 694, n. 398.
[2] Abraham Ofir Shemesh, “Two Responsa of R. Samson Morpurgo on Non-Kosher Medicines: Therapy vs. Jewish Halakhic Principles,” Journal for the Study of Religions and Ideologies 18:52 (Spring 2019), 3-16. In his introduction to his philosophical work Eitz Ha-Da’at (Venice, 1704), 3b, Morpurgo mentions his plans to write a manual on the laws of treifot which would include extensive anatomical discussions and illustrations. We have no record of this idea ever coming to fruition. Chaim Meiselman wrote a brief article for the University of Pennsylvania Library blog (Pennrare.wordpress.com) entitled, “An Illustrated Manuscript for Terefot: CAJS Rar Ms 480,” (February 27, 2019). Here he discusses an anonymous Italian manuscript on treifot with detailed illustrations and anatomical notes. Could this somehow be related to Morpurgo?
[3] Ruderman, op. cit.
[4] See Sonne, op. cit; Yaakov Shmuel Speigel, “The Beginning of the Ramchal Polemic: Four New Letters from the Manuscripts of Rabbi Shimshon Morpurgo,” (Hebrew) HaMa’ayan 231 (Tishrei, 5780), 324-355; idem, “The Ramchal Polemic: The Complete Letter Sent by R’ Moshe Chagiz to R’ Shimshon Morpurgo,” (Hebrew) Da’at 89 (2020), 371-404. I thank Eliezer Brodt for this source.
[5]  (Vendramin: Venice, 1743).
[6] See the National Library of Israel’s International Collection of Digitized Hebrew Manuscripts, https://web.nli.org.il/sites/nlis/en/manuscript, s. v., “Samson Morpurgo.”
[7] See E. Reichman, “The Valmadonna Trust Broadsides: A Virtual Reunion for the Jewish Medical Students of the University of Padua,” Verapo Yerapei 7 (2017): 55-76.
[8] See E. Reichman, “The ‘Doctored’ Medical Diploma of Samuel, the Son of Menasseh ben Israel: Forgery or ‘For Jewry’,” Seforim Blog (here), March 23, 2021; idem, “Confessions of a Would-Be Forger: The Medical Diploma of Tobias Cohn (Tuvia HaRofeh) and other Jewish Medical Graduates of the University of Padua,” forthcoming in K. Collins and S. Kottek, eds., Ma’ase Tuviya (Venice, 1708): Tuviya Cohen on Medicine and Science (Jerusalem: Muriel and Philip Berman Medical Library of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2019), in press.[9] Morpurgo, op. cit., 65-68.
[10]  For example, the name of one of the witnesses is written in the book as “Sabbetteo. Vith [?] Marini hil.” while it appears clear in the original- Sabbatheo Vita Marini Phil (short for philosophy and medicine degree).
[11] I thank Dr. Andreina Contessa, former Chief Curator of the museum, for kindly providing me with the images of this diploma.
[12] The pictures of stone below appear on the cover of Marjetka Bedrac and Andrea Morpurgo, The Morpurgos, the Descendants of the Maribor Jews (Center Judovske Kulturne Dediscine Sinagoga, 2018). The fourth image appears at the top of a ketubah for the wedding of Zechariah ben Shemariah Morpurgo and Luna bat Isaac ben Shemariah Morpurgo in Venice on Wednesday, 14 Nisan 5472 (April 9, 1712). The item was auctioned by Sotheby’s, Important Judaica (December 19, 2018), item 153. There is an author named Michael Morpurgo who wrote a book titled, “Why the Whales Came.” I wonder if this is more than coincidence.
[13] For further discussion of these students and their diplomas, see Reichman, “Confessions,” op. cit.
[14] If the graduate requested, a portrait would be drawn in the medallion. There was an addition fee for this service
[15] Benayahu, op. cit., 157.
[16] For more on Briel and his circle of medical students, see Reichman, “Valmadonna,” op. cit.
[17] System n. 990001800790205171.
[18] Venice (1677) JTS B (NS) PP489
[19] The text is preserved in Edgardo Morpurgo, op. cit., 69.
[20] Awarding a person and his heirs for exceptional behavior was common practice in Europe at this time. Other Jewish families benefitted from this practice. For example, Benjamin Ravid writes, “In 1616, in accordance with the privilege granted by the Council of Ten 150 years earlier to David Mavrogonato of Crete that in return for his untiring services to Venice he and his heirs were, among other favors, to be exempted from the special Jewish distinguishing sign, the Cattaveri granted the request of Elie Mavrogonato of Crete to be allowed to wear a black capello.” See Benjamin Ravid, “From Yellow to Red: On the Distinguishing Head-Covering of the Jews of Venice,” Jewish History 6:1-2 (1992), 179-210, esp. 196. Ravid mentions other family members who benefitted from these privileges.
[21]  http://www.sothebys.com/en/auctions/ecatalogue/2015/important-judaica-n09447/lot.14.html (accessed April 17, 2021).
[22] Item number: ICMS-EIT-0825.
[23] C. Roth, The History of the Jews in Italy (Jewish Publication Society: Philadelphia, 1946), opposite p. 401. Roth identifies the portrait as an oil painting in the possession of the Morpurgo family. I have as yet been unable to identify the location of the original work. I have consulted museums, libraries and members of the Morpurgo family to no avail. All the copies of this portrait I have identified all seem to be from this one source. I have found no discussion or source detailing the whereabouts of the portrait or the identity of its author.
[24] A copy of this picture is pinned to the inside cover of Morpurgo’s original medical diploma in the U. Nahon Museum.
[25] Pawel Maciejko has recently added to the scholarship on this topic, which has included studies on the works of Rembrandt. See P. Maciejko, “A Portrait of the Kabbalist as a Young Man: Count Joseph Carl Emmanuel Waldstein and His Retinue,” Jewish Quarterly Review 106:4 (Fall 2016), 521-576, esp. 529-537. Maciejko notes that, “While Hebrew inscriptions were commonplace in Western paintings, representations of Hebrew books were rare.”
[26] On Nieto’s portrait, see Macienko, op. cit., 533-536; OntheMainline Blog, “David Nieto, an Art Mystery and the Joys of Digitized Books”  (October 9, 2009) http://onthemainline.blogspot.com/2009/10/david-nieto-art-mystery-and-joys-of.html (accessed April 17, 2021); F. Landsberger, “The Jewish Artist Before the Time of Emancipation,” Hebrew Union College Annual 16 (1941), 321-414, esp. 387-388.
[27]  A few books on the shelf of Nieto’s portrait appear to bear a title, though I cannot decipher them.
[28] The clarity and detail of the Nieto portrait appears far superior, but this may simply be a reflection of the quality of the reproduction.
[29] The phrase from Tehillim does not appear in his work, Eitz ha-Da’at, or in his responsa, Shemesh Tzedakah, published posthumously by his son, Moshe Hayyim Shabtai.
[30] According to Landsberger, op. cit., the reproduction here in mezzotint, done by I. MacArdell, did not appear until 1728, the year of Nieto’s death. The original oil painting upon which this work is based is lost today.
[31] See OntheMainline blog, “David Nieto, an Art Mystery and the Joys of Digitized Books”  (October 9, 2009) http://onthemainline.blogspot.com/2009/10/david-nieto-art-mystery-and-joys-of.html (accessed April 17, 2021); Cecil Roth, “The Marrano Typography in England,” The Library 5:2 (1960), 118-128, esp. 121-122.
[32] According to Benayahu, op. cit., 139, the earliest documentation placing Morpurgo in Ancona dates from July, 1711.
[33]See http://onthemainline.blogspot.com/2011/01/beards-and-beardlessness-in-italian.html (accessed April 17, 2021). Here the author writes, “apparently the native Jews of Salonica were scandalized by the closely trimmed beards of the Francos who lived among them. They demanded that they grow them or be expelled. The situation of the ex-pat Italians came to the attention of the Italian rabbis, including one of the foremost ones,  Samson Morpurgo (Shemesh Tzedakah #61). Morpurgo interceded on their behalf attempting to prevent the Salonica community from expelling those not sporting a full beard. It is pointed out that Morpurgo himself, as per the above portrait, was beardless.”

