The Medical Training and
Yet Another (Previously Unknown) Legacy
of Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, zt”l

by Edward Reichman and Menachem Butler

Rabbi Dr. Edward Reichman is a Professor of Emergency Medicine and Professor in the Division of Education and Bioethics at the Albert Einstein College of Medicine. He writes and lectures widely in the field of Jewish medical ethics.

Mr. Menachem Butler is Program Fellow for Jewish Legal Studies at The Julis-Rabinowitz Program on Jewish and Israeli Law at Harvard Law School. He is an Editor at Tablet Magazine and a Co-Editor at the Seforim Blog.

On erev Shabbat Shira last week, in the course of a typically wide-ranging conversation between the authors of this article, Menachem mentioned that unfortunately Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski was critically ill. As hashgachah would have it, Menachem had happened upon a little-known precious work from 1997, entitled Sefer Ye’omar le-Yaakov u-le-Yisrael, compiled by Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski and comprised of letters written to him by Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky, zt”l (1899-1985), known as the Steipler Gaon and author of the multi-volume work Kehillot Yaakov.[1]

Scion of prominent Hasidic dynasties and related to the current Rebbes of Bobov, Karlin, Klausenberg, Talner, and Skver, Abraham J. Twerski was born in Milwaukee in 1930 to Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Twerski and his wife Devorah Leah (née Halberstam), where he attended public school as a child.[2] After he received his rabbinic ordination from the Hebrew Theological College in Chicago, he began to serve as an assistant rabbi in his father’s congregation in Milwaukee in the 1950s, as Aaron Katz described in his 2015 profile of Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski (“The Wisdom of Peanuts”) at Tablet Magazine. He married Goldie (née Flusberg) in March 1952; and starting that summer, directed the Hebrew School at his father’s congregation Beth Jehudah, as well as officiated religious lifecycle events in his father’s community in Milwaukee. However, as he would later reflect in an interview “after I had practiced as a rabbi for a number of years, I felt I was not fulfilled in my work and — after consultation with the Steipler Gaon — I went to medical school to become a psychiatrist.”

Abraham J. Twerski wrote to the Steipler Gaon and expressed concerns about the propriety of attending medical school as an Orthodox Jew. He would regularly visit Rav Kanievsky at his home in Bnei Brak and corresponded with him by mail, maintaining an ongoing relationship with him until the Steipler’s passing in 1985. That year, a volume of collection of letters entitled Karyana de-Igarta was published, and included, for the first time, two letters that the Steipler Gaon had sent some thirty years earlier to a young Abraham J. Twerski in Milwaukee, who was then seeking his advice regarding his career choice.

The first letter was written at the end of the Summer of 1955 by a twenty-four-year-old Abraham J. Twerski and in this letter the Steipler Gaon addresses the value of making one’s livelihood through a non-rabbinic profession. As to the specific profession, he adds that medicine may be a preferred choice, as it is a mitzvah to learn, and additionally, excluded from the ban on secular knowledge of the Rashba.[3] However, this is on the proviso that the education is provided by proper teachers and in an environment conducive to Torah observance. As this is clearly not the case in a modern university, he offers some general guidelines, culled from the seforim hakedoshim, if not to guarantee, at least to enhance the chances of success: 1) kove’a itim – learn in-depth at least two hours daily; 2) recite all tefillos with a minyan; 3) regular mikva immersion; 4) meticulous Shabbat observance; and 5) a daily musar seder.[4]

The second question Abraham J. Twerski posed, the following year, was more specific to his situation. He inquired whether it was preferrable for him to be a rabbi in a largely non-observant community (he was serving as an assistant rabbi to his father in Milwaukee at that time), which would involve immersion in an irreligious environment with potential negative impact on the Jewish education of his children; or should he choose a medical career, which would allow him to remain in an environment of Torah observance.

Suffice it say, the Steipler Gaon’s tone in this letter is less than supportive of a career in medicine than its predecessor. His written response is unequivocal, “the rabbinate is much preferred” (adifa yoter viyoter). He lists no less than five reasons not to become a physician, relating to the challenges in maintaining Torah observance and modesty, as well as the time commitment, which would preclude Torah study. He adds on a personal note that given his estimation of the exceptional talents of the young Rabbi Twerski, the latter would likely become a highly successful and sought-after physician. As such, he would find no rest from those constantly “knocking on his door” and seeking his consultation. He was particularly concerned about what would happen to his Torah learning and observance in such a case.[5]

Notwithstanding the serious concerns expressed by the Steipler Gaon, and perhaps now better informed of the potential pitfalls, Abraham J. Twerski proceeded to pursue his medical education, as he wrote, “I went to medical school with the Steipler’s blessing and continued an ongoing relationship with him for years.”[6] Their fathers both grew up as friends in Hornsteipel, “and spent their boyhood years together and were on first name terms,” reminisced Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski many years later in a biographical memoir of his Hasidic ancestors.[7]

However, several years into his studies at Marquette University’s medical school, Abraham J. Twerski could no longer afford the tuition.[8] His assistance would come from a most unlikely source, as he would later describe in an interview with the Pittsburgh Quarterly:[9]

By that time, I had several children, so my dad and some members of the congregation helped me to pay for school. I applied for a scholarship through a foundation, but it didn’t come through, so in my third year, I fell two trimesters behind on tuition. One day, I called my wife at lunch as always, and she asked, “What would you do if you had $4,000?” I said, “I’m too busy to talk about fantasies.” She said, “But you really do have $4,000!” I said, “From where?” She said, “From Danny Thomas.” “Who’s Danny Thomas?” She said, “The TV star.” Then she read me an article from The Chicago Sun. Local officials had told Mr. Thomas about a young rabbi who was struggling to get through medical school. Thomas asked, “How much does your rabbi need?” They said, “Four thousand dollars.” He said, “Tell your rabbi he’s got it.”[10] So, I did my internship in general medicine, went to the University of Pittsburgh Psychiatric Institute for three years, and then worked two more years for a state hospital.

While the Steipler Gaon’s assessment of the success of Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski’s medical career was prophetic, his concerns about Torah observance and learning, at least for Dr. Twerski, would turn out to be unfounded. Upon his graduation from medical school several years later, Time Magazine (June 15, 1959) published a brief article about him entitled “Rabbi in White.” It is worth reprinting in its entirety:

Abraham Joshua Twerski, 28, graduated from medical school this week. It was no mean feat, for Twerski is a Jewish rabbi like his father, two uncles, father-in-law, two older brothers and (when they finish their studies) two younger twin brothers. And to keep the Torah as an Orthodox Jew for six years of studies in Milwaukee’s Roman Catholic Marquette University was something like running a sack race, an egg race and an army obstacle course at the same time.

First there was the problem of keeping his religion from growing rusty: he rose each day at 5:30am, put in an hour’s study of the Talmud before early service at Milwaukee’s Beth Jehuda Synagogue, where he is assistant rabbi. Medical school classes began at 8am, and here real complications set in. His full black beard was a sanitary problem in surgery, requiring special snood-like surgical masks. His tallith katan, a small prayer shawl worn by many Orthodox Jews under their shirts, had to be made of cotton instead of wool – which might set off a static spark and ignite the anesthetic in an operating room.

Lectures on Saturday.[11] Religious holidays sometimes required months of advance planning. The nine-day Feast of Tabernacles, for instance, with four days when work is forbidden, fell during a series of lectures before a make-or-break exam in pathology. Abe, as students and professors call him, met the situation by studying by himself all the preceding summer, put himself so far ahead of his class that he could afford to miss the lectures. “I hated like heck to miss them,” he explains, “but I creamed that exam.”

When lectures came on Saturdays – during which Orthodox Jews are forbidden to work, ride in a vehicle or talk on the phone – Abe would have a friend put a sheet of carbon paper under his lecture notes and hope he remembered to use a ballpoint pen. Sabbath restrictions begin on Friday night, just before sundown, and on occasion Fridays only a lucky break in the traffic has saved him from having to abandon his 1952 De Soto and walk the rest of the way home. On Saturdays Abe was not on duty, but sometimes, to follow up on one of the cases he had been observing, he would leave his car in the garage and walk five miles to the hospital and back.

Work on Tishah Be’ab. Abe brought his own kosher food to school every day and ate it in the student lounge, where he also said his midday prayers in a corner, surrounded by chattering fellow students. Hospital duty during the 24-hour fast without food and water at Tishah Be’ab (commemorating the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 A.D.) Dr. Twerski describes as “murder,” and the last six years have left him hollow-eyed and slightly sallow.[12] But he is eagerly looking forward to the next stage: a year of internship in Milwaukee’s Mount Sinai Hospital, followed by a three-year residency in psychiatry.

“Psychiatric training was the motivation for my going into medicine,” he says. “I felt I could be a better adviser to my people and more help to them with their problems.”

The Time Magazine profile of Abraham J. Twerski included just one photograph (wearing “a snood for surgery” over his yarmulke), but members of the Twerski family have shared in recent years nearly a dozen of the other photographs that were taken by George P. Koshollek Jr., a local photographer with The Milwaukee Journal, and later deposited in the LIFE Photo Archive. The following are two photographs of newly-minted physician Abraham J. Twerski, together with his philanthropic patron who supported his medical school studies, the comedian Danny Thomas:

Upon his 1959 graduation from Marquette University Medical School, Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski left his pulpit in Milwaukee and moved with his family to Pittsburgh, where he completed his psychiatric training at the University of Pittsburgh’s Western Psychiatric Institute four years later, and was then named clinical director of the Department of Psychiatry at St. Francis General Hospital in Pittsburgh, supervised by Sisters of the Third Order of St. Francis, where he advanced his expertise for treating addiction. In 1972, Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski founded the Gateway Rehabilitation Center with the Sisters of St. Francis.[13]

Returning to our pre-Shabbat conversation, Menachem suggested that perhaps it might be appropriate for us to study through the 1997 volume of Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, Sefer Ye’omar le-Yaakov u-le-Yisrael – one of his only Hebrew-language books of more than his eighty-authored volumes published over the past half-century – as a merit for Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski’s complete recovery. Menachem further asked if I would perhaps identify any medically related material that might be significant or previously unknown. Before Shabbat, I identified one particular letter, the final one in the book, which was of medical relevance, and I printed it out for learning, with Rabbi Twerski in mind. The topic: the obligation to prolong the life of a critically ill patient.

Just two days after our conversation, we read of the tragic passing of Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, whose passing took place on Sunday, Chai Shvat 5781 (January 31, 2021). The nature of the letter from the Steipler Gaon to Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, and its heretofore unknown origins, compels us to write this brief note l’zecher nishmato (in honor of his memory) and to add yet an additional item to his legacy.

Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski’s astonishing accomplishments, known to the Jewish community worldwide, are primarily in the fields of mental health, self-esteem, and addiction medicine.[14] We will leave it those with expertise in these areas to recall and recount his manifold contributions, including his voluminous literary output.[15] Here we note a contribution, which though indirect, may be on par with respect to its Jewish communal impact as those more widely known.

