Pesach, Haggadah, Art & Sundry Matters: A Recap of Important Seforimblog Articles

Pesach, Haggadah, Art & Sundry Matters: A Recap of Important Seforimblog Articles

Among the more interesting aspects of the history of Haggados, is the inclusion of illustrations. This practice dates back to the Medieval period and, with the introduction of printing, was incorporated into that medium. Marc Michael Epstein’s excellent book regarding four seminal Haggadah manuscripts, The Medieval Haggadah: Art, Narrative & Religious Imagination, was reviewed here, and a number of those illustrations, were analyzed in “Everything is Illuminated: Mining the Art of IllustratedHaggadah Manuscripts for Meaning.” Epstein edited and wrote an introduction to the recently published facsimile edition of the Brother Haggadah, which resides in the British Library. This is the first reproduction in full color of this important manuscript. Another recent reproduction of a manuscript Haggadah is Joel ben Simon’s Washington Haggadah. This Haggadah is particularly relevant this year, as it contains an alternative text for Eruv Tavshilin blessing. Whether or not this was deliberate was the subject of some controversy, see “Eruv Tavshilin: A Scribal Error or Deliberate Reformation?”

The first illustrated printed Haggadah, Prague, 1526, introduced new illustrations and recycled and referenced some of the common ones in manuscripts (see here for a brief discussion and here for Eliezer Brodt’s longer treatment). That edition would serve as a model for many subsequent illustrated Haggados but also contains surprising elements, at least in some religious circles, regarding the depiction of women, and was subsequently censored to conform with the revisionist approach to Jewish art. See, “A Few Comments Regarding The First Woodcut Border Accompanying The Prague 1526 Haggadah,” and Elliot Horowitz’s response, “Borders, Breasts, and Bibliography.” The Schecter Haggadah: Art, History and Commentary, a contemporary treatment of the art and the Haggadah, (for Elli Fischer’s review, see here), that unintentionally reproduced a version of one of the censored images in the first edition. It was restored in subsequent editions. Women appear in other contexts in illustrated Haggados. The most infamous example is the “custom” that implies a connection between one’s spouse and marror (discussed here), but our article, “Haggadah and the Mingling of the Sexes” documents more positive and inclusive examples of women’s participation in the various Passover rituals in printed Haggados. Similarly, the c. 1300 Birds Head Haggadah has an image of female figures in snoods preparing the matza and a woman at the center of Seder table.

As detailed in chapter 8 of Epstein’s Medieval Haggadah, the early 14th Century Golden Haggadah is perhaps the most female-centric Haggadah and may have been commissioned for a woman. That manuscript emphasizes the unique, positive, and critical role women played in the Exodus narrative. Although it also depicts the practice of overzealous cleaning with a woman sweeping the ceiling. The 1430 Darmstadt Haggadah has a full-page illumination of women teachers, but its connection to the text is opaque. Finally, we argue that one printed Haggadah uses a subtle element in explicating the midrashic understanding of the separation of couples as part of the Egyptian experience.

One of the most creative contemporary Haggados was produced by the artist, David Moss. Moss was commissioned by David Levy to create a Haggadah, on vellum in the tradition of Medieval Jewish manuscripts. Moss worked for years on the project the result surely equals, if not surpasses, many of the well-known Medieval haggados, both artistically and its ability to bring deeper meaning to the text. The manuscript is adorned with gold and silver leaf and contains many paper-cuts (technically vellum-cuts). One of the most striking examples of the silver decoration is the mirrors that accompany the passage that “in each and every generation one is obligated to regard himself as though he personally came out of Egypt.” The mirrors appear on facing pages, interspersed with one with male and the other with female figures in historically accurate attire from Egypt to the modern period. Because the portraits are staggered when the page opens, each image is reflected on the opposite page, and when it is completely opened, the reader’s reflection literally appears in the Haggadah — a physical manifestation of the requirement to insert oneself into the story. The page is available as a separate print.

After completing the Haggadah, Moss was asked to reproduce it, and, with Levy’s permission, produced, what the former Librarian of Congress, Daniel Bornstein, described as one of the greatest examples of 20th-century printing. The reproduction, on vellum, nearly perfectly replicates the handmade one. This edition was limited to 500 copies, all of which were sold. From time to time, these copies appear at auction and are offered by private dealers, a recent copy sold for $35,000. President Regan presented one of these copies to the former President of Israel, Chaim Herzog, when he visited the White House in 1987. While that is out of reach for many, this version is housed at many libraries, and if one is in Israel, one can visit Moss at his workshop in the artist colony in Jerusalem, where he continues to produce exceptional works of Judaica and view the reproduction. There is also a highly accurate reproduction, on paper that is available (deluxe edition) and retains the many papercuts and some of the other original elements, that is still available. This edition also contains a separate commentary volume, in Hebrew and English. (There is also one other available version that simply reproduces the pages, but lacks the papercuts.)

While the entire Moss Haggadah is worth study, a few examples. One paper-cut is comprised of eight panels, each depicting the process of brick making, the verso, using the same cuttings, depicts the matza baking process, literally transforming bricks into matza. The first panel of the matza baking is taken from Nuremberg II Haggadah, which we previously discussed here, and demonstrated that it preserves the Ashkenazi practice of only requiring supervision from the time of milling and not when the wheat was cut.