There is a portrait on myheritage.com which is identified as being that of Dr. Samson Morpurgo. Attempts to contact the curator of the site to learn more about the portrait were unsuccessful.

It depicts an older man with a salt and pepper beard. This man is dressed in garb similar to Morpurgo and is likewise seated at a desk with a feather and quill. I have no additional information to corroborate this identification and have seen no reference to this portrait elsewhere. If indeed verified, this would not only add to our visual history, it would also alter the discussion about Morpurgo’s beardlessness.
[34] The portrait is found on the MyHeritage.com website. Attempts to contact the curator of the site to learn more about the portrait were unsuccessful.
[35] JTS Library Ketubah 5 record # 265985. I thank Sharon Liberman Mintz for bringing this ketubah to my attention.
[36] Apparently as both the bride and groom were members of the Morpurgo family only one coat of arms was included.
[37] David Kaufmann Collection of Medieval Hebrew manuscripts in the Oriental Collection of the Library of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, n. 580, p. 21. I thank Kinga Devenyi from the Kaufmann Collection in Budapest for providing a copy of this poem. While the poem is unsigned, Benayahu provides definitive proof that Morpurgo is the author. For additional information on Marini and this poem, see M. Benayahu, “Rabbi Avraham Ha-Kohen Mi-Zanti U-Lehakat Ha-Rof ’im Ha-Meshorerim Be-Padova,” Ha-Sifrut 26 (1978): 108-40, esp. 110-111.
[38] See OntheMainline blog (October 20, 2010), http://onthemainline.blogspot.com/2010/10/ramchals-rebbe-rabbi-sabbato-marini-of.html (accessed April 17, 2021). There, the rebbe of Ramchal, as well as the picture below are identified as Rabbi Dr. Shabtai Aharon Chaim Marini (1685-1762).

According to Laura Roumani, whose dissertation is on Shabtai Hayyim Marini, both the picture and rebbe of Ramchal are Shabtai Hayyim Marini (1662-1748). In addition, according to Roumani, “Shabbetay Aharon Hayyim Marini is not the one born in 1685 who died in 1762. That is Shabbetay son of Aharon Marini who got his degree in medicine in 1705. He belongs to another lineage of the family. Shabbetay Aharon Hayyim Marini passed away in 1809 and was a rabbi in the Spanish synagogue of Padua. He was the son of Shelomoh Marini son of Shabbetay Hayyim and the father of Armellina Stella Rahel Marini who married Avraham Sevi HaLevi who inherited all the autographs of Shabbetay Hayyim Marini.” See Laura Roumani, “Le Metamorfosi di Ovidio nella traduzione ebraica di Shabbetay Hayyim Marini di Padova” [Ovid’s Metamorphoses translated into Hebrew by Shabtai Ḥayim Marini from Padua] (PhD diss., University of Turin, 1992). See also L. Roumani, “The Legend of Daphne and Apollo in Ovid’s Metamorphoses Translated into Hebrew by Shabbetay Ḥayyim Marini” [in Italian], Henoch (Turin University) 13 (1991): 319–335.
[39] Joseph Almanzi composed an ode to Marini in his Nezem Zahav:

[40] JTS Ms. 9027 V2:29. The poem is signed זה שמ”י לעלם and the author is not identified in the JTS catalogue. As per correspondence with Laura Roumani, “The author is Shimshon Morpurgo (who used to sign as Shmi, shin mem being the initials of his name). Elena was the daughter of Gemma second wife of Yishaq Marini, Shabbetay Hayyim Marini’s father. The wedding took place after 1721 (Yishaq was deceased). Though Shelomoh Marini is mentioned, he was not Yishaq Marini’s father. Yishaq was the son of Shabbetay Marini the doctor, brother of Shelomoh.”
[41] National Library of Israel, system number 000301332 and system number 004092777.
[42] system number 004092777. The wedding of Shmuel Moshe Hakohen and Diamante Hakohen.
[43] This sefer is part of the Shimeon Brisman Collection in Jewish Studies at Washington University in St. Louis. http://omeka.wustl.edu/omeka/exhibits/show/brisman/item/6997 (accessed April 16, 2021).
[44] See University of Pennsylvania Library, CAJS Rar Ms 503 (https://franklin.library.upenn.edu/catalog/FRANKLIN_9969495443503681). The catalogue notes references to Morpurgo on pages 16r and 24r. There is an additional mention of Morpurgo on page 32v (item 167), which is pictured here. The name Morpurgo spans across two lines.

The “Doctored” Medical Diploma of Samuel, the Son of Menasseh Ben Israel:[1] Forgery or “For Jewry”?

Rabbi Edward Reichman, MD

Menasseh ben Israel is a prominent figure in Jewish history known for his role in the return of the Jews to England in the time of Oliver Cromwell, as well being the first to establish a Hebrew printing press in Holland.[2] Menasseh had two sons and a daughter. His son Samuel, born in 1625, was a Hebrew printer,[3] publishing a number of his father’s works, and also assisting his father with his diplomatic endeavors in England. Here we focus on another aspect of Samuel’s life- his medical career.

In a correspondence dating from the mid seventeenth century, we find information about Samuel’s medical training and degree. The letter, dated Tammuz, 5416 (1655), is from Yehuda Heller Wallerstein to Samuel Ben Israel. Yehuda writes from Salonica and reports how he encountered Jan Nicholas, the brother of Sir Edward Nicholas, British politician and advocate for the resettlement of the Jews in England, who enlightened him as to Samuel’s recent activities: “He informed me that in a short period of time you achieved great success in your study of the sciences and merited, with the assistance of Edward his brother, to present for examination before the professors of the University of Oxford, and to obtain the distinction, ‘Doctor of Medicine and Philosophy’.”[4]

There would appear to be no reason to doubt this account. Menasseh was certainly connected to the influential Sir Edward Nicholas, whose work advocating for the Jews return to England he translated. Samuel is in fact known to have been a physician. However, this account is found in the writings of Abraham Shalom Friedberg, master of historical fiction. While Samuel is an historical figure, Heller Wallerstein is a likely a figment of the author’s imagination and the letters are primarily a vehicle to explore the historical chapter of Shabbetai Zevi, the false messiah, for which this account of the diploma is only peripheral.