The Letter

In the introduction to this 230-page-work, Sefer Ye’omar le-Yaakov u-le-Yisrael, published in 1997 by the Kollel Bais Yitzchok on Bartlett Street in Pittsburgh (and with an effusive approbation from Rav Chaim Kanievsky, son of the Steipler Gaon), Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski recounts his unique connection to Rav Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky, the Steipler Gaon. It stemmed back to the city in present-day Ukraine called Hornsteipel, to which they both trace their roots.[16] Rav Kanievsky had lived there in his youth and the appellation “the Steipler” is derived from the name of the town. Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, though born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin is a direct descendant of Rebbe Yaakov Yisrael Twerski of Cherkas, the founder of the Hornsteipel Hasidic dynasty, which originated in that city.[17] His father was named Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Twerski and was known both as the Hornsteipler Rebbe, and as the Milwaukee Rebbe.[18]

The last letter of this volume presents a medical halakhic query Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski posed to the Steipler Gaon in the Summer of 1973 about his ailing father. “May a son administer an injection to his ill father?” Despite the fact that Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski was a physician, and injections were part of his clinical scope of practice, he was acutely aware of the potential halakhic ramification of something as simple as an injection. An injection may cause bodily injury, and it is Biblically prohibited for a son to cause a wound to his father.[19] Rav Kanievsky answered that it would be permitted as long as there are no other options: “On the matter of delivering an injection to one’s father, as it may cause a wound, the law is found in Yoreh De’ah #241:3, that when no one else is available, it is permitted … .”[20]

It appears however that between the sending of the query and the completion of the response, Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski’s father passed away, as Rav Kanievsky offers condolences: “Behold, I who am bereft of good deeds [an allusion to the introduction to the High Holiday Musaf prayer recited by the chazzan] join in your great sorrow upon the passing of the honorable, great rabbi of the Hornsteipel dynasty. May God comfort you among the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem, and may his memory be a blessing for eternity.”[21]

It is the following paragraph, which includes a general comment about end-of-life issues, to which we draw your attention:

“Regarding the principle that one should do everything possible to prolong the life of the ill patient [even if he is in a terminal state (chayei sha’ah)]. In truth I also heard such a notion in my youth, and I do not know if this derives from a ‘bar samcha’ (authoritative source). In my opinion, this requires serious analysis…”

As I [ER] read these words, they were familiar to me. This letter appears in the Steipler Gaon’s collection of letters entitled Karyana de-Igarta,[22] though the questioner is not identified. It is only from this work of their correspondences that we learn that Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski is the author of the query!

It is not a lengthy halakhic analysis. In fact, the Steipler Gaon goes on to cite only two sources. The citations relate to the passage in Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh De’ah #339 regarding the treatment of a ‘gosses’, one whose death is imminent. Yet this pronouncement of Rav Kanievsky’s on the approach to the patient at the end of life may possibly be his most cited reference on any medical halakhic topic. Moreover, it is one of the more frequently cited sources in contemporary halakhic discussions on the end of life.

In the Modern era, with the likes of respirators and antibiotics, we now have the ability to prolong life to an extent not imaginable in the past. Must we utilize the entire armamentarium of medicine to prolong life in every circumstance, despite any associated suffering? There are some, such as Rav Eliezer Waldenberg, zt”l, who would answer in the affirmative.[23] Others, like Rav Moshe Feinstein, zt”l, allow for circumstances to refrain from aggressive care.[24] This debate has been the substance of halakhic discussions on end-of-life care in our generation.[25]

For someone of the stature of Rav Kanievsky’s to write that the notion to prolong life in all circumstances and at all costs may not derive from a “bar samcha” (authoritative source) is nothing short of revelational. This statement has guided many a rabbinic authority in their general approach to the treatment of the patient at the end-of-life and has certainly been part of the thought process of countless practical halakhic decisions.

It appears that this noteworthy contribution of Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, zt”l to medical halakhic discourse, albeit indirect, has gone largely unnoticed. He is not only to be credited for his legendary contributions to broadening the possibilities of mental health in the Jewish community and beyond,[26] but he is also responsible for eliciting this letter of Rav Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky, which has informed and guided halakhic-decision-making at the ‘end-of-life’ in the Modern era.

Sadly, we now invoke the same sentiment that the Steipler Gaon expressed above about the loss of another great rabbinic leader and member of the Hornsteipler dynasty:

May his memory be a blessing for eternity.

Notes:

[1] See Marc B. Shapiro, “The Tamim: Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky (‘The Steipler’),” in Benjamin Brown and Nissim Leon, eds., The Gedolim: Leaders Who Shaped the Israeli Haredi Jewry (Jerusalem: Magnes, 2017), 663-674 (Hebrew). A full biographical treatise on The Steipler Gaon along the lines of the magisterial scholarly work of The Hazon Ish, in Benjamin Brown, The Hazon Ish: Halakhist, Believer and Leader of the Haredi Revolution (Jerusalem: Magnes, 2011; Hebrew) remains a scholarly desideratum.
[2] In a December 25, 2020 email to Menachem Butler, Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski clarified some important details of an anecdote from when he participated in the Christmas play at his Milwaukee public school in his childhood. He wrote here:

That’s not quite the way it was. The week after the play, my mother called the teacher, to meet her. The teacher said, ‘I knew that Mrs. Twerski would reprimand me for putting Abraham in the Xmas play. But all she wanted to know was whether Abraham was self-conscious because he was shorter than the other children.’ I said, ‘I thought you were going to reprimand me for putting Abraham in the Xmas play.’ Mrs. Twerski said ‘If what we have given him at home is not enough to prevent an effect of a Xmas play, then we have failed completely.’

[3] For an overview of the controversy, see David Berger, “Judaism and General Culture in Medieval and Early Modern Times,” in Cultures in Collision and Conversation: Essays in the Intellectual History of the Jews (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2011), 21-116, esp. 70-78. See also Joseph Shatzmiller, “Between Abba Mari and Rashba: The Negotiations That Preceded the Ban of Barcelona (1303-1305),” Studies in the History of the Jewish People and the Land of Israel, vol. 3 (1973): 121-137 (Hebrew); David Horwitz, “The Role of Philosophy and Kabbalah in the Works of Rashba,” (unpublished MA thesis, Yeshiva University, 1986); David Horwitz, “Rashba’s Attitude Towards Science and Its Limits,” Torah u-Madda Journal, vol. 3 (1991-1992): 52-81; and Marc Saperstein, “The Conflict over the Ban on Philosophical Study, 1305: A Political Perspective,” in Leadership and Conflict: Tensions in Medieval and Early Modern Jewish History and Culture (Oxford: Littman Library, 2014), 94-112.
[4] Avraham Yeshaya Kanievsky, Karyana de-Igarta: Letters of Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky, vol. 1 (Bnei Brak: privately published, 1985), 101-103, no. 86 (Hebrew), dated August 31, 1955.
[5] Avraham Yeshaya Kanievsky, Karyana de-Igarta: Letters of Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky, vol. 1 (Bnei Brak: privately published, 1985), 72-74, no. 66 (Hebrew), dated April 5, 1956.
[6] Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, “Who is Honored? He Who Honors Others” (Pirkei Avos 4:1) at TorahWeb.org.
[7] See Abraham J. Twerski, The Zeide Reb Motele: The Life of the Tzaddik Reb Mordechai Dov of Hornosteipel (Brooklyn: Mesorah Publications, 2002), 11.

In 1965, Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski visited Bnei Brak and requested that he be permitted to take a photograph of Rav Kanievsky. After sharing a story about how Rav Meir Shapiro of Lublin convinced Rav Joseph Rosen, the Rogatchover Gaon, to allow him to take a photograph so that future generations would know what “a true Jew should look like,” the Steipler consented to a photograph to be taken.
[8] Financial difficulties for Jewish medical students are certainly not a new phenomenon. Indeed precisely four hundred years before Rabbi Twerski’s financial woes, in 1658, Chayim Palacco, another rabbi training as a physician in the University of Padua Medical School petitioned the Jewish community of Padua for assistance in paying his medical school tuition. The request, the only one of its kind in the archival records, was granted. See Daniel Carpi, “II Rabbino Chayim Polacco, Alias Vital Felix Montalto da Lublino, Dottore in Filosofia e Medicina a Padova (1658),” Quaderni per la Storia dell’ Universita di Padova, vol. 34 (2001): 351-352.

[9] Jeff Sewald, “Abraham J. Twerski, Psychiatrist and Rabbi: The Psychiatrist and Rabbi in His Own Words,” Pittsburgh Quarterly (Winter 2008), available here.

[10] For further details, see “Catholic Danny Thomas to Help Rabbi Become Doctor,” The Wisconsin Jewish Chronicle (27 June 1958): 1 and 3.

[11] The medical student Judah Gonzago, who trained in Rome in the early 1700s, recounts how one of his final (oral) exams was on Rosh Hashana. He recalls how he left the synagogue after the shacharit (morning) service and returned in time to hear the blowing of the shofar. His other trials and tribulations are reminiscent of those of Rabbi Dr. Twerski, though reflect a different historical reality. Though not a rabbi, Gonzago taught Torah in the local Jewish school. See Abraham Berliner, “Memoirs of a Roman Ghetto Youth,” Jahrbuch für Jüdische Geschichte und Literatur, vol. 7 (1904): 110-132 (German), of which excerpts are summarized and translated in Harry Friedenwald, “The Jews and the Old Universities,” in Harry Friedenwald, ed., The Jews and Medicine: Essays, vol. 1 (Baltimore: John Hopkins University, 1944), 221-240.
[12] How Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski navigated medical school while simultaneously maintaining meticulous religious observance, not to mention finding time for Torah learning, is truly exceptional. It reflects the challenges that every religious Jew faces in pursuing a medical education. These challenges have existed throughout history, though they have evolved over time. See Edward Reichman, “From Maimonides the Physician to the Physician at Maimonides Medical Center: The Training of the Jewish Medical Student throughout the Ages,” Verapo Yerape: The Journal of Torah and Medicine of the Albert Einstein College of Medicine, vol. 3 (2011): 1-25; Edward Reichman, “The Yeshiva Medical School: The Evolution of Educational Programs Combining Jewish Studies and Medical Training,” Tradition: A Journal of Orthodox Jewish Thought, vol. 51, no. 3 (Summer 2019): 41-56. See also Edward Reichman, “The History of the Jewish Medical Student Dissertation: An Evolving Jewish Tradition,” in Jerry Karp and Matthew Schaikewitz, eds., Sacred Training: A Halakhic Guidebook for Medical Students and Residents (New York: Amud Press, 2018), xvii-xxxvii.
[13] See Abraham J. Twerski, The Rabbi & the Nuns: The Inside Story of a Rabbi’s Therapeutic Work With the Sisters of St. Francis (Brooklyn: Mekor Press, 2013).

On his appointment to this position in August 1965, Sister Mary Adele announced: “The addition of Dr. Twerski to our staff is another important move toward our goal of making complete, comprehensive mental health care and treatment available to all the people of the community.” The following month, both Sister Mary Adele and Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski rejected the suggestion that his appointment embodies any aspect of the ecumenical movement, and she told The Pittsburgh Press: “The appointment came at an opportune time to fit into the spirit… but it was accidental.” See “St. Francis Ecumenical Movement? Rabbi, Catholic Hospital Team Up In Psychiatry: Mental Ward on the Move,” The Pittsburgh Press (26 September 1965): 11
[14] Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski’s contributions also extend to the sphere of music. A noted composer of Hasidic melodies (and also of musical grammen that he composed to be delivered at celebratory occasions, such as weddings and sheva brachot), one of his best-known (although often unattributed) compositions is “Hoshia Es Amecha,” which he composed more than six decades ago on the occasion of his brother’s wedding, and set to the words from Tehillim 28:9. The song is often chanted on Simchat Torah following each of the hakkafot in the synagogue, and has become a helpful tune to count the minyan-members ahead of starting prayer services. His story of the song’s composition is recorded here. At his request, there were no eulogies delivered at his funeral. Instead, he requested that his family sing “Hoshia Es Amecha,” which he had once described as his “ticket to Gan Eden…because people dance with it.” See the video of the funeral march here.
[15] For example, see Andrew R. Heinze, “The Americanization of Mussar: Abraham Twerski’s Twelve Steps,” Judaism: A Journal of Jewish Life & Thought, vol. 48, no. 4 (Fall 1999): 450-469.
[16] For the geographic map of the Hasidic dynasties that emerged from Hornsteipel, see Marcin Wodziński, Historical Atlas of Hasidism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018), 159,162.
[17] See his book-length tribute to Reb Motele, the father of Rebbe Yaakov Yisrael Twerski of Cherkas ancestor, see Abraham J. Twerski, The Zeide Reb Motele: The Life of the Tzaddik Reb Mordechai Dov of Hornosteipel (Brooklyn: Mesorah Publications, 2002).
[18] See Israel Shenker, “The Twerski Tradition: 10 Generations of Rabbis in the Family,” The New York Times (23 July 1978): 38, which includes a photo of Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael and Devorah Leah Twerski, with their children and their spouses at a family wedding in 1958.