The illustration accompanying the section of Shefokh, reuses the illustrations of Eliyahu from the Prague 1526 and the Mantua 1528 Haggados to great effect. In the original and vellum reproduction, the cup of Eliyahu physically turns without any visible connection to the page — an extraordinary technical achievement. This section and the illustrations were discussed by Eliezer Brodt in “The Cup of the Visitor: What Lies Behind the Kos Shel Eliyahu, and, in this post, he identified an otherwise unknown work relating to the topic, for another article on the topic, see Tal Goiten’s “The Pouring of Elijah’s Cup (Hebrew).” Eliezer revisited the topic in (here) his conversations with Rabbi Moshe Schwed, in the series, Al Ha-Daf. In last year’s conversation, he discussed a number of other elements of the history of the Haggadah, and three years ago the controversy surrounding machine produced matza. (All of the episodes are also streaming on Apple Podcasts, Spotify & 24Six.) Additionally, he authored “An Initial Bibliography of Important Haggadah Literature,” and two articles related to newly published Haggados, “Elazar Fleckeles’s Haggadah Maaseh BR’ Elazar ” and XXI. Rabbi Eliezer Brodt on Haggadah shel Pesach: Reflections on the Past and Present ,” regarding Rabbi Yedidya Tia Weil’s (the son of R. Rabbi Netanel Weil author of “Korban Netanel”) edition, and a review of David Henshke’s monumental work, Mah Nistanna.

In one of the first haggadot printed in the United State published in 1886 Haggadah contains a depiction of the four sons. Depicting the four sons is very common in the illustrated manuscripts and printed haggadot. In this instance, the wicked son’s disdain for the seder proceedings shows him leaning back on his chair and smoking a cigarette. According to many halakhic authorities, smoking is permitted on Yom Tov, nonetheless, the illustration demonstrates that at least in the late 19th-century smoking was not an acceptable practice in formal settings. (For a discussion of smoking on Yom Tov, see R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin, Mo’adim be-Halakha (Jerusalem: Mechon Talmud Hayisraeli, 1983), 7-8).

The cup of Eliyahu is but one of many Passover food-related elements. The identification of Marror with the artichoke in Medieval Haggados, is debated by Dan Rabinowitz and Leor Jacobi , while Susan Weingarten provides an overview of the vegetable, in “The Not-So-Humble Artichoke in Ancient Jewish Sources.” Jacobi also discusses the fifth cup in his article, “Mysteries of the Magical Fifth Passover Cup II, The Great Disappearing Act and this printed article. The history of the restriction of Kitniyot and the development of the practice of selling hametz is discussed in our article, “Kitniyot and Mechirat Chametz: Paradoxical Approaches to the Chametz Prohibition,” and was revisited on Rabbi Drew Kaplan’s Jewish Drinking podcast (and in an audio version on apple podcasts and spotify). Another guest was Marc Epstein, discussing his book on Medieval Haggados, and Dr. Jontahan Sarna where he gives an overview of the use of raisin wine for the kiddush and the four cups, based on his article, “Passover Raisin Wine,” as was the frequent contributor to the Seforimblog, Dr. Marc Shapiro. His interview, like many of his posts and his book, Changing the Immutable, discusses censorship and, in particular, the censored resposum of R. Moshe Isserles regarding taboo wine (also briefly touched upon in Changing the Immutable, 81-82, and for a more comprehensive discussion of the responsum, see Daniel Sperber, Nitevot Pesikah, 104-113). For another wine related post, see Isaiah Cox’s article, “Wine Strength and Dilution.” The history of Jewish drinking and Kiddush Clubs was briefly discussed here.

Whether coffee, marijuana and other stimulants falls within the Kitniyot category appears here. Marc Shapiro’s article, “R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin, Kitniyot, R. Judah Mintz, and More,” regarding Artscroll’s manipulation of R. Zevin’s Moadim be-Halakha regarding kitniyot. Another coffee related article explores the history and commercial relationship between the Maxwell House Haggadah. Finally, the last (pun intended) food discussion centers on the custom of stealing the afikoman.

The Amsterdam 1695 Haggadah was an important milestone in the history of printed illustrated Haggados, it was the first to employ copperplates rather than woodcuts. This new technique enabled much sharper and elaborate illustrations than in past Haggados. While some of the images can be traced to earlier Jewish Haggados, many were taken from the Christian illustrator, Mathis Marin. It also was the first to include a map. As we demonstrated that map, however, is sourced from a work that was a early and egregious example of forgery of Hebrew texts. For an Pesach related plagiarism, see “Pesach Journals, Had Gadyah, Plagiarism & Bibliographical Errors.” Kedem’s upcoming auction of the Gross Family collection includes, with an estimate of $80,00-$100,000, one of the rarest, beautiful, and expensive illustrations of Had Gadya by El Lissitzky published by Kultur Lige, Kiev, 1919. Eli Genauer reviews another number related edition, not in price, but convention, “The Gematriya Haggadah.”

There are two articles regarding the Haggadah text, David Farkes’ “A New Perspective on the Story of R. Eliezer in the Haggadah Shel Pesach,” and Mitchell First’s “Some Observations Regarding the Mah Nishtannah.” First’s other article, “The Date of Exodus: A Guide to the Orthodox Perplexed,” is also timely.

Finally, Shaul Seidler-Feller’s translation of Eli Wiesel’s article, “Passover with Apostates: A Concert in Spain and a Seder in the Middle of the Ocean,” tells the story of an unusual Pesach seder. Siedler-Feller most recently collaborated on the two most recent Sotheby’s Judaica catalogs of the Halpern collection.

Chag kasher ve-sameach!

Chanukah books and Etymology, Miracles (?), Dreidel, Cards and Christmas: A Roundup of Previous Posts

Zerachya Licht, “חז״ל ופולמס חנוכה,” and Marc Shapiro, “The Hanukkah Miracle,” discuss the 19th-century controversy regarding the polyglot, Chaim Zelig Slonimsky, and the connection, or lack thereof, the miracle of the candles burning for eight days. Licht discusses Slonimsky in more depth in a two-part post, “Chaim Zelig Slonimsky and the Diskin Family,” part 1 and part 2. Marc also discusses a potential Maccabean Psalm in his article here.