The only historical source, upon which the remainder of this fanciful account revolves, is a medical diploma from the University of Oxford granted to Samuel ben Israel on May 6, 1655,[5] and even the veracity of this document is suspect. A number of historians have discussed this diploma, primarily through the lens of Samuel’s famous father Menasseh, and have concluded that it is a forgery. Here we introduce a new perspective to this discussion and view the diploma from the vantage point of Jewish medical history, an aspect strikingly absent from previous discussions. It is only through this lens that we can gain an accurate assessment of its content and context. Was it really a forgery, or merely a product of the historical realities of its age?

A Word on the Medical Training of Menasseh ben Israel, Samuel’s Father

As a backdrop to our discussion about Samuel’s medical training, it is instructive to analyze the medical qualifications and practice of his father. Aside from his activities as a rabbi, statesman and author, Menasseh was also a physician.[6] The medical face of Menasseh has received scant treatment by historians, and perhaps for good reason. It was clearly not a major aspect of his daily life or contribution to Jewish history. His medical personality was manifest only peripherally or secondarily, and inconsistently as well. Nonetheless, understanding Menasseh’s medical identity sheds light not only on Jewish medical history in general, but also on his son’s medical training.

In a number of published works Menasseh refers to himself as a physician. In his letter to the Lord Protector of the Commonwealth, published in 1655, the very same year as Samuel’s diploma, he is identified as a “Doctor of Physick.”

In the work below from 1656 he is called a physician:

Menasseh also referred to himself as “Medicus Hebraeus.”[7] This title was also used to describe Ephraim Bueno, a prominent Amsterdam physician, as well as a friend and supporter of Menasseh.[8] Furthermore, his connection to medicine is reflected in his translation of the aphorisms of Hippocrates into Hebrew [9] and his relationships with a number of physicians.[10]

To my knowledge there is no record of Menasseh obtaining a medical diploma or graduating from a university. One scholar writes, without reference, that he attended medical school at the University of Groningen for a short time, though apparently did not complete his degree.[11] I have seen no evidence to corroborate this assertion and the university has no record of his matriculation in their archives.[12]

Menasseh’s identification as a physician was not consistent. In some works, the medical title is omitted:

Another curious fact is that Menasseh’s Hebrew writings make no mention whatsoever of his role or title as a physician, nor have I seen him identified as a rofeh in any Hebrew literature. Roth suggests that he may have practiced, though evidence is lacking, and that he included his address when he identified as a physician in his English works as a form of advertising.[13] The tombstone of Menasseh in the Ouderkerk Cemetery does not bear the title doctor or physician.[14]

While historians are wont to call Samuel’s diploma a forgery, his own father considered himself a physician without obtaining a degree or diploma. Should we not, to be consistent, consider Menasseh an imposter physician?

Essential to our assessment of the medical titles and careers of both Menasseh and his son is an understanding of the training of Jewish physicians at this period in history. While today the notion of a physician without formal university training culminating in a diploma is anathema, not to mention criminal, this was simply not the case in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, particularly for the Jew. In fact, Jews were universally barred from attending or graduating universities, which were invariably under the auspices of the Catholic Church. Graduation from universities, such as Oxford, included and required statements or oaths avowing one’s belief in Christianity.

This did not prevent Jews from becoming physicians. They pursued an alternate medical educational pathway comprised of independent learning and clinical training through apprenticeship.[15] This enabled them to take licensing exams and earn the title doctor. Some simply self-identified as a physician or rofeh by virtue of their extensive training. The overwhelming majority of Jewish physicians trained through this alternate pathway, and it is likely that Menasseh is counted amongst them. Once universities began to open their doors to Jewish students,[16] a number of academically motivated students chose this conventional pathway. These university-trained physicians initially accounted for only a small percentage of the health professionals in the Jewish community. Thus, the title “rofeh” or “doctor” in this period was not specifically associated with a university degree.[17]

The Medical Diploma of Samuel ben Israel

The full text of Samuel’s medical diploma was first printed by Koenen in 1843.[18] Koenen raises no doubts whatsoever as to the veracity of the document and publishes it, without discussion, comment or context, as part of a collection of important documents in Dutch Jewish history. Through what training or means Samuel attained this diploma is entirely omitted.

After its publication, the diploma was initially accepted by historians and scholars without question. For example, G. I. Polak wrote that Samuel, through extraordinary skill and acumen, was able to obtain his degree in medicine and philosophy from Oxford.[19] Some even took the liberty to provide additional details. For example, Graetz writes in his classic History of the Jews:[20]

Samuel ben Israel … was presented by the University of Oxford, in consideration of his knowledge and natural gifts, with the degree of Doctor of Philosophy and Medicine, and according to custom, received the gold ring, the biretta, and the kiss of peace.[21]

Where could Graetz have derived this detailed information? It actually appears in the Latin text of Samuel’s diploma, which describes the features of the classic graduation ceremony for European universities during this period. The biretta, often called the Oxford Cap, is the ancestor of our contemporary four-cornered graduation cap.

The scholar Adolph Neubauer appears to have been the first person to suspect something was not kosher with Samuel’s credentials, and at his behest, in 1876, Richard Griffith, the Keeper of the Archive at the University of Oxford reviewed the text of the diploma.[22] The following are the summary points of his analysis:[23]

• Samuel is not mentioned in the Registers of the university as having ever attended or received a degree.
• Degrees from Oxford were not issued in the month of May, the date of the diploma.
• The diploma is signed by two specific people, while the typical Oxford degree is conferred by the university and bears a seal, without the signature of any specific person.
• The degree is granted in both philosophy and medicine, and Oxford never granted degrees in philosophy, either alone or combined with medicine.
• There are multiple phrases not used in the Oxford diploma and multiple procedural aspects referred to that simply were not part of Oxford’s protocols.

Griffith’s inescapable conclusion is that this is unequivocally not a genuine Oxford diploma. His analysis is unassailable. Griffiths was certainly familiar with the text of the medical degrees from Oxford during Samuel’s time; indeed, he literally wrote the book on the subject.[24]

Based on Griffith’s analysis, Samuel’s diploma is so fundamentally different than the standard Oxford diploma, there would seem to be no reason to obtain an actual Oxford diploma from that time to further compare the two. Even if one were to consider such a comparison, it would be challenging if not impossible to find an extant diploma from Oxford contemporary with Samuel. In response to my query, the Oxford Archives today responded that they do not possess any diplomas from this period, nor, for that matter, are they aware of any held elsewhere. The archivist added that they cannot be sure that diplomas or degree certificates, in the sense we understand the term, were even created or issued at Oxford from the 15th to the 17th centuries. As mentioned, there was however a specific template and wording associated with the granting of degrees at Oxford,[25] and the graduate would receive some confirmation of their degree, albeit perhaps not a formal diploma in the classic sense. The document did however bear the university seal. It is upon this Oxford template that Griffith based his analysis.