Peter Leo, “He Defies Melting Pot Tradition,” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette (4 September 1978): 15:

Anita Srikameswaran, “Stories That Give People A Lift,” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette (24 September 1997): B2,B7

[19] For treatise on the topic of providing medical care to one’s parent, see Avraham Yaakov Goldmintz, Chen Moshe (Jerusalem: privately published, 2002; Hebrew), available here.
[20] Abraham J. Twerski, Sefer Ye’omar le-Yaakov u-le-Yisrael (Pittsburgh: Kollel Bais Yitzchok, 1997), 177 (no. 86) (Hebrew), dated August 27, 1973.
[21] Grand Rebbe Yaakov Yisrael Twerski passed away on August 7, 1973.
[22] Avraham Yeshaya Kanievsky, Karyana de-Igarta: Letters of Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky, vol. 1 (Bnei Brak: privately published, 1985), 201, no. 190 (Hebrew)
[23] Alan Jotkowitz, “The Intersection of Halakhah and Science in Medical Ethics: The Approach of Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg,” Hakirah, vol. 19 (2015): 91-115.
[24] See Moshe Dovid Tendler, Responsa of Rav Moshe Feinstein, vol. 1: Care of the Critically Ill (Hoboken, NJ: Ktav Publishing House, 1996). See also Daniel Sinclair, “Autonomy in Matters of Life and Death and the Withdrawel of Life-Support in the Responsa of Rabbi Moses Feinstein,” Jewish Law Association, vol. 23 (2012): 231-245; and Alan Jotkowitz, “Death as Implacable Enemy – Or Welcome Friend in the Theology and Halakhic Decision Making of Rabbis Moshe Feinstein, Eliezer Waldenberg, and Haim David Halevy,” in Kenneth Collins, Edward Reichman, and Avraham Steinberg, eds., In the Pathway of Maimonides: Festschrift on the Eightieth Birthday of Dr. Fred Rosner (Haifa: Maimonides Research Institute, 2016), 73-99.
[25] For a comprehensive review of the halakhic issues at the end of life – well beyond the scope of this brief essay – see, most recently, Avraham Steinberg, Ha-Refuah ka-Halakhah, vol. 6: The Laws of the Sick, the Physician, and Medicine (Jerusalem: privately published, 2017), 338-388 (section 10) (Hebrew).
[26] See, for example, his books in Abraham J. Twerski, Let Us Make Man: Self Esteem Through Jewishness (Brooklyn: Traditional Press, 1987); Abraham J. Twerski, The Shame Borne in Silence: Spouse Abuse in the Jewish Community (Pittsburgh: Mirkov Publications, 1996); Abraham J. Twerski, Addictive Thinking: Understanding Self-Deception (Center City, MN: Hazelden, 1997); Yisrael N. Levitz and Abraham J. Twerski, eds., A Practical Guide to Rabbinic Counseling (Jerusalem: Feldheim, 2005), and his dozens of other works published over the past half-century, including more than fifty works at the catalog of ArtScroll/Mesorah Publications.

Picturing Pandemic Prayer

Edward Reichman

(with invaluable assistance and inspiration from Menachem Butler and Sharon Liberman Mintz)

Among the precious items recently offered by Sotheby’s at its auction of important Judaica (December 17, 2020) was a richly illustrated miniature book of prayers written and illustrated by Nathan ben Samson of Meseritch, 1728 (here). Nestled among the spectacular illustrations and prayers reflecting all aspects of life we find the page below:[1]

This largely forgotten prayer recited upon seeing one recently recovered from illness derives from the Talmud. Rav Yehuda said in the name of Rav that four must offer thanks to God with a special blessing. One of them is a person who was ill and recovered. The passage then continues to record the proper blessing, which we today know as hagomel. The Talmud then recounts the following story which seems to deviate from the required practice:[2]

רַב יְהוּדָה חֲלַשׁ וְאִתְפַח. עָל לְגַבֵיהּ רַב חָנָא בַגְדָתָאָה וְרַבָנַן. אָמְרִי לֵיהּ: “בְרִיךְ רַחֲמָנָא דְיַהֲבָךְ נִיהֲלַן וְלָא יַהֲבָךְ לְעַפְרָא“. אֲמַר לְהוּ: פְטַרְתּוּן יָתִי מִלְאוֹדוֹיֵי.

The Gemara relates: Rav Yehuda fell sick and recovered, Rav Hana of Baghdad and the Sages entered to visit him. They said to him: Blessed is God Who gave you to us and did not give you to the dust. He said to them: You have exempted me from offering thanks, as your statement fulfilled my obligation to recite a blessing.

While there are seeming difficulties, the Talmud resolves them and considers this alternative expression of thanks, offered not by the patient himself, acceptable under certain halakhic guidelines. Today we routinely utilize the primary formula mentioned in the Talmud for giving thanks after the recovery from illness- birkat hagomel, recited by the patient, though this template could certainly suffice.

I do not think I am being presumptuous in saying that prayer, in some shape or form, in varying degrees, has been on all of our minds, hearts and lips these past few months. Here I do not discuss personalized improvisational prayer, but rather halakhically required or indicated tefillah. From a halakhic perspective, the types of prayers employed throughout this period have been varied and unique.

The Phases[3] of Pandemic prayer

There have been a number of phases of prayer during this pandemic period, each involving a different aspect or focus of prayer.

Phase 1- Techinah (supplication)

The first phase of prayer we encountered during this pandemic was the composition of special prayers to serve as protection and prevention from Covid 19.[4] We previously discussed one aspect of these prayers, the pitum haketoret.[5] There have been countless prayers of this kind written for plagues and pandemics throughout history. A search on the National Library website for the terms magefah and tefillah will sufficiently confirm this. During pre-modern times, when communities endured plague after plague, these prayers were regretfully all too familiar to the European Jew. The liturgy would have been kept under the Aron Kodesh as opposed to the back storage. Current rabbinic authorities thus had ample precedent upon which to draw to compose these prayers. Though we were previously “immune,” both literally and figuratively to this experience, and were unfamiliar with these prayers, we have now all been “exposed” to them.

Phase 2- Hoda’ah (thanksgiving) After Illness

The next prayer discussion to follow, as patients with God’s help began to recuperate from the disease, was an halakhic analysis of the requirements for reciting birkat hagomel. Issues included both when it should be recited, for example if one suffered only a mild case or conversely still had lingering symptoms,[6] to how it should be recited- whether a minyan is absolutely required and, if so, would a zoom minyan suffice.[7] Nathan ben Samson’s illustration might help with at least one of these questions. In order to recite the blessing, the disease should have been severe enough for one to have been bedridden, and one’s recovery advanced enough that he should begin getting out of bed.

Perhaps the rabbis could have considered resurrecting the alternate blessing from our illustration, d’yahavakh lan, during the pandemic. However, it would not have provided any halakhic advantage, as it too requires a minyan. If anything, it would potentially be even more challenging as this brachah is recited by others who observe the patient’s recovery. Perhaps zoom would not be sufficient for this assessment.

Phase 3- Hoda’ah for Preventing Illness

We now b’ezrat Hashem, find ourselves in phase 3 of pandemic prayer. With the development of a successful vaccine we are seeing a new phase of our prayerful preoccupations. Social media is currently abuzz with discussions about whether one should recite a blessing upon receiving the vaccine, and if so, which one.

I have not seen discussions in the halakhic literature on the recitation of a specific tefillah or brachah for previous vaccinations in medical history, neither for smallpox, nor polio, nor measles, nor any others. While admittedly my search has not been exhaustive, assuming there was indeed no previous vaccination prayer discussion, to what would we attribute the sudden change in halakhic perspective? I submit that the answer is rapidity and simultaneity. The rapidity with which Covid 19 spread across the world, leading to the prolonged closure or restriction of religious Jewish practice throughout the entire globe simultaneously is truly unprecedented. While we have experienced pandemics in the past, there has never been a simultaneous, global, real time, communal sense of tragedy on this scale before. Social media contributed exponentially to this experience. The production of multiple effective vaccinations in a mere few months to potentially rescue us from this abyss is likewise unprecedented.

The very aspects that have made this pandemic unprecedented have led to an unprecedented response to the vaccine. The elation at the vaccine’s dissemination is palpable, and the spiritual desire to find tangible verbal expression of gratitude is unrestrained. Rabbinic authorities are responding to this reality.

Furthermore, many rabbinic authorities are strongly supporting if not requiring vaccination.[8] Thus, as opposed to hagomel, or d’yahavakh lan, almost all of us could potentially have an opportunity to recite this brachah. The question then is which blessing.[9]

Talmudic Prayer Prior to Medical Treatment

There is one rabbinic formula mentioned in the Talmud that is to be recited upon undergoing the medical procedure of bloodletting:[10]

.”דְאָמַר רַב אַחָא: הַנִכְנָס לְהַקִיז דָם, אוֹמֵר: “יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְפָנֶיךָ ה‘ אֱלֹהַי שֶיְהֵא עֵסֶק זֶה לִי לִרְפוּאָה, וּתְרַפְאֵנִי. כִי אֵל רוֹפֵא נֶאֱמָן אָתָה וּרְפוּאָתְךָ אֱמֶת, לְפִי שֶאֵין דַרְכָן שֶל בְנֵי אָדָם לְרַפּאוֹת אֶלָא שֶנָהֲגוּ

As Rav Aḥa said: One who enters to let blood says:
May it be Your will, O Lord my God, that this enterprise be for healing and that You should heal me. As You are a faithful God of healing and Your healing is truth. Because it is not the way of people to heal, but they have become accustomed.

This passage has been codified in Shulchan Arukh,[11] and though stated in the context of bloodletting, has been traditionally recited throughout history when undergoing any medical treatment or taking any medications.[12]

This blessing with accompanying illustration appears in another eighteenth century illustrated compendium similar to Nathan ben Samson’s:[13]

The modern reader may be forgiven for believing this scene to possibly depict a vaccination, especially given our current preoccupation with the procedure. You would be sorely mistaken. While it is true that the date of the manuscript, 1724, antedates Jenner by some seventy years, a form of smallpox inoculation was being administered long before. However, the Talmudic source of this blessing is associated with bloodletting, in addition to the fact that the clinician is making his incision in the basilic vein, the common location for bloodletting, not inoculation.[14]

This blessing, not unlike d’yahavakh lan pictured above, has, until now, fallen into disuse and atrophy. It has been resuscitated today by contemporary rabbinic authorities for recitation with vaccination for Covid 19. Rav Asher Weiss, Shlit”a recited this upon receiving his first dose of vaccine.[15]

Shehecheyanu

Another brachah considered for vaccination is shehecheyanu. It certainly seems like a logical choice based on its wording alone: “Blessed are You, our God, Sovereign of all, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this occasion.” However, it is far more halakhically complex. Rabbi Dr. Daniel Sperber recited this formula and briefly wrote discussing the different options and the logic behind his decision.[16] Rav Asher Weiss devotes his weekly essay on the parashah of Vayigash, 5781 to this blessing, its parameters, and whether it should be recited upon receiving a vaccination for Covid 19.[17] Rav Weiss concludes that it should not be recited in this case.