Mitchell First traces the history and spelling of two terms associated with Chanukah, “The Identity and Meaning of the Chashmonai,” “The Meaning of the Name Maccabee,” for an earlier post by Dan Rabinowitz, on the latter term, see here. First recently published his latest book, Words for the Wise: Sixty-Two Insights on Hebrew, Holidays, History and Liturgy.

A recurring theme of articles in the secular and Jewish presses is whether playing dreidel has any sources and if it is even fun. For example, Howard Jacobson, who won the 2010 Man Booker prize in a New York Times editorial, isn’t a fan. “How many years did I feign excitement when this nothing of a toy was produced? The dreidel would appear, and the whole family would fall into some horrible imitation of shtetl simplicity, spinning the dreidel and pretending to care which character was uppermost when it landed. Who did we think we were – the Polish equivalent of the Flintstones?” Marc Tracy, in Tablet Magazine, expressed his sentiment in his post, “The Unbearable Dumbness of Dreidel.” Although this year, two articles in Tablet, “Adapt, Adopt, Subvert, Survive” and “The Miracle of the Dreidel,” argue for the contemporary relevance of the custom. For our discussion, see “Chanukah Customs and Sources.” For another discussion regarding dreidel and other Chanukah customs, see “The Customs Associated with Joy and their More Obscure Sources.” Another form of Chanukah gameplay, cards, is dealt with in “The Custom of Playing Cards on Chanukah.” The post highlights an important, often overlooked, source for Jewish customs, the memoir of Pauline Wengeroff, Rememberings: The World of a Russian-Jewish Women in the Nineteenth-Century.

Eliezer Brodt tackles the missing tractate for Chanukah in “The Chanukah Omission,” and with an update in his recent talk, available here. (And a discussion of the other lesser known tractate that implicates Chanukah and an example of censorship.)The Seforimblog, in 2006, published his first post, “A Forgotten Work on Chanukah, חנוכת הבית,” discusses an obscure Chanukah-related work, Chanukas ha-Bayis, cited by Magen Avraham. Subsequently, Eliezer wrote dozens of articles for the Seforimblog and his Ph.D. dissertation on the Magen Avraham. The serious deficiencies of another work on Chanukah, Mitzva Ner Ish u-Beyoto, are highlighted in a review by Akiva Shamesh. Shamesh deals with the “famous” question of Bet Yosef, why there are eight and not seven nights of Chanukah, in another book review, “Yemi Shemonah.“

Finally, the subject of Greek Wisdom is apprised in Eliyahu Krakowski’s article, “How much Greek in ‘Greek Wisdom.'”

This year, as many, Chanukah coincides with Christmas. For our original bibliography on the topic of the Jewish response to Christmas, otherwise referred to as Nitel, see here. That post should be updated to include Rebecca Scharbach, “The Ghost in the Privy: On the Origins of Nittel Nacht and Modes of Cultural Exchange,” Jewish Studies Quarterly 20 (2013), pp. 340-373. Marc Shapiro’s lecture on the topic is available on YouTube. And for an interesting Christmas card by Edmund Wilson, see Elliot Horowitz’s post, “Edmund Wilson, Hebrew, Christma, and the Talmud.” Horowitz’s other posts include one on Bugs Bunny, Isaiah Berlin on Meir Berlin (Bar-Ilan) and Saul Lieberman, non-Jewish reactions to the synagogue, a discussion of the historical application of Amalek, and regarding reading Biblical books to children.

Borders, Breasts, and Bibliography

Borders, Breasts, and Bibliography

By Elliott Horowitz

Dan Rabinowitz has provided us which a characteristically learned pre-Passover post on the Prague 1526 Haggadah, specifically concerning the illustrations on its borders, and from those borders continues on to the always contentious subject of breasts, a bare set (or rather, two bare sets) of which he claims may be found on the title page of that edition. Indeed, on both the right and left borders of the title page may be found rather curious figures with non-human faces but quite human- looking breasts; yet those breasts are not bare, but rather bound in form-fitting corsets from which the nipples peek out. Readers may search on their own, online or elsewhere, for images of such nipple -revealing bodices, which were popular in English masque costumes of the early seventeenth century,[1] but I will provide only a quotation from the celebrated English traveler Fynes Moryson (1566-1630) on the women of late sixteenth-century Venice who “weare gowns, leaving all of the neck and brest bare, and they are closed before with a lace….they show their naked breasts, and likewise their dugges, bound up and swelling with linnen, and all made white by art.”[2]

Here is the title page::

From the breasts on the borders of the Prague Haggadah’s title page Rabinowitz moves on to the less contentious pair to be found in the Haggadah itself, appropriately accompanying the quotation from Ezekiel 16. He charitably notes that “both Charles Wengrov and Elliot[t] Horowitz have pointed to earlier manuscript antecedents of Prague’s usage of such illustrations,” but then takes issue with “Hor[o]witz’s contention that Spanish Jews were less accepting of such displays.” To that end he presents, in living color, two panels from the so-called “Sarajevo Haggadah,” illustrated in fourteenth-century Spain, depicting “a bare-breasted Eve,” and another illustration from the “Golden Haggadah,” – of similar provenance – depicting female bathers in a scene of the finding of Moses.