After negating any connection to Oxford, Griffith adds that the diploma was rather an adaptation of a form then used by the University of Padua, “with alterations willfully and insufficiently made.” Griffith was familiar with the Padua diploma template from his Oxford position for a curious reason. In the seventeenth century many graduates in medicine desiring to practice in England obtained their degrees outside of the United Kingdom, often at the University of Padua. In order to practice in England, the graduate had to be “incorporated” into either the University of Oxford or Cambridge. As a prerequisite to incorporation the students were required to present their diplomas/degrees from the granting institution.[26]

The Location of the “Original” Diploma

While Koenen published the full text of Samuel’s diploma, he makes no reference as to the location of the original document. Roth notes that he received a photo of the diploma from the Montezinos Library (known today as Ets Haim- Livraria Montezinos) in Amsterdam. A catalogue of the library holdings from 1927[27] states that the library possessed copies of the first and last pages of the diploma, though not the original.[28] The Ets Haim Library today does not have a record of the diploma photographs.[29] I reached out as well to the Bibliotheca Rosenthaliana, the other major Jewish historical collection in Amsterdam, to see if perhaps the diploma ended up there, which it did not.[30] I also contacted the Roth Collection at the University of Leeds to see if perhaps Roth’s copies of the diploma are kept there, and to my dismay, they likewise have no record of Samuel’s diploma.[31]

Without the actual document, it is impossible to definitively comment on its veracity. Access to the original would allow analysis of the ink and paper for dating. Even access to the copies would be useful. For example, the diploma contains signatures of two faculty members of the University of Oxford. A comparative graphological analysis with known signatures of these men could easily confirm the document’s origin. Regretfully, I have access to neither the “original,” nor the copies. I nonetheless offer additional information and analysis in defense of a Jewish physician accused of forgery in the hopes of restoring his reputation. Absent such essential material information for my case, you may feel free to conclude that my diploma (analysis) is a forgery of sorts. I hope to nonetheless persuade you to drop the charges of forgery, though definitive proof beyond a shadow of a doubt awaits the discovery of the “original” diploma.

Was the diploma a forgery?[32]

Samuel’s diploma was beyond doubt not an official Oxford-issued document, as Griffith details, but was it necessarily a forgery? All historians to date familiar with Griffith’s analysis assume the answer to be a resounding yes, some even labelling it a “brazen” forgery.[33] There is no evidence of any suspicion of the document’s veracity during the lifetime of its bearer. As to when the document was supposedly forged, while the theoretical possibility exists that the diploma was a product of the nineteenth century, Roth convincingly dismisses this theory. He concludes, “The hypothesis of a nineteenth-century fabrication may thus be definitely ruled out.”[34] We are thus left with the universally accepted belief that Samuel forged his own diploma.

Kayserling notes that Menasseh, and thus Samuel, had not yet visited England in May of 1655, the date of the document. This would seemingly conclude the case for forgery and leave little room for discussion. Roth however subsequently rejected this assertion upon finding record in the Calendar of State Papers of the period (documents not accessible to his predecessors and only then recently made available) that Samuel had been sent ahead to England prior to his father and was indeed there at that time.[35] 

The accumulated evidence is certainly suggestive of forgery, but is it dispositive? Could there be another plausible explanation behind this diploma? I would like to suggest that its rejection as an official Oxford diploma does not inexorably lead to a verdict of forgery. By placing this diploma into the larger context of Jewish medical training and diplomas, as well as comparing Samuel’s diploma to other known medical diploma forgeries of the time, specifically for the universities of Padua and Oxford, we may be able to offer another alternative to criminality for one not known to be inclined to such behavior, not to mention being the son of a prominent Jewish rabbi and statesman. I endeavor at minimum, to prove reasonable doubt regarding the accusation of forgery.

Griffith’s Omission and the “Jewish” Diploma

Griffith correctly asserts that Samuel’s diploma is modeled after that of Padua. There is however, a key aspect of this supposed forgery that has previously gone unnoticed. What Griffith did not mention, nor was he likely aware, is that the diplomas issued to Jewish students in Padua often differed in a number of ways from the standard university issue. While there was no specific Jewish diploma template per se, as the standard diploma contained a number of Christian references, the diplomas of Jewish graduates invariably contain some combination of omissions or emendations to the standard text.

As part of our investigation into the diploma’s possible forgery, it is important to ascertain whether Samuel’s diploma is a copy of a standard Padua diploma or one of the Jewish variety. Below we list a few of the typical changes found in Padua diplomas of Jewish medical graduates of Samuel’s period, providing examples of each. We then compare them to Samuel’s diploma.

1. The Headline of the Diploma

The most obvious change to the Jewish diploma meets the eye of the reader immediately upon viewing the document. The headline of the typical diploma reads, “In Christi Nomine Amen” (in the name of Christ, Amen), and it usually appears in larger decorative font, occasionally occupying an entire page.

William Harvey’s Medical Diploma (Padua 1602)

This would clearly have been objectionable to the Jewish student. The diplomas of the Jewish students were therefore usually emended to read, “In Dei Aeterni Nomine” (in the name of the eternal God), or some variation thereof.

Below are a number of emended diplomas of Jewish students:

Diploma of Isaac Hellen (Padua, 1649)[36]

Diploma of Emanuel Colli (Padua, 1682)[37]

2. The Date

There are number of ways the year of the degree could appear on the typical diploma, and all of them include Christian reference. Examples include Anno Domini, Anno a Christi Nativitate, and Anno Christiano. Two typical examples are below.

Diploma of Giulio Antonio (1679)[38]

Diploma of John Wallace (around 1618)[39]

The date was unaltered for many Jewish diplomas

Diploma of Jacob Levi (Padua, 1684)[40]

Diploma of Isaac Hellen (Padua, 1649)

In some Jewish diplomas however, the Christian reference is omitted, and the date is listed as “currente anno,” current year.

Diploma of Moise Tilche (Padua, 1687)[41]

Diploma of Lazzaro De Mordis (Padua, 1699)[42]

The date alone is not a reliable indicator of the “Jewishness” of the diploma.

3. The Location of the Graduation Ceremony

The graduation ceremony for the Catholic medical students was held in the Episcopal Palace and this was recorded in the diploma:

Diploma of Giulio Antonio (Padua, 1679)

The degrees of the Jewish students were not granted in the Episcopal Palace, but rather in non-ecclesiastical venues. As such, the words “Episcopali Palatio” are omitted, leaving the phrase “in loco solito examinu,” (in the usual place of examination).[43]

Diploma of Isaac Hellen (Padua, 1649)

This is the case in virtually all Jewish diplomas.