Hatov Vihametiv [18]

Rav Yosef Rimon, Shlit”a addresses the propriety of reciting another blessing, related to shehechiyanu, hatov vihametiv, as this blessing requires tangible benefit.[19] Allowing that the vaccine’s benefit is indeed tangible in nature, a remaining question is whether it is entirely beneficial, or perhaps not, as there could be adverse reactions. Should one then preferably, he suggests, recite the blessing upon hearing of the vaccine’s effectiveness rather than upon personally receiving the injection. Rav Rimon concludes that one may recite the blessing depending on one’s subjective perception of the value of the vaccine. Rav Hershel Schachter, Shlit”a recited this brachah upon receiving his vaccine.[20]

Treatment Specific Prayer

A lesser known, event specific, prayer was composed by Rabbi Shmuel Eliyahu, Chief Rabbi of Tzfat:

מודִים אֲנַחְנוּ לָךְ ה‘ אֱלהֵינוּ וֵאלהֵי אֲבותֵינוּ אֱלהֵי כָל בָשָר. בּוֹרֵא רְפוּאוֹת. שאַתָה חונֵן לְאָדָם דַעַת וּמְלַמֵד לֶאֱנושׁ בִינָה לִמְצֹא וּלְהַמְצִיא חִסּוּן לַמַגֵפָה. יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְפָנֶיךָ שֶהַחִסּוּן הַזֶה יִמְנַע אֶת הִתְפַשְטוּת הַמַגֵפָה וְיַצִיל חַיִים שֶל אַלְפֵי רְבָבוֹת בָעוֹלָם כֻלּוֹ. אָנָא ה‘ שְלַח רְפוּאָה שְלֵמָה לְכָל חולֵי עַמֶךָ. הִצִילָנוּ מִכָל תּוֹפְעוֹת הַלְוַאי, רְפָאֵנוּ ה‘ וְנֵרָפֵא הושִיעֵנוּ וְנִוָשֵעָה כִי תְהִלָתֵנוּ אָתָה. וְהַעֲלֶה אֲרוּכָה וּמַרְפֵא לְכָל תַחֲלוּאֵינוּ. וּלְכָל מַכְאובֵינוּ וּלְכָל מַכּותֵינוּ. כִי אֵל רופֵא רַחְמָן וְנֶאֱמָן אָתָה. יִהְיוּ לְרָצון אִמְרֵי פִי וְהֶגְיון לִבִי לְפָנֶיךָ. ה‘ צוּרִי וְגאֲלִי

This prayer thanks God specifically for granting man the wisdom to discover and create a vaccine for this pandemic and beseeches that it should be effective in saving countless lives across the entire world. When I received my vaccination,[21] as a so-called frontline worker, I personally recited the formula of the Shulchan Arukh above, in addition to this tefillah, which personally deeply resonated with me.

Whether one uses the classic formulation of Rav Asher Weiss, the hatov vihametiv of Rav Schachter, or the shehechiyanu of Rabbi Dr. Sperber is not so much the issue.[22] What is far more important is that the tefillah conversation has shifted from the tefillah of techinah (supplication) to the tefillah of hoda’ah (thanksgiving). While hagomel is also a form of hoda’ah, one must have contracted disease to recite it. This form of hoda’ah is a “healthier” form of thanksgiving and represents an appreciation of the introduction of a cure (or more accurately prevention) of the disease that will potentially end the pandemic for us all. It is an appreciation of the advances in medicine which through Hashem’s guidance have enabled scientists to create a novel and exceptionally effective treatment in a remarkably short time, as Rabbi Eliyahu so beautifully encapsulates in his prayer.

Phase 4- Communal Retrospective Hoda’ah

The fourth and final phase of prayer, which we have yet to experience, is communal gratitude for surviving the plague. This form of prayer can only be expressed once the pandemic has abated. Throughout the centuries, communities that survived bouts of plague offered services of communal prayer and thanksgiving for their survival. I offer one such example.

In the nineteenth century there were multiple cholera pandemics. Jewish communities were profoundly affected by these events. The famous cases of Rabbi Yisroel Salanter (supposedly) making kiddush from the bimah on Yom Kippur and of Rabbi Akiva Eiger recommending social distancing in synagogue to minimize contagion were both associated with cholera pandemics.[23] In 1835, the city of Ferrara experienced a severe cholera outbreak.[24] In gratitude to Hashem for the community’s salvation from this particular event a special community prayer service was instituted.[25] The order of prayers was to be recited in every synagogue in the city of Ferrara in the month of Adar after the Shacharit (morning) service. It included selections from Tehillim as well as specific prayers written for the occasion:

Let us conclude by taking a closer look at our first illustration:

This picture I believe accurately reflects our present state of affairs in the midst of the Covid 19 pandemic. We are collectively as a people beginning to get out of bed on the road to recovery. To be sure, we are not there just yet, but we have transitioned gradually from the prone position to sitting off the side of the bed, with our feet dangling. We are still socially distancing, and as in the picture, there is no one in the room with us. Yet, it appears the door is open. The vaccine has been released and we as a people will soon be walking together unmasked outside and standing together shoulder to shoulder in shul, iy”H. We will then transition to the next and final phase of pandemic tefillah, when this pandemic is behind us- the collective community hoda’ah. I look forward to this final phase of reciting the prayer for the salvation of the world from the Covid 19 pandemic together with you, in person (sorry, no Zoom allowed).

Notes:

[1] Seder Birkat ha-Mazon u-Birkat ha-Nehenin (Grace After Meals and Occasional Blessings), written and illustrated by Nathan ben Samson of Meseritch, 1728 (private collection)

[2] Berachot 54b. translation from Sefaria.org.

[3] I use the term “phase” intentionally to be reminiscent of the phases of the vaccine trials, for which there are also four phases, though the connection is admittedly loose.

[4] See Rabbi Dr. Avraham Steinberg’s compendium on the laws relating to Coronavirus, available here.

[5] Edward Reichman, “Incensed by Coronavirus: Prayer and Ketoret in Times of Epidemic,” Lehrhaus (March 15, 2020), available here.

[6] Steinberg, op. cit.

[7] Rabbi Hershel Schachter, Piskei Corona, available here.

[8] Rabbi Dr. Aaron Glatt, “What Do Poskim Say About The Covid-19 Vaccine?” JewishPress.com (December 24, 2020) (here); HaGaon HaRav Yitzchak Zilberstein: “The Vaccine Has The Authority Of Beis Din” theyeshivaworld.com (December 24, 2020), available here. For a video of Rav Schachter and Rabbi Willig receiving the vaccine see here.

[9] An in-depth halakhic analysis is beyond the scope of this essay.

[10] Berachot 60a. text from Sefaria.org

[11] O. C. 230:4.

[12] Mishnah Berurah 230:6

[13] Seder Birkat ha-Mazon u-Birkat ha-Nehenin (Grace After Meals and Occasional Blessings), written and illustrated by Aaron Herlingen of Geitsch, 1724. The Library of the Jewish Theological Seminary, MS8232. I thank Sharon Liberman Mintz for this illustration.

[14] It is curious that there is no bowl to receive the blood, which one would typically find in illustrations of bloodletting. I also looked at the instruments on the table thinking they might be associated with bloodletting specifically, though could not find definitive evidence.

[15] For a more expansive treatment of vaccination in general by Rav Weiss, see here.

[16] For a video of his reciting the blessing while being vaccinated, see here. For his halakhic analysis, see here. I thank Menachem Butler for these references.

[17] Rav Asher Weiss weekly parashah series, year 23, issue 11.

[18] On the history of this blessing, see Adolf Büchler, “The History of the Blessing HaTov veHaMetiv and the Situation in Judaea after the War,” in Avigdor (Victor) Aptowitzer and A.Z. Schwarz, eds., Zvi Peretz Chajes Memorial Volume (Vienna: Alexander Kohut Foundation, 1933), 137-167 (Hebrew)

[19] I thank Rabbi Warren Cinamon for this reference.

[20] A video is available online here.

[21] Of the Pfizer variety.

[22] On the proviso of course that they are following the guidelines of their posek.

[23] Edward Reichman, “From Cholera to Coronavirus: Recurrent Pandemics with Recurrent Rabbinic Responses,” Tradition Online (April 2, 2020), available here.

[24] Myrna Gene Martin, “Outsiders on the Inside: Italian Jewish Ghettos and Cholera in the 1830s,” European History Quarterly 49:1 (2019), 28-49.

[25] Courtesy of the National Library of Israel, item number 990001066250205171

אין חכמת אדם מגעת אלא עד מקום שספריו מגיעין[1]¹

ר‘ יצחק קנפנטון

(ואין ספריו מגיעין בשעת המגיפה[2])

Pandemic Bibliopenia:[3] A Preliminary Report of Disease Eradication

Rabbi Edward Reichman, MD

The number of seforim written during, about or related to the Covid 19 pandemic continues to grow at breakneck speed.[4] What has largely gone unnoticed among the other unprecedented aspects of this pandemic, is that since the development of the printing press, we have not seen so much quality rabbinic literature produced in the midst of a pandemic.[5] In fact, if anything, a diminution in the quantity and quality of literature was more the norm during previous pandemics. This literature proliferation during Covid 19 heralds in a new age and reflects the eradication of a common condition prevalent in the premodern era- Pandemic Bibliopenia (heretofore, PB).

Few alive today have previously experienced a pandemic of the magnitude of Covid 19. While those Torah scholars and bibliophiles who weathered pandemics of the past would surely have been familiar with PB, possibly even from personal experience, the scholars of today are simply unfamiliar with this condition and have likely never seen a case. Furthermore, we are unlikely to see many cases of PB in the future as well (see “treatment” section below).

Since cases of PB in the present and future are likely to be exceedingly rare, the possibility of misdiagnosis or missed diagnosis is therefore a significant concern. We therefore review this condition and some illustrative cases to record its history for posterity, lest we completely forget this previously incurable disease that afflicted the Jewish community for centuries.

Definition/ Diagnosis

Pandemic

adjective

Associated with a widespread outbreak of a contagious disease.

Bibliopenia

noun

Biblio- relating to a book or books

Penia (suffix)- lack or deficiency

A lack or deficiency of books

Pandemic Bibliopenia (PB) is defined as the lack or deficiency of books available to scholars during times of widespread disease.[6] This often leads to quantitative or qualitative decline in literature produced during times of plague or pandemic.[7]

Etiology

While the Talmud explicitly recommends one to shelter in place during times of plague,[8] the practice evolved from at least the late Middle Ages and onwards to flee the urban areas for more rural, less densely populated locations.[9] Access to rabbinic works was often severely limited, if existent at all, in these remote areas. Production of literature was thus severely hindered or curtailed in areas of disease. Plagues often lasted for many months or longer.

Literary Manifestations

PB appears to be more explicitly manifest in halakhic, specifically responsa, literature, with less impact on other genres, such as poetry,[10] or other forms that do not require or rely heavily on texts. Halakhic writing often requires referencing a wide spectrum of legal writings. Furthermore, due to the often-urgent nature of halakhic queries, the response cannot await the passing of the pandemic. Elective works, however, can simply be delayed until calmer times, when access to libraries, be they private or public, can be restored.

Epidemiology

The impact and prevalence of PB throughout history is difficult to assess,[11] though it has likely been significantly underreported. Cases can only be definitively identified from manuscripts and printed works where PB is explicitly mentioned. One of the primary manifestations of Pandemic Bibliopenia is the unwritten book. How many works were conceived, and perhaps even gestated, though not birthed as a result of PB? As this is manifestly impossible to quantify, as no evidence of such remains, we will thus never know the extent of the bibliographic mortality of PB throughout history.

PB shows no innate predilection for age, gender or geographic location and is associated solely with the presence of pandemics.

Case Studies

There are a number of possible presentations of PB.

Severe Cases of Pandemic Bibliopenia

Below are two clear cases of severe PB.