Yet in all those instances the semi-nude women are shown either in profile with partially covered breasts, or with breasts of rather adolescent dimensions – in contrast to the more amply-bosomed maiden depicted frontally in the Prague Haggadah (and uncensored facsimiles thereof), but not in Rabinowitz’s otherwise amply illustrated post. Moreover, in contrast to the rather demure female figures in the late medieval Spanish haggadot, the “Prague Venus” (as I shall call her) gazes directly at the viewer – in a manner reminiscent of Titian’s “Venus of Urbino,” completed a dozen years after the 1526 Haggadah was published. It may be noted that two bare-breasted mermaids are frontally depicted on a bronze Hannukah lamp from sixteenth-century Italy in the Israel Museum’s Stieglitz collection.[3]

As far as the Prague Haggadah’s date, Rabinowitz (gently) chides me for taking Efrat’s Religious Council to task not only for deleting the semi-nude scene from the 2001 facsimile edition in honor of their settlement’s twentieth anniversary, but for giving the Haggadah’s date as 1527 rather than 1526. Rabinowitz justifies that error by noting that the (uncensored) Berlin facsimile – whose date he gives erroneously as 1925 rather than 1926 – gave the Haggadah’s date as “5287/1527.” This is indeed true of its frontispiece, but in my battered copy of the Berlin facsimile a previous owner helpfully left behind a double-side flyer for the Haggadah which includes the more accurate information: “GEDRUCKT ZU PRAAG, 5287/1526.”

In my modest collection of haggadot the Berlin facsimile of the Prague Haggadah sits next to an octavo-size paperback of that same Haggadah issued in 1965 by Israel’s Ministry of Housing. It’s frontispiece reads:

שי לחג הפסח מוגש ע”י מפעל החסכון לבנין

לחוסכים במפעלי החסכון

Although the date of the Haggadah is there too given erroneously as 1527, Israel’s Mapai-controlled Housing Ministry of 1965 saw no reason to make the same breast-related deletions as Efrat’s Religious Council thirty six years later – or perhaps did not yet have (or afford) the technical ability to do so. The minister of housing before Passover of that year was Yosef Almogi, who had been general secretary of Mapai during the early 1960’s but joined Ben-Gurion’s renegade Rafi party before the November elections of 1965, after which he was replaced by Levi Eshkol. The copy in my possession previously belonged to David Zakkai (1886-1978), who was briefly general secretary of the Histadrut before David Ben-Gurion assumed that position in 1921, and after the founding of Davar in 1925 wrote for that newspaper for many years under the pen-name “Z. David.” He won the Sokolov prize for journalism in 1956. Some three decades later many of the books previously in his possession were being sold off as duplicates by the library of Ben-Gurion University, which was named after yet another Mapai politician – Zalman Aranne (1899-1970), who had also been general secretary of the party, and later served( twice) as Israel’s secretary of education and culture.

The old days of Mapai dominance are well behind us, but so are the days when Israel’s housing ministry could reprint a Haggadah showing bare breasts. As I write, the newly installed minister of housing is Uri Ariel of the Jewish Home, whose predecessor was a member of Shas. Perhaps the additional funds that are now expected to come Efrat’s way will allow its Religious Council to put out another facsimile edition celebrating yet another expansion of that venerable settlement. My own suggestion is Ze’ev Raban’s illustrated Shir ha-Shirim, also suitable for Passover, but not yet available in a kosher edition. It will certainly keep their censorship committee busy.

[1] See recently Barbara Ravelhofer, The Early Stuart Masque: Dance, Costume, and Music (2009).

[2] F. Moryson, An Itinerary…(1617, reprint 1907-8), recently quoted in M. F. Rosenthal, “Cutting a Good Figure…,” in M. Feldman and B. Gordon eds. The Courtesan’s Arts: Cross-Cultural Perspectives (2006), 61. See there also illus. 2.2.

[3] For reproductions of the image see Chaya Benjamin ed., The Stieglitz Collection: Masterpieces of Jewish Art (1987), 157; Elliott Horowitz, “Families and their Fortunes: The Jews of Early Modern Italy,” in David Biale ed., Cultures of the Jews (2002), 578.

Appendix by Dan Rabinowitz:

In addition to the censored reproductions discussed in the post and the one provided by Elliott Horowitz, we provide an additional example in this ever growing genre. One of the more well-known series that reproduce facsimile haggadot are those published on behalf of the Diskin Orphan Hospital Ward of Israel. As a fundraiser, they publish and distribute a different reprint of an earlier haggadah both print and manuscript. (See here discussing the Washington Haggadah reprint that led to accusation of heresy ). The first haggadah reprinted in this series is the Prague 1526. But, there are numerous errors and significant omissions in this reproduction. First the title, “The First Known Printed Passover Haggadah by Gershom Kohen Prague 5287/1527.” This edition of the haggadah is not the first known printed haggadah, that is likely circa 1486, by Soncino (see Yerushalmi, Haggadah & History, plates 2-3; Issakson, no. 29), and the first illustrated is the 1512 Latin. In the introduction written by Dr. Aaron Rosmarin, he offers that Prague 1526 is “the oldest printed Hagadah graced with woodcuts.” Again that is wrong. The 1486 haggadah already includes a handful of woodcuts.

Instead, at best, Prague 1526 is the first fully illustrated haggadah for a Jewish audience. The title also contains an error regarding the secular date, giving it at 1527. Rosmarin compounds this error. First he hedges on the secular year, when he explains that this editions was “printed by Gershom ben Shlomoh ha-Kohen and his brother Gronem in Prague 1526/27” but then zeros in on exactly when it “was completed on Sunday, the 26th of the month of Teves, 5287 (in January 1527).” It was December 30, 1526 and not some time in January 1527.