4. Hebreus or Iudeus

There is one feature of the typical Jewish diploma that is not an emendation or omission, but rather an addition. With few exceptions, the Jewish students were identified as Hebreus or Iudeus. This was the convention in Padua for centuries and was found in other Italian universities as well.[43]

Diploma of Isaac Hellen (Padua, 1649)

Diploma of Emanuel Colli (Padua, 1682)

Diploma of Moise Tilche (Padua, 1687)

There are a few exceptions:

Diploma of Moysis Crespino (Padua, 1647)[45]

Notarized Copy of Diploma of Abraham Wallich (Padua, 1655)[46]

Abraham Wallich graduated Padua in 1655, the same year as Samuel’s diploma. His original diploma is not extant, though we have a notarized copy that he presented to the Jewish community of Frankfurt as proof of his credentials. In this copy, the identifiers of Hebreus or Iudeus do not appear. I suggest that “Iudeus” could have in fact appeared in his original diploma and was possibly omitted here by the copyist. As Wallich was a religious Jew applying to a Jewish institution, it would have been superfluous to add “Hebreus.”

5. The Details of the Graduation Ceremony.

The standard Padua diploma also included a description of the graduation ceremony. This was not altered in the Jewish diplomas as the Jewish students participated in this ceremony, albeit with some changes. While the location may have been different, and perhaps the oath would have been tailored for the Jewish student, the core of the ceremony for the Jewish student otherwise remained the same. A remarkable pictorial testimony to this fact is the diploma of Moise di Pellegrino (AKA Moshe ben Gershon) Tilche, who graduated Padua in 1687.[47]

Underneath the portrait of the graduate is the illustration, represented with putti, of the features of the graduation ceremony of Padua.

This ceremony involved a golden ring, a wreath and a hat, known as a biretta (though not the four-cornered variety). The opening and closing of books as a representation of the transmission of knowledge was also a part of the ceremony.

Was Samuel’s Diploma modeled after a standard or “Jewish” Diploma from Padua?

In review of the Jewish diplomas from Padua of Samuel’s day, the headline was consistently altered, as was the location of the graduation. The typical Christian recording of the year of graduation was occasionally, though not uniformly altered. The majority of the Jewish graduates, with few exceptions, were identified as either Iudeus or Hebreus.

Which of these additions, omissions or alterations appear in Samuel’s diploma?

1. The Headline

In his article republishing the existing material on Samuel’s diploma, Neubauer writes, “in order to make the documents concerning this degree accessible to the Anglo-Jewish public, I shall reproduce here the Latin diploma line by line (Neubauer’s emphasis) as given by Koenen.” The text of the diploma he provides begins as follows:

In the original publication by Koenen however, the diploma begins with a short phrase:

Neubauer omitted the introductory words, “In Nomine Dei, Amen,” perhaps assuming they were not part of the diploma, or simply noncontributory to the text. In fact, these four words are crucial in identifying the nature of Samuel’s diploma and reflect one of the major differences found virtually ubiquitously in the Jewish diplomas of Padua.

2. Date

A typical Christian date is used.

3. Location of Graduation

The location of the ceremony is given as the Academy of Oxford.

4. Hebreus or Iudeus

The identifier Hebreus or Iudeus is not found in Samuel’s diploma.

The headline in Samuel’s diploma is clearly consistent with the Jewish form of diploma. The date is of a Christian format, Anno Christiano, and the location is listed simply as Oxford with no reference to an ecclesiastical venue.

The identifier “Hebreus” is conspicuously absent. To be sure, there were certainly other examples where this was true. However, the omission in Samuel’s case is noteworthy, as his own father, Menasseh, self-identified as Medicus Hebreus, as did other Jewish physicians in Amsterdam, such as Ephraim Bueno. Surely the son would have adopted the title of the father.

In sum, the headline of Samuel’s diploma, a crucial element in determining its style, conforms to the Jewish Padua diploma, as does the venue for the degree, which is non-ecclesiastic. While the date retains the Christian reference, this is non-contributory. Samuel’s diploma does however omit the typical Jewish identifier of Hebreus, a title specifically used by his own father, a fact that begs explanation.

Other Medical Diploma Forgeries of the Seventeenth Century

If Samuel’s diploma were indeed a forgery, it would be the only known case of a forged medical diploma by a Jewish physician in the pre-Modern era. To be sure, there have been numerous forgeries of diplomas, including the medical variety, throughout history. Below we discuss two forgeries of the same historical period as Samuel and purported to be from the two very institutions with which Samuel’s diploma is associated. These may shed light on our forgery discussion.

A Forged Medical Diploma from Padua 1628

The diploma of John Wallace sat in the Royal College of Physicians for centuries, assumed to be genuine. It was only recently that Dr. Fabrizio Bigotti took a closer look at the diploma, revealing that it was a clear forgery.[48] Below you see the latinized name of Wallace clearly written in a different pen and different hand than that of the original diploma.

The year of graduation, 1628, was also altered.

The date was proven to be fake, as the authentic signatures at the end of the diploma include Fabrici d’Acquapendente and Adrian van de Spiegel, both of whom had died by 1628. The true date is assumed to be around 1618.

In this case of forgery, Wallace procured an existing diploma and replaced the name and date with his own. There is apparently no record of his medical practice, so it is unclear if his forgery was successful. Perhaps he forged this diploma with intent to present to Oxford for incorporation. I do not know if the RCP checked the Oxford Register of Congregation for the relevant years.[49]

The Frankland Forgery of an Oxford Diploma[50]

In the diary entry for Anthony Wood, Oxford antiquary, for November 15, 1677, we find the following:[51]

Frankland first presented his false credentials in 1667.[52] He was apparently a haughty and disagreeable man disliked by his colleagues at the college. It was his juniors who raised suspicion about his credentials and privately inquired of Dr. Hyde, King’s Professor of Physic, as well as the registrar, to verify his documents. The forgery was confirmed by Oxford in November 1677,[53] when it was determined that Frankland was not listed in the Medical School Register and that he had forged the university seal.[54] Furthermore, Frankland defrauded Cambridge University, which granted him a medical degree solely on the basis of his previously obtained Oxford diploma. Frankland not only forged the university seal of Oxford, which was an integral part of the official document, he seems to have added an element to the diploma which was a tip off as to its forgery. Dr. Brady of Cambridge reported:[55]

This exact issue was also identified by Griffith as one of the elements of Samuel’s diploma that deviated from Oxford protocols. Of course, with Samuel’s diploma, this was one of many deviations from Oxford’s template; for Frankland, this was more essential in identifying the forgery.

These two forgeries from Samuel’s period, and from the very institutions associated with his diploma are instructive. If Samuel was truly a forger, could or should he have pursued the methods of Wallace or Frankland?

A Padua Diploma Forgery ala Wallace

Forging a genuine Padua diploma would have been more challenging than one from Oxford for a number of reasons, both technical and cultural. While objectively few Jewish students attended the University of Padua Medical School,[56] it was the main address for Jewish students wishing to obtain a university medical degree. While far from Amsterdam, the Jews of Europe were all connected. In addition, Amsterdam was a hub of Jewish printing and a number of works by Italian authors were printed there. A forged medical diploma could possibly have been detected by Italian visitors. It would have been risky.

From a technical perspective, the Padua diploma, in Italian Renaissance fashion, was copiously illustrated and meticulously calligraphed, often including a portrait of the graduate. A number of these diplomas are extant in libraries and private collections.[57] It would have been exceedingly difficult to replicate the diploma itself, not to mention that it was typically bound in a gilded leather binding with official wax seals attached by thread.