1. Rabbi Yom Tov Tzahalon (c. 1559-1638)[12]

Rabbi Yom Tov Tzahalon (known as Maharitz) authored a number of halakhic works in the late sixteenth-early seventeenth centuries and lived in Tzfat for part of that time. There were a number of plagues in Tzfat during this period. In Tzahalon’s responsa we see clear evidence in a number of places of his affliction with Pandemic Bibliopenia.[13]

Siman 8

Due to plague in Tzfat, Tzahalon was forced to flee from mountain to mountain, village to village, and states explicitly that he lacks sufficient access to works of poskim to answer the question properly. He nonetheless offers a limited response to appease the questioner.

Siman 19

Tzahalon again notes his lack of access to rabbinic literature in the midst of plague, including the tractates of the Talmud, with the exception of tractates Bava Kama and Bava Metzia, and a portion of Rambam.

During the writing of the above responsum Tzahalon resided, albeit temporarily, in Kfar Par’am, located to the Northeast of the city. People generally fled to villages on the outskirts of their city of residence.

(the pin represents Par’am)

Siman 44

During the writing of this responsum Tzahalon appears to have returned to wandering between villages and once again laments his inability to provide an in depth and expansive response.

Siman 81

In our final, albeit less explicit, example of PB in Tzahalon’s responsa, written in 1589, Tzahalon bemoans his prolonged exile and the toll it has taken, though does not allow this to prevent him from offering a halakhic analysis of the issue.

We not only have mention of Pandemic Bibliopenia in Tzahalon’s responsa, it also surfaces in his Talmudic commentary.[14] Tzahalon wrote his commentary on the fifth chapter of Bava Metzia, at least partially, while in exile. Parenthetically, this may explain why the only volumes of Talmud he possessed in exile were Bava Kama and Bava Metzia, as he likely packed these specific tractates for his travels anticipating work on his commentary. In the midst of his Talmudic commentary[15] we are introduced to Tzahalon’s personal tragedy while in exile in Kfar Par’am with the following line:

Tzahalon digresses from his commentary to share the details of the tragic death of his infant son.[16] The timing of the death, associated with a delayed burial, precipitated a halakhic question for the author:[17] Here again he reiterates his lack of access to required Talmudic tractates and poskim. He writes of his intent to review and expand his analysis upon his return to the city and to his library after the cessation of the plague.

Of note, while this passage is physically situated in the midst of this Talmudic commentary, it is in essence a halakhic responsum.

2. Rabbi Hayyim Palachi (1788-1868)[18]

Rabbi Palachi was the Chief Rabbi of Izmir in Turkey. During his lifetime a cholera pandemic affected Turkey. In a number of his works he acknowledges suffering from Pandemic Bibliopenia. An explicit reference is below:

Hikikei Lev, vol 2, H. M., n. 51, p. 164a

Palachi was exiled to the village of Boron on the outskirts of Izmir. While lamenting that there is “no wise man without seforim,” he endeavors to respond to a halakhic question with the resources he has available him in addition to relying on his memory. Below we see the repeated mention of PB throughout multiple works reflecting a most serious case of the condition.[19]

Hikikei Lev, vol 1, E. H., n. 57, p. 114b

Hayyim Biyad n. 79, p. 98a

In a letter to Rabbi Hayyim Yehudah Avraham, published in the latter’s Ahi vaRosh[20] Palachi writes while still in exile in the village of Boron:

Varied Prevalence of PB

In the following case, we see the clear impact of PB on one Torah scholar, while another scholar during the very same pandemic appears to enjoy immunity from the condition.

In perhaps our most poetic example, Rabbi Yehudah Ibn Verga[21] corresponds with Rabbi Yosef Karo, author of the Shulhan Arukh, about a financial matter.[22] After lengthy praise for Rabbi Karo, he launches into a lament about the current state of plague in Tzfat.

Ibn Verga’s invokes the same phrase from Tehillim[23] (nikhsifah vigam kaltah nafshi) as does Tzahalon (Siman 81 above) to express the emotions evoked by the plague. His comment at the end of this passage about his elation upon meeting another person in the midst of the plague will sound familiar to those of us who have weathered complete lockdown during the current pandemic.

The next passage reflects the duration of Ibn Verga’s exile. Ibn Verga remarks that his exile had passed the entire summer, now into the winter, and the plague still lingered. “We have said, it is long due to the sins of the generation.” Ibn Verga and Karo both lived in Tzfat. Ibn Verga had hoped to speak to him directly about this case, face to face, but as the plague dragged on, he had no recourse but to commit his comments to paper.

Ibn Verga concludes that he had wanted to cite a responsum of Rosh in support of his position but was unable to include it due to his affliction with PB.[24] 

In his response, Rav Yosef Karo likewise longs to speak face to face with Ibn Verga:

He concurs that sin has caused them to be in a state of “mistar panim” until the plague passes. Rabbi Karo then proceeds to discuss the halakhic issue and makes no mention of lack of access to literature. He also lived in Tzfat and endured the same plague. In fact, we know Rabbi Karo fled Tzfat during the plague to live in the village of Birya.[25] It is in Birya in 1555 that he completed the first volume of his Shulhan Arukh. While the Shulhan Arukh was only first printed in 1565 in Venice, the colophon of each volume reflects the date and place of its completion.

Colophon at end of the 1565 edition of the first volume of Shulhan Arukh:

By the time he had completed the second volume, Yoreh De’ah, less than one year later, he had already returned to Tzfat, presumably after the cessation of the plague.

Colophon at end of the 1565 edition of the second volume of Shulhan Arukh:

While Rabbi Ibn Verga was clearly a victim of PB, Rabbi Yosef Karo does not appear to have been affected whatsoever. We thus have evidence of the variable prevalence of the condition during the same pandemic.

Mild or Implicit PB

Some cases of Pandemic Bibliopenia are not as explicit or easily diagnosed as those of Rabbis Tzahalon and Ibn Verga. At the same time as the aforementioned were experiencing plague in Northern Israel, Rabbi Moshe Isserles faced advancing disease in Cracow. Rabbi Isserles describes his dire situation in the introduction to his Mehir Yayin, a commentary on Megilat Esther that he wrote for his father-in-law, in lieu of mishloah manot, while in exile in the city of Shidlov.

While Rabbi Isserles does not explicitly refer to Pandemic Bibliopenia, he makes passing references possibly alluding to the condition. For example, he writes:

which means that his intellect still remained, despite his lack of access to an extensive library.

In describing the work, he writes:

Perhaps PB is reflected in his choice of composition, a work relying heavily on his textual analytic skills, and less so on obscure or hard to obtain texts, likely unavailable to him in Shidlov.[26]

Furthermore, his qualifying statement,

might reflect a lack of bibliographical resources. Whether this case meets the diagnostic criteria for PB remains a question.

Differential Diagnosis

Pandemic Bibliopenia may possibly be confused with other forms of Bibliopenia. To be sure, many individuals have lost access to their libraries due to personal tragedies,[27] but here I refer specifically to systemic forms of Bibliopenia that impacted entire communities. In these cases authors were similarly deprived access to rabbinic literature, though for entirely different reasons. One such example will suffice.

The Physician Abraham Portaleone was a prominent figure in Renaissance Italy, treating royalty, authoring several medical works.[28] At the age of 62 he suffered a stroke which prompted a reevaluation of his life. He concluded that his affliction befell him as he had not devoted enough of his life to Torah learning. He undertook to write a work on prayer and the Beit HaMikdash which he dedicated to his children. At the end of chapter thirty-two, which discusses the shulhan in the Temple, we find the following comment.

Portaleone notes that, “Perhaps some place in the Talmud Hazal spoke of this, and I am not aware. As a result of the known deficiency [my emphasis] I have not been able to properly ascertain this.”[29] One might erroneously assume that he is referring to Pandemic Bibliopenia as the etiology for his lack of access to the Talmud. In fact, Portaleone is referring to a variant form of the condition, called Censorship Bibliopenia. A review of the entire work of Portaleone, including his introduction, will clarify any confusion.

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.” This refers to the burning of the Talmud in Rome in 1553.[30] After the initial burning of the Talmud in Rome, other Italian cities followed suit with their own citywide burnings. Portaleone was witness to one such event. Decades later, as he penned his classic work, Shiltei haGibborim, the Talmud still remained largely 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. One such example is his discussion of the Shulhan above.

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…”[31]

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.[32] All of these instances are examples of Censorship Bibliopenia.

Treatment

During previous pandemics, in the pre-modern era, PB was considered untreatable. Fortunately, however, it was temporary and ultimately resolved with the cessation of the pandemic. Today, however, the treatment for PB is readily available and inexpensive, though its safety has been called into question. Despite the fact that the understanding of disease transmission has evolved, people still, if feasible, flee their homes in urban areas for less populated locations. As such, they could still be susceptible to PB. However, PB is now completely remediable through internet access to Rabbinic literature.[33] Not only is virtually the totality or rabbinic literature widely and freely available for scholars (rabbis, poskim and laymen) via the internet, facilitating the production of quality work; the publication and dissemination of these works can be accomplished with ease on the internet as well. It is only today, in the midst of the current Covid 19 pandemic, that we are witnessing the eradication of PB. As a result, there have likely been more pages written of rabbinic discourse (both halakhic and aggadic, related to the pandemic or not) during the present pandemic than during all previous pandemics combined.[34]

Conclusion

Pandemic Bibliopenia is an underrecognized phenomenon in Jewish history. In addition to the medical impact of pandemics in the past, our ancestors experienced spiritual and intellectual suffering by being deprived access to the Torah library, our life blood. Today, however, even in the midst of a worldwide pandemic, while libraries have shuttered, and some have fled their homes, there has been little diminution in the access to rabbinic literature. As the world may never again experience Pandemic Bibliopenia and the unique literary impact of plagues and pandemics, it behooves us to recall it in appreciation that despite the many adversities associated with this pandemic, loss of access to our beloved Torah literature is not counted among them. Not only have we eradicated Pandemic Bibliopenia, it appears to have been replaced with a new diagnostic category, Pandemic Polybiblia,[35] though in this case, fortunately, a healthy and desired condition. May we be zokheh to the continuation of Polybiblia without any associated pandemics in the future.

What Became of Tychsen?: The Non-Jewish ‘Rabbi’ and his “Congregation” of Jewish Medical Students

By Dr. Edward Reichman, MD

This essay was inspired by two recent Seforim blog posts, one on Professor Shnayer Leiman’s contributions,[1] and the other on a topic related to R’ Yonasan Eybeshutz.[2]

                                           

In November 16, 2006 an article by Dr. Shnayer Leiman appeared in the newly formed Seforim Blog entitled, “Two Cases of Non-Jews with Rabbinic Ordination: One Real and One Imaginary.” The “real” ordination was bestowed upon Olaf Gerhard Tychsen (1734-1815). In 1759, Tychsen received the title of Haver, a lower form of rabbinic ordination, by Moses the son of Rabbi Zvi Hirsch Lifshuetz. Tychsen is perhaps the only known case in Jewish history of a non-Jew receiving such an honor or degree.[3]

Leiman provides a biography of Tychsen. He pursued studies in Hindustani, Ethiopic and Arabic, as well as Hebrew and Yiddish and became an Orientalist of international renown making significant contributions to cuneiform studies and numismatics as well.[4] During his early years he also pursued various missionary activities in the Jewish community, largely unsuccessful by his own account. 

As Leiman notes, in 1752, while a student at the Christian Academy in Altona, Tychsen attended the lectures of R. Yonasan Eybeschutz. Leiman essentially leaves us at the point of Tychsen’s ordination, with brief mention of his subsequent academic career. What became of Tychsen’s “rabbinic” career after he received this singular distinction? Did he apply for a rabbinic position? Did he maintain any connection with the Jewish community? 