Additionally, regarding the nude image accompanying Ezekiel 16:7 that is omitted in its entirety. Although this omission (as well as a two other seeming non-offensive images) is not noted in the introduction, Rosmarin is careful to explain (without irony) that the 1526 edition contains some minor textual variants and omits the songs Ehad mi Yodeh and Had Gadyah, therefore this facsimile is not being reproduced to be used at the seder as “there are Hagadahs in abundance” for that purpose. Instead, the reason for reproducing Prague 1526 is because “this Hagadah is of great value for its art and uniqueness.”

Purim roundup

Since Purim is almost upon us, here are some older Seforim Blog posts dealing with Purim themes (arranged chronologically):

Purim, Mixed Dancing and Kill Joys (3.06.2006); Mahar”i Mintz permitted cross dressing and mixed dancing on Purim. Also discussed are other rabbinic reactions to Purim merrymaking.

Review of Reckless Rites by Elliott Horowitz (4.07.2006). This controversial book subtitled “Purim and the Legacy of Jewish Violence” discusses incidents of Jewish violence toward non-Jews on Purim and the way Jewish historians sometimes downplayed these incidents.

Tussle Over Horowitz’s Book (10.11.2006) discusses the resulting fallout of this book, whose thesis was disliked by Hillel Halkin in Commentary.

The Origins of Hamentashen in Jewish Literature: A Historical-Culinary Survey (2.28.2007), a classic post by Eliezer Brodt on this relatively recent Jewish custom.

Judah Wistinetzky and Mishloach Manot to his American friends (3.02.2007); Menachem Butler points out a post by Ari Kinsberg about a sefer distributed as a mishloach manot gift to the author’s friends.

Purim and Parodies (3.17.2008) by Eliezer Brodt. Eliezer discusses everything from a humorous Purim piyut included in Mahzor Vitry, to Kalonymus ben Kalonymus’s Massekhet Purim to the very rare Sefer Ha-kundas, a 19th century parody of the laws of trouble-making in the style of the Shulhan Aruch.

The Origins of Hamentashen in Jewish Literature: A Historical-Culinary Survey Revisited by Eliezer Brodt (3.18.2008). Eliezer revisits his post, updated with many additions and corrections.

“‘Most of all you’ve got to hide it from the kids…’ Reading Esther before Bed” by Elliott Horowitz (2.25.2010). This post discusses bible tales adopted for children in softened form.

The Origin of Ta’anit Esther by Mitchell First (3.3.2011). In this recent post, it is argued that this fast’s origin is even later than the original She’iltot (8th century).

***

Also, here are a few Purim posts from fellow-traveller On the Main Line:

A duel fought with swords on Purim, 1891 a duel fought with swords on Purim, between a Jew and a modern-day Haman.

How Moses Montefiore spent his time on Purim – giving matanot la-evyonim.

1841 Purim in New York, to bang at Haman’s name or not to bang?

Elliott Horowitz – “”Most of all you’ve got to hide it from the kids…’ Reading Esther before Bed”

Elliott Horowitz teaches at Bar Ilan University and is co-editor of Jewish Quarterly Review.

This is his fourth contribution to the Seforim blog. We hope that you enjoy.

“”Most of all you’ve got to hide it from the kids…’:

Reading Esther before Bed”

Elliott Horowitz

“The problem of selecting Bible stories for the early grades is an especially difficult one,” wrote Emanuel Gamoran in his introduction to the first volume of Lenore Cohen’s Bible Tales for Very Young Children (2 vols, 1934-36), of which he was the editor. “Not all stories of the Bible are suited to the needs of little children,” continued Gamoran, who was an American Reform rabbi, and a disciple of the pioneer Jewish educator Samson Benderly,[1] “nor should all those children be told them in their entirety. In some instances certain details should be omitted.” In comes as little surprise, then, that in the second volume of Cohen’s Bible Tales the book of Esther contains only a single casualty – the evil Haman, who by the king’s order is hanged on the gallows he had prepared for Mordecai. No mention is made of the death by hanging of Haman’s ten sons, or of the more than 75,000 non-Jews killed, with the king’s permission, by Mordecai’s coreligionists. This was clearly one of those instances in which, according to Rabbi Gamoran, “certain details should be omitted.”

The identical omissions had been made three years earlier in a biblical anthology for children (The Children’s Bible: Selections from the Old and New Testaments) whose contents were “translated and arranged” by two distinguished non-Jews: Henry Sherman, who headed the “department of religious literature” at Charles Scribner’s Sons, which published the book, and Charles Foster Kent, who, as indicated on the frontispiece, was “Woolsey Professor of Biblical Literature in Yale University.”[2] The same editorial policy had earlier been followed by the American children’s writer Frances Jenkins Olcott (1873-1967) in her delightful Bible Stories to Read and Tell, published by Blue Ribbon Books in 1916.

Cohen and Gamoran, then, followed a venerable tradition in saving their “very young” readers from any knowledge of the sad fate of Haman’s sons. Yet they could arguably have followed the model of their British coreligionist Mrs. Philip Cohen in her two-volume Bible Readings with My Children (2nd ed., 1899). In her retelling of the book of Esther she acknowledged that not only Haman, but also his “ten sons were hanged on the gallows which their father had set up for Mordecai.”[3] Moreover, unlike Frances Olcott, who omitted mention of the permission given the Jews by Ahasuerus to defend themselves, and Messrs. Sherman and Kent, who included “the king’s “command that the Jews who were in every city should gather together and protect their lives,” but said nothing about the consequences thereof, Mrs. Cohen felt that it was safe to tell children that “the Jews, in defending themselves, killed numbers of their enemies.”