Picture Courtesy of Professor Fabrizio Bigotti

All these accoutrements would have made the endeavor of forgery prohibitive from the outset.

There could have been another option for a Padua diploma forgery. Abraham Wallach had a notarized copy of his 1655 Padua diploma made for his job application as a community physician in Frankfurt.[58]

Beginning of the copy of the diploma:

Notarization of the diploma:

Perhaps Samuel could have created a similar “notarized” copy, which would not have required the artistry or associated binding and seals. This option would likely not have sufficed for Samuel, who as the “graduate,” would have been expected to possess and present the original.

Could Samuel have obtained an existing Padua diploma and simply replaced the name of the graduate with his own, as Wallace had done? This would certainly have been easier than forging the diploma de novo. However, recall that the Padua diplomas of the Jewish students had some alterations, the most obvious one being the headline change from In Christi Nomine to In Dei Aeterne Nomine, not to mention other more subtle, less noticeable changes. Samuel would have had to procure an old diploma that previously belonged to a Jewish student, an impossible task.

An Oxford Diploma ala Frankland

Should Samuel have created a diploma more in line with the actual Oxford model, as Frankland, whose forged university seal and diploma were sufficient to fool even the Royal College of Physicians and Cambridge University? Had he produced a Frankland-esque diploma no one would have suspected otherwise, as no Jew had ever obtained or presented an Oxford diploma before. While this could have been an ideal forgery,[59] I suggest below why this may not have served Samuel’s needs.

The Medical Training and Practice of Samuel ben Menasseh

Irrespective of the veracity of his diploma, Samuel appears to have been a practicing physician. Samuel is listed as a physician by both Steinschneider[60] and Koren,[61] each of whom provides additional references. He is also listed in an early twentieth century work among a group of exceptionally prominent Jewish physicians across the ages.[62] Moreover, his tombstone identifies him as a physician. To my knowledge we do not have any specific account of his clinical practice.

As we have no direct evidence as to how Samuel trained in medicine, we can only surmise based on the general climate of Jewish medical training at the time, coupled with whatever fragmentary evidence we have of Samuel’s personal medical exposure.

Samuel had personal exposure to both the apprenticeship and university pathways of medical training. His father most likely obtained his education through the apprenticeship pathway. Samuel certainly could have learned the medical art from his father Menasseh, though the biographies of Menasseh reveal that he had little time, if any, for the practice of medicine. It would have been difficult for Samuel to acquire comprehensive medical knowledge without prolonged extensive clinical exposure, something his father could not provide.

Though Menasseh himself may not have had the time to mentor his son, he could have delegated the task to one of his physician colleagues.[63] Ephraim Bueno, for example, was a prominent physician in Amsterdam with whom Menasseh had a relationship.[64] Bueno supported Menasseh’s first publication.[65] They also both shared the distinction of having their portraits drawn by Rembrandt.[66] Perhaps Samuel apprenticed with, or at the very least, was inspired by Bueno.

Had he desired, Samuel could have obtained a formal university medical degree. In the early part of the seventeenth century, this would only have been possible in Italy, and primarily at the University of Padua. Traveling to Padua, however, would entail leaving the family and other potential hardships, such as the language barrier. Fortunately, beginning in the mid-century universities in the Netherlands (primarily Leiden), following in the footsteps of Padua, began opening their doors to Jewish medical students for the first time.[67] In fact, Samuel’s cousin Josephus Abarbanel, who also lived in Amsterdam, graduated from the University of Leiden on June 2, 1655, just a few weeks after Samuel received his Oxford diploma.[68]

Which option/pathway did Samuel choose? Though his diploma is Padua-esque, there is no record of Samuel attending the University of Padua. There is also no record of his attendance or graduation from any school in the Netherlands.

Samuel certainly would not have attended the University of Oxford as a student. Professing Jews were not allowed there. Moreover, it would also have required his presence in England for a prolonged period, which, by all accounts was not the case. Roth writes regarding the likelihood of Samuel obtaining an Oxford degree, “it was as difficult for a Jew to be graduated from it (Oxford) as it would have been for an anthropoid ape.”[69] This unwelcoming climate for the Jews persisted even long after the return of the Jews to England.[70] In fact, in Herman Adler’s lecture on the Jews of England in the late nineteenth century, he comments on the medical degree of Samuel, which he assumed to be authentic: “This fact (granting a medical diploma to the Jew Samuel ben Israel) would seem to show that the university was more enlightened in the year 1655 than it is in 1870.”[71]

Samuel’s “For Jewry” Diploma

I suggest that Samuel trained primarily through the apprenticeship pathway but requested and received university acknowledgement or imprimatur of his medical education and knowledge. The diploma was thus an affirmation of Samuel’s expertise attested to by members of the Oxford faculty. As opposed to today, when a student must attend a certain number of years in a university as a prerequisite to obtaining a degree, universities often gave exams and imprimatur to those who studied elsewhere, either formally or not, but passed the required examination demonstrating the required knowledge and competence. This could explain the unusual nature of the diploma he procured from Oxford.

While many Jewish physicians in this period practiced freely without university education or diplomas, there may have been an additional impetus for Samuel to procure this affirmation from Oxford. The Dutch were generally known for their tolerance, but this apparently did not extend to the Jews and the practice of medicine. According to historians, “Although Jews with foreign degrees were permitted to engage in medicine as general practitioners, tolerance was not extended to tertiary education.”[72] Thus, even though Samuel may have been qualified to practice by virtue of his apprenticeship, and could have practiced freely in other European countries, his practice in the Netherlands would have been limited without a foreign degree.[73]

Do the existing facts and diploma support this theory?

The Signatories

The two signatories on Samuel’s diploma were Dr. John Owen and Dr. Clayton at Oxford. Owen was a friend of Cromwell and Vice Chancellor of the University at that time. Thomas Clayton was Regius Professor of Medicine at Oxford from 1647 to 1665. These were not fictional characters, and if one were to obtain an affirmation of medical knowledge or education, these would be the perfectly appropriate people to attest to such a document. Given Menasseh’s connections, it is not inconceivable that he utilized his influence to arrange for his son’s exams, or that they acceded to Samuel’s request out of deference to Menasseh.

The Absence from the Oxford Register

Griffith highlights the fact that Samuel’s degree is not found in the Oxford Register. Indeed, no professing Jews were listed in the register at Oxford at that time. According to our theory, this absence from the Register is no proof of forgery. There was not the slightest thought of entering this exchange into the official university Register, as not only did it not meet the standard protocols, the recipient was also of the Jewish faith and expressly precluded from such a privilege. Samuel may have assured the examiners that he had no intention of practicing in the United Kingdom, a fact that would have made it easier for them to feel comfortable affixing their names to the document.