In fact, Tychsen did continue to maintain a strong connection to both rabbinic literature and the Jewish community in varying degrees throughout his life. He is perhaps best known for his involvement in the premature burial controversy, which would earn him a place of infamy in Jewish history. Tychsen taught at the university in Butzow, the residence of the Duke of Mecklenberg. During this period there was concern that physicians were misdiagnosing death, and as a result, people were being buried prematurely.[5] On February 19, 1772 Tychsen sent a letter to the Duke of Mecklenberg regarding the Jews’ burial practice, interring after waiting only three hours, where it is known that there can sometimes be misdiagnosis of death. Tychsen detailed the Jewish origins of hastening burial in general, reflecting familiarity with rabbinic literature. He claimed that the need to bury quickly was established in countries with hot climates, where the body would decompose quickly, not applicable to a country like Germany. He also reported cases of people who were supposedly buried alive.[6] On April 30, 1772, Duke Friedrich of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, in response to Tychsen’s letter, issued an order prohibiting the Jews in his realm from immediately burying their dead and requiring that they rather wait for three days after death before interment. This began what would become a worldwide halakhic debate about the halakhic definition of death and the time of burial.[7]

Tychsen was also peripherally involved with one of Jewish history’s greatest seforim collections. Rabbi David Oppenheim amassed an extraordinary collection of books and manuscripts which languished in storage for years after his death.[8] Tychsen visited the collection for three weeks, reporting on its manuscripts to the Italian Christian Hebraist Giovanni Bernardo De Rossi. He attempted to arouse the interest of potential buyers, including Catherine the Great, Empress of Russia, Duke Karl Eugen of Wurtemberg, and Archduke Frederick Francis I of Mecklenberg. His efforts were to no avail and the collection ultimately found its home in Oxford, where it remains to this day.[9]

Here we highlight a little-known, though more substantive, connection of Tychsen with the Jewish community. One year after his ordination, toward the end of 1760, Tychsen was appointed Professor of Oriental Languages at the newly established University of Bützow in Mecklenburg. It is in this capacity that Tychsen exercised a rabbinic role, becoming a university campus rabbi of sorts for a select group of Jews at the university. Though he may not actually have had a “minyan” of students, nonetheless, his impact on this select group was profound and long lasting, akin to that of a rebbe.[10]

The interactions of Tychsen with the Jewish community must be viewed through a particular lens. Tychsen was a devout Lutheran Protestant and trained and engaged in proselytizing activities in his early life. This fact remains at least in the background of all his interactions with the Jewish students at Butzow and has been evaluated elsewhere. Whether his relationships with the Jewish medical students were primarily or partially motivated by his proselytizing tendencies, or whether his proselytizing endeavors had ceased by then, is a matter of historical speculation.[11] This is not the focus of the present essay.[12]

In his capacity as a faculty member of the University of Butzow Tychsen encountered a number of Jewish students attending the university’s medical school. Though an Orientalist and not a physician or scientist, he nonetheless served as a mentor for these students to whom he was drawn by shared interests and possibly proselytizing intentions. Tychen served this role for all the Jewish medical students who attended the University of Butzow during its twenty-nine years of existence. 

The first Jewish student of the Butzow Medical School, and the first with whom Tychsen developed a relationship was Markus Moses. This relationship has been the subject of a number of dedicated essays.[13] Markus Moses was the son of Moshe ben Meir Harif Lemberger (Lvov), Chief Rabbi of Pressburg and head of its yeshiva. Lemberger, as well as his son Markus, were apparently involved in the Emden- Eybeshutz controversy.[14] Markus (Mordechai) was born in Pressburg in 1729, received a traditional Jewish education, and married. Shortly thereafter, his wife and two young children died. In 1758, after the death of his father, Markus began the study of secular subjects. Over the next few years he traveled to Germany and continued study in various cities, including the field of medicine, ultimately ending up in Butzow in 1763. Aron Isak, the leader of the Jewish community, took him under his wing and orchestrated his admission to the recently founded Butzow Medical School,[15] thus waiving the high taxes imposed upon the Jewish community for new town visitors. The faculty were impressed with Moses’ great intelligence and facility with multiple languages and accepted him, with the approval of the Duke and Professor George Detharding, the head of the faculty, with free tuition. Below is a letter in Hebrew from Paul Theodore Carpov, an Orientalist and Christian Hebraist at Butzow, supporting Moses’ acceptance to the medical school at Butzow and advocating for his financial support as well.[16]

As per the letter, Moses brought with him impressive letters of recommendation not only from the great scholars of “his nation,” but also from those of “our nation.” Carpov also notes the Duke’s approval, as well as the financial issues relating to his application. Carpov was clearly taken by the young Jewish student. 

Below is the record of matriculation of Markus Moses in 1764.

Moses clearly had a predisposition for the field of medicine and was soon relied upon by Detharding to see the latter’s private patients.[17]

Tychsen had a working academic relationship with Moses as evidenced by the multiple research papers Moses wrote under his mentorship. It is remarkable that all of the papers were on Jewish topics. I have found a number of cases, though relatively few in number, of Jewish medical students throughout the centuries who wrote their medical school dissertations on a Jewish related topic,[18] but I have never encountered any student who authored so many Jewish related papers as part of their medical training. The topics included the Samaritan Bible, a discussion of the kosher and non-kosher animals based on the work of Rambam, and an essay on the diseases of the old as reflected in Kohelet (chapter 12).[19] Moses’ graduation dissertation, discussed below, was also on a Jewish topic and was supervised by Tychsen.

Disputatio de Pentateucho Ebraeo-Samaritano, 1765[20]

Essay on kosher and non-kosher animals based on Rambam.[21]

The nature of the relationship Tychsen had with Moses, as well as with other Jewish medical students in Butzow, went far beyond the usual Professor-student model. There wrote each other dozens of letters and continued correspondence for years after graduation.[22] In one letter dated March 16, 1765[23] Moses apologizes for not responding promptly to Tychsen’s previous letter. Moses continues that soon he will either write again, or will see Tychsen in person. Moses signs the letter, hamitavek biafar raglekha.

גבר(א) דכולי() בי החכ(ם) הכולל המפורס(ם) שמו נודע בכל השערי(ם) הפרעפעסאר טיקסן

מרוב טרדות היום אין אוכל לתואר בתואר כראוי לגבר(א) כמותו ובאתי בלישנא קלילא אל תשים עלי חטאת שעדיין לא השיבני על כתב ידו הטהור מה שקבלתי ע”י ערל הבוח(ן) לבות יודע שהזמן גרמ(ה) לי רק זאת יהי(ה) לבו בטוח שהשבוע הבע” (?הא עלינו לטובה) או אכתוב לו או בנשיקת פא”פ (פה אל פה) אדבר בו[24] גם יקבל במתנה צורה של ר’ יהונת(ן) זצ”ל יותר אין לחדש כה המתאבק בעפר רגליו מרדכי מפב (?מפרשברג)ג

 

In the last line, Moses writes that Tychsen will also receive from him a gift of a portrait of Rav Yehonatan zt”l. Moses was obviously aware of the connection between Tychsen and Eybeshutz and believed this would be a meaningful gift. Eybeshutz died in 1764,[25] and his portrait was disseminated shortly thereafter. This is likely the portrait Moses purchased for Tychsen.[26]

As part of the requirements for the completion of a doctorate in medicine at most German universities, the student was required to engage in a public disputation on the topic of their dissertation. [27] The topic of Markus’ disputation was the analysis of a verse in Yehezkel which, according to Moses, reflects an ancient Jewish practice of placing salt of the skin of an infant as a prophylactic against disease. 

Moses engages in an expansive philological and grammatical analysis of the verse then posits that the Jews practiced this procedure and that it protected them from diseases like smallpox. The reason smallpox was prevalent during his time, Moses argues, is because people no longer routinely applied salt to the skin of infants. Moses is the only one of the Jewish medical students at Butzow who wrote his dissertation on a Jewish topic. 

Moses’ disputation was held on January 22, 1766 (11 Shevat, 5526). The event was held in a church, though Tychsen apparently noted that it was primarily a venue for non-ecclesiastic events. This may have been in deference to the halakhic concern about entering a church.[28] A number of Jewish families attended the event. Copies of the dissertation were sent to those invited to the public discourse, and additional copies were provided for the audience on the day of the event. The ceremony began with a Latin oration by the presiding professor, in Moses’ case, Professor Detharding, and was followed by the student’s reading of his dissertation. Upon completion of the reading, designated opponents presented their arguments and criticisms against the substance of the dissertation, with audience members occasionally allowed to participate. This was then followed by the candidate’s rebuttal. Tychsen served as one of the designated opponents for Moses’ disputation. 

On oath was also part of the graduation ceremony, and it typically involved avowing one’s belief in Christianity. Tychsen intervened with the Duke of Mecklenberg on Moses’ behalf to allow him to take his graduation oath invoking the name of the God of Israel as opposed to the Christian deity. He even publicly conversed with Moses in Yiddish at the graduation.[29] 

Below is the approbation of Tychsen appended to the published dissertation of Moses.

Tychsen’s freely inserts throughout allusions to rabbinic literature. He also uses a chronogram for the Hebrew year, typically done in Hebrew publications, and something Tychsen used frequently, as seen in his letters below. 

At the end of the approbation, Tychsen mentions the upcoming (second) wedding of Moses. Below is the handwritten wedding invitation of Moses to Tychsen.[30]

Both the title and signature of the invitation reflect the type of relationship they had. Moses also adds the clever pun of “hazmanah lav milsa,” assuming that Tychsen will appreciate it. 

The other letters appended to Moses’ published dissertation are also of great interest. In addition to Tychsen, another opponent at the disputation contributed a letter. Karl Leopold Carpov,[31] son of the Orientalist and professor at Butzow, Paul Theodore Carpov, who had written Moses’ letter of recommendation for admission (above). The older Carpov had died the previous year. The younger Carpov describes how beloved Markus was to his father, who considered him as another son, and, impressed by his brilliance, spent days and nights studying with him. Karl himself calls Markus his brother. While many focus on Markus’s close relationship with Tychsen, no mention has been made of his relationship with the other Orientalist, Carpov. 

The remaining letters were written by Judah Levi Strelitz,[32] the brother in law of Moses, and Meier (no other name is written), a fellow medical student. 

Moses was not the only Jewish student Tychsen took under his wings. Over the span of decades, throughout the short existence of the Butzow medical school, he endeared himself to a number of Jewish medical students.[33] He taught them, mentored them, and even financially supported them. They in turn sought his personal advice and recommendations, aided him in his intellectual quests, and invited him to their weddings.

Two Jewish medical students who matriculated in 1783 were also close with Tychsen, Isaac Salomonsen and Wulf Levinson. 

Matriculation record from University of Butzow November 24, 1783
Wulf Levinson and Isaacus Salomonsen[34]

Below is Tychsen’s letter to Levinsohn upon his graduation.[35]

Tychsen includes that the Butzow anatomist August Schaarschmidt and Professor Detharding, who had accepted Markus Moses some twenty years earlier, attest to the student’s qualifications.[36]

Below is the letter of Isaac Salomonsen presenting his dissertation to Tychsen.[37]

Below is Tychsen’s letter of approbation for Salomonsen’s dissertation in 1784. He mentions Isaac’s work in botany, which is in some form a continuation of the work of another Butzow medical student Tzadik de Meza, who died at the age of twenty-three.[38]

In another letter,[39] Salomonsen complained bitterly to Tychsen about his classmate Levinson, who had apparently been slandering him. He adds that the great personalities in the history of medicine, Aesculapius, Hygea and Hippocrates would be mourning and turning over in their graves if they knew how Levinson was misrepresenting and dishonoring them and the University of Butzow.

In the letter below dated 1784 from Salomonsen to Tychsen[40] we find a number of the elements common in Tychsen’s relationship with all the Jewish medical students. 