Mrs. Cohen’s justly popular anthology went through several editions, the fourth of which appeared in London in 1923. In that same year the future (but now lamented) Bible scholar Nahum Sarna was born in London. Not surprisingly, it was from that anthology that he acquired his earliest knowledge of Scripture. Reminiscing decades later about how he came to devote his life “to the study and teaching of the Hebrew Bible,” Sarna, then recently retired from Brandeis University, recalled that among his “earliest and most agreeable recollections is my father reading to me every Shabbat, with unfailing regularity from a little two-volumed work entitled Bible Readings with my Children by a Mrs. Philip Cohen. I am not certain, but I believe I was about three years old when the regimen began.”[4]

Bible Readings with my Children was not the first such anthology produced for Jewish children in Victorian England. Already in 1877 Ellis Davidson had published The Bible Reader under the explicit “sanction” of Britain’s Chief Rabbi Nathan Marcus Adler.[5] It was intended, as its subtitle indicated for the Use of Jewish Schools and Families, With the Addition of Questions on the Text, and Moral Reflections on Each Chapter. Davidson’s Bible Reader contained material from the popular book of Esther, but not much from the book’s brutal ending. Thus, anticipating Sherman and Kent’s Children’s Bible of 1930 readers were informed of the permission granted the Jews by Ahasuerus “to destroy, to slay, and to annihilate any armed force…that might attack them, with their children and their women,” but learned nothing of the consequences of that permission. Davidson did find a way to include the deaths of Haman’s sons, which both the Children’s Bible and Frances Olcott’s earlier Bible Stories later chose to omit, but he did so at the cost of changing the biblical story. They “were slain in battle,” and only afterwards hanged, wrote Davidson, “to show the people how utterly the whole house of Haman was degraded, and in order that future assaults might be prevented.”[6]

During the 1890’s two graduates of Oxford, each of whom had been at Balliol College when it was headed by the legendary Benjamin Jowett (1817-93), brought out their own biblical anthologies intended – at least in part – for young readers. The first of these to appear was John William Mackail’s Biblia Innocentium: Being the Story of God’s Chosen People Before the Coming of Our Lord…upon Earth, Written Anew for Children (1892). Mackail (1859-1945), who was born on the Isle of Bute and whose father was a minister of the Scottish Free Church, had overlapped as an undergraduate at Balliol with Claude Montefiore (1858-1938), who was a great nephew of the renowned Sir Moses. It is likely that they knew each other, since neither – unlike the bulk of their classmates – was an Anglican product of a posh “public school.” Both were also among the college’s most distinguished students; achieving “firsts” in the demanding course of study known as Greats (Literae Humaniores) in which their classmate George Nathaniel Curzon (a former Etonian and future viceroy of India) received only a “second.”[7]

In 1896 Montefiore, who was presumably familiar with Mackail’s Biblia Innocentium (which had appeared in a second edition in 1893) brought his Bible for Home Reading (1896), a two-volume anthology “with comments and reflections for the use of Jewish parents and their children. ” In certain respects Montefiore’s anthology followed the limitations that both his coreligionist Davidson and his former classmate Mackail had imposed upon themselves. No mention was made, for example, of the rape of Dinah in Genesis 34 or the subsequent massacre perpetrated by her brothers in Shechem. Yet with regard to the book of Esther Montefiore took a diametrically different approach. Whereas both previous Victorian anthologies, the one Jewish and the other Christian, had informed their readers of the permission granted the Jews to defend themselves but not of the bloody consequences thereof, Montefiore decided to include all the chpaters of Esther in their entirety despite what he acknowledged as the “religious and moral deficiencies.” These, he claimed, had been “ignored or explained away” by some, but also “exaggerated and falsely labelled” by others.” The best solution, he believed was to let readers, young and old, judge for themselves.

There were other ways of dealing with the book’s “religious and moral deficiencies” when presenting its contents to young readers. In his Story of the Bible: first published in 1904, Jesse Lyman Hurlbut (1843-1930), a Methodist Episcopal clergyman, reported not only that “Haman died upon the gallows that he made for Mordecai, but also that his sons “were put to death for their father’s evildoing.” He added, however, that this had been done “according to the cruel usage of those times.”[8] In contrast to Ellis Davidson’s clumsy attempt, in 1877, to make the hanging of Haman’s sons more palatable to his younger readers, Hurlbut, a native of New York, showed that it was possible to add without detracting.

Notes:

[1] On both Gamoran and Benderly, see Penny Schine Gold, Making the Bible Modern: Children’s Bibles and Jewish Education in Twentieth-Century America (Ithaca, 2004).

[2] H. A. Sherman and and C. F. Kent, The Children’s Bible (New York, 1933), 223-25.

[3] Mrs. Philip Cohen, Bible Readings with my Children, two volumes (rev. ed. London, 1899), II, 336.

[4] Nahum Sarna, “Ruminations of a Jewish Bible Scholar,” Bible Review 4:3 (June 1988). See also the obituary by Tom Long in the Boston Globe (25 June 2005).

[5] On Davidson, see Geoffrey Cantor, “‘From nature to nature’s God’: Ellis A. Davidson—mid-Victorian educator, moralist, and consummate Designer,” Jewish History 23:4 (December 2009): 263-388.

[6] On Davidson’s work and its treatment of the book of Esther, see Elliott Horowitz, Reckless Rites: Purim and the Legacy of Jewish Violence (2nd ed., Princeton, 2008), 24.

[7] On Montefiore at Balliol and the impact on the college of Jowett, see Horowitz, Reckless Rites, 25, and the sources cited there.

[8] Hurlbut, Story of the Bible: For Young and Old (Philadelphia, 1952).