Likelihood of Exposure

If indeed Samuel were prone to deceit, what is the likelihood his rouse would have been discovered? His father would certainly have realized.[74] The very purpose of Samuel’s trip was to pave the path for his father’s visit. Samuel was thus expecting his father to later visit England and likely interact with the very same people he did. Indeed, Menasseh appears to have visited Oxford.[75] Surely Samuel’s diploma would have come up in conversation, if only peripherally. This alone could have served as a deterrent for forgery. Additionally, John Owen, a signatory on the diploma, was a close friend of Cromwell’s, and a forgery could have been revealed through this avenue. If one were to arbitrarily choose Oxford faculty for a fake diploma, better not to choose someone whose trail could ultimately lead to disclosure.

A forgery would have been suspected, if not revealed, from another source. Samuel’s cousin Joseph Abarbanel completed his medical training in Leiden at the very same time as Samuel’s diploma was issued, and also lived in Amsterdam. He surely would have been suspicious if Samuel suddenly started practicing medicine after a forged Oxford diploma emerged de novo and appeared, metaphorically, framed on Samuel’s office wall.

The Text of the Diploma- An Oxford-Padua Synthesis ala Samuel ben Menasseh

Working with our new theory, which type of diploma would Samuel have procured or designed had he genuinely presented to Oxford and successfully passed oral exams from the university faculty? This would not have been an official, formal process, but rather a unique private opportunity to confirm his medical expertise with the Oxford faculty. As this was a personalized, non-institutional diploma, the examiners would not have much cared or paid attention as to the diploma’s format and could have left the document particulars to Samuel.

I suggest, therefore, that Samuel designed the document in a way that would best serve his needs and would be well-received by his Jewish clientele in the Netherlands. A brief informal text with attestation from the Oxford professors would have been unfamiliar and unimpressive to his Jewish patients.[76] Virtually the only diploma a Jewish university-trained physician would have possessed in this period is a diploma from the University of Padua.[77] He therefore utilized the familiar Padua template, as awkward and inconsistent with Oxford’s typical diploma it may have been. Furthermore, he made sure to use the emended headline and non-ecclesiastic venue consistent with the “Jewish” diploma.

Why did Samuel not include the term “Hebreus,” which would surely have been familiar to the Jewish viewers of the diploma, not to mention following in the path of his father, who was known as “Medicus Hebraeus?” It is possible that Samuel would have specifically omitted this title given the history of the degree-granting institution. Professing Jews were categorically precluded from attending or graduating Oxford. While the signators may not have paid close attention to the details of the diploma, the word Hebreus after Samuel’s name would likely have caught their eye, especially as it appears adjacent to the graduate’s name.

There are numerous elements in the diploma that were simply untrue. For example, included is a description of the graduation, as cited by Graetz. Did Samuel actually participate in a formal graduation from Oxford? Whether Samuel obtained a genuine diploma of some sort from Oxford can be debated, but there is no doubt that as a professing Jew in England at this time he would never have participated in any formal graduation ceremony. Samuel may have disregarded these details favoring style over substance in order to achieve his objective. The signators would likely not have bothered to analyze the text.

Not a single Jew would have known the difference, let alone read the Latin document, nor would they have questioned further.[78] They would have seen a document that appeared in style and largely in substance similar to the diplomas they had seen previously. Samuel’s father would have been proud of his son’s accomplishment, as would his cousin Josephus Abrabanel, who later graduated from Leiden. Menasseh could also have personally thanked Drs. Owens and Clayton for their kindness when he visited Oxford a short time later. If this construct is true then Samuel’s diploma would not have been a forgery, but rather “for Jewry,” being designed intentionally with the Jewish community in mind, and in the context of Jewish medical history.

Postscript

Whether forged on not, Samuel sadly had but little time to utilize the Oxford diploma dated May 1655. Later that month he returned to Amsterdam, diploma in hand, to persuade his father to go to England and personally lay his case before Cromwell. Two years later, Manasseh ben Israel arrived in London, accompanied by Samuel. Samuel tragically died during their stay. In accordance with Samuel’s dying wish, Manasseh ben Israel conveyed his son’s corpse back to Holland where he was buried on 2 Tishrei, 5418. Below is a picture of the grave of Samuel ben Israel in the Middleburg Cemetery, 1912, shortly after it was renovated.[79]

Here is a picture of the grave and tombstone today:[80]

His medical identity is forever enshrined on his tombstone, where he is referred to as “Doctor Semuel.”[81]

Roth writes, “It seems obvious that the honorific description (on the tombstone) has its basis the supposed Oxford degree.”[82] I beg to differ. Many Jewish physicians were trained through apprenticeship and never obtained university degrees, Samuel’s own father being a case in point, and they were nonetheless known as physicians. I believe Samuel could have been such a physician.

Menasseh himself died shortly thereafter on Nov. 20, 1657, before reaching his home at Middelburg, Zealand.

Which account is closer to the truth? Was Samuel an ambitious and accomplished student of medicine, honestly earning some form of an Oxford diploma, perhaps not unlike Friedberg’s description at the beginning of this article; or was he an unabashed imposter possessing no medical training, brazenly forging a medical diploma, and practicing medicine without proper training? Historians have been quick to condemn Samuel, though they have neglected to incorporate the history of Jewish medical training into their analyses. Ultimately, I suggest that the truth lies in the chasm between these two polar extremes. Closer to which one? I leave to the reader to decide. At the very minimum I believe we have provided enough evidence to at least create reasonable doubt as to whether Samuel the son of the right honorable Menasseh ben Israel committed willful forgery of his medical diploma.

The Physicians of the Rome Plague of 1656, Yaakov Zahalon and Hananiah Modigliano
Reclaiming a Long-Lost Role and the
Only Known Example of Father and Son Diplomas

By Edward Reichman

Ellen Wells of the Smithsonian Libraries wrote,[1] “The plague of Rome of 1656 was one of the best recorded medical events of the 17^th century. It was referred to in most major political and ecclesiastical histories, in diplomatic correspondence and in personal memoirs. Books and pamphlets were issued in profusion. Commemorative prints were published …” The Jewish physician Yaakov Zahalon[2] contributed to this documentary phenomenon from the Jewish perspective.[3] Zahalon is one of the most famous physicians in Jewish history, and his book Otzar HaHayyim, published in Venice 1683, is one of only few original Hebrew medical treatises written in the premodern era. Therein, Zahalon added to the personal memoir genre of the plague.[4]

In the context of his discussion of pestilential fevers and plague, Zahalon records his recollections, both medical and non-medical, of the Bubonic Plague in Rome of 1656.[5] This passage is well-known and has been partially translated by Friedenwald.[6] It is in this passage that we read of Zahalon preaching from the balconies of the Rome Ghetto due to the closure of synagogues during the plague, an account recalled frequently over this past year.[7]

Zahalon was clearly present and practicing medicine in Rome during the epidemic, as he mentions a first-hand encounter with a patient, Shabtai Kohen, who died with fever and groin swelling, typical of bubonic plague. Zahalon diagnosed an intestinal hernia, despite the insistence of the non-Jewish physician that the patient had succumbed to plague. A diagnosis of plague would have necessitated quarantine of Kohen’s entire household. A postmortem exam confirmed Zahalon’s diagnosis. Yet, Zahalon’s exact role during the plague has remained elusive.