Salomonsen mentions the money he owes Tychsen and explains and apologizes for the delay in repayment. Tychsen routinely loaned money to the Jewish students. Salomonsen then reports that he was unable to obtain the sefer (shu”t Rabbi Moshe Alshikh) and Arabic coins Tychsen had requested. Tychsen was an avid bibliophile and his magnificent and important library was ultimately bequeathed to the University of Rostock, which absorbed the University of Butzow after its demise. It remains there to this day. Tychsen also collected Arabic coins and is considered the founding father of Islamic numismatics.[41] Salomonsen also mentions his acquaintance with a man named Mussafia[42] and his children, and how he enjoys spending time with them. Mussafia praised Tychsen and recalled something he had written on Tychsen’s behalf. He also possessed a work of Tychsen. Tychsen delighted in his name and reputation being spread throughout the Jewish community.

In sum, “Rabbi” Tychsen appears to have put his rabbinic degree to good use, at least from his perspective, cultivating an extremely devoted, loyal, and admiring, not to mention highly educated congregation. On the surface, he would be the envy of any modern rabbi, though much complexity lies beneath. While we did not focus on his proselytizing endeavors in this essay, perhaps this is one reason why Tychsen still remains to this day the only non-Jew to have received a form of rabbinic ordination. While Tychsen’s contributions to academia are vast, his tenure at the University of Butzow and his relationship with the Jewish students there represents one of the most unique, if lesser known, chapters in Jewish medical history. With the opening of the Rostock digital archives treasure trove we will certainly see further exploration of this topic. 

Edward Reichman

שנת וַתֵּעָצַ֖ר הַמַּגֵּפָֽה לפ”ק  

[1] Yitzhak Berger and Chaim Milikowsky, “Shnayer Leiman: In Appreciation,” (September 11, 2020).

[2] Moshe Haberman, “The Twice-Told Tale of R. Yonasan Eybeshutz and the Porger,” (September 15, 2020).

[3] For additional information on the semicha of Tychsen, see On the Main Line Blog, “On Non-Jews with Rabbinic Ordination, Real and Imagined: Some Notes on Dr. Leiman’s Post on Tychsen,” (September 20, 2011), http://onthemainline.blogspot.com/2011/09/on-non-jews-with-rabbinic-ordination.html.

[4] David Wilk, “Markus Moses’ Doctoral Dissertation or Who Remembers Butzow,” Koroth 9:3-4 (1986), 408-426, esp. 413.

[5] For an overview of this chapter in medical history, see Jan Bondeson, Buried Alive (Norton Publishers, 2001).

[6] For the text of the letter, see Siegfried Silberstein, “Mendelssohn und Mecklenburg,” Zeitschrift fur die geschichte der Juden Heft 4 (1930), 275-290, esp. 278-279. For reference to Tychsen as a key player in the issue of delayed burial, see for example, Rabbi Dr. Jacob J. Schacter’s doctoral dissertation, Rabbi Jacob Emden: Life and Major Works (Harvard University, 1988), 669, 723-724.

[7] For a comprehensive review of this historical chapter, see Moshe Samet, “Delaying Burial: The History of the Polemic on the Determination of the Time of Death,” (Hebrew) Asufot 3 (1989/1990), 613-665.

[8] For what follows see the comprehensive review of Oppenheim and his library by Joshua Teplitsky, Prince of the Press (Yale University Press: New Haven, 2019), 198.

[9] See Rebecca Abrams and Cesar Merchan-Hamann, eds., Jewish Treasures from Oxford Libraries (Bodleian Library, University of Oxford, 2020), and review of Paul Shaviv, Seforim Blog (July 14, 2020).

[10] The University of Butzow was an offshoot of the University of Rostock and later recombined with Rostock upon its demise. In addition, in 1817, Rostock University acquired the private library, including the manuscript legacy, of Tychsen, which included his significant Judaica and Hebraica collection. Over the last few years, the University of Rostock has devoted research efforts to explore the history of the Jewish students at the university with particular focus on their relationship with Tychsen. See Gisela Boeck und Hans-Uwe Lammel, eds., Jüdische kulturelle und religiöse Einflüsse auf die Stadt Rostock und ihre Universität (Jewish cultural and religious influences on the city of Rostock and its university) (Rostocker Studien zur Universitätsgeschichte, Band 28: Rostock 2014); Rafael Arnold, et. al., eds., Der Rostocker Gelehrte Oluf Gerhard Tychsen (1734-1815) und seine Internationalen Netzwerke (Wehrhahn Verlag, 2019). In the latter volume, see especially, Malgorzata Anna Maksymiak and Hans-Uwe Lammel, “Die Bützower Jüdischen Doctores Medicinae und der Orientalist O. G. Tychsen,” 115-133. I thank Malgorzata Maksymiak for her assistance and for providing me access to the Tychsen archives.

[11] See Wilk, op. cit. and Maksymiak, op. cit.

[12] Nimrod Zinger notes that the universities under Protestant auspices, in particular those affiliated with the Pietistic Movement, were more inclined to admit Jews, as they were interested in the possibility of converting them. He mentions as examples Yitzhak Isaac Wallich and his close relationship with Professor Hoffman at Halle, and that the student Avraham Hyman was admitted to Geissen with the intervention of the head of faculty, who was a Pietist. See his Ba’al Shem vihaRofeh (Haifa University, 2017), 263. Tychsen would certainly align with this theory.

[13] Bernhard Mandl, “Egy Magyar Zsido Orvos Nemet- Orszagban (1763-1782): Dr. Markus Moses, a Pozsonyi forabbi fia,” Evkőnyv Kiadja Az Izr. Magyar Irodalmi Tarsulat (1913), 145-165; Idem, Med. Dr. Markus Moses, Sohn der Pressburger Oberrabbiners R. Mosche Charif, praktischer Arzt in Deutschland von 1776 bis 1786: eine Lebensskizze (J. Pollak: Vienna, 1928); Wilk, op. cit.

[14] Die Juden und Judengemeinde Bratislava in Vergangen heit und Gegenwart (Brunn, 1932), 17-18, 85, cited in N. M. Gelber, “History of Jewish Physicians in Poland in the Eighteenth Century,” (Hebrew) in Y. Tirosh, ed., Shai LeYeshayahu: Sefer Yovel LeRav Yehoshua Wolfsberg (HaMercaz LeTarbut shel HaPoel HaMizrachi; Tel Aviv, 5716), 347-371, esp. 360.

[15] By this time, Jews were able to attend medical schools in Germany. Other German universities with Jewish graduates included Frankfurt on Oder, Duisberg, Halle, Geisen and Heidelberg. On the Jews in German medical schools, see Louis Lewin, “Die Judischen Studenten an der Universitat Frankfurt an der Oder,” Jahrbuch der Judisch Literarischen Gesellschaft 14 (1921), 217-238; Idem, “Die Judischen Studenten an der Universitat Frankfurt an der Oder,” Jahrbuch der Judisch Literarischen Gesellschaft 15 (1923), 59-96; Idem, “Die Judischen Studenten an der Universitat Frankfurt an der Oder,” Jahrbuch der Judisch Literarischen Gesellschaft 16 (1924), 43-87; Adolf Kober, “Rheinische Judendoktoren, Vornehmlich des 17 und 18 Jahrhunderts,” Festschrift zum 75 Jährigen Bestehen des Jüdisch-Theologischen Seminars Fraenckelscher Stiftung, Volume II, (Breslau: Verlag M. & H. Marcus, 1929), 173-236; Idem, “Judische Studenten und Doktoranden der Universitat Duisberg im 18 Jahrhundert,” Monatsschrift für Geschichte und Wissenschaft des Judentums Jahrg. 75 (N. F. 39), H. 3/4 (March/April 1931), 118-127; Monika Richarz, Der Eintritt der Juden in die akademischen Berufe: Judische Studenten Und Akademiker in Deutschland 1678-1848 (Schriftenreihe Wissenschaftlicher Abhandlungen Des Leo Baeck: Tubingen, 1974); Wolfram Kaiser and Arina Volker, Judaica Medica des 18 und des Fruhen 19 Jahrhunderts in den Bestanden des Halleschen Universitatsarchivs (Wissenschaftliche Beitrage der Martin Luther Universitat Halle-Wittenberg: Halle, 1979); M. Komorowski, Bio-bibliographisches Verzeichnis jüdischer Doktoren im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert (K. G. Saur Verlag: Munchen, 1991); Eberhard Wolff, “Between Jewish and Professional identity: Jewish Physicians in Early 19th Century Germany- The Case of Phoebus Philippson,” Jewish Studies 39 (5759), 23-34. John Efron, Medicine and the German Jews (Yale University Press: New Haven, 2001); Wolfram Kaiser, “L’Enseignement Medical et les Juifs a L’Universite de Halle au XVIII Siecle” in Gad Freudenthal and Samuel Kottek, Melanges d’Histoire de la Medicine Hebraique (Brill: Leiden, 2003), 347-370; ) Petra Schaffrodt, Heidelberg- Juden an der Universitat Heidelberg: Dokumente aus Sieben Jahrhunderten (Ruprecht Karls Universitat Heidelberg Universitatsbibliothek, August, 2012).

Below is a chart from Richarz of Jewish medical students in Germany at this time. The University of Butzow is not on this list.

[16] http://rosdok.uni-rostock.de/mcrviewer/recordIdentifier/rosdok_ppn859752100/iview2/phys_0007.iview2.

[17] For the history of Moses prior to attending Butzow, see Mandl, op. cit., and Wilk, op. cit.

[18] E. Reichman, “The History of the Jewish Medical Student Dissertation: An Evolving Jewish Tradition,” in J. Karp and M. Schaikewitz, eds., Sacred Training: A Halakhic Guidebook for Medical Students and Residents (Ammud Press: New York, 2018), xvii- xxxvii.

[19] While the first two essays are housed in the Rostock Library, I have not found a copy of this essay.

[20] http://opac.lbs-rostock.gbv.de/DB=1/XMLPRS=N/PPN?PPN=720262623.

[21] http://opac.lbs-rostock.gbv.de/DB=1/XMLPRS=N/PPN?PPN=304865346.

[22] For the letters in the archive just between Markus Moses and Tychsen, see here.

[23] http://purl.uni-rostock.de/rosdok/ppn860182010/phys_0027.

[24] This is an expression of endearment. See another example of a letter to Tychsen, from a Yehoshua Lifshutz of Apta, where the same expressions, peh el peh acronym and nishikat pihu, are used. http://rosdok.uni-rostock.de/mcrviewer/recordIdentifier/rosdok_ppn859752100/iview2/phys_0019.iview2.

[25] While we have no record of R. Eybeshutz himself communicating with Tychsen at the University of Butzow Medical School, he did send a letter to the faculty of medicine at another German medical school, the University of Halle. This letter related to the famous “heartless” chicken question initially posed to Hakham Tzvi. For more on this letter, its record in the Halle University archives, and its impact on the Emden Eybeschutz controversy, see E. Reichman, “A Letter from a Torah Sage of the 18th Century to the Medical Faculty of the University of Halle (January, 1763): The Selective Deference of Rabbi Yonatan Eybeschutz to Medical Expertise,”Verapo Yerapei: Journal of Torah and Medicine of the Albert Einstein College of Medicine Synagogue 6 (2015), 89-112.

[26] National Library of Israel, NLI 997003186660405171. See also Richard I. Cohen, “’And Your Eyes Shall See Your Teachers’: The Rabbi as Icon,” (Hebrew) Zion (1993), 407-452, esp. 418. The artist is Elimelech Polta ben Shimshon. I have as yet been unable to identify this physician. His name is not found among the Jewish medical students in German universities mentioned above.

[27] T. Broman, The Transformation of German Academic Medicine 1750-1820 (Cambridge University Press, 1996), 32ff.

[28] See Maksymiak, op. cit.

[29] See Wilk, op.cit., 417.