Elliott Horowitz — ‘The Howling Place of the Jews’

“The Howling Place of the Jews” in the Nineteenth Century: From William Wilde to Ahad Ha’am

by Elliott Horowitz

In previous posts at the Seforim blog, Elliott Horowitz of Bar Ilan University, co-editor of Jewish Quarterly Review, and author of Reckless Rites: Purim and the Legacy of Jewish Violence (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), has described Modern Amalekites [here], Isaiah Berlin on Meir Berlin (Bar-Ilan) and Saul Lieberman [here], Edmund Wilson, Hebrew, Christmas, and the Talmud [here], and Bugs Bunny [here]. This is his fifth contribution to the Seforim blog. We hope that you enjoy.

Late in the first half of the nineteenth century Jewish prayer and mourning at the Western Wall began to attract the interest of Christian visitors to Jerusalem, many of whom imposed upon it their own theological interpretations. In the Memorandum on the Western Wall (1930) that he prepared on behalf of the League of Nations Dr. Cyrus Adler (1863-1940), the recently elected President of the American Jewish Committee, included a list of modern travel accounts in which Jewish prayer at the Wall was described (pp. 44-67). Due presumably to Adler’s many responsibilities (he was also editor of the Jewish Quarterly Review as well as president of the Jewish Theological Seminary) the list was far from complete.One of the important accounts he missed was Dr. William Wilde’s Narrative of Journey…along the Shores of the Mediterranean (1840). The young Irish physician singled out Jewish prayer at the Western Wall as one of the scenes that had most moved him during his extensive journey. “Were I asked what was the object of the greatest interest that I had seen, and the scene that made the deepest impression on me, during my sojourn in other lands,” wrote Dr. Wilde (father of the future playwright Oscar), “I would say that it was a Jew mourning over the stones of Jerusalem.”[1] Shortly afterwards the Anglican minister George Fisk of Lichfield (England) who had visited Jerusalem in 1842, provided his own comments on the weekly spectacle, which he described as “humiliation and supplication.” The Jews, he reported, “are said to have a persuasion that their prayers will find especial acceptance when breathed through the crevices of that building of which Jehovah said ‘Mine eyes and mine heart shall be there perpetually’ (II Chron. 7:16).” Although among the “aged Jews sitting in the dust” Fisk saw no signs of the “outward manifestation of strong emotion” there were also present “several Jewesses, enveloped from head to foot in ample white veils,” who “stepped forward to various parts of the ancient wall,” and kissed them with great fervency.”[2]Fisk’s comments about prayer at the Wall, also unnoticed by Adler, were soon echoed by the children’s writer Favell Lee Mortimer (1802-1878), in the second part of her Far Off (1852), devoted to Asia and Australia – neither of which she had visited. Addressing her “little readers,” Mrs. Mortimer (a daughter of Barclay’s bank cofounder David Bevan and wife of London minister Thomas Mortimer) informed them that “every Friday evening a very touching scene takes place” in Jerusalem, near the Mosque of Omar. “There are some large old stones there,” wrote Mrs. Mortimer, “and the Jews say that they are part of their old temple wall, so they come at the beginning of their Sabbath…and sit in a row opposite the stones.” Upon arriving, the Jews “read their Hebrew Old Testaments, then kneel low in the dust, and repeat their prayers with their mouths close to the old stones; because they think that all prayers whispered between the cracks and crevices of these stones will be heard by God. Some Jewesses come, wrapped from head to foot in long white veils, and they gently moan and softly sigh over Jerusalem in ruins.”[3] Her “little readers” were likely to think of Jerusalem’s Jews as involved in the cultic worship of large “stones” (a word used no fewer than four times in the brief passage), which served as intermediaries between them and God.Some two decades later James Creagh (1836-1910), a native of Ireland who had studied at Sandhurst, wrote of his own visit to what he called “the Howling-place of the Jews at Jerusalem.” Unlike Dr. Wilde and Rev. Fisk before him, Captain Creagh, in his colorfully titled Scamper to Sebastopol and Jerusalem, described not only the local Jews (and Jewesses) who participated in the weekly event, but also “whole families of Jews, some dark and some fair, some wearing the English and some the Asiatic costume, and coming from every part of the world.” In a remark that would have appealed to some of the Hebrew poets of medieval Spain, Creagh reported that among those who were “crying and wailing in the most bitter accents” were some “lovely Jewish girls, who wept and sobbed with an appearance of real grief that would appear more natural for the loss of a lover than for the misfortune of their nation in the remotest times.” And although he, unlike Fisk, was evidently a Catholic, Creagh (perhaps under the influence of the latter) was also critical of the “vain hope” on the part of those praying “praying fervently through the crevices…that their earnest supplications, by penetrating to the inside and ascending to heaven from that hallowed spot, would be received more favourably at the throne of grace.[4]Creagh arrived in Jerusalem shortly after the departure of Albert Rhodes, who was born in Pittsburgh in 1840 and who had served as US consul in Jerusalem between 1863-65.[5] In his appropriately titled Jerusalem As It Is (1865) Rhodes presented a penetrating (and perhaps still relevant) comparison of the Holy City’s Sephardim and Ashkenazim, [6]and also described the weekly prayers at “the wailing-place of the Jews…a spot of interest to every traveler,” focusing particularly on what today might be called “women who weep.” On Fridays afternoons, he wrote, “every available spot along the foot of this wall is occupied by weeping Jews,” adding that “the greater part of these are women, who often sit in little circles around a Talmud-learned Jew, who reads to them – for a consideration… – portions of the Jewish chronicles.” Rhodes also reported that ‘those who arrive early, particularly the women, commence at one end of the wall and kiss and touch every stone within reach, from one end of the wall to the other.” Like Fisk and Creagh, the former US consul also stressed the importance to many of physical contact with the Wall, adding that some of the Jews “almost hide their heads in the fissures, and remain for some time in this position, sobbing in the most affecting manner.”[7]A decade after the appearance of Rhodes’s book his fellow Pennsylvanian Richard Newton (1812-87), who had studied at New York’s (Episcopal) General Theological Seminary after graduation from the University of Pennsylvania, published his Illustrated Rambles in Bible Lands (1875), in which he too offered his critical comments on the Jews’ weekly wailing at the Western Wall. Like his (by then) late colleague in Christ the Rev. Fisk, Dr. Newton, criticized the Jews for thinking that prayers offered at the Wall “would be more acceptable to God…than if offered in any other place,” but he was more blatant in his attempt to utilize this “mistake” as a means of saving fellow Christians from similar error: Some people think that part of a church where the minister stands or kneels…is more holy than the pews where the people sit. But this is a mistake. God is no more present in one place than he is in another. Prayers offered in the city of Jerusalem will not be heard any sooner by God than prayers offered in the city of London, or New York, or Boston, or Philadelphia.[8] Dr. Newman, who was then serving as rector of the Epiphany Church in Philadelphia, carried away with him, and imparted to his readers, two lessons that he learned from his visit. One was “the sin of the Jews which brought upon them all the evil that they are suffering now,’ and “which has caused them to be despised and persecuted in every nation.” The second lesson, of course, was the nature of the “great sin of the Jewish people” – namely, that “they neglected Jesus.”[9] Another late nineteenth-century visitor to the Western Wall who was concerned with the question of what had caused the Jews “to be despised and persecuted in every nation” was Asher Zvi (Hirsh) Ginsberg (1856-1927), by then known as Ahad Ha’am. The leading ideologist of Cultural Zionism, who had been born to a Hasidic family in the Russian Ukraine, was quite critical of much that he saw during his first tour, in 1891, among the Jewish colonies in land of Israel. As Ginsberg later wrote in his controversial essay Emet me-Erez Yisrael “filled with melancholy thoughts,” he “arrived on the eve of Passover in Jerusalem, there to pour forth my sorrow and rage before the…remnants of our former glory.” Although he clearly knew what to expect at the Wall, the visit nevertheless affected him greatly, provoking painful questions that remain largely unanswered: There I found many of our Jerusalem brethren standing and praying in loud voices. Their haggard faces, their strange gestures, and their odd clothes – all this merged with the ghastly picture of the Wall itself. Looking at them and at the Wall, one thought filled my mind. These stones testify to the desolation of our land; these men testify to the desolation of our people. Which of these desolations is worse? For which should we lament more bitterly? [10]