Regarding the administration of medical care in the Ghetto during the plague, Zahalon identifies a number of medical roles. An isolation house, called a Lazaretto, was set up in the Ghetto to accommodate those afflicted with plague.[8] The medical care in the Lazaretto was provided by Samuel Gabai, and his father, Ciroccio (Mordechai), who succumbed to the plague.[9]

Zahalon discusses the division of the ghetto into three sections, each with its appointed physician.[10]

The three physicians who equally divided the medical care of the city were Hananiah Modigliano, Gavriel Lariccia, and Yitzhak Zahalon. Who were these three physicians?

On Lariccia, I have found no additional information, and it is possible that this mention by Zahalon may be the only historical record of his existence. As recorded by Zahalon, Lariccia died during the plague.

On Modigliano, we are fortunate to have archival material. Hananiah Modigliano was a graduate of the University of Siena in 1628 and was one of a mere eleven Jewish graduates from this university from the years 1543 to 1695.[11] His medical diploma is extant and housed in the Jewish Theological Seminary Library.[12]

The invocation reads “In Dei Nomine Amen” (in the Name of God, Amen). While I have not seen any other diplomas of this period from the University of Siena,[13] there are a number of extant medical diplomas from this period issued by the University of Padua. The typical Padua diploma invocation reads “In Christi Nomine, Amen” (in the Name of Christ, Amen). The only diplomas that deviated from this norm were those of non-Christian students, in particular diplomas of Jewish graduates. Virtually every Jewish graduate’s diploma begins with the invocation, “In Dei Aeterni Nomine.” It is possible that the University of Siena made the same accommodations for its Jewish graduates as did Padua, few as they may have been.[14] Modigliano was also identified as a Jew in his diploma, with the word “Hebreo” appearing after his name:

This was also commonly found in the diplomas of the Jewish graduates of Padua, where the word “Hebreus” or “Iudeus” would typically, though not always, follow the name of the Jewish graduates.

We next hear of Modigliano on August 14, 1650, when upon the departure of Rafael Corcos,[15] the Roman Jewish community appointed three new worthy teachers, one of whom was the doctor Hananiah b. Rafael Modigliano.[16] As reported by Zahalon, Hananiah tragically died while serving as a physician for the Jewish community in Rome during the Bubonic Plague of 1656.

Modigliano’s son Raphael was also a physician, as well as a rabbi.[17] Extant medical diplomas of Jewish students are exceedingly rare, yet in this case, we are fortunate not only to possess a copy of Hananiah’s diploma, but we also possess the diploma of his son Raphael as well.[18] This is the only known case of extant father and son diplomas. A copy of his medical diploma from the University of Ferrara in 1662 is below:[19]

The invocation, similar to his father’s diploma, reads, “In Dei Nomine, Amen,” and he is likewise identified as “Hebreus.”

Of note, the document explicitly restricts his medical practice to Jewish patients.

We also have record of Raphael delivering weekly Shabbat sermons in the synagogue in Siena. Moses ben Samuel ben Bassa of Blanes records in his manual for preachers, Tena’ei ha-Darshan,[20] that both he and Raphael Modigliano would deliver weekly sermons, after which they would each provide constructive criticism of the other’s sermon.

What of our third and final physician, Yitzhak Zahalon? Regarding the third of the Jewish plague physicians for Rome in 1656, the author does not reveal additional details about him, despite their sharing the same last name. A few sentences later, however, Yaakov Zahalon enumerates the fatalities of the plague at around eight hundred deaths and mentions his cousin, the young skilled surgeon, Yitzhak Zahalon, amongst the casualties.

This has led at least one scholar to identify the physician in charge of one third of the city as the same Yitzhak Zahalon, the surgeon and cousin of Yaakov, the author. Sosland writes, “Three Jewish doctors are mentioned by Zahalon as having charge over the patients. One of them was a first cousin of our author, a certain Isaac Zahalon, a “skilled surgeon” who died toward the end of the epidemic.”[21]

With the physicians in charge of the medical care of the Lazaretto, as well as the different sections of the Ghetto, accounted for by name, we are left to wonder about the role, if any, the author, Yaakov Zahalon, played during the plague. As Sosland notes, “as to the exact role Jacob filled, we have no direct knowledge.”[22]

Zahalon’s medical work was published in Venice in 1683, and unlike the work of his rough contemporary, Tuviya Cohen, whose Ma’aseh Tuviya has been reprinted numerous times, has not yet merited even a second printing.[23] There is however one extant manuscript of Zahalon’s Otzar HaHayyim housed in the Vatican,[24] dated from no later than 1675, and it is in this manuscript that we find the solution to the riddle of Zahalon’s role in the administration of medical care to the Jews in the Rome Ghetto during the plague.

The manuscript appears to reflect that Otzar HaHayyim was initially part of a larger multi-section work entitled Ohalei Yaakov Otzar HaHokhmot. Zahalon’s medical work is labelled as section two, Hokhmat HaRefuah, the only section in the Vatican manuscript.

Below is the section describing the division of the city into three sections, each with its respective physician.

There is one key difference in this passage between the printed edition and the manuscript version. The physician in charge of the third section of the city is not Yitzhak Zahalon, whose identity is ambiguous, but rather, Yaakov ben Yitzhak Zahalon, none other than the author himself! A part of the name was accidentally omitted in the printed work. Zahalon refers to himself here in third person. This correction now facilitates a better understanding of the next sentence in the text, in which Zahalon continues to refer to himself, expressing gratitude to God for having rescued him from the ravages of the plague.

In this vein, I conclude with a comment on Zahalon’s conclusion to his plague passage. Despite the unspeakable tragedies experienced by the Jewish community, Zahalon ends his plague discussion by sharing a positive, though bittersweet, thought reflecting the continuity of the Jewish community:

As a good sign for the people of Israel, a pregnant woman named Zivia, the wife Yitzhak Mondolfo, contracted the plague, and though confined to the Lazaretto, was able to deliver a healthy child, whom she was able to nurse for a period before her demise. In the final line of this section in the printed work, we read that the child was still alive “until today,” and that his name was Efraim Levi. Though Zahalon’s book was published in 1683, this line appears in the manuscript, thus “until today” would be some twenty years after the plague.

While this indeed is some form of consolation, the manuscript adds an additional sentence which yields a far more powerful conclusion.

“And the circumcision was performed there (in the Lazaretto), and I say to you by your blood you shall live, and I say to you by your blood you shall live.” Zahalon concludes with the phrase from Yechezkel 16:6 which is traditionally recited as part of the circumcision ceremony. The allusion here to the plague is obvious.

Omitting this last sentence denies us not only the additional factual information about the performance of the circumcision in the Lazaretto, itself a remarkable event, but also Zahalon’s homiletic flourish which marked the community’s (re)birth after the tragedies of the plague. As I write these words, we are still in this midst of the Covid 19 pandemic, though the dissemination of the vaccines portends, God willing, for its cessation in the near future. These final intended words of Zahalon resonate deeply with us today, perhaps even more so than they would have when Otzar HaHayyim was published, some three decades after the plague.