[30] http://purl.uni-rostock.de/rosdok/ppn859752100/phys_0081.

[31] Carpov trained at the University of Rostock before the formation of the University of Butzow. See his matriculation record, here.

[32] Strelitz, also known as Levin Hirsch Levi, lived in Altstrelitz and authored a treatise on resurrection (http://rosdok.uni-rostock.de/resolve/id/rosdok_document_0000014475) which was translated into German by Tychsen under the title,”Die Auferstehung der Todten aus dem Gesetze Mosis Bewiesen,” (1766) (http://rosdok.uni-rostock.de/resolve/id/rosdok_document_0000014215). Strelitz later became rabbi of Birnbaum, and then the first rabbi of Stockholm and Chief Rabbi of Sweden. The Jewish community of Stockholm had been founded only a few years before his arrival by Aron Isak, the sponsor of Markus Moses, Levi’s brother-in-law, and the shadchan for Moses and Levi’s sister. See Wilk, 419-420.

[33] Markus Moses (1764), Israel Joseph Meyer (1765), Justus Zadig de Meza, Isaac Heinrich Salomonsen (1783),Wolff Levinsohn (1783), Abraham Levin Spira (? Benjamin Levin, 1773), Simon Marcus (1771) and Moses Marcus(1785, son of Markus Moses). All of them-with one exception-received their doctorate in medicine in the twenty-nine years of existence of the University of Bützow.See Maksymiak,op.cit., which also addresses the emotional aspect of the ties of Tychsen with his students.

[34] http://dfg-viewer.de/show?set%5bmets%5d=http%3A%2F%2Frosdok.uni-rostock.de%2Ffile%2Frosdok_document_0000000177%2Frosdok_derivate_0000004407%2Fmatrikel1760ws-1788ws-Buetzow.mets.xml&set%5bimage%5d=54. Note that word “Judeus” appears after both of their names. It was common to identify students as Jews in university archives. For example, starting in the 1500s, Jewish students at the University of Padua were identified as“Hebrei.” There does not appear to have been any anti-Semitic associations with this identifier.

[35] http://rosdok.uni-rostock.de/mcrviewer/recordIdentifier/rosdok_ppn835297578/iview2/phys_0168.iview2. For Levinsohn’s dissertation, see http://rosdok.uni-rostock.de/resolve/id/rosdok_document_0000016729?_search=23e52c72-2882-421d-bfd5-16b218d11ae3&_hit=0. The letter was not published with the dissertation.

[36] Tychsen appears to make disparaging remarks against the work Shevilei Emunah, by Meir Aldabi. This work,written in the fourteenth century, was a primary reference on medicine in rabbinic literature for many centuries.

[37] http://rosdok.uni-rostock.de/mcrviewer/recordIdentifier/rosdok_ppn835297578/iview2/phys_0166.iview2.

[38] The Rostock archives contains a number of letters between Tychsen and de Meza.

[39] http://rosdok.uni-rostock.de/mcrviewer/recordIdentifier/rosdok_ppn835297578/iview2/phys_0176.iview2.

[40] http://rosdok.uni-rostock.de/mcrviewer/recordIdentifier/rosdok_ppn835297578/iview2/phys_0180.iview2.

[41] Rafael Arnold, et. al., eds., Der Rostocker Gelehrte  Oluf Gerhard Tychsen (1734-1815) und seine Internationalen Netzwerke (Wehrhahn Verlag, 2019); Ursula Kampmann, Maike Mebmann, trans., “Oluf Gerhard Tychsen (1734-1815), https://coinsweekly.com/oluf-gerhard-tychsen-1734-1815/(July 18, 2019).

[42] This was perhaps a relative of Binyamin Mussafia, a famous graduate of the University of Padua in 1625, and author of Musaf HaArukh, a commentary of the Sefer HaArukh.

The Lost Library by Dan Rabinowitz and the “Burial of Souls” by Yehuda Leib Katznelson: Different Expressions of the Same Sentiment

By Rabbi Edward Reichman, MD

Having just completed Dan Rabinowitz’s superb book, The Lost Library, about the Strashun Library in Vilna, I am reminded of a remarkable, little-known short story written by a man who lived during the creation of the famous Strashun Library. He, like Rabinowitz, laments the loss of a famous Jewish library, though the literary nature of the lament differs. Rabinowitz has written a magnificent, captivating, thoroughly researched, historical lament. Our author has chosen the short story to metaphorically express his grief over the “loss” of one of world’s greatest Jewish libraries.

Yehuda Leib Katznelson (1846-1917),[1] a physician, poet, writer, and publicist of Hebrew Literature penned a short story in Hebrew entitled “The Burial of Souls.”[2] A summary of the story follows:

Stylistically based on Megillat Esther,[3] it tells the story of a man, Abul Said Ibn Alsalami, who possessed immense material wealth, and had everything one could wish for, save for one exception. As a child he neglected to study or read and his knowledge was sorely lacking. He realized that nothing could compensate for the lost opportunity and that he would never attain intellectual heights. His response to this fact comprises the substance of the story.

Essential to what follows is the notion that that every person is endowed with a soul while on this earth, a soul that departs and ascends to the heavens after death. However, those who amass much knowledge, and with the intent to share their knowledge and benefit others, commit their learning to paper in the form of a book, are granted an additional soul. This soul remains on earth even after the death of the author, and is embedded in the book he has written. This soul remains dormant until someone learns from this book. At that time the soul is reanimated and elevates the heavenly soul as well. In addition a new soul is replicated to dwell within the body of the book’s reader. While those with only a heavenly soul cannot advance their status after death, those with the additional soul can continue to accrue good deeds in perpetuity. For those who cannot author books, another option is available to obtain an additional soul. They can support houses of learning for those who cannot afford to study or hospitals for the poor and needy. The institutions can be called by the donor’s name and an additional soul will inhabit the walls of the building, surfacing when the children are learning or when the sick are being treated. Regretfully, Abul Said was either unaware or dismissive of the alternate track to obtaining a second soul, and had another more sinister plan.

Abul Said summoned his servant, Abdul Safran,[4] who served as his literary advisor and mouthpiece, and inquired if there was a list of all Hebrew books that have ever been written. The servant responded that indeed a man by the name of Azulai had compiled just such a list. The man instructed his servant to obtain a copy of every book on the list and to spare no expense. The servant scrupulously followed Said’s command sending messengers far and wide in search of every book on the list. The inhabitants of the land were all abuzz. What could Abul Said possibly want with all these books? He is no man of letters. Surely he desires to add a soul and build a massive public library for all to learn and study freely. Alas, Abul Said had other plans.

Meanwhile books arrived at the palace from all over the world. As there was insufficient place for the treasures, all the furniture of the palace was removed, and special shelves were built from floor to ceiling to line all the available walls. Each book was bound in special hand-crafted leather and labeled with gold leaf. Upon completion of the library, it was opened to the public for three days. The totality of the literature of the nation of Israel since its inception, all under one roof.

Abu Safran had succeeded in his mission and presented this remarkable library to Abul Said, though the former could not have been prepared for his master’s next request. “If we burn the entire library will this not curtail all Jewish knowledge?” Aghast at such a suggestion, Safran quickly thought to divert his master from such a plan. He succeeded in dissuading Said from his initial request and suggested the burial of the books instead. Abul Said was amenable to the suggestion, but stipulated that the burial should not be in a Jewish cemetery, but rather in cemetery far from the Jewish community where no one would have access. The servant reluctantly carried out the wishes of his master and the site was marked with a sign that read, “Here lies buried the spirit of Israel.”

And so it was, the entire library was unceremoniously buried in a non-Jewish cemetery. On the night after the books were interred, Abul Said was unable to sleep. He was ultimately drawn into the vast hall which just the day before had housed the library. Suddenly an apparition appeared before him. Where the books had once stood were now full size paintings of their authors, cloaked in shrouds. One painting slowly began to approach Abul Said, getting larger and larger as it drew nearer and nearer. “Do you recognize me!?” shouted the man in the painting. Abul Said was silent. “I am Chaim Yosef David Azulai! It is my book that you used as a guide to gather the books that you ultimately buried.” Azulai proceeded to vilify Abul Said for burying all the additional souls of the authors, thus depriving them all of the benefits when their books are learned on earth. The story concludes with Azulai relating Abul Said’s punishment and the latter’s entreaty to repent. While Azulai considered Said’s actions irrevocable, he nonetheless offered him the opportunity to make partial amends by supporting all future publications and restoring the library to its former glory for all to use.

I read this short story some years ago and found it compelling, though only recently did I come to the realization that Katznelson[5] had not conceived of this fictional tale de novo, but rather was likely expressing his lament about a factual historical event through the vehicle of this story.

Rabbi Chaim Yosef David Azulai (1724-1806) had indeed composed a monumental bibliographical work entitled Shem HaGedolim, which listed all extant Hebrew books until his time. In the course of his research for this project, he amassed one the world’s rarest and most comprehensive collections of Hebrew books and manuscripts up to his time. This is doubtless the work to which the servant Abu Safran refers in our story. When Azulai died, the collection was sold in its entirety by Azulai’s son to the Italian businessman Baruch Almanzi.[6] Almanzi’s son Joseph was a passionate bibliophile and poet and meticulously maintained and enhanced the collection, adding much valuable material. The great Judaica scholars of that time, including Zunz, Steinschneider and Luzzato, were welcomed into the Almanzi’s home to avail themselves of the treasures of this collection in pursuit of their research. In fact, Luzzato compiled a catalogue of the collection. When Joseph Almanzi died, however, there were apparently no heirs interested in maintaining the collection, and it was put up for auction. The name of the protagonist in our story, Alsalami, is perhaps derivative or reminiscent of Almanzi. The British Library purchased the manuscripts of the collection,[7] while the books were sold to an Amsterdam bookseller, ultimately finding their way to Temple Emmanuel in New York City, which subsequently donated the collection to Columbia University in 1893. Katznelson laments the “burial” of these precious books in a “non-Jewish cemetery,”[8] essentially precluding access to this library for the Jewish population who could benefit most from its use.[9]

I exhume this essay to both supplement and complement Rabinowitz’s lament of the loss of a great Jewish library. A number of elements of Katznelson’s story are reminiscent of the Strashun Library story – bookshelves from floor to ceiling covering every wall; open to the public with visitors from across the land; representative of the totality of rabbinic literature. Both the Azulia and Strashun collections began as the library of one scholar/bibliophile and were subsequently expanded and opened for broader access. Fortunately, however, the Strashun library books themselves remain accessible at a Jewish institution, though as Rabinowitz emphasizes, they are bereft of their unity as a distinct library and reflection of a remarkable period of intellectual Jewish history.

Perhaps the fate of the Hebrew book parallels the fate of the Jewish people, condemned to wander with only temporary respite. While the digitizing of large swaths of rabbinic literature, both print and manuscript, including parts of the Strashun Library, might partially mitigate our pain, there is no gainsaying the loss of the unity of the historically priceless Strashun collection. Let us hope that we will one day merit a permanent physical residence for the totality of Jewish/rabbinic literature,[10] but meanwhile, let us follow the instruction of Rabbi Azulai in our story and continue publishing books and supporting institutions for public access of Jewish knowledge. Rabinowitz’s remarkable contribution represents a historical continuation and expression of our longing to preserve the heritage of the books of our people, the people of the book.

[1] For a brief biography, see H. A. Savitz, “Judah Loeb Katznelson (1847-1916): Physician to the Soul of His People,” in his Profiles of Erudite Jewish Physicians and Scholars (Spertus College Press: Chicago, 1973), 56-61; On the literary contribution of Katznelson, see M. Waxman, A History of Jewish Literature 4 (Bloch Publishing: New York, 1947), 154-156. For his contribution, as well the contribution of others, to Biblical and Talmudic Medicine, see ibid., 702ff.