[1] William R. Wilde, Narrative of a Voyage to Madeira, Tenerife and along the Shores of the Mediterranean (Dublin, 1840), quoted in Linda Osband, ed., Famous Travellers to the Holy Land (London,1989), 155. Osband’s book includes an introduction by the distinguished British travel writer Jan Morris, who has also written under the name James Morris. On the remarks by modern travelers about the Jews of Jerusalem see also Elliott Horowitz, “As Others See Jews,” in Nicholas de Lange & Miri Freud-Kandel, eds., Modern Judaism: An Oxford Guide (Oxford, 2005), 415-425, esp. 415-419.

[2] George Fisk, A Pastor’s Memorial, Of Egypt, The Red Sea… Jerusalem, and Other Principal Localities of the Holy Land, Visited in 1842 (third edition, London, 1845), 290-91. In a later edition (1865) the pious pastor wrote less cautiously that “the Jews have a persuasion…” (ibid., 199). For an annotated Hebrew translation of Fisk’s comments on Jerusalem and its Jews see Michael Ish-Shalom, Christian Travels in the Holy Land (second ed., Jerusalem, 1979), 539-43.

[3] . L. Mortimer, Far Off , or Asia and Australia Described (London, 1852), 21.

[4] James Creagh, A Scamper from Sebastopol to Jerusalem in 1867 (London, 1873), 405-06. On the participation of women in prayer at the Western Wall see Stuart Charmé, “The Political Transformation of Gender Traditions at the Western Wall in Jerusalem,” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 21:1 (Spring 2005): 5-34, who, relying on Adler’s outdated list, misses the testimonies of both Fisk and Creagh.

[5] Ruth Kark, American Consuls in the Holy Land, 1832-1914 (Jerusalem and Detroit, 1994), 314

[6] “There is no entente-cordiale,” wrote Rhodes, “between the Sephardim and Aschkenazim. The former are cleaner, more indolent, and ignorant than the latter. The Aschkenazim pride themselves on their Talmud learning, are dirty, and fond of dispute. From long residence in the East, the Sephardim have acquired something of the ease and dignity of its inhabitants…The Aschkenazim are often seen poring over the Talmud, and are consequently full of its traditionary (sic) lore, but know little of the Bible…The Sephardim, as a race are healthy-looking, and many of them are handsome…Of the two the Aschkenazim are more corrupt.” idem, Jerusalem As It Is (London, 1865), 363-64. Ish-Shalom, Christian Travels, contains no passages from Rhodes’s book.

[7] Rhodes, Jerusalem, 373-74. On Rhodes in Jerusalem see Lester I. Vogel, To See a Promised Land; Americans in the Holy Land in the Nineteenth Century (Pennsylvania, 1993), 166, 172.

[8] Richard Newton, In Bible Lands (London, 1880), 60-61. I have quoted from the first British edition, published with a slightly different title.

[9] Ibid., 62.

[10] The translation I have provided is a composite of those by Steven J. Zipperstein, Elusive Prophet: Ahad Ha’am and the Origins of Zionism (Berkeley, 1993), 62, and Reuven Hammer, ed., The Jerusalem Anthology: A Literary Guide (Philadelphia, 1995), 206.